Penance for Kinslaying - Chapter 6 - Tigers_apple (2024)

Chapter Text

THE OLD BEAR

After a few days of hard riding, Jorah Mormont arrived at the ruined town of Borash. Once, it had been a pit-stop for those traveling between the heart of Valyrian territory and conquered Ghiscari cities. Now it only saw a handful of travelers, the Westerosi knight one of the odder ones. Though he found Borash strange enough without a man born half a world away in its midst to add to the peculiarities of it all.

The Doom had not spared Borash, chunks of rock had knocked down buildings; he could occasionally see marks where ash had fallen three feet high. Before the Fourteen Flames had erupted, Ser Jorah was confident the town had been on the verge of becoming a powerful port city due to its sheer size and grandeur. But now? Now it was a black, grimy grave flooded with mist that prowled the empty streets. He found it odd that not a single soul was squatting in some of the more intact buildings.

When he finally ran into someone, it was near the docks, where they had more thoroughly repaired the buildings the best they could; dragons could not be used to fuse stone anymore, Borash had been built with them. A crude gate stood guard, and he halted Ladynight as the gate guards asked what his business was in Borash. Jorah was surprised the guards were wearing patch-work armor combining Valyrian steel and regular iron. They let him in after he explained he was here to rest for the night, and potentially gain passage to Lys.

Borash folks dressed in black, grays and whites; they looked ready to attend another mass funeral rather than go about their daily lives. They were primarily Valyrian, mixed with Ghiscari and a handful of other ethnicities. He found it odd they did not smile, shout or wave at each other in greeting, instead they seemed to give short bows. They went about their business with a rather serious air. Borash consisted of grim and subdued people, it seemed. Though, there was some color.

In the market he found colorful stalls, and the children appeared to be allowed to wear brighter, cheerful clothing. Only they appeared to be happy and excitable, but still nowhere near the level he would see in smallfolk places in Westeros or Essos. None of the kids ran from place to place, or laughed loudly or sang in public or yelled. Some games on the streets were played, but they did not sit directly on the curbs or sidewalks. Instead, the players sat prim and proper on tables and chairs.

The only busker Ser Jorah could find was a harpist who played a mournful melody.

He asked the few ships worthy of a sea voyage if they could take him and Ladynight aboard, to Lys or Volantis. All the captains shook their heads. If he wanted to go that far, he needed to head to Tolos or Meereen. Meereen was off the table, yet Tolos did not appear promising from what the sailors said to him. It had sent off its fleets and paid merchants to carry messages to all corners of Essos. Realizing he was in need of information, he headed for one of the few taverns in Borash.

The Sleeping Sparrow was slowly gaining customers for the night by the time Ser Jorah arrived and hitched Ladynight in the stables. It was decorated with many paintings and portraits, of old dragonlords, dragons, nobles, merchants and even a few of the peasantry or countryside. He asked the bartender where the art had come from, and she simply gave half a shrug.

“The past and the present.”

Seeing that she wasn’t one to give detailed answers on the subject, he changed topic. “What of the ships that visit Borash? Are there any who could take me to Volantis?”

She thought it over, “ships come every month, from Tolos to Meereen. In Tolos, there will be passage by sea or land to Volantis.”

“When will the ships that come here arrive?”

“Two or three weeks. You missed it, the first few days of the month they are here. If they come at all,” she muttered darkly, twisting her rag over the lip of the mug.

“I would be in Tolos or Mantarys well before then if I went by land,” Ser Jorah pointed out. “What is this about coming at all?”

“The Black Cliffs,” her free hand went up high and made a clawing gesture. “Flying things make their home there. Sometimes they attack ships who skirt too closely.”

“Flying things? Dragons?”

“No. Shriekers,” she cursed the name darkly.

“Shriekers? I suppose they shriek at all who come near?”

She nodded, “they are big things. Half-human, half-beast. Ugly as a toad. They are rabid enough to hunt sailors.”

Ser Jorah frowned, “why hasn’t someone tried to eradicate them, if they are such a threat?”

“Many tried and died. Tolos only sends hunters if they get too close for comfort.”

He nodded, “is there good money for hunting them?”

“Only if someone puts a bounty on their heads. They are not good for eating, for pelts or for parts. Meereenese occasionally capture them, but they are not very good for shows,” she gestured to her ears. He nodded along.

“Where do these monsters come from?”

She shrugged, “Valyria.”

“Do they attack anyone who uses the road between here and the other cities?”

She shook her head, “there are other beasts besides shriekers in these lands,” she nodded approvingly at his armor. “It is best if you go to Mantarys or Tolos to have others with you.”

“Wolves? Lions? Wild dogs?”

“Monsters,” she pointed out a skull behind him, making Ser Jorah twist on his stool to get a look. It was oily black, easily the size of his torso. It had rows of razor sharp teeth pointed back to its throat, small eye sockets and a huge nasal cavity. Its brow had two nubby horns.

“How many of those will I run into?”

“Few come this far north. They prefer the Lands of the Long Summer.”

Ser Jorah was not eager to meet one face to face alone. “Is there a trade caravan setting out soon to Mantarys or Tolos I can join?”

She shrugged, “you will need to visit the mayor. She has the listings of those who want to go and where. Once there are enough people, they leave.”

He thanked the woman, paid for his drink and room for the night. It was too late to see the mayor now, but tomorrow morning he could go. Jorah ate his fish stew and talked a little with those around him, trying to learn more of the people. They were closed off to him; only the bartender seemed willing to talk with a stranger.

A village of mourning, she told him, was what Borash was. The reminiscence of Old Valyria and the glory that had been lost haunted the land. The Doom had nearly destroyed the town. Now all that was left were the stragglers, at risk of being attacked and sold into slavery. Only their tenuous alliance with Tolos kept them safe. It was not an easy existence, but Borash was home.

It was a home, but not the one the knight longed for.

x

Ser Jorah woke the next morning and headed to the mayor' office bright and early. He found the list on the wall easily enough, reading the dozen different names. The route would be Mantarys, Tolos, ship passage to Elyria then returning to Borash. It only needed a handful more before they set off at the minimum of fifteen. He added his name, then turned to the mayor. She was of obvious Valyrian descent, gold-silver hair and velvet eyes. Though, she was quite tan with a sea of freckles across her face.

“How do I know when the list is full? That we are heading out?”

“I or my apprentice will find you,” she said as she glanced up from her ledgers. Ser Jorah straightened up as she memorized his face. “The only Westerosi in town will not be hard to find in Borash.”

“How quickly are names added?”

“It depends,” she got up to point out names on the list. “Some sign in groups, so three or four are added in a day. Others trickle in slowly, over a few days only one might join. At thirteen…” She hummed and leaned back. “You might be able to find the other two on your own, if you go asking. Otherwise, I would say in about a week you would have the rest.”

“Who do I ask? Merchants?” The mayor nodded. “Them or the young folk eager to see the world.”

“Anyone in particular?”

She gave him a few names and where to find them. He thanked her and got on his way. Ser Jorah had to ask directions once or twice, but finally found his various quarries. They spoke little, only nodding when he informed them the list needed more names. When he returned to the Sleeping Sparrow for lunch, he was surprised to find someone waiting for him. A man in the makeshift steel and iron armor: the uniform of the guards. He was a mix of Valyrian and Dothraki.

He spoke in a halting Westerosi Common, “you are the knight. The bear one? The summer lands man.”

Ser Jorah hesitated, standing and ready to grip his weapon. “What do you need from me?”

“Want to know what Westerosi here for. What skills have.”

“Fighting and diplomacy with other lords is what I was trained for,” he left out the rest. “And you?”

“Guarding. What name yours?”

“Ser Jorah. Yours?”

“Gavian Malnalys. Is good meet Ser.” He bowed to the knight.

Ser Jorah bowed back to the man. “Was that all you came for?”

“No. Knight kill not man in kingdoms?” He pointed to the large skull filled with teeth.

Ser Jorah shook his head, “nothing that big.”

Gavian' face fell, but he accepted it. “You willing learn?”

“I am not sure it is a good idea to tangle with something that large in close combat. I am not an expert bowman who could take it down with a single shot.”

The man began to drum his fingers on the table, “I hear you go on trip. If I go, I want hunt one. Find eggs to sell in Mantarys. Big coin there. You help, I go. You leave fast.”

“Do you even know how to hunt one of those? Have you done it before?”

The man nodded, “yes, many hunts.”

“Then why aren’t you out there now?”

“Last partner big hurt,” he motioned to his chest and left arm. “No want fight beast.”

“How did that happen?”

“Nest mate snuck up on us.”

Ser Jorah glanced at the skull, “something that big took you by surprise?”

“Very good hiding. Dense forest where northern nests is.”

“I am not interested in getting bitten, so I hope you learned how to spot them.”

Gavian chuckled, “yes. This time ears not full of gold and egg.” Then the man surprised Ser Jorah by pulling out a very small dog from a bag he had attached to his stomach. Why the hell he kept a dog in a bag did not make sense to Jorah, but perhaps that was normal for monster hunters. “This one other ears, eyes and… Not know word.” The hunter gestured to his nose.

“This hunt more safe. Done before many times. Seven Kingdoms knight live with much coin.” Gavian gave a crooked grin, and this time Ser Jorah noticed the faint scars that twisted his face. “You agree to hunt? Split egg coin in Mantarys?”

Ser Jorah thought of his prospects from earlier, who seemed reluctant and warry. He had seen enough market interactions to know he hadn’t sold anything. “I will do it, if you agree to keep me safe. If it looks too dangerous I will have to abandon the hunt. I am on a mission I cannot afford to fail.” Gavian nodded, and gave a deep bow. Then he seemed to realize something when Ser Jorah hesitated and stuck out his hand to shake.

“My sorry. Forget Westerosi do this,” Ser Jorah shook his hand. A deal was a deal.

However, he started to wonder if he made a deal with the devil known as Gavian Malnalys as the caravan left Borash behind. The land was getting hot, humid and full of bugs the further inland they went. How bad would it get for the northern knight?

X

THE FAITHFUL SHADOW

Drogon finished his first portion of breakfast, his third of a goat, then flew off to the bay once his siblings were ready to follow. It was low tide, the perfect time to eat barnacles. Hunting fish was a taxing endeavor, yet worthwhile for growing muscle. However, the barnacles were a necessary part of his diet. If a dragon did not ingest enough bone, scale or shell matter, their own would not develop properly. Barnacles had dense shells, so perfect for a growing juvenile like Drogon and his siblings.

Meereen was mostly clear of rocks in the immediate shores and water near the docks, however there were some boulder masses from the Doom of Valyria in various areas nearby. Apparently, volcanoes could fling massive amounts of rocks for hundreds of miles. It was to the benefit of the dragons, as barnacles and other marine life loved to cling to rocks or similar structures. Meereen had built a few scout towers on the larger rocks to watch over the bay and prevent ships from crashing. The trio settled down on previously cleared patches of stone, devouring what they liked after a few blasts of dragonfire.

