83 Arrest

The gears of the large clock clicked, turning as the seconds passed. Click. Click. Click. Interminably irritating to anyone with any sort of impatience. Normally, those seeking an audience with the Iron Bank would suffer such an indignity. However, today the tables had turned.

Sitting upon his tribunal, Tycho Nestoris drummed his fingers against the stone table. His eyes glanced to the clock for the seventh time that minute. "My Lord, did you not inform your monarch of the need to be punctual?"

Yezzan zo Qaggaz, Master of Coin, smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, Administrator. His Majesty will be here shortly, I promise."

"The Iron Bank prefers meetings to conduct smoothly, Lord Qaggaz." Nestoris did his best to control his rising annoyance. "If it weren't for the Emperor Jon's… title - or for your record of honorable dealings with our institution, my Lord - we would…"

At that point he was cut off as the servants threw open the hardwood doors. In walked Emperor Jon Targaryen, strides wide and back straight. Nestoris blinked in surprise, while Qaggaz raised an eyebrow. For once, only his coloring marked him as a northerner. His cloak billowed behind him, the color of fresh blood. His leather gambeson was solid black, chest emblazoned with the three-headed dragon.

He looked like Aegon the Conqueror reborn. Inspiring to his subjects… and unnerving to his enemies.

Qaggaz formed a smile. "Administrator Nestoris, allow me to present Jon of House Targaryen and Stark, first of his name."

Nestoris gulped, trying to recover his composure. "Welcome to the Iron Bank, your Majesty. I only wish you had been punctual…"

A loud clang echoed out in the chamber, Jon suddenly slamming Longclaw flat on the table, Valyrian steel glinting from the sun streaming through the windows. "My apologies, Administrator," Jon said flatly, taking his seat. "I was paying a visit to the House of Black and White."

If such affected Nestoris, he did not vocalize it. "I admit, your sudden arrival was... unexpected. Lord Qaggaz and I were in the middle of negotiations over the size of your debt instrument…"

"Not my debt, Administrator. That debt was racked up by Robert the Usurper and Joffrey the Vicious Idiot."

"The crown's debt, your Majesty." Nestoris allowed himself a smile. The young Emperor was strong, but naive. "Simply because House Targaryen conquered its throne back, doesn't wipe out its debt."

Jon chuckled softly. "Forgive me. I am merely a novice in banking matters. Lord Qaggaz has been giving me a crash course, especially on his efforts to obtain a discharge on a portion the debt."

"He and I have been settling on an amount of around ten percent…"

"I'm afraid it will have to be one third of the debt." Jon's face hardened. "That number is non-negotiable."

Nestoris secretly chided himself to allowing for a one on one meeting. It would have been much more pleasing to smack down this whelp in front of all his aides and accountants. "I think you should let your Master of Coin speak for you, your Majesty. It isn't wise to make demands of the Iron Bank. Such would only end in having severe financial penalties, ending in a complete cut off from further loans if such penalties aren't paid."

Jon smiled. Though it was outwardly calm, the dark glint in his eyes conferred something more sinister. "I think you should shut up and listen, Administrator." He enjoyed watching the man fluster. "It is wise not to anger a man with dragons."

"You cannot threaten the Iron Bank…"

"Do you know where I was, just now?" His eyes narrowed. "Three weeks ago, there was an attempt on the life of my wife and children."

"I am sorry such has happened to you, but that doesn't mean…"

A raised hand cut him off. "The perpetrators were determined to be of the Faceless Men, likely enforcing a prior contract on the part of Joffrey Baratheon. Needless to say, my dragon Rhaegal and myself have brought Fire and Blood upon the House of Black and White."

The fire in Jon's eyes caused a droplet of sweat to fall from Nestoris' forehead. "I'm not sure how that relates to our ongoing matters…"

"Oh, but it does, Administrator," Qaggaz piped up. "Your employees are not as loyal as you would think. Many pointed out to me various expenditures to unknown entities. With a little help from some Little Birds, I was able to piece together various schemes you have used in the past to punish recalcitrant debtors. Including the Faceless Men."

