Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A note before you continue!

I suppose the vague idea of this fic started forming in my head around the time the finale of season 6 of the HBO television show Game of Thrones aired, where I brainstormed and even drafted rough scenarios about what could happen next, which was also around the time I had decided that I wanted to start reading the A Song of Ice and Fire book series. I thought that, by that point in time, George R.R. Martin would be releasing Winds of Winter... since that was what had been reported. That book obviously didn’t come out in the time that was initially planned, and it still has yet to came out, but I went ahead and read the book series anyway. As a Game of Thrones fan that only discovered the wonderful world that George R.R. Martin created through the television show, I was FLOORED by how much better I enjoyed the book series, even in comparison to the stellar production that was HBO’s Game of Thrones. As a fan of literary works of fiction, this revelation should not have surprised me as much as it did. It was darker, had far more depth and was a lot more complex than I could imagine a fantasy fiction could be. That being said, the only other piece of literary fantasy fiction that I’ve read besides the A Song of Ice and Fire novels are Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings series and the Harry Potter books, so clearly I was in dire need of expanding my fantasy fiction horizons. And when you think about it, almost every piece of ‘hollywood’ television or film adaptation’s source material, 9 times out of 10, is much better than its visual medium. Almost.

But I digress.

It is no secret that my favourite character in the A Song of Ice and Fire franchise is Daenerys Targaryen. You will find that to be abundantly clear if you chose to read this fic. And as a loyal viewer of the HBO television series, I was undoubtedly disappointed at the outcome of her character arc, to say the least. From the massive backlash the last (at least) two seasons have garnered, I know I am not alone in that disappointment. As many the many television critics, youtube video essay-ist, podcaster and fan-blogs will explain to you in far greater detail and a lot more eloquently than I could ever could tell you, the biggest problem the show that many (including myself) had a problem with wasn’t necessarily what happened at the end but how it got there.

Was it still a complete travesty and a stain on good storytelling? …well, yes. Undoubtedly.

But I want to put it out there that I don’t necessarily put all the blame squarely on the showrunners’ shoulders. Though some fair criticism is well deserved on their part, it should not have to be reminded that what they did with the television show was a massive undertaking. Adapting a television show like Game of Thrones from an expansive fantasy fiction series is an extremely tough task in itself for anyone to accomplish, let alone one that is as beautifully and meticulously written as George R. R. Martin’s works are. As it turns out, the HBO series turned out to be a masterfully done and critically acclaimed show that did the books justice... at least for the most part. Regardless, the showrunners did a fantastic job at translating the behemoth that is George R.R. Martin’s work into a 10 episode per-season television series in those first few years. They truly did! And that should be easy to recognise, but a lot of that is also due to the team behind them.

There is a lot of work that goes into making these high-prestige television shows; from costuming, to budget management, set design, location scouting, casting, directing, screenplay writing, art direction, VFX and the production crew etc,. Not to mention having to think about the massively talented actors, who has their own ambitions and other desires as well as having to consider what their agents and the television executive says, then the whole award seasons aspect of their career on top of all that. Let us not forget that all the people involved in this show had worked on this project across different countries, with productions happening simultaneously on a tight schedule that somehow all balances out. To say that it is a monumental task would be an understatement really.

The showrunners probably did not know what they were truly getting themselves into, and that showed in the last few years of the show (glaringly so in seasons 5 to 8). Which is why I give them some slack with how to show ended. What I mean to say is, though I hated the way the showrunners and some of the writers have (in my eyes) dropped the ball with sticking the landing of the series, it cannot be overstated that they probably tried the very best of their abilities to make it work. Unfortunately for us, that meant a disappointment (and low-key insulting) ending of a much beloved series. But they’re only human so… chile, anyway. Let’s move back on track.

At first I was angry at the outcome of Daenerys’ story. How could I not? But like many, I took refuge in re-reading the A Song of Ice and Fire series to try and determine if perhaps, maybe, possibly that Daenerys in the books won’t turn out as terrible as she did in the show... And to be honest, objectively speaking, with the way that George R.R. Martin has written her in the books, it is my opinion that Dany’s story could go either way. There are plenty of evidence that (hopefully and rightfully, in my opinion) point to her not being capable of committing such atrocities and would have a different ending to the show-canon one. But conversely, there are also some evidence that suggest a tragic ending similar to the show would befall Daenerys Targaryen in the books. Not the same way the television series gets to that conclusion mind you, but a tragic (and bittersweet?) ending all the same. George R.R. Martin famously loves writing about the human heart in conflict with itself, and this work of his is a fantastic reflection and study of that. So it won’t surprise me if he does indeed go with the almost nihilistic and pessimistic route with Daenerys’s arc.  My fic won’t necessarily focus on that aspect of the inner conflict, since I am no George R.R. Martin. If you’re looking for works that has that, then look no further than the A Song of Ice and Fire series. I hear they’re pretty good lol. Either way, as much as it pains me to say, it is my absolute belief that Daenerys will not have any sort of happy ending in the books at all. In fact, I think she will die a hero's death... but that is neither here or there.

Alas, that very possibility of a bleak ending for my favourite character is just an inevitability that I have come to terms with, which is why I decided to actually resume writing this fic in full (the initial concept of which has completely transformed into what is it now after watching S8) as a way for me to heal from the disenchantment I had with the ending of a television show I had enjoyed so intensely. Obviously, I felt that the best way to do this was to overhaul Dany’s entire story and “fix” many things along her journey that I thought would’ve otherwise led to her downfall. Now, I did not write this with the intent of trying to be any sort of writer who thinks they can create a better story than anyone else out there, especially not George R.R. Martin, so please do not expect his type of genius here. It was just a fun exercise; by me, for me. With the state of the world being upended these last few months (more than half a year now) from the COVID-19 pandemic and the subsequent quarantine lockdowns being the norm of life (on that note, please stay safe, wash your hands, wear a mask and take care of each other!), I finally found enough time to dedicate in writing this fic to near completion (more a rough first draft). And you know, writing this story where I “fix” a lot of my favourite character’s “mistakes” in both the show and book canon has honestly been good for my tattered feelings during this weird time, so that’s a silver lining I suppose!

Now precisely because of the fact that I believe the ending of Daenerys’ arc in the books also won’t be anything similar to what I wish for her, many times in this fic will you find that things tend to go in favour for Daenerys, especially throughout her conquest and subsequent transformation of Slaver’s Bay. I tried making these ‘canon-divergences’ and 'fix-its' make as much sense within parameters of the reality that the fantasy world of A Song of Ice and Fire already establishes as much as possible. But at the end of the day, I really just wanted to make a fic with Daenerys having (what I envision for her, at least) a happy ending. If that’s not to your liking, then I honestly don’t know why you even bother being here on this fic.

Admittedly, while most of the plot, ideas and concept in this fic that diverges from both the television and book-canon came from my own ideas, there are many that were inspired by various youtube video essays, fan-blogs and forum threads that I’ve read and liked. And I wrote much this sort of without properly referencing these things, so please know that I do NOT take credit for all that is in this fic. And if you find that you’ve seen something in this fic that is similar to a theory you’ve seen or read online, then please let me know so I can properly reference it! And obviously, most of the plot and some of the words come directly from the A Song of Ice and Fire novels themselves because I wanted this fic to adhere as closely to the book-canon as possible, but I take no credit for writing those words. Some television-canon plot elements still do show up here too, especially in plots where the the television show has surpassed the books because neither WoW and ADoS have been released yet. Initially, I never intended to share this fic since I only made this fic for myself but then decided that perhaps others would like to read it too, as reading it over had made me feel better about the putting my headspace in the fantasy world of A Song of Ice and Fire again. So please, go easy on me! It’s my first fic after all.

Oh and another thing! One aspect I’d like to say the HBO production did phenomenally well was their decision to age up the characters. Even though George R.R. Martin’s novels are part of the medieval fantasy genre, his story still tries to stay true to the feudalistic medieval realities of our own histories, which is, to say the least, disturbing. And let me tell you, it made my reading experience much more uncomfortable when I read the POV chapters of literal children going through things like rape, war, murder etc. that is so common within these novels. So for obvious reasons, I have also chosen to age up the characters as well. That being said, I still won’t completely omit some of the grisly and dark realities that is present in the novels and of that time period the canon is set in. 

But let me make this clear; the rape tag I have put up is more of a precautionary tag, rather than a true reflection of the text itself, and that is to say I have not, and will not, write any scenes depicting explicit rape. The closest I would go is to imply of a past occurrence or an attempted assault. So please, be warned of that! 

And at last (but not least); here is my important disclaimer because I do not want to get in trouble...

These are works of purely speculative fiction. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here, including George R.R. Martin and HBO. All publicly recognisable characters, settings, words and plots etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. I am grateful to George R.R. Martin for his wonderful work about the world of ASOIAF, for without his books, this fic could not exist. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official canon. The author is not and will not be profiting off of this work.

Chapter Text

280AC

When Howland Reed’s knife sunk into his back, it was as if the time had slowed down to a crawl, and Arthur Dayne couldn’t help but relive his failures.

This all felt so wrong…

Arthur and his sworn brother Ser Oswell Whent had been tasked by Prince Rhaegar to guard the tower when the prince left to return to King’s Landing many moons before, when their Lord Commander, Ser Gerold Hightower, arrived in Dorne and given him orders from the king commanding him to join the royal army that was marching to meet the rebel host. But when it was a party bearing the grey and white Stark colours that returned instead of the red and black of House Targaryen… there was no mistaking what that meant.

Rhaegar must’ve fell at the Trident, Arthur had thought sadly. And thus begun the bloodshed.

From the first moment Eddard Stark charged and two enemy steels met, it became such a blur that Arthur knew the situation could only escalate into chaos. And judging by the enraged faces of the northerners and the barrage of insults and lies about their prince that these northmen sent their way, the two kingsuards knew that none of them would have yielded. The battle somehow seemed inevitable.

Though they were outnumbered, Arthur Dayne had thought, perhaps foolishly, that they wouldn’t be outclassed. As he swung Dawn with practiced deadliness, one by one all of the northmen that found themselves front of him fell in succession, and the battle persisted until the air stunk of carnage and only two opposing figures remained standing. He knew not when Ser Oswell was slain during the battle, but by then Arthur knew he had to avenge his fallen brother.

When he began charging at the lone Stark man, Arthur thought it was going to be an easy win. And it was, as Arthur had disarmed Eddard Stark with little effort and had been moments away from defeating the northman. But before he could sink Dawn into the young lord of Winterfell, he thought of Lyanna Stark, and hesitated.

Arthur knew that the lady wouldn’t have wanted him to end her brother’s life, and had she not been bed-ridden, the she-wolf of Winterfell would’ve come down and scolded them both herself, no doubt screaming that the two shouldn’t have even fought to begin with. And Arthur would’ve agreed with her… had the party of northerners not attacked them first without hearing the prince’s side.

He supposes the rages of war could push even the mild mannered Eddard Stark to bouts of irrational temper. If the roles had been reversed, Arthur would admit that he too would fight to very end for his family, especially if he thought they had been kidnapped and harmed… but this was not that, however. No one had been kidnapped or harmed here, though despite their efforts, that explanation had fallen on deaf ears.

Yet a fight had ensued in spite of that, and in direct contradiction with his instinct, Arthur had made a fatal mistake and hesitated at the wrong moment. He expected an honourable fight, and despite knowing better of the reality that war was never truly as honourable as they make it in the songs, he should have seen the crannogman coming. Arthur should not have underestimated him.

The kingsguard had no desire to give up, but as the strength was draining from his body, he knew his options were limited. Eddard Stark had disarmed his sword Dawn from his grip right after the crannogman’s ambush, and there was little he could do but pace backwards in pain as his opponent kept towards him.

He could have hardly expected this outcome. 

It had been years since he had felt the sting of a blade, and years of being undefeated in combat hadn’t just shielded him from the physical pain of battle wounds, but even the possibility of loss. It was an especially humiliating feeling to be at the mercy of a foe he had clearly underestimated, but more than that, it was painful to know he was about to fail so utterly at the most important task he had felt the privilege of carrying out in his life. That feeling left him in on the brink of plunging into a grief so deep that he knew to be more than he could have ever known.

“Yield.” The northman kept saying. 

Arthur bit back. “Never.” 

I will never yield… not with what is at stake. 

Then just as the northman begun to swing his sword in a downward arc, the world fell under Arthur as he lost footing and fell into the river below. 

He thought the fall would be the thing to kill him, until he felt the rushing torrent of the river threatening to drown him. Now he had to act fast. Panicking, he was able to haphazardly take off his armour before his sustained injuries and exhaustion had taken its toll. And in that heavy onslaught of the waters, Arthur Dayne succumbed to the darkness. 

There wasn’t much he could remember or make out the following times he’s been able to open his eyes. There were vignettes and blurry images, that at best felt like dreams, of people with unfamiliar faces poking at him and watching over him. Most times, it felt like a waking nightmare as he had never remembered feeling so weak, so unable to make his body listen to his commands. But he knew… he wasn’t truly dead. 

No, he couldn’t die. Not yet… not when Prince Rhaegar’s family needed him.

“He’s getting up.” He heard a voice say. “I think he might stay awake this time. Quick love, get the water.” Arthur tried opening his eyes again, finally with more success this time. What he saw was a woman with an aged but pleasant face look at him with concern.

“Don’t push yourself too hard love, but try to stay awake. You need to drink some water. Here, try to have some.” It was then he was made aware of how parched he was, and he drank down the offered water as if it was a gift from the gods themselves.

“Thank you.” Arthur said weakly.

“You’re welcome.” The kindly woman smiled. “But you’ve been pretty out of it for a while, we thought you’d never fully awake.” The woman said with a slight chuckle. 

Arthur tried to take several measured breaths before returning the smile. “How- how long have I been like this?” 

“Must nearly be a fortnight now.” Another voice said, coming from an equally aged stony dornishman with handsome greying blonde hair at the other side of the room.

“How did I get here?” 

“We found you nearby… by the river’s edge, looking near death. We then brought you here. It only seemed right to try to fix up a casualty in war.” The man smiled to the woman. “My wife here has experience dealing with wounds. She ain’t no maester but she’s pretty practiced, my wife is.”  

“You both have my thanks, for the more than gracious hospitality you have shown a complete stranger. But I need to be going. And I must repay your kindness.” Arthur tried getting up then but it seemed his body violently protested to such a notion as his vision suddenly blurred. 

“Careful there, boy. We appreciate the gesture, but today won’t be the day for that. First, you must focus on regaining your strength.” The man smiled. Though his two caretakers seemed gentle, Arthur knew he wouldn’t get his way. Least of all not today. 

So there he stayed for the next fortnight, in the home of a simple baseborn family with his wounds sown up and mending as best as could. As the days went by, he learned more about the couple living there. The man, named Tom, a horse breeder, and his wife, Sybil, a local healer. She had learned in the art of healing in a previous life across the narrow sea and have worked in the village as a local healer until they day she failed to save their son. An occurrence which disheartened her so much that she started concocting herbs for medicine and being a midwife for the village instead.

Arthur spent his days recovering while also trying to help around the home as much as he could, until he had healed enough to leave. Tom and Sybil never knew of Arthur’s real identity nor did they ask, as they had just assumed he was a soldier from the recent war and left the assumption at that. They chose to respect the mysterious soldier’s privacy in their home, seeking only to help the wounded man. Arthur didn't feel the need to correct them, knowing that keeping his identity a secret to be paramount in keeping himself out of the danger he might now be in if his survival was made public knowledge. 

He apologises for not having the coin to pay them for their troubles but they dismiss his apology, telling him that having saved a man’s life was reward enough. 

“We had lost our son long ago,” She spoke with quiet and controlled sorrow, as Arthur was readying to leave.

“Had he had a chance to grow older, he might have been around your age by now.” Tom continued with a heaviness that felt foreign to the man’s usual bright nature before he perked up and gave Arthur one of his horses.

“In a way, treating your health had done us a great service. It feels as if we’ve healed our own son.” The man paused. “The war is over now, all we can do is pick up the pieces and carry on.” Though Tom smiled, his expression had a mournfulness that only people familiar with the cost of war would be familiar with.

“I will forever remember the kindness you have shown to me this past moon. To a perfect stranger, no less. I will find a way to pay that back, you have my word.” Arthur said as they parted. He embraced his caretakers for the first, and last time before heading south down the torrentine.

Without long, under disguise and using secret passages he knew from growing up in the ancient castle, Arthur finally made it home and stood within the inner halls of Starfall, a sight he’d never thought to see again. 

Inside the castle, he finds that not much has changed. The stone walls still remained high and strong, and everything was where they should be… yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that an unease had permeated the very air that shrouded his home. As he reached the solar of the lord of castle, he could hear the blue voice of his younger sister. It had not been the jovial sounds of the young girl he was used to, but the somber prayers of a grieving lady.

He must dead too then, Arthur thought; the first heartache of the night. 

With his younger sister’s occupying of the Lord of Starfall’s chambers, it could only mean that their elder brother Aldric had died in the war, much like how his sisters must believed Arthur to be. Despite the news of heavy losses that will no doubt keep mounting as he returned to his life, seeing his sister in front of him had brought him a spark of hope again.

“Ashara?” Arthur said breathlessly, as he stepped out of the darkness. 

As if jolted from a nightmare, his sister Allyria’s expression went through shock, anger, happiness and relief in quick succession. She then crossed the room with urgency and hugged him fiercely, as tears freely strolled down her lovely face.

Allyria, who had barely seen thirteen namedays… was the Lady of Starfall? Where was Ashara? 

“When that man came here to return your sword without your body, I knew it was only a matter of time before you’d return home.” She punched him hard in the shoulder before facing him with a chastising expression, tears still spewing openly. “I didn’t think you’d make me wait this long, brother.” 

“I apologise but surviving death wasn’t easy, Lyria. But I’m here now.” Arthur said sheepishly, smiling at his beloved youngest sister. “How fares Starfall? Where’s Ashara?”

Her bright violet eyes dimmed before she answered. “It’s worse than you can imagine, Artie.” Allyria paused. “It wasn’t just Aldric who died… but Shara, she-“ Her face darkened as her body suddenly shook with grief.

No… surely Ashara would be alive if Elia was. Arthur tried convincing himself that Ashara had simply refused the title of Lady, knowing how she had so opposed the idea of ever carrying out a lady’s duty in a traditional marriage, and was sulking in the castle somewhere… yet something told him that would be a fool’s errand. 

“What happened to her, Lyria?” He asked warily, fearing the answer he knew was no doubt coming. 

“Shara, she… a few days after the Stark man came, Ashara threw herself from the Palestone Sword Tower and drowned in the summer sea.” Allyria said with sorrow, her crying nearly overwhelming her already hoarse voice.

“As far as the realm is concerned, her body was never found…” Her breathing became laboured then. “I wish it wasn’t true but it is, Artie.” She sobbed further, the tears freely spilling. “I couldn’t find her body… we couldn’t even have a funeral for her. How were we supposed to mourn her?!”

As the words sunk in, it felt time stopped for Arthur as he held his youngest sister, trying to comfort her. Dear beautiful Ashara had taken her own life, Arthur reflected silently. His sister had always had her shifting moods… but this was worse than anything he could have imagined for her.

“Show me.” 

Walking through the corridors of the towers knowing that two of his siblings would never walk these halls felt sickening to his stomach. Aldric, the noble and perfect lord, and Ashara, the charismatic and mercurial beauty, both gone too soon. Two souls that were too pure for this horrid world.

From the top of the Palestone Sword Tower, one could see everything. To the north one could see the magnificent mountain range that straddles the torrentine river, to the east an unobstructed view of the glorious Dornish sunrise, to the west the breathtaking view of the sunset from the rolling hills of the Reach, and to the south the endless summer seas. Throughout his childhood, Arthur Dayne had loved this view, but now it only brought him endless sorrow. He did not know how one could ever hope to survive a fall from this great height.

“Did she leave you any word?” He asked, voice tight, which was only answered by a tense nod.

As they entered Ashara’s chambers, Allyria gripped his hand tighter in support but that only seemed to spurn his barely held tears to flow. For a second he could hear the ghost of Ashara’s beautiful laughter echoing off the walls. Looking around, everything seemed to be where it was. Untouched since her fall, the room was still in the state of mess that one would normally find Ashara’s room in, before the lady’s maids would clean up. 

“I forbid the maids from touching her room… I know that I should have, but I can still feel her with her room in this state. I can't bear for that feeling to disappear as she had… at least, not yet.” 

“You did the right thing, Lyria. We mourn on our own time.” He crossed the room to touch Ashara’s crumpled soft sheets for the last time, sending a silent prayer to the gods to allow her soul to rest easy. “Leave the room like this for as long as you need, dear sister.”

Crossing over to the desk in the room, Allyria handed him the tear-stained letter that their dearly departed sister had left for her family. 

Please forgive me. It was the only way. Please look after the family. 

All my love and regret, Ashara.   

Leaving the room in a haste after the memory of his sister became too much, a thought had crossed his mind and he whispered to Allyria. “Ashara would never leave the world behind if it meant leaving her princess… I need to know what happened at the capital, Lyria. I know we lost, but I need to know.” 

When he and Ser Oswell fought Eddard Stark and his northmen at the tower, the kingsguards knew it only meant one thing; that Rhaegar and the rest had lost at the trident. To knights as loyal as they were, the sworn brothers knew the only remaining thing left for them to do was get the lady Lyanna and her babe to safety, but to his shame, they had failed at that too.

But now Allyria was finally able to shed light of tragedy that occured from all their defeats; the bloody fall of the royal family, and his heart sank with every dark word his sister spoke.

Lose, as it turns out, had not even come close to encompass what happened to their cause. His sister was thorough in her assessment, and it was worse than anything he could’ve ever fathomed.

Allyria described of how King Aerys had been killed by his own trusted man and Arthur’s own sworn brother, Ser Jaime Lannister of the kingsguard, of how the Lannister army sacked King’s Landing through treachery, feigning assistance to the king to gain entry to the city. His young sister was now fuming as she spoke of how Tywin Lannister ordered his men to kill the remaining royal family left in the Red Keep as a show of loyalty to usurper… but the horrors she spoke had surpassed any cruelty he thought was humanly possible. 

All over Dorne they spoke of this, Allyria said, that during the height of the sack, Tywin’s men, Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch had raped and murdered the princess Elia, mutilating and breaking her body. The monsters had also raped and stabbed little Rhaenys to death, before proceeding to smash both the Prince and Princess’ heads so terribly that none who lay upon their crushed corpses could no longer recognise them. And in the aftermath of the unimaginable brutality, the usurper had apparently reacted with glee over the bloody corpses of the royal family… A usurper who now sits on the throne wearing a crown he could never deserve in all his pathetic life. 

He thought of the royal family’s last moments before their grizzly murders; the gentle Elia who always held a delicate dignity and grace, precocious little Rhaenys with the silver streak in her hair, and baby Aegon who came into the world so loved… three poor souls who could never deserve such gruesome fates. Arthur could have screamed, if it didn’t mean he would be found in his sister’s solar.

Horrified by the tales, Arthur succumbs to the immense guilt for failing Prince Rhaegar and his family. He sobbed and raged for what felt like hours, only calming when he felt his sister’s embrace, letting the tears stream down the crook of his sister’s neck. In his grief, it then dawned on him why Ashara might’ve done what she did, understanding for a moment the urge to leave the cruel and unfair world. She had lost everything she held dear, he thought in sorrow.

But no sooner did the thought come, that it bled away and anger replaced it once more. He wanted to swear bloody vengeance against the Lannisters and the usurper. They know nothing of his survival, so he might still have hope yet.

“Ned Stark…” Arthur said carefully, swallowing his anger. “He came to Starfall?”

“He did, as infuriating as it was for both Ashara and I.” His sister scowled as she replied, as if dreading the memory. “Came with his honour on his sleeve, thinking it was a good consolation to return Dawn to its rightful place, since he was unable to bring your body back.” She scoffed bitterly. “As if that could ever repay us for killing one’s brother.”

“I expected nothing less from him.” He rolled his eyes, before he asked nervously. “Was the man alone?” 

“No.” Allyria replied after a moment. 

His heart stammered. Steadying his voice, Arthur continued more evenly. 

“Did he come with his sister?”

Frowning in thought, Allyria answered with hints of contempt. “No. He came with that odd friend of his, the crannogman. The one that stabbed you in the back.” She paused, suddenly downcast. “Ned Stark spoke briefly of the reason for his being in Dorne, which was to find his sister Lyanna. He said she didn’t survive the war either. I may have felt anger towards him that day but losing one’s sibling… that I could feel emphasise with. His family has lost just as much ours has.”

So many deaths, Arthur thought. All for what? 

“Did he say how Lady Lyanna passed?”

After a moment in thought, Allyria replied. “He gave no such reason. I didn’t think it was my place to ask.” A flash of realisation hit her then. “Does this have anything to do with why you were here in Dorne instead of the Trident alongside the crown prince and your lord commander?” She asked cautiously.

Before he could stop it, Arthur physically tensed, something his sister immediately picked up on.

“Gerold… did- did he-?”

“I’m sorry, brother…” Allyria shook her head in answer. “They say he was able to take out dozens of men before he succumbed to enemy blades, falling valiantly in battle. Prince Lewyn and Ser Jonothor also fought bravely until the very end, leaving Ser Barristan as the only survivor among your sworn brothers. But there’s word that the Usurper offered him a pardon… and that he had taken it.”

Oh, Barristan…  

Though Arthur felt some disappointment at that news, he could not ruminate on it long, as his sister continued to look at him with deepening scrutiny.

“You didn’t answer my initial question, brother.” She said, frowning. Knowing that hiding the truth from his sister would be impossible at this point, he exhaled and braced himself to face her.

“You must swear that whatever I’m about to reveal to you must only stay between us, understood?” He pleaded.

Nodding solemnly, his sister agreed. “I swear on the honour of our House, brother.”

After he gathered his thoughts, Arthur exhaled once more and looked her right in her face. “The truth is Rhaegar took the Lady Lyanna as his second wife and married her in an informal ceremony under the old gods earlier when they were up in the Riverlands… where soon after, Lady Lyanna became pregnant with the prince’s third child.”

A flash of shock has filtered Allyria’s face then, which quickly shifted to one of understanding. “Ser Oswell and I weren’t with the prince because he entrusted us protect them should the battle at the Trident go horribly… to my great shame, we failed that solemn duty.”

Though the explanation had been a shock his sister, no doubt leaving Allyria confused and eager to know more about the inciting incident that brought about this war, such elaboration would have to come later in the night. Right now, Arthur needed to know more about Lyanna’s child.

“Was there a babe with Ned Stark when he came?”

“No.” She shook her head assuredly after focusing on the memory of the day. “We would’ve known if there was. The crannogman was his only companion.” Allyria looked sad then. “Does that mean-“

“The child didn’t survive… just like her mother.” Arthur finished, and for what felt like the endless amount that night he felt the hot prickle of tears welling in his eyes again. Seeing her brother’s agony, Allyria crossed the room and handed him a glass of strongwine, urging him to sit down. 

Was there no hope? Was House Targaryen truly finished?

A thought then had shocked him from his moroseness as the image of a queen more beautiful and tortured than any in recent memory flooded his mind. He jumped up with nervous caution and turned to his sister. 

“What of Queen Rhaella, sister?” 

Allyria avoided his eyes and took a moment before responding, his sister’s gut-wrenching answer only piled on to the mounting misery that seemed to be the theme for the night.

“After the usurper took the city, he sent his younger brother Stannis to take Dragonstone, where the queen and Prince Viserys had been sent… the information of events coming from there have been murky at best, but they say a storm unlike any other had devastated the island, destroying all but one of royal fleet.” She paused, reaching for her brother’s hand. “Though she lost her life in the hard childbirth, it is said Queen Rhaella gave birth to a daughter during this storm,” She gave a slight smile. “The usurper’s brother came too late. They were able to take the island as they had no rival fleet to block their entry, but they couldn’t capture the prince or the princess.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped and his heart ached. Though Queen Rhaella’s pregnancy was a surprise, her death at a childbirth didn’t. The poor woman had always been cursed with terrible pregnancies…

“I didn’t know the queen was with child.” 

“Neither did anyone, or even the queen herself, if reports are to be believed. They say she only knew of the pregnancy after Prince Rhaegar’s host marched towards the Trident, and that she only began showing when she was moved to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys.”

He took comfort in the knowledge that the king had enough sense to evacuate them. Prince Viserys was still alive, and he had a sister too now… the blood of the dragon still lives on. 

“With the queen’s dying creed, Ser Willem Darry had smuggled the prince and princess with a flew loyal guards onto their very last surviving ship and spirited off to Essos before the stags could get them. No one has heard of them since… there is hope yet, brother.” She squeezed his arm, giving a hesitant smile. 

“If they’re alive then I must-“

“I know.” His sister said, as she caressed his cheek. Allyria had always been the most clever of his siblings, even at her tender age. “There’s nothing I could say or do to stop you. Nor would I want to… I am aware that you cannot stay.” She looked down forlorn. “It’s no longer safe for you here, Artie.”

He gave his sister a long, heartfelt embrace.

“I’ll be fine, Lyria. But please take care of yourself. Our house must live, sister.” She’s had to grow up so quickly, he thought sadly. “I have the utmost faith in you.” 

“And I you, brother.” She hesitated momentarily. “Return home only when it’s safe. I can’t bear to lose more family, Artie.” 

Holding on to the very last bit of hope he had, Arthur swore an oath to protect the last Targaryen children. He swore to his Rhaegar’s memory that he would do everything in his power to restore the Targaryen dynasty through his prince’s siblings. With that resolve, he and his sister spent the night developing a plan to reach Essos. She even swore an additional oath to never speak of Arthur’s survival, nor to ever reveal his mission.

As the morning dawn began to creep into sky from the east Arthur knew it was time to leave Starfall and his family behind. With a heavy heart, he looked at his sword one last time. 

“Artie, you’re not bringing Dawn?” His sister said, slightly confused.

“I cannot bring that sword, Lyria.” He replied. “It might reveal my identity.” He gave a mirthful smirk. In truth, that wasn’t the only reason. Arthur knew he had no choice but to give up his title of Sword of the Morning. No longer feeling like a true knight, he feels he lost the right to their ancestral sword due to all his recent failures.

“Oh, and one last thing.” He added as they headed out the secret passage. “There were two good people that I stayed with who helped me recuperate, a pair named Tom and Sybil. They’re simple commonfolk who live on a small farm breeding horses in the northern region of the torrentine. Find them and send them back the horse I came with, along with some money, anonymously.” Smiling slightly, Arthur felt sentimental remembering the couple’s perfect kindness. “They saved my life… I owe them everything.” 

“I shall do that and more, brother.” Allyria beamed and kissed his cheek in farewell. “Consider it done.” 

As he looked back to the pristine white walls of his home fading in the distance, Arthur Dayne took a deep breath and headed eastward to find the last Targaryens, never once looking back.

Chapter Text

285-292AC

Home.

Somewhere beyond the western coast Dany always wondered what lay beyond it. For as long as she could remember, Daenerys enjoyed going to the edge of the city for this reason alone; to sit and imagine what her home across the narrow sea to be like. 

A land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of stone rose amidst magnificent mountains, and armoured knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. 

Westeros… or the Sunset Kingdoms, as the Free Cities called it. A realm beyond her reach. The places her brother Viserys talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and Dragonstone, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were only words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled King’s Landing to escape the Usurper, but Daenerys had been only a babe in their mother’s womb, so in place of tangible memories, Dany could only picture it in her imagination when her brother would tell her the stories. 

In Braavos, home was in the northeast of the city, not far from the Sealord’s Palace, in the big house with the red door and the lemon tree under her window. “This is not our home, Dany. Our true home is Westeros.” her brother Viserys always insisted. “Tell me, brother. Tell me again about Westeros.” 

It was a nightly ritual that when her brother would tuck her in bed, he would tell her tall tales of how her ancestors united the seven warring kingdoms of Westeros and ruled them all from the Iron Throne. “Our house’s seat of power is in King’s Landing, where people have bowed to a Targaryen king on the throne made out of the thousand swords of those who knelt at our ancestor Aegon the conqueror’s feet. A throne fit for true royalty.” The description of throne that sat within the Red Keep felt too surreal for Dany to imagine. She didn’t think it would be comfortable sitting on top a throne made of swords. 

Not that she would voice her opinion aloud. Viserys had berated her the one time she accidentally let her judgement slip and her brother’s harsh retaliation had frightened her so much that she knew not to voice them again. “Westeros was home to our once proud dynasty, Dany. And when I come into my throne, we’ll restore our family’s name once and for all and we’ll finally be safe.”   

Dany could never forget the first time Viserys told her the reason for their exile, how a bloody rebellion broke out that wiped out her entire family; her father, the usurped king killed by one of his sworn kingsguard, her mother Rhaella died after giving birth to Daenerys, and her oldest brother Rhaegar, the heir to the throne, died in a valiant battle to end the opposing rebels. Even her niece and nephew, Rhaegar's children, and their mother Princess Elia, were slain in cold blood to ensure the new regime of Robert the Usurper had no challengers.

It was during these very last moments of the Usurper’s war where Viserys was crowned king on Dragonstone by their mother, and Daenerys declared his heir before their mother died from her childbirth, a feat that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her. With nothing but certain death waiting for them in Westeros, they were driven from their homeland and into unfamiliar lands. A young prince with his baby sister and some loyal guards, Ser Willem Darry among them, were all that’s left of the Targaryen cause. 

Using the cover of night to flee to Essos, they escaped before the usurper’s men could slaughter them in the same way they slaughtered her entire family. “We’ve never seen peace since,” Viserys would tell her. “And we will never have peace until we take back what is ours.”

But now she is only but an exiled princess, leagues away from the homeland, with no way back. Returning to Westeros did not seem a possibility to her but there is naught she could do but trust her brother with their future.

Their years in exile were spent wandering, going from place to place in the Free Cities, never staying too long lest the usurper’s men got to them. They scattered their tracks all over Essos, across the western coast, until finally they settled in Braavos after years on the run. It was there she found ‘home’ in a house with a red door near the Sealord’s Palace, where Daenerys finally had her own room, and even a lemon tree under her window. Ser Willem Darry, always steadfast in their protection, was kind to her and made sure they were safe. 

Despite the circumstances, Dany enjoyed their time in Braavos simply due to them having more time to actually spend living in the now rather than dedicating time spent moving about. In these more carefree days Dany like to spend her time learning and she soaked everything she was told like a sponge, understanding concepts well beyond her years. With the help of their small band of guardians, she even taught herself how to read and write, prompting Ser Willem and the loyal men to affectionally call her their smart little dragon. 

Almost everything Daenerys knew about anything she learned from Viserys and her guardians, of places that displayed the beauty and splendour of Westeros, the realms of influence and power throughout the kingdoms. But in the end, these stories would make her sad. These places were just names to her, letters on a map. Her brother and her guards knew them, since these places weren’t just names to them. Westeros was their home, but it had never been hers.

But just as Dany felt like her life was beginning to settle, their stay in Braavos came to an abrupt end when Daenerys turned five. One night, opportunists who tried to gain the usurper's favour had attempted to kidnap her and her brother for riches promised. In the ensuing chaos, Ser Willem was gravely injured and the guardians died protecting them, though not before taking out the near-successful kidnappers.

“I have failed you, my Prince and Princess,” He said as he took his last breath. “I’m so sorry…” Ser Willem’s death was the first time Dany ever truly felt anguish in her young life, and in that singularly horrifying night their lives had been upended once more.

While the sealord had extended his hand to aid them in their desperation for a time, even his charity had its limits, and it didn’t take long for their situation to get from bad to worse when they were cast out soon after six moons, just as Viserys turned one-and-ten. Dany wept as the house with red door shut to her forever.

Having been left without a support system, all the while having little money or valuables left now that they were without their guardians, Dany and Viserys were forced to leave Braavos and scoured the Free Cities for the next few years.

The days never seemed to end and hunger regularly followed. During these nights Dany couldn’t believe how one could become so hungry. They were never safe either, always looking over their shoulders, fearful of the next plot that might finally end their lives. “We must be vigilant, sister,” Viserys kept saying, like a prayer. He had grown to be a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale lilac eyes. “We cannot let the usurper win.”

For years they had retraced their steps from when they first came to Essos and scoured all across the nine Free Cities, going to Lorath, Norvos, Qohor, Volantis, Lys, Tyrosh, Myr and Pentos, and then even returned to Braavos once. During her travels Daenerys discovered to find that she loves the sea, as it is the only time she felt free. She loved being amongst the sailors and their songs and stories. She also loves to read children's stories and songs from the Seven Kingdoms about tall and handsome heroes.

While they were initially welcomed by magisters and archons and merchant princes of these cities, without long their benefactors became less and less willing to host the Targaryens as the years went by, having stayed no longer than half a year in each manse and palace. Dany and Viserys even had to sell their last few treasures to fund their travels, though they both refused to part with their mother’s crown and ring, the only things they had left of their family.

As the rejections mounted, Dany began to notice her brother’s increasing obsessive intent on reclaiming their father's throne, and swore to Daenerys a thousand promises that he would take her back to Westeros and that their lives would be much better once he had reclaimed his throne. She knew better than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing when roused, and their time in poverty only made his condition explicably worse. 

Daenerys listened to the talk when people were unaware of her presence and knew that Viserys was being called the beggar king behind his back, and she could not help but wonder if people have given her similar a nickname too. Beggar princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what being a princess was like. But then perhaps she had never really known. 

Now no longer welcome to the homes of potential benefactors, living on the streets became a norm, where they would regularly experience nights going to sleep in bouts of starvation. It had been nothing short of a miracle that they’ve never taken ill.

But perhaps the hardest thing about their exile was that, with a sinking realisation, Daenerys started to sense a permanent change occur within Viserys. Even on their best days, in the past Viserys had always been prone to short-tempered outbursts during their relatively calmer life at the house with the red door… but now, it was like he was an entirely different person. This frightening change couldn’t have been more evident, especially after Viserys was forced to sell their mother’s crown.

Yet, Dany could never judge him, for her brother had never been under such unimaginable pressure before. It seemed almost logical that after being exposed to complete destitution and a desperately hard poverty, his temper had gotten worse and these small cracks were starting to settle and worsen within the once loving spirit of her only family… Viserys called it waking the dragon.

With nowhere else to direct his frustrations, it would fall on Daenerys to take the brunt of the outbursts. Despite the occasional abuse, Dany still stood by and loved her brother, because she understood that had they never been subjected to these dire circumstances, Viserys wouldn’t treat her with such harshness.

It was when Daenerys was two-and-ten that their lives were forever changed. Like an answer to a desperate prayer, a member of their father’s old kingsguard found them in Pentos. Dany and Viserys were shocked, and more than a little wary. Thinking all of them dead from Ser Willem’s account of the war, the knight’s appearance had been the last but best thing Dany could have ever expected to happen in all her miserable years. 

After taking them to a safe house, the man introduced himself as Ser Arthur Dayne, who then tells the siblings of the account of events that led him to them.

“I spent years looking for you, my Prince and Princess.” The man said solemnly. Initially believing him to be another one of the usurper’s knives, Viserys had been frightened but to Dany he seemed sincere enough. He had purple eyes, she saw. Like us. It was only when the man talked of their mother Queen Rhaella and their brother Prince Rhaegar that they believed him to be saviour they’ve desperately needed. When Viserys finally recognised the man’s face, Dany saw her brother smile for the first time in a long time. A real genuine smile from her brother, the thought lifted her spirit more than anything in recent years.

“I survived the war, but it took me quite a while to recover. But before I could reach you, the two of you had already been spirited off to Essos and vanished with the wind.” Regret coloured his deep voice. “As soon as I was able, I went to find you both… and it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”

In all the years that he had spent looking for the last Targaryens had only resulted in dead ends. He travelled all throughout the Free Cities, searching for any clues to their whereabouts. He accepted any kind of work for gold to fund his pursuit throughout this foreign continent, going from city to city fruitlessly, somehow always narrowly missing them. His quest seemed unending and fruitless. 

Though the years kept him busy, he never once gave up hope. He felt his prayers were finally being answered when he bought information about a certain silver-haired beggar king. The information contained whispers of the boy-king and his sister scavenging the streets of Pentos after being rejected by the Golden Company when the boy tried to garner support to their cause. 

At the end of his tale, both Viserys and Daenerys cried and frantically hugged their saviour. For the first time since the house with the red door, they finally felt safe again after years of fear, loneliness and destitution.

Arthur swore a solemn oath to the both of them, to be their Kingsguard and to help them restore their family birthright. But most of all, keeping them safe.

“This place had been too foreign for me, and I’m afraid I wasn’t able to adapt fast enough to track you effectively. I apologize for taking so long but I’m here now and I hope you would accept my oaths.” Ser Arthur Dayne then knelt to his king and princess, who accepted the oath.

Once they were truly settled in the safe house, their knight told them more parts of his journey in the last decade or so, which had been more complicated than what he initially told them. But when Viserys asked him more about the usurper’s war, Arthur stayed his words. “You both have had a harsher life than mercy dictated, and I have no desire to burden you more by reopening the wounds of the war that put you in such hard straits in the first place.”

But what little he told, it was in passing, such as how those years have been brutal for him as well. Especially during what he called the Tower of Joy. It had been his greatest failure and for years the knight couldn’t deal with the defeat. “I still can’t, even now.” But surviving that fight had been nothing short of a miracle that led him here.

They spend a few moons in Pentos, where Ser Arthur continued to work for gold so they could move to Volantis, believing they would be safer the further away they are from Westeros. 

But as they were finally making their move to Volantis, word had somehow gotten to the Usurper… information that spoke of the Targaryen children having acquired a knight to protect them. Wanting the Targaryens without a ward or refuge, the Usurper had hired more assassins to kill this knight, to ensure that the Targaryens would be without security so they would never rise to be a threat.

As soon as their lives in the new city had begun to have some semblance of normalcy, the assassins arrived and almost succeeds with their assignment, catching them all by surprise during the hour of the wolf.

Thankfully Ser Arthur reacted with haste and was close dispatching the assassins. But Viserys, in his youthful folly tried to assist their knight only to end up with a grievous wound that puts him on death’s door.

As her brother’s blood splattered across Dany’s tear stained face, Ser Arthur was able to kill the assassin. Realising that Viserys was falling unconscious, Daenerys tearfully pleads for her brother’s survival. 

But just as the knight tried to resuscitate him, another assassin jumps in. In his fury and guilt over failing yet another king, Ser Arthur quickly kills the last assassin, however he sustained an injury.

When the dust settled, neither of them could find breath leaving Viserys’ fragile body. Dany had been struck with grief, crying in hysteria believing him to be dead. 

Seeing as they were left with no choice, Arthur decides to depart the city in a haste. Fearing for Dany’s life, Arthur knew he had to leave Viserys’ body. By daybreak, Dany had felt so numb she didn’t even realise they were on a boat until they had set sail. 

"This voyage was meant to be a last resort escape." Arthur said. “I’m sorry, Princess, but I know where we’re going would keep you safe.”

“Where is that?” She said weakly. 

“YiTi… a place I’m sure not even the Usurper’s assassins could find us."

Chapter Text

297AC

“Yield.”

Daenerys huffed as she held the edge of the spear at her mentor’s throat. When the man nodded, Dany relaxed her stance and was ready to call the session to an end.

“I may have yielded this round but we are not done yet.” Iroh said lightly. 

“Please it’s nearly sunrise, shifu.” Dany protested, panting heavily. “That’s three on my tally now, and you said best out of three! We wouldn’t want another unending stalemate way past first meal, would we, father?” 

Despite it having been years since the first time Daenerys had used that word when referring to him, Arthur still couldn’t help but crack a smile each time the princess called him ‘father’. But he knew better than to indulge her, especially at the expense of her training. “Listen to your shifu, Dany. And you could use a little work with the spear.”

When even the less strict of her tutors wouldn’t cave to her pleas, Dany knew she had lost the argument. Damn, she thought. Even her deliberate use of ‘father’ hadn’t worked. 

“But I always beat you when we use spears, father.” 

“Well I’m no Iroh with the spear, am I?” Before Dany could retort with her trademark quips, he shot back lightheartedly. “And I always let you win, daughter.”  

“You were supposed to best me quicker this time. Perhaps it was too soon to expect such a thing from my pupil… Though it has been more than five years now.” Iroh playfully goaded. 

Dany knew better than to take the bait, but in the end she just couldn’t help herself. Her shifu always knew just how to push her to accept a challenge. And rise to the challenge she did, as the duel took nearly an hour for her to finally win.  

“Excellent work, child. But you shouldn’t have allowed me get near to even two. You have talent, but I expect better next time.” Her master said with his twinkling smile. “Good times become good memories, but bad times make good lessons.” 

More leaves of wisdom, Dany thought wryly. Watching him walk away, Dany couldn’t begin to know how a man so advanced in his years could still be so nimble. They both had given their all on the training field; Iroh wouldn’t have it otherwise. But to be as composed as he was now after such a demanding spar, she couldn’t understand. The training having exhausted her, Dany sat down trying to bask in her routine breathing exercises to calm herself.

Meditating is just as important as the physical training, Iroh always insisted. So just as she does after every training session, she took the next hour trying to find some semblance of inner peace. She was never very good at keeping her thoughts quiet in these moments, instead her quick mind would go through a thousand different thoughts.

One harrowing thought that never seemed to escape her mind was her brother’s death. The horrors of that day kept replaying in her head, and the guilt she felt after was never far behind. Any guilt, Iroh said, was always going to hold her back. She knew he was right, Viserys’s death was never her fault and yet her shifu’s pleas to move forward always fell on deaf ears. 

But it wasn’t just her that suffered alone, as Arthur took it much harder than even she did. Dany knew that the time they’ve spent in YiTi was helping alleviate some of the grief, but trauma had a stubborn a way of sticking with you in a way that feels eternal. Especially to her father… 

Father, she thought warmly. No other word could better describe what Arthur Dayne was to her these past five or so years. 

As soon as they left Volantis all those years ago, her knight knew that adopting new identities would be a first necessary step into insuring their safety in any new territory. He had suggested to Dany that they should travel as father and daughter, and he had been her ‘father’ in all but blood ever since. Despite the sharp contrast of their hair, to their advantage, it had been a great boon that they shared similar coloured eyes, which made their cover all the more convincing.

Thinking back to the voyage to YiTi, Daenerys remembered how thankful she was for the many distractions the journey on the open seas afforded her, especially after such a tumultuous escape from the assassins. For brief periods she would even momentarily forget the anguish of losing her brother, but even those lapses never lasted long.

The stubborn child that she was, Dany remembered how determined she had been in finding ways to extend those moments of reprieve, spending her days learning how to sail from the sailors on their ship, all of whom found no harm to humour the little girl’s interest. 

It was on those months long voyage that she befriended one of the passengers, who always offered warm tea and great stories of his travels. That passenger was a wise and kind elderly YiTish man of sixty named Iroh, from whom Arthur had secured their passage. 

Dany had fond memories of her early conversations with Iroh, who even then reminded her of gruff, kind Ser Willem Darry. The stories of Iroh’s travels around the world had a way of occupying her dejected mind, and she took solace in them. 

A swordsmaster who dedicated his life learning to master the martial arts of every culture in the known world, Iroh had spent his early life traveling through his native homeland, mastering all the the known fighting disciplines of YiTi before departing for the world. It is important for one to draw wisdom from many different places, he told her. 

Iroh told her of how he had studied in every one of the Free Cities, in Slaver’s Bay and even Lhazar. Other places he studied were as far abroad to the cities of the far east and the north, queer places she rarely ever heard of like Ibben, Ifequevron, Sarnor, Qarth and the plains of the Jogos Nhai. He has even spent a short time amongst a Dothraki horde. To this day Dany’s favourite stories were of his studies in the islands of the south, such as Sothoryos, the Basilisk Isles, the Summer Isles, Moraq and Leng. Viserys may have been her window to Westeros, but Iroh was her window to the world. 

What surprised her the most was when he told her of how he’s even been to Westeros, though it had only been for a brief period, and he made it only as far as Dorne and Oldtown.

The only places the worldly elder had never visited were Asshai, Mossovy and the lands beyond. Though she was disappointed on not getting any insight to that particular part of the world, Dany knew now that it was due to the YiTish people having great aversion and wariness of the people of these lands and their unspeakably dark culture. 

But it was from those stories that Dany had started imagining of what her life could have been like if she and Viserys escaped further to such far flung places. She had thought that if they had gone deeper in hiding, all those she lost would be breathing now… her guards, Ser Willem, and especially Viserys, would most likely be with them now. 

In the end, she knew it would do no good thinking of such sweet possibilities. If I look back, I am lost. Then it had dawned on her that it would hardly be the last time an enemy would try to end her life, and that maybe if she knew how to fight like Iroh, she could better protect herself as well as her loved ones. Perhaps if she had known how to fight, she could have even protected Viserys. 

Those conversations had been the catalyst that secured her path over her next five years. She had begged Iroh to teach her, and the discussion about her new path with the sword had been the thing that shook Arthur out of his stupor.  

The knight had initially opposed to the idea of a princess learning how to fight, leading them to have their very first argument. The rawness of Viserys’ death no doubt lingering had made Dany lash out at her only protector. She regretted her words almost immediately after she pointed out that even Arthur couldn’t be with her every single waking moment, and that would leave her vulnerable just as Viserys had been. 

She knew she couldn’t take back her words, even if she didn’t mean them in the first place. Yet despite her apology and her desire to leave the issue slide, her accidental impassioned words seemed to have been the very thing to convince her knight. 

“I never want you to feel like Viserys had felt, ever.” He had said with solemn heaviness. “And Dorne always allowed and even encouraged the culture of warrior women. Perhaps it is time I showed you that.” In the end Arthur had agreed on the condition that he too would oversee her training and education.

That was what brought them here, to Iroh's mountainside cottage in Asabhad, where Iroh offered them lodging in his secluded home in the forested hills, where her new mentor had wasted no time and began her training and education almost immediately the day after they docked. 

The following years were the most gruelling she’d experienced, but ultimately also the most rewarding. If she hadn’t been pushed to her limit, Dany would’ve never discovered that she had a natural gift in the art of combat, something her mentor suspected from the onset of their training.

Days were rarely spent on little else but honing her skills, with non-stop drills, training, exercises and sparring, and Dany knew that getting back to sword training had helped Arthur out of his depressive state he was in during their voyage. 

With little else to do in her new life, she had excelled. Over the next five years Dany had mastered her every lesson, which ranged from hand-to-hand combat, the YiTish martial arts, archery and chi-blocking, an ancient YiTish technique of quick, precise jabs to the victim's pressure points which would render the victim's muscles useless and temporarily disable them.

She was also taught to master all weapons of the battlefield. But training in armed combat had been the hardest part for Daenerys, as her slender arms took a long time in assimilating to the heft of melee weapons. Both Iroh and Arthur made her constantly rotate from the sword, to dual swords, to the YiTish katanas, to daggers, to knives, to the bo staff, and then the spear in order to train her physical strength and master all the weapons. And because of her natural skill to wield them with both arms, it made the training twice as hard. She remembered how sore her arms used to be after every session. 

They also gave her whatever education they could, with Iroh’s worldly experiences and Arthur’s noble upbringing she was taught everything there was to know about all the regions in both Westeros and Essos. She remembers the long lessons about their cultures, their peoples, their customs, the languages, their heraldry, the religions, their geography.

Despite their lessons, Dany found that living in YiTi had distracted her from thoughts of the Iron Throne for the majority of their time, becoming accustomed to the simple life in this small village.

“I know you’re not meditating.” 

Trying not to crack a smile, her father figure’s strong voice still brought Dany back to the present, though she refused to turn around.

“You’re certainly not helping me in that regard, father.” 

“Iroh is preparing luncheon and yet another new blend of his teas. He won’t hear us here, Princess.” 

“I know, but I told you Arthur, there really is no need to call me that.” She sighed. "I’m no princess. Least of all not here.” 

Though Arthur never stopped calling her princess in private, she certainly never felt like one. Having lived among common-folk, the memories of her working with her hands, swimming in rivers and mending nets and learning to wash her own clothes at need didn’t feel like typical things a princess would do. 

She too was familiar with the feeling of being hungry, of being hunted and afraid… nothing any princess should ever feel. There were also many times when she would hunt and cook and bind up her wounds on her own when Iroh would take her on one of his training excursions higher up in the mountains.

In those moments she was glad that she wasn’t a typical princess depicted in the songs, helpless and in perpetual distress. Being taught all the basic necessities of healing and medicine, even what little her two teachers knew of poisons, and making sure she was familiar and proficient with the most basic of them made her feel safer than any maiden’s tower ever could.

She was also glad to have been given survival skill training, which had been one of the toughest of her time in Asabhad. So serious it was that even Arthur wasn’t allowed to help her survive in the wilderness of the forest that she was supposed to endure alone, her shifu insisting she had to be self-sufficient. 

Yet despite the years of difficulty in mastering her mentors’ teachings, Daenerys had grown to love her simple life… though that life certainly hadn’t been perfectly idyllic either, as their time in Asabhad had finally given Daenerys and Arthur crucial time to revisit all the history of her family. It was uncomfortably clear from these revelations that her previous history lessons, the version of events Viserys had enlightened her in their childhood, were in actuality heavily shrouded in bias.

When Arthur finally told her the truth about her father Aerys and her brother Rhaegar, particularly of their mad and reckless behaviour that led to her family’s demise, all she could do was thank him. Viserys used to say that the talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper to further taint their family name… and yet, it was the truth. That day would forever haunt her, remembering how she needed a long time to come to terms with the harsh realities of her family and their actions.

The worst part of it all was that she knew Viserys had truly believed his version of history to be the legitimate one… or at least, he convinced himself that it was. She felt such shame for her family, but at the same time didn’t want her house to be remembered for the actions of her deranged father or capricious brother.

There were many nights where the idea of the usurper sitting on the throne her family created, ruling over a city her forefathers built and a country her ancestors united had made her sick. How could she allow her house to fade into obscurity, with its last member far away in exile? But even if she had a willingness to remedy that, Daenerys had no idea how to go on to achieve it.

After all she was a princess in name only, without a crown, a throne, a land to rule, or even any allies to call upon. Would trying even be worth it? The Targaryen name had started to feel less important to her as the years have passed living in quaint obscurity. 

Here, she was Dany. Just Dany… and perhaps that’s enough.

“There you go again off in that head of yours. What’s on your mind this time?” Arthur asked fondly. 

“My family history.” She replied downcast. 

Sensing the uneasy shifting from behind, Dany turned around. “Don’t mistake my tone for any anger or displeasure, father. I am still grateful you finally told me the truth… about everything.” She gave a warm smile to reassure him. “It would have been wrong for me to remain ignorant of the depths of the crimes done by my family. Your candour was a mercy and absolutely necessary.”

At her knight’s sigh of relief, Dany added. “Though I do fault you for insisting we wait until I had turned seven-and-ten to tell me. Even Iroh says I’ve always been wise beyond my years.” She punched his shoulder in jest. “I should’ve been told sooner.” 

“I know, Princess. But it was as much for you as it was for me.” He said chuckled nervously, before turning glum again. “Talking about the past only makes me relive my many failures within them.”

“I am sorry, Arthur.” She said softly. “I hope you know I don’t blame you for any of that. From all that I know now, you certainly have nothing to be guilty of.”

Before their conversation could continue, the sound of silent footsteps that wasn’t Iroh’s had alerted them to an unwelcome presence.  

“Good morrow!” The man said in the native YiTi tongue. This was a local merchant in the village nearby, she remembered. Dany looked to her father, who seemed to discern the same thing. 

“Good morrow to you as well.” Arthur replied in the same tongue. “Are you looking for Iroh?”

“No, actually I’m here to find you, Dane.” Taking out a sealed letter from his rucksack, he held it up. “An envoy from a traveling Pentoshi merchant ship gave me this and asked me to give it to you.”

“…what?” Arthur asked, tense.

“Yep. Asked for you ‘to read both letters and meet him by the dock tonight if that’s agreeable’, or something to that effect.” The man laughed awkwardly, clearly sensing no foul play at the odd request as he handed over the letter, which seemed to contain a second one enclosed within.

“Thank you.” Arthur replied carefully. “Tell him-“

“Tell the kind merchant that we’d be glad to receive him here instead.”

At Arthur’s look of confusion Dany gave the knight a gentle nudge.

“We were expecting him and these letters, weren’t we father?” She nudged her ‘father’ again when realisation sparked.

“That’s right. Thanks again for delivering the message.” He quickly added and smiled, which the merchant quickly returned before heading back to the docks. As they watched the kindly merchant leave, Dany turned around and looked at the knight. 

“I know what you’re going to say.” She half-whined. “But I think it’s better if we meet this stranger on familiar ground and our terms rather than his.” Crossing her arms, she smirked. “And you know Shifu Iroh would agree with me.”

Inwardly smiling at the princess’s quick wit, Arthur scoffed nonetheless and began opening the letter. 

“I’ll have you know I was actually going to suggest the same thing.” He retorted playfully as he began to read the content of the first letter, brows furrowed. Dany could see the shock and confusion plain as day as he began to finish reading. 

“What is it?"

Her father didn’t answer her but gave her the letter before quickly proceeding to read the accompanying second. As she saw his eyes scan lower and lower down the page, she noticed all the colour suddenly drain from his face. Daenerys hasn’t seen him in such a state for years, and it made her heart all the more race with dread. Wasting no time, Dany began to read the first letter herself.

To the royal Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen and her valiant protector Ser Arthur Dayne,

I write to you with my sincerest apologies for not having reached you sooner. However, you have made it quite the trial in locating your persons, by hiding in YiTi. Though it is an accomplishment which I commend your stealth greatly.

I do however would like to make clear from the offset that my loyalties have always been to House Targaryen. I had kept an eye on you for quite some time but I do regret that even I couldn’t have prevented such a tragedy as the assassination attempt of our king Viserys. 

After that chaos, I had been unable to track you for some years until my trading vessel in the Jade sea came back with the surprising reports of your reappearance.

My letter comes with the best tidings, as I bring the news of your brother’s survival. His Grace had been severely wounded from the attempt on his life, but with my help, he has recovered and now lives with me in Pentos as my most esteemed guest. 

It is with great honour that I invite you to safely return west on my trading galley and reside in my manse, as I offer you, with the utmost humility, my hospitality and protection as we plan for a future where all shall prosper.

As I realise this might be hard to believe, I have therefore made sure to include a handwritten letter from our King himself. I hope our words finds you in good health and I wish the both of you safe travels on the seas.

Your most steadfast and loyal ally, 

Illyrio Mopatis

Magister of the free city of Pentos

Unable to truly process the content of the letter, Dany started to feel the pricks of cold-sweats. “Arthur, what is this?” 

The question didn’t seem to break him from his trance, which only increased Dany’s unease. 

“Father!”

Snapping out of his stupor, Dany immediately noticed how the knight’s face was white as linen and seemed to express such fear and disbelief. “I- I apologize, Princess.” He handed her the other letter. “But I’m afraid you wouldn’t believe me until you’ve read it yourself.”

Arthur, as always, had been right. She wouldn’t have believed it… and nothing could have prepared her for such a revelation of a letter bearing the seal of a three-headed dragon and the personal insignia of her mother’s ring. The exact one she and Viserys used to carry with them throughout their childhood on the run… a ring which Dany accidentally left with her brother’s body in Volantis. She gasped as she opened the letter.

To my dear sister and loyal kingsguard,

Dany, do you remember when we had to sell our mother’s crown on your eleventh nameday because we had just been cast out by the merchant prince in Lys and hadn’t eaten in nearly a week? Then, even when it could have saved us from starvation, we refused to sell her ring in the year after because it had been the only thing left we had of her. We used to alternate who got to carry the ring with them every other day, with special allowances to keep the ring for an extra day during our namedays. You liked to wear it as a necklace tucked in your shirt, while I liked to keep it in my right pocket.

Arthur, before you left for work the day the assassins came, you said to me to ‘hold down the fort and keep Dany from harm’. You gave me your rusted dagger and told me to keep it close, just like you have every morning since the day we met. You also informed me privately of the true reason why you were at the tower in Dorne instead of being by your Prince’s side, and how my brother’s woman did not survive.

Do not fret, I have survived, and an explanation will be given to you once you reach Illyrio’s manse in Pentos. Return to your King and we will take back what is ours, with Fire and Blood.

Your King, 

Viserys of House Targaryen, Third of His Name

Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms

Daenerys swallowed nervously. “It’s written in your brother’s hand.” Arthur said unsteadily. Neither Daenerys and Arthur knew what to make of the letters, but it left them hollow, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt and anguish over the thought of having left a dying Viserys alone with such abandon. 

“I know… I recognised that immediately too.” Dany said softly, as tears began to fall down her face. “What have we done, Arthur?”

Despite having prepared with her shifu for an ambush in case the envoy had just been an elaborate plot, their precautions ultimately turned out to be unnecessary. The envoy from the Pentoshi merchant ship hadn’t given them any more answers that they were looking for when he came to Iroh’s cottage that evening. The man loyal to the magister clearly hadn’t been given any crucial information either regarding his mission, as he simply understood the delivery of the letter to be part of this routine trading journey.

And with all that Iroh trained her about reading people’s intentions and detecting lies these past few years, she, Iroh or Arthur knew the man had indeed told the truth and that the invitation from the magister had been genuine, and not part of some nefarious conspiracy.

By the end of the evening meeting, the envoy informs them that they have a fortnight until the trading galley Illyrio sent with him would be done with business dealings and would depart henceforth.

It took some counsel from Iroh, in his seemingly infinite wisdom, to lift Daenerys from her stupor that lasted in the days after. Daenerys, in turn, did the same for her father who was in a similar state of distress. Steeling both their resolve, they accept Illyrio’s invitation and vow to atone for their failure. 

On their last night at the cottage before their departure, Daenerys and Iroh played their, possibly last, game of cyvasse. It was a board game Iroh had picked up from his travels in Volantis and one he taught Dany, who he discovered had an exceptional natural talent for the game. They played nearly every single night since the first week she arrived in Asabhad, with Iroh being glad to have a worthy adversary to sharpen his skill with. Daenerys had grown steadily better at the game, beating her mentor in less moves and more frequently as the years passed, though they were still evenly matched when it came to game of Pai Sho, cyvasse’s YiTish cultural counterpart in Iroh’s native homeland.

“You’re gloating.” Iroh smiling despite his pieces getting dominated again. 

“I’m not." 

“It was a close game.” 

“I still beat you.” She smirked playfully. 

“Well, you could’ve beat me sooner.” He retorted, and she frowned before it made her chuckle. 

He looked at her and smiled with twinkling eyes. “To tell you the truth of it, child, you’re a marvel.” 

“Shifu, please, it’s just one- or a few, games of cyvasse. You’re still better at this than I-.” She tried saying, before he interrupted her with a raise of a single hand. 

”No, no need for false humility, dear. While there could still be a debate about who among us is better at Pai Sho, there is little doubt you outclass me in cyvasse.” He smiled proudly. “As well as in the other disciplines that I have had the honour of teaching you these past few years.” 

Iroh refilled their small drinking cups with tea before continuing. “I had always wondered what I would do with all the knowledge and skills I have accumulated over my long life. I never had children, so I do not have the privilege of passing them on to any offspring." He reflected wistfully he drank from the steaming concoction.

“I had intended on writing a tome of my travels but when you came along with your bright eyes and your unbending curiosity, my intuition compelled me to take you on, as if suddenly aware that having a worthy pupil would ensure my knowledge is passed on. There is a saying in YiTi, ‘When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. And when the student is truly ready, the teacher will disappear’.”

Touched by his words, Dany replied with equal fondness. “It has been my greatest honour to have been taught by such a wise and wonderful master. I can only hope I made you proud, shifu.” Dany said. 

“You have done more than that, my dear. There is no feeling more satisfying than for a teacher to see their student blossom to surpass them. You have taken on my lessons well, a truly worthy pupil indeed, and I thank you for that gift.” He bowed to her in the way the YiTish do when they want to show utmost respect. His words and the gesture brought tears to her eyes, and she quickly returned the gesture before she could sob.

“I must also thank you for your companionship over the last few years,” Iroh continued, sounding more sentimental than Dany had ever heard him. “I’m very grateful for you both, for giving me purpose these past few years by mentoring you, my child.” Iroh smiled brightly then. “And please, call me Iroh.” 

Having spent five years under the mentorship and protection of Iroh had made her realise that she truly saw him as family, just as much as she saw Arthur as one. Remembering the term she occasionally used when they would go down to the village, Dany replied, “How about uncle Iroh?” 

Later that night, during the hour of the wolf, Daenerys took a solitary stroll along the mountainside, silently thanking these lands for nurturing her and keeping her and her father safe. She silently wondered if this moment would be the last she would feel such peace and tranquil serenity.

The next morning when Dany and her father Dane were ready to go to the docks, Iroh bequeaths them parting tokens. “Gifts, for the good years we have shared.” He smiled as he opened his bag to hand them two items.

For Dane he gives his old set of fitted scale body armour, made of a rare silvery metal native to Leng called mi yin, or as it’s often called in the Common Tongue, mithril, the origins of which came from the buried underground cities, long forgotten through the ages. “Its strength is comparable to Valyrian steel, and is more lightweight. Though I would not say that it is quite as indestructible as Valyrian steel, it is far more durable than any castle forged steel or iron you have out west.” He added proudly.

For Dany he gives his set of dual swords, two exceptionally carved slender twin single-edged curved swords with elegant dragonbone handles whose sharp blades were made out of the same material as Arthur’s new armour. 

“These are beautiful, uncle Iroh. But we cannot accept such extravagant gifts.” They are left speechless by the tokens. But her ‘uncle’ is insistent if nothing else. “They’ve outlived their use for me. However, for you they may be of use yet.”

Iroh smiles and gives them a pack of their favourite YiTish dumplings, an entire box of tea leaves and a painting for the three of them, another gift that surprises them. He then gives Daenerys one last piece of advice.

“I may not know the journey in which you are about to embark, but should you ever find yourself in a dark place, never give into despair, dear child. Allow yourself to slip down that road, and you surrender to your lowest instincts. In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. Remember the meaning of inner strength.”

Although their training is complete and Iroh had nothing left to teach her, he implores her to always remain curious, just as she was when they first met. One should never stop learning, he always said. 

With one last fierce hug to her uncle Iroh, Dany and Dane board Ilyrio’s merchant ship and set their sails west to Pentos, leaving YiTi behind them forever.

Chapter Text

297-298AC

Daenerys and Arthur spent most their time on their voyage to Pentos aboard Illyrio’s ship continuing to hone their skills in combat, finding there’s little else to do that could ease their overwhelming anxiety with facing Viserys.

No matter how many times they had exhaustively questioned the envoy for more information about Illyrio and his ‘guest’, they were routinely faced with a wall of dismissals and no new revelations, and before long, they ceased their fruitless endeavour. Frankly, they had no clue what to expect or how to act, and they found themselves feeling great unease about their impending arrival to Pentos, instead of the joy they should be feeling at their king’s miraculous survival.

Though Daenerys loves her brother dearly, she remembered the kind of man her brother was already growing up to be, and it did not fill her with much optimism. How much would their abandonment do to further damage her brother’s already fragile state? She remembered the coldness of his letter and it filled her with such despair.

Still, Dany holds on to the hope that Viserys would again find that once loving brother that she fondly remembered played and laughed with her in the house with the red door, and she prayed to the gods that his soul hadn’t darkened further since the last saw him. Yet no matter how much she prayed and prayed, she had a feeling the gods would not listen to her desperate pleas.

Listening to the crashing waves and breathing in the salty smell of the sea, Dany was grateful for the many distractions being on a voyage afforded her and she quickly reacquaints herself with sailing, where she even gets Arthur to involve himself with the bustle. Helping sailors had been a pastime interest of hers on her many trips with Viserys. 

In those memories, the narrow sea was often stormy, Dany remembered from when she traversed it dozens of times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper’s hidden knives, and yet she loved those voyages all the same. She loved the sea. She liked the vastness of horizon ahead that seemed endless. It made her feel free. As free as the dragons of her ancestors must have felt when they buffeted their wings and flew high above. 

During those more carefree times of her childhood, she had for one moment even desired to be a sailor. She also remembered how Viserys had twisted her hair until she cried when she told him of such foolish and lowly ambitions.

“You are a dragon, not a fish!” He would scream harshly at her. Those memories only served to further feed her anxiety of facing her brother again, and when they finally did arrive in Pentos about a moon later, it was as if all their time spent trying to mentally prepare themselves for the reunion through untold hours of sailing had been for naught, as they were both still as high strung as ever. 

The overwrought anticipation Daenerys felt as they made their way up to Illyrio Mopatis' majestic manse made her see the trek in such a blur, that she almost didn't notice the lengths with which Illyrio had prepared for their arrival. The customary decadence of it all had jarred her, in particular the amount of bejewelled slaves Dany had noticed on display. They were all paraded out for the coming of a princess… for her. The sight only rattled her even further. 

As they approached the main foyer of the manse, Daenerys and Arthur could immediately spot Illyrio, a massive man decked out in all his finest silks, with rolls of fat jiggling as he stepped out to greet them. Jewels glittered his hands, and a prideful expression seemed to be his default.

And beside him, was Viserys standing with equal ceremony, wearing a striking red and black garment. Her brother, the one who raised her and kept her safe from harm. The kin you left behind, she thought darkly. Though his handsome features had stayed with him, it was evident that he’d grown older, now looking visibly gaunt. Her eye then went straight to the morbid scar lining up his neck that she never saw before.

A reminder of their failure.

But more than that, what had truly alarmed her was how she could not help but notice that something was off about Viserys. 

Despite her brother’s ardent attempts to hide it, Daenerys was keened eye enough to see that he still had the nervous hands and feverish look in his pale lilac eyes that she remembered him having during their time in poverty… but this time, she could also feel anger radiate off of him in droves as well. Dany wanted to throw up, and after catching a glance at Arthur, it was clear he felt the same way she did. 

Going by instinct, Daenerys ran to hug her brother. But instead of any familial affection she desired, she was met with a stiff, cold greeting, shocking both Arthur and herself. 

“Sweet sister, it’s been too long. We have much to discuss.” He tersely bit out, before turning to the knight who quickly bent the knee.

“Your Grace-“

“Dayne, it’s good to see that you’ve returned her to me in one piece.” 

Sensing the cold atmosphere, Illyrio jumped in. 

“Princess Daenerys Targaryen and Ser Arthur Dayne, may I formally introduce myself; I am Illyrio Mopatis and welcome to Pentos!” He bowed deferentially. “I am very glad to see you both in good health here in my humble manse. Please come inside, we have luncheon ready. You must be famished.” 

As they sat down at the dining table on the balcony overlooking the bay, the slave servants began to lay the extravagant food in front of them, making the tension in the room even more uncomfortable for both Daenerys and Arthur. 

Looking over to Viserys, who seemed to be avoiding their eye contact, Dany decided to stay quiet and just eat, hoping that her brother would have more to say after a hearty meal. Though after a fairly short period where nobody at the table, except for Illyrio, seemed to consume much of anything, Viserys remained resolute in refusing to say the first words. A quick glance to Arthur made it clear that he too was nowhere near ready to speak his mind. Daenerys knew she would have to be the one to test the waters, and so with a deep steadying breath she turned to fully face her brother.

“Brother, we-…” She started, anxiously. “We thought you were dead. We were sure of it. There was so much blood and you weren’t breathing.” Tears streamed down her face as she cried reliving those painful memories, remembering soberly having witnessing her brother’s lifeless body as the light went from his eyes, when they had been forced leave him. “I am so sorry, Viserys.”

“Your Grace, it was my fault that you were even near death and left behind. Please do not blame your sister for any of it. I give my most sincere apologies… and if you give me another chance I’d like to regain your trust and atone for my failures.” Arthur rapidly declared in one hurried sentence, which Dany wasn’t sure if Viserys, let alone anyone, could catch any of that.

When Viserys finally turned to face them, they could see that he too was overcome with emotion. “What happened to you, brother?” Dany half-begged for an answer. The moment hung over them like storm clouds.

“Clearly I did not perish.” He said bitterly. “Whatever you may have believed, I was still living when you left. Unconscious, most likely. But not dead. The last thing I remember seeing was your teary amethyst eyes right above me.” He paused slightly, as he appeared to struggle in collecting his thoughts.

“When I finally awoke, I was in the Red Temple of Volantis with my wounds already sealed, and surrounded by bizarre people in crimson robes aplenty. None of them could give me a straight answer as to how I got there or why I was there, no matter how many times I demanded of it. All they told me was that some time have passed since they first brought me in and that the Lord of Light wasn’t done with me yet, whatever that bloody meant.” Viserys scoffed derisively. “I believe they hoped to convert me to some zealous fire-worshipping deviant because they have somehow helped to save me from certain death. As if I have time to devote myself to something as asinine and common as religion. No, my survival was a sign that I was destined for a greater purpose.”

Jaws dropping at the unbelievable sequences of events that led him here, neither Dany or Arthur knew what to say to his story. What had the red priests done to save him? The scars Viserys bore looked like the kind of mortal wounds that none should be able to recover from, yet here her brother stood, alive.

“Did they treat you well, brother?” Viserys had scowled at her but answered with another scornful expression. 

“I suppose they did.” He said almost begrudgingly. “They were proper in that they rightfully addressed me by my title, yet the fools weren’t much helpful in anything else. The priests allowed me free rein of their temple and the city, as after awaking I spent most of the time trying to find the two of you, though it swiftly became clear my search was in vain and that trying was futile.” He looked at them both then, eyes burning with a coldness that sent shivers down her spine. “The truth was undeniable; I was abandoned and you both had scurried off to another place.” Dany felt a heavy tug at his harsh words, but felt like she deserved to hear them. She knew Arthur was equally hurt by the harsh truths.

“I still don’t believe in their gods, however much those foolish priests tried to sway me, but the temple was my only choice of shelter. My life was in limbo…” He continued. “That is until Illyrio found me, and spoke to me of his proposition. I knew then that I finally found a true ally, and soon enough my destiny would be inevitable. Our land, Dany.” A fiery passion suddenly returned to her brother’s haunted face. “Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. No one steals from the dragon, for the dragon remembers.” The words seemed a prayer to him, that if he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. He held her nervous gaze, seemingly compelling her to abide by the same faith. It only made her evermore speechless. Illyrio decided to break the tense silence once more.

“But we needed you for our King’s return to Westeros, Your Grace. So we spent next few years sending around my spies on the trade routes with my ships to look out for any sign of you, until one from YiTi finally came back with promising news.”

Before they could ask Viserys for more, he abruptly got up to retire, using their long journey as an excuse. Dany noted that the tale seemed to take its toll on her brother as he looked visibly upset after his emotional retelling of the past. Not having any confidence on how to approach her brother, she simply watched him leave, brokenhearted.

The next moon in Pentos became an uneasy balancing act between dealing with her brother’s heightened hostility and Illyrio’s mannered deference, leaving Daenerys never knowing where she stood in this new situation. She and Arthur tried continuing their routine that they established in YiTi, which had disastrous consequences when Viserys blew up after witnessing their sparring session.

“A princess should never be holding weapons meant for kings and princes!” She had awoken the dragon. “If I ever see you dare strike what is mine I will have you executed, Dayne!” 

Seeing this new side of her brother was the first time she truly understood how much Viserys’ years of solitude had differed from her nurtured years with Arthur and uncle Iroh. She saw it all in his eyes. The hurt, the jealousy, the anger and the self-pitying, all evident in his lilac eyes.

It was irrefutable now, his feelings of abandonment took the very last of Viserys' joy, leaving only rage. His outburst had been something she never expected and she was frozen when she received a harsh slap from Viserys. Even Arthur was immobile. His instinct and honour urged him to defend his princess… but his oath to Viserys as king, and more so his guilt over having failed the boy, prevented the knight from intervening.

Daenerys understood that feeling, for she too felt the very same guilt that left her unable to retaliate, the act going against her well-trained instinct to defend herself. 

Every single instance in which Daenerys tried to interact with Viserys was like walking on eggshells. She no longer recognised her brother, every little thing she did seemed to wake the dragon. Her guilt grew into great fear for her brother, and she had begun to minimise herself in order to appease him. 

Considering himself to be the seven kingdom’s rightful ruler, Viserys’ already significant obsession with the birthright he had been denied grew even more dark over the years. “We will have it all back someday, sweet sister…” he kept saying on his calmer days. “Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. “Ours is the house of the dragon!” He would remind her on his worse days. “The fire is in our blood!”

Daenerys became a frequent and easy target for his verbal lashings, which she allowed the more often it occurred. His ever growing cruelty had apparently even tainted his memory of her, with Viserys going as far as blaming her for their mother's death in childbirth, something he decided he’d never forgive her for.

“If you have been born sooner, you would have been married to Rhaegar and the rebellion would never have occured.” He said told her one day, making it clear that he blamed her for their life in exile.

Despite it all, her unbearable guilt did not override the unwavering love she had for her brother, which had prevented her from reacting as she should have to his abuse, and it tore at her that she allowed herself to be the target of her brother’s fiery vitriol. This has to be one of ways to atone for abandoning him, she convinced herself.

Noticeably, she could tell Arthur felt the same, no matter how many times he apologised to Daenerys about how he wished he could act differently to Viserys’ treatment of her. Even if he did choose to forsake his oath to Viserys, she knew the man’s guilt ran deeper than her own, for he believed he was supposed to be Viserys’ protector and the failure of that night ate away at him. 

Though Viserys' emboldened bitterness made their relationship increasingly troubled, Daenerys stubbornly held on to the fond memories of her brother from the times when he had not yet been so angry. She continued to think of those memories dearly, wishing to the gods every day the brother of her memories is not too far gone and would come back to her someday. She convinced herself that the only way it would happen is for Viserys to secure the very thing his heart desires; the Iron Throne.

All the while, Daenerys noticed how Viserys and Illyrio would have occasional closed door meetings, which she determined must be where discussions about their plot to reclaim the seven kingdoms takes place. Neither she nor Arthur ever gets appraised of the subject of the meetings, though she knew this was more due to Viserys thinking her beneath significance, rather than any retaliatory act of pettiness.

The only time Dany had been able to be spend time alone with Illyrio is when she played cyvasse with her host, and even then their time passed by quickly before she’s able to get any answers from him because of how quickly she would defeat him at the game. The one time she tried to moderate her skills in order to prolong their time, he notices immediately and calls her out on it.

“I apologize, my princess, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to inform you on the nature of our plans quite yet, as our King has asked me to keep it our little secret. At least until we can actually move forward with the plan. Until then, please continue to enjoy the hospitality of my humble manse, Princess Daenerys.” He smiled and bowed.

Though it had vexed her, she knew she couldn’t push her luck, not if she wanted to wake the dragon in Viserys. But the day she would finally know came sooner than she thought, when a few days before her eighteenth nameday, she and Arthur were informed of their King’s exact plan to retake the Iron Throne.

“Illyrio has proposed to me an alliance with Khal Drogo, a Dothraki warlord with the largest known khalasar in existence.” Viserys boasted. “This barbarian leads a tribe of horse-lords more than forty thousand strong and he is known with a reputation of never having been defeated in battle. And we will buy those savages by giving him your hand in marriage.” He finished with a triumphant smile.

Daenerys had not expected that. 

She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age, as for centuries, to members of her house and their ancestors, the Valyrians, it was the norm for brother and sister to be married. “The line must be kept pure.” Viserys had told her a thousand times during their childhood. The magical blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. “We do not mingle with the blood of lesser men.” Her brother reminded her religiously. Yet now Viserys schemed with the magister to sell her to a stranger, a ‘barbarian’, no less.

“In a few days time, Drogo will inspect you when he arrives in Pentos and will determine if he wants you as his queen.” Viserys said with obvious annoyance. 

“But we are certain that even a man such as Drogo is not fool enough to want to refuse the kind of exotic beauty that is the daughter of the most noble king, the sister of a new one, and a blood of old Valyria.” Illyrio added to appease her brother’s displeasure. 

Daenerys and Arthur are shocked at the proposal. She had no wish to be forced into this marriage, and cried to her brother. “Please, Viserys- brother, you cannot mean this. There has to be another way to go home.” She pleaded.

But before Daenerys could protest further, Viserys interrupts her. “Home?” His voice was low, but she could feel the fury crescendo. “How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He meant King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realms they had lost. “We go home with an army. With Khal Drogo’s army! That is how we go home!” He panted in rising anger. “And I do mean this! If you must wed him and bed him for us to go home, then so be it! It is the least you could do for your king!”

Arthur had stood then, and looked ready to move against Viserys, until her brother stood in response screaming. “I’ll remind you that in my one heroic act trying to save you from the assassin, it nearly cost me my life! Yet in return, my own sister and sworn kingsguard repaid my valour by abandoning me!” He cried, almost sounding vulnerable then before he regained control of his voice and his lilac eyes burned ice-cold. “This is your chance to right your wrongs! Both of you!”

It was then they finally understood that the guilt she and Arthur felt was a currency to him; a currency they knew Viserys would exploit at every given opportunity. They were rendered completely powerless, and Daenerys felt yet another small piece of her die.

The brother she knew was gone. Her brother had succumbed to the voices in his head telling him to forgo what goodness he ever had in his heart, lest it gets him hurt again. Glancing over to Arthur, who could only look at her paralysed, she gives him a reassuring nod and suppresses her true feelings before nervously agreeing her brother’s plan… not that she thought Viserys would ever require her consent.

She has awakened the dragon again, and her minor show of reluctance had been a grave mistake, as Viserys took that as a slight. Though she expected another violent redress to follow immediately, the delayed lashing only came a few agonising days later when Daenerys was getting ready for the presentation, and Viserys visited her in her bath already in a wicked temper.

“I would let Drogo and all forty-thousand of his men and their horses fuck you to get my army and reclaim the throne… that is what’s at stake for you. So you must be nothing less than perfect today, dear sister.” He warned. When Dany whimpered at the explicit cruelty, Viserys brushed his hand over her breast. “You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?” His fingers tightened over her nipple and twisted her, the pinch harsh through the fabric of her tunic. “Do you?” he repeated. 

“No.” Dany said nervously, biting back the pain and anger she felt, earning a smile from her brother. He caressed her head then, almost with affection. “When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say that it began tonight. You will not fail me.”

Daenerys then goes into her fragrant bath after he leaves with a promise to return with a gift. Going into the still boiling hot water, the servant had tried to stop her but Daenerys dismisses her. She liked the heat. For as long as she remembered she always preferred her baths with the steaming hot water and today was no different.

When her brother returned, the servant helped her out of the bath and quickly dried her naked body before Viserys held a nearly see-through lavender coloured gown for her. “The colour will bring out the amethyst of your eyes.” The craftsmanship on this garment is exquisite, she thought after her brother set it down for her to feel the material, the silk so smooth that it seemed to turn through her fingers like water. And the needlework of the gown was something Dany knew she could never reproduce, that particular skill being the one thing she never was able to master. Dany could not remember ever being given anything so soft… or expensive.

In addition to the gown, other servant girls then laid out the other things her brother would have her wear. There were gilded sandals for her feet, a golden tiara to sit on top of her hair, golden bracelets encrusted with amethyst to go around her wrists, and last of all, a heavy golden torque emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs to go around her neck. She then remembered what she heard one of the servant girls had said, how Khal Drogo was so rich even his slaves wore golden collars. A collar… the mark of a slave to be bought and sold, Dany thought with a cold shiver. And I am to be one of his many.

“Gifts from Illyrio.” Viserys said, smiling in high spirits as if he didn’t just threatened to have her gang-raped earlier. Her brother’s sharp reversal of mood in his brief absence only increased her fear of him. “Tonight you must look like a princess, and now, you would.”

Putting the dress and gilded ornamentation on made Daenerys feel more unfamiliar in her skin that she ever had in her entire life. Upon noticing her brother’s hungry eyes, Dany suddenly feels sick at his lingering looks. “You have a woman’s shape now. Stand there, turn around. Yes.” He licked his lips. “You look…”

“Regal.” Illyrio cut in, stepping through the door and bowing to his liege. “She is a vision, Your Grace. Khal Drogo will be pleased.”

“He better be. He is buying the daughter of true Valyrian nobility. Her white-gold silver hair and amethyst eyes are of impeccable quality, and a pristine rarity even when compared to those tainted mongrel whores with the blood of dragonlords running around Lys.” He inspected her further. “I am certain that even a barbarian such as Drogo is not fool enough to want to refuse this superior beauty… even if their tastes are queer. Boys, horses, sheep…” He chuckled as the two men walked out, leaving her in the alone in the room to continue getting readied by the servants.

Soon after the sun dipped below the horizon they made their way to Drogo’s manse at the edge of the city, and during the journey Daenerys kept biting her tongue no matter how hard Viserys made it. “We won’t need his whole khalasar.” Visersys said, toying with a borrowed sword she knew he would never use. “Ten thousand would even be enough. I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers.”