Drogon crunched down on the shells as he eyed his two siblings, Rhaegal and Viserion. They were nearing fourteen feet from snout to tail, officially clearing hatchling to juvenile stage. Another eight to ten feet and they would be adults, although quite small. At that size they could reproduce, and so were adults, but they usually didn’t do such until they got much larger. Dragons only laid eggs that young if they felt they were the only ones in the area, with abundant resources and space to share.

He wondered if he should continue calling them “brothers” as Daenerys did. Dragons were not male or female, they were hermaphrodites and could switch between what role they wanted to play. If they wished, they could reproduce alone. That was likely how Morning laid her clutch, if it was true she had been the last adult dragon. Technically speaking, Drogon was the same as every other dragon, but he felt… Well, like a man. Aemond Targaryen may be long gone from the face of the earth, yet he still lived in some ways. He certainly didn’t wish to lay eggs or reproduce with another dragon!

Drogon did not feel particularly dragonlike in his mentality. He had new instincts, new palette tastes, better senses and a stronger aversion to humans that stemmed from being a dragon. He already had a general dislike for people as a prince; having to constantly worry what plots they would try to engage him in, ignoring how they would stare at his scar and whisper to each other was exhausting. He had very few friends last time around, and even fewer now. Though, he did not feel lonely at all despite very little socialization outside of Daenerys, Rhaegal and Viserion.

That was all he could categorize in the mental department that came from losing his human form.

Drogon scooped up more roasted barnacles to eat, the crumbling shells falling apart with ease. Besides getting bigger, the only other true changes came from Aemond Targaryen slowly being laid to rest for good. He was Daenerys’ dragon now, brother to Viserion and Rhaegal. It was his divine quest to protect, serve and obey her. They were family, now and forever.

There was only one hitch to that goal. Every Seventh Day, he let Drogon fade away and thought back to his time as Aemond. He carefully surveyed his growing treasure hoard, thinking and reflecting on those from his past. After that, Aemond was packed away in the chest and left behind until another six days passed.

Well… He was supposed to be left there. Aemond nor Drogon truly could not understand why Daenerys had willingly given up the Iron Throne, her revenge and birthright, to chase after becoming the Breaker of Chains. It was a just thing to end slavery, he would never protest such an ideal and goal. Yet she was effectively earning a fancy title. The position would hold power and influence, that was undeniable. The command of nearly all of Essos’ military forces was not something to snub. But nothing like a monarch could wield.

If she wanted, the Dragon Queen could unite Essos, abdicate the title and head for Westeros. It was looking unlikely she would reach that accomplishment anytime soon.

For some reason, Daenerys decided to make Essos her home and pursue a better, equal world. A world that was not plagued by the same troubles she had faced from birth to pyre. Such a change was not going to happen overnight, it would take many years and generations for a massive cultural shift. He respected her dream, admired it in some ways, but there was a disconnect. All the training to be a prince, a Hand of the King, was not easily washed away.

Some were born above the rest, to rule and lead; it was in their blood. That was simply how the world worked in Aemond’ mind.

Drogon would try to leave this mentality behind, to appease Daenerys. It was not going to be an easy process to undo twenty years of this ideology drilled in his head. He would try his damnedest to forget it to make her happy. Above all else, Drogon was a dutiful and loyal son.

Once all the dragons were full, they flew back to the Great Pyramid to rest. Drogon however was only going to rest for a short time before resuming his self-imposed task of guarding and advising Daenerys. She was slowly gaining confidence in her decision-making, particularly her rulings during meetings with supplicants. A few times she hesitated, and looked to Drogon for telepathic advice. Sometimes she heeded it, other times she disregarded or only partly used it. As Viserion and Rhaegal settled in for a long nap under the sun, Drogon headed for Daenerys’ office.

Drogon was glad the door was quite big, it was getting increasingly difficult to move inside the Great Pyramid. His chest and shoulders were widening to support his growing frame in flight, and soon he was not going to be able to enter through regular doorways. It was the unfortunate downside of being a dragon - most spaces were not designed for his body shape or size. Another year and he would need to convince Daenerys to hold her meetings outside so he could continue to guard her.

After successfully squeezing his way in, he went to his typical spot: in the fireplace. Daenerys glanced up, “there is something I want to read together.” Drogon perked up as he noticed the tension in her body, the bond more closed off. She was slowly learning how to keep her emotions from effecting him, and he didn’t much like it when she did. When she felt uneasy, he knew something was wrong and went to help her. Hiding from him could be a detriment.

‘New report?’

“You could say that,” Daenerys’ desk was full of reports and notices for the day, to help her mentally prepare for what she was to face. “It is a letter from Ser Jorah. If the messenger is to be believed, he sent it before he left Borash.”

He sent her an image of throwing it in the fire. If she didn’t want to bother with it, there was no reason to.

“No, I don’t want to do that!” She glared at him, “he may be a spy, but he was my friend. I would like to hear what he has to say. I want you to listen as well.”

Drogon huffed, ‘why?’ As far as he was concerned, traitors should be executed or take the black. Though, he felt less anger towards the knight now that three months away from him had passed.

“I know you two were not close, but you did offer him help.” She sent him the mental image of Ser Jorah riding on Drogon to Lys.

‘I did that to make Daenerys happy,’ he said with a huff of protest.

She scoffed, but dropped the topic after Drogon hissed at her in warning. “Are you going to read this letter with me or not?”

‘Fine. Read aloud.’ The space besides her desk was much too small for Drogon to peer over her shoulder. Daenerys took a sip of her tea, then read to him:

Dear Khaleesi,

I hope this letter has reached you in good health. I do not know when this letter will arrive, as the courier I hired told me the Meereen siege would prevent travel to the area. After nine days of travel, I have arrived at Borash. I have spent three days here waiting for a caravan to form heading west.

You will find Borash to be more of a village than a town. It is a large place, easily capable of housing thousands. I saw marks of where plantations and livestock pens used to be, upwards of a hundred miles away from the main port. The town and the farms are largely empty now. The few people tend to blend in with the buildings through what they wear. It seems to be a village of mourners.

I estimate three to four hundred souls living in Borash. They do not practice slavery as heavily as other regions of the bay do. Only the wealthy own slaves, usually one to three. There are not many wealthy people in Borash capable of affording slaves. The village is not especially well defended, though they appear to have good fighters. I met a monster hunter who works part time as a guard. His name is Gavian Malnalys. You should be able to easily identify him as he carries a small dog named Crossbow Bolts around. He is an expert on the local flora and fauna, which appears to be highly dangerous. Monsters live nearby and occasionally harass ships and caravans.

You will be able to easily take Borash with only two hundred men equipped with ladders or siege rams. The town has a mayor, who may be difficult to replace as she seems well liked and was chosen for the position. Though, you will have to remove her or make demands if you want to ensure slavery will not be practiced further under her authority in Borash. Dothraki and other forces occasionally attack, but that is very rare apparently. Your greatest concern will be monster attacks.

Borash does not do much trading with the rest of the bay, and functions more as a rest stop for land travel than anything else. It will not be hard to keep it functioning once you have taken it for yourself. I suspect the largest difficulty will be the close proximity of three other hostile cities nearby. If Gavian is to be trusted, they are more towns than true cities due to the Doom. He has been to many of these places: Mantarys, Tolos, Elyria and the Lands of Always Summer.

I have agreed to help Gavian steal eggs from monsters he calls “ground drakes”. They are large and dangerous. I saw the skull of one and it had seventy teeth the size of my thumb. If you receive another letter from Mantarys then I have survived the encounter with the beasts. If you have not, I have died and I apologize for failing the mission you gave me.

I have sent this letter to aid you. I understand I am banished, yet I look forward to returning as your loyal servant. I have realized I have lost a second home, and miss it dearly. Expect more letters the further I travel to Lys. Though, they will likely be delayed due to the sieges you will soon wage. Merchants, couriers and messengers are not eager to travel when war is conducted.

Your friend,

Ser Jorah Mormont

Daenerys read the letter silently to herself a second time as Drogon reviewed it in his head. It had no overt begging or scheming beyond trying to get back in Daenerys’ good graces while the knight was in exile. He had no idea how correct the information was. Ser Jorah was unlikely to lie to catch the Dragon Queen in a trap, but many an angry man got revenge on those they were scorned by. Drogon had no way to verify the information himself.

‘It is fine. But no idea if knowledge good. What Daenerys think?’

“Much the same, though I am…” Her end of the bond was a confusing mix of emotions. “I am glad he is alive and trying to help me. I worry about this hunt and these monsters. And I am a little bit angry that he calls himself my friend.” She put the letter down and drank some of her tea. It was a calming variety Jhiqui had brewed.

Drogon sent his own calmness her way, his indifference to the knight. Daenerys' shoulders went down, taking the letter to store it on a shelf that was her ‘worry about later’ collection. It was getting ever thicker the longer they stayed in Meereen.

‘Daenerys find knowledge true? Take Borash?’

She looked over at the map of Slaver’s Bay hanging on the wall, a detailed oil painting. “It is as he said, three neighboring hostile cities won’t be easy to deal with. I would need to heavily fortify it, or charge ahead to win a close ally by force. Keeping only three cities close in proximity to each other safe is quite difficult,” she glanced at Drogon. “Any wisdom on this matter?”

‘Strike fast,’ he sent her an image of the armies heading out as a wave crossing the western shores of the bay, taking the cities through overwhelming force and dragonfire. Ships from her allied cities, Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor would help with supply lines and reinforcements.

“What of Qarth or the other cities? Xaro and his allies are likely to return. The escaped Wise Masters have hired mercenaries, their kindred are helping and I know the exiled Great Masters will want revenge. If I leave, they will be vulnerable.”

‘Leave a good force here,’ he sent her images of ten thousand Liberators using arrows and crossbows from atop the walls of the cities, fending off attack. Night attacks came on the enemy encampments to cause chaos as they had last time.

“I could and should,” she drummed her fingers across the cup. “Will five months of training be enough to defend from a siege by mercenaries who have trained for years and fought in many battles?”

She had a point there, Drogon shook his head. He sent her an image of her grown dragons making up the difference. That made Daenerys sigh again.

“If only there was some way to grow you faster… But I know that will likely involve bloodmagic,” she grimaced and the bond twisted with disdain. That was off the table for both of them.

‘What do in the mean time? Months before we are grown.’

“I will have to buy time and strengthen what I am growing here. The League of the Free still needs a great deal of work before it is stable. The Councils continue to be hesitant at times, I have to negotiate with the hired sellswords, trade needs to be reestablished and a High Council has not been decided yet. I need to learn more of the other cities, of my enemies’ plans. I lack the education and experience to lead an army as I must now. And I want to figure out how to create a more equal, just government that won’t become horribly corrupt after I leave or die.”

Drogon nodded his approval. It was going to be a lot of work, her schedule was already quite busy. There was very little free time to read the history and culture book on Westeros together, she had been cutting into her sleep to get it done. What Daenerys had read cemented her dislike of feudalism and monarchies. The blood-soaked past of Westeros did not appeal to her, nor the idea of controlling where someone lived, what they did, who they married or where they could go. Serfdom was only a step up from slavery in her mind. She was likely going to have to stop reading it to focus on educating herself in more broad topics.