Jon's smile fell, the dragon within him fully awoken. "It was you that offered the services of the Faceless Men to Joffrey." He reached out and gripped Longclaw's hilt. "I should kill you right now." He let Nestoris squirm. "But I won't. You are to accept this forgiveness of one third of our debt, or face our own severe penalties."

Nestoris, wiping the copious sheen of sweat off his brow, attempted to rally his composure. "Try getting any other loan from any other financial house if you target us…"

"Frankly, the crown does not consider the Iron Bank of Braavos a financial house, anymore." Qaggaz was having the most fun he had in years. "Additionally, we found copious payments to each member of the Braavosi high council, making them your puppets. As such, we consider the Iron Bank the true government of Braavos."

"Which makes your payment of the organization that nearly assassinated its Empress as an act of war against the Targaryen Empire." Jon watched as Nestoris' eyes widened in pure fright. "Fire and blood is coming to you, Administrator, unless you meet our conditions."

"What are they?" Nestoris croaked.

"First, accept the one third forgiveness of the crown's debt. Second, you will resign, as will your toadies. Additionally, you will turn over all records of all payments made to the crown while Robert and Joffrey Baratheon were on the throne." He stood, sliding Longclaw back in its sheath. "Think it over and get back to me tomorrow. Otherwise there will be six dragons over Braavos instead of one."

He and Qaggaz hadn't gotten halfway out of the room before Nestoris cried out. "I accept."

"Well, my Lady. You'll be glad to know that his Majesty did not target an innocent party." Dropping a leather binder of reports on Sansa's desk, Littlefinger smiled. "No one bearing the description of the three assassins were ever in the employ of the Red Keep, the Citadel, or the Unsullied. The man killed as an Unsullied resembled a dead laborer from Astapor, and I would presume the others resemble killed smallfolk whose faces were stolen."

Tapping her fingers together, Sansa leafed through the stacks of parchment. "Is that a characteristic of the Faceless Men. Forgive me if I'm not familiar with them."

A chuckle left the lips of the oily aristocrat. "Tis fine, Lady Sansa. A person would be lucky to never make their acquaintance. Yes, that is their signature." He cleared his throat. "The Faceless Men are an ancient staple of the Free City of Braavos. Handling matters of stealth and murder for whomever provide payment or offerings to their very own god." He shifted slightly on his feet. "They are so secretive and skilled, it puzzles me as to why someone would be in the exact right place at the exact right time to stop them."

Brows furrowing, it didn't take long for the Hand of the Emperor to understand. "Tread lightly, Lord Baelish. You do not wish to accuse the wrong person of the wrong crime."

"Sansa, I'm sure you know where this is going."

"No." Sansa shook her head, refusing to believe what the Master of Laws was saying.

"She left immediately after the assassination attempt. No one's seen her since."

"She would never…"

Leaning forward in his chair, Littlefinger clasped his hands together in a sort of silent plea. "My Lady, don't act rashly. I know what you are thinking, believe me, I do." He sighed. "I grew up with your aunt Lysa. I never thought that she would almost throw her own niece out the Moon Door." Reaching forward, he took Sansa's hands in his own, gently stroking the back of the palms. "You don't believe that Arya is capable of this. Seven hells, I don't want to believe it… but you have to look at the big picture here."

Sansa felt revulsion at his touch - it made her skin crawl, nothing like Podrick's sweet, loving touches - but she kept it off her face. "What is this 'big picture' you are referring to, Lord Baelish?"

"Your sister is no longer Lady Stark. She is now Lady Baratheon. While Joffrey wasn't the trueborn son of King Robert… thanks to his Majesty, Gendry is."

"You can't honestly believe Gendry would want… It took convincing to get him to be Lord of Storm's End."

"I do not believe Gendry put her up to it, but it isn't his decision." Littlefinger shrugged. "As long as there are some that wish Gendry to succeed his birthright, then he will be thrust into this position. Your own brother was thrust into his position - it could be that Arya is using any connection she has with the Faceless Men to thrust Gendry into such a position by assassinating the Imperial Family. Gendry has Targaryen blood, after all."