I highly doubt that, she thought silently.

“The realm would rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornish burn to avenge Elia and her children. The smallfolk will be with us. They cry for their king.” He looked at Illyrio expectantly. “Don't they, Illyrio?” 

“They do, Your Grace. All across the realm they drink secret toasts to your health and sew banners of the three-headed dragon and hide them for the day of your awaited return.” Illyrio added sweetly.

Sharing a worried look with Arthur, Dany knew all of that to be far from the truth. Oh, what poison has he filled your head with, sweet brother? 

Daenerys knew they needed this army, as there was no getting back to Westeros without one, but more importantly, having this army means giving Viserys what he wants. They could never afford to pay for a sellsword company. Illyrio might be able, yet that would mean becoming even more indebted to him than they already are. One thing she knew for certain though, was that sellswords are not known for being trustworthy. They fight for gold, not loyalty.

Before long, they arrive at Drogo’s manse on the edge of the city, which had been a gift from the magisters of Pentos to appease the khalasar. “It’s not that we fear the horselords.” Illyrio explained, for once without the usual honeyed tone. “We could hold our city walls against hundreds of thousands Dothraki. But we magisters thought why take chances, when their friendship comes so cheap?” Finally, the first intelligent thought from the ghastly man, Daenerys opined.

“May I present to you, Viserys of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name.” Illyrio announced, with a eunuch translating in dothraki to the crowd of horselords. “King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His sister Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone, their kingsguard the honourable Ser Arthur Dayne and their loyal host Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the city of Pentos.” 

Upon closer inspection, she noticed that it wasn’t just Dothraki men with black braided hair hung with bells among them at the manse, but sellswords from Pentos, Myr and Tyrosh, red priests, men from the Port of Ibben and even lords from the Summer Isles. Daenerys looked at them all in wonder until she realised, with sudden fear, that she was the only woman there. It was only when she shared a concerned look with Arthur, who looked to her reassuringly and nodded, did she smile and steels her resolve. There’s no going back. If I look back, I am lost… and I must do this for my brother.

She then saw Illyrio walking over with surprising dexterity to introduce Khal Drogo himself, an attractive bull of a man who strode to her graceful as a panther, and looked much younger, and more handsome than Daenerys had expected. 

“Do you see his braid, sweet sister. How long it is?” Viserys whispers as the two men came closer. “When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids in disgrace, so the world will know their shame. Khal Drogo has never lost a fight. And you will be his new mount. Be grateful it is only Drogo I’m giving you to, not the rest of his men. You may even learn to like him.” He gleefully added. 

Daenerys tried dismissing his comments, as she already knew of those customs from her lessons with uncle Iroh. But the tone in which her brother had so satisfyingly sold his own sister had taken her by surprise and it was as excruciating as it was heartbreaking.

When the Khal finally stood in her presence, he looks her in the eye, and in the moment Daenerys almost broke and buckled, the golden collar around her neck suddenly felt evermore constricting. But when she took notice of his neutral, hard face, the feeling faded away as quickly as it came and she made sure to mimic his expression, taking care to not show any hints of fear to her soon-to-be husband. Drogo gave the slightest of smirks which Daenerys returns. Without notice, Drogo and his men mounted their horses and leaves.

Before Viserys’ rage could properly build, Illyrio assures him. “Do not worry, Your Grace. Drogo had indeed approved of the match!” He looked proudly at Daenerys. “If he did not, the khal would have made it much more abundantly clear. Violently so.”

Daenerys spent the rest of the night pondering her situation, looking wistfully to the waters of the bay from her room in Illyrio’s manse. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the happy shouts of men and women who sounded as if they had nary a care in the world. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and dressed in tatters, with no past, no future and no impending marriage to a warlord.

But marrying the Khal could also mean gaining power for herself so long she played the situation right. Perhaps Viserys is correct, and she could learn to like him, she thought wishfully. If she could get her soon-to-be husband to fall in love with her, it would be a boon for their union.

Even in her young life, she was aware that men would do many great things for those that have earned their love. Love is a powerful weapon after all, this Dany was beginning to understand. Uncle Iroh had always noted her talent with mummery, though she did not know if it extended to the art of seduction.

A problem, which seemed to resolve itself as the next day, a night before the wedding, when Viserys gifts her three slaves, no doubt paid for by Illyrio, that he informs were now to be her handmaids. Irri, a Dothraki woman, to teach her the Dothraki tongue, Jhiqui, a part-Dothraki part-Summer Islander, to teach her how to ride like a Dothraki, and Doreah, a Lyseni pleasure slave, to teach her the art of love. The latter of the three, she knew Viserys specifically insisted on so Dany wouldn’t be able to ruin his transaction.

Rather than wallow in sorrow, Daenerys spends the night immediately having Doreah teach her all she would need to know about pleasing the Khal. If she was to be put in this undesirable position, then she would be hell-bent in finding a way to make herself as prepared as she possibly could, Dany reasoned.

Yet even with that gumption, Daenerys couldn’t help but cry herself to sleep that night, still fearful of her predicament. 

But then when sweet sleep found her, she had a dream, of big dark scaly wings in differing colours.

And of fire and blood.

The dream morphed into cold winds and snow storms and blue eyes. Of terrible beings wearing ice. The dream ends with a black dragon bathing her in flames.

When Daenerys Targaryen woke up early the next day, she felt strong and fierce.

Chapter Text

298AC

The early morning sky was still dark when she came to Arthur and asked him to spar with her. No one in the estate was awake yet at this hour, but Dany preferred it that way. This might be the last time they could do this without interruption, she thought sadly.

“I’m sorry I couldn't do more to stop this marriage, Princess.” Arthur said after about an hour and the pale crimson dawn of the sky had appeared. “I’ve tried petitioning the king, begging even, but he-”

“Won’t listen to you. Or anyone else but himself for that matter. Except maybe perhaps Illyrio.” Daenerys finished sadly as she looked at the man who was her father in all but blood. “There is no reasoning with him. Not in this. The best we can do is make the best of a terrible situation.” She smiled ruefully. “Besides, I’ll have you with me.”

“Always, daughter. I’ll always be by your side.” He bowed, trying to his best to appear collected before giving a hollow smile that didn't reach his eyes. “If the khal hurts you in any way, he’ll have to answer to me… and my blade.”

Touched by Arthur’s protectiveness, it was evident nonetheless how low in spirit the knight felt as she left to her chambers to get ready, and seeing that nearly broke her resolve. She knew the more time passed in Pentos, the more it troubled him to be taking orders from her volatile brother. 

Arthur’s guilt was a terrible thing, yet she knew that there were still limits to the lengths the feeling would take him. Dany could only imagine that as the days went by, Viserys would keep testing them, and perhaps someday soon it’ll break. She could only hope the same for herself.

The wedding proceeded in all its wild splendour in the field beyond the walls of Pentos, as the Dothraki believe that all things of importance in life must be done underneath the unobstructed sky. She saw all forty thousand of Khal Drogo’s Dothraki warriors and their horde of women, and children, filling her line of vision, and within them were an endless sea of peculiar things that thrilled her voracity for curiosities. She had never seen so many people in one place at a time, nor people so different. 

Judging by the many Pentoshi magisters who attended the event, the wedding seemed to be a citywide affair. Though according to cheesemonger, it was hardly an unanimously accepted one, as many people within the city of Pentos were still nervous to see such a congregation of this many Dothraki within their immediate vicinity.  

“Some other magisters felt the need for precaution and doubled the size of the city guard. Not that I thought it was necessary, when the khal is unmistakably our ally.” Illyrio said in his usual bluster as they made their way through the throng toward the main dais. Though he tried to show otherwise, something about the cheesemonger’s excessive sweating and nervous glances at the horselords betrayed his true feelings which seemed quite contrary to his claim of calmness.

“He’s not my ally, but my subject. A subject I’ve paid my fair share to, so I think it’s high time for him to pay his. We should be planning the invasion by now.” Viserys barked in impatiently. Dany noticed how he wore his black and red wool tunic undone at his neckline, prominently displaying his chilling scar. She could only guess how her brother was most likely hoping that the severity of the scar would automatically earn him some respect among these band of barbaric warriors, which didn't seem too bad of an idea as far as Viserys was concerned, especially considering the truth of his martial skill, or lack thereof. 

“Do not fret, Your Grace. Trust me. The khal has promised you a crown, and you shall have it.” Illyrio replied quickly. 

“Yes, but when?” 

“Soon…” Illyrio said before continuing with care. “He will have the girl first, and after they are wed he must present her to the dosh khaleen at Vaes Dothrak. When the omens favour war, then the khalasar will go to war.”

The answer made Viserys seethe. “I piss on ridiculous Dothraki omens. That is not soon at all. The man will go to war when I tell him to go to war!” 

“I must advise you to be patient, Your Grace.” Ser Jorah Mormont said, earning yet another glare from Arthur, an occurrence which has become habitual any time the northerner opened his mouth. “The Dothraki are true to their word, but they are unlike most civilised men when keeping to time. One must never presume to demand a khal.”

“Don’t you dare presume to speak to me like that again, Mormont. I am the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. I’ll have that brute under my command soon enough.” At that, Ser Jorah could only bow respectfully, muttering a polite apology.

Daenerys didn't know what to make of the northerner. On one hand, he was one more person who came from her homeland, who brought with him untold insight which could help her brother with his plans of invasion. It had been the reason her brother had jumped at the opportunity in accepting the exile into his service in the first place when the man arrived at Illyrio’s behest. 

Then there was also his expansive knowledge and experience with the Dothraki people and their culture, from the years he spent in Essos due to his status as a fellow exile, which would make the man a near indispensable ally for her in her new life as a khaleesi. She had basic knowledge of them from her lessons with Iroh, but even she knew the Dothraki had their own intricacies that, if not respected properly, could get her and her retinue killed.

But Arthur didn’t trust him, and that had given Dany enough pause to keep the man at arm’s length. At first, she thought it had been due to the two knights having stood on different sides during the usurper’s war, Jorah naturally having sided with his fellow northerners and Ned Stark, or as Viserys liked to remind her, the usurper’s dog. But in truth, it had been due to the northerner’s shameful deed in selling poachers to slavers, an act which sent him running from his lord’s executioner block and hundreds of leagues away from his homeland. Arthur had no respect for a man who would sell people to slavers, especially a man who refuse to accept due punishment for it, a feeling Dany also shared.

Surprisingly, it had been Viserys that prevented any hostilities to escalate into actual violence, when he ordered the two knights to cease any discord. Though in truth, Dany knew that his order had more to do with her brother believing that such behaviour to be antithetical to their service of him, rather than an enforcement of his nonexistent distaste for unnecessary violence. Viserys even went so far as calling the two men’s grudges childish. The irony of her brother’s words were not lost on her.

Soon enough, Dany was seated beside Khal Drogo, the two sitting above the sea of guests and Viserys was seated just below her, with Illyrio, Ser Jorah and Ser Arthur on either of his side. 

To the horselords, it was considered an honour, to be seated just below the khal’s own bloodriders… but not to her brother, as even Dany could see from her high seat the silent fury in her brother’s lilac eyes. More than anything, she knew he did not like sitting beneath her and saw how he fumed when the slaves had offered food to the khal first instead of him. 

Daenerys did her best to minimise every alleged insult, but in the end she knew there was nothing she could do to try and pacify her brother’s darkening mood. She instead focused on the food, which had been surprisingly appetising, and the festivities, which shocked her when she saw the deaths pile up. 

“A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair.” Ser Jorah supplied. Then she supposed her wedding must be considered a blessed one, with the amount of deaths she’s witnessed thus far. But death wasn’t the only thing that bewildered her, as sex had been frequent too during the celebrations.

Just an hour before did she see a Dothraki warrior grabbing a female dancer by her arm, and mounted her right there, as a stallion would a mare. “The Dothraki mate like the animals in their herds. There is no privacy in a khalasar, and they do not understand sin or shame as we do.” The northman added. 

The thought stayed with her until at last the sun was beginning to sink into the horizon and her husband clapped his hands together and the feasting and celebrations came to a sudden halt. Drogo stood and offered Dany his hand to stand beside him. It was time for her bride gifts. 

As Viserys had already gifted her with her three handmaids, he stayed sulking in his seat watching the proceedings with barely contained jealously. Ser Jorah however was the first to come forward with a small stack of old books, laying it out before her. Histories and Songs of the Seven Kingdoms, she read the one at the top. It was a gift that Dany would never come to expect but highly appreciated, thanking the knight with genuine gratitude. 

Ser Arthur came next, handing her a bundled sleeve filled with an array of throwing knives, blades and leather straps which would be easily concealed on her person. Bowing before his princess, Dany had given a smile and a thanks, while trying to conceal a smirk. It had been a brilliant gift, one she would surely need and see many uses for.

The magister Illyrio came next, with four slaves carrying a big wooden chest. As they opened it, she saw piles of finest silks, and velvets, typical gifts one would expect any bride to receive. But they were nothing compared to the three large eggs nestled on top of them, entrancing her. Dany couldn’t believe it. They were the most exquisite things she had ever seen, each one different than the other, patterned in colours so vibrant and covered in tiny scales she thought to be bejewelled.

One egg was green with bronze flecks, the next was pale cream streaked with gold and the last was black with scarlet ripples and swirls. It took no time for her to lift the last one, delicately inspecting it, finding that it was much heavier than she expected and appeared to be made of solid stone… yet it had been warm to her touch as well.

“Dragon’s eggs…” She whispered.

“That is correct, Princess. From the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai,” Illyrio boasted proudly. “The centuries have turned them to stone, yet they are beauty to behold. They would find no better place to be than with a daughter of Old Valyria.” 

“I shall treasure them always. Thank you, magister.” Dany had only heard tales of such eggs from Viserys and his stories of their family, but she never thought she’d actually ever see one, let alone own three. It was a truly magnificent gift, though she knew Illyrio could afford to be lavish. She knew he had collected a fortune for his part in selling her to Drogo. 

The khal’s bloodriders, named Cohollo, Qotho and Haggo, gave her the traditional three weapons, which she refuses as is the standard Dothraki custom, and passes them on to her husband despite how much she desired to keep the splendid gifts. Many other gifts were given by the other Dothraki guests, so many that they began mounting in a great pile, more gifts than she could possibly ever want or need. 

But none from the heaping pile could compare to the eggs or the last one she received, when Drogo brought forward his own gift for his bride, a beautiful silver-white mare. Drogo said something, which sounded almost gentle, if anything in the Dothraki language could sound gentle. Ser Jorah translated, “Silver for the silver of your hair, the khal says.” 

“She’s beautiful.” Dany said breathless. 

“She is the pride of the khalasar,” Illyrio continued translating as Drogo stepped forward put his hand on her waist and easily lifts her up to the saddle. “A khaleesi must ride a mount worthy of her place by the side of the khal.”

Knowing that the dreaded time had come, she searched the crowd for Arthur’s face, finding it quickly. He strode towards her, and as he came upon her silver he fixed her a steady gaze. 

“I may not be able to follow you tonight, but my gift however…” He said as he gave her a reassuring but uneasy smile, she felt the confidence she needed surge within.  

“Do not fret, father.” She smiled and she knew her assurance would help alleviate some of his anxiety. To make that more evidently clear, she sends the horse into a gallop, gracefully leaping over a fire-pit as if she had wings.

She tells Illyrio to tell her husband that he has given her the wind, a comment which made the khal smile, the first time she had ever seem him done that since the moment they met. Just as Drogo was readying his horse as the sun was setting, Viserys suddenly slid close to Dany, digging his finger into her leg. “Please him, sweet sister, else you will regret it.” 

Dany disregarded brother's blatant threat, knowing full well what was at stake and followed Drogo as he set a fast pace, beginning to trot off far away from the khalasar, without saying a word to her the entire ride. I am the blood of the dragon and the dragon is never afraid, Daenerys reminds herself as she followed her husband’s galloping pace. They stopped after a long ride, in a grassy place beside a small stream.

After witnessing what she saw today of her husband’s people and their harsh culture, she had expected to be taken just as roughly. Yet despite his fierce reputation however, Drogo proved to be a surprisingly considerate man. So considerate that she didn't once felt the need to reach for her hidden blade. 

It had been a most frustrating thing, that the two of them shared no common tongue, but even if Dany did not understand his words, Drogo’s soft murmuring had a warmth and tenderness she never would have expected. He senses her discomfort almost immediately and says, “No.” 

“You speak the Common Tongue?” Dany said in surprise.

“No.” he said again.

Though that single word seemed to be the full extent of his knowledge of the Common Tongue, somehow his small effort made her feel a bit better about where the night was headed.

Drogo led her to a large flat rock beside the stream, before he started to remove the bells from his hair, one by one, which Daenerys quickly understood to be an implicit invitation, and begins to help him take them off. Once his hair was undone, Drogo starts undressing her, with astonishing tenderness, until she is ready for him. Dany was tense of what would come next, and for a while nothing happened. Then with sudden realisation, she understood that he would not begin to have intercourse with her until she initiates it.

After a while he began to touch her, lightly, as if she was a fragile thing he was careful not to break. He held her hand in his own, and ran a hand gently down her leg. He stroked her face, running a finger gently around her mouth. This gentleness made Daenerys breathless, and when he started caressing her more sensitive areas, she didn’t recoil, surprising herself when she welcomed the touch. Flushed and heart now fluttering, he then seats her on his lap.

“No?” he asked.

Dany astonished herself when she shakes her head and answered with certainty. “Yes.” 

Remembering to lock eyes with him, which had been Doreah’s first instruction, she slowly inserts herself on top him. It bewildered Dany that she found herself enjoying it a lot more than she expected and saw that Drogo seemed to mirror her own unexpected pleasure, though he also looks at her with a fascinated and contemplative look of intensity. 

That night, under the stars, Dany began her marriage riding a powerful warlord… a thought that brought her unexpected sense of strength.

The days following the wedding, her dragon dreams returned with glaring consistency, and every morning it would fill her with a determination and fierceness that got her through the days of the hard transition in her new life. With every passing day, Dany felt surer in unfamiliar territory, though it at first had not come easy, as the horde started moving east toward Vaes Dothrak immediately after the wedding.

Drogo’s large khalasar was like a city on the march, but it did not march heedlessly. Despite their rough and untamed outward reputation, Dany found that the Dothraki were actually quite structured and orderly in their own way. They always had scouts ranging far ahead of the main column, alert for any sign of game or prey or enemies, while outriders guarded their flanks. The horselords missed nothing, and were always prepared.

Despite being forced into the marriage, in an unexpected sort of way, Dany felt more free with her husband’s people than she ever had in her life on the run. A feeling she never thought she’d experience again since leaving Asabhad. Each morning she woke up eager to know what wonders waited for her in the lands ahead. Iroh’s old stories may have given her the insight to new cultures, but now she actually got to live in them. She even continued to find much pleasure in her nights, and if she ever cried out when Drogo took her, it was never in pain.

Even her khas, which consisted of three dothraki warriors assigned to be her guards had been a great addition to her growing entourage. The three guards named Aggo, Jhogo and Rakharo each specialised in the three traditional Dothraki weapons, the bow, the whip and the arakh, respectively. Throughout the first moon of their journey, what surprised them the most was that they had never thought they would be guarding a khaleesi who could fight in her own right.

Initially they had been scandalised to see her spar with Ser Arthur and even threatened to kill the knight for the slight, but once they saw her skill they too joined in the training, at her stubborn urging. It had been entertaining to watch their falling expressions each time they lost to her. What shocked her was how easily they took the defeats, and how it seemed to gain her a newfound respect in their eyes. The Dothraki were a hard and unsentimental people, yet they respected strength above all else. Hence their sparring session began to be a regular occurrence.

To her amazement, her husband had been equally impressed by her martial skills the same way her dothraki guards had been. Drogo even entertained her for spars on occasion, though she could tell he never puts up a real fight, still afraid of hurting his khaleesi. Predictably, such enthusiastic approval for a female fighter was not a mutual feeling shared by some others in the khalasar, including the khal’s own bloodriders.

At first Dany had thought of them similar to the Westerosi royal guards, as the Dothraki equivalent to the Kingsguard, sworn to protect their king, but in reality it went further than that. Irri said that a bloodrider was more than just a guard; they were in essence the khal’s brothers, his fiercest companions who would follow them to the ends of the earth, even to their deaths. Blood of my blood, Drogo called them, because they shared a single life.

Ancient traditions of the horselords demanded that when a khal dies, his bloodriders die with him, to ride at his side in the night lands, their idea of the afterlife. If the khal died at the hands of some enemy, they lived only long enough to avenge him, and then follow him devotedly into the grave.

She had no doubt Drogo’s bloodriders would never break with such tradition, yet in spite of Drogo’s gentle treatment of her, his three ‘blood’ brothers clearly shared a different view of his khaleesi.

Daenerys’s thoughts turned to Arthur and her own family’s past kingsguards, and she wondered what her life would’ve been if her father had been protected by men as devoted, however reckless such devotion was. 

Viserys always spoke of how the white-cloaked knights of the Kingsguard were supposed to be ever noble, valiant, and true, and yet her father King Aerys had been murdered by one of his own, the one they now called the Kingslayer. Ser Barristan the Bold, the only other surviving member, had surrendered to the Usurper and was now serving him. Ser Arthur had been the lone man of true character left among his brotherhood. 

While she hoped that if she or Viserys were to ever perish that their knights wouldn’t try to blindly follow them into the grave as bloodriders would, she would at least want them to hold enough loyalty to seek justice, as Arthur has by remaining by their side.

In their time on the run, Arthur had for a long while debated the merits of sending a missive to Barristan, who despite appearances, Arthur believed is still loyal to the Targaryens, and would serve them again if given the chance. But each time he had decided against it, knowing the risks were too high. In King’s Landing, there were no secrets. 

In the following months trekking to Vaes Dothrak, Daenerys started to embrace her life with the Dothraki, assimilating easier than she expected and becoming proficient in the tongue, their riding style and other cultural habits. 

“Your speech has improved much, khaleesi.” Jhiqui said. In sharp contrast to her ease, her brother was miserable out in the Dothraki sea and was a constant source irritation for everyone, especially to Arthur.

He ought to have never come, Dany thought. The magister Illyrio had urged her brother, begged even, to wait in Pentos and offered him the extended hospitality of his manse. But Viserys would have none of it. Her brother had insisted on staying with Drogo until the debt had been paid, until he had the crown he had been promised. 

“And if he tries to cheat me, he will learn to his sorrow what it means to wake the dragon.” Viserys had vowed. Not Illyrio, nor her, nor Arthur’s words could deter him. 

Growing up with Viserys made her acutely aware of how mixing her brother with any new strangers was a potentially volatile combination, yet now it has ceased being a potential and instead became a real constant worry for Daenerys. 

To his slim commendation, Viserys had been on his relatively best behaviour when it came to his interactions with her, but the ever present fear of an outburst was always on the back of her mind. She wouldn’t know what to do if she accidentally awoke the dragon in sight of the entire khalasar or Drogo. Her fear was not of Viserys, but rather what would happen to him. 

Even as khaleesi, she knew she didn’t wield the kind of power that would save her brother from the Dothraki should he greatly offend them, which Dany also knew her brother would easily be capable of. 

And his first real outburst had been a reckoning indeed.

The day had been too perfect and her confidence from the morning sparring session with Drogo had allowed her to momentarily forget about her brother, as any thought of him usually spoiled her mood. Without thinking, she gave an order.

“Wait here.” Dany told Ser Jorah. “Tell them all to stay until I return. Tell them I command it.”

“You are learning to talk like a queen, Princess.”

“Not a queen…” Dany said firmly. “A khaleesi.”

It didn't take long after she reached the place down the ridge near a stream, until suddenly Viserys was there, screaming and grabbing her with zeal.

“You dare!” He screamed at her at the top of his lungs, “You dare give an order to me! You do not command the dragon! Do you understand? I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, I will not hear orders from some horselord’s slut, do you hear me?” His hand went on her neck, his fingers gripping quickly and painfully into her jaw. “Do you hear me?”

Dany shoved him away, hard.

Viserys stared at her, his lilac eyes in disbelief. She had never defied him so blatantly nor ever fought back until now. Rage twisted his crazed features and she readied herself. She knew that he was about to retaliate but in that moment she decided she would no longer allow herself to be his victim. Never again.

Crack!

The whip coiled Viserys around the throat and yanked him backward, sending him sprawling in the grass, stunned and choking.  

For a moment both Dany and Viserys were too shocked to react. 

“Do you want him dead, Khaleesi?” Jhogo asked.

“No!” Dany replied quickly in dothraki. “Release him. I do not want him harmed.”

Once Jhogo gave a pull on the whip, Viserys went sprawling again, freed from the grip. Her brother was yanked free but fell on his knees, crying incoherently, struggling for breath. She wanted to hurt her brother for his abuse, but not like this.

“You should take an ear to teach him respect, khaleesi.” Rakharo suggested, laughing in pity at Viserys.

“No, he has learned enough…” Dany said uneasily, though one look at his raving bloodshot eyes and she knew he, in fact, hadn’t.

“I’ll teach you, you whore!” Viserys tried shouting with his bruised windpipe as he frantically ran at her again.

Thwack!

Dany gasped in surprise as Arthur come out of nowhere and punched Viserys in the face, sending her brother to the ground once more.

“I warned him what would happen, princess.” Ser Jorah said as he rode up the commotion. “But he wouldn’t heed me when I urged him to stay.”

“That sounds like my brother.” Dany said evenly as she watched Viserys lay on the ground, cursing and sobbing. It was a pitiful sight. Looking around, she saw that her khas had joined them and her handmaids had also gathered around her, with a few from the train joining them. Daenerys knew now that something had to be done. She had to project strength in front of her people.

“Take his horse.” Dany commanded in dothraki. Viserys gaped at her confused until Aggo came forward to his horse. He could not believe what he was seeing.

“Let my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.” Among the Dothraki, the man who does not ride was no man at all, the lowest of the low, without honour or pride.

“No!” Viserys screamed. He turned to Ser Jorah with venom. “Do not let her, Mormont! Punish her! Your king commands it! Kill these Dothraki dogs and that ungrateful bastard Dayne too! Teach them what it means to go against me!”

The northman took one look at Dany, then to Ser Arthur, both of whom appeared ready to fight back. He turned to Aggo and took her brother’s horse. “He will walk, khaleesi.” 

Viserys was rendered speechless when Dany remounted her horse, bringing along her khas with her, leaving him behind as he furiously nursed his injured pride.

Once the adrenaline had run its course, Daenerys was shaken over what just occured, that she was able to do such a thing to Viserys. She turned to Arthur who seem to share her troubles.

“Did we do the right thing, Arthur?”

“He left us no choice, princess.” Arthur replied, though he didn’t sound too sure of himself. 

“He’s not going to forgive this slight, especially when he comes into the throne.” 

Jorah turned to look at them and said. “I’m sorry, princess but would you want to see Viserys sit on the Iron Throne? Or any throne?”

In one regretful look to Arthur, she knew that they’ve both realised the answer to that all along. “Viserys would not make a good king.” Dany began, with Arthur looking downcast as the words spilled out. “My brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms.” She had known that for a long time, perhaps all her life, and it was clear Arthur felt the same.

“He would not be able to lead an army even if my husband gave him one, as the Dothraki make a mock of weakness. He will never take us home… and the common people would rise against him if he did so with a foreign army.” She had never let herself say the words, even in a whisper, but now she said them for all the world to hear.

“Wise words, khaleesi.” Ser Jorah smiled ruefully.

That night in her dragon dreams the ice-armoured creatures with piercing blue eyes returned, and it left her with cold sweats by morning light. It had troubled her all day, so she spent the following night clutching her dragon eggs, the eggs feeling warmer than they had before. As if by instinct, she starts putting them over a brazier, hoping their fire would make them hatch… but after days of it, nothing happens.

“Once a trader from Qarth told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi,” Doreah said, trying to console Dany over her eggs not hatching. She had always been the most excited one of her handmaids. Irri and Jhiqui often teased the girl for her silliness but Dany enjoyed her. It reminded Dany how she never had any female friends, or any friends of her own age for that matter, and it made her treasure her three companions more.

“He said there were two moons in the sky, but one drifted too close to the sun and cracked. A million dragons poured out, and drank the fire of the sun. It’s why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return. Maybe you would make that happen someday, khaleesi.”

Her two other handmaids giggled and made fun of Doreah for the absurdity of the tale but Dany barely registered that, for the tale had put a spell over her, compelling her to reach with her hands to pick up one of the eggs from the fire with her bare hands.

Daenerys had thought she saw a spark of flame from the egg… only to have Irri immediately snatch the egg away from her, afraid it would burn her khaleesi. Looking at her own hands, it showed no sign of scorched flesh, while Irri's palms were burned with a brand imprint of the egg’s scales. 

No ice-creatures visited her dreams that night.  

Chapter Text

298AC

Daenerys was three moons along with child by the time they reached Vaes Dothrak.

The only city of the Dothraki was at once the largest city and the smallest that she had ever been to, though the footprint of the place looked to be several times larger than Pentos, and it had a vastness that lacked walls or end. In the Free Cities, buildings and manses and shops all crowded in on one another, but Vaes Dothrak was sprawled out and that made it look… 

“So empty.” She said softly in the Common Tongue.  

“Only the crones of the dosh khaleen reside permanently in this sacred city, khaleesi. Them and their servants alone.” Ser Jorah said. “Yet Vaes Dothrak is large enough to house every man of every khalasar, should all the khals return to the Mother at once. The crones have always prophesied that one day that will come to pass, and so Vaes Dothrak must be ready to embrace all its children.”

While such tradition intrigued her, Viserys was less enthused. “What an ugly place.” He sneered, though she was grateful that he had sense enough to not speak so loudly.

Despite her resolve the day she ordered his horse to be taken, Daenerys very quickly felt terrible for her brother the days following. The Dothraki had endlessly japed at her brother’s expense, calling him Khal Rhae Mhar, the Sorefoot King, insistently for a few days until Drogo had offered him a place in a cart, which Viserys had accepted with delight. 

In his characteristic ignorance, her brother had not even known he was being mocked; to the Dothraki the carts were for cripples, women giving birth, and the very old. That branded him yet another name: Khal Rhaggat, the Cart King. Her brother, in contrast, had thought the gesture was the khal’s way of apologising for the wrong Dany had done him.

Not wanting Viserys to find out about the mockery, Daenerys used every trick she knew to get her husband to allow her to give Viserys a horse, a favour she was beginning to regret now.

“How long must we linger in these dilapidated ruins before Drogo gives me my army? I’ve grown tired of waiting.” Viserys said grimly. “I was promised a crown, and I mean to have it. The dragon is not mocked!”

“I’m sure the khal will honour his promise in his own time. Meanwhile, we must be patient, my king.” Ser Arthur warned. In the weeks since he punched Viserys, her brother had steadily avoided the knight, instead keeping Ser Jorah as his sole company. Viserys huffed at his reply and trotted off. 

“He will go as soon as he has his ten thousand, he says… and Drogo did promise him a golden crown.” She added, though she sounded unsure.

Ser Jorah grunted. “You do not demand anything of a khal. I have told him as much, as Illyrio had told him before me, but your brother would not listen.”

Daenerys contemplated her brother’s assessment that ten thousand Dothraki screamers would be enough to take the Seven Kingdoms and determined that to be folly. Her lessons with Iroh and Arthur taught her as much. Light cavalry, no matter the size of the host, will never be enough take on the heavily armoured soldiers of Westeros who had their castles. Her knights shared similar sentiments, though they also admitted to some of the Dothraki’s martial advantages.

“They are better riders than any knight that is true, utterly fearless, and their bows outrange ours. In Westeros most archers fight on foot, or from behind a shieldwall. The Dothraki fire from horseback, charging and retreating, in deadly and overwhelming numbers.” Jorah thought aloud. “I don't imagine conscripts would stand against the charge of forty thousand screamers howling for blood. How well would they fare when the arrows fall like a thunderous rainstorm?”

Arthur had an answer for that. “If the lords of the Seven Kingdoms have any wits about them, it will never come to that. The riders doesn’t seem to have any thought for siegecraft. I doubt they could take even the weakest castle in the Westeros, but if Robert Baratheon were fool enough to give them battle …”

“Is he?” Dany asked. “A fool?”

“Robert should have been born a Dothraki horselord.” Ser Jorah chuckled. “Any khal would tell you that only a coward hides behind stone walls instead of facing his enemy in the field and the Usurper lives by that as well. He is a strong man, foolishly brave and rash enough to meet a Dothraki horde in the open field… but the men around him are another matter altogether however. His brother Stannis, Lord Tywin Lannister, Eddard Stark, they would make sure Robert’s armies never meet ours in an open field. They would never lead their men down such a path. We would have to force him out, which shouldn’t be too hard to do to such a short-tempered man like him.”

“Is it we, already?” Arthur quipped sardonically at the northerner, which earned her father a chastising glare from her. 

So Viserys and the Usurper had a lot more in common than they would ever admit to, she thought as she began dismounting. At the central hub of the city, each rider gave up all their weapons to a waiting slave, for in Vaes Dothrak no man may carry steel or spill blood. Even a Khal himself was not exempt. It was another oddly organised trait that she had not expected from the Dothraki. 

Within the city, all warring khalasars put aside their feuds and live amongst each other in harmony when they were in sight of the Mother of Mountains. In this place, the crones of the dosh khaleen had decreed, all Dothraki were one blood, one khalasar, one herd. 

And never once have they gone against tradition. 

As Drogo left to ascend the Mother of Mountains to make a sacrifice to the gods for his safe return, Dany and her khas made their way to Khal Drogo’s palace, which was a massive feasting hall that Daenerys found surprisingly cozy. And just behind that, were large tents that had been prepared for her, her khal and their khas.

The next day she decided to give her brother a few gifts she had prepared, as a peace gesture to try and make his days among the horselords easier, for everyone involved. Dany laid out the clothing she had made to her brother’s measure, which included a handsome leather vest painted with a red three-headed dragon. He was still her brother after all, and they were both blood of the dragon.

Though she knew him to volatile, it had still surprised her when Viserys arrived dragging Doreah by the arm, fuming.

“How dare you send this common whore to give me commands!” he shouted, shoving the handmaid roughly to the carpet. Arthur had rushed in after the outburst, ready to intervene, but Dany dismissed the knight with a single shake of her head, nodding her head for him to check on Doreah.

Her brother’s blinding anger took Dany by genuine surprise. “I only asked to invite you luncheon with me and present to you gifts, brother. Please.” Directing his line of sight to her gifts, which when Viserys looked at the assortment of tokens, he only sneers at them.

“Dothraki rags. Do you presume to dress me now?”

“I just thought, with this heat, you’d feel cooler and more comfortable in these garments…”

“Tsk. Next you’ll want to braid my hair.”

He never disappoints in testing people’s patience, Dany thought darkly. “You have no right to a braid, since you’ve won no victories, brother.” Her palm began to tighten into fists.

His lilac eyes twitched with fury, yet Viserys made no moves to strike her, not with her handmaids watching and her knights and the Dothraki guards of her khas just outside.

“You forget yourself, you ingrate. Do you think that growing belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”

The way her brother spoke the veiled threat to his own unborn nephew made her blood boil and made her see red, and the next thing Dany knew Viserys was on the floor clutching his neck, heaving hard. Apparently, she had punched him right in the throat.

“I see that you have learned nothing, brother…” Dany said trying to calm herself. “Pray that Khal Drogo does not hear of this.” Shocked, Viserys quickly picked himself up and walked off, leaving her gifts behind in contempt. 

“You did nothing none of us wouldn’t have done ourselves, Princess.” Arthur said as he came in trying to comfort her. Despite her smile of reassurance, Daenerys felt the familiar guilt all the same. Was her brother truly so lost to her? Dany had no idea how many more chances she could extend to him. 

“Ser Jorah, please keep an eye on my brother.” Dany commanded the northerner. “Keep him from trying anything foolish, especially in front of the khals or their bloodriders.” 

To her relief, her brother had not tried anything foolish in the time since, and after a full moon since their arrival, the Dosh Khaleen had declared that the time had come for the dothraki ceremonies to commence, namely the ancient motherhood ritual where a pregnant khaleesi was expected to eat a stallion’s heart in front of her khal’s entire congregation. 

To the Dothraki, the heart of the stallion is believed to make a growing son in the womb come out strong and swift and fearless, but if she chokes on the blood or retches the meat, then omens would divine that her child could be weak, deformed, stillborn, or worse still, born a female. 

The slightly-beating heart was still steaming when Khal Drogo set it before her, raw and bloody as the chewy muscle filled her mouth and ran down over her chin. The foul taste threatened to gag her, but she made herself chew and swallow.

In preparation, Daenerys had eaten bowls of blood and dried horse flesh, even fasted for a day and a half, yet still her stomach screamed in protest and her jaw ached. She looked at the khal, her sun and stars, whenever she felt her resolve waning; looked at him, and chewed and swallowed. As she was preparing to consume the difficult last bite, Dany glimpsed a fierce pride in his lustful eyes, which spurned a determination that steeled her to finish, earning her a smirk of utter satisfaction from the khal. 

The chanting fell silent as she swallowed the last piece and one of the crones closed her seeing eyes, to better peek into the future with omens of her unborn child. The silence that fell was deafening and the entire room stared at her with anticipation, waiting nervously.

At seeing the overwrought tension in her husband, Dany laid her hand on Drogo’s arm in silent support, which he gripped her delicate hand in return. Even a khal as powerful as Drogo could know fear when the dosh khaleen peeked into the future. Other khals were no different, as the mightiest of them throughout the Dothraki’s history bowed to the wisdom and authority of the dosh khaleen.

The crone opened her bewildered eyes and turned to Daenerys, momentarily puzzled, as if contemplating something unforeseen, which made Dany’s heart stammer frantically, before finally lifting her arms in proclamation. 

“As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, endless without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, the bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name.”

The crone trembled and looked at Dany with slight trepidation, almost as if she were afraid of something, but then continued. “The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world!”

“The stallion who mounts the world!” the entire hall cried in echo. An inspired thought filled her mind then, and Daenerys stood to address the crowd with a proclamation of her own. “He shall be called Rhaego!” she shouted as the room echoed the name in thunderous applause.

“What is the meaning, Rhaego?” Khal Drogo asked using the Common Tongue as they exited the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen after the ceremony. She’d been teaching him her language as she had been taught his. While Dany had quickly mastered his tongue, her husband was still struggling with hers, though she noticed how hard Drogo tried. He’s a quick learner when he put his mind to it, but it seemed foreign tongues doesn't come as naturally to him as the art of combat does.

“Rhaegar was the name of my oldest brother, my sun and stars. He was a fierce warrior when he lived.” She told him. From the vantage point of the temple of the Dosh Khaleen that stands on a natural land-raised platform, Dany could see the entire city, and they could all see her. Though she was grateful for the happy cheers they gave her as she left the temple, she wanted nothing more than to wash off the blood that was quickly crusting in the cool night air.

“My knights, who knew him when he lived, says that he was a true dragon. It felt right to name our son after him.” Drogo looked down at her and she saw him smile the smile he only reserved for her. “It is a good name, moon of my life.” he said.

The stallion, according to Drogo, is the khal of khals promised in their people’s most ancient prophecy, a legendary figure who has been foretold will unite the Dothraki into a single khalasar and ride to the ends of the earth. All the people of the world will be his herd, her husband said to her with such reverence. 

So either a unifier of people… or a destroyer of worlds, she thought grimly.

As they walked, Drogo leads her out of the city, where they quickly arrive at the lake called the Womb of the World and Daenerys strips out of her bloodied clothing and enters the lake and cleans her face and body of the caked up and congealed blood. 

Shortly after, when she emerged from the lake, Daenerys could see her husband’s manhood through his trousers and helped him unlace. All it took was three quick strokes inside her, and the mighty Khal Drogo was undone, whispering the phrase ‘the stallion who mounts the world’ as he finished, which had unsettled her. 

After their impromptu coupling under the stars, Drogo returned to his central feasting palace to rejoin the festive celebrations for the coming of their son, while Daenerys decided to retire to her tent where she finds Ser Jorah waiting outside, looking visibly irritated. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, somehow knowing it had something to do with her brother. She had seen Viserys at the start of the ceremony but by the end of it, he was nowhere to be seen. It worried her then, and it worried her now.

“It’s your brother, khaleesi.” The knight said, confirming her suspicions. “He attempted to steal your dragon eggs.” 

“Attempted?” 

“Aye, until I threatened to cut off his hands.” The northerner explained. “He had thought to use the eggs as payment to recruit sellswords from the men who guard the caravans… for his army.”

Closing her eyes in exasperation, Dany tried calming herself. Why must you always be so rash and impatient, brother? She would have gladly given Viserys an egg or two if he had only asked. She owed a great deal to Viserys, their survival on the streets all those years ago was due to his perseverance. He is also all that she has left of her blood. It would be the least she could do for him.

“There’s a reason no sellswords have ever taken up his cause. They simply see no benefit from it.” She said frustrated. “Even if they did, they would only betray him at the end of it.” No doubt the Usurper and his dogs in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head. The thought worried her.

“Ser Morningstar is out there right now making sure your brother makes no promises he cannot keep.” The knight had assured her, yet the words gave her no such comfort.

“Perhaps you should be with Ser Arthur as well, help assure they don’t try and hurt Viserys.”

“We are in Vaes Dothrak, khaleesi.” he reminded her. “No one may carry a blade here or shed blood.”

“Yet men have died in this city regardless.” She said feeling a sudden tension. “Jhogo told me. Some of the traders have eunuchs with them, huge men who strangle thieves with shreds of cloth. No blood is shed and the gods are not angered. Even I am proficient with such metho-”

“Khaleesi, come quick!” 

Doreah had run in screaming, interrupting them with dire urgency. “Your brother, he- he just-” She stammered in hysterics.

“Doreah, calm yourself.” Daenerys held her friend to steady her. “Where is my brother?”

“He just entered the Khal’s palace carrying a sword! He said he was looking for you!” 

Panicked, they all ran around the corner to Drogo’s palace, where she heard a commotion already beginning inside. Angry mutterings rose all around her as she entered and the music had died away completely by the time she spotted her brother far off in the middle of the hall shoving harshly at Arthur who tried to get him to leave. Dany was frozen at the scene unfolding in front of her. 

“How dare you all start a feast without me! Where is my sister!” He shouted, voice heavy with wine. 

There were hundreds of people in the hall, but only a handful even knew the Common Tongue. Yet even if his words were incomprehensible, one only had to simply look at him to know that her brother was drunk.

Viserys forced himself from Arthur’s grip and attempted to take his place at the high table with the Khal and his bloodriders, only to have them ridicule him further in the dothraki tongue still unfamiliar to her brother. 

The sounds of laughter made Viserys focus his sights on Drogo and his bloodriders. Despite not knowing the meaning of their words, even Viserys knew what’d been implied from the condescending laughter of the warriors. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw how her brother shouted back and tried to attack the khal, but he was thankfully stopped by Arthur who knocked Viserys to the floor.

At that Drogo then rose and declared through translation that Viserys’s place is not on the high bench with the khaleesi but at the back where the lowest of the low sit shrouded in shadow so that others do not have to look upon such embarrassment.

That had been the moment her body went ice cold in fear as Viserys drew his sword towards the end of Drogo’s sentence. The hall fell so silent that all she could hear were the crackling of the fires from the braziers.

Arthur backed off, unsure how to disarm her violently drunk brother without drawing blood. He knew what a drawn sword and the spilling of blood meant here, even if her brother did not. But upon finally seeing her, Viserys focused completely on Dany as she carefully made her way to him. He slashed his blade clumsily through the air as if he was beheading unseen enemies, though none of the Dothraki in the hall actually stood in his way.

“Viserys, please drop the blade! You can have the dragon eggs you wanted, but please we must leave the hall.” Dany begged.

“Do as she says, Viserys.” Arthur warned darkly. 

“Before you’ll get us all killed, fool.” Ser Jorah added unnecessarily, earning a disapproving glare from Dany. 

Viserys laughed at them as he reached Dany. “Eggs? You think that is all I came for?” He pointed his sword over the slight curve of her belly. “No, no, sweet sister. I want all that is owed to me…” he said with a cold menace. “I want the crown that was promised to me. That savage bastard bought you, but he never paid for you. You tell him I want what I bargained for, or I’m taking you back. You… the eggs… and his mongrel child.”

Dany suddenly felt him applying more pressure and the sword point cut through her clothing, pricking at her skin. 

“Viserys, please-“ She wanted to cry and scream at the same time.

“Quiet!” Viserys shouted. “I shall have my crown or I will be happy to cut his child out and leave it for him! Tell your husband my terms. Now!” To emphasise his point, Viserys pressed his sword against her belly with even more force, enough to draw a drop of blood. He was weeping, she saw; weeping and laughing at the same time.

Daenerys was on the verge of tears and frozen to the spot, in equal parts fear for her child and burning anger at her brother, but when she heard her handmaids sobbing in fear behind her, she took a steadying breath and lifted her hands up and nodded to Viserys. 

“Everyone remain calm…” she said in Dothraki as evenly as she could, before switching to the Common Tongue. “I will tell the Khal.”

After hearing her translation of her brother's demands, Drogo nodded only once and made a single solid statement in Dothraki, stepping down from the high bench with his bloodriders. It had grown so silent in the hall that the bells in Khal Drogo’s hair seemed to chime as loudly as the three great bells of Norvos. 

“What did he say?” Viserys asked, crazed eyes shifting between her and Drogo. 

“That you shall have a splendid golden crown that men shall tremble to behold.” She murmured uneasily, feeling herself grow cold.

Viserys exhaled, smiled and brought his sword down. It tore her heart to pieces, seeing the way he smiled, as if he had been vindicated. “That is all I wanted!” he exclaimed. “What was promised.” 

He had no idea, she thought tragically. 

Arthur was at her side instantaneously, and brought her a safe distance away from her brother. Drogo looked over to them and smiled at her, before nodding to his bloodriders to seize her brother, breaking his arm and taking away his sword from his limp hands in the process. Even now Viserys did not seem to understand.

“No!” He shouted. “You cannot touch the dragon! You cannot spill blood!”

Ignoring his desperate pleas, Drogo took the iron pot in the middle of the hall and dumped the stew onto the ground, before returning the pot to the flames. He then began to unfasten his medallion belt, all massive and all made of pure gold, tossing it in the pot, and watched as the medallions turned and began to molten.

Daenerys was torn. 

Inside she was screaming in fear for her brother that once was, her heart aching for what she knows was about to occur. There was nothing she could do that would stop this even if she begged her sun and stars, she rationalised. But she also felt a black, cold rage at Viserys that she had never felt before. She was used to the occasional threats and verbal abuse from Viserys to her own person, but to have him directly threaten her unborn child, his own nephew, with immediate physical violence almost turned her love for her brother ice cold. 

Viserys was screaming, and kicking and twisting frantically, trying anything to free himself but the bloodriders held him tight between them. Her two knights watched on with distress, but they too ignored her brother’s pleas for help. “Turn away, Princess, I beg you.” Ser Arthur said, yet she could feel his terror even from his single firm touch on her shoulder. 

On the outside, Daenerys kept a detached facade, for she knew she could not show any signs of weakness. Not here in this moment, where many eyes were on her. There is no crying for her brother… at least not yet. She only kept her face straight and without emotion.

“No, I must not.” She replied firmly, holding the swell of her belly in an act of sudden protectiveness.

“Sister, please. Dany, tell them! Make them stop! Please sweet sister…” Viserys sobbed. 

When the gold was half melted, Drogo declared with a booming voice. “Crown for a king!” and upended the pot over her brother’s head. 

As soon as it began, it is over… and not a single drop of blood was spilled that night in Vaes Dothrak.

A part of Daenerys died as she watched her brother’s body go still. The brother who raised her and read to her to sleep… destined to never draw another breath again. Knowing that it was not the place to mourn, she kept the false image of strength, declaring to all with steeled clarity in her next words.

“My brother’s remains are to be cleaned up and brought to me, with no dishonour done onto him.” She declared, pausing as more listened to her every word. “My khal, the night has made me grow tired, and with your strong son inside me I wish to retire to our tent so that I could mend this wound and ensure his good health.” 

At Drogo’s firm nod, everybody remained awkwardly silent as they watched her and her handmaids exit the hall. As she walked, she reminded herself there was nothing she, a mere woman, could do to prevent a Khal like Drogo from retaliating against her brother’s foolish act. Yet the guilt she had always felt for Viserys did not go away, in fact, it only grew exponentially. 

She had failed her brother in the worst of ways. There was no denying it now. She killed her only living blood left. She may not have done the deed herself, but she was complicit.

Daenerys didn’t realise how much time has passed until her handmaids had finished dressing her wound. Afterwards she excused herself and raced on her silver to the edge of the city, settling at a secluded area near the Womb of the World. 

Arthur had followed her on his own steed. He was a constant and comforting shadow to her, and was the only one in the world who knew how she felt, for she knew he felt the familiar sense of despair. As soon as she dismounted, Daenerys rushed to her father and held him tight, letting out every iota of emotion welling up inside her. All the guilt, anger, despair, and helplessness came out in uneven ragged breaths. 

It had troubled her when she felt the slightest bit of relief now that she was no longer under the shadow of her tormenter, exasperating her guilt even more. She let all her tears fall away on the chest of the only person left in the world she considered truly family. 

The next day she, Arthur and Jorah held a small funeral for Viserys, joined by her reluctant khas and handmaids who were rather glad to see her brother no longer amongst the living. But despite their feelings, they wanted to show support to their khaleesi as they all watched her brother’s body being consumed by the flames of the pyre outside the city. 

While neither Drogo nor any of the Dothraki held any shred of respect for Viserys, they respected his khaleesi enough to allow her to honour her brother with a funeral that was ultimately inconsequential to them. She collects her brother’s ashes afterwards, and while holding on to their mother’s ring they used to share during their exile, vowed to one day spread it in Westeros, the place he longed to return, giving him at least a part of his life’s wish.

The night of the funeral made her think long about her life and future. No longer being weighed down by Viserys to immediately turn their sights west, Daenerys began to wonder if the rest of her life will just be spent roaming the lands with the dothraki, far away from her homeland. The thought felt ridiculous for her to even contemplate, considering she never truly knew what home was… or is.

The house with the red door in Braavos and Iroh’s cottage in Asabhad had come close, but deep down she knew that they were never truly home. Only the people she was with made those places feel like home, as they were her family. Still, she could not help but feel like she had a larger purpose than just blindly following Drogo’s khalasar… and her desire to redeem her family’s legacy remained yet.

If she were born a dothraki, perhaps this could be her home and she would be content. After all, she is a khaleesi married to a khal, with handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honoured place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old. And in her womb grew a son who was prophesied to one day bestride the narrow world like a colossus. 

That should be enough any khaleesi… but not for her.

Not for the dragon. 

With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the very last. She was the last of a line of sovereigns and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must never forget.

If I look back, I am lost.

“What should we do now that my brother is no longer here to bring us west?” She asked Arthur the next morning as they watched Drogo leave to go hunting.

“I do not think we have much of a choice since you’re with child, Princess. That khal’s child too.” He tells her, sounding aggrieved at the prospect. “This has gone far beyond just securing an army for Viserys.”

Drogo’s khalasar were alight with excitement as they too watched the khal’s departure, wondering if the khal would come back having killed a hrakkar, the white lion of the plains. Although he is brave even by Dothraki standards, like all his people, Drogo still fears the sea. 

Neither beast nor man could ever inspire fear within the Dothraki warriors, but the open seas was a different matter. To the Dothraki, water that a horse could not drink from was something to be avoided; their fear of the vastness of the ocean was a superstitious mainstay of their culture. Drogo was a bolder man than the other horselords in hundreds of ways, but not in this.

“The dothraki has never seen the seven kingdoms and probably thinks of them as small islands like Lys or Lorath. To a man like Drogo, the plunders of the east is a lot more tempting.” Ser Jorah paused, thinking of a possible scenario. “However, with the dothraki, fortunes can change quickly, especially with the frequency with which they go to war with one another. There might be a chance yet for us to leave and go home.”

But what of my son? Dany thought. There was no place for her son in a place like that, not if all Westerosi viewed foreigners the same way her brother did. 

Not willing to contemplate the thought and hoping to distract herself from their dilemma, Daenerys decided to go to the western market of Vaes Dothrak, where a great caravan just arrived the night before. A hundred different merchants, from Pentos, Norvos and Qohor came bringing untold splendours. Though it excited her, with that also came a sudden sadness; these were places that once housed her and her brother during their childhood on the run.

“Illyrio may have sent a letter. I shall go as well. I will seek out the captain and see if he has letters for us.” Ser Jorah said as he left rather impatiently. “I will rejoin your company once I have finished.” Curious, Dany thought as she watched him stride off with unusual urgency.

The market proved to be a welcome respite for her, as it distracted her from the fresh pangs of loss. Her favourite purchase of the day were the grilled sausages that she had, the very same ones she used to love eating when she and Viserys would visit markets in their childhood on the run and they had spare coin to buy specialty foods. Even Rakharo and Aggo liked the grilled treats.

When Doreah and Jhiqui stared longingly at a fertility charm on a magician’s booth, Dany took that too and gave it to her handmaids, thinking that now she should find something for Irri as well. But before she could, her group came upon a wine merchant offering thimbles of wines. When Dany paused before his stall, he bowed low. 

“A taste for the khaleesi?” 

When she heard his Lyseni accent, it made her momentarily forget where she was, and coupled with her cheerful mood from the day’s shopping, she replied in Valyrian as they spoke it in the Free Cities. “Just a taste, if you would be so kind.” The words felt strange on her tongue, after so long, but it also felt right.

“My lady, could you be Lyseni?”

“My speech may be Lysene, but I am dothraki now.”

As she spoke, he continued to gape at her in utter astonishment as if suddenly realising something important after he looked to where Ser Arthur was standing behind her. The wine merchant dropped to his knees the next instant.

“Princess…” he said, bowing his head nervously. “This lowly wine is not worthy of a princess most noble. I have a vintage red from the Arbor, fit for royalty. Please, let me gift you a cask.”

Noticing the way the man seemed to identify her identity had made Daenerys wary and she could tell that Arthur felt the same, though they both kept it well hidden. She graciously accepted the cask, but not before thanking the man.

“Thank you… I shall accept your gracious gift. The khal’s visits to the Free Cities had given him a taste for good wine, and I know that such a noble vintage would please him.” She feigned a smile. “But I have a sudden thirst. Open the cask, wineseller, and as a favour to your kindness, I shall like to share a glass with you. If you would please, pour some for yourself.”

The merchant stilled momentarily before catching himself and frowned playfully. “But a wine this rich should only be reserved for the Princess and her khal, it would be a crime for someone as low as I to be given such transcendent nectar. I am not worthy of this vintage.” 

Dany moved closer to the stall. “Either you open it, or I’ll have my men crack it open with your head. Your choice.” She carried no weapons here in the sacred city, so to him, a pregnant women such as she looked helpless save for the three warriors in her khas and Ser Arthur Dayne who arrayed themselves behind her, frowning, watching with their vigilant eyes. Some people around them have even stopped to watch the scene.

The wineseller hesitated a moment before ultimately relenting, taking up his hammer and knocking the plug from the cask. “As the princess commands…” He said as he poured two cups for her and himself. “To the Princess’s good health.” He said nervously.

As they toasted and brought the drink up to their faces, Daenerys smelled it almost instantly and understood her initial suspicion, but it was only upon seeing the man still unwilling to drink the wine that she got her confirmation.

Poison. 

A single look to Ser Arthur alerted him of her conclusion, but just as they were about to apprehend the man, suddenly she heard Ser Jorah enter the fray with a shout. 

“Khaleesi, drop the wine!” 

Not knowing how he knew or where he came from, the merchant used this opportunity to drop the cask on Daenerys and tried to flee. Even in her early pregnancy, Dany managed to dodge the cask and threw her emptied cup which hit true, right at the merchant’s head, leaving him crumpling to the floor. It took no time for Ser Arthur and her khas to have the merchant restrained and whimpering for his life.

Jorah had a wild look in his eyes, which gave Daenerys an uneasy feeling when she saw how tense his body was. He seemed to know more about what just transpired than someone who is supposed to have just arrived at the scene.  

When they got back to her tent Daenerys ordered the rest to leave her alone with her two knights, but before she could speak, it seemed that Ser Jorah had anticipated her questions by offering an explanation.

“I did not know khaleesi, not until I saw the man refuse to drink. I read Magister Illyrio’s letter, that’s how I suspected.”

“Tell me.” she demanded. “Was it the Usurper?” 

“Yes.” The northerner drew out a folded letter. “The letter was addressed to um.. Viserys, from Magister Illyrio. The King himself, Robert, offers lands and titles for your death… and your brother’s.”

“My brother?” She laughed sardonically.

Daenerys contemplates sending a letter to the Usurper and telling the bastard that he owes Drogo a lordship since the khal had been the one to kill Viserys. But soon that mocking feeling morphs into a rage.

The gods likes to jest, it seems. Just when she thought her new life would keep her far from Westeros, the ghosts of her family’s past comes back to torment her endlessly. Why won’t that wretched man just leave her alone?

“Does he know about Rhaego?”

After a moment, the northerner replied. “Yes, he knows you are carrying the khal’s child.” He said uneasily, eyes looking anywhere else but hers.

As if suddenly entranced, she went by her dragon eggs and cradled them, holding the green and bronze one to her belly. She would not weep, she decided. She would not shiver with fear. The dragon does not fear… the usurper will come to regret this decision.

Khal Drogo returned in high spirits with the stars shining above him, bringing the carcass of a great white lion slung across his back. The hrakkar had apparently scraped him on his leg, the scar being the only sign of vulnerability in the khal’s perceived image of invincibility. “I shall make you a cloak of its skin, moon of my life!”

But when Dany told him what had happened at the market, all the merriment evaporated from him, and Drogo grew eerily quiet. “This poisoner may be the first…” Ser Jorah warned him as they led him to the hall where the assailant was being held. “But he certainly will not be the last. Many will risk their lives for a title and the endless riches offered by the khal of Westeros.”

Drogo stayed silent for a long time, eyeing and stalking the tied up wine merchant as a panther would his prey. Daenerys could feel the tension of the room as well as she could see it, the people around them were waiting in suspense for the khal’s coming words.

Then he finally spoke, addressing the packed hall. 

“This seller of poisons tried running from the moon of my life, but as my son has grown strong inside of her, so has she. In a way no other khaleesi has ever done before her, my khaleesi defeated an assassin by her own strength. To her, I gift the title of ko under me.” Looking around, she could tell this shocked many, but her husband was not finished. “Any that she conquers shall become her khas, and those who wish to follow her must obey her as one would obey a ko.”

While she could see that some, like his bloodriders, and Khals Jhaqo, Pono and Motho flinched at the statement, her husband’s magnetic proclamation had riled up excitement, and even approval, from the other larger majority of the hall including Khal Moro, his son Rhogoro, and Khal Jommo. Her sun and stars then carried on with profound intensity.

“And to Rhaego, my son… the stallion who will mount the world, to him I also bestow a gift. To him I will give the iron chair his mother’s father sat in! I will give him Seven Kingdoms!” 

His voice rose as the ear-splitting cheers grew and Drogo raised his fist to the stars, riding the excitement of the hall. “I will take my khalasar west to where the world ends, and ride the wooden horses across the poison water seas no khal has done before! I will kill the men in the iron suits, tear down their stone houses, rape their women, take their children as slaves and bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak to bow down beneath the Mother of Mountains! This I vow, I, Drogo son of Bharbo! This I swear before the Mother of Mountains, as the stars look down in witness!”

Observing the atmosphere of the room, it surprised her that by the end of her husband’s declaration he seemed to have convinced even the non-believers that scoffed just a moment before when her husband began his speech. The thunderous applause and shrieks from the packed hall was overwhelming and unanimous, yet all she could feel in the moment is a sense of dread. 

Glancing at her knights, she saw that Jorah had a uneasy smile, but if Arthur’s expression was any indication to his inner thoughts, she knew she wasn’t alone in her deep concern. The khal was determined, and had his entire khalasar backing him. Dany was finally going home…

And yet why did it feel so wrong?

Chapter Text

298AC

It took Drogo’s khalasar no longer than two days to leave Vaes Dothrak for their journey to Westeros to start, and the first phase of their plan was to plunder the settlements of the Lhazareen, where a smaller rival khalasar led by Khal Ogo had been plundering the area as they arrived. Yet the coming of Drogo’s host only meant one thing, and that was that both the lamb men and the other khalasar would be his after the fighting was done.

She wondered what the Lhazareen had thought when they saw Drogo’s host approaching. Could they have perhaps took their coming for deliverance, not a multiplication of their horror? All Dany could only hope for was for their suffering to end quickly.

Dany then remembered Ogo and his son, who had joined in the throngs of people proclaiming her son to be the stallion who mounts the world after the ceremony where she ate the stallion’s heart. But that was in Vaes Dothrak, beneath the Mother of Mountains, where every rider were brothers and all disputes were forgotten. But now that they’ve left the city, it was a different game.

Though Ogo’s host wasn’t nearly comparable to Drogo’s, the stubborn man and his inferiorly numbered khalasar still came forth to bravely, and foolishly, give battle. Her sun and stars had made quick work of Khal Ogo and his bloodriders, defeating him in a bloody battle, whereafter he and his khalasar instantly continued to plunder what Ogo started. Ogo’s fully grown son, the young warrior Fogo who became khal after him, had retreated from the carnage, seemingly to kill Drogo in a more opportune time in the future when his khalasar wasn’t in such a disadvantaged position. 

Dany, not wanting to simply stand back and let more unnecessary deaths pile up, decided to kill Ogo’s escaping khalakka herself. She had shot the burly Fogo with a precise arrow through his horse’s eye that sent the new khal flying to the ground, and with a swift beheading with her dual swords as he struggled to get up with his broken body, she ended his short reign in its infancy. Afterwards Dany’s khas and knights took care of the upstart’s bloodriders to ensure her safety and their total victory, closing the conflict with the rival khalasar for good.

A part of Ogo's remaining khalasar decided to add their numbers to Drogo’s, seeing him as a worthier khal to follow, but to her amazement, another, albeit younger and smaller, faction of Ogo’s host who witnessed the khalakka’s defeat had even swore themselves to Daenerys. Though flattered, she suspected this was more due to their desire to one day follow the stallion who would mount the world rather than any outright respect they necessarily had for her.

The remaining third of the host who refused to bend were taken captive as slaves to be sold. Slaves, Dany flinched at the word.

The Dothraki were known to sell the captives as slaves to fund their lives since they do not keep currency the way other cultures do, but this time they would need the exchange to acquire ships for Westeros. As she watched the carnage around her, Dany wanted to cry… but she told herself that she must be strong here. This is how war is done with the Dothraki. This is what it looks like… this is the price of the Iron Throne for her son.

Yet in that moment Daenerys couldn’t help but feel despair over the irreconcilable differences between her and her husband. Could she truly continue to live and love a husband who believed in the brutal culture of the Dothraki to its fullest and most inhumane extent? As much as she had integrated herself into their culture, Dany still had many qualms with their beliefs, especially concerning their seemingly unbending culture of raping and pillaging. 

Dany knew she would no doubt continue to try and change her husband’s beliefs in these things, but Khal Drogo was a dothraki warlord through and through, and she doubted she could ever truly change the man’s nature. Drogo simply would not be able to do such a thing, even if it was for the sake of their shared love of their growing son…

Though that was not for a lack of effort, as her sun and stars had certainly tried. But how far can his love for her help to temper the man’s nature? She saw how a growing faction of his men had resented her increasing influence within the khalasar, and while Drogo didn’t seemed bothered by that, it would inevitably chip away his hold among his men as that dissent would only continue to grow.

Daenerys realised sadly that he might even start resenting her if she continues to try and completely erase that part of him that is so essential to his way of life… a way of life she knew he would no doubt try to raise their son in.

And yet, her son may also be her only hope. 

Rhaego was the only path Dany saw where she could profoundly alter the hearts and mind of the Dothraki. The stallion who mounts the world, they prophesied. Perhaps her son could be the change that the dothraki people needed to move forward, beyond the culture of raping and pillaging that they are used to, when he unites all the khalasars in the world into one. But as much as she wanted to believe that, looking at the carnage in front of her, she had little hope. 

It would take nothing short of a god-sent miracle.

Upon seeing the revoltingly high number of rapes occurring in front of her, it had disturbed her so much that Dany demanded to have them stopped, consequences be damned. When Ser Jorah tried to explain that she could not save them all, Dany refused to concede.

“Not in this. Never in this.” She said standing resolute, and when both Arthur and Jorah looked to her, she saw the looks of trepidation over her daring order, though she also saw the approval in their faces as well.

Conversely, though not surprisingly, her command was met with the typical disapproval from some of Drogo’s warriors that she had come to expect. Yet their anger had not deterred her, even if that meant the possibility of requiring the execution of several of these men. Though her boldness with the lengths with which she would go to rescue these women in the demolished town was met with hostility, almost all the horselords had heeded her warnings  of retribution and left her alone. Almost.

By the time her group found Khal Drogo, along with his bloodriders, sitting in front of a broken temple, the first thing Dany immediately noticed was the arrow that was still poking out of his upper arm. She also saw that he had received what looked to be a shallow but wide cut across his chest, leaving a wound that left one of his nipple missing, and a flap of bloody flesh and skin that dangled from his chest like a wet rag.

“You’re wounded.” Dany knelt beside him, thankful that her belly hadn’t grown too large to truly obstruct her mobility. 

“Only a flea bite, moon of my life, from Khal Ogo and his bloodriders.” He said proudly, showing the added bells in hair. 

They were suddenly interrupted by a warrior named Mago, a khas to one of Drogo’s kos named Jhaqo, who rode up with angry words about Dany’s commands to forbid rape in their camp. Dany had explained to her husband what she had done and when she was done explaining, Drogo appeared confused.

“This is the way of war, moon of my life. Spoils for our taking, to do with as we please-”

“They don’t have to be.” Dany said, finding herself increasingly bolder. “If your men would take these women, let them take them as their wives, give them places in the khalasar and let the women bear them children… that would please me.” 

The cruelest of Drogo’s bloodriders, Qotho, laughed at her suggestion.

“Does the horse breed with the sheep?”

Dany turned to him, her face an immovable stone. “The dragon feeds on horse and sheep alike.” 

Qotho started fuming, and looked ready to strike her, but Khal Drogo only laughed. 

“My khaleesi is growing fierce!” he beamed. “My son inside her, the stallion who mounts the world, is filling her with his unimaginable strength for a woman! Enough Qotho. Learn to respect the mother of my son before I beat the lesson into your skull. And you, Mago, find something else to amuse you. The women belong to my khaleesi.”

“You would let your silver whore tell you what to do?” Mago scoffed bitterly. “You are no khal.”

“Hold your tongue, Mago. My khaleesi is ko who has killed the Ogo’s khalakka and gained his warriors on her own. Speak like that again and I will rip out your throat… or perhaps she would.” He smirked.

“Fuck you and your whore. You’re both weak, and a disgust.” Mago spat in front of Drogo as he put a hand his arakh, ready for a fight. Drogo then got up, preparing to draw his own weapon, but Dany could see the way he grimaced… how his wound pained even that small movement.

It only took her a split second to come to a decision.

With a precise throw, her knife flew toward Mago’s throat and tore through it. In that split second, Daenerys was able to swiftly kill him before he got the chance to even raise his arakh. She saw Qotho and ko Jhaqo, who watched the entire ordeal, tensed at Mago’s sudden death, looking ready to fight themselves. But as soon as the feeling came to Qotho, it left him, and he huffed and grudgingly left. Jhaqo appeared more stubborn, but upon seeing how Dany's khas and her knights surrounded her, appeared to accept the defeat and decided to let the issue rest for the time being.

As the warriors left, Dany turned to Drogo, who was smiling proudly at her, but in that face she could also feel his agony. The wounds were worse than her sun and stars led her to believe, that much was clear. 

“Where are the healers?” she demanded. “Why do they not attend the khal?”

“Many of my men are hurt, moon of my life.” Khal Drogo replied stubbornly. “They should be healed first. This arrow is nothing, only a little cut. Soon it shall become a new scar, to show the world my might.”

She looked at the grisly injury, flesh openly gaping, and thought for a moment that perhaps she could treat them herself. Iroh taught her the basics of tending wounds, but she’s never dealt with such a considerable one before, and her mentor had always admonished Dany’s terrible needlework, saying how it had been her one rare shortcoming. No, Dany knew she wouldn’t be able to sew back his torn skin with the same dexterity a more practiced hand could. This would require the attention of a more skilled healer.

“My Lady…” an old woman’s voice said behind her in the Common Tongue of Westeros. “Perhaps I can help the Khal with his injury.” 

Dany turned around in surprise.

“And who are you?” Dany asked.

“I am named Mirri Maz Duur. I am a healer of this temple.” Dany remembered now. The elderly woman was one of the women she had claimed, a full-figured woman with a genial look who had blessed her when Dany saved her earlier.

“Maegi.” grunted Haggo, fingering his arakh, frowning at the lady in hatred. To the Dothraki, a maegi was a witch who consorted with demons and practiced the darkest of magic, an evil and soulless sorceress who came in the night to torture men.

“I am a healer.” Mirri Maz Duur insisted.

Dany ignored the bloodrider’s outburst. A real practiced healer was exactly what Drogo needed. “Where did you learn your healing, Mirri Maz Duur?”

“My mother was healer before me, and taught me all she knew, like how to make the sacred healing smokes and remedying ointments from leaf and root and berry. A Dothraki herbwoman taught me the medicinal value of grass and corn and horse, and a maester from the Sunset Lands opened a body for me and showed me all the secrets of man’s body.”

All three of them, Daenerys, Arthur and Jorah spoke up, surprised. “A maester?”

“Marwyn, he was called…” the woman nodded. “Beyond the sea. The Seven Kingdoms, he said. The Sunset Lands, where men wear iron suits and live in stone castles. It was he who taught me this speech.”

“A maester in Essos…” Ser Arthur pondered. “Tell me healer, what did this Marwyn wear about his person?”

“A chain with links of many metals in different colours and materials. He said his silver link was an index to his mastery of medicine.”

“Only a man trained in the Citadel of Oldtown wears such a chain and would know of such details.” Ser Jorah conceded. “And they are the utmost expert practitioners of healing in Westeros.”

“Why should you want to help the khal?” Dany asked, still suspicious. 

“All men are one, or so we are taught.” Mirri Maz Duur replied easily. “The Great Shepherd sent me to earth to heal his lambs, no matter which tribe they belong to.”

Drogo’s bloodriders still mistrusted the healer, that much was clear, but Dany didn’t see how Mirri Maz Duur could do any harm, since she would know if the woman would attempt foul play on Drogo and sabotage his treatment in any way. Furthermore, Dany felt like she could trust a woman she saved.

This woman only seeks to do this service as a way to repay my earlier kindness, Dany thought.

Despite his bloodriders’ disapproval, Drogo finally spoke and demanded the healer to hurry and heal him. Stirred into action, Dany assisted by taking out the arrow as neatly as possible, cleaning his wound with boiled wine that the healer provided her with.

Calling on the healer’s expertise seemed to have been the right decision, as Mirri Maz Duur began to work swiftly and efficiently in dressing the wounds, sewing the open flesh shut, making pastes and poultices, and applying a plaster of leaves to the tended wounds. All the while, there was no indication of foul play, by her judgement and the other Dothraki healers who eventually came. By the end, the Lhazareen healer left Drogo with instructions to not remove the poultice for the next week, even when there will be itching and possible fever.

Yet despite the valid advice, it took only a few days before Drogo joined his bloodriders and called Mirri Maz Dur a maegi, cursing her poultice for its burning and itching, and in spite of Dany’s many objections, commanded the dothraki herbwomen to make a mud plaster for him in its place. 

“The mud is more soothing.” Drogo had said, and he became almost dependent on poppy wine as well, a drink the healer had suggested he not touch until recovery.

But that recovery never came, instead his change of treatment seemed to only make his condition worse. It started with slight things, such as eating less and the troubled sleep. Then it was his extreme lethargy, and becoming less and less responsive to the things around him. His fighting, his hunting, even his son that grew in her belly did not galvanise him the way it once did.

Then the flies came. 

Bloodflies that Drogo used to expertly catch with his bare hands with such precision that he would hold them by their wings, never once missing, those same flies now scattered around him, unmolested, circling around him like a murder of crows ready to settle on him where he sat astride his stallion. Yet the khal did not react.

“Drogo.” Daenerys reached for him, before Drogo reeled from the saddle and fell heavily to the ground. Panicked, Daenerys rushed to him. Only half conscious and struggling in her arms, Drogo hazily insisted that he must ride, for a khal who cannot ride is no khal. Yet Drogo had fallen from his horse all the same, and it was seen by at least the front column of their procession. To make matters worse, Dany could feel a fever had overtaken him.

“He fell from his horse…” Haggo, one of Drogo’s bloodriders pointed out heavily. He appeared concerned, yet his voice sounded severe. They all knew full well what this fall meant. 

“The khal demands to make camp here.” She said firmly, though her heart was stammering inside her chest.

“This is no camping ground. It’s not fertile.” Haggo looked around. 

“And it is not a woman’s place to tell the khalasar to halt.” Qotho retorted. “Not even a khaleesi.”

“It’s a command from the khal himself. So do it. And bring me Mirri Maz Duur.” 

Though Qotho was furious at her commands, he still followed Haggo in disseminating the order. Once the camp had been erected and they were inside his the tent, her knights arrived with word that Drogo’s fall is known all over the camp. 

After the two left to help organise her khas, with the help of her handmaids, Dany immediately gave Drogo a bath, trying to clean the dirt off the khal from when he fell. Irri looked on the verge of tears, and Doreah and Jhiqui looked genuinely fretful. They too knew what was at stake, Dany thought with a solemn heart. 

When Dany broke the dry mud plaster with her knife, peeled the chunks from the flesh and the leaves, she was instantly hit with a foul smell from the wound, so rank it almost choked her and her handmaids. The plaster was crusted with blood and pus, and Drogo’s breast were black with rot.

Daenerys was horrified, angry at herself for not having insisted Drogo enough to keep the healer’s poultice. It was clear now, to all in the room, that Drogo had little chance of survival. When Arthur and Jorah came back in, the northerner began to beg for them to flee before he passes.

“A bloodrider’s last duty is only to return you to the dosh khaleen in Vaes Dothrak and then follow their khal to the afterlife, Princess.” Ser Jorah reminded.

Dany did not want to go back to Vaes Dothrak and live the rest of her life among those old women, yet she knew that the knight spoke the truth. Drogo had been more than her sun and stars… he had been the shield that kept her safe from the others horselords and their growing resentments towards her.

Yet even still, she also refused to leave the father of her child behind… for she knew that if Drogo did not survive, the other kos would waste no time to declare themselves khals in Drogo’s place. And once they firmly establish their power, she knew they would not rest until Rhaego was dead. 

No living khal would ever want a child prophesied as the stallion who mounts the world as a rival who would always hang over them like a looming threat. No, they will want my son dead… they might even finish what Viserys started and rip her living child out of her bloody womb, she thought with a shiver.

Dany remembered the nightmare tale Viserys had told her during their childhood, of what the Usurper and his men had done to Rhaegar’s children. How her brother’s infant son was ripped from Princess Elia’s embrace and had his head dashed against a wall, before the monsters who did the deed smeared the son’s blood and gore on the mother as they raped her good-sister.

That was the way of men. No matter where they are, they will always commit similar atrocities. She felt the beginnings of cold sweats threatening to overwhelm her.

Pulling her out of her thoughts, Mirri Maz Duur quickly entered with Drogo’s bloodriders and her healing tools, but it only took her one look to come to the same conclusion they had. In retaliation, Qotho swiftly began to beat the healer, Haggo joining in just as quickly.

“Enough!” Dany shouted. “It is not her fault! It was the mud plaster that rotted the khal's flesh. Leave her be!”

“That is too merciful for the maegi. We should let the entire horde mount her then tear her to pieces.” Qotho scowled. 

“No.” Dany commanded. “I will not have her harmed. I am still your khaleesi.”

“Only while my khal still lives.” He spat. “When he dies, you are nothing. We will go, for now… khaleesi.” The other two followed his exit, scowling at her with hatred in their eyes.

Damn you, Drogo. Why couldn’t you just have kept the poultice on? 

“We must prepare for the worst.” She addressed her two knights. “You must ready for battle, both of you. And keep an eye out.” As the two left, Dany ordered her three dothraki guards in.

“I need you to three remain steadfast and make certain to keep my khas in line. Have them gather as many supplies and livestock as they can in case anything happens, we cannot be caught unaware. Let them know to their ko will need their loyalty very soon.” 

“Yes, khaleesi.” They said in unison. She turned to the healer last, her nerves finally fraying at the thought of her son in danger. 

“I know he is past any healer’s skills now but there must be something you’ve learned in your life that could help him.” Dany begged desperately. Drogo was dying and she knew it but she couldn't help but stubbornly try to save his life, and in turn, the life of her son.

“All I could do is ease the path before him so that he might ride painless to the night lands, my lady.” Mirri replied. “He will pass by morning come.”

The words were a knife to Dany’s heart for she knew them to be true. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? All hope was disappearing before her very eyes, and she was in extremely dangerous territory. Drogo couldn’t leave her here, not now. 

“No…” she pleaded. “You must know a way.”

Mirri Maz Duur paused thoughtfully, before nodding. “…there is a spell.” It had barely been a whisper but Dany heard it all the same. “But some would say that death is much cleaner.”

“So you are a maegi…” She gasped. “How?”

“A spell I learned in my travels learning the healing arts. I have had no use of it, since my healing never needed such desperate intervention before…”

Drogo’s body had started convulsing then, and in a panic, Dany made her decision. It is the only way to save Rhaego, she convinced herself.

“Do it, save him.” Dany said firmly. She must not be afraid; she was the blood of the dragon. “What is the price? You shall have anything that you desire in this khalasar.” There was always a price to working miracles, this she knew. She suddenly thought of her brother’s change after Volantis. 

“It is not a matter of gold or horses or any currency we use to trade and barter, my lady. This is bloodmagic. Only death may pay for life.”

That gave her pause. “…Mine?”

“No, not your death, khaleesi.” The maegi promised, appearing in deep thought before turning to her. “His horse however… should do.”

Drogo had somehow looked infinitely worse by the time her two handmaids helped her carry her husband into the waiting tub. Jhiqui led Drogo’s red stallion into the tent, who reared in fear having smelled the stench of death looming, and it took the additional help from Irri and Doreah to calm the horse.

“Khaleesi, this is bloodmagic.” Irri pleaded. “It is forbidden. You must not do this.”

“In Vaes Dothrak, Khal Drogo slew a stallion and I ate its heart to give our son strength… this is the exact same.” She tried rationalising, though to her handmaids or herself she did not know.

Mirri Maz Duur began chanting in a tongue that Dany had never heard, and used a red bronze knife covered in glyphs that came out of nowhere to cut the horse’s throat. It had filled the tub with a torrent of fresh blood until only Drogo’s head remained untouched by the deep red colour. 

There was no going back now.

“You must all leave, now.” Something in the maegi’s voice made Daenerys know not to argue with such a warning. “And do not enter again until I am finished.” Suddenly gripped in fear over the darkness that was about to be unleashed, they all left the tent. 

Outside, the gathered crowd stared at her. Ser Jorah and Ser Arthur, now in their armours, saw the bloody footprints Daenerys left on her way out the tent, and in turn, she saw the horror seize them in real time as they realised what she had done. The tent began casting shadows and a sudden coldness came upon them sending shivers down their backs. Mirri Maz Duur was dancing inside… and she was not alone.

In that moment, Drogo’s bloodriders returned with a group of healing eunuchs, but quickly comprehended what was occurring behind the thin curtains of the tent. They knew something foul was afoot.

“Maegi.” Haggo snarled at Dany.

“You will die, maegi.” Qotho mimicked his venomous tone at her. “But the other one inside will die first!” He drew his arakh and started for the tent.

“No!” Dany said with all her muster, intending to block his path. She caught him by the shoulder, but Qotho shoved her aside, or at least, attempted to. Quicker than he ever thought possible for a woman halfway through her pregnancy, Dany drew her hidden blade as he grabbed her and sunk it into Qotho’s neck, and twisted it harshly for an instant as he groaned in fury, blood violently gushing out before Ser Arthur cut his head off with a clean swipe.

Ser Jorah stepped forward to confront Haggo, but the knight was quickly hard pressed by the armour-less Haggo and his rapid strikes until the bloodrider’s arakh got stuck into the northerner’s armour, which gave Ser Jorah an opening to behead him.

The other warriors loyal to Drogo and members of Daenerys’ khas, who have returned just in time, have also come to battle. She saw Jhogo’s whip catching Cohollo around the neck, giving Rakharo the chance to bring his arakh down splitting the bloodrider’s head in half.

Suddenly, Dany was struck by a blinding pain in her abdomen, yet looking down she saw that she was physically unharmed. But before she could understand where the pain was coming from, another dothraki warrior, one she failed to recognise, caught her and was about to kill her until Aggo’s arrow struck him in the neck.

Daenerys tried to rise, only to have the agonising pain  in her stomach multiply tenfold, forcing the breath right out of her. No, impossible… Rhaego was supposed to have some months before he was due.

This cannot be… it was too soon!  

She searched frantically for Arthur, who came to her quickly and lifted her off the floor, carrying her to the next tent.

“Father… Rhaego… he- needs-…” She bit out in pain. 

“Sshh… It’s alright, Daenerys. Doreah is bringing a midwife. It’ll be okay…” Arthur tried saying calmly, and it had been the last thing she heard before another pain overcame her, as if her child had suddenly become fully grown and was tearing her from the inside out, knocking her unconscious. 

For a while all she saw was darkness, and if it hadn’t been for the occasional pain, she would’ve thought herself dead. 

In that darkness, Daenerys ran frantically towards a distant red door that she knew to be her salvation. She knew that a growing darkness was behind her, closing the distance ever so slightly, but she knew not to look back else she would be lost forever.

She felt a heat inside her, a severe burning in her womb. She saw a figure, her son, this she knew, tall and strong, with Drogo’s copper skin and her own silver-gold hair and amethyst eyes shining like jewels. He smiled to her and she wanted to hold him, but when he opened his mouth, she saw fire bursting out. His heart was burning through his chest, and suddenly he was gone, all that’s left of him were ashes. Her tears evaporate to steam as they fell on her skin.

“Wake the dragon…”

Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed like emperors, and in their hands they held swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and gold and platinum white, and eyes of pearl, jade, tourmaline, onyx, topaz, opal and amethyst. Her ancestors of old Valyria, was her first thought, though she couldn’t be sure. “Faster!” the ghosts cried as one. A great pain ripped down her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood and saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew.

“Wake the dragon…“

She was flying over the Dothraki Sea, and all were fleeing before her like ants. She sees the red door again and finally it open to see her brother Rhaegar, the last dragon, in his red armour. “Three dragons…” His voice whispered faintly. “The dragon has three heads.” Dany lifted his dark helm and she saw that the face within was her own. 

When she jolts awake, the first thing she saw was Arthur’s worried face, smiling down at her, and her handmaids crying. Her voice was raw, and someone brought her water. Who did that? Was it her handmaids? Irri? Doreah? Why did she hurt so much? It was so hard to move, and the world felt disorientating.

“How long?” She saw how the question made Irri so sad and it gripped her heart.

“Only a day, khaleesi…” The girl whispered. When she noticed her surroundings, she saw how her arms were wrapped around the black-and-scarlet dragon egg, the other two scattered next to her body on her warmed furs. She could feel the heat of them, and it filled her with renewing strength.

Smiling, she called for a bath, her child, her husband and Mirri Maz Duur. When all three of her handmaids avoided answering anything about her child, Daenerys knew that in that moment, without a shadow of doubt, her child was lost.

She had known somehow… no, she had known before she even woke. Her dream came back to her, sudden and vivid, and she remembered the tall man with the copper skin and long silver-gold braid, bursting into flame.

The memory of the last few days came back to her all at once, and she faltered. “Drogo.” she heard herself say, watching the solemn faces of her handmaids with fright. “Is he-?” 

“The khal… lives, khaleesi.” Irri answered apprehensively, eyes avoiding hers as she spoke the words. Doreah and Jhiqui had the same look. There was something they didn’t want to tell her. 

She turned to Arthur. “Tell me. And spare no detail.”

And told her he did.

When he showed her the bundle that covered Rhaego, she felt like she was suddenly plunged in the icy cold northernmost waters of the Shivering Sea. Her child had been monstrous, it was no lie. A twisted barely formed infant, with scales like a lizard, and the stub of a tail and small leather wings. Her stillborn also appeared to have been dead for years. It mystified her just as much as it frightened her.

