Ironborn were hardworking men, but often sacrificed sense for strain. When Daenerys tasked them with finding Theon Greyjoy they searched every corner of the castles, expecting to find his corpse in a secret passage only they knew existed. After hours of fruitless labor, Yara realized a small boat was missing along with some oars, sufficient evidence to suggest he had set sail. “He may have been taken,” Yara told her, trying to maintain the neutrality of a lady, “or he may have fled.”
Losing Theon was a blow. He knew Winterfell better than anyone on her side, not to mention had grown up with Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. But is that why he fled? Daenerys put her concerns to voice. “Do you think Theon means to betray me for Winterfell?”
“No,” came Yara’s immediate reply. Then she paused. “I do not know what to make of my little brother. He may have been kidnapped, he may have sought Winterfell for asylum, he may have sailed beyond the Sunset Sea for all I know. But if he went of his own accord…” she hesitated. “…by law, he must pay the iron price.”
“Treason will be punished,” said Daenerys, “but I have learned that burning everyone who differs from me is no just way to rule. If Theon chose to flee, I promise you he will be brought before Pyke for a fair trial, and then justice.”
Yara suggested accompanying her in Theon’s stead, but Daenerys would have none of it. The ironborn were enraged at Theon’s disappearing act and needed calm and leadership. If she were to fail at Barrowton, the Iron Islands needed to be a safe place to rest and recoup.
“Besides, they are our people,” Daenerys thought, looking around at the land of backward savages. “Look after them, would you?”
Varys found them, telling her the time had come to depart. “Jon Snow has left Winterfell,” he told her while they boarded ship. She looked around at the number of ships ready to set sail. Some of them were from Dorne and some from Highgarden, but Ellaria Sand and Olenna Tyrell had not arrived yet. Olenna had sent them a raven, Varys said, informing her she would stay at Highgarden while sending her forces to Pyke, but Daenerys imagined Ellaria would accompany her army. It was a good day to set sail, she presumed. The seas looked calm, but Yara had told her it was the deceptive kind, with a storm awaiting underneath.
Varys was still talking. “He marches with an army from fifteen to twenty thousand strong for Barrowton. If we make haste, we can garrison the castle before him, giving us the advantage.”
“No advantage can be gained with Dothraki behind walls,” Daenerys told him. “Their very strength is on the field. I don’t imagine northmen will do well against people who call killing a sport.”
“War is your domain,” Varys conceded. “My job is merely to provide information.”
“It is, and you do it admiringly well. Why is it, Varys,” she asked suddenly, although the question was in her mind for long, “that you risked your position at court, everything you had, only for me? What did the Targaryens do for you?”
Varys gave a sad chuckle. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have no love for Targaryens. The day I heard about a Westerosi queen who broke chains of slaves and thought herself mother to her subjects, that was when you won my allegiance. I would have risked my life for you even if you were a Lannister. Why do you ask?”
“To know if you were what Tyrion claimed you to be,” said Daenerys. Wordlessly, she fished out the brooch with golden fingers. She supposed Varys would have expected this, yet he played his part in showing surprise and reverence well.
*
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