Chapter 51

A lot had happened to Tyrion Lannister lately, and none of it welcome. He knew he'd been handed an impossible task when made Master of Coin; the massive debts the crown had incurred could not be paid back easily or rapidly, and with the news that Daenerys Targaryen had gathered an army, there was the very real prospect that the Iron Bank might back her.

Of course, there was Steffon as well. His army had supposedly paused for a short celebration not that long ago, but frustratingly, Tyrion's father was unable to exploit that due to the possibility that Robb Stark might advance on Casterly Rock or Harrenhal at any moment, and they needed to be ready to respond. Besides, the Tyrells would shortly see to his forces.

And then of course, there was the final nail in his coffin: his marriage to Sansa Stark. It had been sprung on both of them not long after it was confirmed that Joffrey would be marrying Margaery Tyrell. Tyrion couldn't help but muse that the whole reason for that was because the Tyrells were supposedly maneuvering to have her marry Loras, and his father wanted Sansa married into the Lannisters to lock down the North when the war was won.

None of that helped him now though. The wedding between Joffrey and Margaery promised to be an expensive affair, and he needed a new source of funds.

"Enough boy, we're not in a tavern." Olenna Tyrell snapped at Podrick, who was pouring wine for her and Tyrion.

"Apologies, my lady."

"No need to speak." She said curtly prompting a quiet chuckle from Tyrion. The Queen of Thorns certainly lived up to her reputation. "Are there any figs? No? Then fetch some." She turned to Tyrion as Podrick ran off. "I always take figs mid-afternoon. They help move the bowels. Tell me, what do I owe the pleasure of this summons?"

Tyrion didn't want to think about Olenna's bowel comments for a single moment. "Thank you for seeing me, my lady." He opened with the usual greeting. "I had hoped we'd discuss a few financial matters."

The old woman's face betrayed nothing. "I climbed all those steps for financial matters?"

"It's the Royal Wedding. I'm told you had a hand in planning it."

Well, it was more than just a hand from what Tyrion had learnt. Olenna Tyrell was the real brains behind her house, and that meant that people listened to what she had to say. Her granddaughter was following in her footsteps as far as that was concerned.

"Oh naturally." Olenna replied nonchalantly.

"It's shaping up to be rather expensive. Extravagant is the word that's been used."

"It's a royal wedding. What other words should be used to describe it?"

"A fair point." Tyrion admitted. "That said, we are at war, and maintaining our supply lines are more important, and that costs a good sum to begin with. We're fighting on two fronts, and possibly three quite soon."

"And we have provided soldiers and provisions for your war effort. It was quite difficult; most of them were embarrassed they got their arses whipped by a boy." Olenna replied, shaking her head.

"I don't imagine it would've done much for their reputations."

"No, it didn't." She polished off her wine before pouring more. "You might argue this on grounds of necessity. A royal wedding is of necessity. People crave distractions from their problems, and if we can;t create them , they'll make their own. And their distractions are like to end with our heads on pikes and your nephew holding a victory parade." She regarded him curiously as Pod returned with the figs. "Where did you go for them, Volantis?" She snapped before turning back to Tyrion. "I was told you were drunken, impertinent and thoroughly debauched. Imagine my disappointment at seeing a browbeaten bookkeeper."

"My Lady-"

"Oh, fine, fine." She waved a hand dismissively. "House Tyrell will pay for half of the wedding's cost. Is that sufficient?"

Tyrion nodded. "More than sufficient." He was about to add a 'thank you', but Olenna had already left. He sighed and downed the rest of his drink.

The core of Daenerys' army was now the 8,000 Unsullied, plus the ones that were still in training. On their own, they might've had enough supplies to make the march tolerable, even if it wasn't comfortable. That notion had been quashed when 20,000 armed freedmen attached themselves to her force for the march, and within days, she was forced to order short rations. Still, the Unsullied, true to their name, didn't say a thing about it.

She could see it off in the distance, huddled in a small mountain range. Yunkai.