‘How buy time?’

Daenerys sighed as her brow scrunched. “That I am not sure about. I really do not like the idea of becoming allies with slavers. I suppose the best I can do is dissuade them from trying to attack.”

‘Daenerys send assassins,’ he sent her images of hitmen, catspaws and others killing her competition in the night. That would surely cause some chaos to buy her time.

She frowned at him in disapproval, “I wish to give them an opportunity to peacefully surrender. That is difficult to do if I kill them without giving them a chance. I know next to nothing about who my enemies are in the other cities. What if I accidentally kill an ally?”

That was just how wars went, in Drogon’ opinion. ‘Need a spymaster. Spymaster tell you.’

“How would I even go about such a thing?”

‘Ask around. Find someone you trust. Many spymasters have access to gossip circles.’ He sent her images of ladies talking at their tea and embroidery parties, lords discussing business, brothels and bars full of the disorientated that had loose lips.

“That will have to be my first order of business today. Whoever said knowledge is power was very correct.” He agreed with her. Information often helped determine a winning or losing battle.

She finished her tea and reports, then set off with her faithful shadow in tow.

x

After tasking Rakharo to go exploring Meereen for the best candidates, taking with him a group he trusted, Daenerys granted an audience to the handful of gathered peoples before her. She planned to interview them one on one, then as a group. With her would be Drogon and a few guards, such as Rakharo and Strong Belwas. Rakharo would explain where he found the people, and why he picked them. It was likely Strong Belwas may know a few of the people, as he used to live in Meereen for a time. If he had any insight, she wanted to know it.

Of the candidates, there were two Ghiscari: a brothel madam named Dilirra Dozor and Hizdahr zo Loraq who ran one of the most popular fighting pits. Finally came a man named Zobri, the old spymaster of the last Council of Meereen; with him was a messenger of Dothraki descent who used to travel between the cities on behalf of the Great Masters.

First came Dilirra Dozor, and Rakharo had chosen her as she apparently ran one of the best brothels in the city. High profile clients used to come to her establishment before the siege, other Masters from across the bay visited her or bought out the contracts of her workers. Strong Belwas didn’t know much about her beyond that sometimes high profile fighters were gifted the service of her prostitutes on occasion. Belwas was one for fighting, drinking and eating - not siring a dozen brats or getting the pox.

They found the madam to be more boastful than the others, telling Daenerys that spying and assassination were old tools of the trade for prostitutes. She denied any wrongdoing, only that she knew how to use them as necessary. When Daenerys pointed out that bloodshed was her last resort, the woman only smiled and said: the price for the greatest secrets of your enemies will often be blood. How can you burn a wheel without slaying the guards who try to stop you?

Next came Hizdahr zo Loraq, a wealthy merchant who they had met before. Rakharo reported he had connections with all the other fighting pit owners, past and present. Strong Belwas confirmed it. The man knew had to run a pit quite well, and he had many friends. Hizdahr had been one of the advocates for reopening the pits, bringing forth seven champions to back his claim. He had come on occasion to ask for death matches to be brought back, but Daenerys had denied him time and time again.

Hizdahr told Daenerys he had many friends in Meereen from his family ties and history as a merchant. He had made allies in Slaver’s Bay and abroad. He had worked hard to avoid making enemies, becoming proficient in smoothing over slights through gifts, cunning and charm. If there was someone she wanted to know about, Hizdahr would happily tell everything he knew. When listing a few names as examples, from struck down Great Masters to guild leaders to lesser merchants, the man proved his word. It seemed he knew everyone who was anyone.

Zobri and Boro came forth as a pair. Zobri had been picked by Rakharo for what he called “obvious reasons”, and Strong Belwas could only shrug at the man. Black fly, was all the eunuch said. Zobri once had black flies all over the city, listening quietly to conversations that would have otherwise been private. Rumor had it that those flies traveled all over the bay, into the grass sea and the mountains. Boro was supposed to be his best fly in the Dothraki Sea. Daenerys found Zobri to be peculiar. He was clearly of Valyrian descent, yet had somehow won over the Ghiscari despite the long held prejudice.

Zobri told Daenerys he would gladly offer his services to the Breaker of Chains. That where he went, Boro and his herd went as well and she must accept that. Daenerys was quite fine with this, she told him. It may not look like it, he said with a smile, but horses often go where men can not. She asked if his flies ever needed to bite, but he told her that was not his way. Her blades could draw blood if she so wished it - but Zobri had sworn a divine vow. He was a listener, not a fighter. Boro was like other horses: he fought when cornered.

The four eyed each other, but were civil. She worked with them what potential pay would like look, in return for hard work. What was expected for them day to day, and at the end of each month. What her enemies, and thus theirs, would look like in the coming weeks, months and years. Daenerys gave them a task, to prove they were the best informant money could hire: find the Harpy and her vile Sons. A hefty bounty had been put out with a generous reward for information, and her detectives were hard at work. But it was not enough. Though they had caught criminals, found names, it was as if the harpy was a hydra. Two new heads sprouted in the place of the one they cut off.

They all bowed and went off to their first mission. If all went well, one of them would soon bring her the head of the harpy singing in the shadows.

X

THE CHAIN BREAKER

Daenerys knew she had been avoiding a conversation with Groleo, Strong Belwas and Ser Barristan. They had been hired to return her to Pentos, and afterward likely escort her to Westeros to reclaim her birthright. In Astapor, they had quietly acquiesced to the betrayal of the Good Masters. In Yunkai, the wealth won and justice dealt kept their complaints grumbles. But now? Now she had turned her back on a home she had never known to forge one in the land that heralded her coming with a falling star.

Now after they had formally submitted a request to speak with her, Groleo and Ser Barristan, Daenerys knew she couldn’t run away from it any longer.

She had a feeling Strong Belwas had only tagged along at the request of the other two, since he was happily finishing his liver and onions by the time the trio got to the audience chamber. He tucked his bowl in his belt as the three men bowed to her. Her crier told the room what they were here for: an explanation on why she was not going to Pentos, as they had been hired to take her there and now could not complete their job. Ser Barristan also wished to know why she was spurning the Iron Throne, and if he was even a Queensguard anymore.

Drogon could sense her anxiety and lent his support through the bond, as he lounged behind her bench. She could do this. Daenerys nodded to Captain Groleo so he could say his piece first.

“Your Grace, er, Chain Breaker? I was hired by Magister Illyrio to sail you to Pentos once I found you, escorted by two other ships and a worthy crew to fend off pirates. It was a year-long contract, in case we had delays or struggled to find you. My payment was rendered half up front, half on successfully returning you to Pentos. It was enough money I could retire and spend the rest of my days with my family…” The man tried to keep sadness off his face, but she had learned his body language over the voyage to Astapor.

“I wish to return home, your Grace. I am honored you have bestowed the title of Admiral to me, it is a position of good pay, respect and glory. I am glad to help free slaves, make no mistake of it. But I want to go home. I want to see my wife, my children and my grandbabies. I am an old man. I ain’t got many years left in me.”

“What would you need of me, beyond relinquishing your title and granting passage to return home, Captain Groleo?”

“A letter to Magister Illyrio. I’d be breakin’ our contract by returning home without you so early. Breaking it means no pay. It’s even worse, I ain’t bringing his ships back to him. The pay of an Admiral ain’t enough to earn what I need for retirement. That letter might help me keep the first half.”

Daenerys nodded, and after having the Meereen treasury ledger presented to her and the copy of Groleo’ contract, she decided to work out a contract with Groleo. He would take the ships back with the profits from the sold goods, deliver the letter and let it be known the Dragon Queen was hiring fighters, healers, tradesmen and more. The other half he had been promised would be given in exchange for this advertisem*nt. The old captain walked away happy from the meeting, giving her a deep bow.

She looked to Strong Belwas, but he just shrugged at her. He was happy to fight and act as her guard, so long as he got his favorite dish of liver and onions, booze, medicine and fights. The only request he had was death matches be allowed in the pits, since he couldn’t get any more cuts if his opponents lived. That was something Daenerys was not going to budge on. He was simply going to have to enjoy his violent sparing matches.

Next came Ser Barristan Selmy, the knight drawing himself up to full height and putting on the face she knew he wore to battle.

“I wish to know if I am still your Queensguard, or if I am simply a trainer of your knightly forces. I agreed to serve Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, Queen of Westeros. Now I am in the presence of the Breaker of Chains of the League of the Free. If I may be granted this privilege, I want to know why you are not going to your rightful home and throne.”

“Ser Barristan, we both know I am not a queen. I only have a claim to the Iron Throne, and I have very little chances of taking and holding it as I am now. I cannot abandon my duties as Breaker of Chains to become Queen of Westeros. If I did so, all of our hard work would be for naught. Slaver’s Bay would continue its greatest cruelties once I left.”

She could not tell if the old man was pleased or unhappy, he only nodded and kept his face relatively placid.

“I am working on establishing a private guard for the Breaker of Chains, and I would be very happy if you pledged your service to this cause. You are an excellent fighter - any would be honored to have you. I would like you to stay as a trainer, if you do not wish to join this new order of protectors.”

“I would be honored to protect the Breaker of Chains, and to continue my service.” He glanced at Drogon, who had craned his neck around to be close to her hand. “I would still like to know why you have chosen to fight here in Slaver’s Bay. It is a noble cause you have taken up. Yet Westeros cries out for a queen to reunite it and stop the war.”

“Because it is my duty,” she took a deep breath, drawing on the air of a noble, regal woman. Daenerys Stormborn needed to be strong. “I am the last of the main family line of the Targaryens, and through them the last of the dragonlords of Old Valyria. There are others who can claim ancestry, whether by Aegon the Unworthy, Saera Targaryen or dragonlords whose descendants survived the Doom.” She stood up and put her hand on Drogon’ head.

“Who else but the dragonlords had great powers that were paid for in the blood of slaves? In suffering, misery and despair? My ancestors have given me a wonder that no other can claim. Dragons. I have brought dragons back into the world when all others have failed because of the bloodmagic they used. They sacrificed slaves in the thousands for the power I now wield.”

She looked over the crowd of courtiers and guards, most of which were freedmen. “Any single one of you here could have lit the beacon of war. Any could have accomplished what I have in my short time fighting for freedom. Yet who has the ability to inspire wonder, awe and terror so completely as dragons do? I benefit from the evils of Old Valyria, and it is not right if I repay the suffering of those who brought me this power by ignoring their pain. Ignoring their suffering would mean heading to Westeros, to reclaim a throne won by a conqueror the people never cried out for. I intend to repay those who spilled their unwilling blood for the power of dragons by ensuring their suffering is not repeated by their descendants.”

The courtiers all looked quite pleased, glad their ruler and protector would continue her campaign until they were all safe. Ser Barristan appeared to have accepted this, though was still hesitant as he stood there. She couldn’t quite tell what exactly was going through his mind as he looked her over. Only that he was thinking of many things, jumping from point to point as he considered what next to say and do.

