He sat down in front of them and gently took Sansa's hands.
—My daughters... How was your journey? How did you manage to escape?
Sansa swallowed hard before answering, without lifting her gaze.
—He got us out of the Red Keep. —Her voice was shaky, as if she were afraid to speak too loudly—. In the middle of the night, through secret passages not even the guards knew about. He moved without making a sound, and no one saw us leave. But... —Her voice broke a little—. He refused to save father.
Catelyn's face hardened.
—Why?
Sansa trembled and looked at Arya as if hoping she would speak for her. Arya snorted and spoke bluntly.
—Because he didn't want to. Because he didn't care.
Catelyn felt a knot form in her chest.
—And who is this man?
—His name is Edward. And he is a sorcerer.
Catelyn straightened immediately upon hearing that word.
—Don't speak nonsense, Arya.
—It's not nonsense! —Arya protested, her eyes blazing—. He can make people do whatever he wants. I saw it.
—I did too... —Sansa whispered, her voice trembling—. He showed us on the way.
—What do you mean?
Arya leaned forward, her eyes shining with fury and disbelief.
—We ran into some bandits. They wanted to rob us. Edward didn't even draw his sword. He just... told them to kill themselves. And they... —She swallowed hard—. They did. They stabbed themselves.
Catelyn made the sign of the Seven.
—Witchcraft —she whispered—. Blood curses and darkness.
—Witchcraft or not, it worked. —Sansa shrugged—. He's also fast. I've never seen anyone move like him with a sword.
—I used to talk to him during the journey. —Arya made a face—. I asked him questions, tried to learn more about him, but most of the time he used his spell to silence me when I talked too much.
—And that was the only good thing he did. —Sansa crossed her arms, giving her sister a severe look.
Arya huffed and rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
Catelyn sighed, rubbing her temple.
—A man like that... sent by the demon of Essos.
—And yet, he saved us. —Arya looked at her seriously, with more firmness than Catelyn had ever seen in her—. Because he commanded it.
—Vlad Drakul. —Catelyn pronounced the name cautiously.
—Yes. —Sansa nodded.
Catelyn felt a wave of unease again.
—You heard his warnings. About the Greyjoys, about the Wall... but what worries me most is what he said about Walder Frey.
Robb, who had been silent, looked up from his map with a frown.
—For my army to advance, at some point I'll have to cross the Trident. And the best way to do that is through the Twins, not to mention I'm betrothed to one of his daughters.
—Then, what should we make of his warning? —Catelyn asked, her voice tense.
Robb exhaled slowly.
—I don't know.
[Slaver's Bay, several weeks later]
Vlad's new fleet was splendid: well-provisioned, with strong, nearly brand-new ships, at least within the limits of current technology.
At times like this, when observing the poor naval development of the world, he wished he could remember more than just basic engineering notions and pull detailed blueprints for a proper steamship out of thin air.
Although, now that he thought about it, he understood the basic workings of the concept. Perhaps, if he gathered a few blacksmiths and provided them with the right tools, he could craft something remotely functional. It was an idea worth considering later.
By reflex, Vlad turned his head, expecting to see Daenerys beside him, but felt a pang of disappointment when he remembered she wasn't there. Technically, he had sent her to conquer Meereen with around sixty thousand Dothraki, accompanied by Balerion and Vladion... although saying he had sent her wasn't entirely accurate. In truth, she had insisted on going, and she wouldn't take no for an answer.
With such a massive army, along with two dragons and four of his bloodriders, it was more than enough to ensure her safety.
Still, it was the first time in a year that they had been apart for so long and over such a distance. And she wasn't just traveling — she was leading a military campaign. Vlad had to take a deep breath and rein in his worries. Although Daenerys was as human as anyone, she was far from defenseless. She had the power of the dragons, and her bloodriders were vampires with a single order: to protect her at all costs.
Vlad wasn't happy that his wife was engaging in anything dangerous, but Daenerys was a proud woman. Over time together, she had developed her own personality and had begun to act like a proper queen.
Part of the reason she had taken his last name was because of all the trouble it would save; but above all, out of respect for her own family name — a small concession that would make his wife happy and life much easier. The nobles of Westeros would fight to the death against a foreign invader, but someone bearing the Targaryen name? Even through marriage? They would accept that.
However, in truth, the name didn't matter. His children and future rulers would carry the name Drakul. His house. Because after the Long Night, none of that would matter anymore.
War and conquest would open the way, but it would be the Long Night that would truly seat him on the throne.
Vlad could only sigh, forcing himself to stop overthinking. He had wanted a competent wife, and that was exactly what he had gotten.
Fortunately, conquering Meereen would not be complicated. It was one of the easiest cities to take, and Vlad had infiltrated his spawn into it long before reaching Vaes Dothrak. The city already had an established structure to maintain itself even after Daenerys departed with her riches and a few volunteer soldiers.
Deep down, Vlad knew he couldn't overprotect her. He had to allow her to earn her own merits in conquest, to learn about war, diplomacy, and governance. If he were always at her side, the process would be much slower.
After a month of sailing, the coast of Astapor finally appeared on the horizon.
Vlad was no friend of the sea. The slowness, the confinement... it was all unbearably boring to him. So upon seeing solid ground, he barely resisted the urge to order the rowers to move faster.
Honestly, if he were in Astapor and heard news of a known conqueror planning to come to the city, he would prepare for war. But not Astapor.
Of course not. They would open their gates and welcome him with open arms because, for some strange reason, they were completely sure no one would dare attack them. And indeed, before Vlad, no one had intended to break the status quo.
But no longer.
From the deck, he silently observed the entrance to the port, where the old statue of the Harpy still stood atop a cracked base. One of its wings was broken, and the face was corroded by salt, as if it were about to collapse — yet no one seemed to have bothered to repair it.
From that distance, he could already distinguish the uneven walls — some sections clean and restored, others filled with cracks, as if they had only patched what was visible from the sea.
Inside the walls, however, the contrast was grotesque. The rooftops of the common houses looked crooked, while the palaces of the Great Masters rose between gilded columns, stained-glass windows, and balconies filled with statues.
Everything was so unnecessarily lavish that it was unpleasant to behold.