Only death could pay for life… Drogo’s stallion, Qotho, Haggo, Cohollo, the other dothraki warriors… and her son. 

“Show me Mirri Maz Duur. Show me Khal Drogo. And show me what I bought with my son’s life.” She said to Arthur. He shared an unnerved look with her handmaids but ultimately nodded. They had to help her stand since her miscarriage made her weaker than she realised.

Did her mother feel this way each time she lost a child across her many failed pregnancies? How many siblings would she have if they survived… perhaps if they survived, then Dany wouldn’t have been alone with just Viserys, and Viserys wouldn’t have turned into-

No. If I look back, I am lost.

Outside, in the glaring sun, Daenerys saw her men waiting. Ser Jorah had sighed in relief at the sight of her walking, looking like a man who hadn’t been getting proper rest the past few days.

Rakharo had smiled at her return as well, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes, and Aggo and Jhogo had an uneasy look about them, reluctant to meet her eyes as her handmaids did. None of them shed tears like her handmaids did, but they knew what happened to Drogo, that she knew. It only made her heart drum all the faster.

It was instantly clear that her loyal guards had done their duty and kept her khas in line, just as it was evident that the camp now was a mere spectre of what it once was. Where it was once alive, it was now quiet. Where it once bustled, it was now reserved. A shadow had descended over the camp… a shadow Dany herself engendered. 

“How many remain?” Dany asked.

“About four thousand, Princess. More or less.” Ser Jorah answered. “The men you won from Fogo make less than half of it and the rest are Drogo’s most loyal. They wanted to see what is to become of the khal. Though I suspect they’re only here to try to steal the ample herd and supplies we were able to keep, once they know for certain about the fate of their khal.” 

“The one they call Pono was the first to leave and declare himself Khal. Many followed him, khaleesi. Then Jhaqo did the same soon after, with a more considerable host following him. The rest slipped away, in varying degrees of size.” Jhogo explained.

“Where once there was only Drogo’s, there are perhaps a dozen or more new khalasars out there now, khaleesi…” Rakharo added. 

“But we remained, khaleesi.” said Aggo. “We who swore, we remain.”

She smiled at her guards, grateful for their loyalty. “Take me to Khal Drogo…” Before adding darkly. “And bring me the maegi.”

Despite preparing herself for the worst, Daenerys was nonetheless horrified to find her sun and stars catatonic and completely devoid of life. Bloodflies surrounded him, like ever-present companions, though he seemed not to notice them yet again. His eyes were open but he saw nothing. When she whispered his name, no response came. This was no life for a man.

“Why is he out here alone, in the sun?” she asked.

“He likes the warmth, my lady.” Mirri replied as she was thrown in front of Dany.

Dany kissed her sun and stars gently on the brow, and stood to face Mirri Maz Duur. 

“Will he ever be as he was?” Dany asked, already fearing the answer she knew was coming.

“Yes, my lady.” Mirri Maz Duur affirmed with satisfaction. "When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.”

“How could you!” Dany screamed in anguish. “I saved you!”

“Saved me?” The Lhazareen woman spat. “Three of your khal’s men had already raped me and a fourth was raping me by the time you showed up!”

Though Dany was momentarily taken aback by the venom in her words, Mirri pushed on with zeal. “I saw my temple of worship burn, a sacred place I spent years healing good people beyond count. In the streets I saw piles of heads, one was the head of a baker who feed our people, one was the head of a boy I had saved from a fever, only three moons ago. Your khal ordered all of that, yet I still helped him. But no, that savage fool couldn’t help himself and spat at my help. He was beyond saving by the time he fell from his horse, so when you begged to save him, I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

“By using my innocent child!” 

Mirri Maz Duur stared at her then, with such a foreign coldness it felt like she was truly seeing the maegi for the first time. “You misunderstand, my lady. I did that to save people as I have done my entire life.” She smiled. “Now the khal’s son, the stallion who mounts the world, and his united khalasar will have no chance to burn any cities, nor trample nations, nor rape women nor enslave children. Not like his cursed father has his entire life.”

Before Dany could reply, it hit her like a stampede.

She had blinded herself of the maegi’s perspective. Her own naive nature and unchecked pride did not allow her to see this woman other than a grateful victim, when she was anything but. Mirri had wanted vengeance on Drogo, the orchestrator of her nightmare, by stripping him of his and his son’s life. Dany was simply collateral damage to her, the same way Mirri Maz Duur was Drogo’s.

But it wasn’t just Drogo’s sin… it had been hers too. 

It had been Drogo’s vengeance to see their son on the Iron Throne that put the Dothraki on a warpath that pillaged this woman’s village in the first place. The human cost of war, she thought again. There was no denying that Dany was complicit in this woman’s, and her people’s suffering. Daenerys likened herself a saviour, but to Mirri, she was just another demonic figure who stood with the khalasar that destroyed her way of life. 

She felt sick.  

“Did you curse me too?” Dany asked, voice detached.

After a moment, the maegi replied with sobering truth, with none of the malice that previously coloured her vengeful words.

“All that are touched by the dark shadows of the blood ritual become tainted… whether I meant to do it or not, my lady.” She said somewhat ruefully.

I will never have another living child, Dany realised with a heavy heart. Daenerys then ordered Aggo and Rakharo to bind Mirri Maz Duur and take her away but the woman only exhaled in response, as if finally at peace.

Daenerys was devastated at being played a fool. She knew better… or did she? Perhaps now she did, but she had to learn the harshest of lessons, and paid the highest of prices to get there.

Oh, what have I done?

“Khaleesi, the other khalasars left quickly only so they would avoid all out war.” Jhogo reminded her. “We should move, to avoid getting attacked while vulnerable like this.”

She knew he was right but there was still one thing left for her to do. 

“And so we shall, Jhogo. But give me one more night, and then we make our plans.” Daenerys insisted. Before the man could protest, she cuts him off. “I am the blood of the dragon and the dragon is not afraid… neither should you.”

The sky had gone dark by the time Drogo was being washed in the tub inside her tent. The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright like jewels. She had dismissed her handmaids, insisting she be left alone with her husband, needing this night to make her peace.

It never left her mind that the last time her sun and stars had been in this tub, it was full of stallion blood. Now the only thing marring the warm water was the dirt and the dust she had washed off of him that came from his days of neglect and inactivity. It broke her heart to see him brought so low, and how she had a hand in this. 

The tears were flowing freely from her face.

“Forgive me, my sun and stars… forgive me for all I have done. I paid the price, but it was too steep. I’m sorry for killing our Rhaego.” She sobbed uncontrollably. “Hold him for me… when you ride into the night lands. Ask him if he could ever come to forgive me… tell him that his mother loves him.”

After he was cleaned and dried, Dany brought Drogo to their bed and kissed her husband on the lips before bringing a cushion down across his face, holding it down until he no longer drew breath.

That night when she slept, she dreamt of the dragon again… and when she woke it was with renewed purpose.

As soon as day broke, the khaleesi and her khas began building a funeral pyre for Drogo, the sun about to set when they were finally done. Aggo and Rakharo brought his maimed stallion and put it under the platform of the pyre so that Drogo would have a mount in the afterlife.

By the time Drogo’s body was placed in the raised platform of the pyre with his arakh and his other most treasured possessions, all of what’s left of the khalasar had began to gather to see the funeral begin.

“Arthur Dayne of Starfall.” Dany called. “Viserys was your king, was he not?”

“He was, Princess.”

“As his heir and the last Targaryen, I am my house now. So I ask you, am I your queen?”

“Yes.” Arthur said with absolute conviction. “I am yours, my queen. Today, tomorrow, always… until my last breath.” 

“You have protected me, guided me, sheltered me, and have given me more love than I could ever thought to receive in my life. Your loyalty to me and my family is what has kept me alive and continues to gives me hope. You are the first, and greatest, of my knights, and I would ask for your oath.”

Without hesitation, Arthur lowered himself to one knee, laying his sword at her feet. “I pledge my sword and my life to you, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne of her ancestors. With my heart, soul, and all that is mine to give, I promise and swear upon my life and honour that so long as I draw breath and have strength in my body, I will serve you ever faithfully. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I vow to serve you and to obey you, come what may. This I swear, as all the gods as witness.”

“And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. I will keep your counsel and I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. This I swear, as all the gods as witness. Arise, Ser Arthur Dayne, first of my Queensguard.” She declared as she lifted him to his feet.

“Jorah Mormont of Bear Island.” She called next. 

“My… queen.” Ser Jorah said with easy conviction, going on one knee. “My sword that was your brother’s is yours.”

“Then I would ask for your oath as well, ser.”

“You have it, my queen.” He lay his sword at her feet. “I pledge my sword and my life to you, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne of her ancestors. With my heart, soul, and all that is mine to give, I promise and swear upon my life and honour that so long as I draw breath and have strength in my body, I will serve you ever faithfully. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I vow to serve you and to obey you, come what may. This I swear, as all the gods as witness.”

After accepting and declaring Ser Jorah Mormont as the second of her queensguard, Daenerys turned to her gathered the Dothraki around her and addresses them all… all four thousand of them.

“You all will be my khalasar.” she declared to them. “To those whose loyalty I have already earned, I thank you for remaining faithful. To those I haven’t, I vow to earn yours. And to the slaves among us, I free you. Take off your collars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. But if you all choose to stay, it will be as brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. To each of you I say there will always be a place for you, an honoured place among my khalasar.”

Confused as they were, Dany turned to her three loyal warriors before the words were able to truly sink in to any of them. To Jhogo, she handed him the silver-handed whip she was given on her wedding day.

“Jhogo, to you I name you ko, and ask your oath, that you will live and die as blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”

Jhogo took the whip, but his face was puzzled. “Khaleesi…” he said hesitantly. “We Dothraki do not pledge to be bloodrider to a woman… but I vow keep you from harm.” 

“Aggo.” Dany called, paying no heed to Jhogo’s hesitation, handing him the dragonbone bow she was also given on her wedding day. “To you I name you ko, and ask your oath, that you should live and die as blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”

Aggo accepted the bow yet had the same bewildered eyes as Jhogo. “I cannot, Khaleesi. Only a man can lead a khalasar… but I will also keep you from harm as well.”

“Rakharo.” Dany said, turning away from them, giving him the great arakh she received on her wedding day, the last of her bride gift from Drogo’s bloodriders. “And you too I name my ko, and ask that you live and die as blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”

“You are khaleesi.” Rakharo said confidently, taking the arakh. “I can only swear to ride at your side to Vaes Dothrak beneath the Mother of Mountains, and keep you safe from harm until you take your place with the crones of the dosh khaleen… but I can promise no more.”

Ignoring their rejections, Dany commanded her handmaids. “Bring my son and my eggs.”

“My queen, Drogo will have no use for dragon’s eggs in the nightlands!” Ser Jorah exclaimed, realising her plan. “It would be more prudent to sell them. Please, we should sell all three, and from there we would be able to forge our path anywhere in the world.”

“The eggs were not given to me to sell, Ser Jorah.” Dany replied.

As her khas poured oil over the pyre, Dany climbed the platform to place the black-and-scarlet egg under Drogo’s left arm, near his heart, the green-and-bronze egg beside his head, and the cream-and-gold egg between his legs. She then places the remains of her stillborn child, wrapped in a black and red silk, tucking him under Drogo’s right arm. Once they were all in place, Daenerys gave her husband one last kiss on his cold forehead, muttering a silent prayer for his soul.

As she looked down on his face, she thought about how few Dothraki men die with their hair uncut. The memories of last few days, added with seeing the remains of her child for the last time, as well as the guilt she felt from the events that led to her child’s demise nearly brought her to tears. 

“Rhaego, Drogo… please forgive me.” She murmured quietly. 

Climbing down, Daenerys called for her khas to tie Mirri Maz Duur to the pyre, though the woman does not scream or plead as she was bound. Dany poured oil over the woman’s head herself. “I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur.” she said. “For the lessons you have taught me.”

“You will not hear me scream.” Mirri said.

“I will.” Dany said. “But it is not your screams I want, only your life. Only death can pay for life.”

The words brought a flicker of fear to the maegi’s face.

Jhogo was the first who saw it. 

“There!” he said in awe. Dany looked up and saw it too. A comet, leaving a streak of blood-red across the darkening sky. Like fire, she thought. She could not have asked for a stronger sign from the world.

The night sky descends on them at that moment, and Daenerys lights the pyre. Mirri Maz Duur begins singing in a high, ululating voice at first, but her voice becomes a series of gasps and wails as the flames start to engulf and take her. Dany had been so entranced by the flames that she didn’t notice how the the Dothraki, Ser Jorah and Ser Arthur had backed away the rapidly growing inferno, the heat becoming too strong for them to bear, but she stands her ground. 

She is the blood of the dragon and was unfazed by the fire.  

At the call and shouts of her name, Dany turns to see Ser Arthur Dayne. The man who saved her life, the man she considered the closest to a parental figure she could have ever hoped for in this life, her brother Rhaegar’s best friend, her most steadfast and truest supporter, her only remaining family… her father in all but blood. As he pleads for her to get away, she goes to him.

“Please, my queen. I know what you intend to do. You cannot leave me.” He begs, his voice growing softer, with more and more emotion as he held her face tenderly. “I fear what I would do if I were to lose you, daughter…”

“Do not fear, ser.” She kisses his cheek and assures him, with all the conviction she could muster. “I will not die tonight, I swear it. Have faith in me, father.” 

The flames finally reached Drogo on his platform, and were burning ever so brightly. The heat engulfed the air completely, with the wind sending it outward pushing the Dothraki and her queensguards even further back, but Dany stood her ground.

It was time. 

Dany thought of the spectres of emperors in her fever dreams as she took a step closer to the conflagration. 

Wake the dragon… 

Time became a changeable concept to her in the flames, but she remembers that first thing she saw was a great stallion in the smoke. 

Yes, my sun and stars… ride now, she thought. For a second she sees Drogo, mounted on his smoky stallion. He smiles at her when she reaches the heart of the fire and cracks a flaming lash and whips down at the pyre. Daenerys hears the crack of breaking stone as part of the pyre collapses, showering her with ash, cinders, and broken egg shell. Behind her, she can hear the Dothraki, Ser Jorah and Ser Arthur shouting for her. As the pyre begins to disintegrate completely, there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder. 

The fire seems to be getting hotter but Daenerys does not feel vulnerable to them. Instead, it fed her resolve. Unafraid, Dany completely surrenders to the firestorm, calling to her children. The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world. 

All night the fire burns, with her khalasar and her queensguards waiting around the dying pyre.

At dawn, the fire finally dies down and all that was left were ashes. In the middle of the remains, Ser Arthur finds Daenerys, long platinum hair flowing in the wind, naked, alive and unburnt, nursing two baby dragons on her breasts, with a third draped across her shoulders, eyes curious. The dragons match the colours of their eggs.

Cream and gold, green and bronze, and black and red.

Wordless and in silent tears, the knight fell to his knees, bowing to his one true queen. Ser Jorah quickly follows Arthur, bending down to one knee in complete reverence. The men of her khas came up behind them and bowed too. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet, muttering “Blood of my blood” pushing his face to the charred ground.

“Blood of my blood.” She heard Aggo echo.

“Blood of my blood.” Rakharo declared next.

Amethyst eyes gazed at the crowd as their words were repeated after them, first by her three handmaids, and then by more and more, before all four-thousand or so Dothraki warriors, and the women and children too, spoke the same words and bowed before her. The entire khalasar swore their oaths of undying fealty to her. They were hers now as they had never been Drogo’s or any other khal’s. It was beyond doubt that her people were loyal to her today, tomorrow and forever.

Daenerys rises and her children begin hissing, trying for sounds from its mouth, letting out screeches and smoke that filled her heart with fire. And for the first time in hundreds of years, the night comes alive with the music of dragons. 

Chapter Text

298AC

Each time Daenerys looked up at the red streak in the sky, she never failed to pray it would eventually lead her somewhere. Yet in the fortnight her khalasar had followed in its direction, all they saw around them was a barren wasteland that seemed to be endless.

Mounted on her silver mare and garbed in the white hrakkar pelt her sun and stars gifted her, Daenerys had commanded her people to follow the comet. “The comet will show us the way.” She said to her people and no words were raised against it.

Her people began to call her The Unburnt and Mother of Dragons, and her word is their law.

From the moment the comet had showed up the night she birthed her dragons and the last embers of the funeral pyre had died down, she could feel a lingering power from it, compelling her to follow in its path. The Dothraki called it shierak qiya, the Bleeding Star, while her queensguards called it the red comet. Yet no matter what anyone called it, she knew it was a harbinger of her destiny… or at least that’s what she kept telling herself and her people.

Some of the more superstitious of her men muttered that the comet was a bad omen and in the fortnight since her dragons were born her and khalasar had gone southward through the desert, Daenerys was starting to believe that they might have had the right of it. It was easy to feel such a way, with how their days seem to stretch before them like a great yawning void that brought them no salvation.

Despite their adequate supplies, it was nowhere near an amount that would last them indefinitely. The desert was a barren and unforgiving landscape of stunted trees, low hills, arid windswept plains, and dry rivers, where life was sparse in its red parched soil, and there was little forage and only shallow, stagnant pools of water that was few and far in between. In spite of that, it was the only road that she knew was available to her. 

Dany had her own khalasar now, and despite them being an impressive cavalry in their own right, they were still too few and vulnerable, especially against the threat of Pono and Jhaqo’s considerably larger hordes. Her outriders she sent to scout the north and west informed her how Pono and his ten thousand warriors alone had driven hundreds of captives to be sold as slaves in Meereen, and Jhaqo who had nearly double his amount of warriors was not far behind driving his own captives further down Slaver’s Bay in Yunkai and Astapor. 

The Dothraki sea up north was no better alternative. Despite their greener pastures, Dany could not risk challenging the other dozen or so khalasars that came as a direct result from the dispersal of Drogo’s horde of forty thousand. As a woman who dared declare herself a reigning khaleesi, it's no doubt made her an enemy of every other dothraki living, save the ones already loyal to her.

Though they were outnumbered, her fears of facing the other khalasars lay not in battle, as she feels she could easily kill their leaders given the right conditions, but rather in the more likely scenario that any rival horde would seize her children during the chaos of an inevitable battle. An unhatched dragon egg alone was worth a fortune, but a living dragon is beyond price… and she has three. 

Dany knew that above all else, she will never allow children to be taken from her while she lives. No, she must keep following the path. 

If I look back, I am lost.

The never ending march through the red waste was the most punishing journey she and her people had ever been on, and it seemed that the further they went, the less they encountered any forage, and even less water in this desolate wasteland. The trek quickly put a heavy strain on their horde and had dampened her people’s spirits, especially in the last few days when a few of the older and weak in her khalasar succumbed to the brutal elemental hardships of the desert.

Despite the somber atmosphere that stayed with them after the funerals of their fallen, Daenerys knew she must project confidence and strength to encourage her people to muster on. 

I must be their strength.

Throughout the journey, Daenerys suffered with her people from their difficult journey; she shed much of the weight from carrying Rhaego and her milk had also dried up, so she was unable to breastfeed her dragons any longer. It had worried her having to switch her children’s diet when they refused to eat the meat she tried feeding them, until she remembered her brother Viserys saying that dragons, like men, only eat cooked meat. From then on, her children devour several times their own weight in seared meat every day, and began to grow larger and stronger.

She remembered that her ancestors Aegon and his sister-wives had named their mounts after the gods of Old Valyria. Visenya’s dragon was called Vhagar, Rhaenys named hers Meraxes and Aegon had the famed Balerion the Black Dread. In the house with the red door, Viserys used to tell her tales of how the three dragons breathed flames so hot it could melt a knight’s armour and cook the man inside, that they had jaws so large they swallowed aurochs whole, and that their wings were so vast entire towns were covered by their shadow when even only one would pass. He even said their flame blasts were so powerful they could rupture stone.

Dany found it hard to imagine how her small cat-like children would grow to one day be as fierce and powerful as them, but one of her warriors Kovarro had already begun to liken her largest, the black-and-scarlet dragon, as the reborn Balerion of her tales, due to their similar black scales. In spite of the temptation to name her three after the famed three dragons, Dany decided to name hers after those the gods have taken from her.

She named the green-and-bronze dragon Rhaegal after her valiant brother Prince Rhaegar, who died on the green banks of the trident, a name which brought a smile Ser Arthur’s face. The cream-and-gold one she named Viserion after her other brother Viserys. She would never forget how her brother had become cruel and weak and frightened by the bitter end, yet he was her brother still. His dragon will do what he could not, she thought.

Her biggest, the black-and-scarlet dragon, she named Drogon. Her husband and first and only child had died so that her dragons could live, and Drogo’s name will live on to always remind her of the price of her exchange.

While her dragons were starting to thrive, in contrast, all hope was draining fast for her and her people, until her outriders who went southeast returned with news of a nearby city that even Ser Jorah knew nothing about. 

It seemed too good to be true what they told her; a shining white-walled city in the middle of desolate lands which would give them much needed rest and the chance to heal and grow strong again.

It must be some kind of mirage… or a trap. 

“Scout the city.” Dany had said in command to her three bloodriders. “Find out what you can about the city, the people in it and what manner of welcome we should expect once we arrive to seek refuge.”

When they returned to report that the city was empty, with only bones littering its streets, she leads her khalasar into the deserted city, which unnerved a few in her retinue.

“Ghosts roam this place, khaleesi. We must not stay here.” Irri fretted.

“Dragons are more powerful than any ghosts. We have been blessed to be given reprieve from the desert, and we shall bask in it.” She countered. 

That decision, it turned out, had paid off, as they found the city to be full of structures that not only protected them from the worst of the heat, but also had plenty of fruit trees, fresh water, and crisp grass to graze despite the city being littered with bones. Not everything in here has died, she thought thankfully.

“The comet led us to this place, yet it will not be where we stop indefinitely.” Dany said reassuringly to the more credulous of her people, watching as more and more of her khalasar take temporary comfort in the shade of the city’s structures. 

“No, it won’t… though there is something eerie about this town.” Ser Arthur told her as he rode up to where tent was being set up.

“Irri and some of the other superstitious people in my khalasar would agree with you. They believe that the ghosts who roam these lands would curse us should we overstay our welcome, beyond the time we need to recover and regain our strength.” Dany replied lightheartedly.

“There are ghosts everywhere.” Ser Jorah piped in. “We carry them with us wherever we go.”

Arthur scowled at Jorah again, reminding her that the animosity between the two have returned with gusto, much worse now than it was before when she was just a new bride and they were in service to her brother. The only difference was that this time, it was one-sided, as Jorah returned none of the scorn that was plain in her father’s face.  

Shortly after the birth of her dragons, Jorah had confessed to her about his initial motive in aligning himself with the Targaryens, about how he only agreed to be Viserys’ knight so that he could feed information to Varys the Spider, the Usurper’s spymaster, of her brother’s plans for his future invasion. 

The Northman agreed to those tasks in return for a pardon to travel back to his homeland, but professes to have stopped his spying once they got to Vaes Dothrak. It was there that Varys had informed him how the Usurper would try another assassination, and how he knew of the wine merchant incident before anyone else and tried to stop it. 

The letter that spoke of this had been the catalyst in his official defection from the spider’s service, as Jorah had no desire to be part of a scheme that would willingly murder an innocent unborn.

But no matter how much Jorah had abhorred the idea of an assassination attempt against a pregnant woman, he had been the very reason the Usurper even knew of her pregnancy to begin with. It had left her conflicted. Though she knew beyond a doubt that Ser Jorah was undyingly loyal to her now, she could not easily forget his earlier acts of treason. 

However, in her current predicament she could not afford to lose any allies, no matter how her father felt. She had decided that Ser Jorah would remain in her queensguard, but must continually work to earn her trust, which he readily accepted, eager to prove himself to his queen.

Arthur had been furious when he first found out about Jorah’s treason, and he was even ready to end the northerner’s life. The only thing that stopped him was Ser Jorah’s acceptance of any punishment if Daenerys, his queen, so declared. The man had refused to arm and defend himself, ebbing away Ser Arthur’s wrath until only frustration remained, for he knew his honour would not permit him to kill a defenceless man like that. Now her two knights barely speak to one another, going to great lengths to keep their distance at all times.  

“I shall go assist the men in fortifying the city, Your Grace.” He said pointedly, eyeing Jorah with suspicion and laced his statement with a barely veiled threat. “We cannot be taken unaware by those who would do us harm.”  

As he brought his horse to a gallop and left Dany in her tent, she shook her head, amused by her father’s protectiveness. He may always be her most trusted and loyal knight, but Dany knew that she was right in going against Ser Arthur in her decision to not cast off Jorah. There was time for clemency and there was time for ruthlessness, and this time she chose mercy.

At the chirping of her dragons, Dany then remembers those she has lost and asks the name of the ghost in the northerner’s past. Ser Jorah then began to tell her the tale of the ghost that haunts his dreams most; his second wife. 

“She had been a beautiful lady of House Hightower, named Lynesse, Your Grace.” Ser Jorah explains. “You see, my home on the remote Bear Island is cold and rustic. Long ago, my first wife, a daughter of House Glover whom I had loved after time, died from her third miscarriage after our ten years of marriage. By then my father had taken the black and I had become head of my house. With my elevated position, many suitors came forth seeking to marry a Lord, but before I could make a decision, the Greyjoy rebellion broke out and I participated in the war along with my countrymen. It was there that I earned my knighthood." As he said this she saw the ghost of a twitch tugging at the end of his mouth. 

“In the revelry of yet another triumph, the Usurper had ordered a great tourney outside Lannisport. That was where I met her. Beautiful, young and completely above my station, yet despite that, she had agreed to wear my favour during the tourneys. And seeing her in the stands cheering me on had ignited something inside me, and it led me to winning consecutive victories, earning me the champion's laurel by the end of the tourney. I named Lady Lynesse, the queen of love and beauty.” The small twitch of his lips had grown into a full smile now. 

“That night, drunk on wine and victory I, perhaps foolishly, asked Lord Leyton Hightower for his daughter's hand. It had surprised me, when he agreed and had us married quickly. It was the happiest time of my life.“ Ser Jorah had frowned then, emotion beginning to colour his tale. 

“However, like I said, Bear Island was a cold and rustic place, a great disappointment to Lynesse who was accustomed to a certain level of decadence my home simply could never offer. And I tried… and went to great lengths to import anything she desired to satisfy her great extravagance. We even travelled around often, going from tourney to tourney, and festivals to festivals, trying to recreate that same magic from the first time we met, but it never happened. I never won like I once did and we lost a fortune in our travels. Such imprudence nearly led my house into going near destitute.”

Dany saw such sadness and deep regret overcome him as the words poured out. “I had done everything to try and get us out of the hole, but despite my every sacrifice Lynesse was unwilling to give up her own treasures… so I did shameful things, thing I never thought I would do, for gold. To keep my love happy.” Dany remembered… selling poachers to slavers. “So when we heard that Eddard Stark was coming to execute me for my crimes, I was so lost to honour that I selfishly fled to Lys. Nothing else mattered but our love, we had assured each other…”

In the half a year that followed after their exile, their money had all but gone and Ser Jorah was forced to become a sellsword. And while he was away fighting, risking his very life for her, Lynesse left him so she could live with the wealthy merchant prince named Tregor Ormollen, and become his concubine. He had done so much for this woman, only to be cast aside with such ease. She began to understand why the man was so eager to regain his honour and a path home… Jorah wanted to find the man he was before he met Lynesse.

“You must hold such hatred for this woman.” 

“In a way khaleesi, I hold as much hatred in my heart for Lynesse as I still hold love for her.” Ser Jorah said wistfully. “But she is dead to me, our presence in each other’s lives are over.” 

Despite her lingering anger at Ser Jorah, Daenerys could not help but feel for him. Uncle Iroh had taught her that men are complex beings, that they are never purely good nor purely evil. The world did not exist in black and white, but rather shades of grey, and Jorah was just human.

It was also clear to Dany that Ser Jorah loved her after he described Lynesse having a similar beauty to her own. But to her, the love he had for his queen was only a reflection of his love for his former wife, so she knew he couldn’t truly love her in any way that lovers would. This confusion for love had in all likelihood been the initial reason why Jorah had switched his allegiance, despite what he may say about it having been a matter of character and morality.

More than anything, she knew that all his recent actions were tied to his deep longing to return to his home of Bear Island, and earn some type of redemption in his name and honour. Ser Jorah could never have her, but Dany hoped one day to give him back his home and his honour. Sometimes, the best way to solve your own problems is to help someone else, Iroh had said. And Jorah needed her more than ever now.

Daenerys knew that the desperate man’s loyalty to her, which was borne of a situation where he was shown mercy rather than ruthless retribution, would endure like Valyrian steel, and that is a trait that would serve her well in her queensguard.

That night she dreamt of riding dragons with a man and their family of little dragons, leaving her feeling sad about her inability to have children when she awoke. The maegi had swore that her dark magic tainted Dany and would never allow her to bear a living child, and now even her dreams have began to taunt her. Rhaego was her first, but was also her last. A family in the conventional sense won’t happen for her in this life, she thought. 

And what person would want to marry a barren wife? 

Shaking off the painful notion, halfway through the morning, she addresses her bloodriders of her next plans.

“I need the three of you to each take your horse, two warriors of your own choosing, and as many supplies you can carry, and scout the area around us. Aggo, you will journey southwest, Rakharo, you shall venture south, and Jhogo, to the southeast following the shierak qiya. Find anything living. Seek for any passing caravans and people, rivers and lakes and even the sea. See how far this waste extends. We will not leave this city until we can map a path out.”

The long days waiting for the bloodriders to return to the white city, which her people named Vaes Tolorro, or the city of bones, were spent settling down. Her khalasar took this opportunity to fully recover from their unforgivingly harsh journey through the red waste, the time passing by quicker than she anticipated. They rebuilt their supply of food, harvesting fruits from the gardens of the city and getting their animals to regain much needed mass and numbers, and she also trains with her warriors every morning, sparring with her two queensguards on alternate days, refusing to remain idle.

Despite the city’s emptiness, it was teeming with life. The ground was fertile, they had not lacked for clean water, and some of her people had even been successful in getting things to grow from the ground. Her khalasar was healing along with the city and soon, once they leave this refuge, they would leave it blooming.

Rakharo was the first to return nearly a week later with reports of the wasteland stretching south all the way to the ocean. 

Most interestingly, between Vaes Tolorro and the poison waters, her bloodrider swore he had passed the black bones of a dragon so large that he was able to ride his horse through its immense black jaws. Her queensguards would’ve never believed the truth of its existence if Rakharo and his two warriors that went with him hadn’t packed their satchels full and brought with them samples of said dragon’s remains. 

The path, despite it not leading to their salvation, had given them a boon, as these onyx-coloured bones alone would be worth entire fortunes if she were to trade them. The magister Illyrio himself had specialised in trading dragonbone, from which he had become a wealthy man from that, not even counting his other ventures. 

Aggo and his men returned next soon after, having only found two smaller, similarly deserted cities with less favourable conditions than Vaes Tolorro. The first of the city had gates that were decorated with a ring of skulls mounted on rusted spears, which they decided not to enter, while the other was completely barren and badly burnt. Though that city had nothing but ruins, Aggo brought with him a satchel of uncut fire opals and rubies, each the size of her fist, that he found exploring the latter city. It was more unexpected treasures, but yet again, neither was it a path to their salvation. 

Then it was on Daenerys’ nineteenth’s nameday, half a fortnight after her two bloodriders last returned, when Jhogo and his men finally arrived back to Vaes Tolorro. Though it was a happy occasion to see them again, the time she and her people spent waiting were conversely filled with silent uneasiness and a heavy air of anxiety, as some in her khalasar had feared that the last three scouts had perished in the waste, or worse, attacked by a rival horde. But return they did, and they did not come alone.

Flanked between the two warriors, Kovarro and Quaro, Jhogo had presented her with three queerly garbed strangers riding bizarre humped creatures much larger than any horse. 

“We have been to the city called Qarth, blood of my blood.” Jhogo said. “These people claim to be representatives from their city and rode out with us to seek you.”  

Daenerys looked upon them and saw how their eyes were quietly darting around her, as if trying for subtlety. But she knew immediately what they were hoping to see. “As long as they do not seek to harm me or our people, they are welcome here.” Daenerys said to her bloodrider, before addressing the three strangers. “State your names and purpose.” 

“I am Pyat Pree, warlock of the Undying.” The pale bony man with the blue lips replied, bowing slightly. 

“I am Xaro Xhoan Daxos, merchant prince of the Thirteen of Qarth.” The tall and handsome bald man decked in jewels said, bowing with more deference.

“I am called Quaithe of Asshai.” The third, a mysterious figure with a woman’s shape who wore a red-lacquered mask said. She had spoken with an accent so foreign it had taken Dany by surprise. This one had not bowed like the others. 

“We come seeking dragons. On behalf of the ruling Thirteen of Qarth we would like to humbly offer the Princess our hospitality, as well as the safety of the greatest city that ever was.” The one named Xaro pronounced.

This was the mirage, Dany thought. It was an offer too good to be true that it had to have some kind of caveat… and yet she felt compelled to accept it. 

Looking at their arid surroundings and then to Arthur, who seemed to share her feeling of hesitancy, Dany reminded herself that she is a queen now and must be decisive, if not just for herself but for her people. 

This refuge of Qarth seemed to be the end of the path of the bleeding star, she noted before addressing the three newcomers. 

“Seek no more. I accept your offer.”

Chapter Text

299AC

“I may have invoked Sumai for you, my princess, but I fear that my invitation may only extend to you and your retinue of guards. I'm afraid the majority of your band of… warriors must remain outside these walls.” Xaro explained as the three magnificent gates of Qarth were being opened to them. “You see, Qarth has no desire to see entire khalasars seething round within our walls. The stench of all those… horses. We Qartheen are unused to such aroma, you must understand. Meaning no offence…”

“None taken.” Dany said as evenly as she could at the false apology spoken through gritted teeth. After overseeing the settlement of her khalasar outside the walls, they enter through the majestic gates.

“But have no worry, I shall personally make sure that they have all the supplies they could ever need. Tents, food, water…” He paused slightly, looking down on her dothraki clothing before giving a false smile. “…and clothes. Anything you ask, my princess, and I shall provide for you.”

Daenerys was used to such court falsities during her childhood going from the homes of magisters, archons and princes in the Free Cities with Viserys, but her time with the Dothraki had nearly made her forget just how grating it was to hear again. 

“Yes, that is very gracious of you to supply aid to strangers so freely. I am sure my people, like their khaleesi, are grateful for your generosity.” Dany replied courteously. The man seemed visibly irked at her use of the word freely, but if he was bothered by it, he made nothing more of it. 

“So long as they make no trouble, then I doubt we will encounter any problems, my beautiful princess.” He said, smiling tightly, before they made their procession into the city. There was a large celebration for her arrival in Qarth, apparent as her retinue were flanked a column of dozen camel riders from the city to provide her an honour guard.

Though Daenerys had at first suspected that, like any native of every ‘great’ cities, the three Qartheen had simply exaggerated the splendours that theirs was the “greatest city that ever was or ever will be”, upon seeing what hid behind the walls, she had little reason to doubt their boasts. It was truly a magnificent sight.

The gates attached to the three thick elaborately carved walls encircling the city of Qarth alone were a splendid landmark. The outer was red sandstone, thirty feet high and decorated with animals. The middle wall, forty feet high, was grey granite carved with scenes of war. The innermost wall was fifty feet of black marble, with carvings so carnal it brought a deep crimson blush to Arthur and Jorah’s normally impassive face, both of whom had tried averting their gaze anywhere else. 

It had reminded her of the prudish nature that was common amongst the Westerosi and how it so differed from the more sexually liberated views of the Essosi, and that contrast made her chuckle inwardly.

As she rode her silver into the city, many small children rushed out to scatter flowers in her path and other Qartheen lined the streets and watched from their balconies to watch her pass, with Drogon perched on her shoulder. While most had looked upon her and her child with awe and wonder, she couldn't help but notice that there were those who were able to overlook her dragon and instead focused their gaze upon her burly warriors behind her, showing visible distrust… and even hints of fear. They were why Xaro Xhoan Daxos was forced to invoke Sumai.  

When Daenerys had initially been given the invitation to enter Qarth it was not by unanimous decree. Xaro had informed her how he had to invoke the ancient Qartheen blood oath of Sumai, which allowed for a member of the city’s ruling council to vouch for outsiders who wish to enter it, offering them the protection of their homes. “Similar to the guest rights in Westeros, Your Grace.” Ser Jorah told her.

The merchant prince told her how many of their citizens were afraid of the coming of a horde of Dothraki, and her association with them was the reason why only less than half of the Thirteen voted in favour of allowing her entry. Having spent nearly a year with the Dothraki had made Daenerys forget how her people’s reputation has never been too positive amongst the people of other nations. 

Daenerys thought of how the Dothraki called these people milk men and how Drogo dreamed of sacking this fabled city, and it made her shudder to think of the violence her husband would have wreaked upon the children she saw lining the streets.

Yet despite the restrictions, Daenerys was allowed to bring her bloodriders, a small retinue of guards and women, her queensguards, as well as her handmaidens into the city. It had surprised her a little when her group of Dothraki had looked upon the city with an almost childlike wonder too, though she figured most only saw things they thought they could take. But like them, Dany found that the more she looked around, the more the city’s offers had made her marvel at the sights.

“If you see anything that you would desire, my Princess, you have only to say the word and it shall be yours.” Xaro boasted with the same air of grandiosity that reminded her too much of Illyrio Mopatis.

“Do not be so common, merchant. Qarth itself is hers, she has no need of material things.” The warlock Pyat Pree said as he flanked her other side. “Come with me to the House of the Undying Mother of Dragons, and you shall be rewarded with truth and wisdom beyond imagining.”

“Why should she need your palace of dust, when I can give her the world?” Xaro tartly shot back to the warlock. “The great people of this city shall shower her with gifts and I myself shall give the princess a crown as beautiful as her to put on her lovely head.”

Though Daenerys smiled at the words, she knew immediately not to trust Xaro Xhoan Daxos, as she could instantly perceive the man’s greedy ambition. She saw how he looked upon her and her children with lust over the power they represented, and yet there was little she could do but to continue observing the man more closely for the time being, to see how she could use this opportunist to her advantage. And then there was her distrust over sorcerers, which had made her simply ignore the warlock’s pleas, despite the foreboding feeling she felt from hearing his words.

“If it’s a crown you would gift me Xaro, then you should be calling me queen, not princess.” She mused. “And if the city of Qarth would shower me with gifts, let them give me ships and swords so that a queen may conquer.”

Her retort made the warlock momentarily smirk, before he caught himself. “Remember, Khaleesi, all across the east, our power and wisdom are revered and men speak in careful voices when they speak of the warlocks of Qarth… visit us, and the future shall be open to you.” Pyat Pree gave her a gracious smile before he trotted off. She knew she couldn’t trust the warlock and his ilk, but something about his words sent shivers through her. There were some truths to his words.

“They might have been powerful once but now they are but a shadow of their fading strength. Their skills have abandoned them long ago. All they do is drink shade-of-the-evening until their lips turn blue and show hints of their old powers. But really they are simply hollow husks of their former selves. Mark my words, Pyat Pree’s gifts will turn to dust in your hands.” Xaro said with contempt as he kept stalking forward with his hulking camel.

Looking at the disappearing form of the warlock, she had to agree with the merchant for now. And yet despite her skills, she is unable to read anything off of the warlock… or the masked woman who had remained silent their entire ride. To Dany, Pyat Pree and Quaithe were like water that kept slipping through her fingers; she could not grasp them.

As they continued their journey to Xaro’s property, Dany had anticipated to be presented with something grand, but what she had not expected to see was a palace larger than an entire market town. It was so majestic that she thought it made Magister Illyrio’s manse in Pentos look like a humble cabin. 

“Welcome to my home, my beautiful queen.” The man had bowed with such pride as he escorted her through his golden gates. Looking around she speculated that the palatial space could probably house all her people, and their horses who were forced to reside outside the city, within the confines of this great estate. Even in Xaro’s bestowal of an entire wing of his palace to her, that portion of the estate alone would dwarf her group of fifty.

Despite her suspicions of Xaro’s motives, there was one thing she could no longer deny, and that was how his boastful claim of being the richest man in Qarth could no longer be disputed, or at the very least, close to the absolute truth. 

“You would have your own gardens, a marble bathing pool, a tower and maze, as well as a personal army of slaves to tend your every need.” He smiled once more. 

Though uncomfortable with receiving gifts of slaves, Dany tried to remain neutral. “You are too generous, Xaro Xhoan Daxos.” she replied in clipped tones to her host, who remained unaware of her distaste.

“There will be a feast on the morrow with every delicacies and beautiful music the Qartheen has to offer. Qarth’s ruling council of Thirteen and all of the greats of this city will also come to give honour to you, my beautiful queen. Until then, you may explore the city, or if you wish, take rest from your arduous journey.” Xaro Xhoan Daxos said bowing yet again, delicately taking her hand and planting a chaste kiss on her skin before he departed to his own wing of the palace. 

Dragons… they will come to honour my dragons, she thought. But I am their mother, so they shall honour me too. She knew that it would be best to not linger in this city long but Daenerys couldn’t help but ponder on Xaro’s words. Would the rich merchants and powerful council of Qarth's honour extend to helping her win her throne?

“Beware, Daenerys Targaryen…” the woman in the red lacquered mask said, slightly startling them all. The one called Quaithe had blended so deeply into the background that they had forgotten of her presence.

“Of whom?”

“Of all who seek you, for they will come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see, they shall only lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power.” Quaithe said, as she trotted off on her dark horse.

“Despite the ambiguous nature of her speech, those might be the truest words said to me today.” Dany mused to her queensguards as they watched the woman take her leave.

It had unnerved Dany how the warlock and the merchant prince had showered her with promises from the first moment they opened their mouths, declaring themselves loyal to her, yet conversely, from Quaithe she had only received a rare oblique warning and not much else. And it also disturbed her that she knew nothing of the woman’s true face that was constantly hidden behind the queer red mask.

Seeing how Arthur or Jorah seemed ready to speak their piece, Dany held up her hand and beat them to it. 

“I know. I don’t trust any of them either.”

“We should not linger long, Your Grace. I do not like the smell of this place.” Arthur said. 

“It smells quite sweet to me.” Dany answered sarcastically.

Looking around suspiciously, Jorah commented aloud. “Sweet smells are often used to cover foul ones, khaleesi.”

“She knows that, you imbecile.” Arthur bit out at Jorah. 

Daenerys rolled her eyes and interrupted them again, before they could bicker further. “Those three may have been the first to come seeking my favour but they certainly won’t be the last. There are many within this city with power, wealth and influence, even ones that I believe would rather be my ally than my enemy. We just need to determine which is which.” She called to her Dothraki warriors and women.

“We may be safe for now but we are blind here. They have only shown us what they want us to see.” She explained before giving out her orders. “Kovarro, Quaro and Malakho, I need you to take two dozen of our warriors to scout the entire city and map it out. I want to know the ins and outs of the streets, and to find if there are any ways we can get the rest of the khalasar in should anything were to happen. Be careful and be as discreet you can.”

“Yes, khaleesi.” They nodded, smiling and leaving in high spirits at the task they were given.

“Doreah, I need you to take the most charming of our women and seek anything out in this city that may be helpful to us. Go the places where men may not enter and find out as much as you can. No topic is off limits but take care that you all remain safe, so make sure to travel in pairs.” 

“It would be our pleasure, khaleesi.” Doreah smirked, before going off with her group of women.  

She turned to her northern knight. “You take your own small group of men and explore the docks. We need an alternative escape plan should anything go awry, but promise them nothing yet.” 

He nodded before she continued, lowering her voice and taking special care in speaking in the Common Tongue so only the northman could hear. “It has also been a while since we’ve received any word from the Seven Kingdoms. Speak to the ship crews, learn where they sailed from and where they are headed, and find as much information about the outside world as you can.”

This would be his first test, Dany thought, so she knew that Jorah would do his best to see them done. As the group trotted their horses to leave, Dany addressed her bloodriders and her two remaining handmaids last. 

“You will be my eyes and ears in this palace, and we shall keep our own watch. None shall enter this wing of the palace without my permission, and make sure that my children are always on guard.”

At their nod, the group began to explore the enormous wing of the palace that was now hersand they found it to be just as extravagant as the rest of the estate, if not more. 

When they arrived at her solar, the first thing Dany did was to take her dragons out of their wooden cage, so that they may explore their new surroundings and get acquainted with the space alongside her. They walked around her oversized solar, where Dany spotted a few things that got her attention. There was a plush bed that seemed large enough to host an entire harem. There was an old tapestry which looked to come from a time before the Doom that took Valyria, in it Dany noticed that there was no Smoking Seas, as Valyria had not yet succumbed to the the cataclysm. There was also a large ornate desk in a splendid drawing room, and a two-toned gold plated cyvasse set that shone brightly on the porch lounge that led to the attached manicured gardens.  

But perhaps the most breathtaking feature was the marble pool built just beside the shade of the porch where her dragons settled down on the mounds of pillow beside it. Dany immediately began to undress and entered the pool, wanting to wash off the grime of the red waste. The cooling waters was a nice sensation after the long travel, and it felt good to momentarily disassociate and relax.

For a moment she wondered if the Red Keep has a pool like this, with fragrant gardens and endless sunlight, and the thought had suddenly reminded her how Viserys spoke of the Seven Kingdoms like it was the most beautiful place in the world. 

“Father, does the Red Keep have a pool like this?” Dany asked, motioning for Arthur to join in, but he only went as far dipping his two legs in the pool, sitting at a respectable distance from his queen. He too gasped in delight as he felt the cool waters soothe him.

“As far as I am aware, the Red Keep has bathing pools but I don’t think they had anything quite this opulent. Not since the last time I was there at least.” Arthur sounded almost sad to her. 

“I remember how Viserys would speak of Westeros and the sites within them as if it were the most spectacular places to have ever existed, but even barring his bias, its hard to imagine how the beauty of the Seven Kingdoms would compare to the splendours we’ve seen in this city, let alone this palace.” Dany said as she floated in the pool, suddenly feeling like the child who would swim in the cool rivers of Asabhad again.

“I wouldn’t compare the two, daughter, since they have a differing beauty.” He chuckled, almost nostalgic. “In my time on this continent, I have seen that Essos holds a beauty that is much more exotic to me, and it never really stopped being foreign in my eyes. I have grown up used to only seeing plain white towers and the torrentine, and then the imposing magnificence of the Red Keep.”

He continued with a slight smile. “Only two places in the entire Seven Kingdoms do I remember displayed the bewitching characteristics of the east, and they were Dragonstone and Summerhall. While Dragonstone was all dark and imposing in its majesty, Summerhall was all grace and elegance. At least that what they say it looked like, before it was burned to the ground.”

“I know of those places well…” Dany recalled the times Viserys spoke of how those castles were their elder brother’s favourite places to visit. “Viserys had been somewhat bitter that Rhaegar never invited him to visit our family ruins of Summerhall.”

“Well, that was not to Viserys’ discredit, since our reclusive silver prince had always preferred going alone.” She turned around and saw how her father’s expression had turned downcast as he said his next words. 

“Rhaegar, he- we would routinely visit the charred ruins of Summerhall together on the anniversary of the tragedy that brought about his birth… to pay tribute to those who perished on that day. Your brother… he’s always carried an unmerited guilt for that, no matter how much we, who were closest to him, tried to convince him otherwise.”

A man prone to melancholy, Arthur used to fondly say to her whenever she asked about Rhaegar.

“Yet when we would get there, he would always insist on going in alone with just his harp, and would never allow me to come with him, despite my obvious hesitation.” He smiled again and chuckled slightly from the memory long forgotten. “He would stay there all night, underneath the stars… and every morning, he would come back with a new song of lament that would always bring people to tears when they heard it from his lips.” 

Her father smiled again before the sorrow came back. “I remember how vividly Rhaegar would describe the beauty of the place before the tragedy that killed many in your family.” 

Daenerys allowed the moment to linger for a moment, basking in the rare kernel of a past memory of her beloved brother. “One day, we’ll go back Summerhall and perhaps even restore it to its former glory.” She vowed, reaching for her father’s hand and smiled. “For him.”

She then pondered what a homecoming would be like for her. Had her husband not succumbed to his wound and gotten his wish to seat their son on the Iron Throne, Drogo would have led his massive khalasar across the poison waters and pillaged his way through Westeros. They would have sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, but in the way of the horselords, they would not know how to govern their looted land afterwards.

Drogo could have never been king of the Seven Kingdoms, she thought. He would have given her the heads of her enemies, but he would have made Lhazar out of Westeros and raped and burned through her subject’s lands just as he had the Lamb men’s. And while she might have been able to convince him to show mercy to some, that would only go against his nature, since he will always be a khal of the Dothraki above all else. 

Daenerys had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a broken ruin full of bones and ghosts like Vaes Tolorro. She wanted to make her kingdom thriving and alive, beautiful, filled happy families and laughing children. She wanted her people to smile when they see her ride by….

But that wasn’t the way of the world… if she wanted her kingdom, then a queen must conquer.

And Dany had an army now, the nearly half the cavalry her brother Viserys believed would be enough to take the Seven Kingdoms. Though it was only a tenth of what Drogo’s numbers had been, hers was still an army regardless. 

The thought gave her pause, as she knew her chances were slim before, but they have only gotten worse now as it was evident that her middling-sized horde would stand no chance against a well-armoured army of foot soldiers and mounted knights. And longbows would decimate her numbers before her warriors got even close to their targets, especially considering how Dothraki wore nearly no protective gear when they ride into battle. 

But perhaps, her greatest disadvantage right now was their sullied reputation; bringing a horde of Dothraki to Westeros, no matter the size, would bring her no friends, only enemies. If the treatment her people received today was any indication from how the Essosi felt about the Dothraki, she could only imagine what the Westerosi would feel. Suddenly her brother’s utter contempt for the ‘horse savages’ sprang to mind.

Soon their conversation came to a discussion about the rebellion that led them here. This was first time she ever spoke so candidly of this sore subject with her father since those years in Asabhad with Iroh. Neither one of them dared to touch on such painful memories and for years it had been left largely unspoken. 

“If we make it across the narrow sea, it would be the Usurper that we would face.” It had been such a faraway concept then, when it had been Viserys or Drogo at the helm, but she was queen now, and with sobering reality she realised, a queen who would have to face her brother’s killer. But she was no shy or helpless maid either. She was as skilled with the blade as the great Arthur Dayne, and it would give her no greater pleasure than to sink her two mithril swords into the Usurper and watch the pathetic last squeak of life leave his broken body. 

“But those that stand behind him… cold Eddard Stark, rich and powerful Tywin Lannister and our false-friend Jamie Lannister…” Her words brought a dark expression to her knight’s typically genial face. “How will we overthrow them?” She sighed heavily, suddenly feeling her youth. 

Just as her khalasar had gone through the impossible with her, crossing the red waste to chase her comet, they would follow her across the poison water too. But they were not nearly enough to conquer an entire continent. Her three dragons would be enough one day, but certainly not at their current nascent stage. 

But even if her dragons were to one day grow to the size of Aegon’s and his sisters’ mounts, Daenerys had no wish to bathe the entire country in flames just to exact vengeance on a few so she could sit on the throne in the violent aftermath. It would run counter to her desire to earn the people’s love and loyalty, such as she had done with her Dothraki khalasar. If she does somehow manage to pull off a similar gambit in winning their favor quickly, then perhaps she would finally restore her family name… but she knew that was a hopeful fantasy.

Viserys, who had been prone to similar folly, believed the realm would rise for their rightful king. But Daenerys knew such things would not happen. Only fools would put such stock in false hope, and Daenerys was no fool.

“I do not know…” Arthur replied, smiling. “But you have never led us astray so far and I have faith that you will lead us home, daughter.” 

Her father’s smile could always lift her spirits. “The Bleeding Star led me to Qarth for a purpose. If fate has designs for me to ascend the Iron Throne, then I will find a solution here.”

It wasn’t until the evening sky turned dark did Ser Jorah return, and to her great surprise, he did not come alone. He entered her solar with a man wearing a cloak of green and yellow feathers and had skin as black as night.

“My Queen, may I present, Quhuru Mo, the captain of the Cinnamon Wind of Tall Trees Town.” Ser Jorah had announced.

A Summer Islander in Qarth, Daenerys pondered. He must brought with him tidings from the west. 

She observed him closely as his dark eyes locked on to her amethyst ones before rapidly going around her to inspect her dragons, who she had arrayed around her on her throne of cushions. He stared in awe for a while, stunned as if willing his mind to make the moment last longer, before catching himself and swiftly bending the knee. 

“I- I am greatly honoured, Queen Daenerys.” He stammered out in the Valyrian of the Free Cities.

“Please, rise.” She replied in the same tongue. “I am honoured of your visit.” 

“Meaning no dishonour, but truly, to be able to see such a wonder… the privilege is all mine, Your Majesty.” He said, smiling so wide and genuine that it made Dany return one of her own. 

“Then I am glad to be able to inspire such wonder.” She said. “Did you come from the Summer Isles? What tidings do you bring from there?”

“Yes- well, no, Your Majesty. I am from the Summer Isles but that is not why I have come here. I am here because I have just previously been to Oldtown, and it is from there I come bearing gifts.” He said with pride. “The gift of news from the Sunset Kingdoms.”

I knew it. 

Her heart stammered as she turned to Arthur, who shared her sense of excitement and anticipation of such news. She motioned for him to proceed. 

“You see, many moons ago before Qarth, when I was docked at Oldtown, everywhere in the city they talked of this, and when people talk of the same thing like this, and at this rate of frequency, then it must be true. I come to tell you that Robert Baratheon is dead, Your Majesty.”

“Dead?” She and Arthur repeated at the same time, before the man nodded. She sat there slack jawed, and as if the news were understood by them, her dragons began hissing excitedly, releasing puffs of smoke around her, making her appear like she had just been burning. Dany then composed herself and pressed further. “And you are certain of this?”

“Undoubtedly, Your Majesty. It was said in Oldtown, in Sunspear and in Lys, everywhere we docked before we came here.”

She looked at Arthur, incredulous. He continued her questioning for her. “How did he die?” 

“Torn apart by a wild boar while he went hunting in the woods near the capital, if the ramblings at Oldtown were to be believed. Others have said it was his queen who betrayed and killed him. A few others said it was his brothers who did the deed, or even Lord Stark who was his Hand. Yet no matter what manner the king died, there is no denying this: Robert Baratheon is dead and buried.” 

Daenerys wasn’t sure how to feel… 

For as long as she could remember, the Usurper, a man who she had never even laid her eyes upon, was a constant blight in her life. First, it was his rebellion that ousted her from her home. Then it was his hired knives that drove her from every successive shelter that housed her. Then it was the never-ending fear of him that kept her and her brother moving from city to city, unable to find a home. Then it was his men that mauled Viserys and broke him. Then it was his assassin that nearly ended her own life and child’s. And how could she forget the monster’s glee over her mutilated good-sister and her little children? Now the man himself was gone… the demon who haunted her entire life, dead by a boar. 

Who else was she supposed to direct her vengeance now?

“Who then currently sits on the Iron Throne?” Arthur asked curiously.

“His heir Prince Joffrey has succeeded him as king now.” Quhuru Mo stated, “But it is the Lannisters who rule. Robert’s brothers all fled King’s Landing, and everyone is saying they mean to claim the crown. Word says that there are many folks in the country who have already been called to arms. And the Hand, Lord Stark who was King Robert’s friend, he has been seized for treason.”

“Ned Stark, a traitor?” Ser Jorah said aghast. “The Others would come again before that man ever dare besmirch his precious honour.” He scoffed bitterly. 

“I agree…” Arthur said to Jorah, as if absentmindedly saying his thoughts aloud. The northerner seemed surprised by his concurrence. “The Lannisters must’ve done something about this.” 

So it wasn’t just Drogo’s khalasar that erupted into pieces… but the entire seven bloody kingdoms were falling apart. She wonders how Viserys would’ve reacted to such news. With glee and enthusiasm, she thought. This probably would have even pushed him headfirst into rashly pursuing an invasion sooner. 

“Would your ship be returning to Westeros, Captain?” Dany regained her voice, while already the gears in her mind were running rampant. 

“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty. From here, my ship will be headed east, following the trader’s route across the Jade Sea.”  

Daenerys paused, suddenly inspired with an idea. “Would you happen to be making port in Asabhad?”

“Why yes, Your Majesty. That would be my first stop.”

“Then I must ask a favour of you, Captain.” Getting up to walk across the room to the desk in her solar, Daenerys begins quickly scribing a letter as she sat down. “There is a man in Asabhad whom I would very much like to receive this letter. I would ask that my missive make the journey with you to Asabhad, where you would keep it safe and discreet throughout your voyage, then make sure it is delivered when you port.” She quickly finished the letter, folding and sealing it, before offering it to the captain. 

“Could I count on you to perform this task faithfully?” 

Surprised at the haste and efficiency with which she wrote and sealed the letter, the captain nevertheless nodded eagerly. 

“It would be an honour, Your Majesty. I shall guard the letter with my life and make sure to personally deliver it.”

“Splendid. You shall be handsomely compensated.” Dany said, gesturing to Irri to find some of the gold coin she kept.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, payment is not necessary here.” 

“Do not be ridiculous, you have brought me a precious gift as well as agreeing to perform an important duty for me. I must pay you for that.”

He held up his hands. “I have been infinitely repaid, my queen.” 

Dany frowned. “How so?”

“I have seen dragons. A majestic phenomenon I never thought I’d ever see in my lifetime.” He said, eyes gleaming. 

Touched by the captain’s words, Dany decided to humour him. “If that is your wish, then I shan’t oppose. I would however, insist that in the future if you ever hear of me again, you will come to me, and I shall reward you greatly then for the boon you have given me today. I will not forget it.” She said with a smile. “And I’d wager you will want to see my children once they are more grown.”

“That I would, and I shall pray for that day to come in haste, my queen.” He said with a great smile. 

“And I wish you favourable winds and fruitful trades.”

“Your Majesty.” He said one last time, bowing and kneeling in complete reverence before kissing her lightly on her hands as he was escorted out by Jhiqui. 

After the trader leaves, Daenerys started pacing the room deep in thought, making her dragons even more restless, spreading their wings and flapping about the solar.

“Your Grace, that letter-“ Ser Jorah said, worried.

“Don’t let that letter trouble you, Ser Jorah.” Dany retorted. “It was addressed to a man who helped raise me and kept me in absolute safety for years. He would die before he would give me up.” Seeing the northerner’s lingering doubt, Dany assured him further. “The letter was written in coded YiTish. Only three people in the world knows how to decipher what is in that missive, and two of them are in this room.”

“I see.” Ser Jorah said, surprised. Smirking in response, Dany continued with her previous thought.

“This changes everything.” She said carefully. 

“I think we should proceed with even more caution, especially now that the Lannisters firmly hold power over the Iron Throne.” Ser Arthur stated gravely. If Robert Baratheon ordered the death on children and the unborn to keep his throne, what would the Lannisters do to keep their power now that they finally have their own flesh and blood as king? The thought had brought a shiver down her spine.

“Certainly, but it’s not just that. Tonight has enlightened me just how little information and even less in allies I have.” She frowns deeply. “Just imagine what my invasion would do to a fractured kingdom. In our current state…” 

“It would do nothing more than bind them together, stronger than ever.” Ser Jorah finished for her.

“Precisely.” Dany sat down again among the cushions with her dragons, and began stroking their heated necks. “We must have allies and we must wait until my dragons are grown.”

All three of her children screeched then, puffing up tendrils of smoke from their jaws as her two queensguard look on with nods of approval.

Chapter Text

299AC

It was the third dream she had of the warlocks in nearly just as many moon turns she had been in Qarth.

Thrice they would beckon her to enter the Palace of Dust, and thrice would Dany open the tall oval door shaped in the likeness of a human face and find herself inside a winding labyrinth. Within, she walked in darkness and she walked in light, but at the end of the path was always a hall, and at its center sat a towering and monstrous throne made of a thousand iron blades covered under a mass of snow. 

With every step she took inching deeper into the chamber, sounds of cracking ice would crescendo louder and louder in her ear until the noise was ready to break her mind as she finally held the piercing throne under her dainty hands. 

With each dream, it would end with her jolting awake, shivering in a cold sweat despite the temperate climate of the city. 

The visions in her dreams had reminded her of her previous recurring dreams of the inhuman ice creatures wearing gleaming translucent armour, who always appeared to her like a white shadow. Yet no matter how many times they visited her in her sleep, she still knew nothing of what they meant.

Before, those dreams would end with her being bathed in dragonflame, giving her renewing strength upon waking. But no more. All she felt was an unfamiliar cold, and today had been a day when she would’ve dearly needed more strength. 

Damn these Qartheen to hell, she thought bitterly that morning. All these avaricious merchants cared about was money, yet no matter how much Dany bribed and appealed to them, they were still unwilling to join her cause. And she didn’t know how many times more she could reject a marriage proposal from Xaro Xhoan Daxos. 

There were days when Dany thought her host had exerted his wealth and influence over the city so that those she petitioned would reject her, in an effort to make her increasingly desperate until a marriage proposal from him would seem an acceptable salvation. Yet even then the scheme seemed unlikely, given how Xaro only held one seat against twelve others of the Thirteen, and even a man as exceedingly wealthy as Xaro must have limits to their powers. Then there was also the fact that she was starting to get the impression that the others in the council only viewed him as an upstart they wanted to rid off. 

Despite that, she still petitioned more of the Thirteen of Qarth, and this time, it was the Pureborn faction of the council to whom she had appealed. She even went through all their ridiculous prerequisites to arrange a formal meeting with them; she made the traditional sacrifice in the Temple of Memory, offered a traditional bribe to the Keeper of the Long List, sent a traditional basket of fruits to the Opener of the Door and was finally sent a pair of blue slippers that granted her an audience in the Hall of a Thousand Thrones.

Yet some who sat on them were so deprived of energy that they may as well have been asleep. They heard her, but Dany knew they had no care to listen. It was clear the only reason they agreed to see her was because their obscene wealth and privilege had made them so idle that a curiosity like the dragon on her shoulder interested them more than she did or what she had to say.

Mathos Mallarawan, Wendello Qar Deeth, and Egon Emeros were the three of the five Pureborn who were attentive long enough to hear her entire petition, yet for all the overly polite and flowered courtesy they extended, going so far as shedding tears for her, she knew that underneath their display of mummery, their answer was still a no. The Qartheen were nothing if not polite in their spurn.

It was only by Jorah’s quick thinking Dany had enough money that such fruitless endeavours would not leave her penniless, and it had been Quhuru Mo’s visit that gave him the idea. As more of the tales of her dragons spread, the more seekers had come to witness if the tales were true—and Ser Jorah had made sure all who came had offered some token to the Mother of Dragons.

Arthur didn’t approve of such methods, and at the start Daenerys didn’t know if she did either, but when what only started as a small stream of income grew into a tidal wave of profits, she could hardly find fault in his inspired arrangement. Especially since the majority of the gifts that were presented to her were from well-to do merchants and traders who could afford to be so generous. Piles of lace from Myr, chests of saffron from YiTi, dragonglass from Asshai and Jogos Nhai striped zorses were some of the things given to her. Then bags of coin. Endless bags.

The three council members from the Tourmaline Brotherhood faction of the Thirteen had even gifted her a splendid crown in the shape of a three-headed dragon; the heads carved from jade, ivory, and onyx, though they extended her no actual promise in an alliance to reclaim her throne. 

A similar gesture was given to her by the three council members from the Ancient Guild of Spicers faction of the Thirteen, when they gifted an entire galley’s worth of expensive wines and rare spices to her freely, but by the same token had given no commitment in an alliance to retake her family throne. 

Though the offerings were aplenty, she kept only some of them, trading most of it for wealth to continue financing her cause while the rest she gifted to her khalasar. She found that selling the crown had been the hardest, and it filled her with a great sadness that surprised her, but one she should have expected, since it reminded her of the miserable day she and Viserys sold their mother’s crown. It had given her pause, but in spite of that, she knew she had to sell the extravagant trinket. After all, what had she the need for a crown? What was a crown to a queen who held no lands?

After her latest rejection, Dany made her way through the city with Xaro on the lavish palanquin her gifted her. In truth, she would’ve much rather spent her afternoon visiting her khalasar outside the city walls with her bloodriders, as she had every morning in the time she has been here, to make sure they were properly supported and happy. But today Xaro had insisted they spend it together riding through the city to watch yet another festival in the city that was thrown in her honour.

Despite the pageantry with which he usually operates, she knew their palanquin ride was all just an elaborate prologue by the merchant prince to ask her yet again for her hand in marriage. Although she had denied him once more, this time she couldn’t help but wonder about what a marriage with her wealthy suitor would be like. 

She was well aware how his only motive in marrying her was solely for her dragons, as the Qartheen marriage custom would allow him to ask of her one thing that she would be legally bound she could not deny… and it would not be a leap to ponder just what he would demand. And yet, even if she were to suddenly lose her mind and foolishly accept his proposal, could he actually come to love her as a husband would a wife? 

Xaro’s flowery talks of passion would certainly suggest so, but words are wind and his conduct was entirely in contradiction with his words. While many others in the city had barely been able to avert their gaze from her figure that she wrapped in the traditional but extremely revealing Qartheen garb, Xaro had never once gave her, or any other woman, a look over. But what she noticed he had given his undivided attention to were the beautiful svelte young men who always seemed to surround the comely merchant prince, with entire groups of them regularly frolicking around his palace halls in nary but silk coverings as clothing, according to her observant bloodriders and handmaids.

Rhaegal suddenly stirred then from their slumber and it had pulled her out of her thoughts. They are growing, she observed as she watched her green dragon stretch their body and open their wings. Her children looked thrice as large as what they were in Vaes Tolorro only moons ago, but even at this rate, it would be years yet before they were grown enough to go to war, and like the war elephants of the Golden Company, they must be well-trained before it came to that, else they burn friend and foe alike. For all the blood in her veins that descend from the dragonlords of Old Valyria, Dany had no idea how to tame them.

It was only the other day that Daenerys was finally able to succeed in teaching her dragons to breath fire on command, so they would be self-sufficient in feeding themselves. That had been easy, when the target was an uncooked piece of meat, but in a battlefield, everything beneath the powerful wings of a dragon would look like uncooked meat ripe for feeding, and that would be a problem.

Her dragon’s presence had reminded her of the only member left of the Thirteen she had not petitioned, who just happens to be only one within the council that doesn’t deal in anything as common as goods or gold, but in magic; Pyat Pree and his coven of warlocks. The House of the Undying, or as most in city called it, the Palace of Dust.

When she spoke of her consideration to go to the warlocks of the Undying for aid, Xaro surprisingly did not contradict her this time, telling her that it would be up to her to make that decision. It struck her as odd that Xaro’s opinion on the warlocks has so drastically changed the longer she has been in Qarth, but she couldn’t find a reason why. At least not in the moment. The man had always said how he distrusts anything that doesn’t deal in money, so it seemed unlikely he would work together with the Undying. 

In spite of her host’s mercurial opinions, Daenerys couldn’t dismiss the instinct that, despite their dubious nature, she would actually get genuine answers from the warlocks. An answer to her dreams… dreams that has never led her astray thus far.

“Khaleesi, look there!” She heard Jhogo say from outside the palanquin.  

Dany opened the curtains and saw that a firemage had conjured a ladder made of flame in the air that rose forty feet high, reaching toward the skies. All over the marketplace people were watching the mage climb it, but as the watchers were glued to the death defying act, Dany could see little cutpurses make their way through the distracted crowd, and how they moved so skilfully that none were alerted to their presence.

She smiled thinking of the old exercises Iroh had her do, one of which involved a similar act of pickpocketing. Dany never kept her winnings, as part of the assignment was to put the coin purses back before the victims found out, but knowing the trick would certainly allow one to know to look out for the act. 

“A fine illusion, I suppose, if you’re into such things.” Xaro said dismissively. “I’m afraid I must go back, my queen, but please stay and enjoy the festivities that has arisen in the city for your beauty.” Xaro Xhoan Daxos kissed her hand before getting out from the palanquin and onto his camel, where she saw him being joined by his group of beautiful young men. 

Dany suddenly sensed a presence around her and when she turned she saw that Quaithe had appeared out of nowhere to speak to her. 

“It is no illusion, Mother of Dragons. Just a few moons ago that mage of flame could barely produce fire from dragonglass. He did tricks then, using powders and wildfire to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work, but to climb a fiery ladder was inconceivable until now.” She said gesturing to the mage who was now climbing down the fire ladder to roaring applause. “His powers have grown beyond his wildest dreams, and he has you to thank.”

“Me?” She frowned. “How did I do that?”

Quaithe ignored her question and tried stepping closer to her, but was blocked by her three bloodriders. They have had enough dealings with maegi kind, she thought.

The woman recoiled from them before her wet and shiny eyes stared piercingly at Dany with such an intensity that it made her shudder. “Heed your dreams, Daenerys Targaryen. Ignore them, and you will follow in your family’s downfall.” She warned before turning to leave.

Shaken by the the words, they had stayed with Dany all the way with her on unquiet journey to her solar, where she called for her two queensguard for their counsel. She couldn’t stop trying to figure out what the shadowbinder wanted. Unlike the others, Quaithe still had given her no promises, but only cryptic words. 

To go north, you must journey south, to reach the west you must go east. To go forward you must go back and to touch the light you must pass the shadow, she had said the last time. Iroh and the YiTish called Asshai the Shadow… but what waited for her in Asshai? More cryptic words?

Perhaps she could use the queer blue vial of clear liquid Doreah had gotten for her recently on Quaithe, as it supposedly could extract the truth from any who consume it, thus ending the mystery surrounding the woman. No, that would be a waste of such a potion. She had a feeling that no matter what the circumstance, Quaithe would never speak to her in any other way than in riddles. 

Daenerys played cyvasse on her own while she waited. Arthur, who had never taken to the game, and Jorah, who like their host Xaro, had neither patience or nor taste for the game had declined, albeit politely, all her previous offers for a game. It was the reason she increasingly found herself playing the game on her own, the solo act having become a calming balm to her in the same way Iroh’s meditating exercises had previously been in YiTi. 

When she had beaten herself a third time, Dany abandoned the board in favour of reading a book on Qartheen laws from Xaro’s library, wholly immersing herself in the text trying to distract herself from her dark thoughts when her knights came in.

“The Pureborn were non-committal.” She said quietly. “Just as you said they would.”

“The justice of your cause means naught to these men of Qarth, my queen. They won’t care who sits upon the throne of some kingdom at the edge of the world unless investing in such a venture would have absolute certainty in producing profits for them. Drogo thought much the same before, though even then his motivation had more to do with revenge than financial gain.” Ser Arthur remarked. 

“Wealthy men are ambitious men still. I thought if I could appeal to that side of them, they would agree to align themselves with me. As my dragons grow, an investment in my cause could only borne to be more fruitful.” She said, somewhat chagrined. 

Ser Jorah had scoffed at that. Though their near identical opinion in this had bonded the two knights and temporarily ceased their strife for one another, Jorah was the one that had been more vocal in insisting that such a petition to the Pureborn was a futile undertaking. “Like all Qartheen, they only care about profits and their bottom line, and short-term, they see nothing from your cause but losses upon losses. War is bad for trade.” He inferred.

Daenerys sulked further. Nothing in this city was turning out to be anything it had promised. Truly a mirage in the desert. 

“Perhaps Illyrio would be more receptive of an alliance with you. You’re no longer the girl he helped sell to Khal Drogo, and you have dragons now, as well your own men. Four thousand of them. You can make him come to your terms.” Ser Jorah suggested.

Daenerys did not even consider it. “He also gave me my dragon eggs, and knowing his greed he might even believe he is owed some ownership over them now in their current state.” She retorted. In a way she was somewhat indebted to the magister, but she knew she could not return to him until she had more leverage. 

For a moment she allowed herself to wonder what it would look like to return east, through the Sandroad towards YiTi, but it quickly dawned on her that the people on the other side would not be welcoming at all to her khalasar.  It was known that neither the peoples of YiTi, the Patrimony of Hyrkoon nor the Jogos Nhai had any love for the Dothraki… so her options were limited, just as her brother’s was, and it was starting to unravel her.

“In the past two or so moons I have petitioned the Qartheen, I’ve spoken of so many reasons why they should care about seeing me on the Iron Throne, and yet I can’t help but feel less convinced of my own words each time I speak them.” She closed her book and looked to her Westerosi knights. “Why should I go to Westeros?”

“To take back your birthright.” Arthur said simply. 

“I mean beyond that.” Why would anyone in Westeros trust her? Or follow her?

“Is there any need for a reason beyond that? The people will follow you because you are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, the last of the Targaryen dynasty, and the Mother of Dragons.” Ser Jorah supplied, still surprised by the question.

“I need to be more than that.” Dany said, more to herself than to them. “Before his death, our motivation has always been driven by our desire to see vengeance on the Usurper and see justice done for my slain family, maybe restoring my family name in that pursuit. But now that he’s gone, it seems his brothers are trying to take the throne from the boy king…  and if I were to add myself to that list of claimants, it would only bring more chaos and death.” She sighed heavily. 

“If I head west now, I would be a stranger who mean to land on their shores with an army of foreigners who cannot even speak their tongue. They would have every reason to fear and mistrust me. How am I to win them over before I even sail home? How am I supposed to get allies in my own homeland? It was as you said Ser Jorah, ’Nothing knits a broken realm together so quick as an invading army on its soil.’”

The two knights had looked at one another, with worried looks on their faces as they absorbed their queen’s words. Arthur sat down next to her then and held her hand. 

“Those are wise queries, Your Grace, but where is this all coming from?” He said calmly, and his soothing voice already calming her. But it hadn’t been enough to deter the dark and heavy voice of doubt ringing inside her mind.

“It was something the shadowbinder Quaithe said about me following my family’s downfall.” She confessed. “Each time I faced rejection from the council, I felt myself the most austere beggar in the world, just like Viserys must have… I- I think I may have finally understood how he felt.” She continued sadly. 

“All those years of running from the Usurper’s knives… pleading for help from archons and princes and magisters, buying our favour with flattery and sweet words… the abject humiliation my brother must’ve felt, knowing how much they mocked him behind his back! And after all of that and an assassination attempt that nearly killed him, was it so unexpected that he turned so angry and bitter? In the end it had driven him mad.” She had spoken in such a flurry that her breathing was laboured now, before professing her last thought in a near whisper. “I worry it will do the same to me…”

“Your Grace, surely you cannot mean that.“ Ser Jorah said concerned. 

“Why not? Like him, I’ve been victim of assassination attempts. Like him, I’ve been pointlessly begging for my throne from wealthy people who are quickly growing tired of my novelty. I had blindly trusted a vengeful maegi, making me lose my unborn child, then walked into the roaring flames of my husband’s funeral pyre based solely on dreams that I had. It’s a near exact path of madness my brother traversed, as well as the few other madmen in my family’s history.”

The room fell silent with only the sounds of her three children’s light purring disturbing the uncomfortable silence until Arthur’s voice broke it. 

“My queen, if I may say, if we were back in Asabhad and you spoke like this, I would be compelled to knock you behind your head.” Arthur said, bringing a surprise chuckle out of her, and a deep frown on Jorah’s face.

“Do you remember what Iroh always said?”

“You must never give into despair. Allow yourself to slip down that road, and you surrender to your lowest instincts.” They recalled together, though Arthur had said it in his best Iroh impression making her laugh even more.

He was solemn once more before facing her again and gripping her hand tight. “Listen well to my words, my queen, you are not Viserys. Not in the slightest. You may feel as if you are currently treading a similar path that drove him mad, but his mind was always of a… different disposition to yours. And your situation is far different than his was. You will never lead us astray as he had.”

She turned to face him now and saw how earnest her father was. “When I saw you emerge from the flames of your husband’s pyre unburnt with your dragons, it made me believe in something greater than I have ever believed in my entire life. More than I believed in any gods, or Rhaegar, and certainly more than I believed in Aerys or Viserys. None of them would’ve been able to do that.”

He kneeled in front of her, still holding on to her hand. “I stood by a mad king once and did nothing as Aerys succumbed to his instability, and I was glad I gained the strength to not repeat that same mistake by standing up to Viserys. And as much as I loved your brother Rhaegar, you are the true scion of House Targaryen, not him. The Seven Kingdoms will do no better with you as our queen. I have faith in you, as we all do. Jorah, your bloodriders, your handmaids and your khalasar too. Others will come to see you as we do, of that I have no doubt.” 

She felt a single tear roll down her face as her knight, her most loyal knight, finished his pep talk and she allowed him to wipe it away. “I would be so lost without you, Arthur. Thank you.” She turned to Jorah who gave his queen a reassuring smile and bowed his head. “And you too, Ser Jorah.”

Getting up to walk to her dragons, they all screeched happily at their mother as she caressed their furnace-like bodies. The heat gave her a calmness she needed.

“I apologize for my moment of weakness.” Daenerys admitted. “The shadowbinder’s words cut deeper than I thought they would.”

“What did she say, Your Grace?” Ser Jorah asked after a moment, a touch apprehensive.

“That I should heed my dreams, lest I follow in my family’s downfall.” She almost chuckled at how ridiculous it sounded now. “I’m afraid my experience with Mirri Maz Duur has made me somewhat irrational in dealing with occult matters.” 

“Well, surely you cannot blame yourself there. The maegi did betray you. It’s not irrational to at least be more cautious of the unknown.” Ser Jorah mulled. “Though it must also be said that the last time you had such dreams it led to the births of your three dragons. Perhaps she was suggesting you inherited your ancestor Daenys the Dreamer’s prophetic abilities. Daenys Targaryen had dreams of the Doom and it led your family’s survival.”

“What does your dreams show you this time?” Arthur asked as a father would their child when they would wake from night terrors. 

“The warlocks and their Palace of Dust.” She confessed cooly. “I went inside… and I think I saw the throne room of the Red Keep, but it was destroyed and snowed in.” 

When she saw the exaggerated surprise clear as day on their faces, it made her chuckle slightly.

“I won’t even begin to try and determine what that dream was supposed to tell me, but I cannot help but feel that the answer to our purpose in this city lies within the House of the Undying. That going there was the very reason why we followed the red comet to Qarth in the first place."

“I suppose they are the only door left unopened.” Ser Jorah stated. 

“And so I shall open them… come what may.”

She felt her confidence soar the following morning, when she awoke from a dream that ended with her being bathed in dragonflame, and after breaking their morning fast, Daenerys stood before the Palace of Dust with the dual swords she received from Iroh strapped on her back and Drogon perched on her shoulder, who hissed at the grey and ancient ruin. 

Ser Arthur and Ser Jorah stood resolute beside her while her bloodriders begged for her to turn back, the treachery of Mirri Maz Duur still fresh in their minds. But when Daenerys made it clear that she was determined to enter the abode of the warlocks, even her bloodriders, loyal to her death, offered to go inside with her despite their fear of the unknown nature of their magic. 

“The Mother of Dragons must enter alone, or not at all.” Pyat Pree says to them as he steps out to her, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. “Should she turn away now, the doors of wisdom and truth shall be closed to her.” 

Before her companions could change their mind and deter her, Dany raises a hand to steady them, and takes the warlock’s arm where he leads her to the entrance. 

“The front way leads in, but heed my words, my queen, the House of the Undying was not made for mortal men. If you value your soul, take care and do just as I tell you.”

“I will do as you say.” Dany felt compelled to say. 

“When you enter, you will find yourself in a room with four doors: the one you have just come through and three unopened ones. Take the door to your right. Each time you enter a new room, reach for the door to your right. If you should come upon a stairwell, climb. Never go down, and never take any door but the first door to your right.”

“I understand. And when I leave, the opposite?”

“Leaving and coming, it is the same. Always up. Always the door to your right.” The warlock stressed. “Within, you will see many things that will disturb you. Visions of loveliness and visions of horror, visions of wonders and visions of terrors. Sights and sounds of days past and days yet to pass. Others may speak to you as you go, answer or ignore them as you choose, but enter no other room until you reach the audience chamber.”

A dark foreboding feeling threatened to overtake her then in that moment, but Dany nods in understanding, willing away her fears. 

“When you come to the chamber of the Undying, listen well and carve each word upon your heart.”

Just like in her dreams, there stood an oval door shaped in the likeness of a man, and by the entrance was a small dwarf, who held a silver tray. Upon it was a crystal glass filled with thick blue glimmering liquid: shade of the evening, she thought. The wine of the warlocks. “Take and drink.” urged Pyat Pree.

“It will serve to unstop your ears and open your eyes, so that you may hear and see the truths that will be laid before you.”

Taking the drink, Daenerys swallows the contents of the glass after finding it had no scent of poison. It tasted like ink and spoiled meat at first, foul beyond belief, but after a moment it seemed to come to life within her. Soon the taste on her tongue was honey and cream, like mother’s milk and red meat and hot blood and molten gold. She also sensed something foreign, an ingredient she couldn't identify but somehow knew wasn’t supposed to be in there. 

After taking a moment to readjust her bearings, she enters. 

Within the dark walls, she notices right away that she was in the presence of sorcery. It felt almost like the tent where Mirri sacrificed her child but fortunately this time, she had Drogon with her. Bracing herself, Dany stepped further into the home of the warlocks and kept repeating the words Pyat Pree had given her. 

When Daenerys found the first door on her right, she stepped through. In the second room, she does the same. Then another, and another, until she made it to a long dim hall where she sees that not all doors were closed. As she passed by the open doors in the hall, she sees a great many things within them. 

In the first she sees a beautiful naked woman sprawled on the floor as five little men ravaged her. One of the men wore clothes of red and gold, another wore yellow and green, the next wore grey and white, the fourth wore black, orange and yellow, and the last wore black and gold. Dany wanted to save her, but thought of Pyat’s words. She moved on.

In the next room she sees a feast of corpses with savagely slaughtered bodies strewn across overturned chairs and hacked tables, the room filthy with congealing blood. Corpses of severed hands and heads clutched bloody cups or spoons in their hands. Above them all on a throne sat a dead man with the head of a wolf, wearing an iron crown and holding a leg of lamb like a king would a sceptre. 

As she fled the horrific scenes, she came upon the third room. Looking inside, she recognised this interior of the place, the wooden beams and the carved animal faces that adorned them. And outside the window, a lemon tree. The sight made her heart ache. The house with the red door. She sees old, dead, loyal Ser Willem Darry kindly beckoning her into her childhood home in Braavos. She wanted so desperately to take his hand but instead backed away and ran. 

In the fourth room she sees a cavernous hall, the largest she had ever seen, filled with great hulking skulls of dead dragons adorning the walls, similar to the one in her dreams. And at the end, upon a towering barbed throne sat an old man with long silver hair, screaming manically “Burn them all.” Behind the enraged man was a man in grey robes and heavy linked chains, tampering with numerous vials. “Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat…” The king laughed manically. “Let him be the king of ashes!” Drogon shrieked at the sight, and Dany moved on, the echoing voice of the king sending shivers down her spine. The throne room of the Red Keep, she thought. Was her father the reason the throne room in her dreams had lied in ruins? 

In the fifth room she see a man, who at first glance she thought was Viserys, but upon closer inspection, she sees that he was taller and had darker indigo eyes instead of lilac. He was holding a newborn baby and singing to a smiling child who was sitting on the bed. The small girl on the bed had dark hair with a streak of silver, light olive skin with same purple eyes as her father while the babe in the man’s arms was hidden in a cast of shadows. “He is the Prince that was Promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” Then the man’s eyes meet Dany’s, and it seemed, for a moment, as if he saw her standing beyond the door. "There must be one more, a girl… the dragon has three heads.” He puts the babe down with the small girl and picks up a silver harp then begins to play. Sweet sadness filled the room as the man and his children faded like mist.

In the sixth room she sees a humble cottage surrounded by trees in a forest. On a clearing behind the home was a kind elderly man teaching a little girl how to hold a sword, with her gallant knight watching closely in the wings. The sight had made her weep, and it made her run just as quickly to the next one. 

In the last room she sees a familiar sight, a dozen or so hauntingly beautiful beings made of ice, who were leading a great tidal wave of corpses through a snowstorm. As she looked closer, she saw the horde hosted things that she did not believe even existed. The biting cold made Drogon shriek again, and she sped away. 

She flung herself through the next door on the right, and beyond was another a small room with four door. To the right she went, and to the right, and to the right, and to the right, and to the right, until she was dizzy and out of breath.

Dany enters a stairwell. She began to climb, and before long her legs were aching though she recalled that the House of the Undying had seemed to have no towers. Finally the stair opened. 

To her right, a set of wide wooden doors had been thrown open. They were fashioned of ebony and weirwood. The blood of the dragon must not be afraid, she repeated to herself. Dany took a deep breath and willed herself to walk forward, seeing inside. 

Beyond the doors was a great hall and a splendour of wizards decked in finery. 