“I would still like to know: will you ever return to Westeros? If you succeed in ending the practices of slavery in the areas Old Valyrian controlled?”

“Yes. I will go for justice and safety. The Usurper has sent assassins after me - his son will likely do the same, and I must put a stop to it or I will never be safe. Elia and her children were killed by the Usurper for no reason other than to secure his throne. The Mad King deserved to have his place on the throne taken away for the atrocities he committed. But Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon and Viserys? They were innocent. My brother was chased away from his home and made mad begging for safety. He was only a boy of thirteen when he had to grovel for protection. I will not let the dream of revenge die with him.”

Ser Barristan nodded, “what if to protect yourself, you must claim the Iron Throne?”

“Then I will do it,” Daenerys said with conviction. “If the throne cannot be sat by anyone else for my own safety, I will sit it myself and be a good queen to Westeros until my last breath.”

That seemed to satisfy the old knight, “then I look forward to the day you return to the Red Keep, so that you may see the home that was promised to you. And to the day justice is granted to Elia and her children, when their souls are finally laid to rest.”

“So do I,” Dany said with a smile.

X

THE OLD BEAR

The journey to Mantarys was a taxing one; though the road between it and Borash was not as infamous as the Demon Road it was not much better. Ser Jorah found it to be hot, humid in the mornings and dry when the sun was at its peak. Bugs seemed to love the Westerosi, large biting flies had to be shooed off by crushing a type of smelly cactus and smearing it all over himself. Poor Ladynight had not been free of the flies either; all of their horses, mules and donkeys had to be treated twice a day with the cactus paste.

Then there was the hunt he had gone on with Gavian, another man and woman. Ser Jorah had never been more thankful for that little dog, it had alerted them in time to the angry mother lizard that did not take kindly to egg thieves. She had been smaller than the skull on the wall, but still as big as a lion. The only reason Ser Jorah had not been severely mauled was due to the others rescuing him in time. He had gotten away with a superficial bite to the thigh; and as the monster hunters put it: a nice new scar to show off to those he seduced.

Now they had a dozen large eggs the size of his fist, which would sell for nearly three hundred gold dragons a piece. The mages and beast masters of Mantarys held ground drakes as a favored guard animal.

Ser Jorah found Mantarys put him on edge, every hair on the back of his neck standing up when he passed through the old gates. There was an air of disdain, of hunger and desperation leaking from the blackened bricks. It was in slightly better condition than Borash, but still quite empty for a city. It sat on a man-made island in the center of one of the rivers that fed the Sea of Sighs, called the Third Sister. The dragonlords built not only on the island, but through the river with black bridges fused by dragonfire. They had repaired the bridge with wood after the Doom, though there was a ferry system.

The buildings had been restored with a dark stone, though it was obvious where the original had been. Nothing could match the effect dragonfire had when it came to architecture. Despite Mantarys clearly having room for four times the current population, nobody came to live here to seek better fortune. Ser Jorah quickly found out the reason why: dust-rain and the inhabitants.

Dust-rain was made of the ash and dust that came from the Smoking Sea, occasionally blowing up north and gathering high in the sky until it formed rain clouds. The rain left a thin layer of gray dust over everything once it dried, forcing people to wear facial coverings and farmers to sweep their crops to ensure they weren’t smothered. The inhabitants dressed similar to those of Borash, though with much finer threads and more elaborate dress. The people he saw that weren’t covered had strange birthmarks, and a few had six fingers on their hands.

Mantarians were disturbing to Ser Jorah. Borash had creeped him out in the beginning, but after two days he felt pity for the village. Here he was wondering if one of the mages was going to snatch him away from Gavian and the others in broad daylight to use in experiments; the people looked at the Westerosi as a hungry stray does meat at the butcher'. They practiced slavery quite heavily, and had strange beasts protecting them as they went about their business. The guard animals looked to be hybrids or unusually large variants of their natural counterparts. The most memorable had been a lioness with the tail of a snake and scales all over it.

As Ser Jorah tagged along with Gavian and the other monster hunters to sell the eggs and parts of the carcass, he got a good look at the market. He asked Gavian what he thought Mantarys biggest import and export was. Monsters, the man said, and pointed to a cage with an enormous cat of some kind. It was white with black stripes like a tiger, its neck was unnaturally long with teeth so big it couldn’t fully close its mouth. It paced its cage and he saw the claws were too big to retract into the paws.

Ser Jorah found out that the mages and breeders sold them abroad to the wealthy, who did not mind such unusual creatures as guardians, show-beasts or exotic meals. Mantarys had once been a city of experimentation, working on other war beasts for the dragonlords of old. They had never found anything better than a dragon, but they had come close. When they weren’t creating new monsters to test on the field, they were breeding regular animals to higher standards. Denser coats on sheep, more meat on cattle, higher milk yield from goats and quicker-growing chickens.

The knight found it a much more pleasant experience to stroll the natural livestock area of the market. It reminded him of town festivals on Bear Island, where farmers and ranchers would come to show off their best stock. Everything in this section looked mostly normal, if with a few unnatural colors and coat types.

Ser Jorah ended up asking one of the bird keepers if they had anything trained to fly to Meereen, or smart enough to go where he asked it. The man shook his head, but told the knight if he wanted to leave a message, he would have to go to the courier guild near the courthouse.

He got to researching the town, as the caravan would be staying for two days in Mantarys. It was unlikely he would be following them to Tolos, as it would be difficult to gain passage by ship to Volantis due to the war. The Demon Road did not look much more promising after what the others in the caravan told him, as well as the courier guild. It had earned its name due to the monsters and large wild animals that prowled it, as well as the few bandits that hid in the northern mountains and descended for night attacks. Rumor had it demons attacked the minds of travelers at night.

Ser Jorah tried to look for another caravan heading out to Volantis, but it was much the same as Borash. Nobody was particularly eager to travel the road, even in a caravan a hundred strong, it seemed. Mantarys put him on edge, an instinctual urge to check his back every so often for a predator. He did not want to wait a week in the city, let alone a month or longer. He ended up heading to the inn early to ask Gavian and the other monster hunters for their advice.

The crossbow woman, Nisz, told him he could get a strider to take him to Volantis, his share of the egg gold would be enough. Striders were apparently modified camels, twice as large as their relatives and less stubborn. Their long legs let them travel vast distances in a day, and their size made predators unlikely to attack. The first issue was that striders were not particularly stealthy, especially on the flatter parts of the road where one could see for miles on a clear day.

The other issue was Ladynight. Ser Jorah did not want to leave his faithful horse behind, or sell her; striders were faster with better stamina compared to regular horses. The mare was the only thing he had left of his second home. The woman shrugged, and motioned to his pack of goods. If the mare was truly so valuable, he should pay for a second strider to pull the horse on a cart. When he asked how such a strong, speedy animal wasn’t so widespread, the woman gestured to one of the maegi in the inn. They do not like to share. The striders only obey their masters through some kind of ritual they perform.

Like dragons, Ser Jorah thought to himself. Only dragonblood could get a dragon to obey them. Though, there was the exception Drogon - but he was a man in a dragon’ body, so he didn’t count. One had to ask nicely and explain why the dragon should do it - Drogon would usually obey.

After hearing faint screams of some distant bloodmagic ritual while trying to sleep, Ser Jorah decided to spend his gold on the striders. He was getting out of Mantarys as fast as he could.

X

THE FAITHFUL SHADOW

Drogon was once again exercising in Daenerys’ office while she wrote more of how the League of the Free would and should operate. She wanted people to choose their leaders, to avoid unfit rulers and the problems that arose from inherited power. Measures had to be taken to ensure there would not be corruption, and if it did there had to be a failsafe to root it out quickly. Then came the logistics of communication, money for the treasury, expected duties of officers, information that would or would not be shared with the public, trade policies, law and much more. Ensuring multiple cities ran smoothly in a unified manner was a much more difficult process than Daenerys had anticipated.

Eventually she moved on from her notes to read her daily reports. After the first few days of a large pile of scrolls appearing on her desk, Daenerys had it sorted into various piles with the highest priority at the top.

Drogon stopped pushing a boulder with his snout when he felt an anxiety spike through the bond. ‘What is it?’

“There are messengers from Yunkai and Astapor, acting as envoys that wish to speak with me. Astapor has received the goods shipment, but now is worried of an attack from the outside. They request a guard outpost built on the edge of the peninsula to alert them of a naval attack from the south. They want one built on the Isle of Cedars as well. Yunkai reinforcements arrived but so have three sellsword companies: Company of the Cat, Long Lances and the Windblown.”

Drogon trotted to the map and studied the Isle of Cedars. He knew little about it beyond the name and it had been ruined by enormous waves from the Doom. It would, however, be an excellent way to claim half the bay to deter attack by building a fortress on it. Having it serve as a rallying, defensive and supply point was a great boon to any naval force.

‘Need build there to take the rest of the bay.’ He sent her images of the pros and cons of defending the island. On one hand, the island was a good outpost for guarding, scouting, resupply, defense and offense. On the other hand everyone else would quickly realize that too. Daenerys was going to have to fend off initial waves of attacks until the fortress was strong enough to defend itself.

She nodded, “if I had a bigger, grander navy I would build a castle there. A small, discrete outpost might be better for now.” The League only had a few dozen ships to its name, the commandeered Qartheen galleys the bulk of it. Most had gone south to reinforce Yunkai.

“The Yunkai envoy said that negotiations were beginning when he left, but it was possible they would fall through. Now they are asking for supply and soldier reinforcements if worse comes to worse.”

Daenerys had already sent a sizable force to the Yellow City, any more divisions and she might leave Meereen vulnerable to an assault. Drogon thought for a time, ‘send more Liberators?’ They were, due to their limited training and equipment, not her greatest asset on the field. She frowned at him, sensing where the dragon’ thoughts were going. “They are not disposable. Though, you are correct that the Unsullied is the best army I have right now. The Liberators might be able to intimidate the other side through sheer numbers and a proper show of force,” her fingers tapped the desk.

“Hopefully they agree to negotiate. Worse comes to worse, I will smash those insolent Masters, Wise or Great, myself through fire and blood.” Drogon purred his agreement.

With that she started to get through the rest of the scrolls, reading reports from her various captains and hired men. Meereen was slowly bouncing back economically, but with the siege and death matches largely banned it was going to be an uphill battle to reach the previous inflow of coins.

“Another letter from Ser Jorah,” Daenerys said with surprise and began to read it aloud. Drogon stopped rolling the stone to pay attention.

Dear Khaleesi,

I have arrived safely at Mantarys and will soon depart for Volantis. You will find this city much like Borash: a hollow shell of its former glory. That is a good thing for this wretched place. I estimate it to currently house three to four thousand inhabitants, though it is capable of thirty thousand with a proper fishing fleet to patrol the Sea of Sighs.

