Chapter Text
Conquering a city is a simple enough thing, especially if one has dragons. But we did not set out as conquerors, had no desire to place the Free Cities under our control permanently. No, our goal was to cast down the masters into the dust, where they belonged, and give their ill-gotten riches to those whose exploitation had made them possible, without harming innocents. We came to give the people of Essos what they deserved-freedom and equality for the formerly enslaved and downtrodden, fire and blood for the masters, and justice for all. To achieve that, we needed to take a subtler approach.
-An excerpt from the memoirs of Missandei Dragonspeaker, the Protector of Innocents, the Bringer of Justice, the Lady of Ten Thousand Tongues, and the Dragon of Naath
Objectively Missandei knew that Dragonstone was a foreboding place, a bleak stone edifice on a barren island surrounded by turbulent seas, yet to her, it could not have seemed more welcoming. They were safe, finally in a place they could call their own and away from Westerosi hostility, and for the first time in a great long while, Missandei felt like she could truly breathe.
It did not hurt that the castle had clearly been built by and for dragonriders. If Missandei wished, she could land Rhaegal any number of balconies or walkways and enter the keep without ever setting foot on the ground, and many parts of the island were only accessible on dragonback. The dragons adored the volcanic heat of the island, and Missandei had passed long hours in the castle baths alone or with Grey Worm, letting the hot springs melt away her aches and cares.
Daenerys also seemed to thrive here in the place of her birth, though Missandei was unsure about whether that was due to the island itself or the unconventional healing method her friend had embarked upon. Every morning, Missandei and Daenerys rose early and took a long flight, not to train as they had at White Harbor, but simply for the joy of it. Then Daenerys would strip off her clothes and have her sons breathe fire over her, as she was certain that the dragonflame was speeding up her recovery.
And it was undeniable that her injuries were healing rapidly, faster than would be expected for wounds of that severity, and Daenerys reported less and less pain each day. Missandei was glad, because she needed her friend fully healed to face the many challenges that lay before them.
The rest of Westeros had certainly not sat quietly after their departure from the North. Merchant ships and fishing vessels sailed near the island regularly, and most were more than willing to exchange information for fresh water or to peddle their wares-not to mention the chance to glimpse of the Mother of Dragons and her famous children. Even now, sitting and waiting for Daenerys to dress after what she called a fire-bath, Missandei saw a ship departing from their harbor and wondered what fresh news it had brought.
It was from such passersby they learned that Cersei Lannister was dead, though no one could quite seem to agree on how she had died, or even who killed her. Some rumors spoke of poisoned wine from the Reach or Dorne, sent by relatives of her victims. Others said that she had been betrayed by her own men or that Tyrion had used some foul sorcery to slay her from afar. Still others were convinced that a Faceless Man had slipped into the Red Keep and slit her throat.
They would likely never know for certain, but Missandei would not lose sleep over that particular mystery. She was just glad that Cersei was gone. And on that all the sources agreed: she was undoubtedly dead, and her brother-lover the Kingslayer too, assassinated in the riverlands on his way back to King’s Landing. Missandei was unsurprised by this turn of events; he was one of the most hated men in Westeros, and that golden hand was quite conspicuous. As she had never even spoken to the man, she had no strong feelings on his demise, aside from a general satisfaction at having one less enemy in the world.
Although Tyrion was faring better than his siblings, as all reports indicated that he was still alive, his bid to retake Casterly Rock was not going well. After Grey Worm abandoned the castle to go north, Tyrion’s aunt had claimed it and was now putting up a spirited defense against the nephew she named traitor, kingslayer, and kinslayer twice over. Missandei wished her well in that endeavor.
Meanwhile the Seven Kingdoms were well on their way to becoming seven in truth again, not just in name. Dorne, the Reach, the stormlands, the Vale, and the riverlands had joined with the Iron Islands and the North in declaring that they were independent once more, with only the westerlands remaining nominally loyal to the Iron Throne.
And things were no better in King’s Landing. After Cersei’s death, both warring factions of the Lannister family had called on the troops stationed there to return to the Rock, and the city devolved into chaos. Apparently the Golden Company had not received full payment for their services before arriving in Westeros, only receiving half up front. The rest was to have been paid in booty-including salvage rights to the dragons’ corpses-upon Cersei’s victory. Of course, that had not happened, so the Golden Company collected the remaining balance before departing King’s Landing...a softer way of saying that they had looted the city, which was now little more than a ghost town.