“Daenerys of House Targaryen, welcome. Come and share the food of forever. We are the Undying of Qarth.”

“Long have we awaited you,” Another said. “A thousand years ago we knew, and have been waiting all this time.”

“We have knowledge to share with you. Shall we teach you the secret speech of dragonkind?”

Doubt seized her. She left the room and went into yet another door that was hidden. It stood to the right of the door through which she’d seen through. The wizards were beckoning her still and she ran faster from them, Drogon shrieking at them. 

As she came into the last room, inside she saw floated a human heart, swollen and blue with corruption… yet still alive somehow. It beat with a deep ponderous throb of sound, and each pulse sent out a wash of indigo light. And around the rotting heart, figures stood, appearing no more than blue shadows at first. But through the blue murk in the air, she could make out the decrepit features of the Undying ones. The real ones. They began speaking to her, though their lips did not move. 

“I have come for the gift of truth!” Dany demanded.

“…mother of dragons…” came a voice in her mind. 

“…three heads has the dragons…“ 

“…mother of dragons… child of three…”

“…three fires must you light… one for life, and one for death, and one to love…”

“…mother of dragons… child of storm…”

“…three mounts must you ride… one for life, and one for death, and one to love…” 

“Show me.” Dany commanded.

She sees Viserys screaming as molten gold ran down his cheeks.

She sees a tall lord with copper skin and silver hair bearing the banner of a fiery stallion.

She sees a dying prince amidst a battlefield, with rubies flying from his armour, murmuring the name of a woman in his last breath.

“…mother of dragons, daughter of death…”

She sees a blue-eyed king with a cold red sword in his hand who casts no shadow.

She sees a cloth lion amidst a despairing city.

She sees a corpse standing at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, blue lips smiling.

“…mother of dragons, slayer of lies…”

She sees her silver riding through the great grass sea, beneath a sea of stars.

She sees a blood stained blue winter rose growing from a chink in a wall of ice, filling the air with sweetness.

“…bride of fire…bride of ice…”

Her mind was suddenly overcome with visions and it made her scream.

She sees Mirri Maz Duur shrieking in the flames as a dragon burst from her.

She sees a hundred thousand corpses with bright blue eyes burning below her vision, filling her with great triumph.

She sees a line of naked crones emerging from a great lake, kneeling before her beneath the Mother of Mountains, their heads bowed. 

She sees tens of thousands slaves crying "Mother" as she is lifted up on their shoulders.

She sees herself, long silver hair shining among charred ruins, hauling a mountain of untold treasures from a black structure within a desolate smoking city of desolation, boiling seawater and volcanic magma.

But then a scream of fury from her child cut the indigo air, and the visions were gone, ripped away. 

The Undying were suddenly all around her, blue and cold, reaching for her, pulling stroking, tugging at her, touching her with their cold hands. They were trying to consume her, she realised. Dany tries, in vain, to fight the shadows but was unable to move. They had already coiled around her, constricting her body, and the light was beginning to fade in her eyes. She panicked, and turned to Drogon, and whispered a single word. 

“Dracarys!”

The indigo from the heart turned to orange, and the whispers of the Undying turned to screams. Drogon starts to tear the corrupted heart to pieces. Daenerys suddenly felt sober and beckons her child to keep going, seeing that the dragonfire was spreading fast and burning the Undying to cinders. Drogon’s flames engulfs all of the warlocks and soon the building starts to crumble. She suddenly sees a door ahead of her and wills her struggling body to go through it.

In the next moment, she spills out into the sun, the bright light makes her stumble. As Daenerys flees from the collapsing Palace of Dust, she witnesses the entire structure catching flame. Soon, it would be nothing but ash. 

Howling curses, Pyat Pree, in his last dying act, drew a knife and rushed to attack her. But before she could draw her own weapon, Drogon burns him quick enough for Daenerys to hear Arthur’s sword swing, where a moment later, the man’s burning decapitated head fell at her feet. 

And in those last moments, despite the violent blistering of his flesh, she heard a faint last whisper leaving the warlock’s cold-blue lips.

“Dragonlord…”

Chapter Text

299AC

A tense mood had cast a shadow on their journey back to Xaro’s palace. Though her bloodriders had cheered their khaleesi for defeating the maegiand winning yet another glorious victory, her queensguards had taken after their queen and were similarly in a solemn state. They remained wary of her, worried about what occured to her inside with the warlocks, and all the while she was consumed in thought over everything she saw and heard within the ruins of the Undying, carving every sight and sound within her heart.

When they arrived at Xaro’s palace, the merchant prince had met them at the main foyer that separated their wings, and she saw the flicker of dismay on his face, a sudden uncertainty. But as soon as it came it went, as his face suddenly restored the well-worn mask of practiced worry and distress.

“My beautiful queen, what transpired in the Palace of Dust? Did those cretins hurt you?” He asked with a single tear streaming down his face. 

“The warlocks tried to tame dragons and they got burned for it.” She responded. 

It then suddenly dawned on Daenerys that whatever just transpired with the warlocks, Xaro somehow had a hand in. But he did not see this coming, she thought. Something was afoot in this house, and she needed to make a plan quickly. 

“With this latest rejectionfrom the last of the Thirteen, I’m afraid I must take my leave of the city. There is nothing more to gain from trying to seek the favour of the Qartheen who have already grown weary of me.” Dany informed him. “I thank you endlessly for showing me and my people near ruinous generosity in your hospitality, Xaro Xhoan Daxos. You have been a most noble and exemplary host, for which I fear I shall never see the likes of ever again. You will always remain a friend to me, and I won’t forget that when I come into my throne.” Daenerys said with the utmost courtesy expected from her. It had sounded so good that she almost convinced herself that she actually meant her words. 

“My queen, I feel you are making a rash decision in this. It is but a falsehood that there is nothing for you to gain in this city, for the people love you! And they shall love you all the more once word spread that you have rid them of the wicked influence of the Undying.” He declared. “While I cannot speak of the other eleven, there is but one person within the council who would still seek your favour, my splendid silver queen. If you would marry me and give me a son, I would give you the world. Just as I promised when I first met you.” Xaro bowed low. 

“I will not wed you, Xaro, as I will wed no man for as long as I live.” Because I cannot have children. “We are leaving on the morrow. It is decided.” 

His face had grown cold at her reply, and there was even a flash of panic that broke through his tempered facade, but he composed himself quickly before readopting his smile.

“That is quite a shame, my queen. And as I am no king, I shall make no command of you. But I do request your magnificent presence for supper tonight. If you must leave, then let our last night be spent dining most extravagantly, a fitting end to a queen’s visit to the city of Qarth, and to celebrate the most phenomenal time we have spent together.”

This is it. He’s going to attempt something. But seeing no good reason she could use to refuse her host, Dany reluctantly smiled and agreed. 

“I would be most honoured to join you for a most momentous evening, Xaro Xhoan Daxos. But I shall first retire to my wing, so that I may wash the grime of the Undying. I shall also put on my most decadent finery so that it may please your eyes to feast on it.” She said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the false words. 

As Dany stalked through her wing of the palace, a plan began to form in her mind. When she and her retinue closed the door to her private solar and made sure there were no outside eyes and ears, she turned to Arthur and Jorah first. 

“Gather as many of the remaining Thirteen as you two can immediately get. I have a feeling whatever nefarious scheme Xaro has planned will to come to pass tonight, and I want witnesses in case I would have to kill in self-defence.”

“But Your Grace, I should be here with you.“ Arthur tried arguing. 

“I will be fine, Arthur. I can handle Xaro Xhoan Daxos. But I trust nobody else to complete this task, and having the two of you out there will mean it will be done in more haste.” Dany gave him a reassuring smile, hoping it would alleviate her father’s distress. 

She turned to Kovarro, Quaro and Malakho next. “Go out of the city and ready my khalasar to leave at a moment’s notice. Make sure to secure all the bounty and supplies we were gifted in our time spent here. We’ve mapped out the entire city, so use all the knowledge we have found to our advantage to get into the city. Do not let the Civic Guard stand in your way, but try not to engage them either. We need to make as little noise as possible with our movements. Assemble here at the palace once you get the signal from Jhogo, Aggo, Rakharo, or my other guards.”

She turned to her bloodriders and the other Dothraki that made up her household guards last. 

“I plan to dine with Xaro on his own, but I need you to stay around and defend my children. I believe Xaro means to seize them tonight while I’m distracted dining with him, so stay alert. Do not let anyone near the dragons. Keep a close eye on every single one of Xaro’s personal guards in this palace. If they even so much as step into my wing of the compound, kill them on sight and get a signal out to the khalasar outside. But keep your eyes fixed on them, and do not worry about me, you can leave Xaro Xhoan Daxos with me. I will take care of him.” 

As all her men left to do their duties, she began undressing and went into the decadent golden bathing tub she had also received as a gift, where her handmaids scurried to clean and prepare her.

“Khaleesi, you have won a great victory tonight. The maegi souls have been sent to hell.” Irri said jovially as she rubbed her with cleaning soap. “It is known.” 

“You shall wear bell in your braid, khaleesi.” Jhiqui added excitedly. 

“That was Drogon’s victory, not mine.” She admitted.

“And Drogon is your child and would be your mount one day, khaleesi. It was you who commanded them, so it is your victory as well.” Irri assured her, smiling. Dany only chuckled at her Dothraki girls, not wanting to spoil their mood yet with how restless the night would soon be.

“Listen well, my friends, I need you three to remain vigilant as well. My dragons know you best, and they will need your calming presence so they do not fret over me. And also look out for each other, as those who wish to harm me may target you to get to my children.” At their smiles and nods, Dany continued. “I’ll wear the most splendid dress we have, the lilac one with jewels attached and the one sleeve.” She paused. “And I’ll also need my knives.” 

“A fine choice, khaleesi.” Doreah winked. 

After she readied and armed herself with hidden weapons, she went to Xaro’s solar on the other side of the palace. When she found that not many guards littered around his side of the palace, it had made her more uneasy knowing her suspicions had been confirmed and that her children would be in danger. But her men could handle that… I just have to handle him.

The evening meal had begun in the typical splendour one might expect from Xaro, with the long dining table filled to brim with the most decadent and extravagant delicacies the Qartheen had to offer. Their conversations had been mundane, and it never became stimulating as the night progressed, Dany finding that her already limited tolerance to hear his false words quickly dwindling. 

All evening she kept her eye out for any suspect behaviour and was constantly waiting for something to happen, for Xaro to make a move, any move, yet none came. Her first instinct had been to doubt the food that was on offer, but it wasn’t poisoned, that much she knew. He needed her alive, she surmised. All evening, Dany could feel the tension in the room grow and grow… until finally it came over her like spell. 

When she started to feel her legs restricting, dread overcame her as she suddenly found a wicked smile on Xaro’s face. She quickly tried to grab her hidden blade, but she then realised, to her horror, that her entire body was unresponsive.

“I was beginning to wonder when it would take effect… I waited long enough.” He smiled, the coldness from before coming back in full force. She noticed how his manner changed, as if the act was finally being dropped. “Those warlocks promised me you would be more… compliant after one visit to their dwelling, but it shouldn’t have taken this long.” 

Dany could feel the glee radiate from him as he chuckled. She tried to scream but found her mouth to be similarly restrained.  

“You truly didn’t have to spend so much time tonight being careful and sniffing around for poison, dear girl. Did you think I would be foolish enough to have you drugged here? In my own home and by my own hands, at that? Tsk, dear. You should know better than that. Alas, you should have simply just enjoyed this fine meal.” Her eyes widened. No, it couldn’t have been possible. I was able to move after the warlocks.

“A slow acting stimulant. Or spell or enchantment. Or all of the above, I haven’t the slightest clue, but Pyat Pree insisted that you would’ve done anything I asked after the Undying was through with you… though I suppose keeping you insensate will work just as well.” He shrugged. “But it seems the warlocks never got you did they? Instead, you got them.” He went around the table and stood in front of her, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I truly must give you my most sincere gratitude, o’ beautiful queen, for eliminating those warlocks for me. It shall only make my reign easier without them vying to take power from me.” 

He laughed then, in a self-pleasing maniacal way that would’ve made Dany roll her eyes if she had been capable. “Though perhaps I shouldn’t have been so worried… I mean, how fearful should one be of a coven of sorcerers, when despite them having rallied their full strength tonight by having all their members present for your coming, they still lost.” He laughed mockingly. “Even with their so called revived powers they had because of you and your dragons, they were still unable to best a mere child and her hatchling.”

Xaro got up then, took a bright red cherry tomato from her plate and ate it, savouring the taste, letting the red juices drip down his mouth onto his chin. “I suppose it is for the best. At present, I won’t have to share you or your dragons with those slippery ghouls. The best part is none of this was even supposed to happen…”

Her caressed her frozen face. “I had hoped in the beginning you would have come to your senses and accepted my marriage proposal willingly. But your constant refusals had forced me to make an unsavoury deal with the warlocks. Pyat Pree and his coven desired imprisoning you and you dragons, then planned on rewarding me with one of them and a child from your loins for my part in the scheme. Together, our two factions would’ve ruled Qarth. In exchange, I simply had to get you to go to their ruins willingly. But now you have done all the work for me! This outcome could not have turned out better!”

Xaro went on to explain how the initial plan was why he had started to give a softer opinion of the warlocks, and how he took meticulous efforts to manipulate the people of this city to treat her as a curiosity rather than legitimately as a queen, thus ensuring sure none of the other Thirteen would agree to be her allies. He was hoping to push her to go to the warlocks on her own volition, thus keeping his hands clean. Her host laughed hysterically by the end.

“Even so, I have no desire for your dragons. Not truly, at least. No, I desire something more precious, more important… your blood. And all so I could legitimise myself and become king.” She could feel him behind her, running his slender fingers through her silver hair as if admiring it as he spoke those words. He crouched down and faced her eye-level, smiling a cold dead smile. 

He chuckled. “I'm astute enough to realise that even if the warlocks had given me a dragon, I wouldn’t be able to control those pesky creatures. History has shown us only Valyrians, and even then only the special ones, can tame them. And my dear, your bloodline is famous for your control over dragons… dragons that will soon be mine, once my men sweep over your wing and kill your rusted knights and band of barbarians.”

It’s never good to underestimate the Dothraki… or her knights, she thought. They will never let her down. 

“But unlike your overly ambitious ancestors, I have no taste for overseas conquest. A venture like that would be wasteful, too costly and could turn out to be a most unprofitable endeavour. After all, as any merchant worth his mettle knows, war is bad for trade. All I have ever wanted was Qarth. To have it and all its wealth within for my own. And soon it will be.”

He tries picking her up then and momentarily struggles with the task, but once he was able to take her over his shoulder he brought her to the adjoining room and set her down on the bed, Dany fighting inside herself the entire time to no avail. “Even if your so called queensguard and bloodriders somehow survive tonight, they won’t dare to touch me now that I have you in my clutches.” He laughed again. 

“Now there is only one thing left for us to do, my sweet; for you to bear me a child.” Not bloody likely, she thought. “After tonight, once the Sorrowful Men I had hired to eliminate the others of the Thirteen, I will be able to crown myself King of Qarth. I’ll close the gates to your khalasar forever and leave them to starve in the garden of bones. Then you shall truly be my queen.”

As he began to lift her dress, Dany saw red and an anger that she hadn’t ever known before suddenly overcame her. 

Xaro had awoken the dragon. 

With all the force she could muster, Dany focused all her energy on lifting her head, willing it to move, and once she knew she could move it, she bashed her head against the face of the man on top of her with all her available strength. 

“You miserable little fool!” He spat out, clutching at his now crooked nose that was bleeding profusely. “Continue to fight this, and you’ll only make it wor-” 

SLAM!

The door burst open revealing an armed and bloody Arthur Dayne who, with the intensity of a shooting star, tackled Xaro and pinned him to the floor. Behind him were Ser Jorah and her Dothraki guards who were all in an equal state of gore, as well as half a dozen of the Thirteen standing unceremoniously, sleep deprived and slack-jawed. 

She saw a few council member’s faces that she recognised such as the Pureborns Egon Emeros and Mathos Mallarawanas, as well as others from the other two great merchant consortiums. In the ensuing chaos, Xaro was immediately arrested by the council, but as she was carried by her knights to her solar, the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness were how their faces had a combination of shock, fear, but most of all… pity.

She hated it. 

When Daenerys awoke the next morning draped delicately on her bed and found that she had regained control over her body, the first thing she did was ask her handmaids for a scalding bath.

Though Xaro hadn’t succeeded in his nefarious plot, she still felt soiled by his assault and she knew the hot water would renew her. While she was touched by the tears that her friends had shed for her, their fervent apologies had made her feel uneasy. 

Why should they have to tearfully apologise to their khaleesi for not being able to protect her from her assailant? It had been her own fault for miscalculating Xaro’s motives and overestimating her own capabilities.   

After her handmaids left, her dragons began crowding around her, with Viserion splashing in the water, bringing the temperature of the cooling water back up. Her children are unharmed… that was all that mattered.

While they had been well-guarded in her absence, surrounded by her handmaids and Dothraki guards, it hadn’t been an easy night. When Xaro’s guards stormed her wing and attempted to slaughter her men, her bloodriders and personal guards had initially been overwhelmed by their superior numbers, and a few of her warriors had even lost their lives in the bloody clash. But ultimately, they were able to bravely hold Xaro’s men off until Kovarro, Quaro and Malakho rode in with additional warriors from her khalasar and decimated Xaro’s men.

She had finished washing herself and was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard Arthur come in, but after seeing his face, all she wanted to do was go back in the bath and hide underneath the surface of the water with her children. 

Dany saw how guilty he looked, how much the events of the previous night had tore at him, just as it did her. He was worried for her… as a parent would their child. There was a part of her that wanted to run up to him, throw her arms around the tall knight and let her tears fall, allowing his fatherly embrace to make her feel some semblance of security. 

But she was queen now, and she needed to project strength. Not just for him, or the others, but more for herself… otherwise, she feared, both their resolve would break. She decided to address it head on.

“You were right.” She admitted easily. 

“Your Grace?“ He frowned.

“You should’ve stayed with me. I underestimated him and nearly paid for it.”

Arthur’s frown deepened for a moment before he shook his head, chuckling gently. 

“I wasn’t going to lecture you, daughter. We cannot dwell on the past… it does no good to speak of roads not taken.” He reached out to her and held her hand. “I just want to know if you’re well.”

The question had made her feel the first pricks of tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “No, not currently.” She answered truthfully. She knew he wouldn’t have believed her if she lied, but she wasn’t going to break down either. Dany took a breath and willed the feeling away. I will grieve my mistakes another time. “But I will be. So long as you remain by my side, father.”

“Always, Daenerys. Come what may.”

After easily returning her father’s warm smile, Dany tried to distract herself from her anguish and began to think about the many visions she saw in the House of the Undying. Child of three, she remembered. Were they speaking of her being the third child of Rhaella? She couldn't know.

Daughter of death… slayer of lies… bride of fire… bride of ice… And threes, so many threes. Three fires she must light, three mounts she must ride, and three heads has the dragon… 

Surely they meant Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys… but what could it all mean?

“The things I saw in that place…” She began, going through the series of visions and trying to make sense of them. “I saw a woman being raped by five little men wearing different colours… I saw a bloody feast where a man with a wolf’s head sat in the lord’s seat… I saw Ser Willem Darry at the house with the red door in Braavos… I saw my sire in the throne room of the Red Keep with a greybeard behind him… I saw the two of us in YiTi with Iroh… I saw the ice creatures again, leading a horde of living corpses… I saw many things that made sense and many that still don’t.” She paused, going over the details of the memory of vision with her brother in her mind. “I saw my brother too. Him and his children.”

He raised his brow. “Rhaegar?” 

She nodded. 

“What did you see?” 

“He was playing his silver harp, and singing to his two children. Rhaenys and Aegon, I believe.” Dany replied, though she couldn’t be sure about Aegon, who was cast in shadows. Arthur looked away and bowed his head then, as if struck with a sudden bout of sadness he didn’t want his queen to see. But she saw, she always did. This always happened whenever the subject of her brother, his children, Elia or their mother Rhaella came up. She didn’t want to see him sad, but she couldn’t let her questions of the vision go.

“His is the song of ice and fire, Rhaegar had said… and that there was to be one more. Another child. I remember he had a look about him, before he said ‘it must be a girl… that the dragon has three heads’.” She recalled. “I had thought briefly that the girl he spoke of was me, through my mother’s pregnancy around that time… but then that reminded me of what Viserys has always said, that if I had been born sooner I would’ve been wed to Rhaegar…”

She frowned remembering her brother’s deranged words, when Viserys had explicitly blamed her for their life on the run simply by virtue of being born ‘too late’, a capital sin on her part which had forced their eldest sibling to ‘desperately find a bride in the Dornish girl, and then happiness in the Stark girl when his wife could not give it’. Dany remembered contesting such accusations, going so far as to tell her brother that it was his fault for not being born a girl. She then also remembered how he beat her cruelly for that insolence.

“Yet as much as Viserys would have loved for my marriage to Rhaegar to have happened, I don’t think that arrangement would’ve ever taken… that perhaps I was meant to marry Aegon instead, had he survived. He and I would’ve been near in age. Then together, my niece, nephew and I would’ve completed the three heads.”

Arthur contemplated that for a moment before he quickly shook his head. “While parts of that logic follows, the prince could have never known of Queen Rhaella’s pregnancy before he left to the Trident. Even the queen herself only knew after they had received word that Prince Rhaegar had fallen.”

Dany’s frown deepened, and she thought harder. “Not me then. A Visenya to his Aegon and Rhaenys perhaps… did Rhaegar and Elia ever try for a third child?”

Her words had made Arthur even more uneasy, and for a moment, it looked as if he had seen a ghost, yet he answered her question despite the grief he clearly felt. “Princess Elia’s disposition had always been of a… delicate kind, especially when it came to childbirth. The birth of Rhaenys had weakened her greatly, and Aegon’s upcoming birth all but assured that she could never bear another. If she tried, it would result in her guaranteed demise, and Rhaegar would have never subjected her to that fate. So no… not with Princess Elia.”

Dany’s heart ached for her good-sister. No woman should ever go through such trauma. But it seems the women of her family had been cursed with a pattern of difficult pregnancies, as even her mother’s numerous failed labours were plagued with the deaths of her many unborn siblings, which then culminated in the death of her mother herself. And now Dany's own experience in childbirth had left herself scarred for life, in more ways than just emotional and physical. Magically scarred… fated to never have living children other than her three dragons.

“…however, he did try with another.” Dany perked right up at that, and Arthur spoke his next words carefully. “Since his wife couldn’t bear him another child, for the fabled third he needed a new one. Prince Rhaegar didn’t expect her to be but… she was his love, the lady Lyanna.”

Dany remembered the name. Lyanna Stark was the northern beauty who made such an impression on her brother that he named her the queen of love and beauty over his own wife at the Tourney at Harrenhal. She was also the woman he eventually ran away with; an unhappy maid who despised her own betrothed and wanted to escape him, dreaming of romance… a romance in the form of a secret affair with the crown prince of the realm.

A damsel and her love, the dragon prince… it would’ve been lovely tale, had it not ended so tragically, she thought.

But at the very least, Arthur had assured her that Elia knew and consented to the affair. The knight said that Elia even encouraged it, for her heart too had already belonged to another, the Dornish princess having been involved in a secret love affair of her own. Dany was thankful for the truth of Rhaegar and Elia’s complicated marriage, otherwise she would have most likely carried a kernel of bitterness towards her brother in her good-sister’s memory if she thought that he had abandoned and disrespected his wife in such a way.

“Yes, I remember your words of the true events of the Usurper’s war… but there was no girl that came from that union, was there?” 

“No, Your Grace.” He said sadly. “At least, none living. The lady Lyanna perished at the Tower of Joy… and their daughter Visenya with her.” 

So she was right… 

Dany smiled despite herself. “They actually named her Visenya?” Dany would’ve loved to meet her nieces and nephew. Grew up with them, loved them… protected them.

“Aye. Or at least, they would have. It unnerves me that the Rhaegar you saw within the warlocks’ dwelling spoke of things like the three heads of the dragon, and the prince that was promised, and a third child being a girl, because the prince often spoke the same things to me. ‘My children will be Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya; the three heads of the dragon’, he used to say when the lady Lyanna began showing. There was nothing Rhaegar could be more sure of… said it was prophesied.”

Daenerys was beginning to suspect that her dreams, whether they be things of past, present or future, more often than not would speak true. But to actually have heard her brother’s words and have them authenticated by his closest friend… it had sent shockwaves through her. 

Perhaps Ser Jorah was right. Perhaps she did have prophetic dreams like Daenys the Dreamer… but that would also mean the other visions would be true as well. The mysterious ice creatures with cold blue eyes… the smoking city of volcanic magma and treasures… the mad king in his throne room… her sire. ’Burn them all’, he said. A great shiver went down her spine. She didn’t want them all to be true.

“If Aegon was the prince that was promised, then the promise is broken now.” She said sadly. “They were meant to be the three heads of the dragon, but they’re gone. And I am the only dragon left.”  

“You are, Your Grace. They may be gone but never forgotten. You will carry their legacy with greatness, and they will have justice.”

A thought suddenly crossed her mind and curiosity got the better of her. “Why have you never told me before? About my late niece Visenya?” 

A look of guilt struck Arthur before he replied. “I had intended to tell both you and Viserys when we first met in Pentos all those years ago… but you two had been in such dire straits already that I believed keeping the knowledge of yet another deceased family member buried was the merciful thing to do. I had no intention to burden you more with further heartache on top of all the trauma that had already plagued you both at such a young age. I- I didn’t want the two of you to know that you lost even more than what little you thought you had.” He looked down, face sullen. “I believed myself protecting you, Your Grace. I apologize for keeping you in the dark.”

It had not surprised her that Ser Arthur Dayne, the ever honourable and gallant knight, had tried to protect her even in this. It made her love of her father evermore stronger. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, father. You had done it in the noble pursuit of keeping scared and desperate children from falling deeper in their pit of anguish. And in that you had succeeded. I thank you for telling me now.” She smiled mirthfully. “But it’s like a wise man once told me… we mustn’t dwell on the past, it does no good to speak of roads not taken.”

Chuckling from having his own earlier words thrown back at him, Arthur playfully rolled his eyes and smiled.

“Well said, daughter.” 

If I look back I am lost, she reminded herself. Her father was right, Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya may be gone, but never forgotten. And they will have justice. The Lannisters who ordered out the deaths of her niece, nephew and her good-sister were still alive, she thought. 

“Your Grace.” Ser Jorah said timidly as he walked in. She could recognise the same look of guilt that Arthur wore earlier. He too carries the events of the previous night heavily, Dany thought. No more… I must show strength. 

“Please, I am fine, Ser Jorah. How fares our host?”

His glum frown had twisted into one of anger. “The council of Qarth still hold him, Your Grace, and his chains are secure. The remaining council have requested your presence in a closed door trial of their disgraced former member. It will take place tomorrow.” 

This was it. Her chance to get justice… and vengeance.

“Let them know I will be attending.”

She steels herself and began to grow in confidence as a plan started to form in her mind. Dany spent the rest of the day going through Xaro’s library, making sure she had known everything she needed to.

The next morning, Daenerys was led into the Qartheen council chamber in the Hall of a Thousand Thrones with her two queensguards in tow. Ser Jorah had told her that her khalasar stood ready at her command and it had fortified her determination. If her plan didn’t work, she would need them.

Within sat eight, where before would have sat thirteen. Their twelfth was bound and gagged in the center of the room while the thirteenth had already been burned and decapitated. Egon Emeros, one of the Pureborn, began the trial by submitting a notion to expel Xaro Xhoan Daxos from the council and imprison him, which is voted unanimously in the affirmative. 

“And now to the issue of Princess Daenerys Targaryen’s presence in Qar-” Egon began before Dany cut him off.

“I will leave Qarth willingly…”

“Very well then. Now, we sha-”

“…once you turn over all the properties, holdings and assets belonging to the estate of Xaro Xhoan Daxos and Pyat Pree and the Undying to me.” 

The room fell silent as they hung to her every word, and for the first time, Dany knew she held the undivided attention of every member of the council. While initially shocked at her brazen declaration, the council suddenly burst out laughing at her audacious proposal. Just as she expected. Egon was the first to recover enough to sneer at Daenerys. 

“My dear lady, while we are sympathetic over the horrendous assault that our former council member had done onto you, that does not give you any right to their assets. We will punish him greatly, of that we can assure you, but I beg you take consolation in that and nothing more.”

“I will do no such thing. I demand justice, and justice will be served as I have the law on my side.” 

She noticed that while most had gone back to snickering at her, a few others had grown solemn, as they began to realise what her words meant. 

“I read many Qartheen texts while I was here, and among the many things I found interesting were your laws and the ancient tradition of Sumai… truly riveting things.”

Judging by his face, Egon Emeros was not amused by her line of thinking. 

“As I understood it, my invitation to this city was not an unanimous decision by the council, and because it had not gotten a majority, Xaro forced your hands by invoking Sumai, thus vouching for me and offering me his protection. An ancient but firm tradition that is most respected in this city and its culture. A tradition which he broke, committing a most grievous crime.” She said. “The long-established penalty for a broken oath such as that in Qarth is the punishment of death, where I would be within my rights to execute him. And while I would ask for that punishment to be carried out and that I would be the one to perform the deed myself, it is not all that I deserve for all I have done for this council.” 

Egon Emeros scoffs. “Pray tell, what exactly have you done for us, my lady?”

“I prevented Xaro’s planned usurpation of the Thirteen.”

The room was shocked to silence once more.

“The three missing members of the council…” She pointed out. “He was the one who ordered your deaths, as well as the deaths of your late colleagues who did not survive his attempted purge. And I can assure you right now that number would be higher if it hadn’t been for my orders to have my queensguards and Dothraki warriors summon you that fateful night.”

None had spoken as they considered the weight of the words, knowing that they rang true. But it seemed one was still attempting to fight her accusations.

“We all know he’s an ambitious vulgarian who should’ve been shown his place a long time past, but why would Xaro ever go through with such a reckless plan that would risk him losing all of his life's work? He may be power-hungry, I grant you, but he is far from obtuse.” Egon Emeros argued.

“The woman speak lies, my friends! Lies! She was the one who hired those assassins to kill you all for rejecting her foolish quest for the throne of the west!” Xaro had screamed, having somehow spat out the gag. 

“I realise it would be futile to try to convince you with my words alone, so I shall allow Xaro to confess to the crimes himself.” Daenerys pulls out a vial, filled with clear liquid and once Xaro saw it, he was overcome with dread.

“Veritaserum. Allegedly, it is a powerful potion that compels the truth out of those who consume it with faultless accuracy. One of my handmaids had discovered it on one of her many tours of the city and thought it would be most useful to her khaleesi.” She held the vial up to them and smiled, and at the nods of the council she forced the liquid down Xaro’s throat.  

Just when Daenerys began to suspect the concoction was fraudulent, Xaro opened his mouth and went on endlessly, illuminating the council of the entirety of events that transpired. How he and Pyat Pree had consorted to take Daenerys and her dragons hostage, planning to use the magic of the dragons to grow their power and influence. But it had gone awry when Dany and her dragon burned the Undying and killed every member of their coven in self defence, including Pyat Pree.   

Xaro confessed how this turn of events was even more advantageous for him. It not only led to the merchant prince to continue his initial plan, but it would have given him the sole authority to be able to crown himself king of Qarth. With Daenerys as his wife, consort and broodmare, he would be able to produce heirs to control her three dragons and none would have been able to stand in his way. But perhaps most damningly, he confessed how he had paid the Sorrowful Men a generous sum to assassinate the other eleven of the Thirteen so he could rule Qarth without their interference.

By then Xaro thought he already won, seeing how the enchantment, or spell, the Undying put over Dany had easily made her his prisoner, and he was going use her hostage to bring her knights to heel before murdering them. But in a fatal mistake of judgement, he didn’t account that the queen would dare send them away from her dragons to the other Thirteen, to instead summon them to stand as witness in his assault. That had been the reason only three missing members of the council had been assassinated that night, one from each faction, instead of all eleven.

“No, that cannot be…” One of the Pureborn, Mathos Mallarawan said.

“If you still doubt the truths that came from the man who had done the deed, then ask yourself this; You know the kind of man Xaro is even without them, but what do you think would happen if he were to have three dragons at his command? Is he the sort to stand idly by, content with sharing his power with twelve other members to rule the city… or is he the sort that would eliminate them all to be its sole ruler? What lengths would an upstart like him go to, in order to achieve this?”

Dany spoke plainly. “Whether you have any lingering doubts or not, this much is clear; if it hadn’t been for my orders to pull you all out of your midnight slumber, you would all be sleeping the eternal sleep with your mortal bodies butchered and rotting in a pool of your own blood… alongside your three dearly departed members.” 

The sobering imagery of her words had finally been the one to break through to them, as they knew Daenerys to be accurate in her assessment. 

“For my part in saving this council from death and ruin, I demand compensation in the form of the totality of properties, holdings and assets of Xaro Xhoan Daxos as well as Pyat Pree’s and the House of the Undying's.” 

Just as the council began to grumble again, she held up her hands and silences them. 

“However, as a token of good faith, I shall distribute one-quarter of these estates to be divided evenly amongst the remaining eight council members at no cost.”

They perked up at full height at the thought of the flood of fortunes coming their way. Riches will always get the attention of these people, just as she knew they would. “I would also offer the remainder three-quarter of the estates to the council members at a reduced but equitable price, barring the ships, gold, provisions and any tangible valued goods that lay within the various vaults and properties.” She continued decisively. 

“And as a token of a bargain well-struck, my only condition is that the council would cede the execution of their former member Xaro Xhoan Daxos to me, and me alone.” Though the council sat in thrones that put them above her, Dany stood and looked upon the eight with her head held high, as if she were their queen and they her subjects. “Those are my terms, which I urge you to accept… else you risk the wrath that brought the Undying to cinders.” 

Egon Emeros pursed his lips, frowning at the proposal and her underlying threat, as had a few others. But Dany knew they would agree to the terms. It was too good to decline. They would avoid an outrageously expensive bidding war from having to fight over Xaro’s estate if they took her deal, and they would not have to face the fury of a battle-thirsty khalasar and three dragons on top of that. As she looked on the faces of each member of the council, she saw how they went through the same rationales in their minds. One by one, they nodded until finally Egon Emeros himself smiled.

“Well played, my queen.” He said. “The council accepts your terms in its entirety… however, I would like to add our own stipulations.” 

She held back her sigh. “Name it.” 

“The council shall release a joint address to the citizens in regards to the events that has transpired within the city. In it, we will put out a version of the truth that would be more… beneficial to us.”

“How so?”

“That it was we who discovered his nefarious plans and enlisted you to help uncover the conspiracy of the Undying and Xaro Xhoan Daxos to usurp the council. And that for helping prevent the full outcome of the plot, we rewarded you for your steadfast commitment to us, your allies, which came at personal cost.”

Typical. Despite having done near to nothing, they desired to take credit for her deeds that saved them. It should’ve grated her, but in the end, she knew it was an inexpensive cost to satiate the needs of these ilk.   

“I see no issue with such an arrangement. I would be honoured to be considered allies of the Great Eight of Qarth.” She conceded and smiled courteously. Just as she expected, they had preened at the new epithet she bestowed upon them. 

After they all had signed the contract of their agreement, the council then stood witness as she carried out the execution of Xaro Xhoan Daxos at his- her palace, beheading him with the mithril swords Iroh gifted her. Later that evening, she dumped his cold remains into the garden of bones, leaving it to rot.

The accounting and distribution of her newly acquired estates took about a moon-turn to accomplish, and in that time Daenerys took painstaking efforts to prepare her khalasar to embark on a voyage at sea. With the eighty-eight ships she now had from Xaro’s personal fleet as well as the dozen war galleys the Great Eight of Qarth had gifted her, they would finally have to brave the poison waters for her. Though her remaining time in the city was difficult, it was made easier by the people of Qarth as well as her khalasar, who had gloriously feasted in honour of her victory for a full moon-turn.

And so when the time finally came for Daenerys to depart Qarth, she felt a confidence in her path that she hadn’t when she first came to the city. The bleeding star brought her here for a purpose, and she has fulfilled it. 

Remembering the visions of the Undying, she sailed west and dared to listen to her dreams.

Chapter Text

299AC

Daenerys looked upon the rotten corpse on the beach that wore a frayed crimson and gold doublet and felt an unexpected sense of sadness. For a man to have died in a strange and inhospitable land, all alone and far away from his family was a terrible thing no matter whose family they belonged to. 

A Targaryen feeling sorry for a dead Lannister… she never thought she’d see the day.

“Gerion Lannister…” Arthur said, eyeing the marred golden lion head pommel of the sword still strapped to the body curiously. “I have no doubt in my mind that this is- was him.” 

“Then you had the right of it, Ser Jorah. That was his ship we passed earlier.” Dany said cheerlessly. “Regardless of my strong… misgivings about House Lannister, I could only hope that whatever killed this man had done him in quickly. Dying slowly in these lands would be a cruel fate indeed.”  

The knight of Bear Island had recalled earlier of how Tywin Lannister’s youngest and most reckless brother had, in years past, famously gone on an expedition to Old Valyria. The man had set out in hope to reclaim the long lost ancestral sword of his house that went missing generations ago, when the Westerlands were still a kingdom and had a king named Tommen II who ruled from his throne on Casterly Rock. Their famed Valyrian-steel sword, Brightroar, was lost to the Lannister dynasty when their then King of the Rock brought the sword with him when he sailed into the smoking seas with the intent to plunder Valyria’s abandoned wealth.

Yet instead of heeding the warning that only doom would be his prize from such an enterprise, much like his forebear, generations later arrogance had still won out and history repeated itself; his expedition similarly ending in failure and Gerion Lannister was never heard of since… until now.

By their estimate, Gerion’s ship, the Laughing Lion, like King Tommen II’s golden fleet, did not survive long on their journey inland, as evidenced by their state of wreckage nearby the shoreline. But upon seeing how the dead man’s ship was the last of the string of shipwrecked vessels that they sailed past on their journey further inland towards the ruined lands of Valyria, it made Dany shiver. That could’ve easily been her ship too, she thought darkly.

Her own journey to these ill-omened lands began when Daenerys had her fleet set sail to the Valyrian peninsula almost immediately after leaving the port of Qarth, where her orders had gotten universal disapproval from all who heard her words. Her bloodriders, who were already having a hard time adjusting to sailing on the poison waters, had been vehemently against any plans of a sea voyage longer than necessary, praying daily to the great stallion for their khaleesi to have them make port on the mainland of Essos sooner rather than later.

Her queensguard had similarly protested, thinking her reckless to sail her newly acquired fleet intothe very heart of the Doom, where none has ever sailed a successful voyage. They used the tales of the two Lannister treasure hunters, as well as the first, and last, self-declared emperor of Valyria, a dragonlord named Aurion who in his ill-fated expedition failed to reclaim his homeland post-Doom, as undeniable proof that death and shipwreck were a faultless certainty to those who ever dare try. Unsurprisingly, the sailors she hired were likewise hesitant to obey her set course.

Ser Jorah had begged her to reverse course, trying to convince her to instead go to the Free Cities to hire sellswords, or even to Astapor and buy the Unsullied, pointing out that with her significant increase in wealth she would now be able to afford to buy an army, any army that she wished.

“There is nary a sellsword company in the world more loyal to their contract than the Golden Company…” Ser Jorah had waxed poetically. “Or perhaps we’d do better to purchase the most obedient soldiers, like the ones bred in the the red city of Astapor.”

The very suggestion had vexed her, as there was no chance she would ever buy a single solitary slave, let alone an entire army of them. Though the idea of going to Slaver’s Bay in itself had stirred the beginning of an idea in her, she knew she couldn’t well continue to pursue that thought until she set foot in the slave city itself.

While Daenerys had concurred with her queensguards that she would need to get a larger army once she turns her sights on Westeros, she had still insisted on visiting her true ancestral homeland first… to the place her vision the Undying had shown her. 

Despite the vagueness of said vision, Daenerys knew there was only one place in the entire world where its cities were destroyed in a cataclysmic disaster that left it littered with tall broken towers ruined by volcanic magma and partially drowned in a smoking sea; Old Valyria.

It was also not lost on her that just because this was the land of her people that it would guarantee her survival. Dany recalled her brother Viserys’ stories about Aerea Targaryen and Balerion’s terror trip to Valyria, and how that tale had frightened her to tears during their childhood in Braavos. 

According to his tales, the princess and the dragon had went missing from Dragonstone for nearly a year, with many sightings suggesting they had headed east and into the Doom, though none could know for certain. And when the two did eventually return, it only brought further mysteries, not answers. Balerion, the oldest and fiercest dragon Westeros had ever seen, had suffered wounds from this journey, wounds no man thought the veteran dragon of a hundred battles could experience. Most shockingly was the nine-foot gash on their left side that was still dripping dark steaming blood on the inner courtyard where the Black Dread landed with the princess.

Yet worse still was the state Aerea Targaryen had returned in, as the accounts allege that the princess was barely latching onto the midnight scales of the great dragon and fell unceremoniously onto the courtyard like a rag doll upon their landing. The Septon who assisted in her immediate treatment reported how she was dying of a fever so hot that the kingsguard who carried her into the Grand Maester’s chambers could feel the heat through his plated armour. 

Viserys spoke of how it was alleged that the princess had begged for death in faint whispers, crying for mercy as blood pooled in her eyes and something sinister was inside her body… something moving and cooking her from within. Dany cried when her brother would describe in detail the last few minutes of Aerea’s life… how her flesh cooked so dark that it resembled pork cracklings, and how smoke came from her mouth, nose and even her nether regions, until her torment finally ended when her eyes that was boiling within her skull violently burst. 

It is said that the princess had died in a tub of ice, where slimy, unspeakable things making horrible sounds emerged from under her skin, and that those creatures of heat and fire had, thankfully, not survived from the cold of the ice bath. And all this because the Princess Aerea and Balerion the black dread had supposedly visited Old Valyria during the time they were missing. 

Daenerys knew the risk of sailing into such a place but nothing, not even Aerea’s fate, would deter her. The dreams showed her the way, and her dreams have shown that they would all survive. She is the unburnt… storm born, she reminds herself. Heed your dreams, Daenerys Targaryen, she remembered Quaithe’s words. And heed them she did. 

Before the mounting objections of her people could discourage her, she reminded them to put their faith in their queen, one who had made the impossible happen over and over again. She has never failed them, and she would not fail them in this. 

Her warriors had bowed at her reproach, where after, each one of her bloodriders became determined to show no fear before the other two, a competition which was then also quickly adopted her queensguards. 

For the sailors, it had taken them a visual reminder of her three dragons' existence to convince them to ignore common wisdom of seafaring that sailing the doom was an impossibility, as the very existence of her children alone was thought impossible until she made it possible. 

Though the course was secure, Dany had no wish to remain idle on the journey, and she spent most days keeping up training with her knights and bloodriders, and making sure her people are well cared for. She was proud of her people, for being the first Dothraki in history to brave the poison waters, even if most of the Dothraki had initially not taken to voyage all that well. Many had gotten seasick on the journey, and it took all of a fortnight for poor Irri and Jhiqui to cease their clutching to the ship rails every single instance a wave would rock the boat.

But as the days had quickly passed by, the majority of her people had become accustomed to their new life, just as Irri and Jhiqui were, and it had made her proud of their willingness to adapt beyond what they thought were possible for themselves.

Beyond that, the journey itself gave them no other issues. Even the gods themselves, it seemed, had desired for her journey to succeed, as her fleet was blessed with clear waters, strong winds and no obtrusion from pirates or vagabonds, enabling them to reach the eastern coasts of Valyria faster than anticipated. 

The visions she had in the palace of dust had by some virtue also given her an intuition of a safe passage to reach her destination, and with each instruction she gave to the sailors of a path to take, they would pass more abandoned ships that hadn’t been as lucky as hers, and as she inched closer and closer to her homeland, it would fill her with a resolve that her path was the right one.

Once they arrived, Dany had her ships anchored far enough away so her people felt safe from any demons they believed roamed the lands, but close enough so Daenerys and her small group of six would be able to row a smaller cog ashore to the nearby bay. 

In her absence, she commanded Kovarro, Quaro, Malakho and her two remaining handmaids to stay behind and safeguard their fleet. Dany had thought to only bring Arthur with her and wait until she found a safe path into the ruined city to bring the rest landwards, as she had initially believed Ser Jorah would better serve her by staying with the fleet to look after her people. But he objected quickly, his desire to protect her and see the lands for himself made it hard for her to deny his request.

And though they had already conquered their fears of the poison waters, she thought her bloodriders were too fearful still of these dark unknown lands to willingly follow her into the city. But true to their reputation, her Dothraki bloodriders refused to bow to fear, and their undying sense of loyalty compelled them to follow their khaleesi into the mist. Doreah’s wish to join her party had been a surprise as well, but a welcome one, being the only among her handmaids to brave the journey.

Conversely, Irri and Jhiqui had reverted back to their habit of holding on to the ship rails and begged their khaleesi to not force them to come with her into ‘the land of demons’, as her two friends have begun calling it. The comical sight had endeared Dany and she assured her two handmaids that she would never force them to do something they would never want to do, to which they tearfully thanked her.

Dany’s relatively quick ascension to power made her almost forget that she and her girls are young women still, and that such behaviour shouldn’t be so surprising. I must allow them room to grow, she thought.

But grow quickly her Lyseni friend did, as she has always been the most curious minded one of her handmaids, and her natural aptitude with sums would be a great help to them if her visions of a treasure trove would turn out to be accurate. Doreah’s talent with sums had been an unforeseen boon for Dany in Qarth, when her handmaid became indispensable in helping her account the flood of new wealth she acquired.

But regardless of her scouting party’s steadfast dedication to follow their queen into untraveled territory, Daenerys was well aware of the fear they felt, and knew that she had to will away that similar feeling within herself, lest they all lose their resolve. I am their strength, reminded herself, and I am the blood of the dragon, and this is the land of my ancestors.

The sound of Drogon’s screech stirred her from her thoughts and she turned to caress her largest child, who purred gently at the attention. Her dragons had flown above their heads and into the mist with them when they rowed to the beach on their small cog. By now, her children had grown rapidly to the size of a wild boar on their voyage, having received ample sustenance and freedom to roam the seas and skies. The three having even become self-sufficient, as they now feed themselves with fish they hunt without outside help, and it had given her such merriment to see her children thrive. 

“We should begin moving, Your Grace.” Ser Jorah warned. “We might not have encountered them yet, but the stonemen that are known to roam these ruins might still be out there.”

“Yes, small blessings we haven’t.” She said as she looked around cautiously. Though she had armed herself with the mithril swords that Iroh had given her, Dany hoped she wouldn’t have to use them.

“Do you know where we’re supposed to go, Your Grace?” Ser Arthur asked.

“I do.” She cursed herself slightly as she shook her head. “I mean, not really… I remember the black structure where I saw myself in the vision, and what it looked like… but I do not know where it is exactly. I’ve been going on instinct, following this strange power that’s pulling me towards it… but that remains as only impressions right now. Though the further we go, the stronger I find they become.”

This premonition Dany had that something of significance and untold fortunes called to her within the ruined homeland of her ancestors made her certain that she would find what she needed here, though she knew not what. Thankfully, that feeling only increased ever since she had stepped on the blackened soil of Valyria, and even her dragons had sensed these impressions too. Upon realising that, she had followed their lead ever since, hoping their innate magic would prevail where hers remained frustratingly scant. 

Before despair could set in, her dragons suddenly perked up and flapped their wings, rising up into the foggy air and flew low, heading deeper west into the city. The group then followed her three children’s lead and walked past the mist, beyond the beach and into the ruined city, all while keeping caution of any concealed dangers. 

Eerily they do not encounter stonemen on the path, and soon reached the core of the ruined city. The smog that had surrounded the beach where they arrived had slowly disappeared the further they travelled inland, allowing them to see the city in all its unencumbered desolation. In the distance, she could vaguely see the tops of the volcanoes smouldering and emitting heat and smoke into the atmosphere.

They saw many things on foot in the smouldering ruin of the desolate place; topless towers and buildings decorated with sphinxes and dragons that have disastrously crumbled into a heaping pathetic pile of black stone, dragonbones of varyings sizes littering the ground like an unburied graveyard, volcanic magma intersecting through streets and ruined structures like a red miniature of the river Rhoyne, and even the dragonroads that make their streets, wide and expansive, were cracked and cratered, the land’s unnatural flora having risen up in places the magma left untouched.

It was hard to imagine that anything in this city had survived at all and that it had been much worse than this centuries ago. On that fateful day, it was said that every hill for five hundred miles surrounding the city had split asunder, filling the air with ash and smoke and fire so hot that even the Valyrian dragonlords’ mighty dragons did not survive the onslaught, as clearly evidenced in the bones littering around them. The world’s most fertile grounds were scorched, never to see the harmony of life teeming on its soil ever again. Earthquakes had swallowed entire palaces, temples, and towns, while the lakes boiled or turned to acid.

The Fourteen Flames, the fiery mountains of Valyria, was the epicentre of the havoc, and when it burst it sent molten rock a thousand feet into the air, making red clouds that rained down obsidian that she saw littered the ruined streets. It was this cataclysm that had fragmented the Valyrian Peninsula into numerous smaller islands and created the Smoking Sea. 

Just east of Valyria, even the cities on the Isle of Cedars weren’t safe, as they were destroyed by a wall of water three hundred feet high that came from the Doom, drowning hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children in one fell swoop. That dark day brought a raging devastation that vanished entire civilisations in a heartbeat.

The greatest civilisation that the world had ever seen, reduced to a haunted wasteland…

By looks alone, she would be inclined to believe that the doom still ruled Valyria, but she knew that a flicker of their magic has endured and was protecting them, and that feeling only grew stronger the longer she was on its soil.

“Your homeland is magnificent, khaleesi. Even in its current state.” Doreah said, eyes alight with equal parts trepidation and wonder. 

She mirrored her handmaid’s awe as they kept following her dragons, seeing more broken structures that looked extraordinary even in their pitiful state. She could only imagine what they would look like at the height of their glory, remembering how sorcery was said to have been used to even make building this shining city a possibility. And yet, in that same vein, it was said that sorcery had also played a part in its destruction. 

Magic is a double-edge sword without a hilt, she once read in one of Iroh’s old tomes. There is no truly safe way to wield it.

“Yes… yes, it is.” Dany replied, gooseflesh pricking her skin as she reached out to touch a piece of obsidian on the ground, seeing that there were many of differing colours, and still warm to the touch.

After wandering through the city, they reached the base of a seemingly dormant volcano, the only one they’d seen where no such smoke rose from its top. Daenerys suddenly felt spellbound to the black structure nearby, a grand but broken citadel with towers that had a scattering of dragonbones littering around it. 

This was it. The place shown in her vision.

In a way, it was the most intact building compared to the rest of the structures they had seen in the city. It had been formed hundreds of years ago, yet these ruins was still as firm as ever, considering the damage around it. Could magic have played a part in keeping this Citadel upright? 

Alongside the walls of the palace were giant statues of dragons that were missing many of its pieces, though they were still magnificent to behold. At the front was a large gap where two high doors were supposed to be, now nothing but crumbled pile of dragonstone. 

“Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to go, khaleesi? It looks nearly as bad as the outside.” Rakharo said, frowning at the state of the citadel as they all stepped inside.  

Before she could reply, her dragons immediately flew further in, finding a descending staircase hidden from view, leading down into the earth. 

“Yes, blood of my blood. If my children are sure, then so am I.” She said, finally feeling confident in her words again as she made to follow her dragons. 

“Dracarys.” said Daenerys, as she and her party descended in the dark, using her dragons’ flames to see until they reached a cavernous chamber with a hallway that led to several different rooms. As she began to move forward deeper into the hallway, Dany realised the others had stopped. She looked back at them, readying her swords.

“What’s wrong?” Daenerys asked, hackles raised. Her eyes then followed Doreah’s hand that was pointing uneasily to the walls, at the dark candles that was now alight with queer brightness.

“It’s the candles, khaleesi… they began lighting up as you walked past.”

Dany’s frown deepened when she gave the glass candles behind her, which appeared to have been made of obsidian, a closer inspection saw that they were indeed alight.

The candle was unusually bright, and the flame did not flicker, even when her dragons flew by. She noticed the light it emits was strange too, the whites were bright as pearls, the yellow shone like gold, the reds turned to flame, but the shadows were so black they looked like holes in the world. Dany found herself staring. The candle itself was three feet tall and slender as a sword, ridged and twisted, glittering black.

Shaking her head slightly, Dany then noticed that while the ones behind her were lit, the ones ahead her were still unlit. That didn’t seem strange to her, until Arthur walked ahead of her towards the unlit path and the candles stayed as they were, but when she began walking past them, they had combusted like the others behind them.

She had done this, and she hadn’t even noticed… 

The mystery had frightened her stunned party even more than they already were, she could tell, but she needed them to move on. The magical pull was stronger now, and Dany knew she was close.

“Search the rooms.” Dany said. “Let’s not linger around, shall we?” 

After a round of nods from her group, it hadn’t taken long for them to be distracted by the contents of these vaults.  

“By the gods…” Arthur said in awe as they entered the first room.

Inside, they saw the entire space filled to the brim with varying weapons, like daggers, swords, spears, axes, armours and even bows, each item made purely of Valyrian steel, and on the table in the middle of the room were piles of chainmail shirts that felt like it was made of silk and not steel due to its near weightlessness. When Dany made to inspect it closer, she realised they were in fact, impossibly tight woven Valyrian-steel links. She took one of the mail shirts that fit her and wore it, putting the others in the bags they brought.

Hung on the wall in the next room were nine Valyrian steel swords, each encrusted with its own distinct bejewelled gemstone hilts; pearl, jade, tourmaline, onyx, topaz, opal, amethyst, sapphire and ruby. Though they all been beautiful to behold, Dany had instead reached out to the elegant sword she saw in the middle of the nine swords. The weapon appeared to be a mix of a scimitar and a traditional single-bladed sword, and had elegant carvings of minimalist flames. It also seemed to have been fashioned from a single block of Valyrian-steel.

Like the Valyrian chainmail, Dany took it and its sheath and the strapped the beauty on her hip with one of the belts that was lying in a pile underneath the sword collection. Looking over, she saw that her queensguards had done the same to two of magnificent dark Valyrian steel longswords on the wall, Arthur taking the sword encrusted with the amethyst hilt, and Jorah taking another with the jade hilt.  

“They say every good sword has a name, and mine already has one it seems.” Narsil, the inscription read in High Valyrian on the top of the pommel. “What shall you call yours, father?” Dany asked playfully.

“Excalibur.” Ser Arthur answered. 

“And yours, Ser Jorah?” 

“Defender, khaleesi.” He replied proudly. 

They then went through the pieces of armours that were stored throughout the place, collecting components that would complete a full set of perhaps a few dozen or more. There were also rooms filled with entire chests of gold, precious gems, jewels and diamonds of every alluring colour, all shining like pure starlight.

Daenerys also saw that her bloodriders had begun to select new weapons and armours for themselves, taking Valyrian steel bracers, mail shirts, arakhs, bows and Valyrian steel-tipped whips. Some of the walls separating the rooms seemed to have crumbled down and beyond them she spied even more armouries filled with jewels, luxury goods, and varying obsidian weapons of different colours.

But it was the last room where the pull was its strongest, in a library littered with half-empty shelves of books that had been strewn all over the ground. 

This was it, she thought. This was the place I was supposed to go. The contents of this room alone might be of more value than all the others combined if it contained what she hoped it does; knowledge.

Daenerys knew the answer she was seeking was in this library, and she only had to find which book contained them. 

But when she began opening the aged tomes within the room, she found that most of them had no texts, as if they had vanished over time, disappointing her greatly. It was curious to her that of all the valuables she found in this palace, only the books had not withstood the doom. She began to pack the dozen or so books that did have texts, few as they were, not taking the effort to read them yet. There would be time for that on her voyage, Dany mused.

And then she saw it. 

In the far end of the library, almost hidden, was a painting of a woman with amethyst eyes and amethyst hair. The sight had transfixed her and a warm shiver went down her spine as she studied the face of the beautiful woman. 

The Last Empress, it said at the bottom of the frame. 

Suddenly entranced, Dany reached out and touched the portrait, tracing the woman’s face and felt an odd sense of familiarity to her. 

Dany made to move the portrait, finding a small hidden compartment behind it where two books and a beautiful silver circlet lay untouched. Upon picking up the finery, she saw from closer inspection that the circlet bore the same familiar dark ripples found on the Valyrian-steel armaments in the other rooms, and that an immaculately cut amethyst gemstone glimmered at its center, sparkling brilliantly, having not lost its lustre despite the centuries that it has seen.

This will be my crown, Dany decided immediately. 

Turning to the two books, she found that they, unlike the many others in the room, were filled with text. The first was a tome of some sort that detailed Valyria’s history, though beside the text she saw it had notes and quill strokes that contradicted what was recorded by the book’s original author. The owner’s notes, she surmised. 

The content of the scribbled words had shocked her, as it was unencumbered by the false glorification evident in the original text, speaking in detail of the horrors the freehold had wrought in order to gain all the obscene wealth they had accumulated. While it was known that the Valyrians adopted the practice of slavery from the conquered Ghiscari, the depths of the cruelty and the untold misery of those shackled by the dragonlords remained largely unknown, if only implied. 

As she read the text, Daenerys began seeing faint visions of the suffering in Valyria centuries ago… suffering not of her people on the Doom, but of those they subjugated throughout the centuries.

Though it was what brought them their renown, it is often forgotten that the Valyrians were more than just dragonlords, as they practiced also sorcery, blood magic and other dark arts best left buried… and nothing was ever too far for them. At the height of their power, the Valyrians would regularly twist the flesh of beasts and slaves with their black sorcery to fashion monstrous and unnatural things according to these notes.

Frightened by the images that they conjured, she slammed the book shut and closed her eyes, hoping to will away the visions by steadying her breath.

“Daenerys, what’s wrong?” Arthur asked soothingly, holding Dany’s shoulder to steady her.

Daenerys opened her eyes and looked up at her father. “I- I saw visions… faint visions of the cost of all this… it- it startled me, is all.” She said before trying to put on a brave face. “I’m fine, father.”

Arthur only chuckled and shook his head at her, which Dany returned with a frown. “Did I do something to amuse you, ser?”

“Of all the places you could be and things you could be looking over, it shouldn’t surprise me that you would be here in a library and poring over old tomes.” The knight smiled, as if recalling a long buried memory. “Your brother Rhaegar would do the very same thing, if he were here.”

Dany raised her brows in surprise. Arthur hardly liked talking about the past, and yet even with all truths he had revealed to her of her family back in Asabhad, there were still many things Dany didn’t know about her brother. But ever since the Undying, her father had been more loose-lipped about Rhaegar, and she cherished every new information he was willing to unveil. Dany replied before Arthur could change his mind.

“Because he liked to read too?” She chuckled.

Arthur rolled his eyes and smirked in amusement. “Famously so. At least in his youth, he was. Rhaegar was reading so early that people would jest that Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb.”

Her brother, the valiant dragon… a bookish scholar? The thought tickled her.

“Rhaegar was always a little too serious for the other kids, and while he showed some interest playing with others, he was always solitary too in a way. Yet, at the same time, he was genial and well-loved by the people by his teenage years, despite his quiet demeanour.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Dany smiled.  

“In the beginning, the maesters were amazed by his wits, and he seemed content to spend his days in the libraries of the Red Keep or Dragonstone… until one day when Prince Rhaegar found something amongst the scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it said, only that it compelled your brother to suddenly appear early one morning in the yard as the knights were about to begin their morning spars and demand to be taught to wield a sword. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armour. It seems I must be a warrior’. And so that’s how we met, two young boys in the same training yard looking to prove ourselves to our older contemporaries…”

Though the tale made her smile more, a dark thought had suddenly hit her. That must have been the start of Rhaegar’s obsession with prophecies, Dany thought. From the pained look that began to spread in the knight’s face, it seems Arthur had also come to that same conclusion. 

“I would give my entire hoard of Qartheen wealth to meet him.” Dany didn’t know why she chose those words, only that they felt right.

Arthur nodded at that. “He would’ve felt the same way. I’d wager he’d also give almost anything to be able to see the splendours that we’ve had today, especially the things in this room alone.”

“I wish I could have known him.” She said wistfully after a moment.

“I wish he could have known you.” He replied.

The air became heavy with melancholy as the ghost of her brother’s memory hung around them in silence, until the sound of Jhogo’s thunderous cheer over the plunder took them out of it.  

"Go help the others pack as much of the treasure as they can. We shall bring more men to clean this place out.”

Arthur nodded. “At once, Your Grace.” 

Once left alone, Dany reached out and took the second smaller book, opening to find that it was a nondescript diary. Though the pages remained intact, the writing within was oddly incomplete, as if the person who wrote it had written down unfinished thoughts.

“The remaining Thirty-Nine families… endless infighting… sorcerers fighting sorcerers… dragonslords against dragonslords… dragons burning dragons… they would go too far… doom awaits…”

The Doom? Did this family also know what was coming to them like hers had? Daenerys frowned in deep interest as she kept reading.

“The Freehold… close to collapsing… too big to guarantee stability… so many slaves… too many… need enchanted horns… bind to our will… slave population too great…”

While Dany tried sorting through the stunted thoughts, it was the last entry in the diary that intrigued her the most, as it had been the only one written to completion.   

“Perhaps the family that fled Valyria had been right to leave this place… and what their dreamer had dreamt would come to pass. Perhaps we deserve it… for I feel it too. The end times. Our days our numbered.”

This family knew too somehow… but it had been too late.

It dawned on Dany then, that learning these truths was vital knowledge to help her on her path. ‘To go forward you must go back.’ When Quaithe had said those words she knew not what they meant. But now, Dany knew exactly what to do.

The sound of her dragons scratching a nearby wall pulled her out of the findings in the diary when she saw how her children were converging on a particular part of the room. Sensing a power on the other side, Daenerys drew blood from her palm with her dagger and smeared it on the surface, before letting her dragons bathe it flames. 

The wall parted to show yet another descending staircase. Her dragons led the way down to a vast underground cave, where in the middle sat a circular pool of lava. Following the same instinct that led to the birth of her miraculous children, Daenerys squeezed at her wound and let three drops of her blood fall, before bringing her hand that bore the cut itself into the lava where it began to glow. After she pulled out her hand, she saw that the cut had healed, and her three dragons jumped in the glowing pool then, drinking and swimming in the lava, before they too began to glow. The sight had reminded her of Dothraki children playing on the edge of a river in Vaes Dothrak, and it made her smile.

Feeling something shift in her, Dany realised the pool had increased her growing bond with her dragons, strengthening the tether between them. Her smile at them grew and she instructed her children to return to her above once they were done. She had a feeling that whatever she and her dragons doused themselves in, they would only be content to leave once the glow of the pool dies down.

Ascending back up the stairs, she sees Arthur, Ser Jorah, her bloodriders and Doreah finishing their organising of the treasure in the central chamber. 

“We’ve accounted for everything in these vaults, khaleesi.” Doreah stated proudly. “All we need is more men to clean them out.” 

Dany smiled at their efficiency. “And you shall have them.”

In the end, it took a total of two more trips to empty out the vaults and fill their chests and packs to the brim with these treasures. Just as her vision prophesied.

As they were loading the last of the treasures onto the fleet, Daenerys sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for this successful expedition. Dany wanted to do right by whatever higher power kept her and her people safe in these lands.

“Even just a tiny portion of these treasures would buy you the Golden Company. A fraction more and it could buy you all the other sellsword across Essos.” Ser Jorah mused on the deck as they sailed from the coast. 

“I will do more than that.” Dany replied.

“Your Grace?” He frowned curiously.

“We will head to Astapor first, Ser Jorah. That is where I shall begin.”

Daenerys was the last scion of Old Valyria, and she would make sure to correct their legacy. 

Chapter Text

299AC

It seemed almost fitting that only mere days after their dangerous voyage into the Doom, where they had thus far only experienced calm waters and clear skies, that a sudden squall had enveloped her fleet on their northbound journey to Slaver’s Bay. 

The gods must have thought her journey too easy, she thought mirthlessly.

Her Dothraki, who had finally just rediscovered their sea legs, reverted back to their previously discarded fears of the poison waters. And despite having survived an expedition into Old Valyria, a storm in the middle of the sea had given them more of a fright, with many converging in the hull of the ship, finding comfort with the equally frightened horses. 

But no storm could frighten her. 

She was named Daenerys Stormborn as a testament to the circumstance of her birth, when she had come into the world on Dragonstone as the greatest storm in living memory raged outside the castle’s strong walls. It was a storm so fierce that it ripped the castle defences from the battlements and smashed her family’s remaining fleet at its port into the bottom of the sea. 

Although this current storm gave her no worry, it still made her feel dull. Dany was unable to sharpen her martial skills with her queensguards and bloodriders, as the torrential downpour interrupted their daily schedule of sparring sessions on the deck, forcing Dany to keep herself confined within the four wooden walls of her cabin on the Queen Rhaella.

Much like her dragons, Daenerys had chaffed at being kept caged in, though the downtime had finally given her ample amount of empty hours to finally go through the stacks of books she collected from the homeland of her ancestors.

Dany had not known what to expect when she began to read the tomes she took from Valyria, and she could imagine a great many things as her mind already raced at the possibilities from the moment she brought them onto her ship. It could have contained the secrets of dragonlore, or some mighty sorcery and arcane spells, or even the process of producing Valyrian steel, a highly sought after but dead art form. Perhaps she would find more information on the histories of the freehold and its famous forty families.

But what she did not expect to find in the first few books she opened were the secrets of Valyrian architecture, masonry, medicine, agriculture and civil engineering.

It had made her laugh. 

With Old Valyria’s vast reputation of great mystery, Dany had assumed these rare tomes would contain much more nefarious and occult matters than modest topics such as city planning and building. Though initially disappointed, she then remembered the ruins of the peninsula and thought that perhaps those darker secrets had faded in the blank paged books she left behind… and perhaps that might have been for the best.

Sorcery made Valyria great, but it was also its doom. 

Nevertheless, she was engrossed in her discoveries and the idea of implementing such genius onto the world had brought an her an unexpected sense of excitement in the midst of the storm her fleet had caught themselves in.

For one, she could see herself recreate the dragonroads across Essos and perhaps even introduce them in Westeros in the future. Dany also began imagining raising structures in the most splendid designs that only Valyrian stone-working techniques could achieve, and pushing forward the potential of medical achievement, and bringing about much needed improvements in agricultural techniques that would yield infinitely more ample and consistent fruits of their labour… but she knew was getting ahead of herself. Dany resolved to resume such thinking only once she has actual lands to rule, a fact that she was determined to change soon enough.

After three nights of poring over the tomes, the storm suddenly lifted, and Dany joined her Dothraki in crowding the deck, breathing a deep sigh of relief at seeing the clear skies, basking in all its azure beauty. No sooner had the sun peeked out from the departing clouds did her children clamber their way out of her cabin, jumping off the ship’s rails and flapped their scaly leathery wings to ascend into the horizon, happy to return to the boundless freedom the skies afforded them, searching for their next hunt. 

The journey from her ancestral homeland had already seen her dragons grow even more rapidly than they were already before, her three children having nearly doubled in size in that short time. While Dany initially thought it was due to their ever increasing eating habits, she had begun to suspect that it might have been due to the strange glowing pool underneath the Valyrian citadel’s vaults. 

Since the excavation in her native land, her bond with her children had also steadily grown as well, the empathic tether they shared strengthening as the days passed, allowing her to better sense her children’s developing emotions. It was a comfort to her, as the improving bond was going to be necessary soon if she intends to use her dragons in war.

While, like any mother, Dany thought that she would always remain reluctant to send her children into dangerous situations, she was at least resolute in making sure that when she does inevitably use them in battle that her dragons would never go feral and that they would only spill the blood of her enemies, never innocents.

This bond would help assure that, she thought. It must.

Yet having the empathic bond alone was one thing, but getting dragons to actually listen to her every command was another thing entirely. They were wondrous creatures with their own stubborn minds, in no way were they mere pets. Dragons were in equal parts gorgeous and devastating to behold, and they bowed to no one.

Like her Dothraki, even her hired crew of sailors, who were once fearful of her children, had taken a fierce pride in “their” dragons. Every one of them, from the captain to the cook’s boy loved to watch the three fly, and their sense of fondness and wonder had equally filled Dany with pride. 

The dragons are my children, she told herself, remembering the maegi’s cutting words. They are the only children I’ll ever have…

Suddenly pulled her out of her thoughts, Dany heard her children’s high pitched screech before she saw their bodies shooting through the air like arrows, noting that their flying speed had steadily increased as well. She saw how Viserion’s cream scales and gold horns gleamed brightly in the sun like some brilliant metal, and how Rhaegal’s dazzling green scales appeared like tiny jewels of jade and their horns like sharp bronze daggers. The two soared above the fleet in wide circles, each trying to outdo the other, flying faster and higher in a contest of ever shifting dominance. 

As they have done many times before, the two dragons began their dance. It would begin with one of her children folding their wings and diving through the air screaming, and then suddenly the two dragons would collide and tumble from the sky locked together in a tangled scaly ball, jaws snapping and tails lashing. She remembered the first instance when they’d done this on their journey from Qarth to Valyria, and in her guilelessness she had feared that they meant to kill each other. But to her great relief and amusement, it quickly became apparent that they were simply engaging in harmless play.

And just like all the previous times, as soon as they crashed into the blue waters, they broke apart and rose again, shrieking and hissing after one another, with the sea water steaming off of them as they try to regain altitude. 

Smiling at their child-like antics, Dany’s eyes looked up and searched the skies for black wings, knowing that Drogon was high up there as well, though they were nowhere in sight. Bolder than her other two, her black dragon had been the first to test their wings above the water, the first to flutter from ship to ship, the first to lose themselves in the white clouds… and the first to kill. She remembered how, no sooner had the flying fish broke the surface of the water, they were snatched up, bathed in flames, and swallowed by her child’s black jaws. 

As always, Drogon would be miles ahead Dany surmised, or miles behind, hunting. Her largest was always hunting, and always hungry. They grow quickly now, she thought. And when they are grown I shall have my wings… then I too shall taste the freedom of the skies.

Drogon in particular was growing fast, even faster than the other two. And if Drogon continued to grow at this rate, another year or perhaps two, and she may be able to ride the black dread come again. Mounted on a dragon, she could traverse the vast oceans or give her men air support in the battles to come, but as of yet, they were still too small to bear her weight.

“They are growing fast, khaleesi.” Doreah said giddily as she came up to Dany’s side. She was the only one of her handmaids to not fall to seasickness and had been a source of comfort for everyone on the ship in these past few troublesome days. “How big can dragons grow?”

“Once upon a time my brother would tell me of wondrous tales to get me to sleep, of dragons so great that they could pluck giant krakens from the seas.”

“Truly? A dragon taking on a kraken?” The Lyseni girl smiled in awe. “That I would love to see.”

“As would I, my friend.” Dany chuckled before remembering truer and less fantastical tales from her own family history. “It was said the largest dragon of my ancestors was so large that their shadow could engulf entire towns when they passed overhead, with teeth as long as swords, and jaws large enough to swallow one of the hairy mammoths that are said to roam the cold wastes beyond the Port of Ibben whole. Balerion the Black Dread was two hundred years old when they died. My brother used to say that a dragon never stops growing, so long as the dragons have food and freedom.”

It made Daenerys think about how her children would one day reach that size and it brought her an unexpected sense of trepidation. Despite being their mother, her dragons would eventually all need bonded riders to keep them in line, and from what little she knew of them, even she knew she couldn’t be that for them all, which only complicated matters.

Common knowledge within her family has shown that a dragon may only share a bond with one rider at a time, and once a dragon has bonded with a rider, that dragon will not allow anyone else to mount it while its rider lives. And when the rider of a dragon dies, only then can that dragon bond with a new rider, yet even then it was never a guarantee they must take to a new rider, for a dragon belonged to no one. 

“If only your ancestors had heeded your brother’s single wise counsel, Your Grace.” Ser Jorah said, joining them on the deck and interrupting her thoughts. “But instead, in King’s Landing, your ancestors raised an immense domed structure to house their dragons.” 

“Ah yes, the Dragonpit...” Dany recalled. “Viserys mentioned it once or twice.” 

“I remember seeing it for the first time, in the aftermath of the Sack- oh, pardon me, Your Grace.” Ser Jorah bowed, apologetic for revisiting the sensitive topic of that dark day. Daenerys only smiled and shook her head. 

“No need for apologies, Ser Jorah.” She signalled for him to continue. “Tell me true, did you go inside?” 

“I did indeed, my queen. We had some time before we were due north again, you see. We were waiting for Ned Stark to return from the south, and in my time in the city, I was drawn to the majestic ruins standing atop the Hill of Rhaenys. A cavernous dwelling it was, all of the ruined sleeping enclosures for the dragons had iron bars so wide that thirty knights could ride through them side by side.” 

The knight’s face frowned then, contemplating. “Yet even so, it was noted that none of the ‘pit dragons’ ever grew to reach the size of their ancestors. The maesters say it was because of the walls around them, and the great dome above their heads, caging them in and stunting them.”

Dany contemplated that theory for a moment and asked herself… could it really be so simple? 

“While the idea has some merit, I must say I have my doubts, ser.” She said lightly when she finally caught a glimpse of Drogon’s black silhouette in the horizon.

In time, the dragons would be her most formidable guardians, just as they had been for Aegon and his sisters three hundred years ago during the Conquest. However, in their fledgling state, her children brought her more danger than protection. In all the world there were but three living dragons, and they were hers… and beyond price.

As she continued to watch her dragons chase each other across a cloudless blue sky, Daenerys felt a happiness overcome her. In tranquil moments like these she takes care to remember to cherish it for as long as possible, for she knew how rare such moments would be once her campaign begins.

But that repose didn’t last long, for though she loved the sea and the vastness of horizons above, the sight had also reminded her of sailing the seas with her brother, darkening her mood once more like a storm cloud. Though a person's death doesn't change who they were in life, and her fond memories of Viserys has forever been tainted by his cruelty, Daenerys still missed him all the same.

Not the cruel and weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who had sometimes let her find comfort in his bed when she would have restless nights, the lively boy who told her all these tales of her ancestors and the Seven Kingdoms… but she mustn’t dwell on the past. 

If I look back, I am lost. 

Viserys was gone now and she was the last Targaryen. If she wanted to reclaim the throne of her family and right the wrongs of her forebears, then she would have to do what none of her ancestors ever dared to do. Daenerys must be a pioneer and blaze a new trail. 

And so with swift winds and clear skies once again the norm of their voyage, they were soon looking upon the red walls of Astapor faster than expected. But as they neared the shores, Dany suddenly felt a dark shiver, as if she was able to sense the rank misery of the city even from her ship. 

Though the city itself had an exotic beauty to it, the amber of the bricks of its structures and walls were a stark reminder of the brutality of its masters, and Dany knew she had to brace herself before she could look upon the ugliness of slavery right in the face. She cannot flinch here.

As soon as she could, Dany directed the sailors to dock at the beach on the outskirts of the city, where her first orders were to have all of her khalasar get off the ships. It wasn’t just that she knew her Dothraki and their horses desperately needed solid ground to roam and graze on, but she also knew that having a khalasar sit outside of Astapor’s walls would ensure her safety while she is inside its walls. The slavers would not dare cross a horde of Dothraki. 

Strict instructions were given to her bloodriders Jhogo and Rakharo, who were in charge of the khalasar outside, to stay far enough away so the Astapori would feel safe, but close enough that they could assist her if the situation demanded of it. She then charged Aggo, Quaro, Kovarro, and Malakho, along with a small contingent of Dothraki warriors with the protection of her fleet that contained her valued goods, to safeguard it, its contents and her children that would stay within her flagship with her handmaids. The only ones to accompany her inside the city were her two knights.

An envoy of the Good Masters of Astapor greeted them at the city gates and Dany wasted no time in relaying her intention to buy the Unsullied with her newfound wealth from Qarth, seeking to inspect them first before committing to any bargain. She told the envoy plainly that she would need an infantry in her growing army, and none in the world would compare to the ones bred in Astapor.

Dany smiled in satisfaction after seeing the envoy preen at her flattering remark, knowing the message would be delivered with haste. And as she waited for the envoy’s return, Dany thought of what awaited her deeper within the red city and remembered tale of the famed Three Thousand of Qohor. 

It was a story she first heard from Iroh back in Asabhad and one Ser Jorah could not stop waxing poetic about on their journey from Qarth when he tried using the anecdote to try and open her to the idea of coming to this wretched place. 

The legendary event took place hundreds of years ago and spoke of how a Dothraki horde of twenty thousand screamers faced a defending force of three thousand Unsullied drawn up before the gates of Qohor… and lost.

That Dothraki khalasar led by a khal named Temmo had sacked their way through Essos and was primed to target Qohor next, yet despite the Qohorik having strengthened their walls, doubled the size of their guard, and hired two mercenary companies to supplement their defensive force, Temmo’s horde still defeated them. But then, when the two free companies the city hired fled at the hopeless odds, his khalasar had instead halted their final attack to prematurely celebrate with drinking and feasting in their camp.

But by morning light, the Unsullied, who were only hired as a last minute afterthought, had finally come at the hour of the Qohorik’s greatest need and set themselves as the city’s last bastion of defence. 

In spite of it, the Dothraki thought nothing of them and charged, whereupon the Unsullied locked their shields, lowered their spears, and stood firm against twenty thousand screamers with bells in their hair. Eighteen times the Dothraki charged, and eighteen times they broke themselves on those shields and spears like waves on a cliffside. Even when Khal Temmo sent his archers to rain down arrows on them, the Unsullied merely lifted their shields above their heads until the assault passed. 

At the end of the bloody battle, only six hundred Unsullied remained, yet more than twelve thousand Dothraki lay dead upon that field, including Khal Temmo, his bloodriders, his kos, and all his sons. The new khal that rose from their defeat ceased aggressions and led the surviving horselords to the city gates, where one by one each of his warriors cut off their braid and threw it down before the feet of the Unsullied as a sign of respect.

That was what she would find here in this godforsaken city.

Before long the envoy returned and promptly led Daenerys and her knights to the Plaza of Pride, where a monstrous bronze sculpture of a harpy stood twenty feet tall at the center. It was a wrenched thing, this Harpy of Ghis, but judging by the state of its upkeep in comparison to the rest of the city, it was clear that the Ghiscari were proud of their symbol from a bygone era. 

The Harpy had come from Old Ghis, the precursor civilisation of the contemporary Ghiscari people, which fell five thousand years ago when they were shattered by the might of Valyria. Every tangible thing they had turned to ash and cinders by the dragonflame of her ancestors and their kin, and its fields sown with salt, sulfur and skulls. 

Even the Ghiscari tongue had largely been forgotten, as the slave cities now spoke the High Valyrian of their conquerors, though much like the other Free Cities of Essos they each had their own bastardised local dialect of Valyrian. Yet even so, this symbol of their Old Empire still endured… just as the blood of Old Valyria had in her. 

“So this is the Westerosi horse savage that wishes to buy my creatures…” The dark eyed man wearing a tokar with gold fringe bellowed in the Astapori dialect of Valyrian. As the slaver swaggered distastefully, the white pearls attached to the fringe softly clacked, only stopping when he sat down on the ornate cushioned seat on the dais above them, before clapping his hand in ceremony. 

It was clear that this slaver was one of the most prominent Good Masters of Astapor, making it easy for Dany to already discern the kind of man he was. A slave girl who spoke for him in the Common Tongue then announced the man’s titles and name; this Kraznys mo Nakloz was apparently the head of the noblest House in Astapor, and was responsible for breeding a majority of the city’s Unsullied.

He had looked at her party of three with barely disguised derision, which satisfied Dany, as she made the conscious decision to dress in the Dothraki fashion in order illicit this very response. When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time, Iroh used to tell her. 

And the power of appearance was something Dany understood better than most, so it should come as no surprise that she would wield clothing as another weapon in her arsenal. She has spent enough time throughout her life around the nobility to know to mimic, or go against, their aesthetic. They use plumage to identify themselves, which makes them easily fooled. This slaver was pompous and clearly thought lowly of her… and she hoped to keep it that way.

“Tell the vermin to make haste in their assembly, I have no wish to remain long in the presence of these uncivilised sunset barbarians.” 

Just like the first words she heard him utter, the slaver had once more spoken in the harsh Astapori dialect of bastard Valyrian, and while Dany understood his words, she merely smiled and kept looking expectantly to the slave girl, appearing as if she required the translation in the Common Tongue for the entirety of their exchange.

“The Good Master Kraznys welcomes Her Grace to our wondrous city, and he would humbly ask for your patience as the Unsullied form up for inspection.” The girl spoke, once again taking painstaking efforts to respectfully translate the words to not include her master’s lurid insults.

“Thank you. Please, tell the Good Master the wait does not bother me." Dany answered in the same tongue. 

As the legion of Unsullied marched with an uncanny discipline she wasn’t accustomed to with the Dothraki, Dany couldn’t help but marvel at how well the girl had spoken in the Common Tongue of the west, speaking it as if she had been born to it. The feat was all the more impressive as it was clear the girl had never been to the Sunset Kingdoms. 

Dany also noticed how beautiful the girl was. The translator had the characteristic dark-dusky skin, golden eyes, and thick, curly hair of the people of Naath. The girl even looked to be around Dany’s own age, and it was also evident that she had an intelligence that betrayed her years. 

“This is the whore who also brought the Dothraki scum that’s loitering outside our walls, is she not?” The master asked after the last of the soldiers had fallen in line. “Perhaps we need to remind her of the Three Thousand of Qohor, just so the savages don’t try anything foolish. I have no desire to bribe any horsefuckers today.”

Not betraying anything, the translator never dropped her smile. “The Good Master has taken note of the group of Dothraki you have brought to our city. He hopes they won’t cause the city and its great citizens any trouble. The master also wonders if Her Grace is aware of the Three Thousand of Qohor. It would delight him so, to know that stories of his renowned Unsullied has convinced more to buy such valuable goods from the master.”

Goods? Dany turned slightly to her two knights and saw that they too were having a hard time digesting these words. Dany turned back and met the girl’s gaze. 

“Yes, I am aware of the tale. It is the very reason I have come to this city.” Dany said with a broad smile. “But before we proceed, I would like to know more of how they were trained first.” 

After a quick translation, Kraznys mo Nakloz’s contempt for Dany visibly grew before speaking again. “Are all Westerosi pigs so ignorant?” He complained before gesturing to the other slaves he had at his beck and call to begin feeding him fresh fruits. “Tell her then, and don’t leave anything out, slave. I want the vermin to go for a higher price for these pale idiots.”

The translator nodded, came down from the dais and began leading Dany and her queensguards among the ranks of Unsullied so the queen may have a closer inspection. There were a thousand of them now, standing stiffly at attention, who only moments ago had all been in their barracks. They could be made of bricks themselves, the way they just stood there… unflinching.

Within every soldier standing, she could instantly tell from all their hard muscles that they each contained a strength one would normally only see in larger and more brutish warriors. But as she looked upon the scores of Unsullied, she had noticed that they were not all created equal. More than half were Dothraki and Lhazareen, while the rest had come from across the Essosi landscape. She saw blond Lyseni, pale Qartheen, almond-shape eyed YiTi and dark Summer Islanders among others. Some, to her surprise, were even the same ethnicity as their slavers. Yet despite their physical differences, it was if they were all one man with the way they all had the same neutral expression in their eyes.

“The Unsullied are chosen young, Your Grace. They begin their training at the age of five, and every day since then they would train from dawn to dusk, until they master the shortsword, the shield, and the three spears. The training is most rigorous, and only one out of three boys survives. That is well known.” The girl had bowed her head towards the end of her sentence, as if trying to will away a sudden bout of sadness, though Dany could hardly blame her. It was another split second before the well-worn impassive mask returned to the girl’s face.

“These ones may be eunuchs now, but they are cut only once they have stopped filling out at eighteen. Rest assured, each one has the strength of full grown men, Your Grace.” The translator finished, as they made it back to the dais.

“Tell the bitch that these vermin would stand here all day and all night, with no food or water if they were commanded. That they would also stand until they drop dead like flies, if so commanded. Tell her it is a testament to their courage and obedience.” 

After waiting for the translation, it seemed Arthur could no longer keep silent. “What madness!” Her knight said with indignation. While Jorah had also been equally disgusted by the words, he had an easier time swallowing them. Dany turned to her father, hoping her frown would silence him from anymore outburst.

When the girl translated her knight’s words, the slaver merely smirked and looked down on them. “Of course these unwashed savages think it’s madness. These Westerosi fools have no appreciation for the brilliance we breed here.” 