It practices bloodmagic quite heavily, creating beasts, monsters and even mutated humans. I saw a man with four arms the other day, acting as a bodyguard for one of the nobles. Slavery is very common here, they buy the flesh of men as often they do animals. The only good aspect of this city is that they have better quality livestock than the majority of the known world.

The city sits on an island, with only one bridge to access the mainland; numerous boats ferry people and goods as well. They are not the size as galleys or cogs, they are only slightly bigger than modest fishing boats. About thirty to forty feet long on average I would guess. You will have to secure the bridge or the boats if you mean to take the city by force.

It has few human guards, but many monsters dwell here as guardians. Some are as large as elephants, others are tiny and released in swarms three dozen strong to attack invaders. The fear of pain and death has been bred out of them. They will not stop attacking until they are dead. I highly suggest you bring a company of archers, even men in platemail are not safe from the bites of the largest. I saw a ground drake the size of an elephant here, it will easily cleave a man in half even if his armor is an inch thick and made of Valyrian steel. Come with at least a thousand archers.

There are sorceries and other foul magic at work in Mantarys. You will need to find a trustworthy maegi or priest to consecrate this place to rid any curses that linger. I know Quaithe the Shadowbinder is capable of protective magic - you will have to find someone of her capabilities to ensure any who try to hex or curse you cannot do so. The maegi here will not easily give up bloodmagic. You may have to slaughter them as you did the Good Masters in Astapor to truly end this vile practice.

I hope you find this city of monsters more pleasant than I did. Perhaps some good can be discovered. I will not stay longer than two days if I can.

Your friend,

Jorah Mormont

“That is… Rather ominous,” Daenerys commented as she re-read the line of the monsters bred to fight to the death. Any other war animal would eventually flee for its life. She truly did not want to have to kill an entire group of people as she had in Astapor. That was a last resort.

Drogon sent her his agreement. Mantarys had been one of the top places for innovation in the field of bloodmagic and war beasts from what he remembered of his lessons on Old Valyria. Even though it had significantly less people than any city they had taken so far, it might be one of the bloodiest battles Daenerys would face in the future.

Those that were not afraid to die slaugthered the most on the battlefield.

x

THE CHAIN BREAKER

Daenerys had been pleased to find out the leaders of the various sellsword companies agreed to negotiate with her in Meereen. She was not so pleased some of the Wise Masters would be coming along with them. Still, arrangements would be made for all parties to stay in the city for up to three weeks. It was unlikely to take that long, but she wished to be prepared. There was another issue she had to tackle to make their stay pleasant and safe: the Sons of the Harpy.

The murders had significantly dropped after her spying on the remaining Great Masters caught a handful of them, and her new potential spymasters were at work. Spymaster… No, she needed to change that title. Slaver’s Bay had seen enough masters. Spylord, maybe? That sounded a bit over the top… Daenerys ended up going with Lord Informant for the new title.

Her potential Lord Informants had turned up a handful of leads, some the same the investigators of the case had found and others different. Dilirra had been the one to confirm Daenerys’ fear: the Sons of the Harpy were a scattered force. They knew each other, may even coordinate kills at times, but none of the captured could give her a Harpy. Hizdahr had found a few of her sons, and Zobri managed to show Daenerys proof that Masters outside the bay were funding the Sons of the Harpy to cause internal chaos so Meereen would be weak to attack.

She had thanked them all and paid them for their time. Daenerys had to hope with the doubled guard efforts, her spies at work and the terrible price for being caught would keep the Sons of the Harpy from attacking while the sellsword leaders visited Meereen. A few of the Wise Masters and escaped Great Masters would likely be tagging along, not far behind the main force, to ensure they could outbid the Dragon Queen.

The Flying Cloud had returned with seeds and news from its voyage about Slaver’s Bay and beyond. It confirmed Daenerys’ suspicions: the rest of the bay was unifying against her, allying with New Ghis and Qarth. Rumor had it that Qarth was gathering a fleet of Yi Ti turtle ships, New Ghis recalling all of its vessels to return home. Allies from abroad in the Free Cities would be funding their sieges to ensure they won, through ships, coin, bodies, food and equipment.

She needed to win the sellswords. There was no other option but abandoning the cities if she failed to secure the means to keep them.

After Daenerys had gotten everything sorted for her visitors, she saw the daily supplicants. One of which was the Green Grace, who had advice for her about the Sons of the Harpy. Galazza had countered Skahaz’ arguments for killing the children of the Great Masters every time a Harpy killed one of the citizenry. She had also advised Daenerys to take a local husband to improve relations with the Meereenese people. The Green Grace had been one of the advocates for reopening the pits, and for having sacrificial death matches which would please the gods.

It was another one of those conversations about marriage. The elderly woman had listened to her problems with dignity and assurance in the beginning, and she appreciated it. What she did not appreciate was the pushing to marry. She had been sold once, she did not want to be sold a second time. Though, the old woman had a point: another person to rely on for stately matters would be very useful.

Wed Hizdahr zo Loraq and make a son with him, a son whose father is the harpy, whose mother is the dragon. In him the prophecies shall be fulfilled, and your enemies will melt away like snow.

Another prophecy that would ultimately go unfulfilled. Especially so because Daenerys was not going to give birth to a living child anytime soon if what the traitor witch had said was true. The Graces were going to have to look to a different dragon to be the mother of their savior. Though, Daenerys wasn’t sure if she should say that to the woman’ face. The Graces had been accepting of her, the Green Grace giving her advice about the people and religion of Meereen. They were healers that offered their services for free to anyone in return for funding from the Council of Meereen.

Drogon sent her curiosity, strength, worry and affection through the bond. He always did that when he could sense her anxiety or unease. She thanked the Green Grace for advice and sent the woman away. Daenerys felt tired. Why did every prophecy involving her have to deal with being a mother to a savior? Her only part to play giving birth to a son? Why was she unable to be the hero? Daenerys leaned back in her chair to stare up at the ceiling.

‘Daenerys not have to marry,’ Drogon said. He shuffled close to push his head under her hand.

“I know… But she is not wrong. Until Meereen elects a representative to the High Council, they are ruled by someone foreign. I do not understand their culture. I am trying, I promise I am. They are my people now, under my protection. I need to know them. Yet it is difficult to accept public murder for sport,” she sighed. It was something she just could not understand. She did not know why it was acceptable to force children and beasts to fight for amusem*nt. Or how one could justify enslaving another human being.

Drogon trilled his agreement. He sent her his favorite memory: Uncle Gwayne unseating three riders for him on his tenth nameday. It had been a memorable show of fighting prowess; yet it was certainly not as bloody or cruel as what took place in the pits.

‘You take lessons for Ghiscari culture?’

“Not officially. I ordered books, scrolls and letters from scholars to be brought to my quarters. With everything I have to do each day, there has not been much time for it.”

The time she did have for history and culture was spent on her own family, the Targaryens of yesterday and the Valyrians of before. She was going to need to divide the time if she wanted to ensure the League of the Free could get along in a cultural sense. Maegor the Cruel had taught her that sometimes one needed to make concessions with the people they ruled.

This was one concession Daenerys did not want to make. She did not love or lust for Hizdahr. She was not interested in losing a child to miscarriage or the womb-rot that had taken Rhaego.

Drogon sensed her anxiety and pushed his head harder into her hand, knocking his growing horns into the chair. ‘What Daenerys think of? Let the burden free.’

“Maegor the Cruel and the faith of the Seven. That prophecies are wind, and the last one relating to my child failed.”

‘Did it? I am here. I help unite Essos for Daenerys.’

She smiled, “I suppose you are right.” Then she sighed, and bent over in the chair to hug him. She had traded the corpses of her son, husband and the life of the witch for three dragons. They were her only family left on the planet. She mulled over the Stallion prophecy. The Breaker of Chains may very well have to unite half the world into one khalasar to keep Essos free from slavery through the help of her scaly sons.

In an odd way, Khal Drogo had fulfilled the prophecy with her. Was it possible Hizdahr could give her another dragon egg to hatch?

X

The three sellsword captains and their trusted men and women arrived, along with the Supreme Commander of the Yunkai’i forces called Yurkhaz zo Yunzak. Daenerys had no interest in allying with or making peace with any of the escaped Wise Masters. Every time the thought came, she would remember Doreah crying in her tent. No. She would never let the Wise Masters continue to roll the wheel of suffering they specialized in.

Yurkhaz would be allowed into the pyramid to send a message back: fire and blood.

She had reluctantly agreed to allow the Yunkai commander in with his slaves, in return all the Yunkai'i promised to not cause any problems in her city. Though, with what Drogon had suggested, it might be possible to strong-arm the man into letting them go as a sign of good faith. Not that Daenerys had much faith in slavers. Not anymore.

They came first for a pleasant welcoming ceremony, a morning feast with dancers and singers brought by Yurkhaz. Hizdahr had pledged to put on a good show for the evening, wishing to show he was on her side and so was all of Meereen. Once the evening meal rolled around, she would use the time afterward to discuss initial negotiations. Skahaz had insisted this was the traditional method of entreating with a potential ally, and that she must do so. Daenerys had decided to humor the shavepate and honor the guests the expected Ghiscari way.

The various sellswords were not Ghiscari; while they enjoyed the festivities to a degree, some were much more reserved. Yurkhaz participated, but he was not as joyous as she would expect for someone showing off the skills of his prized slaves. The Tattered Prince and Gylo Rhegan sat quiet, while Bloodbeard made noise for five men combined; he always had a smile or grin on his face as he ate, drank, joked often and cradled one of the slave girls on his lap. At least someone was happy.

The events of the day bored and dreaded her in equal measure. She wished Drogon could have been at her side - but he would have put everyone on edge. Daenerys had followed Skahaz and Hadzahr’ advice, having Drogon rest behind a curtain out of sight in the pyramid and perch overhead during the show in the pit. When it got too bad, he distracted her with funny or pleasant memories from his time as Aemond. Daenerys had to keep her face straight so nobody else wondered why she was laughing or smiling during the most inappropriate times to do so.

At long last the day was almost over, the sunset turning the sky a bloody violet. Negotiations could then begin between her and the captains. She told them that first they would speak as a group, if they wished to speak privately that could happen tomorrow morning. The second group discussion would take place after all the private meetings were finished. They all nodded, and the Tattered Prince told her some of his men wished to meet her - three Dornishmen who apparently had an important message for her. Tomorrow, she told the elderly man.

The Supreme Commander went first, “if you leave Meereen peacefully, withdrawing your forces from Astapor and Yunkai we will let you sail to Westeros unimpeded. Return the wealth you stole and we will ensure you have the funds to leave.”

“I cannot do what you ask, Yurkhaz. My fleet has not reached the size I need to take myself, my armies and the freedmen that wish to come with me to Westeros.”

He tsk’d at her, “then we will remain enemies.”

Gylo and Bloodbeard were the same in what they wanted: outbid their Yunkai employers, and don’t order them to do something obviously foolish on the battlefield.

The Tattered Prince surprised her; he wanted Pentos.

At first she was going to refuse on reflex to defend Illyrio, but Drogon stopped her. ‘Ask why!’ He was stuck behind the curtain out of sight.