With Lannister strength broken or focused elsewhere and the city undefended, it would have been almost comically easy to take King’s Landing. Daenerys said that its walls had been lined with scorpions in her vision, but Missandei doubted that there was anyone left willing to man them. They could fly to the capital, burn any opposition they faced within the Red Keep, and seat Daenerys on the throne of her ancestors in less than a day, while Yara ferried their remaining forces across Blackwater Bay in her new fleet-if they were even needed. In her vision Daenerys and Drogon had destroyed all of the scorpions, the Iron Fleet, and the Golden Company alone, and Missandei did not doubt that all three dragons could make even shorter work of whatever resistance King’s Landing could put up. With Westeros in chaos, the victory Daenerys had sought for so long was nearly in her grasp.
But she showed not even a hint of interest in returning to the mainland. Daenerys remained firm in her convictions: she was done with Westeros and would be returning to Essos with her people. Yara had even delayed her departure from Dragonstone to try to convince Daenerys to attack the city, but Daenerys told her that while Yara was free to attack wherever she wished, even to claim the Iron Throne if that was her desire, but her own campaigns in Westeros were finished. Ultimately, Yara had given up at her persuasions and sailed for the Iron Islands, though not before affirming their alliance and promising not to raid in the Reach or Dorne-out of respect for their murdered allies-or White Harbor, as it would be a poor way to repay their generosity. She had also left behind a dozen ships, captained and crewed by loyal men, to aid them in whatever came next.
It was that question, of what the future held for them, that had been on Missandei’s mind much of late.
“What are you thinking about?” Daenerys’s voice, though soft, startled Missandei; she had been so deep in thought she had not noticed her friend coming to sit beside her.
“What we’re going to do next. I know we discussed it briefly the night you came back, but then our focus was entirely on Euron and recovering from the battles. Gods know that we needed the time to rest and heal, but I confess that I grow restless, lingering here while millions are held in bondage across Essos.”
Daenerys nodded. “I have been feeling much the same way, Missandei. Much as I am loath to return to war, our place is across the sea. Tell me your ideas, what you believe we must do.”
“May I speak freely?” It was an old habit, asking for permission to speak or act. Even now, after years spent as a free woman, it was difficult to break those patterns of behavior formed by the trauma of slavery.
“Always, and you need never ask. You are blood of my blood, we are equal in every way,” Daenerys replied with a smile.
“In Astapor and Yunkai, even once the slaves were freed and many masters killed, the masters were able to seize power and reinstitute slavery once we left. Unless you wish to permanently occupy every city in Essos, we must ensure that this cannot happen again.”
“I agree, but how? Unless we kill all the masters and their entire families, wipe out that whole class of people, and I do not think either of us are willing to burn children.”
“Of course not. But I believe there is another way,” She took a deep breath, steeling herself to share an idea that had begun to take form in her mind years ago.
“When we take a city, we must do it as quickly and bloodlessly as possible, so the masters don’t know what is happening until too late. Once we have control, every adult who owned slaves or participated in the slave trade will be given a trial. Those that they enslaved or wronged in other ways-a man who raped or beat a slave, for instance, even if he did not own them-can make accusations and detail the crimes perpetrated by that person, and others will be free to speak in support of the accused. We will have to ensure that no one fears reprisals for coming forward, of course. The occupants of the city can choose a small group-a mixture of women and men, freeborn and formerly enslaved, rich and poor-to sit in judgement for each of these trials, and determine that person’s innocence or guilt. If they are found guilty, perhaps the victims can decide what punishment is suitable-or maybe the judges shall, I do not know what would be best-and punished accordingly, including with death, if their crimes merit it."
"And all the wealth of the masters must be taken and divided up amongst the people they enslaved, as well as the poor of the city, so that they might build lives of their own, or return to their homelands, if they wish. Some of it should go to funding things for everyone-schools for all children, like those we founded in Meereen, hospitals, libraries, sources of clean water and food, orphanages and the like. The children of the wealthy will be cared for and given the same education as any other child, and shall not be punished for the sins of their parents. Former masters who are not executed can live and work, as long as they follow whatever laws are put into place. We will keep the peace in the city while the people choose their own leaders, as Daario did in Meereen, and make laws. Perhaps the Unsullied can train those who wish to become soldiers, so that they may defend their city. But all of it-the overthrow of the masters, the trials, the formation of a new government-must be guided by the inhabitants of the city, it must be their own, not something we impose upon them.”
As she spoke, Daenerys listened quietly, not interrupting or asking questions, just watching Missandei with a strange expression on her face.