After Astapor, she'd made it her mission to free all the slaves in Slavers' Bay, no matter how long it took or how difficult it was. Her advisors would know why she had to do this. Slavery was evil; there was a reason it was illegal back home. It was her duty to wipe it out, no matter who was doing it.

"The Yellow City, they call it." Jorah said. And little wonder, she thought. Even from a distance, she could make out the various shades of yellow and gold that shone brightly in the sun.

"The Yunkish train bedslaves, not soldiers." Barristan harrumphed. Daenerys had decided to not cut off his head just yet; he'd been useful so far. "We can defeat them."

"On the field yes, but they won't fight us on the field. They'll fight us from the walls and chip away at us, one by one." Jorah supplied. Dany resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Despite them obviously thinking so, she wasn't an idiot.

"I am aware, Ser Jorah." She said, biting back the sarcastic comment she wanted to make.

"We don't need to take Yunkai, Khaleesi." He continued. "Taking it will not bring you any closer to Westeros or the Iron Throne."

"Tell me, how many slaves are there in Meereen?" She asked.

"200,000" Came the reply.

"Then we have 200,000 reasons to free it." Was her reply. Slavery was evil, and she would wipe it out no matter the cost to her or her enemies. Surely the people of Westeros would rise to support her when she returned and replace her losses. She turned to Grey Worm, the commander of her Unsullied. "Send a man to the city gates. Tell the slavers I will receive them here, and accept their surrender. Otherwise, Yunkai will suffer the same fate as Astapor."

Immediately, the remainder of her army set about encamping in the desert outside Yunkai. Her tent, slightly more elaborate than the others, was quickly erected, followed by the Unsullied. The freedmen mostly set themselves up under ad-hoc that weren't able to grumbled at the unfairness of it all.

It was some time before she was able to receive a guest from Yunkai. She had to resist turning her face into a snarl as she saw the man was travelling in a litter supported by four slaves, chains rattling as they walked. Even more slaves were carrying ornate chests, no doubt filled with gold.

He's planning to bribe me, she thought. Amusing.

"Now comes the noble Razdal mo Eraz of that ancient and noble house, master of men and speaker to savages, to offer terms of peace." Missandei announced. She'd taken to her role as the translator quite well. Likely due to the skills she'd picked up when serving Kraznys.

"You may sit." Daenerys said. At least the man knew his courtesies, sitting only when asked.

"Ancient and glorious is Yunkai." He began. Dany resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Our empire was old before dragons stirred in old Valyria. Many an army has broken against our walls. You will find no easy conquest here, Khaleesi."

Daenerys simply smirked and tossed a piece of beef in the air. The three dragons, still small, but growing all the time and now with some command over their fire-breathing, launched after the slab of meat, tearing it to shreds.

"Good." She smiled wickedly. "My Unsullied could use the practice; I was told to blood them early."

Razdal clapped his hands twice to signal his slaves. The two who had been carrying the chests stepped forward and set them down in front of her. "The Wise Masters of Yunkai have a gift for the silver-haired queen. We are a generous people."

As if on cue, the slaves opened the chests, revelaing them to be piled high with gold ingots. "There is more waiting for you on your ship."

"My ship?" Dany asked.

"As I said, we are a generous people. We will provide you with as many ships as you need. All we ask in return is that you make use of these ships; take them and Sail to Westeros where you belong. Leave us to conduct our affairs in peace." He said.

The offer of ships did get Dany's attention momentarily, but she came to hersense just as rapidly. She was here to end slavery and nothing less. This was little more than bribery, and she wasn;t some fool little girl who could be brought with a few gold ingots. She could just as easily take the ships herself when she freed the slaves.

"I have a counteroffer: your life, and the lives of all the Wise Masters of Yunkai. In exchange, you will release every slave in Yunkai with food, clothing and property as they can carry as compensation for their years of servitude. If you reject this, the alternative is the sword." She threatened.

"You're mad." Razdal said. Dany had to stop herself from laughing at that. A slaver, man who held men, women and even children in chains was calling her mad? He continued. "We are not Astapor or Qarth. We are Yunkai, and we have powerful friends. Friends who would take great pleasure in destroying you. Those who survive, we shall enslave once more. You will be made a slave." He said, returning her earlier threat.