“May I know why you wish to have Pentos as a reward for your loyalty and servitude?”

“There is only so much I can say in the presence of old enemies,” he glanced at Bloodbeard who glared back. The two companies had been on opposite sides of a battle only a year ago. “But it relates to certain practices in Pentos. What was denied because of it.”

Daenerys could understand, “let us speak of this later, on the morrow where we may discuss this in a more hospital environment.” The Tattered Prince nodded. With that, there was not much else to do beyond outbid the Wise Masters. She was quite the wealthy woman from sacking three cities and taking half of the wealth - even if most of it had gone back into funding projects. It would be easy to buy the two companies through gold, considering all the Wise Masters had was promises of more through victory.

The real lynch pin was the Windblown. The Tattered Prince was an excellent tactical commander and would not be easily bought with his price. It was likely she may need to threaten or outright attack Pentos to ensure it stopped practicing bondage slavery. But handing it over to the old man, said to punish deserters so harshly? Someone who forced a runaway to eat his own foot and turned him into a camp cook? It was not something she was keen on.

She had the night to mull it over, and at minimum a week as was agreed upon to work out a negotiation. What could and should she do? She did not want to risk Magister Illyrio. He had helped her and Viserys, gifted her three eggs and sent for her to return to his mansion. The man had found a buyer for Daenerys, but that was on behalf of Viserys who needed an army to take back the Iron Throne. One girl for forty thousand warriors and a crown had been a fair trade.

Information was the name of the game. She needed to learn more about this Tattered Prince, from him and his underlings. So she ordered Rakharo and a group of his riders to learn more about the general character and attitude of the Windblown. Hopefully he would be able to discover what lied underneath the tattered cloak.

x

After finishing her morning routine, Daenerys met with the Tattered Prince to discuss matters in her office. It was a large room, easily able to house their mutual guards and entourage. Including Drogon who managed to fit most of his body into the fireplace, glaring at their guests. Try me, his eyes said as fire bathed him in a deadly embrace. The various Windblown eyed the dragon before they sat down in front of her desk on fine chairs.

Rakharo had told her of the infamous tales surrounding the Tattered Prince; he was as hardened and cruel as any other sellsword. At least she could trust he would stick to the rules.

She thanked him for coming as tea was poured, the soothing kind Irri and Jhiqui knew how to make. “I am only a young girl, I know not why a sellsword would desire a city beyond the power of a kingship. Why do you desire Pentos, and not any other city? There are many on the bay I will soon take.”

“It is the city my family lives in,” said the Prince. Daenerys noted his eyes glimmered in the morning light before they hardened to become as dry as glass. “I believe we are alike, Dragon Queen. I was chased out of my home. I have heard the same happened to House Targaryen by Robert Baratheon. Unless I am mistaken?”

“You are correct. Targaryens were killed or ran out of Westeros. Forgive me if this is too presumptuous, but why have you not taken your family out of Pentos? Used your gold to settle somewhere you like?”

“Why do you desire the Iron Throne? Because it is yours by right. Pentos is the city I was raised in. I would live nowhere else.”

“Not anymore,” Daenerys rebuked him, and she could see the gathered Windblown grow confused. “I will gladly take Westeros when I am done burning wheels in Essos. But I cannot abandon what I have started here to run to a home I have never known to claim it for myself. I won’t leave until I am sure the League can defend itself without me.”

“Burning wheels?”

“Ending slavery. The wheel that crushes whoever lies underneath to put someone new at the top. Is it not the same in Pentos? I know debt bondage is practiced there.”

The Tattered Prince sipped his tea, “in a way. Though it is not like the Seven Kingdoms - no single magister can command an army thirty thousand strong like a Great Lord can.”

“With all the wealth of Pentos, I imagine they could,” Daenerys said as she glanced outside to where the Windblown were gathered. They would be no match against an army of that size. “My friend, the magister Illyrio, lives in Pentos. I am hesitant to sell him. I know the pain of being sold - it is a memory I will not forget.” The dragon dream had saved her from finding a way to end her suffering. If she had not been granted the vision, Daenerys would be long dead on the grass.

The Prince set his tea down. “I assure you I can spare one man and all his treasures, familial or material.”

“What will you do once Pentos is yours? Are you to become the Tattered King? The laws of the king apply to all his subjects.”

“In a way. I cannot reveal all my plans to one I am unsure if I am allies with yet. Rest assured, I will help free the people of debt slavery. I will not anger the League by disobeying its laws or the Dragon Queen by hurting her friend.”

“You will have Pentos ally with the League?”

“Penots always has allies to protect itself. If the only allies nearby will one day be the League, it is sensible I am friendly with the neighbors.”

Daenerys thought it over as she sipped her tea. Could she truly trust this prince as a king? She thought back to Maegor the Cruel, Aegon the Unworthy, Aerys the Mad and so many more. The Tattered Prince was old. Even if his reign was peaceful and righteous, who was to say his successor would be the same? It would not be long before someone inherited the Pentosi throne.

“You have given me much to think about. I thank you for your time. I wish for us to work out a prosperous agreement, even if it means we spend all week on it.” The Tattered Prince nodded back to her, and the main party of the Windblown shuffled out. Next would come the messengers, three Dornish men who had urgent business with her. Daenerys dreaded what it could be. What did Dorne want with her?

Missandei and Strong Belwas escorted the men in. The first young man bowed, “Ser Gerris Drinkwater, Your Grace. My sword is yours.” Ser Archibald Yronwood crossed his huge arms, and pledged his warhammer. Ser Barristan grew suspicious of their claimant to knighthood, but they stood adamant as they looked to the last young man. He was not as handsome as Gerris, nor as strong and tall as Archibald.

He had a gift for her, and she called Drogon forth to sniff it. Who knew what poison might be lingering on the paper, waiting for her to open it and breathe in the toxins? It was a rare, hard to access treachery - but the Usurpers would spare no expense to see her dead. The young man started to sweat as his eyes went wide, the dragon was hot and a single bite could tear off his lower arm. Drogon gave it a check: nothing. It was safe, so he went back to his place at the fire.

Daenerys started to read and her heart began to beat fast as she saw the name of Ser Willem Darry. Drogon pushed his own worry at her, and she sent him an image of the paper. He gave a little hiss, which put Ser Barristan on edge. A marriage pact between Dorne and the Targaryens, Viserys and Arianne, she told the knight and passed the paper over so he could read it himself. The Sealord of Braavos and the Prince of Dorne had signed it, along with Ser Willem Darry.

He explained to her why Dorne had not come to their aid before: King Robert would have smashed Sunspear for the treachery. The young man known as Frog confirmed it. He kneeled, and introduced himself as Prince Quentyn Martell. Now she knew why he was here: to gain a kiss to turn into a prince, to fulfill the marriage pact for revenge and the glory of the Iron Throne. If only you had come before I was sold, she thought bitterly.

“You come too late, Prince Quentyn. I cannot seal the pact of marriage through children. Dorne will have to stay a land of sand and scorpions; no dragon will fly over its deserts.”

“Your Grace, fifty thousand Dornish spears will fight for you,” the prince protested.

Fifty thousand soldiers was nothing to scoff at, but they were not here. It would take months for them to arrive in Essos, if Dorne somehow got the means to transport them all the way to Slaver’s Bay.

“You could offer me all the spears in the world. The fact of the matter remains: I am barren. Only an adopted child would inherit my throne.”

The three men blinked, Archibald and Gerris sharing a look over the prince’ head. “Is there proof of this, Your Grace?”

You call me a liar to my face? She was not liking this prince very much. “I assure you it is true. It was the price I paid for my naivety.” That was all she could say on the matter. The story was too painful to share with three strangers.

“Surely something could be worked out? An agreement of some kind? My kin and I have Targaryen blood through the first Daenerys, a Targaryen princess who was sister to King Daeron the Good and wife to Princess of Dorne. He built the Water Gardens for her.” Daenerys could not see it. He looked Dornish through and through.

“A deal between us is possible to arrange,” she looked the frog prince over. She was curious to know more of the Water Gardens; about this wayward prince with only two guards to his name. Daenerys had a feeling why Prince Doran had sent for her: fire and blood. Her three dragons who one would day fulfill the words of her House. Prince Doran had lost his sister, niece and nephew to the Usurper. Daenerys wanted justice as badly as Doran; he sent his son half a world away and offered fifty thousand men to the cause.

Though… It was not so desperate that he was taking risks. Putting on a grand show by giving his son a large honor guard. Not enough to smuggle her and Viserys to safety after Ser Willem Darry died. Not enough to care for them from afar. To prevent her being sold. To prevent her curse.

“Come with me. You came here for fire and blood,” she got up to walk to the terrace her other two children basked on. “For you,” the prince said gallantly. Daenerys only laughed. Every man who sought her hand, beyond Khal Drogo, wanted her dragons. Dorne was no different from the rest of the suitors lining up to win her.

The guards knew to stay behind at the doors, as the dragons had grown a dislike towards anyone besides Daenerys and their favorite humans. Though, only Viserion still had a favorite; Doreah had managed to come up with games that did not involve wrestling, as he grew too large for roughhousing with a human. Viserion begged for her to throw a tough ball he could catch in the air, chew a bit and bring back to her to throw again. Once he got tired of flying, he would hit the ball with his head to toss it back and forth.

The two Dornish knights stayed behind after the guards explained why they should keep their distance. She introduced all her children to Quentyn, Drogon the only one awake. Viserion and Rhaegal for brothers lost, Drogon for a love now riding among the stars until the end of time.

“Tell me of the Water Gardens. A story for a story,” she promised.

The prince perked up and told her of the wonders, a favorite of his father they both had fond memories of. It was a beauty of pale pink marble, clear waters shaded by blood orange trees. It was for everyone, for children of all stations to play in together. Their parents had a chance to socialize without the burden of politics. It had been a boon on the first Daenerys, a princess so far from home and family. Quentyn agreed to tell a second story of the long-gone namesake: she had been a kind, sweet woman who had brought happiness to Prince Maron; the two had grown to love each other dearly. Someone who recognized smallfolk and lords were quite similar once the illusion of difference was stripped away.

Much like the living Daenerys did now.

Satisfied with this, she approached the edge of the terrace and beckoned the prince to do the same. They overlooked Meereen: a red and yellow city, sometimes called the Rainbow City for the vast array of different colored bricks it was built with. She wondered if she should have made herself a queen of Meereen: would that have made it easier to rule? If she had embraced what others pushed onto her? To wed the prince and elevate him to king consort of Westeros?

Her eye drew to the sellswords waiting outside the gates for the order to attack. No. It would not have been any easier, simpler or enjoyable. Heavy was the crown.

“You have told me two stories, and so I will tell you two. Though, they will start with questions.” The prince gave a little bow, “I am honored, Your Grace, to listen or to answer as it pleases you.”

“Tell me… Let us say you are one of those slavers,” she pointed to the Yunkai’i encampment. “You have ordered one of the slave healers to help your dying wife, who is sick from an infection. You rescued this healer from being horribly punished under her old master. She tells you the only way is through magic. The price will not be gold, but she does not say what it is. Only that nobody must enter the room she performs her magic in to save your wife.

