A Feast for Dragons

crossed the world with Strong Belwas, and he knew he could rely on
him, should all this come to swords. “Belwas. We are pleased that you could
join us.”
    “Whitebeard.” Belwas smiled. “Where is liver and onions?
Strong Belwas is not so strong as before, he must eat, get big again. They made
Strong Belwas sick. Someone must die.”
    Someone will. Many someones, like as not
.
“Sit, my friend.” When Belwas sat and crossed his arms, Ser Barristan went on.
“Quentyn Martell died this morning, just before the dawn.”
    The Widower laughed. “The dragonrider.”
    “Fool, I call him,” said Symon Stripeback.
    No, just a boy
. Ser Barristan had not
forgotten the follies of his own youth. “Speak no ill of the dead. The prince
paid a ghastly price for what he did.”
    “And the other Dornish?” asked Tal Taraq.
    “Prisoners, for the nonce.” Neither of the Dornishmen had
offered any resistance. Archibald Yronwood had been cradling his prince’s
scorched and smoking body when the Brazen Beasts had found him, as his burned
hands could testify. He had used them to beat out the flames that had engulfed
Quentyn Martell. Gerris Drinkwater was standing over them with sword in hand,
but he had dropped the blade the moment the locusts had appeared. “They share a
cell.”
    “Let them share a gibbet,” said Symon Stripeback. “They
unleashed two dragons on the city.”
    “Open the pits and give them swords,” urged the Spotted Cat.
“I will kill them both as all Meereen shouts out my name.”
    “The fighting pits will remain closed,” said Selmy. “Blood
and noise would only serve to call the dragons.”
    “All three, perhaps,” suggested Marselen. “The black beast
came once, why not again? This time with our queen.”
    Or without her
. Should Drogon return to
Meereen without Daenerys mounted on his back, the city would erupt in blood and
flame, of that Ser Barristan had no doubt. The very men sitting at this table
would soon be at dagger points with one another. A young girl she might be, but
Daenerys Targaryen was the only thing that held them all together.
    “Her Grace will return when she returns,” said Ser
Barristan. “We have herded a thousand sheep into the Daznak’s Pit, filled the
Pit of Ghrazz with bullocks, and the Golden Pit with beasts that Hizdahr zo
Loraq had gathered for his games.” Thus far both dragons seemed to have a taste
for mutton, returning to Daznak’s whenever they grew hungry. If either one was
hunting man, inside or outside the city, Ser Barristan had yet to hear of it.
The only Meereenese the dragons had slain since Harghaz the Hero had been the
slavers foolish enough to object when Rhaegal attempted to make his lair atop
the pyramid of Hazkar. “We have more pressing matters to discuss. I have sent
the Green Grace to the Yunkishmen to make arrangements for the release of our
hostages. I expect her back by midday with their answer.”
    “With words,” said the Widower. “The Stormcrows know the
Yunkai’i. Their tongues are worms that wriggle this way or that. The Green
Grace will come back with worm words, not the captain.”
    “If it pleases the Queen’s Hand to recall, the Wise Masters
hold our Hero too,” said Grey Worm. “Also the horselord Jhogo, the queen’s own
blood rider.”
    “Blood of her blood,” agreed the Dothraki Rommo. “He must be
freed. The honor of the
khalasar
demands it.”
    “He shall be freed,” said Ser Barristan, “but first we must
needs wait and see if the Green Grace can accomplish—”
    Skahaz Shavepate slammed his fist upon the table. “The Green
Grace will accomplish
nothing
. She may be conspiring with the
Yunkai’i even as we sit here.
Arrangements
, did you say?
Make
arrangements?
What sort of
arrangements?”
    “Ransom,” said Ser Barristan. “Each man’s weight in gold.”
    “The Wise Masters do not need our gold, ser,” said Marselen.
“They are richer than your Westerosi lords, every one.”
    “Their sellswords will want the gold, though. What are the
hostages to them? If the Yunkishmen refuse, it will drive a blade between them
and their hirelings.”
Or so I hope
. It had been Missandei who
suggested the ploy to him. He would never have thought of such a thing himself.
In King’s Landing, bribes had been Littlefinger’s domain, whilst Lord Varys had
the task of fostering division amongst the crown’s enemies. His own duties had
been more straightforward.
Eleven years of age, yet Missandei is