"Arya would never," Sansa breathed. "She wouldn't."

"Lady Sansa, please. Think of your mother."

It was a low blow, but one that had some weight - Catelyn Stark was still clinging to life by a thread, having not woken since that fateful day. "Arya always had the biggest grudge against her for how she treated Jon…" The Hand put her head in her hands, feeling a headache coming on. "I just can't believe it." Gears turned within her mind. "We don't even know if Arya is connected to the Faceless Men. I - gods forgive me - cannot go to Jon with wild accusations about his beloved sister without definitive proof of a connection."

Inwardly, Littlefinger was beaming - he had won her over. "As the simple Master of Laws, I cannot execute a warrant on the Imperial family without authorization. Give me a warrant for the Lady Arya's quarters." He offered a small smile. "If she is innocent, as I hope is the case, then she has nothing to fear from my search."

Sighing, Sansa reached into her desk and pulled out a sheaf of parchment. "One moment, Lord Baelish." Taking her pen, she dipped it in ink and proceeded to write exactly what Littlefinger was authorized to do. Sansa then poured hot wax onto the bottom and stamped it with her seal. "Just get it over with."

Littlefinger stood, bowing. "I shall not disappoint you, my Lady. Whatever happens…" His voice caught. "We will avenge your mother."

The conversation replayed itself over and over again as Sansa walked gingerly through the caverns of the Red Keep. Night had fallen, the crescent moon covered with thick, grey clouds in a sort of ominous herald - one she didn't wish to deduce the spiritual meaning of. She pulled the hood tighter over her head. The only persons she'd need to show herself to were the Unsullied guards, and they were essentially sworn to silence.

Eventually, Sansa reached her destination. Where she needed to be. Eyes darting to either side, scanning the hallways to make sure nary a soul graced them, Sansa knocked on the door. Three quick raps. "Enter."

She turned the knob and pushed herself in, shutting the door mere seconds from opening it. "I need to talk to you."

From his perch by the fireplace, Bran smiled softly. "I've been expecting you, Sansa."

Sitting beside him, Sansa looked into her brother's eyes. "I need to know everything, Bran." He simply smiled.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Gendry was angry - furious even - but the presence of fearsome Unsullied guards kept him from acting on his rage. Even if he had his warhammer, he wouldn't attack his Empress' guards. "Get out of my quarters!"

Grey Worm leading, a collection of a dozen Unsullied were picking through Lord Baratheon's bedchamber with a fine-toothed comb. Closets ransacked, chests overturned, clothes tossed into the middle of the bed and patted down for sewn compartments. Lord Petyr Baelish was nothing if not thorough. "Read the warrant, Lord Baratheon," Littlefinger stated flatly. "Signed by the Lady Hand herself."

"Sansa would never do this…" Though finally literate, taught by Davos and his cousin Shireen, Gendry still read haltingly. It took a few minutes before his eyes widened. "Treason?! Conspiracy to murder?! What is this horseshit?! I never did any of these things!"

"You aren't suspected, Lord Baratheon."

"Why the fuck would Arya…?"

Grey Worm stepped forward, hand out. "Please, Lord Gendry. Calm down." Simmering, Gendry complied, sensing compassion on the Unsullied commander's face - tinged with disbelief. 'Lady Arya wouldn't do this,' Grey Worm thought. Now that Daenerys was using the Unsullied in more of an Imperial Guard role, he was stuck conducting policing errands for Littlefinger that made no sense.

"So have you found anything here?" Littlefinger looked slightly put out - impatient. "Anything Lady Arya may have hidden?"

"My Lord, it seems clear." Grey Worm was slightly relieved at the lack of evidence against Vhrysa's sister. Nothing out of the ordinary in the Lady Baratheon's quarters." The other Unsullied stood straight, waiting for orders.