“As she starts, your daughter begins to give birth from the stress of her mother dying. Her husband begs you to let her be taken to the healer. There is no time to find a midwife. Would you have taken her into the room?”

“I…” The prince stopped as his brow furrowed, and he studied her. He knows, she thought. He had to think carefully before he answered. “If my daughter was at risk of dying from the birth, then I would take her into the room. Otherwise, I would try my best to find someone to help her.”

Daenerys nodded, “the healer takes her in. When they emerge, your wife is comatose. She responds to nothing: voices, food or smells does not rouse her. She is a husk: a body without a mind. Your daughter has lost the child. It was the price of the magic to save your wife. The witch tells you: this is all that remains when what makes life meaningful is gone, as she gestures to your wife. She tells you your grandson would have been a slaver too. With him dead, nobody would suffer under him. What would you do?”

Prince Quentyn frowned, “I am not a slaver. I have never owned a man, woman or child. If it were anyone else, I would say the master got what was coming for practicing such evil. If I had been raised in a culture who saw slavery as commonplace, I would likely say differently. As myself, Prince Quentyn Martell, if somebody hurt me or mine without due cause…” He looked over at Drogon, “I would want fire and blood.”

Daenerys could accept this. “That is what happened to my husband and child. Khal Drogo was injured, and the wound festered. I had saved the witch, Mirri Maz Duur, from being raped by his khalasar by taking her as my own slave. I ordered her to treat him. Khal Drogo did not obey the orders she gave. He collapsed, and I offered freedom if she saved him. She told me the price would be great. I thought it was the horse I sacrificed,” she remembered that day. The stallion had screamed so fiercely, his blood spilled everywhere. The men became afraid. Everyone did.

“I thought the price was the men who died outside that tent, fighting to get inside to stop the ritual. Nobody was allowed to enter. Ser Jorah, my ex-guard, took me to her when my labor began. All the midwives and healers refused to help me due to trusting the maegi.” Her voice grew bitter, Drogon coming to her side. She put a hand on his head.

“The greatest price was my child, Rhaego. I was cursed to be barren. I do not know if it was her doing in the name of revenge, or if it was the mistake of entering the tent. I will never know.” She kept her eyes on Meereen as she tried to stand tall. Only Drogon kept her upright as the prince spoke. “I am sorry for your loss, Your Grace,” he said softly.

“I will tell you a second story, of the Mad King my father and the hatching of my dragons. He struck down his enemies, until it led to the rebellion that cast the last Targaryens aside to Essos. The Mad King gave his enemies the justice he thought they deserved. Each time, it made him feel powerful and right; until the very end, he felt that way.” Ser Barristan had told her this when she had the Great Masters crucified. It made her think back to the tragedy at the border of the Red Waste.

Daenerys looked at Quentyn, who had crossed his arms as he looked at her with pursed lips and squinted eyes. “When I burnt my deceased husband and child, I had the witch burn with them as justice. Mirri betrayed me, after I saved her and promised to set her free. I felt powerful and right to end her life. Her death birthed dragons into the world. But was it truly right? I did not think myself a slaver at the time… But I was. I was Dothraki then. The witch told me our son would have been exactly as his father: burning cities, killing innocents and taking slaves. How could I blame a slave for rebelling against their master?”

She gestured to Meereen with her free arm, “I am Dothraki still, Prince Quentyn. I have had to learn how to plant trees after being taught to destroy them. I have been slave and slaver. I have brought justice and injustice to the weak. The taint of the Mad King flows through me; the cruelty of Old Valyria. I am a dragon, make no mistake of it. Before us lies my only chance of redemption. I must learn mercy before I am consumed by fire.”

The prince studied her for a time, then all the people below them as they went about their business. They were as small as ants at this distance. “You have a chance at redemption in Westeros, Your Grace. The realm is at war. It needs a good ruler to bring back peace. You could be that ruler, Queen Daenerys Stormborn. Dorne will help you on this quest.”

Daenerys smiled and shook her head. “No. Westeros has never known slavery or the cruelty of Old Valyria as Essos has. It has known the cruelty of Targaryen Kings; it need not know the evil a queen could commit. I am the last of the main family of House Targaryen. The last scion of the dragonlords who came before them. Who else is there, to undo the ills of my ancestors? I alone remain; soon, I will join them in the stars.”

It made her sad to think about. One day she would become an old woman, and not long after she would leave her children behind. It was the fate of all parents - but Daenerys did not like it.

“There are others with Targaryen or Valyrian blood,” the prince pointed out. “I am one of them. Surely another could take your place to end slavery in Essos with the support of Westeros.”

“Robert Baratheon claimed Targaryen ancestry. He and no other have dragons. Who has the power to break sieges in moments, lay waste to cities in only a day? Dragonriders. I am the only dragonrider in this world. When my dragons are grown, Essos will be free.”

“The dragon of your House has three heads. If it pleased you, many would come to claim a dragon and become a rider under your service. You would rule Westeros while the other two heads campaign in Essos.”

The thought did not please her. One day it may become necessary. But her children were hers. If they chose a rider, then so be it. A dragon was not a slave. The gods help the poor souls who tried to force her children into servitude.

“One day it may please me. Today is not that day,” she told him sternly. He ducked his head in apology before raising it back up. “I meant no offense, Your Grace.”

“All is forgiven. Take the day to reflect on what I have said, Prince Quentyn Martell. I would be glad to have Dorne as an ally and friend.”

The prince nodded, and with one last look at the dragons he went on his way.

X

THE OLD BEAR

Ser Jorah set out from Mantarys with his guide, two striders and a specialized cart for transporting horses. Taking Gavian’ advice, he and his guide had bows, dozens of arrows and other items to ward off attacks by monsters or animals. It had cost him all of his egg money, but he found the vast distances covered in a single day well worth the price. Instead of the typical thirty-five to forty miles over eight hours of travel on a swift horse, the striders easily went sixty.

His guide told him the first two stretches of the road, from Malosh to Coyria would be relatively peaceful. He wasn’t wrong, Mantarys to Malosh was protected by guard outposts that sheltered them for the night. Malosh to Coyria had fewer manned stations, but they were able to use them. They had to evict a family of striped hyenas on one occasion, as whoever last used the place did not lock it up properly. Both the villages were rather unassuming places, if one could ignore the grim atmosphere that haunted the old settlements.

Then came the truly dangerous area: the Demon Road. It was over seven hundred miles long, pushing through hot, mountainous terrain. None of the forgotten forts and outposts were maintained anymore after the Doom; there was a strong possibility they would have to chase away dangerous animals.

The guide told him to keep alert for enemies once they were a hundred miles from Coyria.

Their fourth day of travel resulted in having to scare away a flock of enormous, predatory ground birds away from the striders. Apparently, they loved the taste of horse flesh. Ser Jorah was glad he bought the enormous horn that was meant to mimic the roar of a dragon: it was the only thing that scared the creatures. They had managed to safely get away, but the guide warned him the flock might return and attempt an ambush.

They had a lucky break, at the next waypoint they met up with a spice caravan from Tolos heading to Volantis. It was a hundred strong, easily able to dissuade petty bandits and predatory animals. There was a possibility they could draw an attack from a khalasar from the north, but that had been planned for with gifts. Hopefully it would be enough to persuade whatever Dothraki force they ran into to leave them be.

The spicers were traveling slower than the striders, the caravan using regular camels, but Ser Jorah decided to take the protection the caravan offered. He had no interest in waking up to find those birds attacking Ladynight or one of the striders.

He found the Tolosi to be more agreeable than Mantarians, not as closed off as Borash had been, though they were far from friendly. Beyond their infamous slingers, Tolos harvested spices and dyes. Dyes specifically harvested from a reef that grew nearby the harbor, a multitude of corals, fish, plants and other sea life used. The leader of the dye merchants eyed his deep-green fabric and tutted. Apparently, Westerosi savages did not know the glory of emerald dyes made from Jade Coral.

The only people the Mormont had made friends with were the cooks. The benefit to being in a spice caravan was the food tasted great - so long as the chefs liked you.

The Demon Road had proved relatively safe for most of the journey - until the night attacks started. Shades, muttered his guide. Evil spirits that do not know they are dead. They try to possess the living. A few people had gone crazy in the night and had to be locked up. The possession ended at dawn, the prisoners confused and horrified they had attacked people in their manic desire to go wherever the shade wanted to return to. Talismans were handed out along with daily prayers and blessings to ward off the shades.

He had gotten quite concerned when told the shades favored those mentally vulnerable. He would not claim to be a weak man, but he had recently gone through emotional turmoil. The Mormont prayed to his bear god for protection. Chase away the evil, he pleaded. The talismans seemed strange to the Westerosi, but he accepted wearing one. It was better to be safe than sorry, the knight was a strong fighter and could easily hurt someone with only his fists for weapons.

Halfway into the journey was when he had an odd dream. He was back on Bear Island, in his rooms he had taken as Lord in Blackden Hall. He was under thick elk hide covers, the chill of winter abated by the fire. Lynesse was with him, curled up, protected in his embrace. She smiled at him and tugged at the talisman. Why was he wearing it? When had he put on this strange artifact?

Take it off, she whispered. Don’t you love me? If you truly loved me you would take it off.

Lynesse pouted at him in the way that got her whatever she wanted.

Jorah grabbed it, ready to take it off when he felt how warm it was. It was burning hot in his hands, and he hissed, letting go to stop the pain. Why was it so hot? He couldn’t feel it through his nightclothes where it rested on his chest.

Take if off, she sternly command him. Take it off!

Why was Lynesse ordering him like this? She only ever took this tone when she was very upset. Did she want him to sell it? How could a talisman upset her?

He reached for it again, and this time the wood took the form of a bear and bit his hand. The room began to blur as he looked at the blood on his hand. Lynesse began to scream in rage as Jorah started to wake, her form melting into a wraith as sleep faded away.

He shot up from his cot and looked around. The tent was dark, only the campfire providing faint light from outside. There was nobody but him. Jorah realized he was clenching the talisman so tightly his hand was bleeding and let it go. It came for me, he thought as he cleaned the tiny wounds on his palm. What would have happened if he didn’t have the talisman on? He shuddered. Ser Jorah was not going to fall back asleep this night. Tomorrow he was getting a second talisman to wear.

And perhaps a visit to the caravan healers…

X

THE FAITHFUL SHADOW

On the morning of the third day of negotiation, an urgent message came. The messenger was from Astapor and he had to speak to the Breaker of Chains NOW. Daenerys personally went down to the ground level of the Great Pyramid so they could meet the man faster. Drogon trailed behind her. He was insistent on guarding Daenerys and checking everything for poison. He trusted neither the Yunkai Commander nor the sellswords.

He was waiting for them in the courtyard atop a pale mare, worried and stressed. He quickly disembarked and bowed, then presented his letter and told Daenerys what was going on.