After a hearty chuckle, Kraznys spoke proudly through the translator. “The Unsullied are not men. They have something better than what most men possess; total discipline. They fight in the fashion of the lockstep legions of Old Ghis, far better than the iron legions that those idiots in New Ghis prefer. Astapor’s Unsullied are absolutely obedient, absolutely loyal, and utterly without fear. None in the world can ever compare.”

To prove his point, the slaver rose from his cushioned seat, took his whip and slashed it at one of the eunuchs at the front just below the dais, staining his copper coloured cheek with blood. If the Unsullied felt anything, he showed no signs of it as he merely blinked and stood unflinching. To Dany’s surprise, the eunuch even proceeded to thank the Good Master.

Moving to the next Unsullied, a handsome blue eyed youth with the yellow hair of Lys, Kraznys unsheathed the razor-sharp blade at the warrior-eunuch’s hip before starting to saw off his pink nipple. 

Alarmed, Dany held out her hand and spoke urgently, finding that it was getting harder to pretend not to understand the tongue of these monsters. “Please tell your master that this isn’t necessary. I believe we understand his meaning well now.” 

Kraznys scoffed after hearing her words translated in Valyrian. “Tell the slut I will do as I please with my meat. This will do him no harm. Men have no need of nipples, and vermin even less so.” Like the previous one, the eunuch did not flinch, and also thanked his master for the opportunity to serve him. “If the stupid cow hadn’t been too busy wailing, perhaps she would see that they feel no pain.” 

“How can that be?” Dany said after patiently waiting for the scribe to be done translating.

“The wine of courage.” The translator spoke after her master. “A secret concoction made from the brilliance of the Good Masters centuries past. The Unsullied drink it with every meal even before they are cut, and with each passing year they feel less and less. It makes them utterly fearless in battle, and death means naught to them. It makes them immune to torture, and unable to ever betray their master's secrets.”

Even without turning around, she could tell that her two queensguards were close to breaking, just as she was. But she would not break her mask. She must keep this charade going.

“That is good.” Dany said with all the neutrality she could muster.

“Good? The whore is more ignorant than I thought.” The slaver growled after the translation. “They are more than ‘good’, they are Unsullied. Wed to their swords in a way that no sworn knight of the Sunset Kingdom can ever hope to match. No woman, nor any man, can ever tempt them, and they will never succumb to their baser selves like those savage pigs of the west do.” 

His scribe had a particularly hard time translating those words, and in the end she only spoke so little of what was actually said.

“So they do not plunder or rape.” Dany said, before stating falsely. “My Dothraki would be happy to hear that.” 

“Pah, I spit on Dothraki. This whore should be so lucky they haven’t raped her yet. The Unsullied don't even deserve the tools for such worldly pleasures, much like how they’re unworthy of having names.”

“I’m sure your Dothraki would like that, Your Grace. But unlike the horselords, the Unsullied don’t even have the er- tools for rape. Much like how they’re without permanent names.” The girl translated awkwardly. 

At Dany’s confusion, Kraznys pointed to one of the Ghiscari eunuch that might have been a brother to him in another life. “You. What’s your name?”

“Red Flea, your worship.” 

“And yesterday, what was it?”

“Black Rat, your worship.”

“And tomorrow, what will it be?” 

“That is for the Good Masters to decide, your worship.”

The slaver smiled proudly as the girl translated the exchange for her. “Tell her that should she own Unsullied, this would be a great reminder that they are only mere vermin. Assure the slut that they will remember their name of the day, for during their training they would be made to run all day in full pack, or scale a mountain at night, or walk across a bed of coals if they do not remember. Their mind has been trained too.” 

Were these people so blind to their cruelty? Her heart ached with every word spoken, and yet that wasn’t even the end to their depravity, as his next words made it clear that it ran much, much deeper than she could have ever anticipated.

“These vermin are also ruthless by design.” The slaver began speaking, translated closely by the slave girl. “To win their helm, the mark of a true Unsullied soldier, they must go to the slave market with a silver coin, find a newborn, and kill it before its mother. In this way, any lingering weakness within them are forever scrubbed clean.”

Dany’s blood ran cold as her jaws dropped at those words.

She didn’t know how long she stood shock still in silent fury and she could tell that both Arthur and Jorah were similarly fuming behind her. But Kraznys mo Nakloz was not done, and frowned at her surprise.

“Do not mistake my words to the foolish whore, slave. Look at that dumb face, she must think us charitable! Make sure she knows that the coin the Unsullied pay is for the newborn’s owner, and not the slave mother. I will not have her think us as idiots who gives away money to worthless meat.” He barked at the translator. “And tell her that few ever fail that final test. In fact, the dogs are harder for them. Tell her about the dogs!”

Just like all the previous times the girl spoke the words without any of the insults and continued the further tales of horror. “Each Unsullied are given a puppy exactly one year before they are cut, and at the end of the year they are required to strangle it. If they do not, they are fed to the surviving dogs, as a warning to the other boys. The Good Masters believe this is a strong lesson for them, Your Grace. To prepare them for killing any without hesitation.” 

Even the innocent ones, it was left unsaid.

“Ensure the whore knows that they would never betray their master.” Kraznys added.

“Other untrained slaves may dare and steal to buy themselves freedom but the Unsullied would never dare steal, Your Grace. They have no reason to, since they have no life outside their duty. So have no fear, if they are to be your soldiers, they will be your soldiers, and nothing else.” The girl continued for her master.

“It is true that it is soldiers I seek.” Dany said uneasily after the girl finished translating.

“Then the whore was smart to come to Astapor. Ask her how many does she wish to buy. Tell her we only sell them by the century or thousand.” The slaver asked after the translation. 

“How many Unsullied are in the city?” Dany tested.

“Ten thousand fully trained Unsullied who have earned their helms are available at present, Your Grace.”

“Tell the horse savage that she must decide quickly in the next few days, otherwise the other interested parties that I showed the Unsullied to will leave her with less to buy. Much less.”

“But the corsair three days past only wanted one hundred, your worship.”

“The bitch won’t know that!” The slaver barked back, before smirking and adding. “Tell her that this wealthy corsair even showed a desire to buy more than half of the ten-thousand available.”

“None has ever purchased that many at once, your worship.” 

“Are you a fool? I said the bitch won’t know that. Now tell her! I want her desperate.” He complained loudly.  

Mulling the words, the girl translated them before carefully adding. “Such wonders are sought by many and do not come cheaply, Your Grace. In other cities, slave soldiers can be bought for less than the price of their swords, but Unsullied are the finest infantry in all the world, and each represents many years of training. They are like Valyrian steel, folded over and over and hammered for years on end, until they are stronger and more resilient than any metal on earth. As such, the other interested parties mentioned before may leave less for there to be purchased, should Her Grace not decide quickly on the numbers. Thousands less.”

Dany could see why this young girl had been chosen as the slaver’s translator, as it was clear she had such a skill and care with words, which must be so rare in this hellhole.  

She turned to Arthur who had been the worst at hiding his disgust to ask him if he thinks she should proceed, taking care that the translator heard their exchange. 

“No, Your Grace.” He answered at once. The words were spoken so tersely that it nearly made her chuckle.

“Yet I feel there is no better choice for our infantry than these soldiers…” Dany replied loudly, making sure the scribe heard their words. “We need them.” Once she saw the girl discreetly whisper the exchange to her master, Daenerys turned back to the translator.

“I know all about Valyrian steel. They were made by my ancestors.” She said offhandedly, yet her words only further annoyed the slaver when the girl translated it. 

“Pah, I spit on Valyrians too. Old Ghis was a proud empire when those pale incestuous scum were still fucking their sheep. We are the sons of the harpy. Tell her I am done with her today… unless she wants a guide to our beautiful city, then I am more than happy to serve, or service her. I can lick honey off of her breast, or she off mine.” He finished with a lick of his lips as he looked hungrily at her body.

“The Good Master Kraznys would be most pleased to show you Astapor while you ponder, Your Grace. The city is beautiful at night, it is when the Good Masters light silk lanterns so the pyramids glow with wondrous lights. Or perhaps Her Grace might prefer taking a pleasure barge on the Worm River, listening to soft music, eat food, and drink wine with the Good Master and his worship’s associates.”

And just when she thought these people couldn’t get any worse, the slaver’s next words proved her wrong. “Ask her if she wishes to view our fighting pits!” Kraznys added excitedly. “Ours may not be Meereen’s famed pits, but surely this beggar queen would like to see the evening’s bout; a bear against three small boys. We get to place wagers on which will be devoured first; the one doused in honey, blood, or rotting fish.”

Nearly stunned with the never ending cruelty that seemed to permeate the city, Daenerys catches herself before any errant reaction could break her cultivated facade, though Dany could almost feel her face twitching from the great effort with which she was tamping down the boiling rage inside her. She also knew that if they didn’t leave the Plaza after the girl was finished with the translation, Ser Arthur could very well brandish Excalibur and cut the despicable man down in contempt. She quickly spoke up before her father could even move his arm.

“Please thank the Good Master for his kindness, but it is with regret that I must decline such a generous offer. There is much I must ponder and discuss with my counsel.” Dany said with a genial smile.

“The whore’s a fool to decline, the pit is such an easy and merry way to make coin.” Kraznys mo Nakloz leered when her rejection was translated. “Fine, then tell the sunset savages we shall reconvene on the morrow, to negotiate terms. I’ve grown tired of her.”

The slaver got up while the scribe was still speaking, and walked to his litter, where he and his procession of slaves then presumably made their way to one of the residential pyramids belonging to House of Nakloz.

Once they were gone, Dany let out a huge sigh she didn’t realise she was holding in. The brutality she had unearthed from the day had astounded her, and she felt almost disoriented by it. Though she was certain that she kept her composure in front of the slaver, Dany knew her knights hadn’t masked their feelings as well as she, from the few times she looked over and saw how desperately they were failing at it after every translation.

But perhaps that might work in her favour…  

“I know you both have much to say, but I ask that you stay your words until we have more privacy on the ship.” At their solemn nods, the three made their way back to the docks where her flagship would have lay anchored by now.

To distract herself from thoughts of the tens of thousands of dead babies and pups, Dany began to meticulously focus on observing the city itself.

She noticed just how old the city was as they walked past the dusty streets and noted how decrepit it all looked, desperately worn down from years of neglect. It wasn’t a populous dwelling either, nor near so crowded as other cities she’s lived in like Qarth or Pentos or Lys. And as they walked in silence, she saw how many of the red bricked walls were crumbling and that the guards towers were devoid of any actual guards. I might be able to sack the city and purge its rotted insides even with just my modestly sized horde alone, she thought.

Then she remembered how Kraznys mo Nakloz had indicated earlier that any enemy attacking Astapor would face the city's entire garrison of Unsullied, so perhaps her assessment was a flawed one. In conjunction with the Unsullied's reputation, bribes offered by the Good Masters have in the past dissuaded even the fearsome Dothraki khalasars from attacking the city. 

No… the city would have to fall through other means.

Just before reaching the docks, they came upon the sea wall the Astapori called ‘The Walk of Punishment’. Here, any slave who engages in any type of egregious insubordination would face punishment by being strapped to a cross and left to die slowly, and painfully, in public, as a warning to all other slaves in the city, as well as any new slaves who come in from slaver ships docked at the port.

Without thinking, she took Ser Jorah’s flask of water and walked up to one of the crucified slaves, offering the condemned man nourishment.

“N-.. no…” the man spoke in the local Astapori tongue, struggling to get the words out. “Pleas-.. let.. me die..”

The desperate man’s reply tugged at her heart for she knew there was nothing she could do yet to help the poor soul. Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people, Jorah said of the city of the Good Masters. It had sickened her to see a city where its entire foundation was built wholly by misery.

“I hate it here.” She admits defeatedly as they resumed their walk to the ships, where there were less and less people the further along they got through the lengthy promenade of torture. But as they got closer to the quay, Dany noticed that her party was being followed… again. Her father suddenly huddled closer to her.

“You see it too, Your Grace?”

“Yes. I spot a large brown man and an older man with a staff not far behind.” Dany replied. “I believe they’re the same that followed us when we first docked outside the city this morning.”

“They’ve kept their distance the entire day but only come close now... they might be planning something." Ser Arthur pondered. “How do you wish to proceed?”

Assessing her options, Dany made a quick call.

“The two of you need to leave me.” She said before turning to Jorah. “Pretend you forgot something at the Plaza. We need their guard down, and then you can both flank them from behind.”

Before they could refute her order, she gave a stern look. “Go.”

Feeling for her hidden knives, Dany stole glances, quickly sweeping her sights on the strangers. The brown man was wide, with a bald head and the smooth features of a eunuch. He was also armed with a curving arakh, and had a litter of scars across his tree-trunk arms and hulking body.

The other man looked deceptively different, wearing a traveler’s cloak with the hood only slightly open, where she could see an old man’s white hair peeking through. Despite the fact that he was holding on to a staff, Dany knew it was only a mere prop, as the man’s robust gait betrayed his aged appearance. He has a warrior’s stride… strong and graceful. Though he had no sword, the staff, if used properly, could be as deadly as any mace. Iroh had made sure she knew that lesson well.

But as Dany braced herself when she saw the two strangers coming closer, a smiling child had suddenly stepped into her path. Dany blinked in confusion. She had barely seen any children roaming this city, let alone a happy one. The girl knelt and thrust a jewel box in her face.

Smiling back at the child, Dany took the carved wooden box. “For the Mother of Dragons…” the child said sweetly, miming for Dany to open the box.

“You are too kind.” Though she found the gesture odd, Dany could hardly deny the child, and chose to indulge her. Opening the box, she saw a glittering green scarab within, which looked to be carved from onyx and emerald. But before Dany could ponder how a small child could afford to give her with such a lavish gift, the scarab suddenly unfolded and jumped out.

The box flew from her hand in an instant and Dany twisted around to gain some distance. The scarab, which had been a manticore in disguise, would have stung her with its arched tail dripping venom had she not possessed sharpened reflexes. With one of her concealed knives, Dany threw one and quickly stabbed the creature through before it could touch her, killing the foul thing.

When she turned to search for the child, what she saw had shocked her. The ‘child’ had morphed to reveal a grotesque blue-lipped dwarf that she instantly remembered as the servant from the entrance at the Palace of Dust.

He must be the last of their faction left that survived her dragon’s wrath, she realised. But then, it became all the more confusing to her when the would-be assassin was suddenly being held down by the white-bearded stranger in the cloak and his large, scarred companion.

So they weren’t here to kill her after all…

Before she could even begin to try and understand the situation, her two queensguards placed themselves behind the strangers, daggers at their throat. The slight relaxing of the chokehold had been enough for the dwarf-mage to bite into his own mouth, releasing some sort of toxin, which then quickly took his own life.

Daenerys was thankful that they had no onlookers, so at the very least this disorienting scene of events won’t be known to the city’s Good Masters. But she has had enough today. She will get her answers.

“No lies. Tell me true and I will let you live.” Daenerys demanded. “Who are you?”

The huge brown eunuch held up his hands and spoke in a loud, boisterous voice. “I am called Belwas. Or Strong Belwas, which was the name they called me in the fighting pits of Meereen, where I never lost.” 

Frowning, Dany turned to the uncloaked man, whose hood had been thrown back, revealing a handsome Westerosi look about him underneath his mousy white hair. He was also not as old as she initially thought.

“And you?” Dany asked. But before the man could answer her, Arthur spoke for him.

“That’s… Barristan the Bold, Your Grace.”

Chapter Text

299AC

Daenerys Targaryen stood on the deck of the Queen Rhaella, with her two queensguards, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Jorah Mormont, as well as her Dothraki bloodriders and warriors surrounding the colossus of a eunuch Belwas and a white-bearded Ser Barristan Selmy, the famed kingsguard who has served the Targaryen dynasty since the days of her grandfather King Jaehaerys II. The two stood at the center of it all, ready to face the dragon’s judgement.

“Who sent you?” Daenerys sternly asked the large eunuch. “And how did you find us?”

“Magister Illyrio did. He sent us to meet you in Qarth, silver queen. But when we stopped in New Ghis to resupply, they whisper that you already sail away from the city with your own ships, going west. We were about to follow your path, but then more recently docked sailors talked a lot about seeing a large fleet sailing north to Slaver’s Bay. Whitebeard here said it must be the queen, so we went and here we are.” The one called Belwas replied plainly. 

“Illyrio Mopatis sent you?” Dany asked, surprised and irked by the mention of him. “Whatever for?”

“Mhmm, he did. The fat man with the sweet stink says we are to be your guardians. The master also sent three of his ships to take the beautiful silver queen back to Pentos, where he offers his help and protection, to you and your dragons.” He grinned toothily, which provided for an amusing contrast to the man’s terrifying size.

So there it was. The cheesemonger discarded her when he thought her nothing, but now that she had birthed three living dragons, she had became a valuable asset to him yet again, and Daenerys had little doubt that the Pentoshi magister would leverage his past acts of largess to her and her brother in order to wring her of her new fortunes. Even just the thought of that alone made her want to tear her eyes out, but as soon as that feeling came, it left. Illyrio had no power here. 

This time, Daenerys Targaryen was no longer a puppet that he could simply play around with. 

“How… magnanimous of him.” She said rather irritatedly. “But I’m afraid I do not need his help, nor protection. I have my own guards, my own army, my own fleet, my own wealth and like you said, my very own dragons. And I have business to attend to here in Slaver’s Bay, so I won’t be going to Pentos anytime soon.”

The childlike smile faded from the giant eunuch’s face, replaced by a confused scowl. “But he said you need help.”

“Your master was woefully mistaken.” 

His scowl only deepened. “Then what am I going to do now?”

The burly man’s lack of tact should’ve vexed her, but something about his oafish nature had instead endeared him to her. Thinking of her upcoming plans in Slaver’s Bay, Dany decided not to dismiss the man’s offer. I shall earn this man’s loyalty soon enough.

“Well, I suppose one could always use more protection…” Dany considered. “How about you join us a while? You are welcome to stay as part of my retinue, until such a time comes when you may choose to return to your master.”

After contemplating her offer with near comic seriousness, Belwas nodded. “Okay, I stay with the silver queen until we get to Pentos.” 

“I may never go to Pentos.” 

“Then I keep you safe until we go to Pentos.” 

Dany could only smirk and nod at the large man’s simplistic earnest. “Very well, then. Welcome, Strong Belwas.”

His wide grin returning, the giant eunuch nodded excitedly in return. Turning to the second stranger, Daenerys inhaled deeply. Belwas was the easy one, she thought. This one will be harder. 

“And now you, ser.”

“Your Grace, I want to make it clear that despite my being here with Belwas, I am not here on the magister’s behalf. Illyrio found me and provided me with ships in search for you, and while I am certain he hoped I would do his bidding, I was merely using him as a means to an end… just so I could get to you.” The knight rushed to explain.

“Yes, I gathered as much.” Daenerys spat out. “Now tell me true. What business could a kingsguard of the Lannister boy-king have here in Essos?” 

“I am not here on the business of the Baratheons or Lannisters either, Your Grace.” The knight replied evenly. “I left their services before that runt came into the throne.”

Dany noticed that the knight, at the very least, had the decency to look guilty about the association. And while his answer should have alleviated her worries, there was still a lingering bitterness inside her that she couldn’t shake. 

“One doesn’t simply just abandon their kingsguard oaths.” Dany commented, delving deeper into her silent fury. “Though I suppose some have had more practice exchanging loyalties than others.”

When the knight visibly recoiled from her lashing, it made Dany almost regret her words. She didn’t mean for them to be spoken so harshly, but she couldn’t help herself. Her heart began racing once more then, just as it had the entire walk back to her ship after they disposed of the warlock dwarf’s body. 

As much as she tried to keep her face neutral, Dany knew that her frown had deepened into a terrifying scowl. The memory of the legendary knight having abandoned his oath to her family to instead serve the Usurper left her furious, yet conflicted all the same. 

Back in Asabhad, Arthur used to insist that his sworn brother did not have much of a choice in the matter, having been on the losing side at the Trident when he was forced to surrender. The Barristan Selmy I knew would have joined us in Essos if given the chance, he used to say. But in her mind, that chance was always available, only the man had simply squandered it.

He should have gone to them earlier, just as Ser Arthur Dayne had done.  

Her brother Viserys could have used Barristan the Bold's strength during their early exile. With his help, they could have stayed off the streets and perhaps help prevent her brother’s descent into despair and madness. Perchance in that better world, Viserys would still be breathing now… yet at the same time, something in her knew that that was merely wishful thinking.

“My queen, I-..” Barristan stuttered before gathering himself. “I took Robert’s pardon, aye. I will not make excuses for myself, I acted selfishly that day on the Trident by taking that easier and more convenient path. I had convinced myself that our cause was forever lost, so when I was given the chance to live, I accepted it. Instead of refusing it to keep my honour and hold true to my oaths to your family, I had served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I held dear. Nothing will excuse that, and for those choices I will forever beg your forgiveness, Your Grace… I made a lapse in judgement, one that was hard for me to live with all these years… but I knew I could no longer stay after Robert Baratheon ordered the deaths of you and your unborn child.” 

That took her by surprise. 

Her eyes crossed over immediately to Jorah, who looked down with a visibly pained expression, clearly remembering his own role in that ordeal. Turning back to Barristan, Dany fixed him a hard stare. “I want the whole truth now. On your honour as a knight, how did you come to know of that? Were you also a part of the conspiracy?” She asked carefully. 

Barristan shook his head firmly. “No, Your Grace. I would never… I only knew because, as Lord Commander of Robert’s Kingsguard, I had a seat in his small council.” He explained, frowning from the memory of that day. "I was actually in the chamber when the order was given, Your Grace, and was even one of the three voices in the council to object to such an abominable command. I told the king that if he were to go through with issuing his order then I could no longer serve him. When he stood firm, that had been the breaking point for me.”

Though joy began to bloom in her heart, Dany kept it from her face. “So the Usurper had no problem just letting you depart? He doesn’t strike me as such a forgiving man.”

“And you would be right to think that, Your Grace.” The whitebeard almost chuckled. “Robert Baratheon would have most likely tried smashing me with his warhammer for my impudence, had it not been for Eddard Stark’s intervention.”

“How did Ned Stark manage that?” Jorah said, frowning from behind.

“I'm not sure, but the man stayed both our hands, really. Lord Stark insisted we all took the night to let cooler heads prevail. He somehow had Robert convinced that I was merely upset in the moment, and that I held no actual stock to my words… only, I did mean them. So that very same night I ripped off the white armour bearing the crowned stag, fled the Red Keep in the cover of darkness, stowed away on a ship headed east and never looked back. That’s when Illyrio Mopatis found me in Pentos.”

Dany would be lying if she said his words didn't swell the already growing triumph in her heart and assuage her lingering fury, and yet that fury didn't completely vanish either. 

“Though I appreciate that you’ve seen the error of your ways, I must say I still feel somewhat conflicted, ser.” 

“You would be well within your rights to feel such doubts, Your Grace. But I assure you, my intentions are pure.” He said with quiet dignity. “The only thing I hope to do now is serve the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Is that what I am to you now?” Dany genuinely asked.

“Yes, without a doubt.” Barristan replied at once. “I am yours, if you will have me.” 

That very well may be… but one thing still nagged at her. 

“While that soothes me to hear, I must ask… what took you so long, Ser Barristan?” It hurt her to even ask, and she could feel the slight pricking of tears welling up in her eyes, but she had to know. 

“I do not condemn you for accepting the Usurper’s pardon in order to keep your life, especially when you thought all had been lost. But surely you must have had many doubts long before that one, of many, orders of assassinations from him-”

“Pardon, Your Grace, he what?” Barristan gaped in horror. 

“Sent assassins. We spent our entire childhood dodging them. One such knives even nearly succeeded with Viserys…” And would’ve too had it not been for his miraculous, and mysterious, recovery at the Red Temple, Dany thought silently. “Surely you would know that, as the Usurper’s Lord Commander.”

The man was silent for a long moment, clearly grief stricken, before he shook his head in contained anguish. “I- I never knew, Your Grace… I can assure you none in the council did before this recent one… if I did… if I did…”

Dany felt disgusted. So not only did the Usurper send hired knives to kill innocent children, but he was too ashamed to have even done this in the openness of his council. What a pathetic man… one who cannot even stand by his own actions.

“While I do not doubt your words, ser, by the gods, that monster still had his dogs butcher my innocent good-sister and her children in cold blood! How could you serve a man like that all these years? You betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys and I to live and die in exile!”

The knight’s face dropped down to the ground, heavy with discernible guilt, rubbing his hand uneasily at the back of his neck defeatedly. He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. 

“It- it might not mean much, but I hope you believe me when I say that such thoughts were a most constant and heavy strain on my heart… the guilt tore at my conscience daily, my queen.” He raised his head and looked up at her, tears in his eyes. “It was the very reason why many a nights throughout the years I would find myself on the precipice of a solemn decision; the decision to discard the white cloak and seek you and Prince Viserys in Essos. And yet, as close as I was to taking that leap, I never found the courage to go through with it because- uh.. because…”

Daenerys hung to the silence that seemed to stretch on, waiting for the rest of his explanation, before she realised that the knight was tongue-tied, as if afraid to even utter his next words.

“Go on.” Dany demanded of him.

“My queen, I do not wish to offend-”

“Only lies offend me, never honesty.” She assured him sternly, before adding softly. “I may have a dragon’s temper, but you must not let that ever deter you from speaking true to me.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” The knight nodded at her affirmation. “As I was saying, many times in the past I had come close to forsaking yet another vow, in this instance it was so I could go back to my true loyalties and seek you and Prince Viserys in Essos, but- forgive me, my queen, but you asked for truth… but even as a child, your brother Viserys seemed to be his father’s son… in ways that Rhaegar never did. And that gave me pause.”

Her heart fell at the insinuation. In just one sentence, the knight had shattered her made-up fantasy that he could have somehow saved her brother from himself. But that was never a possibility… even Barristan Selmy knew that.

“There is a reason why I bothered to hide my identity under a hood, my queen. Initially, I only created a false identity so the Lannisters would not know that I intended to join you. I realise now that such deception wouldn’t have been necessary… or even have worked, and I apologize for attempting to mislead you. But really, even that had simply been a ruse to conceal my true motive, Your Grace.” He paused slightly, before pushing through, meeting her steely gaze with his own.

“The truth is, I wanted to observe you for a time before pledging you my sword… to see whether you were a ruler worth serving… to make certain… that you were not…”

“Mad?” 

“…your father’s daughter.” He finished disquietly.

Daenerys should have been offended by the mere suggestion, but to do so would be utterly disingenuous. Her family’s recent history has made it abundantly clear just how rational of a choice Barristan had made in making sure she didn’t have the same… taint, as many in her family’s line of unworthy rulers were known to exhibit. If she were in the knight’s position, she might have acted similarly.

So in that spirit, she considered the sombreness of his words, before deciding to address the obvious head-on. “And what finally convinced you that I am indeed worth serving? Or is the verdict still out on my mental sanity?”

“Well, Your Grace, when you factor in even what little I’ve seen of you in this city, as well as all I’ve heard of your deeds and accomplishments in just this past year or so, it is evident that you are more like your brother Rhaegar, or your mother Rhaella, than you are Viserys or your father Aerys II. I'm beyond certain you are not the Mad King come again.” Barristan said with relative ease. “And then, defying all odds, I also saw Arthur Dayne standing with you. It quickly dawned on me that his death was a lie, and that he must have spent these missing years by your side. Yet, that also brought me great shame… to know that I could’ve joined you all much earlier, had I been as good a man as he.”

Upon hearing his words, Dany felt the need to temper the man’s guilt. “Well, Ser Barristan, it’s like a wise man once said; we mustn’t dwell on the past, it does no good to speak of roads not taken.” She smirked at Arthur then, before directing a restrained smile at Barristan. “I won’t hold you against the choices of your past.”

Smiling warmly, the knight nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace. It helps to hear you say that. I know my past choices are ones I must live with, good or bad. But at the very least I’m glad that in my regrettable absence, you had him with you.”

Dany knew no words were truer than that. “As am I, Ser Barristan. I couldn’t be more so.”

“I may not know the circumstances in which he survived the war… but this I do know; if he is the same person I was proud to once call my sworn brother, then I know that he, much like I, would never again serve an unworthy sovereign. If he had chosen to follow you, then my choice was clear. I knew then that I wouldn’t have to go on with the folly of observing you first. That is what convinced me, my queen.”

Barristan looked behind himself at Arthur then, and she saw a quiet exchange between the two that required no words to even be spoken. He turned to her once more, taking a steady breath before saying his next words. 

“Your Grace, I have served four kings in my lifetime, and none were worthy of that title, not like you are and will be. You, Daenerys Stormborn, are the trueborn heir of Westeros. For once in my life, I would like to know what it feels like to serve with honour, true honour… I believe that with you, neither I nor country could find any better as our sovereign.”

Daenerys felt herself flush at the man’s heartfelt words, knowing that he meant them with all sincerity. Barristan Selmy was many things, but a master of duplicity he was not. The knight was as earnest and genuine as they come, but this was not a choice that should be made on her own. 

“Blood of my blood.” She addressed her three loyal bloodriders in the guttural Dothraki. “Watch over these two men. If they so much as make a false move, disable them. But strike nothing fatal.”

All three immediately stood at the ready, scrutinising the large eunuch and white-haired Andal with added intensity in their scowls. Even her other Dothraki guards Kovarro, Quaro and Malakho looked ready to draw their bows and shoot the two strangers on sight should the need arise.

“I will need a moment with my queensguards. Please excuse us.” Dany said to Barristan, who gave a tense nod, and Belwas, who again smiled in a way that reminded her of an innocent child. 

Pointing her head sideways, she walked towards the ship’s forecastle, followed closely by Ser Arthur and Ser Jorah. Facing her two sworn knights, she gave them an expectant look. 

“Well, what do you think?” 

Though he had remained mostly quiet during the interrogation, she could tell that Arthur, like herself, had substantial qualms with Barristan’s choices post-rebellion. Yet despite that, she also knew that her father was equally eager to serve alongside his brother-in-arms once again. 

“I think you know what my answer would be, Your Grace. He made a terrible mistake, and though I can somewhat understand why he did, I would be lying if it didn’t trouble me that it took him this long to finally seek us.” Arthur admitted, rubbing at his neck slightly. “However, he is a good man. One of the best that I know. And none is more dutiful to the call of knighthood than he is. Barristan would make an excellent addition to our brotherhood, and he would ensure that dignity be restored to our order more than any other person living. I would easily trust him with your life, and mine.”

Nodding at her father’s answer, Dany turned to the northern knight. She knew that Jorah did not have the same history with Barristan as Arthur had, but she wanted his input all the same. 

“Pardon him, khaleesi.” He said easily. 

Surprised by his quick answer, Dany frowned in minor confusion. Jorah only shrugged in response. 

“Present actions speak louder than past failures. When it came down to it, your life mattered to him more than an oath that he made at the edge of an enemy’s blade. More importantly, having him beside you will help you gain allies once you return to Westeros. They will see it as a sign that Ser Barristan the Bold has returned to his old loyalties and that they should as well.”

Dany smiled at her bear. He had a cunning and straightforwardness that she always appreciated. While she knew Jorah’s occasional bluntness came from his northern upbringing, his cunning however, grew from the nadir of his life, when he was dealt with agonising betrayal and austerity. Something she could relate to all too well.

“Not to mention, you’ve also pardoned me for a more direct betrayal. Once a man has received such generous clemency, you would scarce find another more loyal. Believe me, I know from experience.” Jorah added with good humour. 

“Did you just crack a joke, Mormont?” Arthur chuckled. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Why don’t you go and cry to your friend over there, Dayne. Those tears were seconds from spilling, just minutes ago.” Jorah quipped back, earning a death glare from Arthur.

“Not the time, you two.” Daenerys chastised. 

After giving a sheepish nod, Jorah spoke once more. “Allow the man to earn your trust, khaleesi. Just as you allowed me to earn back mine.”

He was right… they both were. There was little reason for her to deny Barristan the opportunity to return to old loyalties, especially if they were his true allegiance in the first place. So what if he took a pardon from an enemy when death was what awaited him if he kept blindly fighting? It was true that a bloodrider would never do what he had done, but she wasn’t just a khaleesi. She was also Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And a queen should show mercy whenever prudent.

When she stood in front of the whitebeard again, she noticed how his pale blue eyes seemed almost sad, but that it also had a steel to it that she liked. The steel that marked a true knight. But before she could utter her next words, Barristan spoke up first. 

“Your Grace, if I may say something.”

“Please.” Dany nodded.

“I once swore an oath to protect your family… and in that, I have I failed miserably.” He paused, regret plain on his face, before going down on bended knee and looked up with a solemn look. “If you will have me, I shall work every single day, to the end of my days, to atone for my failures to you and your family, in any manner or capacity you deem me worthy to hold office. Whatever that may be, I will remain your ever faithful knight… should you find me deserving of such honour.”

“And if I decide you’re only worthy to be my page?” Dany asked only half-seriously. “Or perhaps my army’s cook?”

While at first taken aback by her reply, Barristan then smiled when he realised the jest. “Then I shall do so with my head held high and an apron around my growing waist, my queen.” He said with a quiet smile, which made her smile in return. 

“As much as Arthur would find that amusing, I don’t think you should be eager to start the cook’s fires just yet.” Dany replied lightly. “Since you are already on bended knee, I suppose the only thing left to do now is for you to hold a sword once more, ser.” Turning over to her father, she gave a quick order. 

“Ser Arthur, lend Ser Barristan your sword.” 

But Barristan it seemed, had other ideas. “Your Grace, if I may. My last sword I had abandoned at the Red Keep, and I have not touched one since. As much as I respect my brother, I will accept another sword only if it came from my queen.” 

“As you wish.” Dany turned to her Dothraki guards, speaking in their tongue once more. “Bring up the chest containing the gemstone swords from Valyria."

It didn’t take long for Kovarro and Malakho to come came back with the hefty treasure chest, and when they opened it, she saw Ser Barristan’s jaw drop.

“Your Grace… this is all Valyrian steel. How?” 

“To make a long and winded tale short; we went to Old Valyria and came back with the treasures… lots of it.” 

“Truly?” 

Dany nodded. “Pick the sword of your choice, ser.”

“You honour me, Your Grace.” He said, still somewhat shocked at the priceless pile. The man quickly went through the inventory of swords, before choosing a handsomely dark longsword with an encrusted light-blue hilt of opal.

“What shall you name your sword, ser?” She asked.

The man took the question seriously, and pondered for a moment. He then replied, his blue-eyes piercing her amethyst ones. “Save the Queen, Your Grace.” 

Dany smiled at him before she spoke solemnly. “Now I ask you to kneel once more, and swear the oath.”

Laying the blade before her on bended knee, he uttered the words with absolute conviction. “I pledge my sword and my life to you, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne of her ancestors. With my heart, soul, and all that is mine to give, I promise and swear upon my life and honour that so long as I draw breath and have strength in my body, I will serve you ever faithfully. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I vow to serve you and to obey you, come what may. This I swear, as all the gods as witness.”

“And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. I will keep your counsel and I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. This I swear, as all the gods as witness. Arise, Ser Barristan Selmy, third of my Queensguard.” Dany declared as she lifted him to his feet. Jorah was the first to congratulate him, shaking the knight’s hand. 

“Barristan Selmy. It’s an honour to be serving with you.”

“Likewise, Jorah Mormont… I- I commend you for all you’ve done for our queen…” He hesitated, before facing his queen. “I apologize if this might be an inconvenient time, Your Grace, but I must speak true. I'm not sure if you are aware of Ser Jorah’s role-”

“She’s aware.” The knight of Bear Island chuckled. At Barristan’s raised eyebrows, Dany nodded.

“The man speaks true. Ser Jorah's confessed and has received a pardon moons past. He wouldn’t be a part of my queensguard if he hadn’t done so.” 

Shoulders sagging in relief, Barristan smiled again.

“That comforts me to hear.” 

“She’s the true queen. It was the least I could do.” Jorah smiled in return. Arthur came up next, though their initial exchange was more awkward.  

“Selmy.” 

“Dayne.” 

The tension dragged on for a long moment, with the two trying to determine which of the other would be the first to take the first step of reconciliation. Then in an instant, the dam broke and they both leapt forward, embracing in relaxed happiness. 

“Welcome back, brother. It brings me joy to see you again.” Arthur exhaled, smiling wide. 

“Likewise, brother… I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I first saw you. I thought my old age was getting to me and my mind was starting to play tricks.” 

“It still might do so, old man.” 

“One of these days you’re going to have to tell me how you survived.”

“It’s a long story. But we’ll have time.”

“I’m sure we do.” Barristan chuckled and exhaled. “It’s good to finally be able to serve with worthy men again. These past decade or so had been the second worst period of my life, Arthur. Our order have been sullied in your absence. I loathed to bestow our esteemed white cloak to these men who could never deserve such honour. By the Seven, you should have seem them! Pathetic lot they were, and none could ever be worthy of a place among….”

As the two knights walked off to catch up on lost time, Dany smiled as she watched the fading exchange. She was delighted to see her father so openly gleeful. It gave her comfort to know that he was finally starting to slowly connect with parts of his old life again, a life she knew he had missed dearly. 

He was dutiful and ever loyal to her, that she knew to be an infallible truth, but he was also a person with his own lived life before he ever came into hers. Once we make it to Westeros, I’ll be able to reunite him with his family in Dorne, she thought in anticipation. 

That same night, Arthur helped Barristan shave his beard which had made Dany almost not recognise the man the next morning, appearing near ten years younger from the transformation. They were walking the quay into the city when she also noticed how the newest member of her queensguard seemed to be somewhat awkward in his new armour.

“Something wrong, Ser Barristan?”

Chuckling lightly, the knight gave a sheepish smile. 

“It’s the Valyrian-steel armour, Your Grace.” He gestured to his new dark armour. “I’m still getting accustomed to the lightness of the material. The armour we wear in Westeros are much heavier in comparison, so much so that this one makes me feel like I'm walking around in silk.”

The comment made her laugh, and she was glad for it too, as it was always good to start their day talking about light and pleasant things, especially when she knew discussions would soon take a darker turn. Ten-thousand strangled pups and ten-thousand butchered babes, she remembered. That was the price of Astapor’s Unsullied she planned on buying. 

“My queen,” Barristan started. “If I may speak…”

“Truth, remember.” Dany replied. “So long as your words are true then I shall have no qualms with your counsel.”

“I remember, my queen.” He smiled. “But what I’m struggling to understand is why you would proceed with this business with the slaver Kraznys.”

“I must grow my army, Ser Barristan.”

“But you have no need of slaves in your army, Your Grace. Your victory at Qarth, as well as your expedition in Valyria has left you with much wealth, more than enough to hire the entire swarth of sellswords in Essos and all the sellsails around the narrow sea besides.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.” She frowned slightly. “But verily it is unlikely I would hire sellswords and their seafaring counterparts at our current state… the guarantee of their loyalty leaves too much to be desired. The Unsullied, however, won’t pose such problems.”

“I’d wager there is a larger problem with the Unsullied, Your Grace. Should you land in Westeros at the head of a slave army, many will oppose you, plain and simple. They will see it as an abomination. There has been no slaves in the Seven Kingdoms for thousands of years, and if you change that, it will only do our cause great harm. Let us leave this abomination of a place. We and your Dothraki can keep you safe while your dragons grow.” 

It was the same chorus of words she had heard perhaps about half a hundred times from both Arthur and Jorah… words she knew to be somewhat right. She felt guilty about omitting her true intent, but she had a purpose in this city. She cannot be deterred.

“Let us worry about Westeros when we sail to Westeros, ser.” She chastised. “I am adamant about this transaction because I require obedience; absolute obedience. That is something I could never guarantee with swords purchased through gold. Unlike the sellswords in Essos or even the conscripts of smallfolk in Westeros, these trained warriors would never pillage or rape the people of the cities I look to conquer. I could prevent a sacking like the one in King’s Landing if I had the Unsullied. The only people they’ll kill are the ones I order them to; never more, never less. How could I not value that in any army?”

“But war is a messy affair, Your Grace.” Arthur chimed in. “You may never even guarantee that level of obedience with your Dothraki when you put them in open battle.”

“Do not question the Dothraki, Arthur. My khalasar would sooner traverse the cold and dark forests of Mossovy and make the demon-infested Grey Waste their new home before they ever go against my word.” Dany retorted. 

“That I don’t doubt, khaleesi, but I have to agree with them.” Jorah added uneasily. “If you mean to sit on the Iron Throne, that means blood will be spilt on your hands, no matter how hard you try to prevent it.” 

“I am aware that blood will be spilt, ser, I have killed before. But that does not mean I will tolerate the unnecessary spilling of it. With the Unsullied, I will minimise that.”

“Yet despite your best efforts, that still might not be possible, Your Grace. You may have killed before, but that’s not the same thing as engaging in warfare.” Jorah said quietly. “Collectively, the three of us has been in more wars than we care to count, and never once in all those wars could the thousands of innocents escape the deathly grip of war.”

“We have to at least try! Otherwise what is the point?” She lashed out. “The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly, but never the blood of innocents. I thank you for your counsel, but this transaction will go forward, is that understood?”

At their tense nods, Dany took a steadying breath. 

“Now enough of this, the slaver awaits us.”

Dany hoped that her harsh words were enough to deter them, because she had no desire to say any more. It was hard to not be completely forthcoming with her queensguards, above all her father, but Dany couldn’t tell them everything just yet. She would need them to still remain unaware… especially if she wanted the outcome she desired in today’s meeting. 

As her group continued to walk in relative silence, Daenerys contemplates what Rhaegar, whom Arthur and Jorah has repeatedly compared her to, would say about her purchase of an army of slaves. Her eldest brother had still inspired honour and loyalty amongst his men during his time despite the vile rumours surrounding his disappearance with Lyanna Stark… but what good did that do to him at the end? It certainly did not save him from dying at the Trident. 

Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honourably, and yet he died all the same, she remembered Jorah say, and it was a lesson she took to heart. If I want to be better than my predecessors, then I must act in ways they would never think of. 

Once they reached the residential pyramid of the House of Nakloz, the same Naathi translator from the previous day greeted them at the base entrance. The girl quickly ushered them in, and their journey inside the pyramid had made her feel just uneasy as she was standing with the Unsullied at the Plaza of Pride. Though Daenerys could not forget the brutality that earned the warrior eunuchs their reputation, she knew the throng of house slaves within the pyramid must have went through their own unique horrors, and it had filled her with added resolve. 

Soon they were being presented to the master of the House, as well as several other slave brokers in attendance, who all sat above them arrayed on a raised dais in the middle of the residential pyramid’s garden. There were eight of them in total, and each masterwore an array of different coloured fringe on their tokars; two wore silver, and the other five gold, colours which signified their status and wealth. Kraznys mo Nakloz, whose gold fringe on his tokar had white pearls attached to each of them, was the clear head of their order of Unsullied traders. 

Though the majority of the Good Masters had looked upon her group with genuine curiosity, one or two had followed Kraznys and employed no effort with subtlety in their looks of contempt and judgement. 

For today's occasion Dany had chosen to wear one of the new riding dress she recently had made, a bright lavender sleeveless frock that barely reached the ground and her Dothraki riding boots underneath, while her queensguard were decked out in their armours, though she still made sure to arm herself as well. Their appearance a stark contrast to the simple rags they wore the day before, and despite the change, Kraznys and his ilk still saw them as inferior.

Good. 

“Didn’t I say the whore would be back?” Kraznys mo Nakloz laughed haughtily with his fellows. “Let’s see how high we can charge the idiot and the smelly men she calls guards.”

“The Good Master Kraznys welcomes you and your men to his humble abode. It gives him great pleasure to see Her Grace back in our presence. The master bid you enjoy some refreshments.” The girl translated respectfully.

Dozens of slaves began to serve them fruits on silver platters and persimmon wine in silver flutes then, and each kept their gaze glued to the floor, Dany noticed. Thanking the slaver’s generosity, she took small bites and sips of the offering, knowing it was the proper thing to do. 

“Hurry up and ask the slut how many of my vermin she wants to buy already.” Kraznyz barked impatiently at the translator.

“If Her Grace still wishes to proceed, then the master would like to know how many Unsullied you intend to buy.” The girl broached politely.

“I do. But first, I would like to be reminded again how many Unsullied there are in the city, including the ones who have not earned their helm.” 

“This slut is truly a simpleton. Didn’t we tell her just the other day?” Kraznys said, sounding vexed after the question was translated for him. After a slight coaxing by his fellow slavers, the man sighed and took a sip of the wine next to him held up by one of his slave boys. “Fine, tell the cow what she wants to know then, and be quick about it.”

“The master is happy to remind you that there are ten-thousand fully trained Unsullied ready for purchase, Your Grace. There is also an additional six-thousand who have yet to earn their helm. Though they have been fully-trained, cut and are rid of their training pup, they simply have not passed the final test…” The girl paused slightly, discomfort showing momentarily, before continuing after an awkward cough. “As the masters were worried about a shortage of babes in the slave market.”

Her heart stopped, and for a second all Dany could hear was the blood rushing in her head before she heard the girl speaking again after her master spoke in Valyrian.

“The Good Masters say that if you wish, you may visit Astapor again in a year or two from now, when the six-thousand would have earned their helm, Your Grace. They would gladly sell you more Unsullied then.”

“No, I would have them now.” Dany replied. “All of them.” 

“All?” The scribe was perplexed. “Your Grace, did this worthless one mishear you?” 

“You did not. I want to buy them all. Please do let the Good Masters know.”

After a short translation, the other Good Masters of Astapor began arguing among themselves in greedy tones while Kraznys merely smirked and only joined in sparingly. She heard only bits of their exchange, but the scribe eventually gave her the group’s general consensus, though the girl left out many of the charming insults sent her way. 

“The Good Masters say that they cannot, in good conscience, sell you unfinished boys, Your Grace. Even if they have been cut and fully-trained, they are still not Unsullied because they have not killed their sucklings, and thus had yet to earn their coveted helm. Without that final test, it will all but guarantee their failure in the field, and that would bring great shame to all of Astapor.” The girl said in the Common Tongue, though Dany could still hear stray arguments in Valyrian by the slavers.

“This is folly. What would we do when the next buyer who comes to seek Unsullied find our city barren of them? We would be made fools.” She heard one of the fat slaver with the gold fringe tokar say.

“Simply tell him he must wait!” Dany heard a fatter man whose fringe was silver argue. “Surely gold in our purses now is better than potential gold in our future. A beggar queen this girl may be, but her gold is still good.”

But in the end, it was Kraznys who ended their debate. “Tell the slut that ten-thousand are still all we would sell her. The rest she can come back for in another year or so, if the cunt is still lucky enough to be alive in that time.”  

When she heard the translation, Dany remained adamant. “I would have them all or none at all. I am seeking to reclaim my birthright, and many will fall in the pursuit of that. I shall need the extra soldiers to take up the swords the Unsullied drop. In fact, I will pay as much for the boys who have not earned their spiked helm as for the Unsullied who has.”

The translation only vexed Kraznys further. “Doesn't this stupid cow know the meaning of no? She thinks she can just show her slut tits in a new dress and we’d give her whatever she wants.”

“The Good Master Kraznys feels he has already been generous in that he is willing to sell you all ten-thousand of the city’s ready Unsullied, Your Grace. He urges you to take the openhanded offer.”

Dany feigned a frown. “How about if I pay double if I get them all?” 

“Double?” The other one in the silver fringe said, practically salivating at the prospect.

“You’re right, Kraznys. This beggar queen is truly a dumb slut.” One of the other slaver with the gold fringe tokar said. “She might be foolish enough to pay triple, if we make her desperate enough.”

Kraznys took that challenge for himself when he spoke for the group. “Triple the price, and half of your fleet of ships.” 

That was already far beyond what one would normally pay for the Unsullied, but she had expected that. Once the translation was done, Dany counter-offered.

“Double the price and a fifth of my ships.”

“Triple the price and half of your ships.” He repeated.

“Fine… triple the price, but none of my ships. That should be well worth mere eunuchs. I still need my ships to sail west.” Dany said after the translation, whining slightly.

Hook…

“The stench of her desperation reeks of piss.” One of the slavers with the gold-fringed tokars mocked. “At this point the slut will pay anything. Maybe for ten times the price.”

“No, I can do better than that…” Kraznys said in the Astapori Valyrian, smiling to his fellow slavers before he turned to his translator. “The slut may keep her ships, her gold, and she may have all sixteen-thousand Unsullied… if the cunt gives us her dragon.”

“No.” Daenerys said immediately after the girl spoke, making sure to show visible doubt and hesitation. “Five times the price.”

“Five times the price?” One of the gold fringed slavers laughed.

“She would never give us the dragon, take the gold!” The fat one in silver said.

“Take it!” Another said. 

“No, the bitch is truly desperate now. I want the dragon, and this pale whore will give it.” Kraznys greedily replied his fellows, before turning his attention back to her. “Dragon or no Unsullied.”

Dany visibly hesitates, but declines. 

“Then tell the whore to leave our city.” He spoke to the translator.

When the girl was about to usher them out of the pyramid, Dany knew the time for games was over.

“One dragon.” She said. “No gold, no ships. For every single Unsullied in the city, helm and no helm. My final offer.”

Line…

While the girl translated for Dany, all three of her queensguards thunderously raise their protests in a flurry of shouts and impassioned pleading.  

Excellent, Daenerys thought. Let the Good Masters think that her own men viewed her offer as outrageous. Once she saw those thoughts take hold in the slavers, Daenerys chastises her knights with a single look, awaiting their collective answer from their leader Kraznys. 

But the answer was plain to see; she could see it in the gleam of his eyes and the smile the slaver tried so hard to conceal. Astapor had an endless supply of slaves but there were only three living dragons in all the world… and if there was one thing the Ghiscari wanted more than anything, it was dragons. 

How could they not? Five times had Old Ghis contended with Valyria and five times were they defeated. For the Freehold had dragons, and the Ghiscari had none.

Kraznys, thinking he won, gleefully smirked at his fellow slavers. “What did I say? I told you the cunt would take it. We shall all agree to her terms then?” 

After all seven had nodded to Kraznys, he turned back to Dany and tried speaking to her in the Common Tongue, without the translator.

“Done.” He said roughly.

Sinker.

“Done.” She replied in the same tongue. 

Though Daenerys felt enormous triumph that the slaver had taken her bait, she showed zero signs of it. In fact, she even went out of her way to show visible signs of doubt to ensure this. But before she left, Dany looked at the translator and spoke to Kraznys. 

“Would I be correct to assume that the Unsullied have no knowledge of the Common Tongue?” She asked, the slave girl rendering her words to her master, who only nodded in affirmation. 

“Then I shall take this translator. Your gift to me, as a token of a bargain well-struck.” Dany said with a small smile.

Kraznys mo Nakloz rolled his eyes after the translation and gave a lazy flick of his wrist to allow it. Though it was clear he could care less about personally losing one of his slaves, Dany wasn’t sure how the translator herself thought of being handed over, as the girl had a knack for hiding her feelings with distinct skill. 

Satisfied as she was, her queensguards however were not having as easy of a time with the outcome of the negotiation, though they kept their silence well enough. She commended them for holding it together as long as they did, which lasted only until they were back out on the streets of Astapor, seemingly ready to burst. Dany interrupted them before they could utter a single word.

“I know I have preached endlessly that I would accept each of your counsel, and I would never dare wish that any of you would ever fear to speak your mind with me… but to question me like that in front of strangers, that I will not tolerate. Don’t ever repeat that mistake again, is that understood?” 

Unhappy as they were, her knights nodded. “Good. You won’t have to hold your tongue much longer, the faster we make it back to the ship, the faster you’d be able to speak freely.” She said as she turned away and began walking, followed closely by the three and the translator. 

As they walked in relative silence, Dany ushered the young woman to walk beside her.

“Do you have a name?” She asked in the Common Tongue. 

“This one’s name is Missandei, Your Grace.”

“Missandei.” She tested it on her tongue. “A beautiful name.” 

Unsure what to say to the compliment, the scribe nodded meekly while keeping her gaze to the ground.

“You will serve as one of my handmaids, Missandei, and I’d also like you to speak for me as you spoke for Kraznys.”

“Yes, Your Grace. This one will gladly serve you.” 

“Do you have a home or any family you would sooner return to, if given the choice?” 

“Uh-… no, Your Grace… there is no place for this one to go…” Missandei said, though she sounded unsure. 

“You serve me now, and the among the things I expect from the people in my service is for them to always speak true to me.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Lying is a grave offence. Many other slaves have been punished greatly for less.”

“You won’t need to fear such retribution from me.” Dany said soothingly. “Now tell me, what were you going to say before you held your tongue?”

“This one assures you, Your Grace, that this one did not lie. This one has no home to return to, as this one’s parents are dead… however, this one’s brothers still live yet.”

“Were they also taken as slaves in Naath?” Dany asked.

“They- they were, Your Grace.” 

“Where are they? If they are in this city, I could buy them so they could be close to you, if you’d like.”

“You already did, Your Grace.” Missandei’s voice had gone soft, and she lowered her eyes once more. “When you traded your dragon for the Unsullied.”

Her heart froze. This was why Missandei had a harder time concealing her feelings during the presentation of the warrior eunuchs. The strength it must have taken for her to be so close to one's family yet unable to reach them… it was the kind of unyielding inner strength one would need to be able to survive the life she’s had. Dany could only admire such fortitude. 

“How many?”

“Two, Your Grace.” She replied more evenly. “The third-… he didn’t survive the training.” 

Her heart wept for the girl. What a terrible way to lose someone so dear… and all in the name of mindless brutality. 

“So it is all true then. Everything your former master spoke about the Unsullied. Their training… their utter fearlessness… their inhumanity.” 

“Every word, Your Grace.”

“They truly feel no pain?”

“The wine of courage have burned it out of them. By the time they… pass the final test, they would have been drinking it for years.”

“And they’re truly so obedient?”

“Obedience is all they know. They would find it easier to fall on their swords, or not breathe, than not to obey. Once they are yours, they are yours.” 

Dany nodded. “I am going to war. But once I have won, my soldiers would simply sheathe their swords and return to their lives… but it seems the Unsullied have no lives. What do I do with them when there are no more battles to be fought? Does their obedience extend so far for them that they would accept freedom if I gave them the choice?” 

The girl’s eyes went wide at the question, utterly puzzled at the unprecedented notion. “This one begs your forgiveness, Your Grace, but this one does not know the answer to that.” 

Dany frowned in worry at that, which Missandei mistakenly took as a master’s dissatisfaction. “Or might this one suggest that Her Grace keep them? Unsullied make fine guards and excellent watchmen… or perhaps sell them again. It will be easy to find a buyer for battle-tested Unsullied.”

She raised her eyebrows, and asked pointedly. “Then say I do resell them, but their new master is my enemy… would they fight against me? Would they do me harm, even if I had been their master just moments before?” 

“If that is what their new master commanded, then they would not question it, Your Grace.” 

Absorbing the words, Dany nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for your candour, Missandei.” She smiled at the translator. “What were their names before they were taken?” Dany then asked curiously.

“One was called Mossador, and the other Marselen, Your Grace.” Missandei replies downcast with misty eyes.

“I shall find them for you once the Unsullied have been handed over to me.” Dany reassured her.

The group had arrived back to the Queen Rhaella in no time, where Belwas, her Dothraki bloodriders and her handmaids were waiting for them. 

“The horsemen make good horse meat, silver queen. Would you like to eat?” He said happily, offering Dany pieces of dried horse meat.

“No, thank you, Belwas. Please enjoy them for yourself.” She swept past the huge eunuch and immediately introduced Missandei to her handmaids, asking them to help the Naathi get acquainted.

“If you speak Dothraki, it would make their lives, and yours, much easier.” Dany addressed Missandei.

“This one speaks the tongue of the horselords, Your Grace.” The scribe replied, with a hint of pride in her eyes. What a promising young woman, she thought.  

“One last thing.” Dany said before the girls left. “I understand this might be a tough ask for you Missandei, but I would need you to stop referring yourself as ‘this one.’”

“If this one has offended-”

“No, you didn’t. I ask you this because you are a person, with a name and dignity. I already know you to be intelligent and clever, so when you speak of yourself, I want you to reflect that.” She smiled at her, hoping to reassure the girl. “You may be serving me now, but I am not a master. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace. This one- I shall adjust to your request.”

Dany nodded as the girls took their leave, and then began walking towards the captain’s cabin, followed closely by her three red-faced queensguards. 

“Come, we shall speak.” 

The walk had been tense, and it shouldn’t have surprised her that not a moment after the door was shut, that they all begin loudly protesting her terms of agreement with the slavers. 

“Your Grace, this is ludicrous! The Astapori have cheated you! A dragon is worth countless times more than any living army in the world!” Barristan began. 

“The man speaks true, khaleesi! You will win the throne with dragons, not slaves.” Jorah added.

“You cannot mean to do this!” Arthur said confused. “The girl I know would never agree to this! If I hadn’t known any better, I would say the woman standing in front of us is actually a faceless man wearing Daenerys Targaryen’s face, and not our queen.”

After she allowed them to vent out their frustrations, Dany gave them a blank look. “Are you all finished?” 

Heavy breathing and deep frowns were all that answered her, and she returned to them some silence of her own. Dany crossed the room to where her dragons were resting, coiled together in tangles on a pile of pillows, seeing how they were looking up at the slight commotion made by their mother and her knights with sleepy eyes.

“Have you no faith in me at all?” She asked as she caressed her three children, alternating between them, though Drogon bullied their way to be the sole recipient of her attention. Drogon looped their neck around to nip at her hand. Though all their teeth were very sharp, her dragons never broke her skin when they played like this. Dany laughed, and rolled Drogon back and forth until they roared, their tail lashing like a whip. 

It is longer, and thicker, than it was yesterday, she saw, and tomorrow it will be longer still.  

“Did you truly believe that the Mother of Dragons would ever sell her children? To wretched slavers no less?” 

While Barristan and Jorah still looked perplexed and waited for further explanation, Arthur burst out laughing. “I knew it! I knew you must have been up to something!” 

She smiled at her father.

“And I knew you would be the hardest to convince.” She retorted slyly. 

“So… this was all a mummery?” Barristan asked, astounded.

“Ser Jorah, summon my bloodriders.” She commanded to the knight of Bear Island. Dany stayed silent despite the unanswered question by her queensguard, until Jorah returned with Aggo, Jhogo and Rakharo. These six were the only ones she could trust with her ruse, and it was high time they knew of it.

“What I am about to tell you cannot leave these four wooden walls of my cabin.” 

That night after she had set her world in order, Daenerys spent hours with her dragons, assuring them to trust their mother in the gambit she is about to pull off. I could change the world if this works… it won’t just be about the throne any longer. 

She was grateful for the mental connection she shared with her children, and how it had continued to grow stronger as they days passed. It made her confident that they would play their parts well.

But as confident as she was in her plan, Dany had a restless sleep. That night in her dreams, she saw herself riding to the Trident like Rhaegar did all those years ago, leading a great host… but she was mounted on a dragon instead of a warhorse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel army across the river, she saw that they were armoured all in ice instead of iron. Following her instinct, she rode to the skies before diving and raining down dragonfire, melting her icy foes. 

The last thing she saw before she woke up was the water from the melted ice swelling the Trident into a tsunami, threatening to drown her. 

Chapter Text

299-300AC

Daenerys half-expected to wake up and find herself submerged deep in icy waters after the dream she had. But instead she found herself warm as a furnace, cuddling in the midst of her children’s heated bodies. It made her feel strong… they made her feel strong, as strong and fierce as she felt the morning of her wedding day to Drogo.

She remembered that particular dream, and how her being bathed in the dragon’s flames had preceded a similar feeling of rejuvenating strength. 

A prophetic dream the vision turned out to be…  

And last night’s dream with yet even more ice creatures gave her the impression that this dream was perhaps no different, and had been a prophetic one as well. Though the thought frightened her, Dany knew she couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. 

Not today of all days. 

“You know what to do. Remember to look for the signal.” Dany said to her three handmaids as she carried Drogon to the deck of the ship.  

After all three nodded at her command, Dany preceded to whisper sweet assurances to Drogon of her plans once more to ensure their cooperation, and then usher them into a makeshift cage on a cart, fastening them with steel chains. Though they were only meant to be temporary, it didn't stop her from feeling guilty for putting her child in chains. A necessary farce, she reminded herself.

Her dothraki bloodriders had already left her flagship earlier in the morning to ready her khalasar outside, and after confirming with her handmaids over her fleet’s security, Dany left the ship, leaving behind a sizeable host to protect them, her two other children, her fleet and its contents. The retinue she brought was minimal, only bringing her three queensguards, Missandei and Belwas, along with Kovarro, Quaro, and Malakho, and half a dozen Dothraki warriors who rode on horses and hauled the cart Drogon was kept in behind them. 

Dany had armed herself today, wearing her Valyrian-steel chainmail, as she always does, underneath her scale armour of the same material, and her dual mithril swords strapped to her back. Her knights were similarly dressed ready for battle in their full dark Valyrian-steel armours, knowing full well what was coming.

As they walked the quay towards the harbour gate and passed by the cattle of newly capture slaves being brought to their new dwelling, it made Dany reflect of her own experience being sold.

A sudden sense of shame then overcame Daenerys for having taken this long to realise, with glaring clarity, that her anguish was not equivalent to those suffering in this city. In fact, they never could be. 

For too long since Pentos did Dany see herself a victim of slavery, but in truth she could never fully relate to the horrors these slaves must have went through, and the contrast of her own experience to one like Missandei’s made that all the more abundantly clear. 

Viserys may have sold her like a slave to Drogo, but that doesn’t mean she was ever truly enslaved… at least, not in the authentic sense. Daenerys still held a proud title, a handful of guardians, dedicated handmaids, a degree of autonomy and she even had a name… things slaves could never have. 

The only common factor between her and the enslaved were the totality of their worth being mere property to their owner. It was a sad reflection, but despite their blossoming love, Dany knew Drogo never could stop seeing her as his possession, as, to a khal, the concept of a khaleesi was inexplicably tethered to that of personal property. Drogo may have learned to love her within that constitution, just as she learned to love him, but in the end, he still couldn’t stop seeing her as his exotic acquisition. 

While he may have treated her more than just his khaleesi throughout their marriage, Dany couldn’t forget that he had still bought her all the same. It was the reason why he had reacted as violently as he did to her brother’s foolish act of defiance. For when you threaten a khal’s wife and child, you threaten the khal’s properties. She was his broodmare, someone he bought with the intent of producing an heir… an heir Viserys threatened with a sharp blade in their sacred city.

It was this same kind of rationale that must’ve been one of the factors that pushed the Usurper to abandon reason and oppose her brother and engage in his seditious rebellion. The man saw the lady Lyanna as his prize to keep, his woman, not taking care the possibility that she never loved him and had found love elsewhere.

That way of thinking will never belong in the world she hopes to build. In the new world order, no person, man or woman, would be sold like property ever again. 

For a brief moment Daenerys allowed herself to imagine a future when that world has been built and was enduring, and in that dream of spring when all the wars have been fought, Dany wondered if she’ll ever find love again. Perhaps with a man who would love her for who she is, instead of simply being the mother of his children. It was a silly thought, as she could never have children.. and who could love a wife who cannot bear children? 

No… If I look back I am lost, Dany told herself. I must remain focused on the present.

The presentation of the trade was being held at the Plaza of Punishment, as the Plaza of Pride that these transactions would normally be conducted in was far too small to hold all the Unsullied she intended to take. Much like the Walk of Punishment along the city’s port, there were also numerous platforms here where rebellious slaves were tortured for their alleged wrongdoings. To her great horror, she saw freshly hanged bodies being grotesquely displayed near the gates of the city as she passed by.

“I assume the Good Masters placed them here so they would be the first thing new slaves sees when they enter the city through the front gates?” Dany asked Missandei, trying hard to hide her contempt. 

“Her Grace would be correct to assume so. It is much like the Walk of Punishment near the quay this way; no matter where the new slaves enter the city, they will know the price of disobedience.” She answered evenly. 

From her vantage point, Dany had initially thought the slaves were forcibly branded to mimic the striped look of the zorses the Jogos Nhai preferred and prized, as some sort of grotesque mark of shame, until a closer inspection made it clear that the darker parts of their flesh were in fact blood red and raw, with flies and maggots feeding on the exposed flesh.

“Only those who commit the worse crime receive such a penalty.” Missandei offered, as if anticipating her lingering question. 

“And what crime is that?” Dany asked flatly.

“Daring to raise a hand against their owners.”

Dany didn’t just feel disgust as her group began to make their way towards the center of the plaza, she also felt her inner fire blaze all the greater inside, steeling her resolve.

Kraznys had all sixteen-thousand Unsullied soldiers put on display; ten thousand standing in their helm, while the other six thousand remained bareheaded under the sun. 

Ten thousand dead babes and sixteen thousand strangled dogs, her mind screamed.

At the central dais, Kraznys mo Nakloz stood to greet her with an ornate whip in his hand, and standing behind him were what appeared to be nearly all the Good Masters of the red city, arrayed with their own personal slaves tending to their every need, feeding them wine and fresh fruits. At the forefront in the attendance were the wealthiest, most powerful and influential slavers of Astapor; every one of them wanted a close seat to bear witness the trade, eager to see the majesty of dragons with their own greedy eyes. 

“Look at the stupid whore playing dress up.” Kraznys said in Valyrian, laughing heartily to his fellows. “Now that she is about to have a real army she thinks she can just hold a sword, put on armour and delude herself into thinking she can command an army like an actual general.”

“The Good Master Kraznys is pleased to see you on this auspicious morning, Your Grace.” Missandei translated deliberately. “He says the army is yours, if you can pay.”

“I can.” Dany replied evenly. 

“They are untested.” Missandei translated when her former master began to speak again. “The Good Master Kraznys says it would be wise to blood them early.”

“Be sure to also remind the slut that it’s a long way to her savage homeland, with many cities in between here and there, ripe for sacking. When my Unsullied give her the victories she desires, she should take captives, and when she does, tell her I would be willing to buy the healthy ones… for a good price, of course. Perhaps in ten years, those same captives could one day be Unsullied in their own right after I'm done with them. Thus all shall prosper.” Kraznys said with Missandei rendering his words to her much more respectfully. 

Yes, she thought. The Unsullied will have their first test soon enough… but not the kind the slaver expects.

Dany walked back to the litter her Dothraki had placed just a few steps behind her, where Drogon was resting inside his makeshift cage. As she walked past her queensguards, she saw how they wore their masks well, looking ready to protest, wearing bitter and obvious scowls that made it clear to the slavers watching just how much they disagreed with their queen’s foolish transaction.

After opening the cage flaps, she found Drogon coiled into a ball, wings and tail tucked tight. Dany unfastened one end of the chain, and gave a slight yank, making her black dragon raise their head, hissing. 

Play your part well, and give him hell, my sweet. 

Drogon unfolded their wings then and took to the skies, rising only to the end the chain would allow, but still high enough that the entire congregation of slavers could see the magnificence of dragons. The entire crowd in the Plaza had gasped in amazement, and begun to chatter away in envy, with Kraznys mo Nakloz smiling broadly as her child’s shadow was coming ever closer to him.

As Daenerys walked closer toward Kraznys, she thought of how she had never seen such avarice and satisfaction on a person’s face before. His eyes focused on her child with pure greed, never once leaving the dragon’s black and scarlet body. A sudden rush of gratification and tranquility then washed over her as she stood facing him. 

Dany handed the slaver the end of Drogon’s chain, and in return he eagerly presented her with the whip with the golden harpy pommel, not even once bothering to look at her. Turning the whip in her hand, Dany felt the distinct hollowness of the object. 

Such a light thing, to bear such a weight.

“It is done, then?” Dany asked in the Common Tongue. “They belong to me?”

“It is done.” The slaver declared, translated closely by Missandei. He was already busy fighting for dominance with her child, tugging at the chains hoping to control his new purchase that was trying to fly higher and escape. “She holds the whip. The barbaric idiot has her army of vermin… and I own a dragon.”

Soon the plaza fell uncomfortably silent as Daenerys walked back towards the Unsullied. Nearly all within the plaza were rendered speechless, with no sounds disturbing the momentous moment, save but rattling of the chains and the loud protesting cries of her child.

This was it… there was no going back. The die is cast. It is time to cross the Trident.  

“UNSULLIED!” Daenerys shouted in Valyrian, which was answered by the unified pounding of sixteen thousand shields. 

“FORWARD MARCH!” 

Sixteen thousand marched…

“HALT!”

And sixteen thousand halted. 

Smirking in gratification, Dany turned to glimpse the crowd behind her. While most were still too distracted by her dragon in the air, Dany spotted a few eagle-eyed figures including the gold-fringe tokar wearing slaver she recognised as Grazdan from the pyramid the day before, as well as Missandei, both scrutinising Dany in disbelief over her perfect command of Valyrian. Kraznys mo Nakloz however, in his contemptuous ignorance, was still yanking and tugging at Drogon’s chains, unaware. 

“Tell the bitch her dragon won’t listen!” He berated to Missandei. 

“A dragon is not a slave.” Daenerys addressed him in Valyrian. 

A look of complete petrification overcame his features before it morphed into an ugly grimace. “You speak Valyrian?!”

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, scion of Old Valyria and the blood of the dragon. Valyrian is my mother tongue.”

Dany glimpsed a smirking Missandei and a mortified Grazdan and Kraznys before she turned back to address her new army. 

“UNSULLIED!” She raised the harpy whip in the air. “Slay the Good Masters! Slay every Good Master that wears a tokar or holds a whip! But harm no child! Disarm every soldier who do not surrender! Strike off the chains of all the slaves in this city and free them! TO FREEDOM!”

No sooner had she finished giving out the commands did the Unsullied begin to execute them with deadly precision and efficiency. All around them slavers begged, and cried, and sobbed and died.

“SPEARS!” Kraznys cried in a panic. “I am your master! Defend your masters! Stop them and kill the whore!”

In response, Daenerys turned to him and coldly muttered a single word. 

“Dracarys!” 

Drogon’s black jaws opened up and released a torrent of flame that incinerated the slaver within seconds. As the charred and crumbling remains of Kraznys hit the ground, the Plaza of Punishment descended into pure chaos. 

The remaining Good Master were shrieking, stumbling, shoving and tripping over one another trying to escape, only to be met with Drogon’s maws of death, flying over them in quick circles incinerating them one by one in a lazy pass.

Upon hearing two more near-identical shrieks fill the air, she knew that her handmaids had released her two other children and that they have joined in the fray. Looking overhead, she saw Viserion and Rhaegal had taken to the skies and were neutralising all the Good Masters’ loyal soldiers on the battlements and pyramids with their larger sibling.

The skies of Astapor was taken with three dragons in the air… and it was a most wondrous sight. 

Then shrieks of the horselords informed her that her bloodriders had successfully allowed her khalasar into the city. Earlier in the day, she had commanded her kos to have her khalasar ready in locking down the city, and gave strict instructions to her Dothraki to not loot, rape or pillage once it begins, instructions she knew they would follow. Bloodshed would be contained to the absolute minimum today.

When her queensguards began to assist with the revolt, the slave soldiers of Astapor had quickly surrendered once they understood what was happening, many even joining the Unsullied in carrying out her orders. With the combined might of the Dothraki, Unsullied, Astapori soldiers and her three dragons under her command, Daenerys overthrew the Good Masters with no difficulty. 

Her gambit had succeeded. Astapor was conquered. The city is now hers.  

And once the violence was done, the Unsullied did not so much as crack a smile to celebrate overthrowing their despots. Rank on rank on rank, they stood, reforming their orderly lines, and did not move. Dany knew then it was time to address them.

She walked toward the gathered Unsullied and Astapori soldiers, before mounting her silver that Rakharo, messy with the blood of foul slavers, had brought to her. 

“UNSULLIED!” She addressed them in Valyrian. “Today you woke up as slaves, but now you are free! Any person who wishes to leave may leave, and no harm will come to them. I give you my word!” 

Dany slowed her gallop then, crying out her next proclamation. “Or you may choose to stay, and together we will fight a revolution to build a better world, free from slavery! Will you fight with me?! As free men?!”

The initial silence was deafening, and all she could hear was the rapid beating of her own heart. The assembled soldiers remained quiet for a long while, hesitant to take the leap, until one brave Unsullied began to beat his spear against the ground, signifying his allegiance to her. The one turned to ten, and the ten turned to hundreds, before it crescendoed until the entire field of former slaves willingly followed suit, pounding their spears proudly, unified to serve alongside their new queen.

It was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. 

Smiling, she looked over to her queensguards and thought of how she had never seen her father look more proud. Dany threw the golden harpy totem in the air then, where her dragons burned it mid-flight and melted it, signifying the end of slavery in the red city forever.

Now as the new interim ruler of Astapor, Daenerys decided to stay and govern the city to make sure the situation stabilised. “I will not let those we have freed slide back into chains… I will do as queens do. I will rule.” She told her men. 

With absolute determination, Dany vowed to turn Astapor into a utopia, and thus the hard work began from that day onward… work that would eventually take her a year and a half to accomplish. It was a tough few months in the beginning, but in the end Astapor had finally begun to prosper. Not an easy feat, when she had to shift their entire economy away from the slave trade.

“I suppose some credit should be given to you for all this. If I hadn’t been educated by you on worldly matters, I don’t believe I would have succeeded as much as I have.” Dany smirked at her mentor as they walked through the now lively city streets, with many of the citizens of former slaves and even masters smiling and cheering at her passing.

“I may have introduced to you the knowledge, but it was you who made this happen, Queen Daenerys.” Iroh said sincerely, before returning a smirk of his own. “But if you would like to give me credit, then I shall welcome it. Though I suppose Dane, or shall I say Arthur, over there was a big help too in your education.”  

As they walked through the market, they were followed closely by her father, who smiled at the mention.

“Thank you, Iroh. I’m glad someone finally appreciates me.” He said playfully. 

Dany laughed at their banter, as it reminded her of simpler times in Asabhad. They were a long way from that past, but she was glad to have Iroh in her life again. He had just arrived in the city, finally able to determine her location and seek her out after receiving the missive she sent nearly two years ago from Qarth. But their time apart had only made her grow fonder of her mentor. 

“And uncle Iroh, please. It feels odd for you to call me that. Just Dany is fine.” Dany said, interrupting the man before he could say anything. “Aht aht, I am queen now, so what I say goes. And I insist… at least when it’s just between us.” 

Laughing heartily at her stubbornness, Iroh could only nod and decided to change the subject. “This city looks much different than the last time I had been here decades ago. Much improved.” Iroh pointed out. 

“Yes, I suppose it does. It is not the debilitating city that it once was when I first arrived either. Much has changed in that time, and the entirety of it is due to the hard work by the Astapori people.” Dany replied. “And maybe a few rare Valyrian books might have sped that progress along.”

“It truly is quite remarkable, that one story. Of all the things you have accomplished, including bringing dragons back to the world, the one about going to Valyria is one of the most unbelievably impressive.” 

“You would have loved the place, Iroh.”

“That I do not doubt.” He smiled with his signature twinkle. “I assume you used the treasures from that expedition to help fund this city’s reconstruction.”

“In a manner of speaking, but most of the funds actually came from the citizens themselves, when I redistributed the wealth of the Good Masters to its rightful owners; the former slaves and the city itself.”

“Reparations.” Iroh nodded. “A wise decree. Though not a popular one among the surviving class of slavers, I’d wager.”

“No, they weren’t happy. But they also had no choice. Either they willingly give their slaves equitable financial reparations and keep their remaining wealth for cooperating, or have it all be forcefully taken away and then be left with nothing. In the end, the choice was easy.” 

Dany may have tried painting that chapter of the transition period as simple, but it was anything but. Rather, it was a period of disarray and friction, as more than two thirds of the city’s Good Masters had perished the day of the liberation, and the remaining third was initially, and unsurprisingly, resistant to her aggressive reconstruction of their society. 

“There is no true chance for justice or change without accountability.” She had declared, and the first step of that accountability was the reparations act she had introduced. It was one of the boldest of her directives, and one that would permanently upend Astapor’s societal status quo by giving economic power to the former slaves, an entire sect of the population that previously had none.

And it started off well in the beginning, when Dany only took the wealth of the families of Good Masters who had no surviving members, and had their assets be absorbed by the city’s new government, where a portion of that wealth had been used to fund their now freed slaves’ financial restitution, while the rest were used to finance projects for the reconstruction period of Astapor. But when she ordered the same done to the surviving masters, it had gotten a mixed reaction among the citizenry. 

While some of the freed slaves applauded her restraint, there were many others, in the rawness of the new order, who thirsted for blood and would have rather the surviving masters to be put to the sword instead of having the option to live in their stolen wealth. 

Eventually the compromise came in the form of having the former Good Masters that survived stripped of their titles, and the power that came with it, and demoted into regular, albeit still noble, citizens. And though they were allowed to keep their obscene wealth if they swore fealty to her new government, it was still balanced out by having to pay all their freed slaves significant financial reparations. In other words, the bare minimum.

As tense as it was, she knew her policy was the best step forward, as it was as the most equitable and fair to all as possible. It still penalised the surviving masters for their past actions yet still allowed them a chance for cooperation. Thankfully in the end, the reparations act had pleased the former slaves enough that they did not resort to protesting her new rule.

Daenerys knew that having the support of the common people was imperative, but as much as it vexed her to see former slavers keep their some of their wealth that they attained from butchery, she was pragmatic enough to understand that she also needed to have the backing of the wealthy upper class, in order for the new society to truly progress.

She explained to Iroh how from there, she started her rule by resuming work in the city and adding employment opportunities for all Astapor citizens. Only this time, every single person would get compensated for their labour. 

And due to the knowledge available from her Valyrian books on civil engineering, architecture and agriculture, Daenerys was able to create an industry of mass innovation to the city, including adding an entirely new housing section for the new freed slaves who previously only lived in cramped barracks and mess halls. From these tomes, she also implements a torrent of improvements to the city’s many crumbling structures and its public workings, as well as resuscitate Astapor’s lacking of agricultural efforts, using Old Valyria’s long-forgotten innovative wisdoms to bring about agricultural yields that has resulted in them producing more ample and consistent fruits of their labour in spite of the limitations of their environment and local climate.

The massive undertaking gave an overwhelming majority of their citizens new jobs that paid well, though that hadn’t began smoothly either, as some guilds were hesitant to accept her reforms. The guild members were initially adamant about permitting only their approved members to name themselves masters of their craft and limiting the amount of workers they would accept in their rolls. But in the end, she had successfully conferred with these various guilds to open their rolls to any freedmen who demonstrated the requisite skills. In the beginning not many of these master craftsmen were willing, but in the end, the knowledge she was offering from the Valyrian tomes convinced them to expand their guilds, a decision which eventually helped the industry flourish.

By having such a high employment rate, the economy, which had been previously fixed on slave trade, thrived. Even other fine tradecrafts thrived, as tapestry artists, sculptors, dressmakers, and artisans have made an industry of their own, often presenting her and her government with many gifts, with each being compensated fairly. Murals depicting her and her dragons’ likeness have also become a mainstay feature on many walls across the city, and many more proposals for statues to be built her image remained pending.

Even though the other two slave cities of Yunkai and Meereen had stopped dealing with them altogether, her contacts with Qarth and YiTi has also kept trade going. Trade deals were even reached with Braavos, the only one of Free Cities where slavery is, in effect, illegal. Part of the reason trade has kept going was due to her admiral of ships, Captain Groleo, as well as the arrival of Quhuru Mo, who made good on his promise to visit her once her dragons have grown more and his dealings in the east had been completed.

Dany in turn fulfilled her own pledge of repaying the man’s gift in Qarth by officially contracting Quhuru Mo to help facilitate lucrative trade agreements in the Jade Sea along with her admiral, and giving him a steady share of the income through commerce with the east. The captain of the Cinnamon Wind had even gotten many other trader vessels to join him in this endeavour and earned a fortune through his new occupation. 

Their conversation was then interrupted by a gaggle of children that ran towards her, with their caretaker following closely behind. Upon seeing the smiling children, Dany happily accepted their hugs and adoration. 

“I am very sorry, Your Grace.” The woman half-panted from the run. “They saw you coming and wanted to see their Queen.”

“No need for apologies, Soraya.” Dany replied. “It pleases me to see them happy. I hope that means the orphanages are well taken care off. Are the children in need of anything?” 

“No, Your Grace. Everything is well.” The former slave turned caretaker and community leader smiled. “The children are advancing well in the apprenticeship trade of their choice, and food is aplenty.”

“Excellent. Then I shall see you soon at the council meeting later.” Dany stated before leaving the woman to haggle the children back to one of the smaller pyramids in the city where orphaned children reside. 

“You have always had a soft spot for little children.” Iroh pointed out softly. 

“How could I not… after my own childhood had been wrought with much hardships. The least I can do with the power I have is make sure other children would know nothing of such things.” Daenerys smiled. “Come, I must show you the army we’ve been training.” 

Beside the largest pyramid of Astapor, the one which previously belonged to the House of Nakloz but now was the home of the new Astapori government, was the largest training yard among the many of its kind in the city. In days long past, these spaces was the place of unchecked brutality, where they tortured boys into becoming Unsullied, but now it was the place any volunteering freed slaves, or even former noblemen, were trained daily by Daenerys herself, as well as her knights, Dothraki warriors and Unsullied soldiers to become the Astapor’s standing army and city guard; an order dedicated to protect and serve all its citizens within.

Thousands of dedicated men, and even some women, had joined the initiative and hundreds of them were currently filling the large training yard to the brim, sharpening their skill.

“A most impressive operation, Daenerys.” Iroh remarked. “I suppose some of this is must be credited to me as well?”

“Of course. They follow the same training you used to put me on.” Dany smirked, before spotting the stoic figure overlooking the training with orderly perfection. 

Walking over, she introduced Iroh to him.

“Iroh, I’d like you meet Grey Worm, the commander of the Unsullied. Grey Worm, this is Iroh, my mentor who kept me safe in YiTi during my exile, and the man who taught me how to fight alongside Ser Arthur.”

Iroh raised his eyebrows at the mention of the commander’s name and snuck her a confused look, no doubt disturbed by it as much Dany was the first time she was introduced to the eunuch soldier.

Abolishing the custom of giving the Unsullied new slave names every day was one of the first things Dany had tried to rectify the day after Astapor’s liberation, and for the most part it had worked, as most who were born free and still remembered their birth names had returned to them. 

Others had adopted the names of heroes or gods, and sometimes weapons, gems, and even flowers, which Dany actually found to be endearing names for stoic and hardened warriors.

But the rest, following Grey Worm’s lead, had instead insisted in keeping their most recent slave name, declaring their old names as accursed ones, as that was the name they had when they were taken as a slaves. To them, their latest name was a lucky name, as it was the name they had when Daenerys Stormborn set them free.

It was made all the more evident to Daenerys that Grey Worm was a truly respected leader among his peers when she requested the Unsullied to elect a commander from their own ranks, and the man was chosen by his fellow soldiers for the highest rank in an unanimous vote to lead them. Then, to further cement his distinction, Dany had also discovered later that Grey Worm had in fact been that first brave man who beat his spear against the ground when she had asked for their allegiance after taking the Unsullied from the Good Master Kraznys. 

Dany and her queensguards then spent the time since his rise to command training him for his new post, and it was immediately apparent from the onset that the young eunuch was hard but fair, quick to learn, tireless, and utterly unrelenting in his attention to detail. In other words, aprofoundly worthy leader who slipped into his new role with admirable ease.

“It is nice to meet you, mentor of Queen Daenerys.” The man said in stunted Common Tongue. 

When she first met Grey Worm, he had barely known a word in the tongue of the west, yet after more than a year under Missandei’s tutelage, the man was now somewhat passable with the Common Tongue, making his interactions with her knights much easier. 

“Likewise.” Iroh replied more jovially. “You should be very proud of this training yard. It’s quite impeccable, the work you’re doing.” 

The man only nodded at the compliment, and after a bow to his queen, he went back to overseeing his soldiers. 

“Dutiful as ever, that man. And an absolute master of his craft.” Dany commented. “He gives me as much trouble with the spear in our morning spars as I had with you.”  

“He defeats you often then?” Iroh chuckled.

“Only half the time.” Dany said, smirking. “It had actually taken a while to get Grey Worm to even utilise his full strength in our daily morning spars.” 

Barristan had similar problems in the beginning too, as her two newest highest ranking lieutenants had no desire to injure their queen. But after being wholly surprised at her fighting skills when she fought Arthur, Jorah, and her three bloodriders at the same time, they had finally relented and trained with her in full. Even Strong Belwas, who quickly swore himself to her after overthrowing the slavers, had joined in.

“They all possess different fighting styles, and I’ve learned a lot from training with them this past year… I could probably have you on your back easily now.” Dany challenged. Iroh laughed in response.

“Oh, that I have little trouble believing. Unlike you, my belly has grown since you left Asabhad.” Though Dany doubted Iroh would just remain idle and allow his skills to rust, they both laughed as they entered the pyramid. 