Feeling uncharacteristically anxious, Missandei did not wait for a response, but continued, “It is not a perfect solution, I know. I wish we could burn all the masters in their manses and palaces, every last one of them, and be done with it, but if we do that then innocents will die too. This way, there will be justice for all, and any surviving masters will lack the resources to bring back slavery-”
This time Daenerys did interrupt her, but not with words. Instead she pulled her into a tight embrace and said softly, “Oh, Missandei, has there ever been another like you in this world? You are brilliant and good, kind and fierce, and I-I love you so.”
“I love you too, blood of my blood,” Missandei leaned into her friend’s warmth, inhaling that unique combination of smells that made up her friend’s scent-the oil in her hair, something like fire and the sky that Missandei had come to associate with the dragons. “Does this mean you wish to proceed with my plan?”
“Yes, of course,” Apparently too excited to sit, Daenerys rose and began to pace back and forth as she spoke. “If we are to do this, we will need the Unsullied and Dothraki there as well, to maintain order and ensure that no masters try to slip away with their gold. You and I, with the dragons, could take any city in the world, but unfortunately I do not think we can expect them to be much help in arranging trials or organizing seized assets, and the two of us cannot do it all alone.”
Her words conjured the mental image of Viserion peering down at an account book, and Missandei giggled. “Undoubtedly. We should reach out to the ted temples in these cities, they would make excellent allies. After all, their priests speak openly of their desire to end slavery, and they would be ideally suited to organize resistance from within and guide the rebirth of the cities. And perhaps it would be worth seeking an alliance with the Summer Isles. They have suffered more than most at the hands of slavers, and banned the practice on their own shores long ago.”
“Yes, I shall send an envoy. I believe that the Isles are currently controlled by several different princes, but a princess rules Jhala, the largest and most populous of the islands. Perhaps some Unsullied from the Summer Isles who still speak their birth tongue could present our case to her? Swan ships and archers with goldenheart bows would be invaluable when we attack Lys and Tyrosh. But in any case, we cannot wait for their ships or those from the Bay of Dragons. It will take weeks, maybe months, for them to assemble a fleet large enough for all of us and for it to reach us here.”
“And while we wait, the slave trade continues. What of Braavos?” Missandei suggested. She had considered that particular problem as well, and thought she had a solution to the issue of transportation as well.
“Should we try to hire ships from them, you mean?”
“No, not a hired fleet. An alliance. A city ruled by the descendants of runaway slaves should be able to find common cause with the Breaker of Chains, after all.” Missandei said wryly. Even if the principle of liberation alone was not enough to convince the Braavosi, surely they would understand the financial benefit of being on the winning side.
And they would be victorious, Missandei had no doubt of that. The slavers’ days were numbered, and soon they would get what they deserved.
Daenerys looked thoughtful. “With Cersei dead, the Iron Bank no longer has a foothold in Westeros, so they will likely come calling anyway…though we do not have the riches of Highgarden or Casterly Rock to repay Lannister debts. But I suppose we can work out something in our negotiations…”
Shaking her head, as if to cast off thoughts of bankers and coin, and said, “The masters cannot know of our true intentions, or else they will punish the slaves brutally or use them as hostages against us. Let us put the word out that I found the Sunset Kingdoms to be cold and not to my liking, and have decided instead to reclaim the Free Cities that once belonged to the Freehold. With any luck, the rulers of those cities will believe they only have conquest to fear, not revolution. If their focus is on us, they will be less likely to look inwards.”
Missandei thought that was an excellent misdirection, and one that the avaricious masters would swallow readily. “We will keep them ignorant until it is too late, and they are getting what they deserve.”
“Just like Yara’s dear departed uncle Euron.”
Daenerys’s smile was sharp, and Missandei answered it with one of her own. Tyrion would have been appalled, of course, but then he was a master too, in his own way. The highborn of Westeros may not have owned the smallfolk in precisely the same way as the masters of Essos possessed enslaved people, but both systems were cruel and oppressive. He would never be willing to do what needed to be done against masters, would never speak their language of violence to them back to them, because ultimately he was one of them and he knew it.
But Missandei would give them what they deserved. She would give every single slaver, every last master, fire and blood, and she would do it with a smile on her face. Nothing she could do now would restore her murdered family to life, give her back the years of her life that had been stolen by Kraznys and the other masters, or wipe away the trauma she had endured, but she could ensure that no one else ever suffered as she had.