With Astapor taking a food loss and multiple corpses that had delayed burial after Cleon’ rebellion, a disease outbreak had occurred. Astapor was begging for help in any way possible: advice, food, medicine and healers. Daenerys was alarmed, and had the man be given a room while she ordered for the top healers and medicine men in Meereen to come to the Great Pyramid. As the audience chamber was prepared for their arrival, she looked at Drogon who had remained clam.

“Have you ever dealt with something like this?”

Drogon nodded. King’s Landing was infamous for being prone to disease outbreak due to the overcrowding and poor waste management in the slums. One either had the constitution of an ox, or they died. However, some of the brightest minds in medicine and healing put measures in place to curb a plague spreading wild throughout the rest of the city.

He told her the policies that had been put into place when he grew up in the Red Keep, though they were likely outdated as over a century had passed from his death.

She would need to separate the sick from the healthy, preferably with a great distance, and ensure none of the ill could escape to infect the stable population. A group of designated caretakers would deliver food, medicine and treatment to the ill. These people should be dressed head to toe in the Stranger’ costume, a protective holy garment that helped prevent sickness if worn and washed properly. Those caretakers were not allowed to live in the main population. They would have their own supplies delivered shortly away from the encampment they stayed in until the outbreak was over.

Daenerys appreciated this and thanked him. When the various healers arrived, she brought the messenger forth to describe the disease and current status of Astapor when he had left. It was the bloody flux, he told them, but it was much more severe than was normal. There were efforts to curb the spread through the city, resulting in great piles of burnt dead, clothing and items. Astapor was lit with funeral pyres every night and day, the Red City burning non-stop.

Drogon learned from the healers, as they described how they typically treated it, that bloody flux was not seen as scientifically as it was in Westeros. The Green Grace warned the gathered it was a sign from the gods for hard times ahead. Daenerys was feeling his frustration about treating the illness as a spiritual matter. Though he had no proof of it, Drogon was wondering if these treatments were as effective as they claimed. He cursed himself for not taking an interest in learning more about the bloody flux beyond how to stop it from claiming the lives of his soldiers.

Eventually one of the druids came forward, the elder who had claimed the seeds. He gave her a deep bow and shook his head side to side, his hands clasped forth in greeting. When the man rose, he spoke with a crooked grin in his growling tongue, “the cedar god has taught us how to fight stomach illness, born-of-the-storm.”

He pulled out a pouch filled with plants, herbs and seeds. “If a man was not born weak of spirit, he can survive. He must drink until his blood is water, and a ritual must be performed to see which demon attacks him.” The druid showed her a variety of colorful spices that were to be fed to the sick. Whatever color came out indicated the type of demon.

He laid out many herbs native to the mountains, each for a different demon. “The cedar god is wise and strong,” the man drew a symbol in the air of divine praise. “Born-of-the-storm, let me take a force to harvest what I need to kill the demons in Astapor. This body is weak. I need those with the strength of the cedar to help.”

The Graces eyed the man, some with open disdain, and told Daenerys his tricks were useless. Their gods knew what to do, let them go in his place. Drogon could tell she was getting frustrated that old prejudices were slipping into something as important as this. ‘What do you think?’ She asked him. ‘Send both. One camp for the Graces, the other the Cedar Druids.’ They would learn who had the better practices when they came back with their reports.

She ordered an escort for both the groups, with supplies and funds for them to treat Astapor. After this, Daenerys retreated to her room.

“What is the symbol for House Martell?”

He sent her an image of it, a sun pierced by a spear.

“Beware the pale mare and the sun’ son,” she muttered.

It took Drogon a minute to recall what she spole of. Quaithe had given them a warning of a number of events that may soon come true. The kraken would likely be Ironborn, though it was strange to think they would come this far east. What was dark flame?

Would a Lannister assassin come for her? Connington? Neither of those were renown for assassination prowess, and it was unlikely they would support slavers while a war waged. Then there was the perfumed seneschal and the mummer dragon.

She was going to need to keep her guard up, especially now that the first two potential threats had showed their faces. It was unlikely Quentyn would attack her, but spurned suitors often made it difficult for the woman if they could find a way to quietly retaliate. Was he going to cause trouble in order to force Daenerys’ hand into marriage? So far he had been rather polite, mulling over what she told him as negotiations continued.

Drogon wished he was a Dragon Dreamer. Then he could personally try and find a way to answer the warnings, to see into the future. He thought back to Helaena. She had been a dreamer, though Aemond had been too blind to see it until he lost his eye. Deciphering her riddles was difficult. Helaena was no help, since she had no clue what her visions meant either. Even if he had foresight into the future, who knew if it was possible to decipher dreams?

Whatever the results of the shadowbinder’ warning, Drogon would remain on high alert until all of what she spoke of appeared. It was possible that three enemies were now close at hand, the perfumed seneschal might be here in the city. They could not simply kick Quentyn out on a hunch. Daenerys would have to have a strong, irrefutable reason for denying fulfillment of the pact. Infertility might be enough, but Dorne was not like the rest of Westeros. Adoption or appointment of a distant relative to become heir was acceptable.

Well. It had been acceptable in his first life. Opinions could have changed after his death.

The match could be a boon to Daenerys if she worked it out in a way that benefited her. An army fifty thousand strong was formidable, especially spear users pitted against mounted riders. An alliance with Dorne would give her a landing point for her forces into Westeros; and it was a defensible region due to the mountains in the north making passage difficult. The deserts required long supply lines, that if sabotaged would spell disaster for invading troops. Drogon did not see much fault in the marriage beyond the obvious: Quentyn trying to control her or the dragons.

Daenerys had her own goals; she would refuse to abandon her dreams until they were realized. A spouse trying to strong-arm her into submission would get burnt alive.

He could sense Daenerys was anxious, laying on her bed. He got her handmaidens to cheer her up, they knew when he came with a special whistle their mistress needed help. Daenerys slowly relaxed as she was allowed to be a girl spending time with her friends, instead of a ruler or subject of prophecy. The warning could be dealt with later, the same with negotiations. A few hours of rest during the morning coolness was acceptable.

x

THE CHAIN BREAKER

Daenerys had been able to win over the Company of the Cat and the Long Lances with gold. The two had been paid to travel to Meereen, and would be given many spoils once they won back Astapor and Yunkai. The Wise and Great Masters had very little wealth to properly hire the sellswords; their relatives across the bay had helped fund the recruitment of the mercenaries. Mercenaries were not fed on promises of more. Daenerys showed proof she could hire the men, and so they agreed to a short contract until more wealth would come in. Yurkhaz was quite furious with the sellswords, there was nothing he could do about the situation, and stormed off to his boat hurling curses at the traitors.

The two difficulties were the Tatted Prince and Quentyn Martell. Working out what exactly the old man intended with Pentos was akin to pulling teeth. It was frustrating everyone. Eventually, she was going to have to accept the Windblown leader was a stubborn mule wearing the skin of a human. The only good thing about the man was that he had acquiesced to most of Daenerys’ requests: leave Illyrio alone, do not hurt the innocent and rid the city of debt bondage.

Quentyn Martell was equally stubborn as the Tattered Prince. He could not go home with nothing after such a long, dangerous journey that cost him three of his men and the majority of his supplies. A marriage pact was what he wanted. Daenerys was unsure if she truly wanted to tie herself for life to Dorne and the Frog. He seemed respectful and educated. Yet there was a certain… Blandness to him that she did not favor. It would be easy to become friends, but lovers? She did not want a loveless marriage where she sat there quietly, wishing she was dead.

The Dornish prince was not dissuaded by her tale or her desire to break the wheel. Her court was not friendly to him, but he did not seem to care. She had decided that once the Windblown contract was finalized, she would officially start a negotiation with the Martells.

The only good news she received was that Daario had secured trade and the passage to the Lhazareen. Food would start trickling in from the mountains, now she simply had to ensure Meereen would have what they wanted. She was surprised to learn the lamb men desired stonemasons and bricks. Then she remembered Khal Drogo sacking the village and understood.

They wanted sturdy walls and hiding places to protect them from the Dothraki.

The Dothraki might end up visiting Meereen once news spread the three cities were vulnerable. It was possible they were already on their way due to the Masters alerting them. Cities had allied with various Khals in the past to wipe out their rivals. Were her enemies currying favor with the horselords at this very moment? She did not think anyone had a khalasar like her husband had, but even a small force of ten thousand warriors was going to be a problem. She was slowly running out of funds to buy them off.

Though… They did respect strength. Would they respect a khaleesi who ruled the sky on dragonback? Her children were growing stronger, larger and fiercer every day. Viserion and Rhaegal had their training intensified now that their juvenile stage was turning them into the equivalent of disgruntled teenagers. They loved her, she knew, but they had wills of their own. Getting them to do what they disliked required Drogon to step up as her enforcer. So long as she could prove she could control her mounts, the Dothraki would respect her. A rider who was unable to control their steed was seen as weak.

It was simply too painful to think about striking her own child with a whip to force them to obey. If she had to do that, it would be to save someone.

Dragons fed on everything. It was unlikely they would feed on humans, but the heads of the betrayed captains Daario had brought her did catch their interest. So far, they only saw humans as a resource that gave them food - not a direct food source to dine on. Drogon had told her that wild dragons would occasionally attack and feed on humans that got too close to their lair. Even tamed dragons might attack someone who was too close for comfort that they did not know.

The memory of young Aemond getting a jet of fire over his head came to her. He had been terrified. An adult dragon was a threat to not be taken lightly.

Would she be able to control Rhaegal and Viserion when they became adults? They were supposed to mellow out more once they reached a size no natural predator could challenge them. If they had plenty of food and a private space, they were even calmer. So far, she had been able to meet the last two requirements. The largest of wyverns were said to reach sixteen feet in length. They were almost fifteen feet snout to tail. Once they got to thirty feet, nothing but a scorpion bolt or fellow dragon could challenge them. So far, they had been amicable if chaotic at times.

She hoped and prayed whoever came after her did not repeat the mistakes made during Aemond’ time. That if her children chose a rider, it was not someone who would fight her or each other. There were fellow dragonbloods lingering in the world beyond main-line Targaryens. Quentyn may try to claim Rhaegal or Viserion. He had not done something that foolish yet - but would he try? If she refused him?

He had told her he could not walk away empty-handed. Hopefully that meant he would be content with a trade negotiation. She was going to need to double the guard on her dragons. More dragonbloods like Quentyn would come, as they had to answer the call of the Black Queen.

Would that be the mummer dragon? Someone who claimed to be like her? She had seen the cloth dragon swaying above a crowd in the House of the Undying. Surely, surely, the people would not cheer for a rider who had claimed a dragon without her permission?

Fire was power, and dragons were fire made flesh. Daenerys had a power she needed to ensure did not end up in the wrong hands. She steeled herself. If someone came to claim a dragon and was successful, she had to be prepared. Hopefully, Drogon could teach her aerial combat and how to break a bond. Daenerys hated the idea of breaking something so sacred, so magical and joyous.

She hated the idea of dragons used to enslave the world a second time more.