Soon, it was time for the council meeting, the last before her departure from the city. 

Within the chamber were the group of fourteen that functions as her own meticulously chosen council, as well her closest advisors. It took a while to select trustworthy and intelligent representatives for the Astapori people, but in the end, a mixed group of mostly freed former slaves and a few former masters held seats in the council.

Dany knew the presence of former masters on the council had made some unhappy, but she also knew that giving the more progressive former slavers this opportunity to redeem themselves was the surest path to a just future.

And after tirelessly testing their loyalty and motives, Daenerys could now finally rest easy knowing that these chosen leaders would genuinely work to achieve her vision of this new Astapor. 

They all wanted it truly prosper, since everyone in the city was sharing in its bounty. Even those in the city who had initially opposed her changes had now stopped their obstruction. This was, of course, only after seeing their depleted wealth start to rise again. But to her, that was still a win.

“Has everything been finalised before tomorrow?” Dany addressed the room in Valyrian. 

“It has, Your Grace.” Missandei began listing. “The builders have completed the first few rounds of renovations across the city, with the next phases ready to proceed right after. The walls around the city have been raised and fortified, every guard tower had been fixed with no previous weaknesses persisting. All the buildings and structures in this city have also been fixed and improved. The water and sewage system have all past the tests, and should now be safe for all to use.”

“The expansion of the port has also been completed and more docks have been added, which should increase the city’s potential for trade, Your Grace.” Symone Stripeback added, called Stripeback due to the scars she received by being whipped in the past by her slave masters… but now she had risen to be the most consequential civil leader among the freedmen. "Which is great news as the recent trade agreements the council just reached with Leng, Great Moraq and Lesser Moraq would soon come into effect. Our greatly improved and bountiful agricultural yields would also ensure the city could remain self-sufficient if the need ever called for it. At least for a good while.”

“The city guard is also ready to keep order and defend the city when you leave, my queen.” said Stalwart Shield, who was a comely child of Lys or Old Volantis, with his blue eyes, fair skin and yellow hair. “We have nearly four thousand soldiers fully trained, and thousands more still training.”

“And that is not including the thousand-and-a-half Unsullied you are leaving behind with us in Astapor, Your Grace.” Marselen added. “For which I would like to thank you, for trusting me with the honoured responsibility to lead them.”

“It wasn’t just me, Marselen.” She smiled at the newly minted commander. “It was also your men who all chose you to lead them. I have no doubt that both you and Stalwart Shield would do me proud here.” 

“We will not disappoint you, my queen.” They both nodded at her. “I am glad he was chosen to serve by my side…” Marselen added more softly as he gave his Captain, Stalwart Shield, a shy but beaming smile, earning him a blush from his second-in-command.

Dany couldn’t help but giggle at the blossoming love between the two. The partners’ obviousdevotion for one another had also been one of the reasons the two talented soldiers were chosen by their Unsullied peers for the top military command positions in Astapor.

A small cough interrupted them. “The new ships have also just finished being built, Your Radiance. Our city’s fleet is stronger than ever.” Grazdan said proudly, as if he had built them himself. This younger Grazdan is one of the many former slavers that shared that famed name, and one of the remaining former masters who had actually become one of her most steadfast allies. “And productivity among the city’s work force remains high. It gives me great pleasure to assure my queen that our economy will continue to prosper.”

“The citizens are all cared for as well, Your Grace. Food is not lacking, and every soul in this city has their own homes and a roof over their heads. Including the little ones without parents.” Soraya added, while also smiling at Marselen and Stalwart Shield's tender moment.  

“Your armies are prepared for departure tomorrow, Your Grace.” Grey Worm stated succinctly. “We stand ready. I have asked your queensguards and Dothraki. They said they are ready too.”

“As are your fleet and your sailors, Your Majesty.” Admiral Groleo said. The Pentoshi former hire of Illyrio, who had captained the three ships that came with Ser Barristan and Belwas, had quickly bent the knee to her after Dany overthrew the Astapor’s Good Masters, and had been indispensable to her success in the city's transformation. “We sail at your command.”  

Daenerys smiled at the reports as she sat through listening to the rest of the council meeting, knowing that Astapor was strong. She was well aware that the other slave cities would look for any weaknesses in order to stage an attack to retake this city the first chance they get, but she wanted to make certain the city would be self-sufficient even without her leadership. And after this last meeting, she knew that she could rest easy in the knowledge that Astapor was in good hands. 

That night, on her last night in the red city, Dany went to the spacious garden suite at the top of the pyramid with Iroh, which was the only room large enough to house her ever-growing children. The dragons had reached the size of a small rowing ship by now, and that meant that Dany was the only one who could take care of them. Not even her handmaids, who had once helped feed them since they were mere hatchlings would be listened to by the three. They responded to only their mother now, and their mother alone.

As she entered the room, she brought out the chunks of meat that she got out of the kitchens below and held it up for her dragons to see. Though they essentially feed themselves by hunting on their own nearby, all three of them still eyed the meat with hunger. Rhaegal spread their green wings and stirred the air, and Viserion’s neck swayed back and forth like a long pale snake as they followed the movement of her hand. Drogon however, remained still and fixed her a look with their piercing red eyes.

“Drogon.” Dany said softly, before tossing a single piece in the air. “Dracarys.”

Drogon moved quicker than a striking cobra. Flame roared from their jaws, searing the meat before it began to fall. As his sharp dagger-like teeth snapped shut around it, Rhaegal’s head darted close, as if to steal the food from their siblings jaws, but Drogon swallowed and screamed, and the smaller green dragon could only hiss in frustration.

“Stop that, Rhaegal.” Dany said in annoyance, giving their green head a swat. “I’ll have no greedy dragons. Yours is right here.” She threw another one in the air, seeing it sear and eaten in quick succession. She smiled at Iroh, who stood behind her, in silent awe. Dany then threw the last one towards Viserion, who let loose a blast of flame and consumed the piece of meat with the same expediency as their siblings.

“They’re never not hungry, but you needn’t be afraid. They’re well-behaved despite their intimidating appearance.” Dany assured her mentor. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Iroh said. “You know, when I first received your message from Quhuru Mo, I almost couldn't believe the contents of the letter. Even now it almost doesn’t seem real. They’re absolutely majestic, Daenerys. Utterly breathtaking.” 

“I know.” Dany smiled. 

The moment lingered for a while as the mentor and his former-protégé looked to the resting form of the dragons, who lay entangled around each other, admiring them. 

“It is not only them I am in awe of, Daenerys, but you as well. All that you have done… your survival within a marriage with a Dothraki khal, your ability to earn the loyalty of those same Dothraki, your strength to lead them through the red waste, your triumph in Qarth, your expedition to Valyria, your help in liberating slaves, your success in transforming this dying city… and not to mention the birth of your dragons!” 

For the first time she had known Iroh, he seemed almost speechless as he searched for the words, and Dany simply waited until he found them. 

“I have always believed in my heart that you would one day achieve greatness, as if you were born for it, even before I knew who your true identity was… I just didn’t expect you to accomplish so much within such a short period of time. I am so proud of you, my dear.” He professed.

“Thank you, shifu.” Dany replied, nearly weeping from the sentiment. 

“What will you do now? Go to the Sunset Kingdoms and take back your family throne?”

“I have not forgotten Westeros…” Dany dreamt of it some nights, this fabled land that she had never seen, and pondered the question for a moment, before answering. “But you know, this past year, I kept asking myself; how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city? Like my dragons, I too needed time to grow and test my wings… and once I had a firm grip over this city, I knew my plans for the bay were feasible.”

Iroh's smile only grew as she continued. “So no… I cannot leave Slaver’s Bay until slavery is abolished in all of Essos. My sights are now set on Yunkai and Meereen. If I can do to those cities what I did here and install progressive governments in each, then I would break the heart of the slave trade, rendering it obsolete and force every ‘Free’ City to abandon the horrid practice forever.”

Nodding at her bold declaration, Iroh then spoke in his low voice; the voice she recognised as the voice Iroh only reserves when he is about to speak on the solemnest of topics. Dany had missed that voice. 

“I commend you for you well-intentioned ambitions, Daenerys, but I must warn you of being blinded by them as well. Even you cannot cannot unshackle every slave yourself.” He let out a small smile. “If you would take one last piece of advice from your former teacher, then take this little wisdom I learned from my years of travel through Essos; if you want to fight for this revolution, then you must allow that fight to freedom to come from within the slaves themselves if you want it to truly succeed. No matter what, they must be at the forefront. Do not stand above them, but stand beside them.”

Daenerys took in the significance of the words with earnest, nodding in understanding before replying with a question.

“I understand, shifu.” Dany replied. “It is words of wisdom like that that remind me just why I am so grateful for you, uncle Iroh. And I hope you would have more of them as I ask you to join me in this fight. Though not as my mentor, or teacher, but as a dear friend and trusted counsel. Would you honour me by staying as my advisor?”

Iroh exhales in feigned disappointment. “Then you didn’t ask me all this way just so you would once more have a sparring partner in cyvasse?” 

After bursting out in laughter, Dany replied in equally good humour. “Well, now that you mention it, I have been starved of a worthy opponent in the game for quite some time now.” 

“Your father… he hasn’t improved?”

“He certainly likes to think he has…” She remarked dryly, before turning sincere once more. “What say you?”

Meeting her sincerity, he looked to her with a well of emotions and nods. “I’d thought you never ask, Your Grace.”

The next morning, on the day of her departure from Astapor, Daenerys stood at the Plaza of Pride in front of the entire population of the city, flanked by her queensguards, bloodriders, handmaids, generals, advisors and Astapor’s council, and gave a farewell address to the cheering citizens that have converged to hear her speak.

“Hear me, people of Astapor! Freedom doesn’t happen by accident. We have to defend it, fight for it, strengthen it, and renew it. We have to prove that our model is the only path forward, that it is the single best way to revitalise the promise of our future… and in that we have succeeded!” 

Roaring cheers engulfed the gathering, until Daenerys held up her hand asking for silence.  

“When I first stepped into this city a year and a half ago, I had only known it as the city of brick and blood. But now, here today, it shall be known as a beacon of hope and freedom; a shining city upon a hill! I had conquered this city and overthrew the corrupt masters because I wanted to help you create a new prosperous life without chains. But I could have never done that alone, nor would I have succeeded alone. The city is flourishing, and it is all thanks to your own hard work and sacrifice!” 

As the cheers grew and then subsided, she continued. “With the help of the council, we wrote a constitution that establishes a supreme set of laws for the citizen of Astapor to abide by, with the most sacred law being slavery will forever be abolished, and that everyone has the right to life and liberty. And to commemorate that, I present to the Astapor people… my last gift!” 

Signalling to the Unsullied near the statue covered in cloth, they pulled the fabric to unveil a large new bronze sculpture in the center of the Plaza of Pride that replaced the harpy. The new statue depicts a dragon flying overhead the Unsullied who broke the chains of the slaves, helping them to their feet and raising them to freedom. 

“The Harpy is gone!” She shouted among thunderous cheers. “Engraved, it writes for all the world’s future generations to see; YOU ARE DESCENDANTS OF FREEDOM FIGHTERS, WHO BROKE THEIR CHAINS AND CHANGED THE WORLD.”

“Allow this new symbol to serve as a physical and permanent reminder that you, the people of Astapor, are the spark that changed the world for the better. It is through your actions that allowed the people to attain their rightful freedom. You made this place a beacon! You have shown the path! You are the reason future generations will only know a life without chains! It is a fight that requires all of us to be present, lifting each other up, in order to climb this mountain! The fight must always come from within, and that fight will continue until every institution of slavery is defeated across Essos!” 

After the fanfare, Daenerys left the legion of one and one half thousand Unsullied commanded by Marsalen, along with nearly four-thousand well-trained freed former slaves to defend the city. 

Her trusted group of Astapori council had also officially taken over as rulers of the red city, and as she saw the thriving city grow smaller behind her, she was unshaken in her belief that the new Astapor, and its people, will continue to succeed even without her. 

It is a step in the right direction, Dany thought. And as she and her army were headed north, she felt ready… ready to liberate the other cities of Slaver’s Bay, with her three dragons flying overhead crying a song of triumph.

Chapter Text

301AC

Among the last of the reports Daenerys heard before leaving Astapor were the mysterious accounts surrounding the continuous mass vanishing of pirate and slaver ships that used to tyrannise the waters from Slaver’s Bay, to the Gulf of Grief, and all the way to the Ghiscari Strait and the Summer Seas.

These incidents were reported by Admiral Groleo, Quhuro Mo and their navy of sailors, who on their trade routes, learned that upon hearing the tales of the dragon queen’s successful expedition to Old Valyria, a handful of these foolhardy corsairs had attempted to recreate her success by launching their own voyage to heart of the Doom. 

And yet none were known to return.

The reports seemed to suggest that all who tried had fallen to shipwreck, unable to find or acquire the treasures they had so desperately sought out. Instead, it seemed they all drowned in the Smoking Seas. 

Amidst all this, Daenerys had the distinct feeling that her journey into her ancestral homeland was only made possible through some type of divine intervention that allowed for her one-off miracle, just as she knew that any attempts by others to excavate Valyria and its priceless fortunes would only end in ruin. And perhaps that was a good thing, as it had unintentionally cleared the seas of these unruly pirates that would’ve otherwise posed a threat to her fleet’s safety and the trade routes the liberated city of Astapor currently rely upon quite heavily. 

Looking over to the coast, Daenerys saw her own fleet carrying her Valyrian treasures and Qartheen wealth littering the shoreline following her army’s march closely. The sight made her grateful that she found a trustworthy man in Admiral Groleo to manage her growing armada, since she did not think she would be going to sea anytime soon. 

Though a sea voyage to Yunkai would have been faster than a march on land, Dany had preferred to ride on her silver again, having missed the feeling of constant riding on horseback, a decision which her khalasar was grateful to hear. But ultimately, even if they had collectively grown used to sea travel, did not mean that they preferred it. The Dothraki and their horses belonged on solid ground, and as their khaleesi, she was more than wiling to join them on the march, even if it slowed their advance. 

A queen is a servant to her people, after all. Nothing is beneath her. 

As it currently stood, her army itself had grown quite considerably since she first stepped foot in Slaver’s Bay; her four-thousand strong khalasar was now augmented by an Unsullied infantry numbering fourteen-thousand-five-hundred, as well as the one-thousand-five-hundred trained freedmen who wished to join her in their fight for a slave revolution to help bring freedom to their fellow man in the sister cities of Yunkai and Meereen. 

Yet as great as it was having the loyalty of so many, her sprawling army could’ve easily been more burden than benefit. But by virtue of her tremendous wealth and Astapor’s prosperity, her army had been able to stay well supplied throughout their route to the yellow city. Supplies, which would’ve lessened at a much quicker pace if she’d had to feed her dragons from the train. 

Ever growing, and ever hungry, her dragons thankfully kept hunting on their own now, and were also quickly developing their own distinct personalities. Viserion remained the friendliest of her dragons, still willing to be around people and their company, while Rhaegal was much less so, though they are amendable still to the presence of other people, so long as they’ve had their meal. But Drogon… was a different case, growing more savage by the day.

Throughout their journey, she would regularly watch her children play with one another, and like other days, today saw Viserion and Rhaegal fighting over their latest hunt. Drogon, who had grown particularly rambunctious in recent days, quickly lifted their head from Dany’s lap and growled before trying to take Viserion’s dead sheep, much to the cream dragon’s vexation.

“Drogon, don’t.” Daenerys chastised, as she tried mediating the sibling rivalry, only to be met by a loud growl and the snapping of teeth from her wildest child. 

“No.” Quickly slapping black-red dragon on the snout in reprimand, the dragon was stunned into yielding to their mother. 

Dany knew Drogon’s increasing irritability really came from their desire for more freedom, which she had been reluctant to give, at least not yet. Only once she has conquered and transformed Yunkai the same way she had Astapor would she concede to allowing them more freedom to roam the endless skies, as she was too fearful still for her children’s safety due to their adolescent physical vulnerability. In the meantime, she had reined in her children as much as possible to remain within her, and her army’s, sight.

Though she was glad for the empathic bond that existed between her and her children, she couldn’t help but feel the tether weakening as her dragons grew more. Worse still, Dany couldn’t begin to know what could have prompted it. Could it have to do with the glowing pool? What if they were meant to bathe in it periodically for the connection to remain stable?

The thoughts worried her, and yet, without an answer there was little she could do but make sure to spend time with them daily on the march, like she was now. Her dragons’ continuous growth only reminded her of the dream she had the night before Astapor’s liberation, the one in which she was in Rhaegar’s armour, mounted on Drogon, flying towards the Trident. 

That is how it is meant to be, she thought. Some small part of her knew that she was only dreaming, but another part was exulted by the visions. 

As Dany watched Drogon gorge on the sheep that they were now sharing with their two siblings, the feeling that one day she would ride the black dread reborn into battle only grew. She was only waiting for the right moment, for she knew Drogon would not allow her to ride on their back just yet, even if they were large enough by now to bear her weight.

But the very thought of being a dragonrider would have to wait, as the Dothraki scouts Daenerys sent an hour ago had finally returned.

Throughout their march to the yellow city, Dany kept outriders ahead of their procession, so as to ensure they were never caught unaware. But as they got closer to the city, Dany suspected they would find a large Yunkai'i force amassed miles before the yellow city awaiting her arrival, and so she had sent additional scouts to probe their numbers. Yet even with her Dothraki scouts’ thorough account of the enemy lines that had indeed been gathered, Daenerys wanted to see it for herself. 

Making use of their skills in stealth, Daenerys, Iroh and Ser Arthur closely, but discreetly, surveyed the Yunkai’i host that lay athwart their path. 

“This is close enough.” Arthur said, stopping them near the edge of the birchwood forest, hiding behind a sandstone ridge. 

“Twelve-thousand at least,” Dany deduced after a quick survey, correcting herself a moment later. “Make that fourteen, to be more accurate.” 

Her two mentors smiled in approval. 

“It appears that the Yunkai’i had been preparing well for our arrival, daughter.” 

“Apparently not well enough. We outnumber them by six thousand, father.” Dany replied. 

The opposing army appeared to be a mix of three sellsword factions and two other armies, judging by the three differing standards that flew on the flanks of the Yunkai’i slave soldiers and Iron Legions of New Ghis that made the center. Dany noticed that at this distance, the slave soldiers they have amassed looked nearly indistinguishable from her own Astapori soldiers. 

“The Iron Legions of New Ghis in large part, not even close equals of the Unsullied.” Iroh pointed out, as if reading her thoughts. “And Yunkai is known for training bed slaves, not warriors.”

Dany contemplated that. “We would defeat this army…” 

“Easily.” Ser Arthur supplied. 

“But not bloodlessly.” Her forces are stronger both numerically and qualitatively; they would soundly defeat the Yunkai forces, but nevertheless Daenerys worried about the cost of lives on both sides. 

Yet it wasn’t just the numerical advantage that struck her as odd, as it was also the fact that she held every advantage in this conflict. Her extended stay to rule in Astapor should have given her enemies ample time to raise a greater army to truly rival her own, or failing that, devise a plan of counterattack. They would be forewarned. 

“The slavers of Yunkai style themselves the Wise Masters, and though I could not speak of their wisdom, they do not lack for cunning.” Iroh warned. 

“Then let us find out if they are as wise as they claim to be, shall we?” She turned to Arthur. “Have Loyal Spear send word to the Wise Masters that I wish for a parlay at my pavilion right before sundown. And I need you, Jorah and Barristan to invite each of the sellsword captains as well. Separately… and have them meet me before the Yunkai’i.”

At her father’s nod, the two left and rode back to her host, where Iroh brought up the possibility of whether they would come, though Daenerys assured him they will. 

“These men will be curious to see the dragons and hear what I have to say. The more clever ones will see it for a chance to gauge my army’s strength.” Dany asserted. “And men who fight for gold cannot afford to lose to a girl. They will want to play for the winning side.” With a smile, she trotted her silver to a gallop, going around and surveying the camp her people have erected. 

Observing her surroundings, she noticed that the Unsullied had made good time fortifying their camp with her queensguards and bloodriders, with Grey Worm in particular insisting that they could not sleep in an unfortified camp. The man’s meticulous work ethic only increased her healthy respect for him, and it cheered her to notice that though the perimeter the Unsullied had established was orderly as she could have thought humanly possible, the mood of her men were anything but austere. 

Of the many things Daenerys had done, she was especially proud that the Unsullied were starting to regain a part of their humanity under her leadership. In the year after they had reclaimed their names, she would regularly see many with smiles on their faces and laughter return in their interactions, when they previously could show neither. And much like Marselen and Stalwart Shield before them, some had even found love. 

She was particularly pleased that even Grey Worm, whose stoicism was well known among her men, had started to peel back enough that on occasion Dany would catch him smiling sheepishly during his one-on-one lessons with Missandei. Seeing how endearing it was, Dany had once winked at her translator when she saw the girl blushing at the warrior-eunuch’s rare smiles, hoping to encourage the budding attraction between the two.

“The Wise Masters have assembled quite the army to meet us, Commander.” She said as she halted to speak with the man. “Among them they have brought two legionnaires from New Ghis… those ones may give us trouble.”

“These iron legions of New Ghis may liken themselves as the lockstep legions of Old Ghis reborn through disciplined training, my queen, but at the end of the day, they’re still mere volunteers and conscripts who only serve three year terms, while we Unsullied have known no other life but the life of the sword and spear. They have nothing on the Unsullied, in skill or prowess… and they also have families to go home to.” 

Meaning they have something to lose. 

Dany noticed the slight sorrow at the end of Grey Worm’s words, and felt for him. The Unsullied’s brutal past experience of ruthless training may have been too ingrained in them for them to fully see it, but she knew that they too had something to lose now. They were no longer mindless soldiers she first met at the Plaza of Pride, but human beings capable of feeling… feelings like love for their fellow man, or passion for freedom. And once a man has tasted freedom, they will never be content to be a slave.

“But we Unsullied and freedmen are ready, Your Grace. We yearn to bring the gift of freedom to our fellow man.” He said, confidence returning once more.

“They have also brought with them slave soldiers from Yunkai… unlike the iron legions, I am told these slave soldiers in Yunkai are not truly soldiers, but men who have only learned the way of the seven sighs and the sixteen seats of pleasure all their lives, and were one day given weapons. They don’t know the way of the three spears as you and your men do.”

“It’s true, they are not slave soldiers, but bed slaves. Yet they are slaves still. That distinction means a good deal. They don’t know any better, my queen. Some of these men might even see this battle as a way to find release in death.” Dany felt shivered as he said those words, thinking about those that used to be regularly displayed in Astapor’s now disused Plaza of Punishment. “There are no masters in the grave…” 

“Then you and I are of the same mind.” Dany smiled at him. “Spare any slave who runs or throws down their weapon. There will be no masters when we win the day, so the fewer slain, the more remain to taste freedom. And extend the same for the legionnaires of New Ghis.” 

“Very good, Your Grace.” Grey Worm smiled back. “We will remember.” 

“Be at my tent by midday. I want you there when I treat with the sellsword captains.” At the man’s nod, Dany continued on through the rest of the camp, seeing her people on the way towards her central pavilion. 

The freedmen’s side of the camp was well kept enough, though not nearly as orderly and efficiently structured like the Unsullied’s were, and in contrast, the Dothraki’s encampment was chaotic and bustling, teeming with the sounds of hooves and horses. Yet despite their differences, they all meshed well together and it had heartened her to see her diverse group of loyal warriors sharing meal and mead as one. 

Strong Belwas stood outside her massive tent, eating figs and horse-meat next to a pile of burnt sheep carcasses, and smiled at her when she dismounted from her silver. As Dany hardly needed more warriors to guard her person, Belwas held the duty of protecting her four handmaids, a duty which the large eunuch was happy to take on. 

“Enjoying the day, Belwas?” She smiled at the large eunuch.

“Yes, silver queen. Rakharo and Malakho made me delicious horse meat.” He smiled back toothily. “Do you want?”

“Perhaps later, Belwas.” She replied. “But thank you.”

“The pavilion is set up, Your Grace.” Missandei said as Dany entered. Looking around, she could see how her girls had made it as lush as they possibly could, despite their surroundings. 

Carpets covered the floor, big cushions lay across the space, incense was lit to sweeten the air, and a spacious dais with a large lounge chair was erected at the end, where Viserion and Rhaegal was situated on the side. The two were curled over one another asleep atop some large cushions that they dwarfed, the entangled forms of her growing dragons easily taking up more than half of the entire pavilion. 

“They’ve just eaten again, haven’t they.” Dany asked to no one in particular. When she bent down to caress them, she could feel how well sated and tired her two children were from their latest meal, and yet she wasn’t entirely certain about Drogon’s current state. 

“Yes, khaleesi.” Irri answered. “Drogon had eaten with them as well, but then took off to the skies just as quickly after finishing their meal.” 

Typical. 

“I just came from the camp. Great work in helping the supply lines stay orderly, Jhiqui.” Dany said, before addressing all four of her handmaids. “And for the work in this pavilion, you girls have done marvellously. It should do well for our guests.” 

“Thank you, khaleesi.” Her girls said in unison. 

“I will soon treat with the sellswords captains and the Yunkai’i herald… I think the white gown should keep them underestimating me, wouldn’t you say?”

“A perfect choice, khaleesi.” Doreah said as she smirked and brought out the white dress with the black metal collar; the collar being a symbol of her solidarity with the slaves still enchained. By the time Dany slipped into the gown after a fresh bath and had Missandei braid her hair, it was almost midday, and her commanders started filtering into her pavilion. 

Grey Worm was the first to enter, and Dany took notice of Missandei’s shy smile at the commander, which he returned warmly, as he stepped into place. Turning to her side, Dany locked eyes with Doreah who merely giggled with her and continued to prepare the refreshment. Aggo, Rakharo, and Jhogo arrived soon after, then Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan after them. When they had all taken their places, arrayed to her sides and behind her, she had the tent flaps opened, ready to greet her guests.

Ser Jorah brought the first of them, introducing the three captain-commanders of the Stormcrows; Prendahl na Ghezn, Sallor the Bald and Daario Naharis, with the three claiming to be all equal in honour and authority. While they openly marvelled at her two dragons, Daenerys studied them as her handmaids poured the three men wine. 

Prendahl, who stood at the forefront and center, was a burly, grey-haired, and thick faced Ghiscari, whose body language made it clear he saw himself above his other two captains. Sallor, the pale Qartheen, appeared to be agreeable with the pecking order, if his seemingly pliant demeanour to na Ghezn’s dominance was anything to go by. 

But Daario Naharis on the other hand, with his flamboyant and uncaring swagger, seemed to be a wildcard. Though she couldn’t read the noticeably handsome man as easily as the other two, Dany still knew how to play the group. She waited for them to break the silence.

“Take your army and leave, unless you wish you be crushed.” Prendahl na Ghezen demanded. “Yunkai will not fall to your treachery.”

“Brave words for a man who commands a force only one-twentieth of his opponent.” Daenerys replied, adding snidely. “I may not be a seasoned captain such as you, but the odds does seem be in my favour, not yours.”

“Are you blind? The Stormcrows are not alone, invader.” He gritted back. 

“For now, sure. But the Stormcrows are sellswords still. And it is like sellswords to be notoriously unfaithful, is it not? Likely to fly at the first sign of defeat.” She smiled sweetly. "Let me ask you, what benefit does it bring the Stormcrows when the other sellsword factions inevitably change to my side?” Daenerys challenged.

“I spit on the other sellswords! They are nothing to the Stormcrows.” Prendahl said, defiant. “We fight beside the mighty legions of New Ghis and the faithful soldiers of Yunkai.” 

“It would be a stretch to call bed slaves soldiers, I think.” Dany retorted, earning a deep scowl from both Prendahl and Sallor, but a sly, barely hidden smirk from Daario Naharis. Before the ghiscari captain had a chance to reply, she gave an ultimatum. 

“I offer you the choice to join my side now, and if you do, you shall still keep the gold Yunkai promised you when we take the city, and greater rewards should you choose to join my campaign after.” Dany said evenly. “But should the Stormcrows fight for the Wise Masters, I can guarantee your wages will be death. Yunkai will not open their gates to you when the Stormcrows signal a retreat.”   

All that answered her was a tense silence, where she saw the beginnings of rage grow in the two faces of the captain-commanders, though conversely, she noticed a contemplative look on Daario Naharis’ face. Then the silence broke.

“How dare you, woman!” Prendahl screamed with enough intensity to burst a blood vessel. 

“Woman?” Dany chuckled. “Is that meant to insult me? I would return the insult if I took you for a man.”

“You will learn your place after we are done with you, horsefucker! I would breed you to my stallion too, if I didn't think you might enjoy that.” Prendahl venomously spat. 

Her entire line of defenders nearly drew their weapons at the insult, but Dany remained calm and merely raised her hand, halting them. “Are the Stormcrows an army of slaves or free men?”

“We are a brotherhood of free men, whore.” Sallor answered, looking at her with contempt. 

“Good, then go back and tell your fellow brothers of my offer. I’m sure most of them would prefer to live with gold than die needlessly at the end of my army’s sharp blades.” She gave them a cutting smile. "I shall await your answer on the morrow.” 

Prendahl, in his undisguised derision, along with Sallor had both insisted their answer was an undoubtable refusal as they left in a frenzy… but Daario had remained silent and glanced back as he left, inclining his head in a polite farewell. 

I need to watch out for that one, she thought.

An hour later, Ser Arthur returned with the lone commander of the Second Sons in tow. The Braavosi, whose towering height rivalled Arthur’s own, was built like two brick houses, and styled himself the Titan’s Bastard, though his real name is Mero. 

Mero looked at her dragons in fleeting awe before quickly shifting his focus towards the women in the tent, shamelessly gawking at her and her handmaids. Knowing immediately the kind of man he was, Daenerys simply waited for the man to speak. 

“So you’re the mother of dragons…” Mero said after he tossed down the wine Doreah served him, licking the stray droplet off his lips in a way that made her skin crawl. “I swear I fucked you once in a pleasure house back in Braavos. Or was that in Lys?”

While Daenerys could almost laugh at the audacity of the man, her queensguards, especially Arthur, did not find it the least bit amusing as she did. 

“Mind your tongue, you-”

But just as she held her hand up and tried to silence her father, the sellswordhad beat her to it. 

“Why? I didn’t mind hers.” He held up his cup expectantly for another serving, to which Dany nodded to Doreah, who poured it for him. “She licked my asshole like she was born to do it.” 

In a queer sort of way, Dany could almost respect the man’s unapologetic gall… if it didn’t make her want to rip the man’s tongue out first. She stops her men from executing the man yet again, and allowed the sellsword to run his filthy mouth.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of the wrong woman.” She smirked. “I think I would remember laying with a man of such… prowess.”

“That’s true. No woman or man has ever forgotten the Titan’s Bastard.” He smiled back. “Perhaps you could take your clothes off and sit on my lap. If your cunt is warm enough, then I might consider joining your side." 

“Or perhaps I should just have you gelded instead.” She challenged playfully. The Titan’s bastard was no stranger to people’s scorn it seems and laughed, dismissing her threat as harmless banter. 

“I like that mouth of yours. I have just the thing to put in it. It’s thick and long… I’ll show you if you’d like.”  

Dany merely smiled at the lewd man again. “There’s no need for that, for I will see it soon enough… after I’ve sliced it off.” But before another tasteless comment could leave the degenerate’s mouth, Daenerys tossed her hair back and innocently asked. “How do you propose your one-thousand men would fare against my host twenty times the size? Naive as I am to the ways of war, even I can see your odds are terrible.”

“We do not stand alone, girl. And besides, the Second Sons have faced worse odd and won.” 

“The Second Sons have faced worse odds and run.” She flung back.

The Bastard kept his smirk and even had the gumption to lie with a straight face. “That was before they were led by the Titan’s Bastard.“

Gods, this man could not have been any more self-absorbed.

Daenerys met his gaze and smirked coyly. “Since it is from you that your men get their courage, I should thank you for the advice. Now I know who to kill first when it comes to the battle.”

As she did with the Stormcrows, she warned him of the fate that awaited the Second Sons if they chose to remain loyal to Yunkai; death. 

“Or you could fight for me, and I will you pay the gold Yunkai had promised you and more.” 

Smirking, the man replied. “It is true, you’re worth fighting for, but I had already taken Yunkai’s gold, and pledged my solemn word.”

Severely doubting the good of this man’s word, Daenerys gave another option. “Or run again if you’d prefer. You get to survive the battle, and still keep the gold you were already promised, easy coin. Either way, as long as you do not take up arms against me, you will remain paid.”

“But I would never break my word.” He lied again. “Otherwise no one would hire the Second Sons again.”

“Ride with me, and you would never need to worry about being hired ever again. I have other cities to conquer, and an entire kingdom awaiting me across the narrow sea.”

Continuing to drink the fine wine that her handmaids repeatedly poured between pauses, the man pondered the offer. He then started to rub his crotch and licked his lips. 

“I might consider it if you promise yourself to me as a bedmate. All this talk of riches makes me want the taste of your tongue on my cock.” 

Dany could immediately sense the fiery anger of her knights rising, so she decided to end the meeting before it could come to blows. “Tell your fellow captains my offer. I will give the Second Sons tonight to ponder, then I will welcome your answer on the morrow.” she finished sweetly.  

“I’ll do that…” The Titan’s Bastard nodded, looked at his empty chalice and grinned. “If you let me take a flagon of this fine wine to help me and my captains ponder. We’ll take it as a token of your good regard.”

Deeply satisfied that he took her bait, Dany tried to hide her smirk behind an innocent smile. “I have countless casks of it, from my time ruling Astapor. Since you seem to be a man with a big thirst-”

“I am big all over, khaleesi.” He interrupted, flicking his tongue at her like a dog.

Disgusting.

“Then I shall give you and your men a wagon.”

“Splendid! We’ll drink to the generosity of the mother of dragons and bring you an answer when the sun rises.”

After the sellsword captain left, Ser Barristan wasted no time to warn her of the titan’s bastard’s evil repute. “It’s known even in Westeros, Your Grace. Do not be deceived by his jovial manner.” He warned. “He would drink toasts to your health one moment, and rape you the next. He is also quite famous for leaving a string of dead whores in his wake.”

Ser Jorah concurred and appraised her of the Second Sons’ history. “The Second Sons are an old company, khaleesi, but they weren’t always regarded with distrust. They used to have valour, famously so, that even Prince Oberyn Martell used to serve in the company in the past. But under Mero they have turned near as bad as the Brave Companions. This man is as dangerous to his employers as he is to his foes.” he added gravely. “They say that none of the Free Cities would hire Mero.”

Initially, she had believed that Mero would be willing to switch sides only to get closer to her and try to rape her, but now knowing of his full history did she realise that he would try and do far worse.

“The Seconds Sons are lost to us as long as their commander lives…. which makes our choice simple; we must eliminate the Titan’s Bastard.” She said easily, earning a big smile from her father. “Ser Jorah, is there is a chance the Stormcrows would turn cloak for us? That one captain Daario Naharis may sway the tide in our favour.” 

“It is unlikely, Your Grace. Even if he voted to join us he would be overruled, since Prendahl is Ghiscari by blood. This fight is personal to him.” he replied. They all agreed that Sallor seemed to favour Prendahl too, so she expects to have to fight the Stormcrows as well, which felt like such a waste.

Ser Barristan brought the last of the sellsword captains, who led the Windblown, into her pavilion an hour later. The commander of the company only went by the name the Tattered Prince, a name which came from the ragged bloodstained cloak he wore on his back, made from different twists of faded coloured raiments torn from the surcoats of those he has slain. Though the sellsword looked most ordinary in appearance, Dany could tell that he was a different man from all the previous captains she’s met altogether.

The man appeared sad-eyed and was soft-spoken, and Dany might even say that he carried himself with an elegance she did not expect from sellswords. Judging by the way the look of wonder he had for her dragons had disappeared just as quickly as it came, it was also evident that the man was able to keep himself composed with practiced skill.

Though most surprising was how the aged man, whose voice had a strong and regal quality to it, spoke exclusively in High Valyrian, and bluntly told Daenerys that he was open to an alliance with her. 

“My price, Your Grace, is Pentos.” 

Slightly taken aback by his forthright demand, she could only frown as she quickly stalled to formulate a response. 

“I hope you remember that I am here for Yunkai and that I do not currently have the power to bestow you the princeship of Pentos…” Daenerys began. “However, what I can offer you is the chance to earn riches that would make you as influential as any Pentoshi magister… if the Windblown commits to not taking arms against me in the battle to come.”

The Tattered Prince raised his eyebrows in interest.

“You can keep the gold Yunkai has promised you, then make that and more should you continue to join me in my campaign throughout Essos.” 

Frowning in deliberation, he agreed after a long and silent moment. 

“The Windblown will commit to not join the Yunkai’i forces in the coming battle, but only if the other sellsword companies do the same.” He counters. “As for my allegiance beyond the Yunkai’i contact, I am receptive to an alliance with you, Queen Daenerys, so long as Her Grace is open to the idea of my rule in Pentos.” 

She smirked. “That I would, so long as we can plan your takeover together, and make it as bloodless as possible… and should I succeed in helping you ascend to the princeship, you will effectively abolish the practice of slavery within the city and give the freed slaves their rights and reparations. Those are my terms.”

“Done.” The Tattered Prince says easily. “I shall look forward to our future alliance together, Your Grace.” 

With a respectful bow, he leaves her tent.

“What a breath of fresh air.” She chucked before turning to her advisors. “But why Pentos? What’s his history there?”

Iroh was the first to answer. “I remember decades ago when I was in Pentos, there was a young man who had been chosen by the magisters of the city to be their new prince… only mere hours after they had beheaded the previous one. But instead of accepting their offer, this young man fled to the Disputed Lands and never returned. This Tattered Prince and that runaway prince are one and the same.”

“So the Tattered Prince left because he had no wish to be their disposable puppet…” Dany mused. “But why return to it now? What’s changed?” 

“Old age, perhaps.” Iroh chuckled. “After a lifetime of hard fighting, a nice cushy life as a prince that you were once meant to assume seems as good a position as any to retire into. At some point every man must face the inevitable reality of time; that none could hold on to their youth and vigor forever.”

Perhaps it really was that simple, Dany thought. “I suppose that’s especially true for a sellsword. It is a wonder he has made it this long.” 

“Aye, he’s quite the survivor, khaleesi.” Ser Jorah added. “After taking up the life of a sellsword, he rode with half a dozen companies for years before finding his own. He established the Windblown with five brothers-in-arms, and out of the six founders, he is the only one left still alive.”

Survivor indeed. 

“And there is also a known saying among aspiring sellswords; ‘you'll ride to battle with the Tattered Prince and come home richer than a lord.’” Ser Jorah said.

“So he is cunning and resourceful as well… then perhaps his lifelong tenure as a sellsword has also blessed him the wisdom of knowing which side would win in conflicts. Now faced against us, with the Unsullied, Dothraki, and dragons on our side, he knows we’re the ones to bet on.” Dany speculates.

“There might be another factor to this.” Ser Barristan said. “Even in my short time traveling through Essos to get to Astapor, I would hear talk everywhere of a well-known and recent enmity between the Windblown and another sellsword company, the Company of the Cat. The two had apparently been on opposite sides in the Disputed Lands, and whatever transpired there, the bad blood continues to linger. Especially between the Tattered Prince and the man who calls himself Bloodbeard, the leader of the rival company.” 

“Thereby all but guaranteeing his chances at defeating this rival once and for all, if he were align himself with you.” Arthur finished the thought. 

“Then I suppose I can trust his motives for now.“ 

But could I trust him to rule Pentos? Though it was the only notion left that perplexed her, she knew that the answer could only be determined after actual time spent with the man. Resolving to revisit the issue on a later date, she reflected on her army’s current standing before her last parlay. 

If she could secure the Windblown by way of swaying one of the sellsword companies to her side, then perhaps there would not need to be a true battle after all… 

The envoy from Yunkai arrived near an hour later in an ostentatious display of unnecessary decadence just as the sun was retreating into the horizon. 

A procession of fifty slave guards on spectacularly bedecked black horses and one hundred slave guards on foot emerged, followed by one man on a great white litter being carried by a dozen muscular slaves. The nobleman in the litter wore an ornate gold-fringed tokar and gold jewels, and called himself Grazdan mo Eraz, according to the slave herald that announced him. Despite having just laid eyes on the Wise Master, Daenerys could practically already determine the man’s contemptuous arrogance.

As he walked into her pavilion, the duplicitous false smile he wore faded as soon as he saw her two stirring dragons, who now were finally awaking from their slumber. She could instantly see the fear in the slaver’s eyes, before he sobered his expression into one of barely held deference, and began to speak.

“Ancient and glorious is Yunkai. Our walls are strong, and our nobles are proud and fierce. They are the blood of ancient Ghis, whose empire was old before dragons stirred in Old Valyria. You were wise to sit and speak, khaleesi. There are many things to be discussed, least of all your complete lack of understanding of our cherished Ghiscari customs. We cannot simply forget about your endless sins toward us-”

“Would that I could. Yet you strike me as the type to go on without end.” Daenerys barbed in. 

“-yet if we were to speak of the atrocities you committed in Astapor alone, there wouldn’t be enough time in the day to account them all.” Grazdan finished in annoyance at being cut off from his practiced speech. 

“And what a wasteful indulgence it would be, even if there were.” Daenerys replied sweetly.  

“You wish to speak of wasteful indulgence? I am told you have freed the Unsullied! Yet another instance of your utter lack of respect of our great culture. Freedom means nothing to bricks such as they.”

Dany kept a straight face at that, despite the profound temptation to roll her eyes. Then, just when she thought he was done with his diatribe, the slaver continued with his inane filth.

“Let us not forget that the Unsullied’s prowess, which you now rely upon, was borne from our culture’s brilliance!” He said before stopping himself, and breathed in deeply to calm himself. “Yet in spite of their strength, you shall find no easy conquest here.” 

“Good. My people are relishing a good fight. I was told my Unsullied need practice, and that I should blood them early.” 

Grazdan shrugged. “If blood is what you desire, then it will flow. We have amassed a mighty host in anticipation of your arrival-”

“Ah, yes. A mighty, but numerically inferior host that consist mostly of bed slaves with swords they barely know how to hold and sellswords of dubious loyalty.”

Dany could tell the comment grated the man, though he stayed composed and merely raised his chin up in defiance. “How convenient that you seem to forget that we have the Iron Legions of New Ghis, khaleesi. They are the-”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard the saying before. They think themselves the lockstep legion of the Old Empire reborn.” Dany said tediously. “And yet, they’re still also free men that only serve three year terms, who would sooner throw down their spear to return to their lives outside the battlefield… unlike the Unsullied, who we all know are the true reincarnations of the lockstep legions and would never back down.”

This time, her words got the exact reaction she was expecting; an outburst. “Our host will triumph! And when we win the battle, those who survive we shall enslave again and use to retake Astapor from the traitors. Perhaps we will make a slave of you as well. There are pleasure houses in Lys where men would pay entire fortunes to bed the last Targaryen!” 

Though she knew his threat was meaningless, Dany couldn’t help but smirk at the slaver’s nerve. “Since you seem to know of me, then I suggest you take care of any threats you make against me.” 

“Oh, we Yunkai’i know exactly who you are and the people you come from. I am simply speaking in the only language your kind know; violence. I pride myself on my knowledge of the savage senseless west, and your conduct on our shores had confirmed to us that you take after the untamed people of your homeland in every despicable way. It must be why you have committed such needless savageries on our shores.” His scowl morphed into a smile then. “But like all the uncultured people from the sunset kingdoms, it must simply be because you did not know any better…”

Irony is lost on this one, she thought. This time, Dany could not stop her eyes from rolling and when she looked upon him again, Grazdan seemed to have collected himself and opened his arms, in a gesture of reconciliation.

“It is true, you tore down the once proud city of Astapor to leave it a crumbling dystopia, but luckily for you, khaleesi, the Yunkai’i are a most forgiving and generous people. So in that enlightened Ghiscari spirit, let us cease our quarrel. Many an army have broken against our walls, and failed. There is no reason why you must squander your strength against our mighty force and fortified walls when you would need every man to regain your father’s throne in the west. Rule over those savages, we wish you well in that endeavour. And to prove the truth of that, we brought you a gift!” Grazdan announced pompously. He clapped his hands and four of his slave escorts came forward bearing two heavy chests.

“How quaint.” Dany said mildly as they revealed to contain mounds of shining gold.

“Yours, as a gesture of friendship from the Wise Masters of Yunkai. And there are far more of them awaiting you on the deck of your ships we have readied for you.”

“My ships?” Dany said with a slight chuckle. 

“Yes, khaleesi. As many ships as you require, and the Yunkai’i will deliver. As I said, we are a generous people. Surely gifts freely given is better than plunder taken with blood.” Dany had to restrain her laughter at that one. 

“All we ask if that you make use of these gifts and leave us to conduct our affairs in peace. Do so, and all shall prosper.” The slaver finished with a great smile. 

Feeling sick at the words, Dany looked behind the Wise Master and scanned the weathered faces of the slaves he brought. 

“Yes, prosper… but for whose benefit, I wonder?” Not the least tempted by this empty gesture, Daenerys had to make sure to temper her rage.

“It is true, I suppose, that blood was spilled in my time in Astapor, but savageries? Tsk. We both know I did nothing of the sort, but of course to people like you the emancipation of slaves is indeed a savagery. I, on the other hand, prefer to uplift rather than oppress. I helped transform Astapor into a peaceful and prosperous city where once it was a debilitating hellscape, and I will do the same to Yunkai.” Daenerys asserted, making sure the slaves behind Grazdan heard her. 

Before the man could proceed with some outburst, Dany continued more calmly. “But before anything else, I have gifts to the Wise Masters as well… the first; your lives.” 

“Our lives?”  

“Yes, but for that I also ask for something in return. In three days, you will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman and child shall be given as much weapon, food, clothing, coin and goods as they can carry. These they shall be allowed to choose freely from among their masters’ possessions, as payment for their years of servitude. When all the slaves have been released to my protection, Yunkai will surrender, open their gates and allow my army to enter.” 

The man scowled deeply, but kept his mouth shut as she continued.

“My second, and final, gift is to bring peace and prosperity to Yunkai, just as I had done to the liberated city of Astapor. Do as I have asked and the Wise Masters will not face the wrath of me and my army… so I suggest you take this opportunity prove the masters as wise as your name suggests by accepting my gifts and achieving the peace we all desire.” She smirked at him in contempt. "Or reject these gifts, and I shall show you no mercy.”

Scorned, Grazdan began to sputter his next words. “You truly are a mad whore!”

“Am I?” Dany asked innocently. 

“The Wise Masters of Yunkai will not roll over like the cowards in Qarth or Astapor! We have powerful friends that will take great pleasure in destroying your army and killing you slowly!” 

Daenerys did not respond, but her dragons answered for her, stirring violently. Viserion roared, smoke rising from their snout, Rhaegal twisted their head back and belched flame at the empty air, and to her surprise, Drogon finally returned, beating their black wings as they flew in like the wind, landing in front of her and screamed at Grazdan in a ferocious display of might. The slaver stumbled and fell backwards unceremoniously onto the dirt right outside her pavilion, pissing his pants in the process.

“You swore me safe conduct!” Grazdan wailed. 

Daenerys shrugged. “I did. But my dragons made no such promises. And you just threatened their mother.”

Getting up from her lounge chair, Dany stepped forward to caress her largest child. “See that the Wise Masters hear my message. And take your gift of gold with you when you leave. That fortune does not belong to me or the Wise Masters, but to the very slaves still currently chained in Yunkai. It would be theirs soon enough, once the city is ours.” Daenerys says loudly, making sure the slaves in the Yunkai’i procession heard her declaration.

“You shall rue this arrogance, whore!”

“Three days, slaver. Now get out.”

Like a spoiled child deprived of their playthings, the Wise Master departed in a fit. After the Yunkai’i procession left from her camp, she looked outside at the darkening sky. 

“The Yunkai’i are proud people. They will not bend.” Ser Jorah said. 

“And what happens to things that don’t bend?” 

It was to be a cold and gloomy night; moonless and starless. 

“An hour past midnight should be enough time.” She said to all eight of her officers in the pavilion. 

“Enough time for what, Your Grace?” asked Ser Arthur.

“To mount our attack, of course.”

Chapter Text

301AC

Ser Barristan was the first to shake out of his stupor. “But you told the sellswords-”

“-that I would have their answers on the morrow.” Dany said as she walked towards the pitcher, poured herself a chalice of wine and chugged it down. 

"But let us be honest with ourselves, we already know what their answers are. Under the command of Prendahl, the Stormcrows would never agree to betray the Yunkai’i. The Titan’s Bastard would sooner rape me than fight alongside me. And the Tattered Prince would only join me if one of the other sellswords turn cloak.” Dany exhaled. “No, we need to force their hands.”

“And an ambush in the middle of the night is the best way to accomplish that?” Ser Jorah asked. “They will have scouts watching our every move.”

“That would be the case regardless if it is night or day.” Dany answered, before smiling to her bloodriders. “Besides, we can deal with these so-called scouts.” 

“This is easy, khaleesi. They are no riders, only slavers on horses.” Aggo said with a smile. “It will be done.”

“Even so, it is risky.” Ser Arthur weighed. 

“Better now when they least expect it… the Second Sons will be drunk on the wine I gave them, the Stormcrows will be too busy arguing, the Windblown will switch sides as soon as they see our approach, and the rest would be unprepared. They will sooner surrender tonight than if we take them at the crack of dawn.” 

“Then what about the Yunkai’i? You told them you would give them three days.” Ser Barristan asked. 

“I told them they have three days to release the slaves in the city… I said nothing about leaving the army they had assembled alone.” 

All three of her queensguards nodded and smiled then, finally convinced. 

“I say we attack from four sides, and encircle them. Grey Worm will get the bulk of the Unsullied to strike from the flanks and rear, while our Dothraki will marshal into a wedge formation to feint a thrust through their center, where they have stationed all their Yunkai’i soldiers. The slave solders will never stand before thousands of mounted warriors and I know they will surrender, so we must at least give them that chance.” She directed at Grey Worm, who gave her a respectful nod.

“The cavalry will then split to face the two sellsword companies holding the flanks, the Stormcrows on the left and the Second Sons on the right, where the Unsullied will already be there to protect the cavalry’s flanks by surrounding the Windblown and trapping them in the rear, so they won’t be tempted to assist their fellow sellswords. Loyal Spear and Eladon Goldenhair will then lead the rest of the Unsullied, the company of freedmen, and our archers to close the gap at the center, completing our encirclement. Our quick ambush would also prevent the legionnaires of New Ghis from forming their lockstep shield walls, effectively rendering their army’s biggest asset powerless.” She finished and looked around. “What say you?” 

“I say it is a sound plan.” Ser Arthur beamed. 

“Aye,” Ser Barristan nodded. “I concur.”

“As do I, khaleesi.” Ser Jorah said before adding. “And I would be honoured to lead the charge with the Dothraki, if you haven’t made your mind up about who would take lead on that.” 

“As a matter of fact, I have…” Dany said. “But I’m afraid I cannot bestow that honour to you, Ser Jorah.”

Looking over to Arthur, who knew well of her thinking, Dany could only smile and nod sheepishly.

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “Absolutely not.” 

“And why not?” Dany challenged. “What kind of a queen am I if I am not willing to risk my life to fight alongside my people?”

“A smart one, Your Grace.” Barristan pleaded. “Please, do not risk yourself needlessly. Allow us, any of us, to lead this attack in your stead, my queen.” 

“It is not needless, ser. I am not just a queen, but a khaleesi as well. Therefore I will lead this attack.” She remained adamant. “And I fail to understand why you all feel the need to be so worried. Do you all not train and spar with me every morning? With live steel and in simultaneous fashion no less?”

“Aye, we do, khaleesi.” Ser Jorah admitted, with nods from her other two knights. 

“Then you all should be aware, more than any other, that I am completely capable of fighting alongside my warriors. Especially you Arthur, as you trained and fought with me the longest.” 

“I apologize, Your Grace.” Arthur chuckled abashedly. “I know you can fight, none could deny that. We’ve spent years to make sure that you were the best, to be even better than me… but I suppose I cannot help but be protective of you still. None of us can.”

“Arthur, you were with me when I killed Khal Pogo’s khalakka and gained my first khasar.” She deadpanned. 

“Yes, but Fogo didn’t expect you to do that.”

“How is this ambush any different?”

“Because this is the first war you are engaged in where you are at the head and people actually know of your reputation.” He said soberly. "It is a well known truth now that you are not some helpless and dependent figurehead, but rather, a warrior queen that wears a sword on her person and actually knows how to use it. This won’t be like in Drogo’s khalasar, where you would have the element of surprise concerning your prowess. Qarth and Astapor has changed that. It makes you a more prime and vulnerable target.”

She met his softening look with one of her own. “I understand your concern father, but I am afraid I do not share those same concerns. And I shan’t be so vulnerable, as I will have you all there with me, protecting my side.”

Arthur exhaled. “Aye, and yet you are a queen still, which means you are the sole individual among us who is not expendable.” 

She frowned at her father, aghast. “Neither are you expendable, Arthur. None of you are.” Dany said looking around to the others, and spoke her next words solemnly. “I am not a queen that could give out commands that I myself would not be able to follow. That is simply not who I am. We fight as one, or we do not fight at all. Have faith in me, my good sers, as I have faith in all of you.” 

Daenerys was determined to do this. In a world where women could rarely be seen as a capable leader, she must break with such norms and show the way it could be… the way it should be.

“You sounded just like Prince Rhaegar, my queen.” Ser Barristan said wistfully. 

“Aye.” Arthur nodded in agreement. “And you will always have our faith, my queen.” 

Smiling at such approval, she knew the matter was settled. It took her council of commanders and advisors the better part of an hour to go through every detail concerning of the tactics of the coming battle, and once everything was finalised, she ended the meeting.

As her commanding officers all began leaving her pavilion to ready the troops, Dany felt her confidence soar after her first true war council, having felt at distinct ease leading such a meeting. After all the others have left, she realised that only Iroh remained, and he began to laugh. 

“And what is it that could possibly warrant your laughter, dear Iroh?” 

“Oh, it is nothing, Your Grace.” He chuckled. “It just tickles me that the little girl I once taught to fish and could barely hold a sword is now a hardened warrior who can lead a war council with the ease and dexterity of a seasoned leader. Like the queen that she is.” 

“Oh, enough with you.” Dany laughed as they recalled the memory of her that frustrating first time in the rivers of Asabhad, of her crying tears of joy after finally succeeding in catching fish with Iroh. She shook her head as the memory passed. “For a split second I had feared your amusement was you slyly implying some sort of disapproval of the plan.”

“Daenerys, please. Of course I approve. It’s bold. Bold enough to work.” He reassured her. “Though you did seem to leave me out of the actual battle…”

Turning to face Iroh, she met his wizened gaze. “Uncle Iroh, I didn't ask you here to be a soldier amongst my men, but as my counsel and advisor…” She began. “And though I would never prevent you from joining our fight if that is what you wish, I would prefer having you stay behind and guard our more vulnerable members of our host; my handmaids and the women and children of the camp. I would trust no one else to take care of and lead them, in any event that we lose.”

“Which you won’t.”

“Which I won’t.” She chuckled. “But humour me, if you would.”

“I would be honoured, my dear.” 

An hour before midnight, in the midst of her preparations she sensed something was amiss when she was alone in her tent.

Catching a glimpse of a figure trying to sneak their way past the tent flaps, she quickly drew her hidden knife and threw it past the intruder. The projectile only missed their neck by an inch and jammed itself on one of the wooden stakes holding the pavilion erect… but not before it had cut off several strands of the intruder’s loose hair. Just as she intended.

“The next one I throw will be lodged nicely between your eyes.” She coldly shouts. “So I suggest you choose your next move wisely.” 

The intruder, whose face still hid behind a hood that was now torn with a wide gash, was lucky that her dragons were out hunting again, otherwise they would not have exhibited the same restraint she just showed. Dany was by herself in the tent, since she had just dismissed her handmaids for a solitary pre-battle meditative moment, but Jhiqui had ran back in after hearing her raised voice.

“Khaleesi, did you call? I heard a shout-”

“You did. It was me.” Dany said quickly, nudging her head in the direction where the hooded figure remained frozen. Jhiqui’s eyes was close to bulging out of their sockets and nearly screamed before Dany stopped her. “Remain calm, my friend. I am fine. Call my commanders to my tent. Now.”

Her handmaid looked at her, then to the intruder and back to her before realising her khaleesi had it under control. She nodded frantically then and left. 

“How did you get past the perimeter?”

“I grew up surviving the streets of Slaver’s Bay when I was sold into slavery during my childhood…” A man’s voice answered her. “Evading authority became my specialty.”

Taken slightly aback by his admission, Dany nevertheless frowned at the realisation that her Unsullied would undoubtedly blame themselves hard for this lapse in security. But knowing the kind of man Grey Worm was, Dany knew, without a doubt, that he would ensure this incident be the last of its kind… perhaps now he would even finally succeed in giving his queen what he had always wanted; her own personal rotation of Unsullied sentries that would hold no other station than to be her permanent shadows who'll never leave her side. 

After this, even her queensguards, who she’ll admit she has constantly given many other responsibilities than guarding her, might even agree with Grey Worm, seeing as how her previous rationale of her three knights being enough have clearly now been rendered moot.

“Take that ridiculous thing off.” Daenerys deflected coldly. “Spy or assassin?” 

“Neither.” The man spoke in dulcet tones and raised his arm to take down the hood covering his face, revealing the familiar comely man behind it. “I am Daario Naharis, and I come bearing gifts and good tidings.”

One of the three sellsword captains of the Stormcrows, she remembered. 

Dany studied the Tyroshi’s lithe muscular figure as he shrugged the rest of the robe off, and found him to be quite attractive despite his overtly put-upon swagger. As the man began to kneel, she took notice of the heavy canvas sack he had carried slung over his one shoulder.

“The Stormcrows are yours, Your Grace.” He smiled. “As am I.”

Dany raised her eyebrows in scepticism. “Then I take it your fellow captains have also come to accept this wisdom? How?” 

“Indeed, my queen. I forced them to come to sense.” Upending the sack, the heads of Prendahl na Ghezn and Sallor the Bald spilled unceremoniously out upon her carpets, rolling close to her feet. “My gifts for the dragon queen.”

Well… that was unexpected, she thought dryly. 

In their characteristically dramatic flair, her dragons chose this opportune moment to return to their mother, and screeched loudly as they flew down and landed just outside the pavilion. All her generals had also come in the tent then, shock written all over their faces as they surveyed the scene. The three knights of her queensguard quickly tried surrounding her in a protective formation, only to have her wave them away immediately. She was in no danger here.

Daario tensed at suddenly being overcrowded, but hid it well to the untrained eye. Though he tried to mask it in a well-worn mask of bravado, she knew he was close to soiling his own pants. But now that she had more witnesses, Daenerys began her interrogation, starting with the simple… 

“Why?”

“Why? My queen, it was your beauty that compelled me do it.” Daario said, thinking to lighten the mood with a jest. 

But no one was amused. Least of all Daenerys, whose face remained a frozen glacier, which was quickly starting to steam into a quiet, simmering displeasure. The frigid reception made the man cough awkwardly, before he gave a more serious answer. 

“Self-preservation. And simple logic, khaleesi. Your name is already famous, and for good reason. Not long ago, you were a girl with nothing. Yet in a few short years, you have gained armies, conquered cities and brought back living dragons into the world. Three of them.” He smirked. “I’ve been around long enough to know that people such as you are the ones to bet on in any conflict.”

“And yet, you felt the need to behead your fellow captains because they did not reach such an enlightened conclusion as you did.” 

“Pft, it was necessary. Prendahl’s pride would have pushed him to continue on his foolish suicidal path of going against you, and Sallor was spineless enough to go along with it.” Daario replied with surprising composure, “And unlike my fellow captains, I have no wish to be on the side of the slain.”

Daenerys easily understood that logic at least, but remained unswayed. “Why should we trust a man who murders his own comrades?” 

Daario chuckles slightly before responding. “Funny you ask that, Your Grace. Because I actually was sent here to assassinate you…” 

The confession had made her frown, while near everyone else in the tent, her queensguards, her bloodriders, Grey Worm, Iroh, Belwas and even her dragons just outside had tensed unpleasantly. Hands ready to unsheathe their weapons, every single one of them were primed to attack at the man’s slightest false move.

Daario held up his arms in the air innocently. “Settle down, I was only meant to say that I had been outvoted by my fellow two captains and was ordered to assassinate the dragon queen. I refused, of course. But when they told me that I had no choice, I drew my sword and defeated them in combat, assuming leadership of the Stormcrows. So in a way, I saved you.” He said, speaking directly to her and winked. 

Dany couldn’t help but laugh at the man’s audacity. It was easy to see and follow the rationale in the sellsword’s tale, but near everyone else remained suspicious. Understandably so. Yet Dany had an intuition to trust the man… and her instincts has never led her astray. With a self-assured nod, she chose to listen to herself.

“Swear yourself and your Stormcrows to my service.”

The man kept his eyes trained on her as he went down on bended knee, and his deep, intense pools of azure stared into her own amethyst eyes with sincerity. “The Stormcrows are yours, my sword is yours, my life is yours, my heart is yours and my mortal body is yours…” 

Body? It almost made her roll her eyes. Instead, she turned her attention around. “Iroh.”

“Yes, Your Grace?” 

“Punch me in the face.” She said sarcastically to the chuckles of her people. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Your Grace.”

“That’s a shame.” She deadpanned, before turning to face the man again and stoically said. “Go ahead, you were saying?”

Smirking at the queen’s sharpness, Daario nevertheless said his next words with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I will live and die at your command, my queen.” 

Sensing no falsehood in his words, Daenerys accepted his oath. “Then live, and fight for me.”

Though her queensguards had disagreed on it initially, they eventually relented in appraising the sellsword of their plans and made minor adjustments to it. 

“I never make a threat I cannot carry out, so I will say this only once; betray me, and I will kill you myself.” Dany warned to their newest member, as they ended the meeting.  

“I would gladly die before I ever think of betraying you, my queen.” He said, smiling easily. 

As expected, her three queensguards had stayed behind, having held their tongue well in the presence of strangers. But once the sellsword snuck back out of their camp, the floodgates opened.

“I am not certain that was wise, my queen.” Ser Jorah said, giving Daario’s departing form a hard stare. “We should have kept that one under guard until the battle was won.” 

“I’d say it is the opposite, Ser Jorah. The Stormcrows would ensure that victory. The cleanest one possible, I might add. Now the Windblown is certain to join us.”

“But if he betrays you, surprise is lost.” Ser Barristan worried. 

“He won’t.” 

“We cannot know that for sure.” Ser Arthur said, disquieted. 

Dany pointed to the two blackened heads her dragons were consuming, their ferocious bites tearing through flesh and bone with terrifying ease. 

“I would call that proof of his sincerity.” She remarked sardonically before addressing her queensguards more seriously. “I know trusting him might seem like a grave mistake to you, but I made that decision based on my instinct, which by all indication assured me that he could be trusted. At least in this, he is.” She smiled at her knights. “Daario Naharis does not have my full trust, that I can assure you. That is something he must earn, the same way you all have done. So, I chose to give him the chance prove me right.”

After a moment, they all relaxed. “Then we are with you, Your Grace.” Ser Arthur relented. 

“I have never led us astray thus far, and I won’t begin today.” She assured them. 

Feeling her confidence grow again, she dismissed them to resume their posts and informed them that she would join them soon. Dany then left her pavilion to leave strict instructions behind to Iroh and Belwas, the reserve khalasar and freedmen, to protect her handmaids and their supplies, before heading to her three dragons who were playing with each other, tossing on the ground like overgrown children.

“Take to the skies and frighten them slightly, my loves.” Dany said as she caressed them all one by one, with each fighting for their mother’s affection. “Keep them distracted, but stay out of any danger.”

After releasing loud roaring screeches, the three spread their wings and ascended to the moonless sky where their distinct colours disappeared and became three black shadows. Dany smiled at the sight as she mounted her silver and rode towards the head of the column.

“You spoke before, how I sounded like Rhaegar…” Dany said as she took her place between her three queensguards and their steeds. “Did you mean it?” 

“Certainly, Your Grace.” Ser Barristan answered easily. “It is as much a compliment to you as it is to him.” 

“But is it a fair comparison?” She asked, feeling somewhat fraught with her rather underhanded methods that seemed in contrast with her brother’s noble character which had inspired such steadfast loyalty from the crown’s banners on the Trident.

“It is one thing to catch unsuspecting slavers by surprise, but it’s an entirely different thing to catch an army of soldiers in an ambush like this. Would my brother approve of such dishonourable tactics? It is much like Grey Worm said, the slaves within their army don’t know any better than to simply be lambs for slaughter. They do not know any other way… and as much as I am certain of their surrender, we cannot assure that no slave lives will be lost in the chaos.”

Though they all mulled over her queries earnestly, Arthur was the first to gather a response. 

“Your Grace, I was the closest to your brother and even I cannot claim to say I know his mind well enough to know what he would think in this moment. He was always solitary in that way…” Ser Arthur began, keeping his sight directly ahead. “However, I will say this; though Prince Rhaegar’s prowess was unquestioned, he never loved battle the way that someone like the Usurper or Jaime Lannister did. It was something he had to do; a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature, though he took no joy in it… he was a man who loved his harp much better than his sword, like how you love your battles more on the cyvasse board than with live steel and real blood. It is in those ways that you two are alike.”

He turned to her then. “There is little to no reason for you to remain here in Slaver’s Bay. In fact, you already have all you need and more to begin focusing on reclaiming your family’s throne in the west… and yet you stay.”

“Because I must.” Dany said simply. 

“Precisely.” He smiled proudly at her. “That is why you are like him… as well as being his better. You see your part in this revolution as a moral duty to help those who cannot help themselves, and as soon as you had accumulated your power, you used it to uplift those without. Though I cannot say he would approve of some of your more cunning manoeuvres, in the end that makes no matter, because he has never dealt with the kinds of situations and people that you have. But the results your methods reap? That he would very much approve.”

“Well said, Arthur.” Barristan chimed in before addressing her. “You are more than just his equal, Your Grace. But his worthy successor; noble, compassionate, principled, valiant and just. He would be proud of how you carry your family name.”

“You are the best of us, khaleesi. All would come to see that, I promise you.” Ser Jorah said last.

Taking in their words, Dany nodded as they took their place in the formation. She vowed to make her brother proud tonight, and steels herself for battle.  

Looking over the field, she scrutinised the opposition camp. The Yunkai’i host in the middle with their four-thousand infantry Yunkai'i slave army, supported by the four-thousand sellsword companies in the flanks; one-thousand Stormcrows on the left, one-thousand Second Sons on the right and two-thousand Windblown behind them on both sides. Both companies had about five-hundred mounted men and five-hundred foot soldiers each, the Windblown having triple the number of footmen. They were protected in the rear by two legions of three-thousand soldiers from New Ghis, totalling their number to fourteen-thousand. 

This was it… it was time to break the Harpy’s talons. 

A stillness settled over her as she sounded the attack, sprinting with her army towards the enemy lines in the next moment. As expected, the Stormcrows turned their cloaks, the slaves broke and the Second Sons were too drunk to fight. 

At the sight of a Dothraki charge, the slaves of Yunkai threw down their spears, most of the sellswords yielded when they saw her Unsullied form up the flanks, and the New Ghis legionnaires were unable to form up their lockstep shield walls and surrendered. Daenerys had been able to slay the Titan’s Bastard herself, beheading him in a duel when she jumped off horseback. 

Near a hundred dead in total, chief among them were the Yunkai’i slaves, Second Sons, and Iron Legions who were too stubborn to stand down, though more than half of the casualties came from the Second Sons. Though most in their company threw down their swords in submission, those few dozen loyal men had stayed true to Mero and paid for it with their lives.

The Tattered Prince had kept his end of the bargain and instructed his Windblown to not participate in the battle once he saw the Stormcrow’s change of allegiance. Her own losses; less than the amount of fingers she possessed.

All in all, a flawless victory with minimal bloodshed. 

She commanded her men to spare all those who will pledge their faith to her and join their cause, sellsword or slave, and she also allowed a new leader to rise among the Second Sons. If the new captain could convince enough of his fellow soldiers to join them, then the company will be kept intact, which in the end, they did. 

By the morning light, Daenerys stood in front of the captive slave soldiers from Yunkai and addressed them.

“From this moment onwards, you are all free!” Daenerys shouted. “But with that freedom, you have a choice before you. Return to the people who would never fight for you… or join us in the revolution to end the tyranny of the masters once and for all! But know that whatever path you choose, you will be unharmed. This I swear!” 

Like the Unsullied on the day of Astapor’s liberation, the masses of slave soldiers did not know what to do with their newly acquired freedom, too afraid and hesitant to take the leap. 

The field had gone so quiet it made Dany think for a moment that the captives were too comfortable in their chains that they preferred it instead. But then one brave soul, who looked upon her diverse host of Dothraki, Unsullied, freed men, women and children, and rose to his feet. 

“I follow the dragon queen to freedom!” He shouted, raising his fist, declaring her a queen worth believing in. After that first soldier rose to his feet, the rest of the men quickly followed, and soon the entire army of slaves from Yunkai had unshackled themselves and threw away their chains, raising their fist defiantly in the air. 

Dany’s heart leapt at the sound of their thunderous cheers, knowing the day was a victorious one for the revolution. Holding up her hand in silence, she then addressed the Iron Legions of New Ghis in the crowd. 

“I know you must have heard the most vicious of lies about me from your overlords… that I am only a foreign savage monster who has come to destroy your cities, burn down your homes, murder you and orphan your children. But I hope your experience today have shown you the truth of their malicious deception, and that I am, in fact, capable of mercy when it is deserved. And since you all have willingly thrown down your weapons in submission, I shall honour that and send you safely on your way home, if that is what you choose.”

At their perplexed and utterly confused reaction, Daenerys assured them further. “Once I have the city, I will allow you to board the same ships that took you to these shores, give you the necessary food provisions to make it home with full bellies, and leave you unmolested to return to your families. All I ask is that you honour your pledge of a ceasefire, and leave your weapons in Yunkai to ensure the good of your word.”

Though most had remained too surprised to truly comprehend her offer, a few dozen sergeants in iron half-helms with horsehair crests, which Dany assumed were the company leaders, stood up, nodded at each other and agreed. “We stand down and accept your offer.”

The next day they marched the last three leagues to Yunkai. In contrast to Astapor’s red, this city was built of yellow bricks, earning them the monicker the yellow city. Yet despite the stark difference in colour, the two cities also shared some marked similarities. Crumbling walls, high stepped pyramids, dilapidating structures and a hard mounted Harpy above its gates that seemed to be staple among the cities of Slaver’s Bay. But unlike the Astapori, the Yunkai'i were prepared, seen from how their walls and guard towers were swarmed with crossbowmen aiming at her army’s approach. 

Her knights, bloodriders and Grey Worm set up camp in front of Yunkai, arraying her swelling army a safe distance away from the city gates, where her host made up of Dothraki, Unsullied, freedmen, New Ghis captives, and new sellswords filled the entire area to the brim, ensuring the Wise Masters within could see the might of their opposition. 

The next days Dany waited in her central pavilion, and it wasn’t until the morning of the third day, which was also coincidentally her twenty-first nameday, that the city gates swung open and a line of slaves began to emerge. It didn’t take long before the entire field was overtaken with Yunkai’i slaves in a crowd size that dwarfed her own host, all looking to her.

“Citizens of Yunkai, you are now free! But you do not owe me your freedom!” Dany cried out, addressing them all. “I cannot give it to you, because your freedom is not mine to give. It belongs to you and you alone! If you want it back, you must take it for yourselves! Each and every one of you must find the strength, like those who stand beside me, and break the chains that have kept you subjugated for far too long! Join me and fight for a liberated future for all of Slaver’s Bay!” 

The crowd was silent as they took her words in, and Dany’s heart began to stammer in anticipation of their answer. Was she too late? Have these slaves learned to love their chains? 

“Mhysa!” A lone voice cried at her. She couldn’t even begin to speculate where the shout came from before others took up the cry and carried a chant that was picking up through the masses.

Dany looked to Missandei as it grew. “What are they saying?”

“It is Old Ghiscari, Your Grace. A long dead language of the old empire. It means ‘Mother.’”

Dany was speechless. The maegi had promised her that she would never bear a living child, shutting her out of a living and enduring legacy… but perhaps the people here could be her legacy; them and their children after them. If House Targaryen cannot have a chance to a future, then the very least she could do was make sure everyone else could. A just one.

She raised her hand to wave at the crowd, and the chant grew, spread and swelled, where soon the entire crowd had cried it out. “Mhysa!” they cried. Some even spoke it in the native tongue of the place they came from before they were enslaved, but no matter the language, they all meant the same thing; mother. 

As they smiled and reached for her, Daenerys remembered the vision from the Undying, but unlike in the vision, she could now see the faces of the slaves clearly. In their weathered but hopeful faces, Dany could see their fallen tears, tears that spoke of their silent joy and disbelief that somebody saw them and finally made them matter. It broke her heart and pieced it back together again, reshaped it into something new.

She stepped out of her pavilion and began walking towards them, with her queensguards urging not to go, fearing her safety. 

“No, it’s alright. They will not hurt me.” Dany told them. She walked towards where her dragons were perched, between the pavilion and the crowd of freed slaves, and gave them a single command. 

“Fly.” She said in Valyrian, the three ascending into the clear skies. Hoisting herself up on her silver that her bloodriders had readied for her, Dany then rode into the masses, who parted before her. 

But then Dany reached out to them, and the freed slaves began to reach back, touching her, wanting to show gratitude to their Mhysa anyway they could. Mother, they chanted again, and again, and again, until another word began filling the air. 

“Freedom!” they sang, as the triumph of liberty and victory were felt by the tens of thousands who broke their chains.

Chapter Text

302AC

“That’s another one we cannot use.” Dany said disappointingly as she inspected the latest watering hole. “I think it’s safe to say now that each one we come across will be in a similar state.”

“Those bastards. They poisoned their own lands, all just to spite us? It’s inconceivable.” Ser Arthur replied in disbelief, sternly shaking his head in disapproval. 

“An unnecessary shame.” Barristan concurred in a similar state of distaste.

“Indeed. And yet another thing we must fix when we take the city.” Dany sighed.

Much like the Yunkai’i, the Meereenese had prepared for her coming, though they were certainly more cunning in their approach to impede her host than their Wise counterparts before them. In contrast to her previous march, the Great Masters of Meereen hadn’t bothered to put any army in her path but had instead withdrawn before her host’s advance, harvesting all they could and burning what they could not. 

And as it turned out, half-burnt timber, scorched fields, and poisoned wells were more potent obstacles than an army of fickle sellswords or untested slave soldiers ever could be. And such handicaps would have proved disastrous and hamstrung her efforts, had she not prepared her army for such contingency and brought a plentiful stockpile to keep her people supplied and well-fed. Yet she knew even that wouldn’t last forever. 

“No matter. It just means we have no time to lose. How fares our supplies?” Dany asked. “I know they are plenty but I doubt they will last us an extended period.” 

“Aye, we must make haste.” Ser Jorah agreed. “At present, we are less than two hundred miles to Meereen, and our supply train is still abundant for now. But it is as you say, khaleesi, they are far from infinite.”  

Dany nodded before she sensed her dragons’ return from their hunt, turning her silver around to head in the opposite direction of the procession. “I must see to my children. Take lead of the march, Ser Arthur. And continue to have my bloodriders scout ahead. The closer we get to Meereen, the more dangerous our terrain.”  

As she rode towards the coast, Dany greeted her people happily as she steadily passed by her host, riding by Unsullied, Dothraki, freedmen and sellswords, where all alike had bowed respectfully before their queen. 

Yet despite the attention they lavished at her, Dany was half-lost in thought. In years past, Arthur used to lecture her about how the fighting capabilities of armies were important, but just as important, was how long one can maintain them in the field. “Being able to protect your supply lines, and obtaining more information on your opponent could be the difference between a winning side and a losing one.” Her father always told her.

If one knew the enemy and knew themselves, then they would need not to fear the result of a hundred battles, she remembered also from her education in Asabhad. If they know only oneself but not the enemy, for every victory gained they would also suffer a defeat. But if one knew neither the enemy nor oneself, they would inevitably succumb in every battle.

Those words kept repeating inside her head as Dany thought about how a year ago, when she had entered the city of Yunkai after its liberation, she found the yellow city to be depleted of at least half of its Wise Masters. 

“The slavers had feared your wrath and ran away, my queen!” Her triumphant soldiers told her that day. But Daenerys knew that it was far from the last time she would ever encounter them. In all likelihood, the slavers escaped their own city in order to find allies that would help undermine her at a more opportune moment in the future, rather than face her at their moment of disadvantage.

And if Dany had to ponder an assumption, then she would surmise that they had fled to other slaving cities in or near the bay, where she knew they would be well protected and surrounded by like-minded nobles who also despised her. Perhaps even Volantis would’ve provided them asylum. 

The slavers must have known Yunkai would have fallen so easily, which was made abundantly clear when she and her army had inspected the city’s defences and siege preparations, and found them to be ill-conceived. So incompetent it was, that it must have been an intentional strategic retreat.  

The Wise Masters either never intended to outlast the siege, or arrogantly thought their forces outside the walls would truly keep them safe. But she knew, without a doubt, that it was the former, and that it was indeed deliberate. It was clear that the Yunkai’i never once thought they would win against her at that point in time, so it seemed they resolved to only weaken her army by bleeding her every opportunity they get while they regained their strength in the shadows. 

Since that first day she took the reins of the yellow city, she had resolved to always keep the missing slavers in mind. Yet, with how little information she had on her growing number of opponents that have all but disappeared, Dany knew she was at a disadvantage, despite her army’s ever increasing numbers. 

In the time since the liberation of Yunkai, the masters of Meereen had been quiet… distressingly quiet. No declarations of war, no besieging armies, nothing. And that had worried her. Now one year later, it was near time to face them, and it unnerved her to think what other things they have prepared for her approach. 

“My Queen.” Brown Ben said, bringing Dany out of her thoughts. She realised then that she was halfway through the column, where the Second Sons were among the never-ending stream of Unsullied and Dothraki.

“Captain Plumm.” Dany greeted with a smile.

Brown Ben bowed. “I saw your dragons flying above our procession. You headed to see them, Your Grace?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. They have just landed nearby…” A sudden thought had seized her. “And I would actually like for you to come with me, and bring along some game for them from the supply train. Jhiqui and Doreah should have some ready.”

“It would be an honour, Your Grace. I’ll be there shortly.” 

Dany nodded and stirred her silver towards the secluded cliffside, where she knew her two dragons Viserion and Rhaegal had landed. Yet, for all she knew of their whereabouts, she felt nothing of Drogon’s current position.

Her arrival had roused Viserion and Rhaegal to excitement, and their thrill has increased her own as she took turns stroking their sizeable snouts that now dwarfed her dainty hands. 

“Do you know where Drogon went? They didn’t come back with you?”

When only twin disagreeing purring had answered her, it made her chuckle, and yet it didn’t stop Dany's smile from fading ever so slightly at caressing only two dragons, yearning the times when she would have to indulge three at a time.

Her largest child had become increasingly independent ever since she gave her children looser reins and allowed them to roam farther and for longer. While her other two remained close, Drogon took her permission with abandon and would at times spend entire days away. They could be near or far, she wouldn’t know, and it made Dany miss the closeness they used to share in the years past.

Though her rule in Yunkai had been shorter than Astapor, having stayed no longer than one year, the time had seen her children grow immensely. The three have now reached the size of an elephant, or a small house, which only meant that she was the sole person remaining who could go near them… with the exception of one other.

“Your Grace.” Ben Plumm bowed when he arrived and dismounted his horse. Then as if on cue, Viserion began to spread their pale-golden wings and crowed at the man enthusiastically when they took notice of him.

Since the time she killed Mero, the Second Sons had elected “Brown” Ben Plumm as their captain, an aged but still fit man with a rugged face and salt-and-pepper hair whose namesake came from his deep brown complexion.

It had initially surprised her when the man declared that, unlike his predecessor, he was willing to fight with her campaign all the way until her eventual return to Westeros. Despite her suspicion, Ben Plumm’s price for loyalty had turned out to be quite simple, as he was a descendant of House Plumm of the Westerlands, and thus desired a return to his ancestral homeland in the Sunset Kingdoms. 

When Dany agreed to his proposal, Ben Plumm easily bent the knee and swore fealty to her as his one and only queen, and in the following year since, she had determined him to be surprisingly trustworthy for a sellsword. 

It was easy to notice how the man had taken the time and effort to earn her trust since their first introduction, which she figured stemmed from Ben Plumm’s hopes that he would one day be awarded with a great castle in the Westerlands, as well as bettering his prospect and standing with the crown for when she eventually sits on the Iron Throne.

And yet despite all that, his interest in Westerosi matters wasn’t truly what intrigued Dany to Brown Ben’s character, as more interestingly, one of her dragons had developed an affinity to the man. In spite of her dragons’ increasing volatility since reaching their adolescence, Viserion still allowed Ben to feed and pet them more than anyone else. But the familiarity seemed to end there as Viserion did not allow him to try anything further than the simple petting and feeding.

“Come closer, Ben. Viserion obviously likes you.” Dany said, before deciding to test her suspicion. “Why is that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Your Grace.” Brown Ben laughed, as he stepped closer and joined his queen in petting and feeding the dragons. “Though it might have to do with the drop of dragon blood I have.”

Dany chuckled. “I suspected as such.” She had known that Ben was half-Dothraki, obvious from his large, dark, almond-shaped eyes, but the man also claimed to be part Braavosi, part Summer Islander, part Ibbenese, part Qohorik, and all sorts of mixed ancestry, but this was the first admission she heard of his possible Targaryen blood. 

“So it seems we could be distant relatives, Captain Plumm.” She smirked. “How could that be?”

“Far too distant, Your Grace. And utterly unproven.” said Brown Ben with good humour. “Though it was my half-Ibbenese and half-Qohorik grandmama who used to tell me these things. She used to say that there was some old Plumm named Ossifer in the Sunset Kingdoms who wed a dragon princess… Elaena Targaryen, I think her name was. The two then had a son, Viserys Plumm, and grandmama used to say that my dragon blood comes from his younger son.”

“Fascinating.” Viserion had purred upon hearing the familiar name of their namesake, her brother’s, and the reaction had made Dany shiver ever so slightly. She gave Ben Plumm a searching look and asked. “How did your grandmother come to know of this?”

“My grandfather must have told her, but to be honest, I couldn’t know for certain. She’s never been to Westeros, you see. All she has known came from her husband, and my grandfather died before I was born. Killed by some Dothraki. So it could all just be a lie, really.” 

“Judging by the way Viserion is fond of you, I think she may have indeed told the truth. Who knows, perhaps my child was able to somehow sniff out your ‘drop’ of dragon blood underneath all your other ancestry.” Dany mused. 

“Perhaps so, Your Grace. Dragons are magical creatures after all.” He smiled back. “Though I doubt they’d ever let me ride them.” 

Of all the things not yet known, Dany was certain of one thing, and that was how she knew there was no bond forming between her dragon and the sellsword captain.

“You’re wise to recognise such truth, Ben Plumm.” Dany said. “A rider must first form a bond with their dragon before they could hope to fly on the back of one. And I'd be rather glad to not lose you to some suicidal endeavour in the case you might want to test that theory.”

“I wouldn’t dare, Your Grace. There’s no point in fighting for gold if you die before you can enjoy your hard-earned riches.” He said amusingly. “After all, there are old sellswords, and there are bold sellswords, but there are no old bold sellswords.”

Well said.

It seemed ridiculous, and yet Dany felt a small comfort at the thought of having relation again, even if it was far-fetched as her and Brown Ben’s blood ties. But the revelation had her wondering; her two dragons would still need riders one day, and it seemed that it will potentially fall to them to sniff out more closer-tied hidden relatives that would serve as their rider. And so the question remained… were there two more out there with enough Targaryen blood to be her other two heads?

Dany’s mind flashed momentarily to the visions from the Undying before turning around and noticed how her host suddenly stopped their march. Looking in confusion at Brown Ben, the man merely mirrored her puzzlement before Ser Jorah had appeared, riding fast towards them, undoubtedly bringing with him some pressing news. What she didn’t expect was how he also had a sense of deep unease about him.

“Why have we stopped?” Dany asked as Jorah’s horse slowed his gallop. 

“I think it’s better if you see it yourself, khaleesi.”

The ride to the front of the procession had been tense, and her mind raced through every worst case scenario of what she expects to find. As soon as she saw the nervous and horrified looks on the faces of the rest of her commanders, she knew to anticipate the very worst… but nothing could have prepared her for this. 