The next day was quiet, the sky clear and the seas around Dragonstone relatively calm. Missandei and Grey Worm were alone in their chambers; the Unsullied had finished with their drills and Daenerys was sequestered with the dosh khaleen, discussing the future of the Dothraki. For all that Missandei spoke their language like it was her mother tongue, she had not been a khaleesi, and so their councils were barred to her. She was reading a dusty old tome written by some long-dead maester about the Free Cities in preparation for their upcoming campaign, but found her attention wandering.
And so she decided it was time for something she had longed for ever since her first flight with Rhaegal.
“Grey Worm?”
“Hmm?” He looked up from the parchment on which he was carefully sketching a design for her armor. Despite a lack of experience, Grey Worm was a talented artist, and would happily spend hours drawing.
“I want to take you flying,” she said, her voice quavering with excitement. Being on Rhaegal’s back was the best thing she had ever felt, something glorious and joyful and transcendent, and she wanted to share it with Grey Worm. Even though she knew it would not be the same for him-he would only be a passenger, not a bonded rider-it was still an experience unlike any other.
“Will he let me?” To her surprise, Grey Worm seemed somewhat skeptical, quirking an eyebrow at her.
Eager to reassure him, she said, “Of course! I love you, and Daenerys loves you, and he’s known you for years. Besides, Drogon carried a bunch of strangers on his back when they went north of the Wall, and Rhaegal let Jon ride him at Winterfell because his mother wished it.”
Grey Worm seemed to consider that for a minute, then nodded his assent.
Taking him by the hand, unable to stop smiling, Missandei led him through the castle out onto the great peninsula where the dragons rested. Despite the numerous caves and high perches on the island, they preferred to stay close to the castle, out in the open. Missandei thought that it reminded them of the vast plains of Essos where they had grown up, or perhaps that they just wanted to be as near to her and their mother as possible.
Viserion and Drogon were out hunting over the water while Rhaegal dozed, but when Missandei drew near, his eyes flicked open and he let out a cheerful call. It only took a moment for him to cover the ground between them, and she stroked his nose in greeting.
Grey Worm held back, watching with a mixture of apprehension and awe in his face. She beckoned him to come closer, and took his hand once more. His fingers were trembling slightly as she raised their joined hands to gently caress Rhaegal’s face, but as the dragon rumbled in quiet contentment she felt him relax.
“I should have said this long ago, but thank you,” Grey Worm said quietly, unexpectedly, and Missandei looked at him out of the corner of her eye. What was he thanking her for?
But then he continued, and she realized he was not speaking to her.
“Thank you for protecting her, at Winterfell and in battle. She means more to me than anything, more than my own life, and I know that she is safe with you. I think perhaps you love her as much as I.”
Grey Worm gazed into Rhaegal’s deep bronze eyes as he spoke and through their bond she knew the dragon understood even before he nuzzled Grey Worm, bumping his shoulder with gentle affection.
To Missandei’s surprise, she felt tears prickle in her eyes-not of grief, but from joy and the overwhelming love she felt for them both in that moment.
Wiping the unbidden tears away, she stepped back towards Rhaegal’s wing.
Rhaegal lowered his shoulder and she climbed onto him easily, as naturally as a khal would mount his horse. But he did not straighten as he usually did; instead, reading her intentions, he remained bent towards the ground, looking expectantly towards Grey Worm.
“Well,” she said, light and teasing, “Are you going to join us? It’s bad manners to keep a dragon waiting.”
Grey Worm chuckled, then hauled himself up onto Rhaegal’s back-not quite as gracefully as he normally moved, but nothing like Jon’s awkward clamber the first time he rode Rhaegal, as described to her by Daenerys. She helped him settle into place behind her, his front pressed against her back, and he looped his arms about her waist to hold her close.
Closing her eyes, she relaxed into their bond, reveling in the melding of their minds. Nothing had ever felt so right, so easy, and she softened against Grey Worm’s chest.
“You’re so warm,” Grey Worm murmured, wonder in his voice, as he rested his chin on her shoulder.
“Rhaegal is fire made flesh and his fire is in me. Now, are you ready to fly?”
In response, Grey Worm gripped her tighter and she gave a little laugh.
“Hold on, my love.”
Rhaegal pulled back before leaping up into the air, and Grey Worm sucked in a breath as they left the ground behind. Deciding it would be best for his nerves to avoid the open ocean, Missandei had Rhaegal circle the island, pointing out various interesting things only visible from above. Grey Worm was quiet, and she thought he was simply listening to her. But when she glanced back at him, she saw that he was watching her, an expression of pure adoration on his face. Impulsively she kissed him, and wondered if it was possible to be happier than she was in that instant.