Shaking his head, Littlefinger scrutinized everything with a more searching gaze. "Appearances can be deceiving, Commander. You must have dealt with that in Meereen with the Sons of the Harpy." He rapped on the walls, inspecting for hollow spots. "The Faceless Men are worse, and only someone possessing genius can defeat…"

He stopped suddenly. Slightly shifting his foot, Littlefinger could feel one of the travertine tiles below him shift, mortar crumbling away as he exposed it as loose. He motioned for the Unsullied. "What's going on?" Gendry asked from the doorway.

"Get over here. Pry this loose!" Crowbar in hand, a trooper wedged it through the gap and heaved. The tile lifted easily, soon slid out of the way - exposing a hollow alcove underneath. "Did you know about this, Lord Baratheon?"

Gendry stood, wide-eyed. "The fuck? How did that get there?!" He seemed sincere.

Clicking his tongue, Littlefinger knelt next to the hole. He reached in and pulled out a burlap sack. "What do we have here?"

Stacked within the sack were… faces. Over a dozen of them. Some Littlefinger even recognized - Amory Lorch, Meryn Trant, one of Joffrey's palace slaves… A grin spread on his lips. One of pure triumph. 'Oh, I shall sleep the sleep of the vindicated, tonight.'

Squirming, Dany couldn't help but giggle in domestic bliss. "Ghost... stop." The snow-white direwolf had found her taking a nap on the bed and decided to wake her up… by bathing her face with loving licks. She tried to bat him away, but the efforts were half-hearted. "Stooop…"

While he seemed to enjoy teasing her, Ghost nevertheless complied. Whimpering, he nuzzled his snout into Dany's side. Perhaps it was being married to Jon, or having carried three dragonwolves inside her, but Ghost was finely tuned to Daenerys at this point. Nearly as much as he was to Jon.

And Dany loved him as much as Jon did. "It's alright, boy. I'm still here." She scratched behind his ear, Ghost's tongue lolling out in contentment, tail wagging.

"He's just feeling extra melancholy today." Daenerys looked up to see her husband, leaning alongside the doorway - holding baby Saera in his hands.

Daenerys' lips curled into a beaming smile. "Hello my lovelies," she said, in awe as she gazed upon Jon holding their child. One hand continuing to scratch Ghost, the other beckoned them over. "Come here."

"Nymeria is close to giving birth, and he can't help but worry he'd lose his last family… like he almost lost his mother." Jon sat beside her, across from Ghost. "I almost lost his mother as well." He leaned over and kissed her, gingerly resting Saera on her chest. "But thank the gods I didn't."

Hands wrapping tight around her precious child, Daenerys let out a sigh of pure joy as Jon pulled her to his side. The Emperor and Empress sharing a moment of love, snatched from their busy schedules. "I didn't think I'd ever have this, Jon." Saera took that moment to yawn, stretching her little arms. It melted Dany's heart. "You. Three amazing children. A family."

Jon pressed a kiss against her head. "I didn't either." A finger stroked his daughter's head, eyes filled with love. "I was firmly resigned to die at the Watch, to die at Winterfell… but if I had to be resurrected a dozen times to get back to you and our children… I'd do it."

Tears coursed down Dany's cheeks. "Damn it, Jon." She was so emotional even after giving birth - if her love would go around saying things like that and leaving her in a state of tears, none of her subjects or advisors would ever take her seriously. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"You know very well…" She nuzzled Saera's head, inhaling her wonderful scent. "Stop being so sweet and everything."

He chuckled in his deep, northern brogue. "The boys at Castle Black would never let me live down being called sweet." Sitting up, Jon stared down at her, cupping Dany's cheek. His smile deepend as she involuntarily leaned into it. "I won't ever let anything happen to our family."

A flicker of fear crossed her face. "You don't know that, Jon."

"I do. I took care of it." His smile changed into something hard. Something fierce.

It was a look Dany understood. "Fire and Blood?"

"Fire and Blood."

While Dany loved Jon's good and kind heart… looking at the top of Saera's head. Watching her sleep peacefully between her breasts, Dany understood his feeling. A feeling that she had herself more than one occasion.

Anyone that threatened their pack would meet Fire and Blood. Anyone.