“Is she…?” 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Grey Worm replied grimly. “For some days.”

Like a scene straight out of a nightmare, the Great Masters of Meereen had seemingly taken it upon themselves to nail a still living slave child up to a milepost with their entrails hanging out and one arm outstretched to point the way to last of the slave cities, leaving them to die a slow, excruciating death. A completely grotesque and indefensible act designed to taunt her army’s coming, she realised. 

“Are there others like this?” She asked, though she had a dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach that she already knew the answer.

“It appears they replicated… this, on every mile marker between here and Meereen.” Barristan replied sombrely.

After a quick counting, Dany suddenly felt the need to throw up. “Then we should expect to find one hundred and sixty-nine more victims…” She then felt the fire inside her burn like cold fire.

“Where are my bloodriders? Have them immediately ready a few dozen of our best horses. I will join them in racing towards Meereen and see if there are any children we can save-”

“Already done, Your Grace.” Arthur said reassuringly. “When we realised that this child’s body had only been here for a a day or two, and the next one was fresher, your bloodriders and I thought perhaps the slavers may have worked backwards, with this one being their first of their victims. Jhogo, Aggo, Rakharo and about four dozen men have already rode ahead.”

Nodding at her father, she was thankful he knew her mind well enough to act on her behalf. “Thank you, father.” 

“We can also have more men ride ahead and bury them, Your Grace.” Ser Barristan suggested. “You don’t have to see this.” 

“You will do no such thing.” Dany answered firmly. “I will bury each and every one of them myself… I will see every one of them, count them, look upon their faces, and I will remember.” 

And so she did. 

At every subsequent mile marker, they would find a child crucified, and with each child she lay her eyes upon, Dany felt the violent anger inside her grow, a rage that was starting to negatively effect her dragons’ temperamental moods, especially Drogon’s, who had suddenly started to follow their march more closely. 

Fearing what could happen if she allowed the fury to run unchecked, Dany made time to meditate and took care to temper that anger, and each time, she moulded it, like one would when making castle-forged steel… and coincidentally, the Dragon Queen knew exactly how to wield sharp swords.

As difficult as it was, Daenerys kept that resolve each time she and her men took a child down and cleaned their bodies of the gruesome wounds as best they could. But it had struck her, while she performed their final rites, how for just a single moment, she almost couldn’t tell if the children were slaves or free without their chains… almost.

In the end, her Dothraki were only able to save seven little children from the fate of the hundred-and-sixty-three other victims, and were able to apprehend some of the butchers the Great Masters had employed for this unforgivable act. They were valuable, these butchers, for they knew who gave them the orders… and their time would come soon enough, she reminded herself. Fiery retribution will come to them all these monsters.

After passing by the last of the mile markers, Daenerys and her great host finally arrived at the last stronghold of the Harpy. The city of Meereen itself was larger than Astapor and Yunkai combined, and like her sister cities it was built of brick. But where Astapor had been red and Yunkai yellow, Meereen was vibrant with many colours that belied its dark wickedness that lay proudly beneath it.

The walls were higher and in much better repair than the other two cities, which had clearly been fortified in recent times, with heightened defensive towers at every angle and no discernible weaknesses. And behind them all, like a colossus marring the sky, was the Great Pyramid, a monstrous structure eight hundred feet tall with a towering bronze harpy perched proudly at its top. 

“The harpy is a craven thing, my queen.” Daario Naharis said as her army began to situate themselves in front of the city. “And so are her sons, who hide behind their walls.”

“That may be so…” Dany replied. “But it seems the harpy’s hero however does not hide.”

Proclaiming himself as the champion of Meereen, a large muscular man wearing a striped pink-and-white cloak rode out the city gates mounted upon a white horse. Bearing a fourteen feet long lance, the man rode back and forth beneath the walls to challenge her camp to send a champion to meet him in single combat. 

The hero taunted her and her army, mocking them over anything and everything the man could think of, all while Meereen’s Great Masters cheered him on from the city walls. And judging by the overflowing ramparts, it seemed that all of Meereen had showed up to witness their champion’s challenge and joined in the fanfare, like some kind of game.

“His name is Oznak zo Pahl, Your Grace.” Brown Ben Plumm told her and her group of commanders. “I was bodyguard to his uncle once, before I joined the Second Sons. An odious character. Oznak once slew a man and cut out his liver just for looking at him the wrong way. But his uncle is the wealthiest and most powerful man in Meereen and his father commands the city guard, so he has faced absolutely no repercussions for his many crimes. They say only a fool dares to cross the House of Pahl here.”

“Well, I say let the fool ride back and forth and shout until his voice gives out. Him and his words are meaningless.” Ser Jorah said dismissively. 

“They’re not meaningless if the city you intend to take is listening to him. Wars are not won with swords and spears alone. This hero builds courage in the hearts of his own men and fellow masters.” Ser Barristan replied.

“And yet Meereen’s gates still will not open even if this imbecile falls.” Ser Arthur suggested.

Amidst the growing cheers of his fellow masters, Oznak zo Pahl continued his tirade with a string of new insults thrown her way. Very colourful insults.

“What is he saying now?” Barristan asked Missandei for a translation, yet the girl’s face was beet-red and too embarrassed to repeat the words, so Dany answered for her.

“He says that we are an army of cock-less slave boys and horsefucking savages being led by a woman who is not a woman at all, but a man that hides his cock in his own arsehole.” Dany couldn’t stop herself from chuckling at hearing herself repeat the man’s silly words, finding some amusement in them.

“I’ll kill him.” Her father said with near-comical menace upon hearing the insults.

Her other knights reacted immediately and similarly looked ready to kill the man, before they all watched on in disgust as Oznak zo Pahl dismount his horse, undo his robes, pull out his manhood, and direct a stream of urine in the direction of Daenerys and her army.

High on the walls of Meereen, the jeers had grown near deafening, and now hundreds of the tokar-wearing slavers were taking their lead from the hero and joined him by pissing down through the ramparts themselves to show their contempt for the besiegers.

If only they knew how lucky they were that she commanded her dragons to stay away for the day, Dany thought. 

“Tsk. This champion lacks honour.” Iroh said, sounding more disappointed than truly offended. “He is the best Meereen has to offer?” 

“We should know by now than to expect better from slavers, Iroh.” Arthur replies. “But this challenge must be met.”

“I agree. And so it will.” Dany declared. Yet who could she send?

Her bloodriders were in such a fever to go meet him that they almost came to blows. “Blood of my blood…” Dany addressed them. “I applaud all your bravery, and none could question that you three are among the best of all my warriors, but you are all too consequential to risk. Your place is here with me, and with the khalasar.” Though clearly disappointed, Aggo, Jhogo, and Rakharo acquiesced and nodded at their khaleesi.

“Your Grace, I have won more single combat than any man alive-” Ser Barristan began, before Dany interrupted him.

“Which is why you must remain by my side.” She shook her head and smiled at the white knight. 

“I have been by your side longer than any other, Your Grace. Allow me to stand for you today, as I always have.” Ser Arthur volunteered proudly.

“You are the first of my queensguard, my most valued general, and my most trusted counsellor. You have also been a better father figure than any I could ever wish for, I will not gamble with your life.” Dany squeezed her father’s hand before she turned to Jorah, who tried to offer himself up next.

“No, I will not risk you either, ser. After all, you still must fulfil your promise to me and show me your home in Bear Island.” She smiled at the northern knight, who returned it in earnest.

Though she was confident that any one of them would easily best the Meereenese champion, she was aware that choosing her knights wouldn’t work for such an occasion. The optics of a foreign knight defeating a local champion wouldn’t be met with much enthusiasm from the city or any of its inhabitants. It could also reinforce the false notion that their revolution relied on the strength of too many outsiders. 

“Allow me this honour, my queen.” Grey Worm offered. “I will not disappoint you.” 

Conversely, choosing Grey Worm would send a much better message. A former slave who rose high in her ranks to a commander of her army, able to defeat the Great Masters of Meereen’s champion, that defeat would shame the slavers of the city… that a mere ‘slave’ was able to achieve such a feat. Yet still, the man was also too valuable to lose. 

“I doubt you ever could, Grey Worm.” Dany replied. “But you are the commander of the Unsullied, I cannot risk you.”

Even if Dany were to choose him as her champion, it would inevitably open the door for the masters to, somewhat credibly, spread misleading tales of how she was no different than they are; just another master in all but name, and one who sends slaves to fight to the death in her name. It is for that same reason that she rejects Strong Belwas’ offer to be her champion, who unlike her bloodriders, knights or Grey Worm, did not lead troops, plan battles or give her counsel, which would have made the large eunuch the most logical choice. 

“Allow me to kill this man for you, my queen.” Daario Naharis said. “I grew up in the fighting pits of Meereen. I’ve killed many like Oznak.” 

“I would be honoured to offer my company’s best killer, Your Grace.” The Tattered Prince proposed with quiet dignity. 

“As would I, Your Grace.” Brown Ben Plumm added. “Just say the word.” 

Theirs were the best options thus far, but even if sellswords would be the most expendable choice, she knew it wouldn’t suit her needs. Not for what she planned. 

Looking over to Iroh, who was the only one among her commanders and advisors who did not offer himself up as champion, Dany knew that it was because he had already deduced just what this plan of hers was.  

“No. Though I thank you all for the offer, they will not be necessary.” Dany replied to all her captains and generals. “I will take care of this champion myself.”

Almost immediately, all her commanders began to passionately protest, hoping to deter their queen from her determination to needlessly put herself in harm’s way. But Dany knew she was the best choice, if not the only choice. 

By electing herself as champion, it would completely win the slaves of the city to her side; seeing the Breaker of Chains striking down the champion of Meereen would be the most magnificent triumph for her army of freedmen and the worst shame for the Great Masters, especially because she was a woman leading an army of former slaves. 

It would also dissolve any lingering doubt the slaves of Meereen could possibly have about her and eliminate the false image of selfish monstrosity she knew the masters must have fed of her to the masses of the city.

Holding up her hand in silence, Dany remained adamant. “Am I not wearing my Valyrian-steel armour?” 

Arthur spoke for them. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“And do you all trust my skills?” She asked more pointedly, to which they all nodded sincerely. 

“Then there is nothing to be discussed.” She said with finality, as she unsheathed Narsil. “You said it once yourself, it is well known that I know how to wield this thing. I think it is time I showed them just the kind of queen I am.”

She then walked forward facing the Meereenese champion and signalled to him that it was she he was facing. A moment of silence had overtaken the ramparts of the city as the masters, defenders, and even slaves began to understand what was happening. 

But then a thrum of excitement had shot through the siege lines, and shouts erupted again, more frenzied than before, as the Great Masters cheered on their champion. Their message to Oznak zo Pahl was clear; this would be their single best chance to end the foreign invader once and for all. 

“He looks strong.” Iroh said as they observed the hulking Meereenese champion mounting his massive charger again, holding the striped lance upright once he was secure in his seat. 

“And what have you always said about strong men?” Dany coyly replies. 

“Strike them in the right places and they fall as easily as the rest of them.” They said in unison. 

Giving her an amused but encouraging nod, Iroh walked back to a safer distance away, and in the seconds before the duel was to begin, Dany’s thoughts suddenly went to her two brothers.

Of the two, she knew Rhaegar would similarly not hesitate to put himself in her position and lay his life on the line for his army… but Viserys on the other hand, she knew would not hesitate to choose the dragonfire as his champion. He wouldn’t care about how terrible the optics would be or how it would make him look like the worst kind of conqueror, and cheater. It had still made her sad to think so low of her brother, no matter how true it was.

The sound of neighing from the horse impatiently tossing his head and pawing the sandy earth brought her back to the present, and in the next moment, Oznak zo Pahl lowered his lance and charged. 

Hair tied in a single tight braid down her back, Dany assumed the position and braced herself. She wielded no shield, but having equipped herself with only her fitted Valyrian-steel scale-armour and hidden chainmail over her riding wear, hers was a deceptively minimal protective gear that she knew would make her opponent truly unaware of just how impervious she was in them.

Just as she intended.

Dust flew from the hooves of Oznak’s horse, and he thundered toward her, his pink-and-white striped cloak flowing brilliantly behind him. The entire city of Meereen seemed to be screaming his name, while her host seemed quiet by comparison; watching with tense faces. But it hadn’t bothered Dany, as she had instead focused on channeling her fury from the memory of the one hundred and sixty-three children, making her feel as sharp and deadly as the Valyrian steel sword that she held in her arm.

Oznak’s lance was levelled at the center of her chest, its bright steel point gleaming in the sunlight, and was ready to impale her… before Daenerys spun sideways in the blink of an eye. The Meereenese had been shocked as he thundered past her, before wheeling around and raised the lance once more. But Dany made no move to strike at him, and it only spurred the Meereenese on the walls to scream even louder for their champion. 

Charging again, Oznak aimed for her once more. Again Dany waited, then spun, but not before knocking the point of the lance aside almost contemptuously. She could hear the increasingly frustrated grunts erupting from the man as well as the Meereenese on the walls.

Oznak zo Pahl then charged for a third time, but now he was riding past her, rather than at her, having finally realised that the cumbersome fourteen-foot lance was too easy for her to dodge. Trying to anticipate her moves, he swung his lance sideways at the last second this time, in an attempt to catch her when she dodged. 

But Dany had anticipated that too, and dropped down instead of spinning sideways. The lance passed harmlessly over her head, and suddenly Dany rolled, and brought her razor-sharp sword around in an arc, slicing the animal’s legs, sending the horse and its rider tumbling violently to the ground.

The next moment, a sudden silence swept the entire audience save for the wailing scream of a dying horse and the gasps of a man trying to regain his footing. Now it was Dany’s people who began screaming and cheering for their champion. 

Oznak leapt clear of his horse and began to run back towards the entrance of Meereen’s gates, where a slave serving as the hero’s squire had spare weapons ready. After Dany put the dying horse out its agony, she saw that Oznak had chosen a spear and strapped a sword on his hip. Turning to face her again, the man then began charging at her like an enraged bull. 

Screaming furiously, he raised his spear and lunged it with his full strength, aiming straight at her head. Pacing herself, Dany began to jog towards Oznak and only moved her head, almost lazily, away from the spear’s hurtle just as it was inches to her face, dodging it effortlessly. Picking up her speed, Dany ran and met the man steel to steel. For a long moment, they traded blows, with Dany blocking his sloppy strikes with consummate ease.

Oznak then slashed at her face, and Dany jerked back, cat-quick. She slashed sideways, parried a looping cut, danced away from a second, and checked a third mid-swing, before parrying and twisting the man’s last swing, disarming him and sending his sword flying to the ground. A look of disbelief overtook the champion’s face, before fear set in. But instead of a violent cut that he expected, Dany simply stepped back and impaled Narsil on the ground next to her.

Bewilderment replaced the fear before a satisfying smirk wiped the confusion off of the man’s face. “You stupid whore.” The man said as he readied himself for what he believed was going to be the easiest hand-to-hand combat he would ever participate in. And it was… but not for him. 

The champion swung his fist, but Dany jerked back before whipping around and striking the man with a series of precise jabs around his arms and shoulders. Oznak staggered back and tried to swing back again… only to find that he couldn’t get his arm to move.

“What the f-” He stared at his limp right arm in horror, unready as Dany continued striking hard at the other arm and shoulder. The rapid-quick jabs sent the man reeling, leaving him with both arms paralysed.

“What did you do to me!” He manically screamed at her, confused. But Dany didn’t answer with her words, instead she continued with her precision strikes, this time targeting the back of the man’s legs, forcing him to kneel on two bended knee.

Calmingly walking to where Oznak’s sword lay off to their side, Dany picked up the sharp blade and sauntered back to face the champion of Meereen. 

“Pressure points.” Dany replies with a smirk, before swiping the blade and parting the hero’s head from his body in one clean swing through the neck. To the shocked gasps of the Great Masters and the cheers of her own people, Dany held Oznak zo Pahl’s head by the hair, and brought it up high for the Meereenese to see, then flung it toward the city gates and let it bounce and roll across the sand.

The defenders on the walls began firing at her, but the bolts and arrows all either fell short or skittered harmlessly along the ground. Dany looked back to her group of commanders and smiled, before seeing Belwas running towards her with a mischievous smile. He quickly congratulated her before walking past her, and proceeded to loot Oznak’s corspe. But the eunuch was not done. 

Dany had to hold in her laughter as Belwas lowered his trousers, squatted and shat on the Meereenese champion’s fresh corpse. After he was done, the eunuch wiped himself with Oznak’s striped cloak, marring the pink-and-white and redressed himself before rejoining her commanders. 

Her host had cheered her victory with thunderous fanfare, where her Dothraki hooted and screamed, and the Unsullied and freedmen banged their spears against their shields in tandem. All celebrating the triumph of their victorious queen. 

But Daenerys was not done. She had something to say to the people of Meereen… and something to give. Holding her hand up for silence, it was only a moment before she had it.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn!” Daenerys addressed the people of Meereen, the acoustics of the valley helping her voice carry. Waiting a moment to get their attention, she continued when silence answered her. “Your masters may have told you lies about me, or they may have told you nothing! It makes no matter! I have nothing to say to them! I speak only to you!”

“First, I went to Astapor! Those who were slaves in the red city now either stand behind me or are back in their prosperous city; free. Next, I went to Yunkai! Those who were slaves in the yellow city now either stand behind me or are back in their prosperous city; free. Now… I have come to Meereen!” 

Even from her vantage point, she could already see some masters trying to usher their slaves away, knowing her words would do damage. But it was too late. They were listening intently. 

“I am not your enemy! Your enemy is beside you! Your enemy steals and murders your children! Your enemy has nothing for you but chains and suffering! To you, I bring a choice! But to your enemies, I bring what they deserve!” 

“Forward!” She commanded a group of her Unsullied, who brought forward a dozen or so catapults, and positioned it within firing range upwards, facing Meereen. 

“Loose!” Dany shouted, and in the next moment the barrels were shot in the air, flying towards the city, where it quickly crashed onto the walls of the higher buildings and breaks, sending the inside contents of the barrels to fall harmlessly like rain over the citizens. 

Great Masters and slaves alike had initially screamed in fear before realising the falling debris weren’t harmful siege weapons at all… but chains. More specifically, the broken chains of those previously enslaved in Astapor and Yunkai. And now thousands had littered their city streets for all to see, unable to be ignored, and enough to send a clear message.

The age of the masters was coming to an end, and freedom shall soon reign.

Chapter Text

302AC

“We must take this city.” Dany said to her advisors, commanders and their lieutenants.

Her war council was gathered inside her main pavilion that her handmaids had set up in the center of their army’s fortified camp overlooking the city a safe distance away from Meereen, and now they were currently discussing the strategy of their siege.

“I may have won one battle, but that does not mean we can win Meereen by simply killing its defenders one at a time. And I don’t think they’ll fall to subterfuge the way Astapor and Yunkai did, so we need to think of a more traditional and direct method to force their surrender.”

“From all I’ve seen of their landward walls, and I see no point of weakness in any. They’re much better prepared than both Yunkai and Astapor.” Ser Jorah said. “Given time, we might be able to dig beneath a tower and make a breach, but that would take time…”

“Time which we cannot spare. The longer we are outside those walls, the longer the slaves within them are vulnerable to their master’s sadism.” Dany said bitterly, thinking of the dead children on the mileposts, crows feeding on their entrails, arms pointing to the city of the Great Masters. It was a sight she could never forget, nor meant to ever see again.

“Then I suppose the blockade by sea would not suffice in forcing them to surrender?” Admiral Groleo asked. “We’ve already managed to trap in the slavers' armada, so any incoming shipments that would otherwise restore their depleting supplies could now refill our previously thinning reserve when we take them. The city might be well provisioned for now, but since we control the port that certainly would not last.”

“Starving the population is just another unnecessarily slow death sentence that would result in nothing but a cruel and prolonged suffering.” She countered. “One which I guarantee would effect only the slaves, and not the masters.”

Inside Meereen the slavers would soon be reclining in their palatial manses and steeped pyramids to feast lavishly, whilst outside the people would go hungry. A sudden burst of anger filled her. It is always the lowest tier of society that suffer when the great lords play their games. “We can keep the blockade, but that cannot be our only solution.”

“What if we built siege towers?” asked Ser Barristan. “Use them and lay siege to the city with the trebuchets we already have, and then storm the city gates. It would be the most direct and fastest way in.”

“Yet in doing so, it would kill more than you think.” Brown Ben Plumm said. “Those rows of bronze heads above every one of the city’s gates? They can squirt boiling oil out them mouths, and cook our men where they stand.”

The Others take her. Dany could feel a headache coming, and to stymie that, she began messaging the bridge of her nose in sooting motions. “That would also cost too many on both sides. And I would rather not throw away lives, whether they be ours or theirs.” 

Though Dany wanted more than anything to take the city, she also had no desire to kill every enslaved soldiers within just to open the gates their masters wanted kept shut, for she knew the Great Masters would send their entire population of slaves to their deaths before they’d ever surrender to her. “I’d prefer the slave soldiers within Meereen live to see themselves break their own chains than die in them.”

“Then why not use your dragons?” Daario asked simply. “With your command, they could fly over the walls and melt those harpies down to slags.”

It was an idea she had already thought of, and one that she initially thought to have some merit, before quickly realising it was ultimately an impotent one; despite her dragons being nearly full-grown, she has yet to figure out how exactly to wield them properly in battle. 

But in truth, that was only one part of why she could not use her dragons. Since she has yet to become bonded to her child as dragonriders should before riding into battle, Dany knew the she had to find another way to take the city beside using dragonfire.

“We cannot use my children.” Dany declared. “It was easier when they were younger, but at their size now, with their larger appetite for spitting fire and the smell of blood, I could not, in good faith, guarantee they leave the slave soldiers unhurt.” Her destined mount, Drogon, would be the worst of them. “Especially if Meereen’s defenders were forced to provoke my children with a retaliatory attack, which they undoubtedly would.”

Then there were the optics of using her dragons as well. If her three children won the day, then it would be the dragon’s victory, and not the revolution’s… a fact Grey Worm was also aware of.

“I agree with Queen Daenerys. The fight for freedom must always come from within.” Her Unsullied commander said, repeating the words she once said in her final address to Astapor. “We cannot use dragons. If the slaves win their own freedom, then the city will be theirs. If they rely on external forces such as Unsullied or dragons, they will constantly be in danger of losing the city in the future. Freedom is something those enslaved must demand for themselves, just like the rest of us have. There must be a revolt. That is how we win the city.”

“As beautiful of a sentiment that was, Commander, how are we to incite such action? I would agree that Her Grace’s tactic with catapulting broken chains into the city was an inspired piece of psychological warfare, but I doubt it would stir the revolt that we'd need.” The Tattered Prince countered, leaving Dany with her thoughts spinning in circles, like a rat chasing its tail.

She exhaled in minor frustration, still careful to not allow weakness to show in front of her council. “There must be some way into the city that we haven’t thought of.”

“I may know a way.” Brown Ben Plumm carefully said. 

Raising her brows, Dany looked at the man expectantly as he stroked his grey-and-white beard. “Well, don’t leave us in suspense, Captain.”

“Sewers. The ones emptying into the Skahazadhan, carrying the city’s wastes. There is a way in through it. It’s how I escaped Meereen all those years ago.” He smirked before making a face, silently gagging. “I can still remember the smell.”

Though Dany’s mind had raced with scenarios, it was Iroh who was first to raise skepticism. “But that was years ago. Perhaps even decades. How would we know that way is still open to us?” 

Brown Ben shrugged. “Her Grace asked if there was a way into the city, so I gave an idea.” 

“It certainly has potential…” Dany considered. “These sewer gates are usually closed with iron gates, are they not? I imagine they resemble the ones in Astapor and Yunkai. How were you able to get through that?”

“Aye, they are, Your Grace. But even back then, the iron gates that closed these sewers were already rusted down. I can only imagine they have gotten worse over time. No master would ever care enough to even think about the city’s sewage, let alone its maintenance.”

This could be it. Her way in. 

“But just so you know, Your Grace, I would never go down in them sewers again. Not for all the gold in the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Dany laughed. “I don’t blame you. One time sounds terrible enough.”

“Though if there are others that wish to try, they’re certainly welcome.” He added, to which her bloodriders, Grey Worm, and her freedmen captains all began earnestly volunteering. Dany only shook her head.

“Thank you all for bravely making known your willingness to lead this mission, but I must think on this some more first. For now, with the exception of Iroh and my queensguards, the rest of you may return to your duties.”

All her of the captains and commanders bowed at her dismissal, and began to filter out of the pavilion, but not before Daario gave Dany her near-daily bouquet of flowers. 

“For my victorious queen.” He smiled, mirroring the same words he would say on the road from Yunkai, when he would present her with the small assortment of local flora. It had been a regular habit that began when he made his daily report of his Stormcrows, the gesture being his effort to ‘help her learn the land’. And ever since she received that first bouquet, the gestures hasn’t stopped. 

“That man is ridiculous.” Ser Arthur Dayne frowned as the Tyroshi man left, fixing him a cold stare. “I don’t know why you indulge him.”

“I rather think it’s an easy and harmless way to ensure his loyalty.” Dany shrugged. “After all, we both know I would never bring it to the end Daario Naharis wishes I would, a fact which I think even he is aware.” 

“Brown Ben’s sewage plan might work.” said Iroh, ignoring the topic of the sellsword’s flirtation. “There are three slaves for every master in the city, if we can get them armed…”

“The city is ours.” She finished for him, smirking at her mentor. They truly were of the same mind at times. “If we send a stealth team during the night, it would help their infiltration efforts easier. The Unsullied and Belwas would be great candidates for this mission. I imagine, as former slaves themselves, they would help further convince the people to grab the freedom that is within their reach.”

Ser Barristan was in lockstep to her thinking as well. “But there are still guard towers all over Meereen that would alert any movements within the city of our efforts to distribute weapons among the slaves. We’d need them to be taken out first if our plans were to succeed.” 

“I agree.” Dany nodded. Two loud roars sounded their immediate surrounding then, the buffeting of the tent flaps alerting her that her dragons had returned. After Irri and Missandei opened up the rear of her pavilion, Viserion and Rhaegal slithered in, with their heads and parts of their neck being the only parts of them small enough still to be able to fit inside. Dany reached out and scratched between both their horns.

“We should perhaps send in another team. Preferably one consisting of people who know Meereen’s layout.” Ser Jorah mused. “Our best bet would be Ben Plumm’s Second Sons.“

Her thoughts exactly.

“Your Grace.” One half of her personal Unsullied sentry Red Rose, previously Red Flea before Astapor’s liberation, interrupted them. “I apologize for the intrusion, but the captain of the Second Sons, his lieutenant and one other wishes to see you. Captain Plumm says they have an idea that could help the siege. They also say they bring pressing news.”

Stealing a look over to Jorah, Dany nearly laughed at the coincidence. “It’s alright, Red Rose. Bid them enter.” 

‘Brown’ Ben Plumm walked in a moment later, with two figures in tow; the first was a familiar face, his second-in-command named Croft, a gruff warrior who had lost his left eye from some bloody clash in years past, but the second person Dany has never seen before. She was an equally gruff warrior who had large battle scars over the left side of her face. Unlike Ben Plumm and Croft, this second one clearly had never seen dragons before and was wide-eyed at her children’s presence behind her. 

“Captain Plumm. Croft.” Dany greeted them. “We were just discussing you and your Second Sons.”

“Good things, I hope, Your Grace.” Brown Ben smiled and bowed, before his lieutenant and the unknown warrior woman followed suit.

“As always.” She smiled. “Red Rose told me you have an idea that could help the siege, and that you have pressing news. Now which one shall we tackle first?” 

“The news, Your Grace.” Croft replied gravely. “It concerns Yunkai and Astapor.” 

She frowned. “Go on.”

“Remember them Wise Masters that fled the city when you took Yunkai?” Brown Ben started. “Turns out it’s just as you suspected. Those rats have scattered themselves between Meereen, Volantis, Elyria, Tolos and New Ghis, and they hadn’t been as idle as we’d hope. Even now they plot against you, Your Grace. Volantis and New Ghis in particular have begun a coalition with those exiled Yunkai’i. They’ve started building new warships, and hired more sellswords and sent them with even more Ghiscari legions to retake ‘their’ cities back from you while you’re busy laying siege here.”

I knew it. Dany sighed deeply, taking care to temper her growing fury. “It was only a matter of time before they reemerged… how many have they amassed?” 

“Two thousand sellswords from two companies, half are the Stormbreakers, and the other half the Wolf Pack. And then one legion of three thousand from New Ghis on top of that, bringing the number to five thousand, split evenly between the two cities, with one sellsword company in each.” Croft answered.

Dany raised her brows. “Five thousand?” 

“Aye, Your Grace.”

That relatively low number confused her. It wasn’t a large enough number to take the liberated cities, but it was enough to cause trouble, and she did not want any trouble for her people. Dany knew the Unsullied and trained freedmen she left behind in each city would still easily repel such a force, especially behind the strengthened walls of their city, as both Astapor and Yunkai could easily outlast any siege these paltry armies would attempt.

In fact, it may not even escalate to a fight, as the ruling councils could just simply bribe the sellswords into compliance if they wanted to. With their overflowing coffers, Dany knew that such a tactic could conceivably succeed. Their only worry were the Iron Legions, but even they would most likely fall upon the walls of the cities like water on stone and then bleed out from the city’s trained archers.

These besieging forces were nothing but sacrificial lambs for the Wise Masters. They had no intention to actually win those cities back with such meagre numbers… otherwise they would’ve hired a more formidable company, which made Dany thought of the Golden Company.

Why haven’t they been hired to fight against her?

But she knew there was only one reason the slavers would even bother with this diversion; to weaken and distract her army at Meereen’s gates by splitting them up. Meereen was the last holdout of Slaver’s Bay, and they knew, just as she did, that if the revolution enters the Harpy’s last bastion’s well-defended gates, then the war was over. 

“And how do you know of this?” 

“From me, Your Grace.” The scarred woman answered her. She looked visibly nervous, though she tried hard to disguise it.

“And who are you?”

“The name’s Beskha, Your Grace.”

Croft then interjected carefully. “She is an old acquaintance of mine, my queen… one who just defected from the Stormbreakers.”

Her dragons hissed then, and her queensguards all made to grab their swords, alert at the potential enemy in their midst, but Dany held her hand up in pause, and fixed the woman with a questioning glare. 

“Why betray your fellow mercenaries?” 

To her credit, this Beskha kept her green eyes fixed on Dany’s amethyst eyes ones as she explained her defection. “It was an easy choice, really. You see, when my company was hired, our captain only informed us we were headed to Yunkai, but told us nothing about who hired us. Not even I knew, and I was the bastard’s top lieutenant. But when we got here and I realised our company would be fighting for the people who would restore slavery and not with those who abolished it, I refused and defected. I fled here, hoping bringing this news, as well as my old acquaintance with Croft, would help me find employment with the Second Sons and the Dragon Queen…”

Dany looked over to Ben Plumm and Croft to see whether they could corroborate her story, and after they each gave a nod, she motioned for the sellsword to continue.

“I reached your camp just in time to see you duel the Meereenese champion and absolutely thrash him. It was incredible to watch, Your Grace. And it made me feel all the more certain that working for you would be the right, and only, choice. And I knew that fighting against the Dragon Queen would only lead to ruin… you’ve changed the entire game for us sellswords, you know.”

Smirking, Dany asked. “Have I now?”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Dany pursed her lips, and considered the woman for a moment, before deciding to test her. 

“Although her sentiments seem just, it’s rather convenient for a deserting sellsword working for the enemy to come out out of nowhere, and seek to integrate herself into my camp.” She said mildly as she sat down and faced Brown Ben and Croft once more. “She could easily be sent as a double agent, come to sabotage our army’s efforts in taking this city. What’s to stop her from selling us out?”

“If you’re going to accuse me of foul play, at least have the balls to look me in the face when you do, Your Grace.” The woman replied tartly. 

I like her, she thought. “Careful, sellsword. Your tongue is getting dangerously sharp.” Dany smirked. 

“I apologize on her behalf, Your Grace. She’s rough around the edges, but she means well.” Croft said, giving Beskha a stern glare. 

“No apologies necessary, Croft. In fact, I’m rather grateful for the information Beskha has given us, because it reinforces the need to focus on winning Meereen first, before we could even begin talking about breaking up my army to fight on multiple ends.” She gestured for Irri and Missandei to serve the three sellswords wine. “I think it’s safe to say this may be the ultimate goal by those exiled wise Masters; to weaken my army at Meereen’s gates by splitting them up.”

“That’s where the other part of our petition here comes in, Your Grace.” Ben Plumm says, thanking her handmaids for the wine before he downed it. “Our idea to help the siege. We know how to help achieve our victory quicker.”

“Is that so?” Dany asked.

“Aye. You see, there are multiple-“

“-guard towers all over Meereen that we’d need to take out to prevent them from alerting any movements within the city of a potential uprising?” Dany finished for him.

“I- yes, precisely.” Brown Ben chuckled. 

“Like I said, we were just talking about you before you came in. We thought your Second Sons would be the logical choice for that mission.” Dany smirked. “I hope you have more to offer.” 

“We do, Your Grace… but just to make sure we’re on the same page here, you were serious before about infiltrating through the sewers, yes?” Croft looked around the room. 

“Yes.” Ser Arthur answered for her. “The plan is for the infiltration team to arm the slave population and start the uprising that way. That’s what we have come up with thus far.”

“Splendid, we thought so as well. But we also believe there’s another factor that we think would help; pit fighters.” Croft said. “And Beskha here is instrumental for our plan to work.”

Dany raised her brow. Now this was getting intriguing. “Is she now?” She addressed the warrior woman. “Why is that?

“Well, you see, I was actually a slave who grew up here in Meereen, Your Grace. I was a pit fighter myself, living in the slums of the eastern part of the city… so needless to say, with the knowledge I have about Meereen’s inner workings, I know I can help the Second Sons infiltrate the city and secure the watch towers for you.” 

“It’s true. Beskha knows the city better than anyone, Your Grace.” Ben Plumm added proudly. “She’ll also secure the pit fighters for you, make sure they don’t stand in the way.”

“Aye, I will.” Beskha spoke up again, with genuine earnest. “And if it means anything, I truly do believe in your cause. I mean, this revolution you’ve started… it has brought a true kind of freedom that we who were born into chains had always thought impossible. So this is personal for me too. And what better way for a former slave turned sellsword to earn gold, than to fight for the queen who is famously known to generously swell her army of sellswords’ pockets in riches to fight with her revolution to overthrow the masters of Slaver’s Bay?” 

After she couldn’t find a hint of deception in Beskha’s plea, Dany openly smiled at her. She’s a survivor… and if Ben Plumm and Croft can trust her, then Dany could certainly give the woman a chance.

“And you are certain you want to do this? Willingly go back to the place of your torment?” 

Beskha nodded assuredly. “I am, Your Grace. I think I have to do this… for myself.”

“Very well. If you can keep your word and get Croft and his men into Meereen and help them liberate the people, then you will have my gratitude. Needless to say, I will also see to it that you are rewarded if you succeed.” Dany said. “But if I find you’ve lied or put my men in danger…”

Her dragons stirred then, and barred their sharp teeth at the warrior woman. The underlying threat clear, Beskha nodded nervously. “I understand.” 

“Good. Croft will get you settled in. We shall have another meeting by sundown.” 

But as Dany made to dismiss them, Red Rose entered her tent again, and informed her of the arrival of messengers from Yunkai and Astapor, handing her a missive that originated from both cities. She opened the letters and read the contents, as the others waited with great interest.

“What do they say, Your Grace?” Ser Barristan inquired.

“It’s a letter from the council in Astapor, and another from the council in Yunkai. Their contents corroborate the very information Beskha has already made us privy to; the cities are indeed being besieged.”

Turning over to her handmaids, she could see how Irri was starting to comfort a distressed Missandei, who was no doubt worrying for her brother in the red city. Dany then held up one of letters, and smiled at her clever scribe to reassure her, as well as her men. 

“Astapor is strong, Symone Stripeback and the council assures us. Marselen and Stalwart Shield are leading the defence of the city brilliantly, just as well as Eladon Goldenhair and Loyal Spear are in Yunkai, according to Rylona Rhee’s letter. Both cities will repel their attackers, of that I have no doubt.” Dany said firmly. “But this I guarantee; these attacks will not go unanswered.”

“I can lead a portion of our army to secure the cities while you stay here, khaleesi.” Ser Jorah offered. “Sending me with your bloodriders and your khalasar should be sufficient enough to help ensure both defending armies break the sieges. We can leave by the next hour."

“No, that won’t be necessary. Like I said, I have no wish to adopt a divide and conquer strategy quite yet. Not until we have Meereen. This just means we will have to capture the city… tonight.”

After summoning all her other commanders and captains to come back from their post and resume her war council once more, Dany had, by the next hour, finalised their strategy. 

She turned to her Unsullied commander and his lieutenants first. “As per their inspired suggestion, Mossador, Duran, Belwas and their team will disguise themselves as slaves and lead a team to infiltrate through the sewers. Once they make contact with the slaves inside their sleeping pens and barracks, the team will arm them, stir them to rise up, flood the streets and trap the masters inside their homes. While they take the streets, they will also secure every one of the city’s gates and open them for the awaiting Unsullied to enter. Grey Worm will then take command, where his Unsullied’s and the insurgency’s objective is clear; take all the masters into their custody and strike off the chains of every slave within Meereen.”

“I do not need to remind any of you that I want this done as bloodlessly as possible. Inform the freedmen not to loot, rape or murder any masters or any other person in the city, especially if they willingly surrender. You may only capture the Meereenese. Assure them that they will have their justice once we have order, and that the people will receive reparations, just as those in Astapor and Yunkai have. But should they disobey, they will get nothing. Understood?”

“Yes, my queen.” Grey Worm nodded, prompting Dany to redirect the council’s attention back to the map of the city.

“Now, before Mossador's team begin arming the slaves, there are four of these guard posts throughout the city, which the defenders would use to warn the masters in case those in chains decide they’re tired of wearing chains.” She gestured to Ben Plumm. “Captain Plumm’s chosen group of Second Sons are here to make they don’t see it coming; their objective is to make the slavers blind, give the Unsullied a chance to get in and take control, and then proceed to get the pit fighters on our side.” Dany told them, before facing Croft and Beskha directly. “While your objective is to clear a path for the freedmen, you need to remember that their path, they must walk alone. Justice belongs to the people of Meereen, and the masters will be judged by the people of Meereen. Not by us. And make no mistake, you and your mercenaries will not engage in any unnecessary bloodshed. Allow the defenders an opportunity to surrender first, whenever possible. Kill only those you must, no more and no less.”

As they all nodded, Dany addressed all within her war council. “There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand them a weapon and send them forth to battle, that beast thirsts, and a bloodlust will awaken even in those who had never held a weapon, and show them a side previously unknown to themselves.” Then focusing on Grey Worm, Mossador and Duran, she cautioned them. “That is especially true for these who have dreamt of sweet revenge as these people have… but they have none of the training you all do, so I would need you all to temper their built up aggression as best you can.”

“We will not disappoint, Queen Daenerys.”

“I doubt you could.” Dany smiled at them, before turning to the entire council once more. “I will send my dragons to take to the skies to keep the defenders distracted, and at the same time, hopefully rally even the slaves without weapons to also rise up. Tonight, any person who wishes to be free may take that freedom from the grip of their master, and we shall not make them wait any longer.”

The uprising ended up lasting all night and well until morning light, during which Dany felt distressingly idle in her pavilion as her people risked their lives. Beskha and the Second Sons were successful in securing all four guard posts and getting the pit fighters to fight alongside them. After the guards posts were secured, Mossador, Duran, Belwas and their team were able to arm the slaves, stir them to break their own chains in defiance, trap the slavers in their homes, and allowed Grey Worm and his Unsullied into the city. 

Her, not two, but three dragons had then flown above the fray at the most opportune moment when the insurgency flooded streets. Their deafening roars and intimidating passes had been the thing to break the slim dam of resistance, and their air support were able turn every foe to their friend, with many of the city’s defenders surrendering in quick succession after seeing three large dragons spitting flames in the air. It was immediately understood then and there that the Great Masters of Meereen were soon to have their reversal of fortunes. 

With all but one-fourth of Meereen on their side, the attention then turned to the class of nobility, many of whom surrendered when their lives were threatened by those they had previously subjugated in their own homes. The rest of the night and morning were spent securing the entire city and gathering the masters toward the central plaza like human chattel they were used to selling. 

Though she had specifically commanded it be done, it had still surprised Dany to find that the revolt itself hadn’t been as bloody as she feared it would be. There were many skirmishes still, between the most loyal slaves too in love with their master’s bondage and the revolutionaries who thirsted for blood, but it had pleased her to hear those incidents were in the small minority.  

All in all, it had been a success. The revolution had won the day, and the city was theirs.

By late morning, Dany and her great host were welcomed into the city amidst the cries and cheers of the Meereenese freedmen who held up their now redundant shackles above them and threw them at her feet, making her path through Meereen one where she was walking on the broken chains of those now freed, with the masses calling her mother.

Once she reached the central plaza beneath the Great Pyramid where all of Meereen’s nobles huddled forlorn, she looked upon them with utter contempt. 

“What do we do about them now, my queen?” Grey Worm asked. 

“Imprison them all.” Among these tired and pathetic lot of slavers, with their dirtied and rumpled tokars, were those responsible for the one-hundred-and-sixty-three children on the mileposts. Not so fearsome now, with their tearstained cheeks and cries of terror. “Have them all remain separate, and in complete isolation.”

After he gave an understanding nod, Grey Worm left to execute her order and Ser Barristan came up to her. “I suppose we should begin questioning them about the mileposts, Your Grace?”

Dany chuckled at that. “Interrogating the masters? We may try, but we won’t get the whole truth there.” Turning her sight on the mass of newly freed slaves of Meereen, Dany gestured towards them. “It is from the freedmen that we will find the truth, Ser Barristan, for they will tell us true. Any scribe, servant, or slave employed within any household will know near everything that goes on with their employers, so I suspect they will know who gave the orders with certainty.”

Every Great Master and their families were all kept in the makeshift prisons below one of the abandoned pyramids, guarded by a contingent of her Unsullied and Dothraki, getting little sleep, water or food during their stay. In that time, Daenerys had fully taken control of the city, where she, Doreah, Jhiqui and the more learned Meereenese freedmen took inventory of all the hoarded wealth and provisions belonging to the all noble houses within the city, and had them moved into the Great Pyramid; her new residence, and the place she also declared as the new dwelling of the new Meereenese government.

It took only three days to interrogate the slavers and cross-reference their confessions with the testimonies of the former slaves working in their households, as well as the captured butchers of the dark deed, for Daenerys to determine who were guilty in the active participation of the scheme that resulted in the crucification of the children on the mileposts. Interestingly, the exact identities of the fifty masters weren’t just made up of Meereenese Great Masters, but among them also included the exiled Yunkai’i Wise Masters that took refuge in the city. With their unequivocal guilt determined, Dany sentenced them all to die without trial, thereby riding herself at least some of the Yunkai’i exiles that were missing from the yellow city.

Unsurprisingly, many of the nobles had protested this, while absolutely maintaining no sense of irony. “Your Magnificence, please! We have already surrendered! Now is not the time for more violence. Let us strive for the peace you seek, and unify Meereen under your banner.” One of the old women begged her, openly sobbing.

And yet one faction cannot just declare a cease of hostilities and have it be so, especially if they were guilty, she thought hotly. “The unity you seek cannot be achieved by your rules, and it certainly cannot be achieved without justice and accountability on those who are guilty.” She scorned them. “Executing those who played a part in the murder of little children is the absolute least that needs to be done before we can move on. My hope is their deaths will remind the rest of you that some self-reflection, by those who have actively denied the freedom of others and allowed such a system where masters can crucify little children to foster, will be had.”

And it was time someone showed them the hell that they have made here, she thought.

With the express approval of the freedmen parents of those one-hundred-and-sixty-three crucified children, as well as the seven saved children and their parents she reunified, Dany had the fifty masters nailed to wooden posts around the central plaza in front of all of Meereen’s citizens, in the same manner their one-hundred-and-sixty-three children were; each one pointing to the next, disemboweled and left to painfully rot until death slowly comes for them. The severed heads of the child butchers were also among the new macabre display on spikes.

In the days following, Dany began enacting a modified reparations act that she had used in Yunkai and Astapor, where this time the family of those slavers found guilty were stripped of their all their tangible wealth. A portion of the financial reparations went to the freedmen that were formerly in their employ, with the parents of the crucified children receiving more, while the rest went to the city to fund her projects for the advancements of the new Meereen.

The noble families of those Great Masters who were found to be innocenthowever were given the very same choice she gave to the Wise of Yunkai and the Good in Astapor; swear fealty to her and her new government, and keep the portion of their wealth after financial reparations to their former slaves have been deducted… or refuse, and keep none of it.

Predictably, they all bowed.

Half a fortnight after the city fell from the slaver’s grasp, Dany had her dragons rip off the huge bronze harpy on top of the Great Pyramid, throw it in the sea, and raised a flag bearing the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen to stand defiantly in its place.

“They say the Great Pyramid of Meereen was built as an echo to the behemoth that was the Great Pyramid of Ghis of centuries past, Your Grace. Before your forebears in Valyria burned their proud structures and cities to dust.” Missandei said to her the next morning, as the two and her queensguards went to inspect the audience chamber a few levels below the apex of the structure, where the royal apartments and rooftop garden were situated. 

“Yes, my ancestors were quite merciless at the height of their power.” Dany reflected as they continued down the steps. “Slavery as a concept and custom may have originated from Ghiscar, but after the fall of Old Ghis by my Valyrian ancestors, the Freehold, looking to sate their growing appetite for wealth, were more than content to adopt the horrid practice. Using their dragons as unstoppable weapons in their conquests to further expand their power, one by one nations across Essos became theirs, and slavery spread like a rank disease. They used it to drown entire civilisations in blood and tears like the Ghiscari before them had never even attempted… yet even the Freehold’s fall didn’t stop that infection from dying out.”

“No, Your Grace… Slaver’s Bay as we know it was born soon after that.” Missandei replied solemnly. 

“And thus the wheel of oppression spins its vicious cycle. Until now. Now is the time we break that wheel.” Dany declared as her Unsullied sentries opened the chamber door.

Though the room had looked majestic with its echoing high-ceilings and two reflecting pools on each side of the grand stair leading up to the throne… the throne itself was a hideous thing; a gaudy seat of carved and gilded wood in the shape of a savage harpy. Dany had taken one look and commanded it be broken up for firewood, refusing to sit in the harpy’s lap. Instead she had ordered a simple ebony bench to replace it.

“Your Grace. There are some who are here seeking your audience.” The other half of her personal Unsullied sentry Black Dahlia, previously Black Fist before Astapor’s liberation, said as he came from the chamber doors.

“We have hours yet until our first scheduled petition, do we not?” Dany asked Missandei, who nodded in confirmation. “Inform them to come back later, with the others.”

“But they say that they bring urgent news, Your Grace. News from the Sunset Kingdoms.”

Blinking in surprise, Dany looked behind to her queensguards frowning, and saw that they too seemed to be in a similar state of confusion.

“Did they say who they were?” The queen asked.

“No, Your Grace.” Black Dahlia replied. “Only that they are exiles from the North of Westeros.”

Chapter Text

302AC

“A northerner? Here?” Dany said, immediately turning to Jorah. “Did you know of this?”

“No, khaleesi.” He said, equally in surprise. “This is the first I’ve heard of this.”

“Did they come alone?” Dany asked Black Dahlia. 

“No, Your Grace. They’re accompanied by the Second Sons sellsword named Beskha. They gave no name.”

Beskha? Bringing a Westerosi? “Thank you, Black Dahlia…” She shared a confused look with her queensguard once more. “Give us a quick moment, and then bid them enter.”

As the Unsullied nodded and went to the other side of the chamber doors, Dany’s mind rattled with possibilities. 

“Do you think it could be Ned Stark standing behind those doors?” She pondered aloud. “Being named a traitor could certainly push some exiles to desperately cross the narrow sea-” Her eyes widened in shock. “No offence, Jorah.” 

“None taken, khaleesi.” He chuckled. “Though I doubt it’s him. Ned Stark would sooner take the black than choose exile in Essos. The Starks, and the northmen in general, have remained the only people in the Seven Kingdoms that still see any honour in serving in the Night’s Watch.”

Not him then… but who?

“Then I suppose we’ll find out who it is soon enough.”

As the harpy throne hadn’t yet been torn apart and discarded, Dany instead chose to simply stand on the higher dais steps above where petitioners would stand, and had her three knights put between them and the three incoming figures. 

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn-” Missandei began to pronounce to the echoes of the chamber as they were being walked in, before Dany stopped her.

“There’s no need for all that, Missandei. These people know exactly who I am… don’t they?”

Two Westerosi men stepped out from behind the sellsword and inclined their head ever so slightly, as if unsure if they should even bow. 

“Aye, we do.” They said stiffly. 

“My queen.” Beskha said, interjecting, and bowed. “May I present, Asher Forrester, and his uncle Malcolm Branfield.”

Quickly scrutinising the two, it was evident to her that the younger of them, the one called Asher, was a sellsword, if the empty scabbard on his back and the man’s heavily scarred muscular arms displayed from his lack of sleeves were any indication. He also had a mop of messy blonde hair and a full beard, which despite his gruff appearance, Dany could perceive the man’s obvious comeliness underneath. 

The older of the two, the one named Malcolm, had, in contrast, slicked back dark brown hair, and judging by the clothes he wore, it was clear the man hadn’t been as accustomed to Essos as his nephew had, which could only mean that he only recently made it to these shores. 

But for what purpose?

“It’s curious…” Dany started. “How did a sellsword who grew up as a slave in Meereen come to have the acquaintance of a two northern Westerosi exiles?”

“How did an exiled Targaryen princess find herself at the head of a large army that conquered Slaver’s Bay?” The one called Asher answered back. “And with three not-so-extinct living dragons too, no less.” 

“A long and storied tale.” Dany replied stoically to the man’s attempt at charm. “And I was speaking to Beskha, not you Lord Forrester.”

“Apologies, Your Grace.” He smiled easily. “And it’s just Asher. Lord Forrester’s my brother. In fact, I haven’t used my full name-”

“Be quiet, Asher.” Beskha interrupted. “I apologise, Your Grace. I can explain.”

“Then do.” Dany said, her patience waning. “We’re anxiously waiting.”

Nodding, the sellsword drew a deep breath and exhaled. “You see, Asher and I have known each other for quite some time. Years ago when Asher was newly exiled and looking to make a living in new lands, he and I met when he joined the Wolf Pack in the disputed lands, where I had been fighting as part of their company of warriors. Since then, we fought alongside one another for some years before we eventually moved on to the Stormbreakers, where, like you already know, I rose to become the captain’s second-in-command. But after that bastard leading the company had sought out and agreed to a contract with the exiled Yunkai’i, we two quit and went to Meereen to help you win this city. Asher here was an integral part of the success of our mission to secure the guard towers. I trust him with my life, Your Grace.”

As much as the tale made sense, Daenerys still frowned in confusion. “He’s been with us this entire time?”

She nodded. “Yes. But as my right hand man, Asher. Just Asher. I hadn’t known about his family lineage, as he never spoke of it, nor did I ask. It was only after we succeeded in taking Meereen that his uncle Malcolm showed up and I knew the full extent of his true Westerosi lineage… as well as the complications that came with that.”

“Why keep it a secret in the first place?” Dany finally turned to the man himself. 

“Because that name didn’t matter to me anymore in these lands. Like Beskha said, here I was Asher. Not Asher Forrester… but just Asher. And that was a liberating feeling.”

Jorah’s face flashed with realisation then. “I remember now. You’re one of Gregor’s boys.” 

That name had apparently been the word to wipe the smile off his face, as Asher suddenly looked sullen. “Aye, I am.”

The topic had also similarly stimulated Barristan’s memory, it seemed. “I had heard about the Forrester incident when I was in King’s Landing, Your Grace. This man had been banished by his lord father for some trouble with a rival house in the North. House… Snowhill, was it?”

“Whitehill.” Jorah corrected. “Their rivalry spans decades, perhaps even centuries. It’s infamous in the North.”

Asher’s face darkened then. “I did get exiled by my lord father, it’s true.”

“For what crime?” She asked curiously. 

The man looked her straight in her amethyst eyes. “For falling in love with the wrong woman… the daughter of our rival house. A sin so wrong to those Whitehills scumbags, they were ready to go to war with my family over it. My father had to choose; go to war with a neighbouring house, or exile his delinquent son to Essos… and he chose wisely.” 

Dany’s face fell at that. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Both Westerosi men frowned then, as if surprised at her words. Asher was the first to break out of his stupor. “I-… thank you.” 

“You sound almost shocked.” Dany challenged playfully, which caught them off guard yet again. 

“Uh…” Asher began to say before he stopped himself.

“You may speak freely.” 

He took a moment to consider her request, before he went for it. “Aye, I didn’t expect that from you. For you to show such sympathy to us, I mean.”

“And why is that?” She asked.

To his credit, Asher didn’t cow from the question. “You’re the daughter of the ma-.. King Aerys.”

The North remembers indeed.

“Then I suppose that to be at least part of the reason why you concealed your identity while within my camp?”

After a moment’s silence, he answered. “Yes, Your Grace. Initially, I had closely guarded the full nature of my identity because I feared that you may have held a grudge against every house that rose in rebellion against your father. Though I still support the deposing of him, in the time I’ve spent in your army I’ve realised quite quickly that my fear of you was unfounded. Not only did it seem you have a northerner as part of your queensguard…” He gestured to Ser Jorah, and coughed awkwardly then. "But it was clear that you are far from the- erm, trouble, that plagued the ma- King Aerys. Your leadership in the revolution here in Essos prove that.”

“How very wise of you, Asher Forrester.” Daenerys smiled at him. “I would hate to be judged for the sins of my family who committed atrocities to your liege lords before I had even been born.” Face turning solemn once more, Dany continued. "And for all its worth, on the behalf of House Targaryen, I would like to apologise for the actions of my mad sire and reckless brother that led to the war.”

Malcolm Branfield, who kept quiet their entire exchange, suddenly bristled at that. “Reckless? Your brother kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark and plunged the entire realm into a bloody war!”

“A lie.” Dany’s face darkened. ”Spawned from a victor’s truth, I grant you, but a lie nonetheless.”

“Why should we believe that?” Malcolm asked, incredulous.

“Because I am standing here. Another fact from the war that turned out to be false.” Arthur Dayne replied firmly. “I was there with Prince Rhaegar and the lady Lyanna, and she had gone willingly with the crown prince. No kidnapping or rape of any kind occured.” 

While Asher’s frown only deepened in confusion, his uncle Malcolm’s face had suddenly dropped in shock after finally recognising her father’s face. “By the olds gods and the new… you’re Arthur Dayne!” 

“The one and only.” Her father replied tartly. 

“How are you alive?” 

“I never died.” Arthur answered simply. “Branfield, was it? That means your house is from the Crownlands, if my memory serve me right. You would’ve fought with us during the Usurper’s war.”

“They did.” Barristan added. “I remember. Your sister married the northman before the war… some had worried it would split your family’s loyalties, but they stayed true until the very end, making you the last surviving member of your house.”

“Aye, she did, and yes, I am.” He replied, sounding sad at the mention of his sister. “Our loyalty to King Aerys cost my house our ancestral seat, title, and near my entire family. All I have left are my family in the north.” 

The war between Rhaegar and the Usurper truly had cost the realm far more than she could have known. How many lives and families had been torn apart? And all because of a lie.

“I am sorry for that, my lord.” She offered him.

The man only shook his head. “It’s like you said, Your Grace. You had nothing to do with that. You are innocent… and like my nephew said, you have done much to prove that you are far better than your predecessors.” 

Hearing that made Dany smile. “That means more to me than you know.”

Ser Jorah then asked the questions that still remained unanswered. “But what’s changed? Why reveal yourself now?”

“Well, to be honest, I would have kept my identity a secret and remained in my life of exile being a sellsword if it hadn’t been for the recent arrival of my uncle here. When he came just yesterday and informed me of the happenings in Westeros, begging for my return to help our family, that’s when I decided to reveal myself to you.”

Her heart sped up suddenly, and her queesnguards had all looked over to her, as they clearly too anticipated news of Westeros. They had been so occupied with toppling the slaver’s hold in the bay and transforming the liberated cities that Dany nearly forgotten of her homeland.The last she heard of the west were the tidings Quhuru Mo had brought to her in Qarth nearly three years ago.

What had happened since the Usurper died?

”And what of Westeros?” She asked.

As it turns out, a lot has happened since she last heard of the Usurper’s death. But what she couldn’t predict was that it weren’t just Robert’s two brothers who wanted to claim the crown in the aftermath of his death and the dubious nature of his heir’s legitimacy… but two more had declared themselves kings, plunging the realm into a war of five kings. 

The chaos had all started when the Usurper’s heir, Joffrey Baratheon, was revealed to be Joffrey Waters; a bastard sired by his queen’s affair with none other than her twin the kingslayer himself, Ser Jaime Lannister. Or at least, that was what Robert’s hand Ned Stark had claimed to the entire realm, which was what pushed the Lannister bastard king to behead the northerner in retaliation. Joffrey the Illborn, they called him, for his alleged sadism and madness that had already gained a degree of infamy.

One king…

Mirroring how her sire had monstrously murdered his northern lord paramount and his heir, the beheading of Ned Stark by the boy-king had stirred a similarly aggressive uprising from the North… only this time they went further than ever before and declared themselves independent, with the North and the Riverlands seceding from the Seven Kingdoms to become their own separate kingdom, crowning Lord Stark’s heir as the first King in the North in nearly three centuries since Aegon the Dragon took their crown and made the Starks into Wardens of the North and his Lord Paramount.

Two kings…

It was due to the legitimacy of the crown prince being called into question in the first place that spurned both of the Usurper’s brothers to waste no time in declaring themselves the rightful king, and that had caused its own schism in the Stormlands. They had apparently also fought one another for the control of the armies of the Reach.

Four kings…

Then after the four had declared themselves kings, it didn’t take long for the Ironborn to pursue their own interests, and thus the fifth and final king gave himself a crown; Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. 

Five kings…

But according to Malcolm, more than half of the kings had already been wiped from the board by the time he left Westeros.

Though he had the largest army at the onset of the conflict, with the Reach supporting his claim, his superior numbers didn’t stop King Renly Baratheon from being assassinated… and if reports were to be believed, the cold-blooded order was orchestrated by his elder brother Stannis himself and carried out by one of Renly’s newly sworn kingsguard. 

One down, and four kings remained. 

Then because the Reach had gone over to side with the Lannisters, King Stannis Baratheon failed in his attempt to seize King’s Landing during the disastrous Battle of Blackwater Bay, sending the claimant fleeing north towards Braavos in the hopes to obtain a loan and hire more soldiers he had lost in his humiliating defeat. 

One more out, and three kings remained. 

Yet for all the gains the Lannisters had made in the south, they had lost consistently in the north. The King in the North Robb Stark had revealed himself to be a talented commander and led his men to victory upon victory, in spite of the numerically superior crimson and gold legions of the Westerlands who were led by Lord Tywin himself. And it had seemed for a time that the Young Wolf was unstoppable enough to bring down the Lannisters, until…

“Until what?” Dany asked.

“Until treachery battered them down, Your Grace.” Malcolm answered, his words fraught with doom. “And completely broke them after the Red Wedding.”

Ser Jorah beat her to it. “The Red Wedding?”

“A treacherous event the likes of which the realm had never seen…” The man visibly shuddered before he elaborated further. “Part of Robb Stark’s agreement to get all of the Riverlands to secede from the Iron Throne was for him to marry a Frey girl and make one of Lord Walder Frey’s daughter his queen… only the young king reneged on that pact and instead married a minor lord’s daughter from the Westerlands.”

That had confused her, though it was Jorah yet again who had found his voice first. “Ned Stark’s son reneging on his word for a daughter of one of Tywin Lannister’s bannermen? That cannot be right.”

“It took us all by surprise too when we heard of it. We thought it had been a petty ploy by the Lannisters to corrode the northern coalition, and yet it was true.” Malcolm replied somewhat bitterly.

“How did it come to that?” Ser Barristan asked.

“Depends on who you ask. Some say it was young love at work…” The thought of a forbidden dalliance brought Dany’s mind to her brother Rhaegar and his lady Lyanna. “While others say Robb Stark only married her to rectify the dishonourable act of laying with the lady in the throes of wartime passion. But whatever the reason, it did not please the Lord Walder.”

“Everything but gold and power displeases that old wretch.” Arthur said. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. And yet, the man kept feigning allegiance and agreed to have his daughter marry Lord Edmure Tully instead. A lady wife to a lord paramount was not the queen to a king that he had hoped mind you, but it would serve well for his revenge.” Malcolm said.

“A wedding…” Dany breathlessly. 

He nodded. “Ever since the Young Wolf broke his oath, the Boltons began getting in league with the Lannisters and the Freys, and together they hamstrung the north’s war efforts bit by treacherous bit. Owing to this shadow pact’s influence, Robb Stark’s army started to suffer losses, their morale was plunging among his exhausted troops, and victory seemed further in sight. That all culminated to the Freys breaking the sacred guest right and butchering the King and many other northern lords during Edmure Tully’s wedding feast at the Twins, who were all unarmed but for the forks and knives they held.”

Dany and her queensguards’ faces all dropped and their body had gone cold at that, but Jorah was near trembling with rage.

“Were the Mormonts part of the casualties?” Jorah asked disquietly after a long moment.

“Aye, Dacey Mormont was at the Twins… but your lady sister Maege wasn’t. She might still live, though none knows for sure.”

A spark had lit up her northern knight. “How?” 

“Robb Stark had sent her and Lord Galbart Glover on a secret mission before the wedding took place, an order which may have inadvertently saved their lives. They haven’t resurfaced since.” Malcolm told Jorah. “I’m sorry.”

Jorah had only nodded defeatedly, leaving Dany feeling heartbroken for her bear, spurring the need for her to offer some comforting words. “Your sister is out there, Ser Jorah.” She tried saying with confidence. “She’s a survivor, like you.”

A weak smile answered her weak reassurance. “Thank you, khaleesi.”

Dany suddenly realised how these tales of the Red Wedding was eerily similar to one of the visions she saw within the house of the undying. The man with a wolf head and an iron crown… butchered at a feast.

Could she perhaps have seen true glimpses of the future yet again? The queen shivered suddenly at the thought of the expedition to Old Valyria and the liberation of Yunkai, recalling how she too had seen visions of those events before they transpired. But this one was the first that took place in Westeros… what else could those visions be trying to tell her?

Though she was horrified at the Red Wedding, the thing that surprised Dany most was how unsurprised she was. One would hardly need to be convinced that a man like Tywin Lannister had orchestrated this atrocity, seeing as how this was the same man who ordered a similar style of butchery to her good-sister Elia and her little niece and nephew. 

“But it wasn’t just the lords and ladies of the north that they massacred. To ensure the King in the North’s legacy truly died, the Freys went as far as slaughtering Robb Stark’s heir… who was still inside his lady wife’s growing belly.”

By the gods.

“With one more king wiped out, the Lannisters retook control of the Riverlands through Lord Walder Frey, and Lord Roose Bolton took control of the North and handed it back to the bastard-king Joffrey.” Malcolm continued.

Two kings remained…  

“How could the northerners stay loyal to those who helped butcher their own countrymen?” Ser Barristan asked, completely aghast. “And their king’s unborn child!”

“Their king murdered, their army decimated, near half of their lords were wiped out, the ironborn scum of a king’s constant orders to have his reavers raid the undefended coasts and keeps of the north left them dangerously exposed, and now the Boltons had the Lannisters and the Freys firmly by their side, of which the Frey’s armies had survived mostly untouched by design. With the promise of a bitter winter fast approaching, the North had no choice but to submit.” Malcolm added gravely.

Suddenly the two Westerosi’s presence in Meereen made sense. “Your lord father was murdered too, wasn’t he?” Dany asked. 

Asher had looked down, trying to rein in his emotions before he answered her as steadily as he could. “Aye, he was… but that’s not the worst of it. The Bolton’s rule in the north is.” 

Dany had raised her brows. “How so?”

“The Boltons have a reputation, khaleesi.” Ser Jorah said darkly. “A brutal one. Their sigil is of the flayed man… a prideful ode to their long history of the practice, which they only stopped due to the Stark’s firm hold in the north. Now without a Stark in power…” 

“They’re free to terrorise the north again.” She finished for him. 

“And terrorise they did. Murder, torture, flaying, no method was off-limits in the Bolton’s pursuit to force the northerners into submission.” It was a grim picture, and one that had been apparently effective. “All of which has worked wonders to bring the battered northern houses to heel.” Malcolm finished defeatedly.

“Was your family targeted by the Boltons?” Dany was almost afraid to ask. 

“Not directly, no.” Asher answered her. “Though most had grudgingly surrendered to their new treacherous overlords due to fear, a few northern houses had relished in the freedom the Boltons’ rule brought and joined the new regime with gusto, including the Whitehills. Using this opportunity of a weakened House Forrester, and with the support from House Bolton, they invaded my family’s lands and took my family hostage.”

“It’s why I am here, Your Grace.” Malcolm explained. “My sister, Lady Elissa Forrester instructed me to head to Essos to find Asher and bring him home to help our declining house and save our family.”

It was a familiar determination, one she knew personally. “Then I suppose, we are not so different. We are both far from home. We both have suffered the loss of those we’ve loved. And we both have struggled to return to the home of our family.” Dany said solemnly.

“And we’re both easy on the eyes.” Asher said in light jest, though there was little humour in it. More likely it was an effort to lift his own spirits than any real attempt at flirting.

“And modest, I see.” Dany chuckled politely, before she addressed him more seriously. “What do you want from me, Asher Forrester?” 

“Your help, Your Grace. My family is depending on me to find an army. If you could spare some of my fellow sellswords, perhaps among the Second Sons…”

Though Dany knew this request was coming, she knew she couldn’t spare them. But the beginning of an idea had revealed itself to her as she thought of a response.

“I'm afraid I cannot do that…” She said with a tinge of regret. “Not too long ago, every day within these walls, one would regularly hear the cries of children and people suffering in chains while their masters profited from their misery… and my armies has helped me put a stop to that. And though they have succeeded, they must stay here to keep it that way. That is their mission.” Dany replied.

“But-“ Asher pleaded. “Your Grace, I cannot come home without some sort of a fighting force, and I know you would not allow the Bolton’s type of tyranny to prevail.”

“That very well may be, but your need is not greater than the people here, and neither is mine for that matter. These are people who have suffered for years without end. As we speak, those in my service are working to reform Meereen, much like how we did with Yunkai and Astapor. The work we do here is much bigger than you or I. Bigger than one family in Westeros. And for that, I’m going to need every soldier I currently have to hold Slaver’s Bay.”

“Your Grace-” They both said in dismay knowing the rejection coming their way, before Dany interrupted.

“However, I won’t leave you empty handed. I may not be able to spare my Second Sons, or the other sellswords currently in my employ, but I can give you the next best thing… your very own sellsword company.”

Both Asher and Malcolm had openly gaped at her words, and even Beskha was surprised.

“If you can help the contingent I am sending to assist Yunkai and Astapor to defeat these besieging mercenaries, make them come to my side, and win them to your cause, then I will render their services and send them with you to Westeros.” Dany could only smile at their stunned silence. “Does that sound agreeable?”

“Yes.” Asher said as he broke out of his daze. “More than agreeable, Your Grace.” 

With one swooping command, Dany could potentially address the problem with the exiled Wise Masters’ campaign to retake Yunkai and Astapor, as well as test and earn the loyalty of her first true Westerosi ally.

Her Dothraki with her three bloodriders, and the Stormcrows with Daario Naharis accompanied Beskha, Asher, and Malcolm to the liberated cities, where this mission would also prove to be Daario’s first genuine loyalty test, as a way to make sure the Stormcrows are truly on her side, because Dany knew the opposition will tempt Daario with offers of even more riches than ever before to turn cloak on her. Though she was certain the Tyroshi sellsword wouldn’t betray her, as a contingency, she also sent Ser Jorah with them to lead the party in her name.

It was more than a fortnight later when they all returned to Meereen successful in their endeavour. 

“The liberated cities were able to resist their sieges even without our help, khaleesi.” Ser Jorah said in his report. “The councils you left had stayed faithful to your established governments. The prosperity of Yunkai and Astapor hadn’t allowed for the suffering of the citizens within, the people were cared for during the period of turmoil. And ultimately, the Unsullied and the City Guards were also well disciplined and strong enough to repel the besiegers’ attacks.” 

Perhaps sending Jorah, her Dothraki, and the Stormcrows had been overkill, as there was hardly even a battle, with the enemy having thrown down their swords once they saw her forces thundering towards them and the defending forces coming out in full. But in the end, it had gotten her the result she wanted; a total surrender. And just like the last legion New Ghis had sent, this one had also been sent home without their weapons, unharmed.

It had also pleased Dany to hear that Beskha, along with Asher and Malcolm were able to eliminate the captains of both the Wolf Pack and Stormbreakers, and that they were able to rally the remaining fighters to join the Dragon Queen’s side.

“You have proven yourselves honourable warriors, and as you have done what I’ve asked, it is only fair that I hold up my end of the bargain as well.” Dany said to them, this time sitting from her new ebony bench, high within the audience chamber. “I have merged the two sellsword companies you have brought here into one, and now they would henceforth be called the Stormwolves. They have elected you Beskha, as their new captain, that is of course, should you choose to accept the leadership.”

Beskha stepped forward and bent the knee. “I would be honoured, my queen.” 

“Good. I’ve already drafted a contract, which would officially enlist your company of two thousand to fight for House Forrester’s cause.”

“House Forrester?” Asher asked, surprised. “Not yours?”

“You’re the one that has need of them, so it would only stand to reason that they answer to you, not me.” Dany said simply. “I will also be providing you with all the supplies and gold you would need to make it to Ironrath, lending you two dozen or so ships from my personal fleet commanded by one of my most trusted captains, and the necessary sailors needed to man them, which should be enough to carry your one-thousand-five hundred foot and five-hundred mounted company of soldiers.” 

I was already planning to send Quhuru Mo to the western shores for a mission anyway, Dany thought with satisfaction.

“I- we don’t know how to repay you, Your Grace.” Malcolm spoke for his nephew who was at a loss for words. 

“See that you are ready, when I return to Westeros.” Dany answered them. 

After sharing a quick look, the two nodded and knelt. “We shall await your return… my queen.” Asher proclaimed solemnly.

Though Dany now had a single Westerosi ally, it did little to motivate Dany to progress westward. I still have yet to completely transform Slaver’s Bay… and there are others throughout Essos still suffering in chains. 

“Your family will be grateful for the Targaryen alliance you helped forge, and I would be honoured to accept your oaths when I come into the throne.” Dany had said to them half a fortnight later, before they sailed from Meereen. 

“It’s funny…” She said to her queensguards that night as they overlooked the port on the terrace garden within the apex of the Great Pyramid. “If I was being honest with myself, after hearing of the abject horror of the War of the Five Kings and the Red Wedding, it seems to me the Seven Kingdoms isn’t something worth fighting for.”

The statement had taken them by surprise, with Barristan even stopping his carving of a small Warrior figurine. “What makes you say that, khaleesi?” Ser Jorah asked. 

“In a way, I’ve already amassed my own kingdom here, where I feel accomplished. The good work of assisting the slave revolution and helping achieve peace and prosperity to those in need feels like a better use of my time than trying to conquer a land that has already been through too much bloodshed. My coming would only compound the feast for crows.”

But even still, with all that said, Dany knew Meereen was not the house with the red door. That, at the very least, she knew for sure. Granted, she loved the work of governing, and thrived in her duty… yet she could not truly see herself planting trees here for the rest of her life.

Would she ever find a home?

“I’d argue that it is because Westeros is so torn that it needs the right kind of leader to heal it, Your Grace.” Arthur said. “And who would do better than you?”

“Yet to do that, I’d need to conquer still, and an army of twenty-thousand foreign soldiers cannot hold Westeros.”

“The old houses will flock to you when you cross the narrow sea, my queen.” Barristan suggested. 

“They will flock to whichever side will win, as they always have.” Jorah countered. 

Barristan only scoffed. “And Her Grace has dragons. Practically full-grown dragons now.” That I still can’t ride. “She wouldn’t even have to use them in battle to ensure their loyalty. Even those who bent their knees may yearn in their hearts for the return of the dragons.”

Dany contemplated that for a moment before releasing a tired sigh. “That may be true… but I shall rule the Seven Kingdoms only when I have proven myself able to transform all of Slaver’s Bay, and not a moment before. Our work here is not yet done.”

No one was calling her Daenerys the Conqueror yet, but perhaps they soon would. Aegon the Conqueror had won Westeros with his sisters and three dragons, but she had taken Slaver’s Bay in a little less than three years with nothing but her wits, a righteous cause, and a loyal army.

She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons, Slayer of Warlocks, Breaker of Chains, Mhysa, and now it was time for her to fully step into her latest role. 

Queen of Slaver’s Bay.

“So I will do as I have done these past years. I will rule.”

Chapter Text

303AC

Daenerys had been dreaming of the house with the red door when Missandei woke her in the middle of the night and sweet slumber had left her.

She had feared the worst at seeing her handmaid’s worried urgency, and sure enough, it was terrible. And so Daenerys awaited upon the ebony bench that made her throne, and refused to go back to sleep.

“Daughter…” Ser Arthur Dayne said as he ascended to the top of the steps. “There’s no need for you to see this.”

“Yes, there is father.” Her palms were sweaty now, she realised as she made her way down. “He died for me.” 

Grey Worm turned to her after he and the three other Unsullied behind him had laid the body on the table they set at the bottom dais at base of the throne steps. “We’ve cleaned him up as best we could, my queen.” 

Ser Barristan pulled back the bloodstained cloth covering the Unsullied corpse, and Grey Worm lowered the torch then, so that she could better see. His wounds were fresh, that she could see, but it had horrified her just how many wounds there were… including a gruesome one on his mouth.

The work of the Sons of the Harpy, she was sure.  

A constant thorn at her side since the early days of her rule in Meereen, this terrorist organisation only started as a fringe group, who acted in sporadic, yet clearly methodical, ways in their obstruction and sabotage. Guerrilla tactics, Iroh had described it. 

They scrawl on walls by night and cut the throats of honest freedmen as the city sleeps, and when the sun comes up they hide like roaches. And now, they have drawn blood again, only this time, it was one of her own men.

“They cut open his cheeks like that for a purpose.” She said, taking care to temper her rage. “Why?”

Grey Worm too was seething in anger, she could see. “His killers forced the genitals of a goat down his throat, my queen. I removed it before we brought him to you.”

A goat’s genitals because they could not feed him his own genitals, Dany realised in horror.

“By the looks of his wounds, there seems to be at least six, perhaps more, who swarmed him from all sides.” Barristan observed. Yes… she could see that too now. “But he was found with an empty scabbard, so it is likely he didn’t go down without a fight, Your Grace. He may have injured or taken down a few of them.”

That brought a ghost of a smile to her face, though she remained sad over the loss. “What was his name?”

“Yin Tar, my queen.” 

He had chosen his new name after the fabled hero of his homeland YiTi.

“Did they leave their usual message?”

“Aye, Your Grace.” Barristan answered. “They drew a harpy on the walls where his body was found. Drawn in-”

“-his blood.” Dany finished for him. It was known to them by now that the Sons of the Harpy commit their butchery at night, and they always leave their mark. But in the year she had ruled Meereen, they had never once killed her soldiers, with the pattern having quickly emerged that it was always the freed men and women of Meereen they murdered, especially those who had grown too prosperous and voiced their support too proudly for the new Queen of Slaver’s Bay. 

To make them afraid.

In the beginning, Dany was convinced that somewhere in Meereen the Sons of the Harpy had a highborn overlord, a secret general commanding an army of shadows, but over time, that belief died. It would have been pleasant to think that the single death of the right person would make this all go away, but Dany suspected the truth was otherwise. My enemies are legion. 

The murders also always occurred randomly, making the task of seizing members of this shadow faction near impossible to do, as she and her council were simultaneously too busy trying to improve and reform the stubborn city. Even the few she was able to apprehend, and subsequently execute, had only been the lowest in the command chain, mostly former slaves who yielded names of the masters that they did their biding for… too many names, it seemed, and biding which the accused noble families had vehemently denied on hearsay. The fact that these same captured harpies were no longer the employees of these families at the time of their crimes only helped the nobles’ supposed innocence, much to her consternation.

She had wanted nothing more than to execute these masters for their part in the spilling of innocent blood, but with insufficient evidence against these families, Dany had no choice but to settle with only the imposing of a blood tax as dissuasion tactic to the shadow faction.

And for a time, that deterrence had proved effective, yet that didn’t last for long. 

So as consequence of the continued acts of terrorism, Dany had then taken further action by accepting the children of the noble houses as pages and cupbearers. "A great honour in the tradition of the Westerosi court for them to be chosen…” she had told them, and so it was. 

One of her favourites was the young Calla, who was the daughter and heir of House of Midgal. Though, like most, she was at first fearful of the queen, Dany and the girl had developed a genuine bond over time, and now Dany knew she had earned the girl’s respect and admiration. In turn, Calla had even been able to influence the House of Midgal to become one of her most loyal allies among the nobility of the city.  

Then, in an unexpected but welcome turn of events, she had similar experiences with her other cupbearers and pages, as they have all come to respect and remain loyal to their queen. Though Dany had hoped that by having the valued children in her charge, and operating in good faith with them, would deter any more violent attacks, after a short peaceful lull the problems arose again from these harpies.

Though the threat of their safety was already made implicit by the very nature of them being in her charge, when it came down to it, Dany couldn’t find it within herself to actually harm her hostages. They’re only innocent children.

The relentless attacks made Dany feel each time she took one step forward in progress, they would drag her three steps backwards in retaliation. And tonight’s killing had been the most direct attack on her yet.

“Why was Yin Tar alone?” Her Unsullied always patrolled in pairs, she noted. “Was his partner attacked as well?” 

“No, my queen.” replied Grey Worm. “Hyrkoon’s safe. But Yin Tar wasn’t on duty last night. He had gone to… er, an establishment.”

Dany raised her brows. “An establishment?”

“A house of pleasure, Your Grace.” Ser Jorah answered for the Unsullied commander. 

A brothel. 

It had surprised her at first, back when they were in Yunkai, and she had just started getting reports of some of her Unsullied’s visits to the brothels. What could a eunuch hope to find in a brothel, she had asked their commander then. But it was quickly made apparent to her that even if they lack the parts, many still yearned another’s touch. Those of her Unsullied who have found love amongst themselves sprung to mind. 

“He paid someone to lie with him and hold him, and they butchered him…” They grow bolder, these harpies. “Who owns this establishment? I want them brought to me and questioned.” 

“The lady is dead too, Your Grace.” Grey Worm said grimly. “And the… pleasure worker was murdered too. The rest are shaken and afraid, many no longer wishing to work there.” 

By the gods. A targeted attack fought entirely in the shadows of a city these insurgents know better than she ever could… it made her want to pull her hair out.

Dany knelt beside the corpse then and closed her soldier’s eyes. “He shall not be forgotten. Neither will the owner of the brothel or the worker. I want them washed and readied to be buried with full honours. Yin Tar shall be dressed for battle, and laid with his cap, shield and spear.” 

“It shall be as you command, my queen.” Grey Worm bowed before he and his Unsullied closed the shroud once more, lifted Yin Tar onto their shoulders and left the chamber. 

“We need to send men to the Temple of the Graces and inquire whether any had come to them with a sword wound, and we need to find Yin Tar’s missing sword. Perhaps reward of gold would see it turn up.” Dany said, though she had little hope for it. “And the butchers and herdsmen as well. We need to learn from them who has been gelding goats in recent days.”

“Who shall we send, Your Grace?” Barristan asked.

Her Unsullied were her finest soldiers, made for the battlefield, their training having taught them to obey, fearlessly, perfectly, without thought or hesitation, yet they would not be suited to interrogation, or the unraveling of secrets and conspiracies. Her dothraki would be even worse, as they were best on horseback, in open fields, than in the narrow streets and alleys of a city. 

“Your knights-in-training should serve well for this.” She smiled listlessly at the white haired man. The newest member of her queensguard had been training several former slaves to become knights in the Westerosi fashion and prepare them for positions of leadership in his spare time, and a few had even shown great promise, improving immensely in this past year they had been at Meereen. But unlike her knight’s progress with his squires, her rule in Meereen hadn’t gone as well as it had in Astapor and Yunkai.

In the beginning, it had started well enough, with her bloodriders with her khalasar, and the Tattered Prince with his Windblown able to subdue the hinterlands and end the slavery that still ran rampant in the greater Meereen area. The thousands of slaves that toiled the vast estates in the hills, who grew wheat and olives, herdsmen of livestock, and miners of salt and copper were unshackled after her men’s success and were now freed paid workers of the city.

Dany had even sent Brown Ben Plumm towards the southeastern hills, beyond the Khyzai Pass, into Lhazar, where he had succeeded in her first true test of his diplomatic aptitude by getting the Lhazareen to open trade routes and agree to an alliance with the liberated cities of Slaver’s Bay. In exchange, her Dothraki and her two sellsword companies were tasked with their protection against any that would do them harm. 

Which left only her Unsullied, freedmen soldiers and the Stormcrows as her only remaining forces, and it was then when, with less of her men within the walls of Meereen, the shadow war against her by these Sons of the Harpy began. And they had been prepared in their war, and boundlessly sly in their sabotage of her progress in transforming the city. 

In the dead of night they would start fires in new housing complexes, demolished half-finished projects, and spoiled the stores of the freedmen, among other works of chaos, all without hardly a trace, which resulted in only small, and barely felt, tangible improvements in the lives of the people in Meereen. It made the people drastically less placated as those in Yunkai or Astapor were, and such instability caused her rule to be shaky even in the eyes of the freedmen, which she suspects was how the Sons were able to recruit the most desperate of them. These harpies know their city and their people much better than I ever could.

“It might also be a good idea to rotate the city’s patrol with a group that’s not Unsullied, Your Grace.” Ser Arthur suggested after her daily morning training with her most seasoned warriors and commanders. “Spears aren’t necessarily the best weapons in tight alleys either.“

Dany nodded. “You’re right. Let’s pull most back and have the Stormcrows and the Brazen Beasts run the bulk of patrols. In the mean time, if you’ll excuse me, it’s almost first light. Which means petitioners will soon line these halls, and I must slip on my floppy ears before they do.” 

Half an hour later, up at the terrace garden situated at apex of the pyramid, Dany looked out to the city that was now waking after she broke her fast with her handmaids.The sky had turned a bright blue, and behind the line of low hills to the east a glow could be seen, pale gold and dusky pink. All the grey bricks became red and yellow and blue and green and orange, and the golden dome of the Temple of the Graces blazed bright over them all. A beautiful morning in a beautiful city that belied the horrific night that preceded it in its hidden dark underbelly.

Meereen is twice as large as the previous two cities combined, she thought. By virtue of the city’s size alone would’ve made her job of reforming Meereen slower and more difficult, but with the Sons of the Harpy somewhere out there plotting in one of these buildings, it made it infinitely harder. Dany felt her anger burn hotter within. 

Ruling here was like lying on a bed of weeds, and having to rip them out root by root before they strangled her in her sleep… I will not let them win.

Sensing movement behind her, Dany turned to watch Viserion, who was laying coiled next to a pear tree that they were dwarfing. When she went and scratched under their jaw, she immediately felt the heat from the touch, which felt like armour left too long in the sun. Fire made flesh, it was said of dragons, but the heat didn’t hurt her. The cream dragon opened their golden eyes then and purred lightly. “Been fighting with Rhaegal again, haven’t you?” 

Her dragons had grown to the size where they could swallow entire goats whole, and were growing wilder by the day. Since reaching their larger size, Viserion and Rhaegal had developed a feud, as the terrace garden could only now accommodate one of them at time, they had constantly fought over who gets to sleep near their mother or in the nearby mountaintop. Last night was Viserion’s turn. 

“Go hunt, and bring your sibling a share of your prey as a peace offering.” Dany said softly to her child. Viserion’s tail then lashed excitedly, before they unfolded their wings and hopped onto the parapet and launched themselves gracefully into the sky. 

They’re definitely more than large enough to ride by now, and growing still.

As she saw Viserion fly further and further, Dany reflected on the certainty she felt that Drogon was her destined mount. Even if she hadn’t seen her largest child in nearly a week, she could still feel the tether between them exist… and yet she couldn't for the life of her know where Drogon roosts.

