The Dragon & The Wolf (Daenarya)

chapter 7

"The middle," Jaqen taught her once, during one of her earliest days in Braavos. "Fools always hide in the back, but even the dullest guard is trained to look for dangers in the rear. Those at the front suffer the most scrutiny and so, the middle. When you wish to hide, place yourself in the heart of the formation, keep your eyes down and appear busy, a girl will be overlooked."

She was testing his lesson now as she shuffled her way down the corridors of the Red Keep. They'd been searched for weapons and were now surrounded by no fewer than ten armed men on their way to the Iron Throne. A smaller version of Myran's cart was being pushed by two men in their party, Arya and her female cohort walked on either side. While the woman's eyes were wide with awe, Arya kept her focus on the stone in front of her dragged feet and nothing else.

A voice from her nightmares reached her ears, passing through the open doors freely. "What do you mean he's dead!" she yelled.

"T...that's what they say, your Grace," a man muttered.
Arya could practically smell the piss staining the front of his trousers as he shook under Cersei's harsh words. "It's said," he paused, likely to swallow his terror, "said the captured Greyjoy got free and killed him with his own sword."

While that wasn't exactly true it did have a nice ring to it. Arya knew a story didn't need to be accurate to be useful and the more compelling a tale sounded, the better it had a tendency to work. She for one, certainly wasn't going to correct the errors. "I knew it," the calmer of the two Lannisters said. "I knew we couldn't trust Euron, he killed his own brother and was more interested in..."

Cersei didn't let him finish. "What of the Iron Fleet?" she asked her informer. "Euron was to send them to Essos for mercenaries."

The delay told Arya the man, whoever he was, didn't want to answer. She didn't need her eyes to picture Cersei's glare and it provoked the desired response. "S...some remain, your Grace," he said starting with the good news. "Many more returned to the Iron Islands upon hearing of Euron's death!"

"Cowards!" she cried. There was silence for a time, both around the Iron Throne and in the hallway. "Fine, we don't need them," she decided. "Go to Essos yourself," she commanded someone, likely Jaime. "Meet up with the Ironborn and finish what they started. Hire us the Gold Company and as many boats as we require to ferry them back here."

"I'm to lead the army North next week," he reminded her, his usually smooth voice sounding confused. "Our bargain with the Targaryen..."

"Fuck the Targaryen!" Cersei spat, causing the blood in Arya to boil. She wanted to forgo her plan, rush in and kill her where she sat, even if the price was her life. She'd never survive such an attack but as she insulted Daenerys that mattered little.

Without the training of the House of Black and White she wouldn't have been able to refrain. If she'd been the furious girl who watched her father beheaded, the same one who struggled to reach Joffrey that day to end his life, she'd have sentenced Ellaria to death and taken her chances against the Lannisters. She was smarter now, or at least she liked to think so. She'd wait for the right moment to strike, as she'd been taught, but she also made another decision. If she failed, if her plan to rescue Lady Sand resulted in discovery, and escape became impossible, she'd fight her way back to Cersei and stick a sword through her skull before she was defeated. The thought made her smile.

"Wait here," a guard said when they arrived at the door where four Gold Cloaks waited. Most of their escort peeled away, going back to their duties, leaving Arya a total of six sets of watchful eyes to contend with.

"Do you know how long it'll be," Myran asked one of them, not unkindly.

"The Queen will be ready for you when she's ready!"