She had to give him credit, the man knew how to twist words. A good skill for a diplomat to have, she was beginning to learn. Another trick she was learning was when to halt negotiations, though this time, she was prevented from doing that as Razdal stood up and made to leave. He signalled for the slaves to take the gold back, but a threat from the dragons saw to that being prevented. Not wanting to overstay his welcome, the slaver left quickly.

"The Yunkish are a proud people." Jorah said. "They will not bend."

"And what happens to things that don't bend?" She asked rhetorically. "He said they had powerful friends. Whom?"

"I don't know."

"Then find out."

If there was an alliance forming against her, she had to smother it quickly.

Well, at least blacksmiths were needed.

Gendry had figured out maybe a handful of things so far, and chief among them was the outdated technology the Wildlings had. Their arms were made from iron or bronze, and save for the bronze scale armour of the Thenns, they had little armour apart from boiled leather. Most of their blacksmiths were focused on forging spear or arrowheads, which he supposed shouldn't take him by surprise; iron and bronze swords weren't exactly the best weapons going around.

"Nearly done there?" Ygritte said, snapping him from his train of thought. Gendry had been attempting to use a grindstone to repair some of the chips made in his sword, with an uncertain amount of success.

"Just about." Gendry replied, sheathing his sword. Hopefully it wouldn't go breaking on him.

"Good. You'll be needin' it soon enough." She said as Gendry's eyes flicked over to see a young man with his jaw swathed in makeshift bandages.

"Mind if I ask what happened to him?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Poor bastard tried to steal Val. Should've known what 'e was gettin' into."

"Steal?" he asked. He'd heard the term used before around the camp in that context, but never actually knew what it meant.

"Aye, steal. A man breaks into a woman's home and 'e steals 'er. Woman tries to fight him off. If 'e carries 'er off, they go together. If not, then 'e ain't worthy of 'er." Ygritte explained.

"So when I captured you, did that mean anything?" He asked, jokingly. Evidently Ygritte managed to pick up on it, as she burst into laughter.

"Ya didn't steal me, Gendry. No man's ever managed to do that to me." She paused. "Well, a red-haired lad did five years ago, but 'e was quite bad at beddin' me." She corrected. Gendry turned his face up at that slightly. Not something he wanted to know. Or needed to, for that matter.

"Gendry?" Another voice said. Gendry turned to see that it was Val, wrapped in her usual white bearskin cloak, fastened to her white tunic at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face.

"Yes, Val?"

"I have need of your skills as a smith." She said, signalling for him to follow her. Saing a quick goodbye to Ygritte, he quickly followed Val to the forge.

"Might I ask what for, m'lady?"

"That man who tried to steal me tossed my knife into the snow and i can't find the bloody thing." She cursed. I really should've guessed she'd have a knife, he thought.

"So you want me to make you another?" he asked. Val nodded.

"I've already got the ingots. Bartered away some food for them." She said, handing him the iron.

Gendry didn't like working with iron. It was very different to the steel he'd forged with in King's Landing, and to a lesser extent at the wall. Even with a master smith, iron was still iron. It was brittle, and it would break easily. Still, it was the only metal they had beyond the wall, save for bronze or copper, and he had even less of an idea how to work with those.

"Anything special for it?" He asked.

"Do I look like one of your southern girls who needs everything decorated?" She snapped. Gendry just raised an eyebrow. Much as he knew that Val was close with Mance, the Wildlings prided themselves on being equal. "Sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

"You're not telling any lies, m'lady." Gendry said as he fired up the makeshift forge. "I didn't grow up with them though. Grew up in Flea Bottom, the arse-end of the world. Didn't know my mum. Or my father. Had to get by on whatever we could."

Val was silent for a moment after that. "Those southern lords have all that wealth . . . and you still lived hand-to-mouth?"

Gendry nodded. "You're far from the only ones who've suffered at their hands, Val. It may not be as bad as what you've endured here, but it wasn't easy. I'll get to making your knife now."