An hour later, Missandei cleared her throat. Before her were tens of thousands, a crowd so large that it reminded all of the the Day of Revolution - but rage and bloodlust morphed into pure adoration. An entire city out in force to meet their new princess. To show their love for House Targaryen. Not out of birthright, but because it earned the privilege.

Being with Daenerys from the very beginning, and with Jon since the Battle of the Bastards, Missandei channeled the spirit of the crowd. "Presenting, Emperor Jon Targaryen, first of his name. Empress Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name." All six dragons flew overhead, increasing the majesty of the moment. "And their children: Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Princess Arya Targaryen, and Princess Saera Targaryen. Long may they reign!"

"LONG MAY THEY REIGN!"

Basking in the adoration of the crowd, it was not something Jon desired but a feeling he wasn't upset to accept. Crown atop his head glinting in the sun, one arm wrapped around Arya's shoulder while the other waved to the masses. All practically fighting each other to catch a glimpse of their Emperor and Empress. He bent down to Dany. "They love you, my dragon."

Rocking Saera gently, Rhaegar by her side, Dany smiled at her husband. "That is true, but not the whole truth, my direwolf." As if proving it to him, a small nudge pushed him forward a step. It was as if one of Balerion's roars boomed from the crowd. "See. The people of Westeros love you, Jon."

Smiling, Jon did the same to her - and getting an equally roaring reaction. "Don't sell yourself short, my love." He looked down at the children. "Or perhaps it is the children they love."

"Perhaps it is all of us." She leaned up to kiss him, the roar growing louder than ever before.

"Are you sure you know where you're going, girl?" Taking a swig of sour wine, the captain looked at the small female in puzzlement. Quiet and dressed as a street child, she nevertheless paid him in several gold dragons for a cabin on his usual route from Braavos to King's Landing. "The Targaryens have improved safety in the capitol, but there are still cutthroats and brigands." He didn't know exactly why he cared - perhaps the fact she was such a mystery.

Looking back on him with amusement, Arya stilled in the middle of the gangplank. "I'll be fine. Thank you for the voyage." Mumbling something, the captain merely ducked back into his ship, putting her out of his mind.

Gazing out at the port of King's Landing, Arya had to admit that the captain was right. Underneath the fluttering three-headed dragon and direwolf banners that seemed an almost omnipotent presence out of patriotic zeal, it was as if the aura of new life had returned to the formerly weary city. Trade was resuming, colors other than the dull tan of dust predominating, and the people with a hustle and bustle unseen the last time Arya had been at the port.

All thanks to her brother and his wife. "Oh Jon," she mused to herself, smiling. "How far you've come." It seemed like just yesterday he had given her Needle, a brooding, solemn bastard of a northern lord. Now, the Emperor of all he surveyed. Arya couldn't help but feel pride in her beloved brother.

Her musings were cut short by the scuffle of boots along the quay. "There she is! There's the Lady Baratheon!" Not expecting an attack, the sole surviving Faceless Man was caught off guard as Sandor Clegane knocked her to the ground. Unsullied troopers raced to her, grabbing Arya by the arms. "Knew exactly where you were headed, little cunt," the Hound laughed.

Arya glared at the Hound. "I'll fucking kill you for this."

He smacked her in the stomach with a backhanded slap - fist mailed, it knocked the wind out of her. "Go ahead and try."

His laughs grew, and Arya just noticed he wore the cloak of the Kingsguard. "Since when are you a fucking knight?"

"I ain't, but somethin's gotta keep me from being bored. Chain her up!" The Unsullied complied to Clegane's order.

"What is this!" Arya writhed as the Unsullied clasped her arms in chains. "Unhand me! I am sister to the Emperor Jon!" If these were Joffrey's thugs, she'd have already had Needle out, but these were Daenerys' men. Not her enemy.

"Arya Stark." Looking up, she found herself face to face with the smirking visage of Littlefinger. "Or Arya Baratheon, rather. You are under arrest."

She blinked, feeling her cheeks flush with rage. "Arrest? For fucking what?!"

"Treason." Littlefinger's smile widened. "Conspiracy to murder Her Highness the Empress Daenerys."