A Feast for Dragons

pointing at. Ser
Barristan had played a similar game with his cousins when he was just a boy at
Harvest Hall … though in Westeros, as he recalled, kissing had been
involved as well. “Bhakaz,” he called. “A cup of wine, if you would be so good.
Grazhar, Azzak, the door is yours. I am expecting the Green Grace. Show her in
at once when she arrives. Elsewise, I do not wish to be disturbed.”
    Azzak scrambled to his feet. “As you command, Lord Hand.”
    Ser Barristan went out onto the terrace. The rain had
stopped, though a wall of slate-grey clouds hid the setting sun as it made its
descent into Slaver’s Bay. A few wisps of smoke still rose from the blackened
stones of Hazdar, twisted like ribbons by the wind. Far off to the east, beyond
the city walls, he saw pale wings moving above a distant line of hills.
Viserion
.
Hunting, mayhaps, or flying just to fly. He wondered where Rhaegal was. Thus
far the green dragon had shown himself to be more dangerous than the white.
    When Bhakaz brought his wine, the old knight took one long
swallow and sent the boy for water. A few cups of wine might be just the thing
to help him sleep, but he would need his wits about him when Galazza Galare
returned from treating with the foe. So he drank his wine well watered, as the world
grew dark around him. He was very tired, and full of doubts. The Dornishmen,
Hizdahr, Reznak, the attack … was he doing the right things? Was he
doing what Daenerys would have wanted?
I was not made for this
.
Other Kingsguard had served as Hand before him. Not many, but a few. He had
read of them in the White Book. Now he found himself wondering whether they had
felt as lost and confused as he did.
    “Lord Hand.” Grazhar stood in the door, a taper in his hand.
“The Green Grace has come. You asked to be told.”
    “Show her in. And light some candles.”
    Galazza Galare was attended by four Pink Graces. An aura of
wisdom and dignity seemed to surround her that Ser Barristan could not help but
admire.
This is a strong woman, and she has been a faithful friend to Daenerys
.
“Lord Hand,” she said, her face hidden behind shimmering green veils. “May I
sit? These bones are old and weary.”
    “Grazhar, a chair for the Green Grace.” The Pink Graces
arrayed themselves behind her, with eyes lowered and hands clasped before them.
“May I offer you refreshment?” asked Ser Barristan.
    “That would be most welcome, Ser Barristan. My throat is dry
from talking. A juice, perhaps?”
    “As you wish.” He beckoned to Kezmya and had her fetch the
priestess a goblet of lemon juice, sweetened with honey. To drink it, the
priestess had to remove her veil, and Selmy was reminded of just how old she
was.
Twenty years my elder, or more
. “If the queen were here, I
know she would join me in thanking you for all that you have done for us.”
    “Her Magnificence has always been most gracious.” Galazza
Galare finished her drink and fastened up her veil again. “Have there been any
further tidings of our sweet queen?”
    “None as yet.”
    “I shall pray for her. And what of King Hizdahr, if I may be
so bold? Might I be permitted to see His Radiance?”
    “Soon, I hope. He is unharmed, I promise you.”
    “I am pleased to hear that. The Wise Masters of Yunkai asked
after him. You will not be surprised to hear that they wish the noble Hizdahr
to be restored at once to his rightful place.”
    “He shall be, if it can be proved that he did not try to
kill our queen. Until such time, Meereen will be ruled by a council of the
loyal and just. There is a place for you on that council. I know that you have
much to teach us all, Your Benevolence. We need your wisdom.”
    “I fear you flatter me with empty courtesies, Lord Hand,”
the Green Grace said. “If you truly think me wise, heed me now. Release the
noble Hizdahr and restore him to his throne.”
    “Only the queen can do that.”
    Beneath her veils, the Green Grace sighed. “The peace that
we worked so hard to forge flutters like a leaf in an autumn wind. These are
dire days. Death stalks our streets, riding the pale mare from thrice-cursed
Astapor. Dragons haunt the skies, feasting on the flesh of children. Hundreds
are taking ship, sailing for Yunkai, for Tolos, for Qarth, for any refuge that
will have them. The pyramid of Hazkar has collapsed into a smoking ruin, and
many of that ancient line lie dead beneath its blackened stones. The pyramids
of Uhlez and Yherizan have become the