Her mind flooded with visions of herself flying high on her dragon, like Aegon the Conqueror must have flown over the Seven Kingdoms, as she went back inside where her handmaids were ready to start her morning routine with a scalding bath, where after, they would dress her in the Ghiscari tokar. For her to play the part of the Queen of Slaver’s Bay, the tokar was a necessity for placating the nobility, and even some of the freedmen had wished for her to respect their culture.

Even if only some of the nobles were actually amendable to her changes, mostly because she suspected they thought her new world to be an inevitability, the entirety of the city’s population were actually quite unanimous and unrelenting with keeping some of their cultural norms; they had no wish for their finer traditions to be disrespected and thrown away just because they had an outsider as their new queen. 

It was easy to see the benefit of such an endeavour, since Dany has had to use tokars before, in special and ceremonial occurrences in her time ruling Yunkai and Astapor. But it was never quite this frequent, and the Meereenese were most insistent on her use of the tokar to symbolise her rule over all of Slaver’s Bay. 

And they made a fine point, one she couldn’t go against. All she wanted to do was get rid of slavery, not their culture in its entirety. It was what she had done in the other liberated cities. How could she not do the same here?

“The Queen of Slaver’s Bay must be the image of a lady of Old Ghis.” The Green Grace, Galazza Galare had advised her. “In any other garment, Your Radiance would forever remain a stranger amongst us, an outsider who has no respect for our traditions.” Even her captain of the Second Sons, Brown Ben Plumm, had agreed with the Meereenese leader. “If one wants to rule over rabbits, they best wear a pair of floppy ears.” 

The Targaryen banners and sigil was not something my ancestors showed up to Westeros with, as the Freehold had no such traditions, she reflected. Aegon the Conqueror took the standard of the red three-headed dragon as his own to acclimate with the Westerosi custom of heraldry among the noble houses. If the dragon sigil was Aegon’s floppy ears, and the tokar was hers. 

Though only a small concession in the grand scheme of things, Dany still felt uncomfortable wearing them due to what they represented; these particular floppy ears were still a master’s garment and a symbol of oppressive wealth and power. It was also not clothes for any person who had to actually work, as walking in a tokar demanded small, mincing steps and exquisite balance… much like her tenure as queen in this city. The irony of which only frustrated her even more, but one she had to bear.

The floppy ears she chose today was a tokar of pale blue linen, with a fringe of sapphire tassels, and she wore the silver Valyrian-steel circlet set with the bright amethyst jewel from Old Valyria as her crown. One of her royal forebears had said once that a crown should not sit easy on the head, but to Dany she felt more comfortable in them than in the restrictive tokar. 

Two members of her small council awaited her outside her royal apartments with Ser Jorah at the terrace garden when she was done. “Your Radiance.” The first greeted her with a low bow. Reznak mo Reznak had become her seneschal early in her reign, as he was instrumental in familiarising her with the local culture and politics of Meereen. 

“My queen.” Skahaz mo Kandaq had greeted her next with a smile. The Shavepate, the Meereenese had now called him, for having shorn his dense and wiry hair that the Ghiscari nobility have long adhered to wearing as tradition. By shaving off his hair, Skahaz had, in a publicly symbolic act, put the old Meereen behind him to accept the new. And since then, the nobleman had become a leader among many of her others supporters, who all had followed suit with the fashion statement, though it was certainly not by her edict.

Shavepates, they were all called, and they were seen as the vilest group of traitors to the Sons of the Harpy and their sympathisers, seen as how they made up more than half of the numbers of victims of their brutality. Though, fortunately, that only seemed to compelled them to become ever more loyal to her new rule and revile the harpies, all valiantly refusing to cow to the fear mongering.

In redress, some had instead formed the Brazen Beasts with The Shavepate Skahaz. Together they were a group of city watch patrols made up in equal numbers of freedmen and shavepate Meereenese, who took a page from the harpy’s sons, and walked the streets both day and night in dark hoods and brazen masks of jackals, owls, and other beasts, keeping their true faces hidden.

“We heard about your Unsullied.” Skahaz said.

“His name was Yin Tar.”

“They grow bolder. This is the first of your men they have directly attacked.” He pointed out. “Even if they only previously targeted your freedmen and other Meereenese supporters, we shavepates will never relent to these filth. But such terrorism will continue to escalate unless we answer with blood, my queen.” 

“And how can I punish those who hide behind masks and shadows, Skahaz?”

“By punishing those who are behind them. We know who they are.” He challenged.

“No, we suspect.” She corrected. “We cannot know for certain.” Her mind flashed to her previous attempts to catch suspected Harpy sympathisers moons ago, which had been disastrous. Not only did she not catch any harpies, but her men had arrested innocent families, of both nobility and freedmen alike. The failure had caused an uproar that hamstrung her rule yet again, squandering the goodwill she had earned from the citizens, something that even now she was still paying for.

“House of Pahl most certainly is a house of traitors, my queen. They most of all. They’re a house of bitter women with a taste for blood. And hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

The Meereenese nobles were a sly people, ones who had clever ways to resist her, and the widows of House of Pahl were the greatest embodiment of that. Most recently, they had complained endlessly how the dragon queen had filled their noble city with chaos…. while also conveniently forgetting who caused the actual mayhem in the first place.

“They have been… gracious thus far. We have no proof of their involvement.” Dany replied bitterly. She knew Skahaz was at least right in his assessment that they hold deep seated grudges against her, and that bad blood existed between her and House of Pahl. 

How could they not? She had killed Oznak zo Pahl by her own hands in single combat. His father, the commander of the city’s watch, had died defending its walls from the revolt, and three uncles had been among the fifty she had crucified in retaliation for the hundred sixty-three children on mileposts, which by her ruling in punishment, left them no longer the wealthiest family of the city. Though they no longer had stuffed coffers, it was clear their family still had influence among the nobles. Family names and history means much to the nobles, Reznak told her. 

“And we will not butcher people without proof.” Dany said firmly. “We shall instead raise the prize for information on the Sons of the Harpy from one hundred to one thousand honours, and raise the blood tax on the former slaving families we have already sanctioned. We’ll see what we get from that.” 

At their nods, Dany made her way down to the audience chamber, where Missandei announced her as she entered. 

“All kneel for Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Queen of the Liberated Cities of Slaver’s Bay, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.”

As she made her way through the now packed audience chamber, Dany saw the clear schism within the congregation, with the Meereense nobles on one side and the freedmen on the other. 

To rule Meereen, I must win all of Meereen. Like I did in Yunkai and Astapor. Until they stand as one, Meereen will never progress.

“Arise.” Dany announced as she sat on the bench at the top of the stairs, flanked by Ser Jorah on one side, and Iroh on the other, with her Unsullied arrayed throughout the room in neat orderly lines. 

Reznak mo Reznak had a list, and much like always, he started with the Meereenes nobles first. “Your Radiance, the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq.” 

Her other council member then walked out of the gathered nobles and bowed on the same spot Yin Tar had been presented to her just hours before. Hizdahr was a wealthy man, whose family is one of the most powerful and richest in Meereen… yet that’s not where their power ends. The Loraqs also wields some influence in Tolos, Elyria and New Ghis, a fact Dany took advantage of when she sent him on diplomatic missions to have those cities abandon the practice of slavery. Though his trip to New Ghis hadn’t been as fruitful, his trips to Tolos and Elyria had conversely been successful, a success probably helped by the fact those city’s slave population outnumber their masters three-to-one, while New Ghis was more balanced.

When Dany first came to Meereen one of the first things she did was close the city’s fighting pits, much like she did Yunkai and Astapor. But unlike those cities, the culture around Meereen’s famed fighting pits were much more ingrained into their lives, and their closure had been harder for the people here to accept than the people of Yunkai or Astapor have. After the value of the pit shares had plummeted, Hizdahr zo Loraq had bought them all out and now owned most of the fighting pits in Meereen… which would help him grow richer, if she granted his unrelenting petitions. 

“Your Radiance, I think you will know why I am here today.” The man said, smiling up at her with modest charm. Dany could admit that even she found the man to be handsome, but his family’s deep association within the slave culture had made her uneasy of him. He wore a purple tokar fringed with amethyst and pearls today, she observed. The colours of House of Loraq. “Five times, you have refused me but I hope my queen will see my persistence to be a reason as to why granting my petition is very much needed.” 

“If only to get you to cease your repetitious proposal, then perhaps I should.” Dany said back. “Go on, make your case.” 

“Your Radiance, as you know by now, the fighting pits have been a part of Meereen since the city’s founding. It is a religious and deeply ingrained profound part of our culture. It is not butchery, but a display of courage, skill and strength most pleasing to our gods. Victorious fighters are pampered and acclaimed, and the slain are honoured and remembered. Reopening the pits would show that you unequivocally respect the ways and customs of the Meereenese people.” Some cheers from both sides of the room sounded at that. “The pits would also draw trade to our great city, the far reaching fame of our great games known even to the Sunset Kingdoms. It would also satiate the taste for blood that all men share, and make Meereen more tranquil in its aftermath. It may also offer a last chance for one to prove their innocence in battle.” He finished with flourish.

“I must say, noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, I find it rather disappointing that you have merely recycled old arguments and dressed them up in lovelier words.” 

“I hoped some added eloquence would persuade you.” He smiled at her, which she returned uneasily. 

“And yet I find your cause still wanting.” Dany replied. “I’m afraid my answer is still no.” 

To his credit, the man took it well and bowed deeply. “Thank you for your time, Your Radiance.”  

Reznak would have called another nobleman to petition next, but Dany had insisted upon a freedman. Thereafter she alternated between the former masters and the former slaves. Many and more of the matter brought before her involved trivial things, like disputes between who gets what contracts for the city’s many projects, the redistribution of land rights, the minutia of taxes, proposals to have large imposing statues built in her image, which she denied with as much courtesy as she could muster but had conceded to accepting murals and smaller tributes with her likeness, and petty crimes between the poorest freedmen, among others. One by one, Dany had settled them deftly, and without break, nibbling on flatbread, figs and cheese while she listened to her people.  

It wasn’t until midday when near all of the petitioners had been given their answer and left the audience chamber that Dany received her first complaint of her dragons’ ever increasing eating habits. The first of the day, but certainly not the first in her time in Meereen. 

Her dragons had developed a taste for anything the shepherds of the Skahazadhan bred, be it cow, calf, goats, sheep or lamb, and the larger they grew, the more they ate. Drogon alone could reportedly devour two livestock a day. 

In the beginning the farmers had come to her shaking with fear, thinking the dragons’ tendency to bathe their livestock in flames and consume them were some sort of direct punishment for the queen’s dissatisfaction for their work. But Dany had quickly assuaged their fears, and paid them their loss’ worth, assuring them that her dragons meant no harm. 

And much like all the previous times, she had done the same today, paying them the value of their animals and giving them her gratitude for their livestock, after which left only three petitioners in the chamber, one nobleman, and two former slaves. Seeing as one of the freedman that had lingered held a cloth sack similar to that of the other farmers that just left, Dany decided to address this one first. 

“You may approach.” She called to him, but the man remained with his head down, endlessly gazing at the marble floor as if stuck in a daze. Upon closer inspection she realised that he was also shaking.

“The Queen just addressed you, farmer.” Reznak said. “If you’re here to claim some compensation for your loss of herd from the Her Radiance’s dragons, we have just made a pronouncement. Or were you too busy staring at the floor to hear?” 

Dany frowned at her seneschal’s tone, thinking them too harsh, and spoke up again. “It’s alright. Do you have some other grievance to lay before me? I apologise for my childr-”

The man raised his head then, and she could immediately see how red and raw his eyes were, and it stopped her words. Dany’s heart began to stammer. No… no. Please.

The man openly wept now, approaching the steps in a stumbling lumber, muttering unheard words of apologies and clutching his sack shaking in fear.

“Speak up, goatherd! The queen cannot hear you!” The seneschal half-shouted. 

“Reznak, enough.” She demanded of him, and the seneschal bowed at her reprimand. 

His eyes flicked nervously over the room, as if fearful of some hidden dangers behind him, before he spoke in broken sentences. “I… I am sorry, Your… Your Radiance… I brought… if I had dis-displeased you, I beg- beg your forgiveness… please… spare us…”

Dany shivered, and her mouth suddenly dried as the man lowered down and slowly upended the sack, laying the contents on the raised steps with great care as tears flowed more liberally from his reddened face. 

“It- it was the black one…” He sobbed. “The wing- winged shadow… He came down from the sky and… and… she was with- with my herd…”

“Are you deaf? I already said the queen will-“

“Reznak.” Iroh snapped quietly. “Hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheep bones.”

Her blood ran cold. No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child. 

“My girl… my little girl…”

As everyone in the room began to understand that same truth, she heard audible gasps filter throughout the echoing chamber, from the other petitioners, and even from Missandei. Then she felt Ser Jorah’s firm hand, steadying her shoulder in silent support, her own hand quickly grasping his, palm sweaty with shame. 

“What was her name?” Dany asked steadily, mustering all her strength to keep her queenly facade from breaking down. 

“Ha- Hazzea… Your- Your Radiance.”

Poor, sweet Hazzea…

“Hazzea shall be laid to rest in the Temple of the Graces.” Dany declared. “And a hundred candles shall burn for her, day and night, in her memory…” She made her way down to the steps and bent down to the crying man, speaking more directly to him. “From the bottom of my heart, I deeply apologise for this tragedy. Believe me when I say that this wasn’t, nor could it ever be, intentional on my part.”

Then despite Ser Jorah’s reservations, she held the man’s hand.

“I would give Hazzea back to you if I could… but some things are beyond the power of even a queen.” She said softly to him. “Though it could never come close to counterbalance your loss, I would like to help ease your anguish, if I may. I will pay one hundred times the worth of any livestock you have also lost from this accident, and I will also make you this promise; come back every year upon her nameday, and we will make sure your other children, if you have any, shall not want… but this tale must never pass your lips, only mine.”

The man kept sobbing down at the steps, never once looking her in the eye, as if afraid, but gave her a gentle nod to indicate his agreement. 

“I know people will ask.” Looking at the two other petitioners still in the chambers, she knew this tale would spread throughout the city come tomorrow no matter what she paid them. She would have to take control of the narrative. “All I ask is that you only confirm the version of the incident that I will tell.”

Dany was in a daze as she listened and took care of the last two petitioners and their grievances, making quick work of it before excusing herself and made her way up to her royal apartments. She told her seneschal to cancel all of her appointments for the day and dismissed them all, asking for some time to herself, leaving Dany with only her two Unsullied sentries standing guard over her a distance away from where she curled herself up and wept underneath the persimmon tree at the terrace garden. 

Not hours before had Viserion had done the same only a few feet away, she thought sadly. 

It may have been hours later, or perhaps mere minutes, when she heard the footfalls coming near her and then the sound of someone settling themselves down behind her. Dany knew there was only one person in the world that her guards would allow near her right now… her father. 

She didn’t know when she did, but Dany found herself laying her head on his lap, like they used to back in their calmer days in Asabhad, and for a while, they just sat there, in heavy silence, as Arthur caressed comforting circles on her head with his thumb.

“You know, Viserys told me all the tales when we were little. He loved to talk of them… of dragons. I remembered how no matter whatever dark mood had taken my brother that day, the second we talked of dragons, his face would light up and his woes were all of a sudden forgotten.” She had said, breaking the reverie. 

“But for all his wondrous tales, perhaps I should’ve known all along… he told me how Harrenhal had fallen. About the Field of Fire, and the Dance of the Dragons. About how Aegon III had seen his own mother devoured by his usurping uncle’s dragon. Villages and kingdoms beyond count lived in dread of dragons and their fire. In the House of the Undying, the warlocks and their abode turned to dust. In Astapor, dozens had burned until only ashes remained. On the road to Yunkai, my children made a feast of the heads of Daario’s captains. Dragons have no fear… and a dragon large enough to swallow an entire wild boar whole could certainly burn an innocent child just as easily as they burn a foe.”

Dany got up then, too riled up in her emotions to sit still. “Viserys used to tell me that dragons live longer than men… and since Mirri Maz Duur’s curse would ensure that I would never bear a living child, it would mean that House Targaryen will end with me, and my three children will go on after I’m dead.” 

My three fierce children… 

Dany ignored the pain that came from saying those words out loud, but kept going. “Father… if they are to be my only children, that means they are to be my legacy… is this what my legacy will be? The charred remains of innocent children?”

“No.” He said firmly. “Don’t you dare think that, Daenerys. You and I both know you have accomplished far more than this one dark accident… and you know your children, daughter… they would never intentionally hurt an innocent. They know their mother too well to want to do such harm.” 

Do they? Hazzea’s charred remains had made her doubt such a previously held certainty. ”What scares me is that I can’t say that I do, father. I thought the pool in Valyria had made my connection with my children stronger, and for a while they did… until they didn’t. They’ve been waning for a while now as they’ve grown larger and wilder… especially Drogon’s and mine.” 

This had been her ultimate fear over their rapid growth. I should have seen it coming… Was I so blind? Or perhaps I had closed my eyes wilfully? “But even if their intent may be otherwise, it’s clear they don’t see the collateral damage they leave behind… only the prey they catch…” What have I unleashed upon the world?

She burst into tears again after the image of a confused and scared child burning underneath a shadow of black wings assaulted her mind. Arthur only held her tighter and let her emotions flow.

“Her name was Hazzea, father… and she was only four years old.” 

“Shh… it’s alright, daughter.” He rubbed her back in light stroked. “I heard the tale from Jorah and Iroh.”

For a while they sat like that, Dany entwined in the comfort of her father’s embrace until Arthur looked at her with graveness. “I’m sorry to bring this up Daenerys, but not everyone in that audience chamber is as convinced as you are that this goatherd was entirely truthful. Could he perhaps have lied to you?”

It had been her first reaction too, denial. 

He must be lying, one part of her head screamed. No one had seen the dragon but him. His only proof was burned bones, but burnt bones could easily been produced over a cook fire… they proved nothing. For all she knew, the little girl might have already died by some ailment, and the goatherd had merely burned her corpse afterward for greater reward. She could practically hear the gruff voice of the Shavepate telling her it would not be the first time a father disposed of an unwanted daughter.

“If it is false… this man’s lie could destroy us all.” Arthur said quietly. “The Sons of the Harpy might have done it, and made it look like a dragon’s work to effectively turn the city and the Bay against you and your work.” 

Dany had thought the very same and wanted to believe that, and yet… “But if that was so, then why had Hazzea’s father waited until the audience hall was almost empty to come forward? If his purpose was to inflame the Meereenese against me, he would have told his tale when the hall was full to the brim with ears to hear of every grisly detail.” 

Her father had contemplated that for a moment, no doubt already having thought of that same conundrum. “It wouldn’t need to take an entire room full of people to turn the city against you. Even just one pair of ears would be enough to spread the tales… perhaps they would do even worse, as the further gossip travels, the worse they grow to become.”

That she knew at least to be a true, which is why she was determined to release her own statement on the terrible accident before sundown. But accident or not, Dany had already been convinced of the truth of the goatherd’s tale.

“Believe me father, I had wanted nothing more than for this nightmare tale to be a complete and slanderous fiction. I’ve gone over it in my head, over and over, yet I could not deny the truth coming from the pain this father expressed of his child dying by the flames…by my child’s flames.” 

They sat in silence again for a prolonged moment as the heaviness of those words lingered, before her father broke the silence. “So, what will you do now?” 

Her heart broke as she made the decision. “What I must.” 

That night, at the ground level of the Great Pyramid of Meereen, Dany stood in silence, surrounded by dust and shadows as she waited for her dragons. Though her tether had been weakened, Dany knew, or rather hoped, they would come to their mother in her distress. 

Sure enough, she soon heard the distinct screeches of dragons fill the air and the buffeting of air as her children flew around her, flapping their wings frantically as two landed gracefully next to her with a heavy thud. She may not know much, but she did know this; there would not be a third dragon landing here tonight. 

It felt like not too long ago, a few years back she now realised, that her two more obedient dragons had taken turns riding on her shoulder, tail coiled around her arm, being fed pieces of charred meat from her own hand. The memory had near brought her to tears, but she held herself together. 

If I look back, I am lost.

Dany caressed her cream-and-gold and green-and-bronze dragons with as much love as she could, before she led them past the stables, stalls, and storerooms towards three massive arches and to an opening that led to the catacombs underneath the Great Pyramid, where the outer walls were thirty feet thick. 

They made made their way underground down a torchlit path past dungeons, cisterns and torture chambers until they finally came upon a pair of huge iron doors, where behind it was a monstrously cavernous pit forty feet below, large enough to hold two thousand men, and more than ample for two large dragons. Down here she would restrict them of the freedom of the sky, a place where they would have no opportunity to hurt anyone, accidentally or otherwise.

In the far end of the room Dany had an entire line up of dead sheep, goats, and calfs, which her dragons took no time in devouring the offerings. While they engorged themselves, distracted, Dany couldn’t help but shed unhappy tears.  

“This is going to be your home, my children… at least for now.” She spoke through sobs in High Valyrian, the language she always spoke to them in. Their mother tongue. “Please forgive me.”

When Dany made her way back up to the heavy iron doors, and closed it shut, her dragons took notice of their mother’s absence and immediately cried for her. 

She knew the pit would not hold them forever, and that she shouldn’t even bother with chains, as Dany knew it wouldn’t take long for her dragons to realise that their fire could melt iron and crack stone. But as much as she could feel their betrayal and anger, Dany knew they wouldn’t try to fight for their escape. At least not these two. Yet if Drogon had joined them tonight however, the largest sibling would no doubt lead the three of them to freedom.  

What sort of mother would let her children rot in darkness? The Mother of Dragons… the mother of monsters. I am the blood of the dragon. If they are monsters, so am I. 

That night, as she tossed and turned, trying to force herself to an uneasy sleep, she couldn’t help but wonder fearfully; Would they would turn on one another in such captivity? Will they grow weak over time, like the dragons of her forebears after the Dance? Will they wither and shrink, their fires reduced to embers? And without dragons, how could she hope to win back Westeros?

When she finally succumbed to the day’s stress and finally found sleep, she dreamt of her dragons… within their prison… yet they were chained down… with heavy shackles made of ice. 

Daenerys shivered all night under her furs.

Chapter Text

303AC

Blood.

It was all she saw inside the tavern, and it was everywhere. Her men did not wish for her to come, but Dany had to see it for herself. The Sons of the Harpy had, once again, left their mark of a crudely rendered harpy drawn with the blood of the slain, but as she looked around, Dany knew this was no careful, calculated act of assassination.

No, this was a bloody and messy ambush.

“I count nine.” Dany said as she carefully walked around the grisly scene. She felt her anger flaring but kept it contained by rubbing the hilt of Narsil on her hip. 

“Yes.” Daario answered solemnly. “Three of them your Unsullied, and the three others from my own Stormcrows. My men tell me they were all off-duty when they went here, after they had completed their rounds.”

Dany saw how their bodies were riddled with crossbow bolts, and had been stripped naked, clothes gone. She turned away, suddenly overcome with the need to break something. “And the other three?”

“Two freedmen and one woman. My Brazen Beasts have able to identify them, Your Radiance. They were a cobbler, a bricklayer, and a weaver between them.” answered the Shavepate, who scowled at the scene. “The bastards cut the weaver’s fingers off after they killed her and stuffed it in her mouth. We took them out before you came, my queen.” 

It felt like a thousand cuts to her heart, and looking over their faces, realised she personally knew this weaver. Her name was Elza, a fine weaver whose work was quickly becoming greatly valued across Essos. Not too long ago, this woman and her group of young apprentices had opened up a shop by the harbour to sell their weavings and they had gifted their queen with the most beautiful white silk dress with an ornate silver dragon decorating it. 

Usually it was freedmen who had become too prosperous or too outspoken that was marked for death… but the three former slaves were hardly either of those things. And nine in one night, though… that was the highest murder count yet. 

She turned to her commander of the Unsullied. “What of the murderers? Have they been captured?” 

“They eluded capture, my queen.” Grey Worm said, sounding angry at himself. “But we’ve sent men to scour the city of our brothers and sister’s belongings.”

“The owners of the tavern, the man and his two daughters. They weren’t targeted?”

“No, they are unharmed. They plead their ignorance and beg for mercy.” Dany could already tell where the Skahaz was going with his accusatory tone, though she wasn’t as convinced as he was.

“I assumed.” Dany then sighed. “I will question them myself, along with my counsel Iroh. For now keep them apart and bring them to the cells beneath the pyramid, near enough Rhaegal and Viserion that could hear the sounds of my children, but far away enough they could not be harmed. We’ll deal with them after they stew in the darkness for a day or two. Hopefully that would loosen their tongues.”

“Blood demands blood, my queen.” The Shavepate said darkly. “Something must be done here, otherwise these killings will just continue.”

Dany frowned at Skahaz, knowing well the truth of his words, yet she knew she could not execute them. Not without proof. “We are fighting shadows, Skahaz, and it is the ones who cast them that we should be targeting. If we ask this family sharply now, I don’t doubt they’d say anything, false or otherwise, to get them out of imprisonment.”

At the Shavepate’s dissatisfied grunt, Dany shrugged her shoulders lightly. “All I’m saying is all your past sharp methods in drawing out names have hardly yielded verifiable results. Now we shall try a different approach.”

He looked down almost sheepishly, before nodding. “Good. The Unsullied will help your Brazen Beasts clean this up and bring the victim’s bodies to the Temple of the Graces so they may have their final rest. In the mean time, I need you to gather the full council today in the council chamber by high noon.”

“I will see to it, Your Radiance.’’ He bowed.

As Dany walked through the streets of Meereen on her way to the Great Pyramid, flanked by her Unsullied, Grey Worm, Daario Naharis, and Ser Jorah, she saw some children playing, who waved and smiled at her. At least the people are still with me… though even that hadn’t been the case just a moon past.

The day the goatherd came to her with his tale, Daenerys had immediately addressed the people of Meereen herself, and explained the full context of Hazzea’s unfortunate death. Unsurprisingly, it resulted in Dany enduring an uptick of civil disobedience for the past month after public opinion turned on her.

As expected, most of the uproar had came from the class of noblemen, who in years past, normally couldn’t care less about what happened to a former slave’s child. But to her heartbreak, a good number of freedmen had too joined in their choruses of condemnation. Some had even refused to continue work until they knew her dragons were kept away from them. 

Not that I could blame them. The rumours surrounding the incident had, as Arthur predicted, grew monstrous despite her best efforts to control the narrative. It didn't take long for the Sons of the Harpy to use Hazzea’s death to their advantage, she thought to her frustration. Tales of how the dragon queen had purposefully loosed her wild dragon upon a child in order to harvest their young innocent blood to keep control over her other two dragons had spread like wildfire, and had been the worst she had heard thus far.

Thankfully, that rumour was too outlandish for even the general populace for it to have been truly detrimental to her rule, but the disinformation campaign to smear her nevertheless persisted until one thing remained clear among the haze; that her dragons were untamed and not in the queen’s control. A simple, yet truthful, narrative which worked spectacularly to sow public distrust. 

Though they still had love for her, now the people were also fearful and cautious of her. A dragon queen she was… but one who is not only incapable of protecting her own people from the threat of the harpies, but now, can’t even protect them from her own dragons. 

It had taken her all month to mollify the freedmen who came to petition her that her dragons were no longer a present danger, as they were locked away and far from being able to harm another innocent. Yet even after all her convincing, and winning back the people to her side, that small victory clearly made the Harpy’s Sons act out. When their rumours failed to truly turn the public against her, they resumed their old tactics of terrorism. 

When the sun hit its midday peak, the queen’s full council had convened for an emergency meeting. On one side of the round table was Grey Worm, who was there for the Unsullied, the noble Skahaz mo Kandaq for the Brazen Beasts, and in the absence of her bloodriders, Jhiqui and Irri spoke for her Dothraki. Her Meereenese freedmen were also represented by the three of their most prominent torchbearers, civil leaders Mollono Yos Dob and Tal Toraq, and her Unsullied Mossador, who now leads the growing number of freedmen soldiers among them. Strong Belwas also sat, happily nibbling at a bowl of spiced honeyed locusts, and next to him was Daario Naharis, who represented the Stormcrows in the city.

On the other side of the table were the Green Grace, Galazza Galare, speaking for the priestesses of the Temple of the Graces, and Hizdahr zo Loraq and Reznak mo Reznak, who spoke for the class of nobility. Iroh sat behind them, observing them all. 

A queen must listen to all, they said. The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and venal… and a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. “One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found.” Iroh taught her. 

Much like the resuming of the city’s violence, the group had resumed their usual bickering, and had gone around the first half hour of the meeting discussing how to deal with the killings and debated how to punish those suspected of consorting with the Harpy’s Sons. Skahaz and Hizdahr had nearly gone into shouting match before the queen interrupted them. 

“What would you have us do Skahaz?” Hizdahr asked. “You don’t suppose we take nine of the queen’s hostages and do unto them what the nine victims today suffered, do you?”

“What good are these hostages if we do not take their heads at the first sign of disobedience?” Skahaz challenged.

“Because as I told you before, I won’t punish innocents. These murders are not the children’s doing.” Dany answered firmly, looking over to one of her young hostages in the room who had been the cupbearer of today’s council, and gave her a tight smile. A plump shy girl named Mezzara, whose father ruled the pyramid of Merreq, smiled back uneasily before keeping her head down to the floor once more. What good is peace if it must be attained with the blood of little children?

“And Her Radiance is wise to answer butchery with mercy.” The Green Grace said, giving Dany a grateful smile. Some of the other hostages Dany had taken as royal cupbearers and pages were members of the Galare family, she remembered. 

“How about if we go about it another way then. Take the heads of the most powerful families in this city, and feed them to your dragons beneath the pyramid… for every one of ours cut down, one of them goes.” Skahaz boldly suggested.

Dany had been tempted, it was no lie. But she knew it would do her no good. All it would do is paint her as the tyrant the Sons of the Harpy have been trying to convince the people she truly was. 

“All that would do is inflame those ungrateful monsters further, you barbarian. This needs a more delicate approach. Perhaps another raise in blood tax on the nobility would do it, Your Radiance. Or obtaining more hostages!” Reznak said in deference to her. 

“Yet if our Mhysa doesn’t do anything to these hostages, there is little point in all that.” Tal Toraq raised.

“Unless of course, it is the hostages we threaten to take to the dragons.” Skahaz continued, to the loud objections of the Green Grace and Reznak mo Reznak.

“Your Radiance, you mustn’t-” They both tried saying.

“No. Enough with the dragons.” Hazzea was one too many. “I am no butcher queen.” 

“And for that, Meereen is thankful.” Galazza Galare said. “Perhaps the solution is simplest one available to us, Your Radiance. If you would heed my counsel, you could marry a nobleman of Ghis.”

Dany fought the urge to scoff at the ridiculous notion, before she looked over to Daario, who merely inclined his head in a slight nod and a raise of his brows. Earlier in the day, after returning from the scene of the crime, Daario had pulled her aside before the meeting and suggested the very same thing… all for a ruse.

“Kill them all and take their treasures. Slay every one of those Great Masters, for who else could it be to allow such butchery.”

“I won’t just slaughter my own subject without cause, Captain Naharis.” She had said back. “Besides, they won’t fall so easily even if we force them to a fight. They’ll haul up in their steeped pyramids. Many will die.”

“Worm them out of their pyramids on some pretext then.” He whispered to her closely, to Arthur’s vexation. “A wedding might serve. Why not? Promise your hand to some pompous nobleman, and all the Great Masters will come to see you married to the fool. When they gather in the Temple of the Graces, turn us loose upon the heads of family and imprison the rest until the city’s under your total control.”

The very suggestion had inflamed her. Daenerys Targaryen was no Tywin Lannister. But then she remembered the few that were killed today, Daario had known quite well. It did not escape notice her that a portion of the victims of the past year had also included some of Daario’s fellow Stormcrows. His men. She also remembered of his admission that he was once sold into slavery in his childhood… by his own mother, no less. This battle against the masters had personal grudges for him too.

Better the butcher than the meat, and all kings are butchers, he had said. Are queens so different? Though his words kept ringing in her mind, she refused to stoop so low. 

“No. I will not be marrying anyone here.” Dany finally said to Galazza Galare. “I am trying to install a council of representatives here, not unlike the ones I’ve installed in Yunkai and Astapor. I will not have a king crowned to stand above them all.” 

“But Your Radiance, when the Ghiscari look at you, we see a conqueror from across the seas, come to murder us and make slaves of our children-”

“So you agree then, you think slavery is bad?” Dany interrupted, which made the Green Grace stammer momentarily in her answer. “And when have I ever enslaved any nobleman?”

“I beg your pardon, Your Radiance. I misspoke… and it- it is not my place to give judgment on our people’s past practice of slavery. I am merely a messenger of our gods, and our culture is old. Your rule is new, and is being resisted. A king could change that. A highborn king of pure Ghiscari blood could reconcile the city to your rule. Elsewise, I fear, your reign must end as it began, in blood and fire.”

“That sounds almost like a promise… or a threat.” Mollono Yos Dob challenged.

“It is mere speculation based on the recent trend of violent occurrences. I have as much wish for needless bloodshed as our queen does.” The Green Grace only smiled. “Wed a Meereenese nobleman, and make a son with him, a son whose father is of the harpy, whose mother is of the dragon…”

Dany couldn’t help but notice the way the Green Grace shoot subtle looks towards Hizdahr zo Loraq throughout her proposal, but to her surprise, Hizdahr seemed discomforted by it and instead frowned at the mention. “Do so and you will see your enemies be gone with the wind, Your Radiance.” She finished with a twinkling smile. 

“No.” Dany replied sternly, leaving no room for debate. “It is as I have said. The point of the revolution is not about putting my bloodline to rule over the Bay.” Not withstanding her inability to even reproduce. “It is to achieve a permanent freedom for the people. My crown here is only temporary, and my only role is to help ensure the freed people of Meereen can be self-sufficient in their rule, even after I depart. This is the last I will hear of marriage proposals.”

“Might Her Radiance hear my suggestion?” Hizdahr zo Loraq spoke. 

“I hope you don’t mean to rattle on about the fighting pits again.” 

He made a deep obeisance. “Your Radiance, I fear I must.” 

“I have refused you six times.” 

“And in the Sunset Kingdoms, they say the number seven is a lucky one, so perhaps you will look upon my seventh plea with favour. I would have brought additional voices to add to my own, but out of respect of the day’s tragedy and your cancellation of the public petitions, I believed it more proper for me to do without.”

“The seven of the pits.” She remembered them from the third petition Hizdahr brought to her many moons ago. Khrazz, Barsena Blackhair, Camarron of the Count, Goghor the Giant, Spotted Cat, Fearless Ithoke and Belaquo Bonebreaker, the seven most famed of Meereen’s fighting slaves and old acquaintances of Beskha who had helped win the city in the uprising about a year ago.

“Yes, Your Radiance. The very same seven.” 

In Hizdahr’s third appeal with the pit fighters present, Dany recalled how one had proclaimed to have trained for their profession since the tender age of three and had their first kill at six, and now, freed from the pits in their adulthood, they knew not what to do without the violent games that was so explicitly part of their daily lives. It was also during the petition when it had been pointed out that because the Breaker of Chains had given them their freedom, then they should also be free to fight for glory. It had been a question that trapped Dany, for she had no reply.

“And of the losers? What shall they receive?” She had asked them, when she tried to have them see it her way. “Their names shall be graven on the Gates of Fate amongst the other valiant fallen, my queen.” the one called Barsena declared, to the spirited nods of the others. “All men must die, and women too… but not all will be remembered.” 

Yet again she was stumped, for Dany knew she could not bar women from competing, especially when Barsena Blackhair protested that she had as much right to risk her life as any man. 

In the end, she had thought to appease them by pampering the seven in gold and riches, asking them to help her Unsullied train the freedmen to fight as consolation. And for many moons it had worked to keep them off the topic of the fighting pits, but it seems that time had finally expired. 

If this was truly what the people wish for, who was she to deny them to it? It was their city before she held it, and it is only their own lives they wish squander. Their steadfast commitment to the pits only showed her that these were fighters who wished to willingly participate, and not ones that have been coerced back into the pits for cruel entertainment.

“I trust that Her Radiance remembered their pleas, so I shan’t repeat their words. But today’s appeal, I would argue that we open the fighting pits as a distraction to these Harpy killings.”

“Or appeasement…” Skahaz whispered bitterly, though he didn’t actually reject the idea. In fact, he even begrudgingly supported it after making a point to roll his eyes as he said his next words. “Though mayhaps this act might actually win you support against those bastard sons. There would be too much coin to be made in the city for them to complain.”

“I concur, Your Radiance. It is a most inspired idea by the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq. The reopening of the fighting pits would draw in major commerce opportunity and raise trade.” Reznak gleamed. 

“If Meereen and its citizens would benefit from getting one quarter in tax from the total earnings like our Mhysa had once suggested, it would be a substantial boon to the plans for the city’s improvements.” Mollono Yos Dob argued, rubbing at his chin with his index finger and thumb, as the man was known to do when deep in thought. “It would also buy us time, time to find those behind the killings.”

“If freedmen and other pit fighters want to fight, then let them fight.” Belwas chimed in, who himself had been a champion in the pits. 

“The hulking simpleton speaks true, my queen.” Daario Naharis drawled. “It’s a beautiful thing to win in the pits, just as I imagine it would be a thrill to witness the triumph of a new victor claim the title of champion. I would know, I had been one myself.” 

“The Dothraki warriors would love to see it as well, khaleesi. A few might even yearn to prove themselves in the pits, since there has been no war.” Jhiqui said, with Irri nodding.

“As would some freedmen, my queen.” Tal Toraq added his say. 

Dany had half a mind to suggest the idea Barristan once gave her, which was to have a Westerosi style tourney instead. But she knew it was as hopeless as it was a well-intentioned idea. It was blood the Meereenese wanted to see, not skill.

“It would also please our Ghiscari gods, Your Radiance. They would surely bless the city with a golden peace in the aftermath of such noble enterprise.” 

Yet despite the clear and overwhelming majority in favour of the motion, Dany just could not stand the concept of these things. And interestingly, she never actually could find it in herself to articulate arguments against Hizdahr or the pit fighters. Dany could never really reason why she hates them so, besides thinking the practice barbaric, and therefore abhorrent, but deep down, she knew that to be a terribly unfair judgement, especially coming from an outsider. 

Perhaps instead of any true moral injustice, the pits represented her inability to overcome her cultural disconnect with the Meereenese. After all, sometime in the future she herself would engage in a war in pursuit of the Iron Throne and restore her family name, a war which would put much more blood on her hands than any voluntary pit fighting ever could. Not to mention her already generous spilling of blood in her pursuit to take over the bay of the now liberated cities. 

Nothing worth fighting for was ever won without sacrifice, and no queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. Yet the words did little to ease her troubles.

Was this truly the price of peace?

For all she knew, there could be more dead by the hands of the shadows cast by the Harpy before the sun rises on the morrow. And better a few should die in the pit than dozens in the dark streets. If this is the price of peace, however temporary, I shall pay it willingly.

If I am to hold Meereen, I must have the city behind me. The whole city. And peace is the pearl beyond price, she thought.

“I have considered the wishes of the pit fighters, as well as all of yours… and it seems the fighting pits must be opened.” She looked around the table as she made her decision. Perhaps I cannot make my people good, she told herself, but I should at least try to make them a little less bad. “But if we were to do this, we shall only allow trained warriors of age who willingly enter of their own accord to participate. And these brave warriors must keep their earnings for themselves, not for any other party.”

Once they hammered out and agreed on the details of the reopening of the pits, Hizdahr had beamed. “They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step… one step, then the next, and soon we shall be running like the other liberated cities, Your Radiance. Together we shall make a new Meereen.”

“I'm counting on it.” She replied, slightly resigned. “While we begin preparations for the opening of the pits, we shall triple the blood tax on every noble family. I will also take an additional nine hostages for the nine slain today…” Though she may not be able to harm these hostages, Dany hoped that by fostering good, and respectful, political relationships with the children, Meereen could benefit in the future by having more nobles on her side. 

“And I will interrogate the tavern owner and his family tomorrow after you have done your questioning, Skahaz.” She addressed the Shavepate directly. “And remember, do not rough them up.” 

“Understood, Your Radiance.” He nodded.

“You’re all dismissed.” She announced, and they all began pouring out, bowing as they left. “Except for you, Hizdahr zo Loraq. I wish to speak to you alone.”

The man smiled and nodded, and Dany saw that behind him the Green Grace had smiled widely at her before taking her leave. Now alone but her two Unsullied sentries and Ser Arthur who quickly made himself scarce, Dany led the man to the garden terrace and brought him to the cyvasse table. 

“Care for a game?” Hizdahr had been the only one besides Iroh who was passable at the game, and it had been their favoured pastime to play a game or two during their past negotiations over the business of the city. “It would be an honour, Your Radiance.” He bowed low.

Hizdahr was not in a tokar today. Instead he wore a simple robe of grey and blue, mirroring Dany’s own dress. He was shorn as well, his beard and hair shaved off. The man had not gone full shavepate as Skahaz and his shavepates had done, but she could recognise the gesture all the same.

“It seems your gods have looked to you with favour today. You finally got your wish. I imagine inside you must be jumping with glee, for you will soon be an even wealthier man than you already are.” 

He chuckled at her pointed statement. “I won’t deny that regaining some lost wealth to be personal boon, yes. But, believe it or not, I also do genuinely want your rule to succeed.”

“Is that so?” Dany questioned.

“Although, when I first heard of the tales of Astapor’s fall and its subsequent reconstruction, I, like the rest of my people, refused to believe that you were anything more than a young and naive upstart who had no business conquering cities she knew nothing of…”

At her hard look, he raised his hands in playful submission. “My opinion on you has obviously changed, Your Radiance. Though there is much you could learn of our culture still, I do however acknowledge your political savvy, and particularly, your successful track record in governing. If we could bring the same prosperity to Meereen that you have brought to Yunkai and Astapor, which I believe we could, then I personally have no issue with your rule. So long as I am part of that change, of course. I am still a nobleman at heart, and my family name means much to me, even in this new world.”

She laughed dryly. I expected no less, Dany thought. During the first year of her rule in this city, she first came to truly know the House of Loraq from how they cunningly anticipated her approach to Meereen by quietly moving their wealth away from the slave trade that they knew the queen would soon tear down, and moved into the enterprises where her new government would focus on, drawing on information from Yunkai & Astapor’s economic transformation. A clever man was the head of that family, Dany thought, and a clever man Hizdahr zo Loraq turned out to be.

“I know I have mentioned this each time I have come to petition you on the matter, and perhaps as Your Radiance is not herself Ghiscari, you would forgive me when I say that it might be difficult for you to divine that the fighting pits are too much an essential part of our city. It is like the beating heart of Meereen. Once the people hear of this and the pits open, I promise you my queen, you will see the city stand with you. The entire city.” He said with a big smile.

“Then I suppose I’ll have you to thank in the case that does come to pass.” Though it was a nice thought, Dany still had doubts. “And the people won’t forget that it was Hizdahr zo Loraq that endlessly petitioned, and eventually succeeded, for their fighting pits to be reopened. Some could say that such victory is your victory.”

Though he smiled at first, the man then frowned thoughtfully. “That is one way to look at it, Your Radiance. But today’s victory isn’t only my own, it’s a victory for us both, and for all the people.”

“How so?”  

“Because we shall have it decreed that instead of one quarter, one half of the total revenue shall be set aside for the city’s coffers, after expenses of course… and that a notable amount of proceeds from the pits’ remaining profits will go the families of the victims of the Sons of the Harpy.”

In her surprise of his proclamation, Dany had allowed one of her cyvasse pieces be taken. She was never naive to the notion that Hizdahr was a lot more shrewd than he presented himself to be, but it had been rather unexpected for her to find that he was actually a halfway decent person. Especially when considering how the House of Loraq was one of the most ancient, wealthiest and influential families in the city.

The Green Grace had once told her that the Loraq bloodline was to the Ghiscari what the Targaryen bloodline was to Westeros… distinguished and peerless. While hers was the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Alysanne the Good, his was of Mazdhan the Magnificent and Zharak the Liberator… though she knew not what his noble ancestor exactly liberated.

In the beginning she had expected him to be one of her worst opponents to her government, but as the year and moons have passed, it was a source of constant amazement that he continues to be one of its champions.

The man’s soft laughter brought Dany out of her thoughts. “You sound surprised.”

Dany chuckled. “How could I not be? Here I was believing you, like all masters before you, to be a vulture for profits, and then you have the audacity to prove me wrong time and time again.”

“I am a privileged man of wealth, ’tis true. But I have always tried to look out for my fellow man, Your Radiance.”

That made her bristle slightly. “Did you?” She studied his eyes. “Then how could you stand by all these years in comfort owning your fellow man.” 

A look of guilt flashed on his face, and he halted his next move on the board. “I know this might not mean much coming from a man who had previously held the title of a Great Master, my queen… but I have never felt comfortable with the ownership of people, and neither did my father before his passing years ago. We have never treated our… servants and helpers, with any disrespect or cruelty. Never once did we mistreat them.”

He looked up to her again, meeting her amethyst eyes. “My father and I had always wanted things in Slaver’s Bay to change… but we Ghiscari are a stubborn people. Traditional. For the longest time, my father and I have tried to introduce incremental reforms within the system we had, we even started with small ones that we thought would pass… yet despite our best efforts, and even with our notable influence and wealth, we simply didn’t yield the unilateral power to effect any real change, so hardly anything did. It was out of our writ. And since there was little we could do, he figured it would be best to make the most of the situation the only way we knew how, that is to better improve the lives of our own slaves to the best of our abilities.”

“And yet the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good people to stand by in the face of injustice and be content with it.”

He laughed a humourless laugh, his eyes suddenly far away. “My father would have loved you, Your Radiance.He spent years hoping for a figure like you to show up.”

“I somehow doubt that.” She said half-jokingly, which made Hizdahr focus back to the board.

“Oh, but it’s true. Before you came, Meereen was dying. Our rulers were old men and crones with ancient minds and bones dry as dust. For too long they sat atop their pyramids talking of the glories of the Old Empire whilst the centuries slipped by and the bricks of their city crumbled all around them. Custom and caution had an iron grip upon us until you awakened us with fire and blood. Though I regret it took a war for us to get here, a new time has come, and new things are possible; things my father have yearned to see in this city that he believed would propel it forward to a true and prosperous peace. Everything I do, I do by his example, and he would be thrilled that I am working alongside you to achieve that.” 

Wanting nothing but to distrust his honeyed words, Dany was surprised to find that, on the contrary, Hizdahr had seemed genuine despite his overtly saccharine proclamation.  

“Do you think you’re the first to try and sway me with clever words, noble Hizdahr? I spent my whole life learning to master that tongue. How else do you think my brother and I were able to survive all those years running from one magister’s mansion to the next? Let’s not play games today, zo Loraq… well, no games beyond the one on this board.”

His brows furrowed, before he chuckled. “It is no game I am playing, Your Radiance. I meant every word.”

“Yet words are wind, even words that advocate for things like justice and change in a world where those things were severely lacking.” Hizdahr’s side of the board had one less piece now. “If you are so eager to help me transform Meereen, then why not show as much enthusiasm for my rule as Skahaz has, or even Reznak?”

Dany could already ponder a guess as to why, but she had wanted to hear it straight from the man. 

“Pragmatism, Your Radiance.” He answered easily. “I still have to toe the line. Neither me nor anyone in my family couldn’t be too outwardly enthusiastic with the new leadership, otherwise our influence over the other families, who I will admit have resisted you, would wane. I would be less effective in trying to get this new government to succeed if I didn’t put up with the subterfuge, and I felt that would be counterproductive to our goals.”

“And how is it that you so effectively influence these families to support me now?”

“Gold, of course. Gold speaks above all. I’m sure you remember how much easier it is to deal with disgruntled nobles once their depleted wealth started to rise once more.”

“That I do.” Dany smirked as she took another one of his piece off the board. “And yet still… some in these families that 'resist me’ as you say, must be part of the Sons. Perhaps from your familiarity with them, you would know who this villain Harpy is?” 

“I’m afraid I do not.” He said sincerely. 

“And you’re not part of the Sons of the Harpy conspiracy yourself?” 

“I am not.” He replied with equal sincerity.

Dany narrowed her eyes. “Would you tell me if you were?” 

He laughed. “No, probably not.”

Dany’s dragon took Hizdahr’s king then, winning the game. “It seems you won again, Your Radiance.”   

“A good game, nonetheless.” She complimented the man, and dismissed him afterward, thanking him for his candour. 

That night after she was safe in her bed, far and away from anyone but her Unsullied sentries and queensguard guarding her door, and her handmaids in the adjoining room, Dany allowed herself to break down in angry tears. Here and now was the only place and time she could ruminate about the nine lives lost. Neither words of comfort from her knights nor her handmaids could drive away the despair she felt. All she wanted was nothing more than for her people to be safe from the savage slaughter that had gone rampant in the city.

Somewhere below the apex of the Great Pyramid, the Sons of the Harpy were gathered in one, or possibly, more parts of the city, plotting ways to kill her and all those who loved her. But up here… up here there was only her, alone.

But she was the blood of the dragon still. Would that I could just burn them all, she thought. But how were you supposed to burn shadows?

Though Dany felt her most vulnerable, she found an uneasy sleep, where her dreams were dark, and she woke twice from half-remembered nightmares. But once the third sleep found her and another dream began, it was clear that this one would be too vivid for her to forget… in that third and last nightmare, the apparitions of ice demons and their hordes of undead monsters of nights past had come back, stronger than ever before, and Dany saw them massacre an entire seaside village, where in the distance she could hear the desperate howl of a lone wolf.

The horrific scene sent her reeling out of her restless sleep, panting in panic. In trying to steady her breathing, Dany suddenly felt the hairs on her arms raise. Looking over to her side, she saw moonlight streaming through the slanting windows, silvering the marble floors, and that a cool breeze was blowing through the open terrace doors… but that wasn’t why she felt alarm. 

Turning over to the dark corner, she saw a hooded figure emerge. Quickly grabbing one of the knives she had hidden about her, Dany threw one straight at them… only for the knife to simply whistle through them and clatter harmlessly on the stone wall.

The figure stepped out of the shadow and took down her hood. She is wearing a mask… a wooden mask with a red lacquer finish. 

“Quaithe.” She whispered, trying to focus her eyes on the shadowbinder. “Is this a dream?” 

“You are not dreaming now.” 

“How did you get past my guards?” Her queensguards and Grey Worm would be most displeased of this breach. 

“I came another way, through ways no mortal guards could prevent.” 

“What are you doing here?”

“For you to hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning again. Soon comes the sun’s son, the spider and the broken lion, after them the krakens and the dark flame, then the griffin, the sun’s dragon and the laughing star. The wilted rose and the hornless stag will come last. All will come seeking your favour. Trust your instincts, Stormborn.”

“No. Enough of this! If you wish to give me some warning, then speak plainly.” Dany said, exasperated with the shadowbinder’s speech. Quaithe either did not want to, nor care enough to heed Dany’s plea, as she continued with her riddles.

“Remember the Undying.” 

Every single one of the visions and prophecies of the Undying was etched on to her heart. Seeing her father in the throne room, Rhaegar with his harp, the Red Wedding… the daughter of death, the three heads of the dragon, the blue winter rose, the crones, the treasures… all of it, she remembered.

“Beware the veiled harpy and those that spread false tales of a dragon’s wrath. Trust your fire. Remember who you are. Your dragons are extensions of yourself, if you could never hurt an innocent child, how could they?” 

Dany felt a shiver run through her body. Her mind went to goatherd’s daughter Hazzea. She remembered that day in the audience chamber, and how painful it was… but now she sensed an uneasiness from the memory. A new light. “I am the blood of the dragon, and the dragon remembers.”

“Your Grace?” Dany watched as her father breezed past the door of her bedchamber, and began searching the room for potential danger. “Are you alright, daughter? Were you talking to someone?”

She looked back at the dark corner of the wall, and found no woman there. No hooded robe, no red mask, no Quaithe. 

Could I be going mad? 

No. That was real. She knew it in her bones. She was the blood of the dragon, and the dragon remembers. Deciding to trust her instincts, Dany turned to her father. 

“I’m fine, father… Quaithe visited.”

“Quaithe?” He was puzzled for a moment before the familiar name brought up the memories of Qarth, and began looking around in panic over the apparent lapse in security. “How did she-?”

“A vision… or some occult feat of shadowbinding perhaps. I’m not sure. I will tell you more later, but right now I need you to discreetly find that goatherd and bring him to me. Now.” She said firmly. Knowing her look of determination, Arthur took her at her word and nodded.

After occupying herself by playing multiple solo games of cyvasse to calm her nerves, within the next hour her father brought the goatherd for another audience, this time in her private solar. As he stepped into the room, she could immediately perceive the man’s tears running down his face. But this time, it was not out of grief. This time, it was out of pure fear.

“Is there something you want to confess?” Dany asked the man.

“Ple- please… I had to… they made- made me…” He began sobbing. 

“Had to what? Who made you?” The questions came out more sternly now.

“The mask- masked men… the Sons of the Harpies…”

The goatherd then confessed it all. About how Drogon had only truly burned his flock, but not his daughter, who was alive, but ailing from the pox… and that had made him a target for the Harpy’s Sons. Seeing an opportunity, they kidnapped his younger daughter and forced him to watch as they killed his sickly daughter, burn her corpse, and compelled the man to pass off his daughter’s charred bones as collateral damage from her dragon’s fire to save his remaining daughter from suffering a similar fate.

Furious, Dany threw one of the wooden chair across the room. I’ve been played a fool. 

“Plea-please… they still have my Zalla… my innocent Zalla… please- mercy!”

“I will only offer this once. Do you want to see your remaining daughter again?”

“Yes! Please, Mhysa! Please!”

“Then you will do as I command. Stray, and I will let my dragons have their way with you, and your daughter won’t be saved. Understood?”

He nodded desperately. “Yes…”

“Good. Now listen well…”

After giving the man his instructions and holding him to a holy oath of silence, she sent the goatherd on his way, along with her two Unsullied as discreet protection. Dany then quickly began making her way down to the bottom of the catacombs, with Arthur trailing behind, bringing along an extra robe for her.

“Why the robe?” 

“Because they’ll be angry.” 

Sure enough, once she alone got past the heavy iron doors and stepped down deep into the cavern, she could feel them moving. Scorched animal bones were scattered along the floor, and were cracking loudly underneath the movements of her children. The air was hot, and smelled of sulphur and charred meat, and Dany could hear claws scratching against the stone. Crescendoing hisses grew louder as they came nearer.

“I am so sorry, my children. I am so sorry…”

Suddenly, Rhaegal roared a large gout of flame above her, turning the darkness of the the deep into day for a few moments. The heat was scorching, but she felt nothing from it, and now she could see that they were bigger than before. She suspected that her children weren’t as large as she thought they would be if they had been free… though not because of the captivity itself, but rather due to both their refusal to eat in the first week of their imprisonment. She could see their eyes burning through the shadows too now, two of bronze and two of molten gold.

And they were very angry. 

In the next moment, the two began to unleash steady and sustained blasts of flames directly at her, screeching intensely as they did. She knew this was the only way her children could express their built up resentment towards her without actually hurting her, as they were careful to not claw or bite her.

A dragon’s outburst. 

“Please forgive me…” She cried, as she stepped closer and began to give soothing rubs to both their heated, scaled bodies. The two ceased their blasts, and purred at her, before wrapping themselves around her in a circle.

“I promise… I promise I will never imprison you again.” Dany said, soothing her children as she sat in their embrace, cleansed by their fire.

Chapter Text

303AC

“The pyramid of Zhak, my queen.” Daario triumphantly told her.

“You’re certain of this?” She asked, which was answered by a confident nod. 

This was it then… the place where her two Unsullied, and several Stormcrows, who she had discreetly follow the goatherd, reported the girl Zalla must be hidden. It took a careful and delicate dance that lasted an entire fortnight for the goatherd to convince that the man that delivered messages from his remaining daughter to see her again. And after the goatherd had been given that small allowance, her men had carefully traced their steps to the House of Zhak… whose heir of the house just so happens to be a notorious whoremonger.  

“Then I have just the play to lure him out of his pyramid.” 

The next day, at the Temple of the Red Graces, Daradal mo Zhak entered believing himself about to have a full hour of his weekly vice with the young women of the temple. In the private audience den, he waited impatiently as a figure walked in, covered head to toe in the red shawl clothing that is customary for the Red Graces. 

“Took you long enough.” He scoffed in the harsh bastard Valyrian dialect of Meereen, as she poured the wine from the flagon on the table and handed the filled chalice to him. The Red Grace then went behind him, and began helping the man undress, where after he was helped out of his tokar, and she continued by massaging his shoulder before the man abruptly stopped her.

“No need for that today, girl. I’m in dire need of a quicker relea-”

The man suddenly stopped when a sharp knife was held at his throat, and the young woman whistled. In the next moment, a group of men entered the room, making the man almost jump out in surprise, had it not been for the knife and the Red Grace holding him down. 

“What is the meaning of this!” He screamed.

The girl only gripped him tighter. “I would refrain from trying to escape, if I were you.” The lead intruder said. “This would go a lot easier if you cooperate.”

Daradal only scowled at him before a look of realisation came over him. “I know you… you’re one of the queen’s men. Daario Naharis.” A closer inspection of the other men in the room confirmed his suspicion. “And the Stormcrows.”

“And me.” A white haired man in gleaming smokey-black armour said as he walked in.

“The queensguard?” The man gasped out in more confusion. “What is the meaning of this!”

“We’re here to question you, you ingrate.” Daario spat out. “Now tell us about the little girl you have hidden inside your pyramid.”

“What girl?” 

“Don’t play dumb. The goatherd’s daughter. We know it’s all a filthy lie. You and father’s men killed and burned the real one, and took his other daughter as hostage to force the poor man’s cooperation.” 

The man gulped uneasily, before he caught himself and spat at the sellsword. “Lies. Is your whore of a queen so desperate to see herself and her beasts as anything but the monsters that they are? We must be getting to her after all.”

“Keep speaking of the queen like that and you might get an audience with those beasts you speak of, fool.” Barristan said. 

“Please. Your queen is but a weak mewling woman who wouldn’t even hurt her hostages.” He smirked. “And you have no proof of any wrongdoing you have slanderously alleged against my family.” 

“Oh, but we will. The Unsullied and the Brazen Beasts are primed and ready to raid the pyramid of Zhak as we speak.” Daario smiled back. “Now give us a straight answer, or we give the signal and we find out the hard way.”

“Enough of this. You cannot hold me here!” He demanded as he stood up… and this time the Red Grace did not attempt to stop him. “My father will hear about this transgression and you’ll rue this day, you vile bastards!”

Daario Naharis and Barristan the Bold then looked at each other before giving him a disappointed shrug. “Well, don’t say we didn’t warn you…”

“Warn me of what, you lowlife…” Daradal mo Zhak said as he attempted to walk towards the door, before he received lightning-quick precise jabs across his back and went toppling down to the ground.

“What did you do to me!” The man howled in desperation, as he tried to get his body to move… to no avail. 

“They told you it would be easier if you cooperated.” The Red Grace began speaking. “You didn’t listen.” 

Daradal mo Zhak looked up and searched her face, yet could see that only her eyes were visible from the slit in the shawl wrapped around her head. He didn’t recognise her at first, until under closer scrutiny saw that her eyes were indeed recognisable… and they were singular in that they were a bright amethyst.

“Had you given the young women here even the slightest bit of respect they deserve by not regularly treating them like nameless bodies reserved only for your pleasure and looked them in the face from time to time, my entire farce could’ve certainly failed.” Daenerys said in contempt. “But I suppose men like you are always predictable like that.” 

Fear overtook his face before anger replaced it. “You’ve truly overstepped your bounds this time, you foreign savage. How dare you desecrate this sacred temple like this-”

“I did no such thing. The sweet girl who normally gets the distinct displeasure of servicing you, Maraj, was more than glad to not be here. The Madame of the Red Graces, had similarly given her full blessing for all this. You see, some in this city despise the Sons of the Harpy just as much as those masked cowards seem to hate me, and once I told them of your association…” Dany pulled a chair, and sat down on it in front of the man. “Well, not that you truly care what they think. But enough of that. Tell me about Zalla.” 

He would’ve spat once more if he could move more, so he settled with an ugly scowl. “You’re getting nothing from me, you stupid whore!” 

“Are you certain of that? One nod and I will have my men slaughter their way inside your family’s pyramid and find out for themselves.” 

“You’re too weak to do that.” He said, smirking. “You think yourself a conqueror, but we know what you are. Weak. You wouldn’t dare hurt the innocents in there, you wench. So just kill me like the tyrant you are and get it over with.”

Dany calmly smiled back at him. “I was afraid you’d say that… now I suppose I have no choice but leave you like this.” 

His eyes widened in pure fear. “What?”

“I won’t kill you. Instead, I think I will I make this permanent for you, imprisoning you in a dark and damp cell, where I’ll leave you a paralysed man for the rest of your life. You will forever live this way, unable to walk and unable to get it up…” the man gaped at her, seemingly ready to weep at the possibility of such a fate.

“You lie…” He said after a long moment, fearful.

“Care to make that wager?” She asked plainly, not giving away that it was indeed a lie. "Or you can answer our questions. Tell us what you know, and I will set you free.”

The very threat of being left unable to walk again had seemed to shock him enough that he began detailing everything he knew after a short deliberation. 

“Fine.” He sighed. “We falsified the child’s bones to credibly spread false rumours that you were using your dragons to slaughter and burn innocent slave children… the goatherd’s other daughter is in the underground cells of our pyramid.” He reluctantly said. 

Dany’s anger burned like a furnace inside her, and her knuckles have gone near white from the force of her grip on Narsil. “So when your family’s slanderous smear campaign against me didn’t work as well as you wanted it to, you resorted to massacring the nine at the tavern.”

“…that was my cousin’s doing.” 

“And the murders at the brothel two moons past, I suppose that was your cousin as well?”

“No! That wasn’t us… that must’ve been another Harpy cell’s doing.” 

Dany considered that for a moment. “That still means you’re part of the Sons of the Harpy then… who leads them?”

“I don't know.” 

Dany narrowed her eyes. “Lies won’t help you regain your mobility.” 

“It’s no lie! None of us know. We don’t even know who’s a part of it… we may suspect, but we don’t truly know. We wear masks for a reason, and one such reason is so we remain unaware of each other’s identities in case something like this happens.”

She suspected as such.

“Then how do you carry out your sabotage?” Barristan asked. “Surely someone is directing all this.” 

“Perhaps someone is, but we don’t know who. And whoever they are, this person knows us… every disgruntled noble family, ones they know would join the cause, gets secret messages encouraging us to sow our own chaos. But whether they carry them out is up to those families. The Sons never congregate. It would be too easy for your men to catch us.”

Dany felt her blood boiling over. “So the noble families don’t work together in this?”

“Not that we know of.” He replied, truthfully it seems. 

Turning over to address one of her men listening from the corner, Dany asked him. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” 

Iroh mulled over the question, before shaking his head. “Possibly… but apply a bit more pressure and he might start to truly sing.”

“I thought so too.” She turned to the Stormcrows. “Geld him.”

The man began sobbing in protest, trying his damnedest to get his unresponsive form to move and fight the soldiers from unsheathing their sharp swords. “Please! I am telling the truth! Mercy, my queen! Mercy!”

After seeing the Zhak heir soil himself as he felt the cold blade of the swords touch his nether regions, Dany held up her hand. “Stop.”

She stood up then, and began rubbing the handle of Narsil as the man tearfully sighed in relief. “Truly, you spoke no lies?” 

“Not one, Your Radiance…” 

“Then who do you know is a harpy?” 

The man became unsure about answering again, until Dany unsheathed her own sword and brought it near his precious stones and pillar. “Everyone in my family… all but the children, whom you have all taken hostages. Please, my queen, have mercy on us! You said you would free me…I promise I will ensure to put a stop to my father’s schemes if you do!”

“Your family will be stopped, that I guarantee.” Dany coldly tells him. “And I will free you… and show you the same mercy your family showed Hazzea.” 

With a lighting quick swipe, Daradal’s body no longer had a head.

“I thought you said you would set him free, my queen.” Daario chuckled.

“And I did. I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders.” 

“There was more he could tell us.” Barristan pondered.

“There was nothing more he could tell me.” 

By the first light of the coming day, the pyramid of Zhak had been cleaned out. All their wealth and supplies were moved to the Great Pyramid, Zalla was rescued and reunited with her sobbing father, and after some of the more loosed-tongue members of the House of Zhak confessed to their crimes hoping for clemency, they ratted out all the Sons of the Harpy within their family. 

But now was not the time for mercy, now was the time for justice… and they have awoken the dragon. 

So Dany had them all beheaded and put on spikes in front of their pyramid. A warning to all the other Harpy cells within the other noble families in the city. 

When the people were made aware of the truth of the sins committed by these members of House of Zhak, a tense peace had returned to Meereen, and no killings occured thereafter. The freedmen rejoiced at her justice, and the noblemen had cowered at her decisive and brutal action. Even the minority in her council, such as the Green Grace, Hizdahr and Reznak, who disapproved of her methods, had no valid arguments against the execution of the Zhaks. Their crimes were caught red-handed, and any clemency shown to them would only inflame the remaining Sons to further their violent extremist agenda.

Yet even after saving the farmer’s daughter and beheading the right insurgents, Dany still felt somewhat defeated. Instead of making her feel better, the confirmation that Hazzea’s charred bones was unequivocally not due to Drogon but to the Harpy’s machinations still disheartened her. And it occured to her just how easy it was for that to have been true.

Her other two children listened to her well enough, but what of her wildest one? Drogon remained missing and out of sight, and despite the bond they shared it still gave her no indication of their current whereabouts. No… they are extensions of myself, Quaithe had said. If she could not hurt an innocent, how could they?

And yet when she finally does decide to engage in war with her dragons in the near future, Dany understood that she would wrought untold destruction with them. Even if she doesn’t intend for it to happen, innocent blood could very well be spilled as collateral damage. 

No… I must have faith in them, she convinced herself. And in myself… our bond will strengthen… I just know it.

The three moons following the fall of House of Zhak kept the queen busy. Some few smaller fighting pits had been opened to serve as a distraction and as a lead up to the grand finals in Daznak’s Pit scheduled at the halfway mark of the year. And the other remaining stalled projects in the city had resumed in earnest, keeping near everyone in the city employed and fed. 

Perhaps most excitingly, after years of trials and errors with the information found in the books from Old Valyria, Daenerys was finally able to find a solution to make a version of the dragonroads of Old Valyria without the need for dragonfire. Though it may not be the true dragonroads of old that they made during the height of the Freehold’s might, Dany knew this invention was still leagues above any current roads built in the known world. Now with all three of the cities of Slaver’s Bay being in her firm control, she had begun the project of constructing dragonroads connecting the three liberated cities.

Many things she had begun to fix during her early reign in Meereen were also starting to bear fruit. Most of the forage the Great Masters had partially burnt to anticipate her coming had finally grown back, which would be a great boon to the economy again. All the land surrounding the city was also blooming once more, ensuring that the markets remained full. 

And new tidings had finally started to filter into the city thanks to her returning Admiral; the good and the bad.

“Let’s begin with the bad news then.” Dany said, bracing herself as her council held congress in the council chamber on the day of her admiral’s return. 

“The Golden Company have reportedly broken their contract in Myr and was last seen heading east, Your Grace.” Admiral Groleo said. “Towards Volantis.”

Skahaz spat. “Besides the cities in Slaver’s Bay, Volantis was the next largest beneficiary to the slave trade. And we know most of those coward Yunkai’i had fled to Volantis. They must’ve hatched this scheme together.”  

“Must’ve been quite the bag of gold to make those fuckers break their contract.” Daario said in slight awe. “Absolutely obscene…”

“Some of my captains have also heard tales that New Ghis was hiring more sellswords to their cause once more. They say they’ve been successful in hiring the Company of the Cat and the Long Lances.” Groleo added. 

“I imagine Tatters would be gleeful to hear that.” Ser Arthur noted. 

“That brings their number of hired swords up to what? Four-and-ten thousand?” Mollono Yos Dob asked. 

“Six-and-twenty thousand, to be more precise.” Hizdahr rubbed his shorn beard. “And perhaps even a hundred armoured war elephants.”

Confused at the discrepancy, Tal Toraq asked. “How did you come up with that number?”

“My latest correspondence with my contacts in New Ghis that just came told me they’re gearing up four new legions to battle.” He answered solemnly.

“I suppose we can expect them to sail northward once the Golden Company finishes resupplying in Volantis and bolstering their ranks.” Mossador pondered.

“The balance is about to grow distressingly even.” Ser Jorah commented.

“But we have three advantages they do not; dragons.” Skahaz said almost gleefully. Two dragons, more like… with no riders to control them in battle, she thought. Hardly an advantage.

“Your Radiance, I implore you… we must attempt peace talks before we allow our men to sing the song of steel and your dragons to bathe men in flames. One should never seek out war.” Galazza Galare suggested.

“Even so, one should always be prepared for it.” Dany replied, looking around the table as she made her position clear. “I will not allow the citizens of Meereen, and the other liberated cities to fall to these foul slavers… but I also promise to extend a chance for them to surrender before we come to blows. As I have always done.”

“Your Radiance speaks most wisely.” Reznak preened.

She turned back to her admiral. “I hope your good news is good indeed, Admiral. I’m afraid we’ll need it.”

“It is, Your Grace.” He smiled. “Everywhere our ships dock, they talk of the same things; that there are rumblings of uprisings happening in other Free Cities on the west coast.” 

The room suddenly fell silent then, dumbstruck by the news.

“Truly?” Dany asked. 

“If stories from sailors are to be believed, yes. And with the frequency with which we’ve been hearing of them, I personally think they are true.” He reassured them. “They say some of the nobility have suddenly begun adopting more progressive ideologies and aligned themselves with the slave population to overthrow those who would keep slavery.” 

Though it heartened her to hear that, she still doubted their motives were borne from a sense of true altruism. More than likely, these nobility must have realised where the tide was heading, and have chosen to align themselves where they would still end up in positions of power in the bloody aftermath. But Dany’s heart leapt in excitement regardless. This was good news indeed.

“How?” 

“Your minstrels have sung their songs to great effect it seems. It’s become quite popular among the slave population of these cities… and the slavers have been having a hard time outlawing them, since they have spread like fire to kindling.”

Dany couldn't contain her joyous laughter then. She had been so consumed with the difficulties of transforming the city and the threat of Sons of the Harpy, her order in sending the minstrels and bards throughout Essos nearly a year ago during the early days of her reign as Queen of Meereen had receded to the back of her overly preoccupied mind.

When she had sent them to spread tales of the collapse of slavery in Slaver’s Bay and the prosperity of the freed peoples brought by the revolution ending the practice, Dany hoped it would inspire this very reaction… but to have it actually bear fruit was rather unexpected. 

Perhaps there are still faint glimmers of civilisation left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity after all.

“Do we know where they are happening, Admiral?” Missandei asked, unable to contain her delicate smile. 

“Lys, Pentos, Norvos, Qohor, Myr and more… they say even the Sealord of Braavos has sent aid to some of those cities.” Dany wondered what side Illyrio has chosen. Probably the faction which would guarantee him the most money, she scoffed inwardly.

“And you believe these tales to be authentic?”

“Yes, Your Grace. They say the preachers of the faith of R'hllor have been especially helpful with spreading tales of your deeds, and that’s the reason why the slavers cannot put an end to its rapid spread. That particular faith has been growing like fire too among the slave population.”  

Though that had worried her somewhat, Dany was still happy of the news. She smiled widely at him. “Do we know any of the outcomes from these tales?” 

“Not yet, Your Grace. But my sailors will surely know more as time passes.” 

“Thank you, Groleo. Please enjoy your days on port in Meereen. Anything you desire, it shall be yours.” 

“I live to serve, my queen.” He bowed before he turned to leave, but paused slightly and turned around, as if he’d just remembered something. “I almost forgot… my sailors picked up a few Westerosi stragglers who wished to come to Meereen. They seek an audience with you.” 

“Westerosi, you say?” 

“Yes, my queen. Three Dornishmen.”

Surprised, Dany turned to her two queensguards in the room momentarily before giving her admiral a nod. “Bid them come after the day’s court then. I’ll make sure to receive them at the end of it.” 

She descended into the audience chamber an hour later and took in the petitions with a lightness in her spirit. It had felt good to finally govern and be able to see positive results from it again. And Dany did not take it for granted, as she knew such success was becoming harder and harder to achieve. 

By the time she had sent the last of the petitioners off with a smile, it was close to sunset and Admiral Groleo was ready to enter with the three Dornishmen. Before they did, Dany had sent away near everyone in the room, leaving her only with her three queensguards, Missandei and Iroh.

When the four entered, they saw on the first raised dais of the staircase Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan standing vigilant next to Missandei, and flanking the queen’s two sides were Iroh and Ser Arthur.

“If it please Your Grace, these are Greenguts, Gerrold, and Frog.” 

The first, Greenguts, was huge, bald, and had thick arms in a way that reminded her of Strong Belwas. In contrast, Gerrold was a lean, tall youth with shining golden hair and blue eyes. Then there was the young man in the middle, Frog, the youngest of the three, who appeared just as solemn as he was handsome, with his comely brown hair, sultry hazel eyes and shorn beard that complimented his strong cheekbones. Dany had no inkling why anyone would call him Frog. 

The three had stared at her and her knights in momentary awe before they caught themselves and averted their eyes as they bowed.

“Please, rise. Admiral Groleo tells me you come to us from Dorne. Dornishmen will always have a welcome at my court. Sunspear stayed loyal to House Targaryen when the Usurper waged his war. Though I must say, your names are quite queer… I’d wager they’re not truly your birth names?”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Greenguts replied jovially. “We gave them to each other when we were aboard the ships.”

“I figured.” Dany said. “I hope you didn’t come all this way to simply continue to hide under false names.”

“No, we did not, Your Grace.” Gerrold said with an easy smirk, looking around as he said his next words. “And we thank you for your discretion by having as few eyes and ears as possible.”

“It seemed only appropriate. I hardly ever entertain many, if any, Westerosi in this city. The last time I did, I had to quickly determine whether they were friend or foe.” Dany said. “Which category shall we find the three of you in?” 

“Friend.” They all said in unison. 

“Then I will need names.” 

The golden haired young man was the first to speak and bow. “Ser Gerris Drinkwater, Your Grace. My sword is yours.”

The big warrior then followed. “I’m Ser Archibald Yronwood, Your Grace. My warhammer is yours.”

“And you, ser?” She turned to Frog, when he remained silent. Upon closer scrutiny, it was clear that he was nervous. Whatever for?

”If it please Your Grace, may I first present my gift?”

Dany eyed Ser Arthur awkwardly, but nodded anyway. “If you wish.” 

Ser Jorah stepped forward and held out his hand, as the young man produced a yellowed parchment from inside his pocket and handed it to the northman, who then walked up the steps and placed it onto her waiting hands.

The parchment was written in the Common Tongue, and Dany studied the seals and signatures quickly until she saw the name Ser Willem Darry and her heart began beating faster and faster as she read it over and over again. 

“What does it say, Your Grace?” asked Ser Arthur. 

“It’s a secret pact…” Dany said, still in shock. “Made in Braavos when I was just a little girl. Ser Willem Darry signed it for Viserys and I… and Prince Oberyn Martell signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness.” She handed it to Ser Arthur, who immediately read it for himself. “The alliance was to be sealed by marriage, my brother Viserys to Prince Doran’s daughter and heir Princess Arianne. In return, Dorne would help my brother overthrow the Usurper.”

Her other two knights had come up the stairs to where Arthur stood and read over the pact themselves too. “If the Usurper had known of this, he would’ve smashed Sunspear as he once smashed Pyke, and claimed the heads of both Princes… perhaps even the Princess Arianne as well.” Ser Barristan said.

“No doubt that was why Prince Doran chose to keep the pact a secret… if my brother had known that he had a Dornish princess and tens of thousands of spears waiting for him, he would have crossed to Sunspear as soon as he was old enough to wed.” She said, voice laced with a hint of sadness.

“And would’ve brought down the Usurper’s warhammer down upon himself and my people in the process.” Frog said.

“Then who are you?” Dany asked. 

“I am Quentyn Martell, a prince of Dorne and your loyal subject.” 

Dany was unable to contain herself and found herself laughing aloud again for the second time that day. 

The Dornish prince flushed red, while everyone in the room gave her puzzled looks. “Your Grace?” Ser Arthur asked.

“They call him frog.” She said as her laughter died down. “Ser Willem Darry used to read me children’s books from the Seven Kingdoms, where there are enchanted frogs who turn into princes when kissed by their true love…” 

The room relaxed then, and they all joined in with chuckles and good humour. Dany smiled at the Dornish men. “Are you enchanted, Prince Quentyn?” 

He smiled shyly. “I'm afraid not, Your Grace.” 

“But you have come for a kiss… or rather, a marriage. The gift you bring me is your own self. Instead of Viserys and your sister, you and I must seal this pact if I want Dorne.” 

Nodding awkwardly at her quick deduction, the prince then steadied himself and took a deep breath before speaking. “When the first Daenerys, the Targaryen princess and sister to King Daeron the Good married Prince Moran Martell, it was their union that made Dorne part of the Seven Kingdoms. It is my hope that with our union, Dorne would help you regain the Seven Kingdoms.” He said, trying his best to sound self-assured in his flowery, if heavy-handed, speech. “My father hoped that you might find me acceptable as consort.”

That may be, but still… would Dorne be content with a bride who cannot bear them heirs? 

Dany swallowed nervously. ”A prospect that merits a longer consideration and some discussion, I’m sure you can agree.” Dany turned to Missandei. “Prince Quentyn has crossed half the world to offer me his gift, see that the prince and his esteemed companions are given quarters suitable to their stations, and their wants attended to. And thank you for keeping them safe and bringing them to me, Admiral.”

After the four bowed and left with her handmaid out of the chamber, her queensguards and Iroh followed her up the steps to her apartments. Dany’s mind was running a mile a second. “Ser Arthur, remind me. What are the arms of House Martell?” 

“A gold spear piercing a red sun on an orange field.” 

The sun’s son. 

A queer shiver went through her. The first from Quaithe’s words. A prescient warning… a most prescient warning indeed. What else did Quaithe mention? The dark flame, and a lion? Was that meant to be a Lannister? Whose arms were dark flames? There was a dragon too… the sun’s dragon. Did the shadowbinder mean she would be this Quentyn’s dragon? It had frustrated her to no end, these riddles.  

Dany stepped out into the terrace gardens, and looked over the city before she raised her head and watched the twinkling of the stars. 

“Are you going to consider the pact, Your Grace?” 

“Of course I am. To do so would grant me…” She looked over to Arthur. 

“Thirty or forty.” 

“Thirty or forty thousand spears, and a powerful ally. All without the need for conquest and war…” Though that was a good thing, Dany still sighed. 

“And yet…?” Ser Barristan inquired further.

“And yet, I know I cannot accept it. Nor ever can I marry.” Dany replied, to the puzzled looks of her queensguards and Iroh. “Because no heir would come from any union with Daenerys Stormborn.”

Arthur and Jorah had a pained expression, remembering well of the dealing with the maegi, and even Barristan and Iroh looked worried, as they were made aware in their years in her service of that dark episode in their queen’s life. 

“Your Grace, perhaps that may not be the case anymo-” 

“But it is, Iroh. I know it.” She breathed in deep as her free arm began to unconsciously wrap around her middle, willing herself to rein in her emotions. A happy marriage and a gaggle of children were not in her future, that she knew, but she needed to keep her mind off that. A distraction. She needed a distraction.

“Ser Barristan. The other day when we spoke of tales from my family’s past, and you told me about my mother and the path not taken. The one that perhaps would have saved her from an unhappy marriage… tell me more about that.”

The topic of her mother Rhaella had come up just a few days before, but the realities of ruling a city had forced that conversation to a halt. If the sharp pivot of the conversation had confused them, they did not show it. The white haired knight inclined his head in thought.

“The queen was always mindful of her duty… but long ago, as a young woman, she was once smitten with a young knight from the stormlands who wore her favour at a tourney and named her the queen of love and beauty. A brief thing.”

Dany’s heart lit up at the thought of her mother’s happiness before the thoughts darkened over the shadow of her sire. “What happened to him?”

“He put away his lance the day your lady mother wed Aerys.”

“Did he…?”

“No. Your sire didn't even give the man a spare thought, as he was only a landed knight that was no fit consort for a princess of royal blood. There was also the fact that he also became a most pious man, so much so some would jape that only the Maiden could replace Queen Rhaella in his heart.”

Dany’s smiled faded by the end, and she turned to Iroh next after noticing the wistful look on his face. “What about you Iroh? Have you ever been in love?” 

He chuckled at her curiosity. “Once upon a time in my early travels I might have.” 

“Tell me. What was their name?” 

“Maeve, my queen.”

“A beauty, no doubt.” 

“A true beauty… but life had meant to set us on different paths. It wasn’t meant to be.” 

When her men had left her for the night, Dany found herself looking up at the stars again, and Quaithe’s words hung in her mind… sun’s dragon… was she truly destined to be this Quentyn's bride? But then the words of Undying tickled at her memory. Bride of fire and bride of ice, they said. Drogo was her sun and stars, which seemed to suggest he was her fire… but then who was her ice?

It seemed fate would have her marry again, and as queen, Dany knew that prospect to be a high possibility. What better way to make alliances than marriage? But in a marriage with no chance of producing heirs, how it could ever hope to work?

In the recess of her mind, Dany knew that she did not want to marry for convenience, or for politics, or for the joining of noble bloodlines, or for the promise of armies… if she were to go through another marriage, she wanted it to be for her happiness. She had been forced into a marriage before, after all. Was it so wrong now that deep down she craved love in her next marriage? A marriage of her own choosing?

But oh, it was wrong… wrong for her to hope for such things. For a queen was a servant to her people, and she must always think of them above all else.

And how could she ever hope for one to love a barren queen? 

Chapter Text

303AC

"Joffrey Waters… is dead?”

Within the private solar of the queen’s royal apartments at the apex of the Great Pyramid, Daenerys was hosting the Dornish prince and his retinue. This meeting was only meant to be a simple one, where she would reject his betrothal request and negotiate some sort of alliance for her eventual play for the Iron Throne free of a marriage stipulation… but Dany had not expected for him to start with a revelation such as that.

“Yes. Poisoned at his own wedding, Your Grace. Many witnessed it. The Purple Wedding, they’ve begun calling it.” Ser Gerris explained. 

Ser Archibald concurred. “It’s why you must come back to Westeros, Your Grace. The throne is now occupied by the Illborn’s younger brother Tommen, who is only but a weak child. There is no better time than now to strike.”

“Dorne also holds their sister, Myrcella, when the boy-king’s former hand Tyrion Lannister betrothed her to my younger brother Trystane and sent her to Sunspear for fostering. We can get the lions of Casterly Rock and their allies to heel by keeping her hostage.”

That had made Ser Jorah scoff. “How do you suppose we get the Lannisters to heel with Lord Tywin at the helm?”

“Because Tywin Lannister is dead too.” the Prince answered with a smirk.

Others take her. 

Dany and her queensguards all fell silent at the revelation, and she shared a distressed look with her father. Our vengeance for my good-sister and niece and nephew… stolen? With Tywin Lannister gone, now none were left of the people who led the rebellion to their brutal success. Jon Arryn, poisoned. Ned Stark, beheaded. The Usurper, killed by a boar. And now Tywin Lannister…

“How?” Ser Barristan was the first to ask.  

“Killed by his own son, the Imp, if word of the queen mother is to be believed.” Ser Gerris offered. “She also said that it was he who poisoned her son Joffrey.”

“Tyrion Lannister murdered them all?” Ser Arthur asked in disbelief. “That doesn’t even seem possible.”

“But it was. At least, allegedly.” Archibald Yronwood explained. “This all started when he was on trial for the alleged poisoning of the bastard-king you see, and the Imp demanded for a trial by combat to determine his innocence, even though he knew his family would have the Mountain to do their fighting. But he took the risk anyway.”

“Who would fight for Tyrion Lannister?” Ser Jorah asked.

The two Dornishmen look to their prince uneasily before Ser Gerris answered. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

That… made sense. If anyone was going to fight bravely against that monster, it would’ve been the brother of his most famed victim. No doubt Princess Elia’s brutal murder was the very reason why Prince Oberyn would agree to fight for a Lannister in the first place. 

“Then I take it this was how Tyrion Lannister was able to assassinate his own father? He took advantage of his newfound freedom to do the deed?” Dany asked, though that seemed to bring an uneasy tension over her guests.

“No, Your Grace.” The Prince answered her, downcast. “Tyrion Lannister wasn’t set free… my uncle lost the trial.”

Her jaw nearly fell. Was there no end to the twists? If the Dornish had wanted vengeance before, that desire would only have increased exponentially now.