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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,535Kudos:6,014Bookmarks:1,655Hits:466,616
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 4: Dovoghedhi
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Information/ramblings
Chapter Text
Ishabi carefully brushed Daenery's hair, stroking the silvery gold strands straight before pulling back her fringe in four parts which she braided and tied at the back of her head. The silver bell Rakharo gifted her was weaved into the braided hair with deft fingers. Another of her khalasar, a gangly girl barely more than a teenager named Lessa, hovered around them both with Daenery's necklace in hand.
With a satisfied nod Ishabi stepped back as Lessa carefully draped the tooth necklace around her neck, taking care to not pinch the skin of her nape.
They were at the port of Astapor, the morning clear and sunny. Some of the bounty from Xaro's quarters her khalasar requested to keep which Daenerys granted- Ishabi had the tiger pelt currently draped over her shoulders as a cloak -but most were to be sold as Daenerys dealt with the distasteful task of speaking to the Masters. Jorah, having roamed Essos quite extensively, was confident in that their buyers in Astapor port would give them the best price without skimming from the profits. It was also another way for Daenerys to test herself, being at the forefront of selling their goods and bantering with the markets as they had traveled from Qarth to Astapor. She'd gotten used to the Dothraki who didn't believe in money and simply took what they want and, while remembering how fumbling she'd been in Qarth, she practiced her negotiation skills.
Daenerys also noticed her khalasar began to subtly colourise themselves after her; when she'd been trying to distract them during the sea trip she'd explained the House sigils of Westeros and how hers was a three headed dragon which opened the floor to numerous questions about dragons. They had been there when Daenerys told them she was the dragon's daughter before Drogo's pyre but many hadn't know she was a true Targaryen. Most khalasar wouldn't dare approach a Khalessi without due course, especially not to pry within her history so many didn't know of her family history and eagerly listened to it. She had shown them the painting of the crimson dragon of Targaryen within her books while saying that the Targaryens and their people wore such colours to show their allegiance and shortly after she noticed they had started adding red and blacks to their own clothing; Dye was rare among the Dothraki, only the strongest of Khals would employ it, but they wore the obsidian jewellery or rubies taken from Xaro's keep with Ishabi wrapping red cloth around her wrists and the hair ties were red. There was also gold here and there and Daenerys had overheard the children excited telling each other how their golden bracelets matched Ghidorah's scales.
She was a Khalessi and while Drogo had given her privilege and respect among the khalasar she knew it wasn't always true for fellow Khalessi. Much less one leading her own khalasar. Women Khals were unheard of among the Dothraki and that her little khalasar believed in her so much they were proudly showing their allegiance to her made her both pleased and flustered. It would make them a target for any rival Khal but they were willing to risk it for her, because of their faith.
With that in mind she wore her red dress, dark trousers and boots with the golden tooth. Enough of her family colours yes easy to move about in and Jorah had told her that there would be a fair bit of walking involved in Astapor. Lessa skittered around to her back, smoothing down the skirts of the red fabric. She was taller than Daenerys with deft hands and a chuck of burnt skin below her right eye. Daenerys knew slaves were tattooed in many parts of Essos and the wound was raw and red.
Lessa noticed her gaze and said, "My past was burned away with our Khal's pyre when you emerged, Khalessi."
Daenerys knew at how a painful past is best left for memories so she simply accepted Lessa's words with a slight incline of her head before going out on deck, Ishabi and Lessa leaving to rejoin the khalasar outside as well. Jorah immediately fell in step with her from where he had been guarding the doorway. She spoke lowly to her bloodriders, informing them to remain with the ship to guard Ghidorah who she had led to his cage as she didn't trust him near the Good Masters. They obeyed but Rakharo didn't seem too pleased with her orders; his injuries had mostly healed so she didn't doubt his combat but as Jorah said the Masters had swore safe passage for any clients viewing the wares in the city so she wouldn't be at a risk from them.
Client. A part of her tasted bile at being seen as much.
The crew had finished mooring the vessel to the bustling dock of Astapor where numerous trading ships were also replenishing supplies or selling wares, the gangway creaking as she strode down onto the docks with Jorah by her side. Up above the market she could see the city of Astapor, the highest brick pyramid of the city being nearly fourteen hundred feet high to loom over everything.
Astapor, the Red City.
Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people.
Daenerys squared her shoulders, banishing away her looming anxiety of being in the heart of a slaver city. She was the blood of dragons, she wouldn't run and hide from the likes of a Good Master. They were pathetic men, enslaving others and hiding behind their silks to shield their cowardice. She'd survived being hunted all her childhood, she'd survived being a Dothraki Khal's wife, she'd survived her brother, she'd survived climbing atop a burning pyre, she'd survived and hatched the first dragon seen in an age.
I am not that girl any more who cringed at shadows, Daenerys thought, She died in the Dothraki sea when her husband and son did. I was reborn through fire and blood with Ghidorah. I was forged anew.
Still, it was difficult to hide her contempt when introduced to Kraznys mo Nakloz, the Good Master handler of the Unsullied when she and Jorah reached the gates of Astapor. She feigned ignorance in her knowing of Old Valyrian, knowing many men spilled secrets if they felt they were surrounded by fools, and the bald slaver summoned a young woman to translate for them both. The woman was dark skinned with golden eyes, and Daenerys doubted she was any older than herself. A gilded collar was snug around her throat and Daenerys couldn't look at it too long without fury as they were led through Astapor to where the Unsullied were on display.
As Ser Jorah said the Red City had crumbling walls and empty watch towers, the Unsullied alone being enough of a deterrent to any Dothraki horde which Kraznys boasted as he walked. In his hand he held a long whip with nine ends, golden handle in the shape of the slaver's harpy. The scribe walked silently at his side, only speaking to translate and refusing to look any of them in the eye.
Kraznys's voice was irritating, braying and mocking in a way it reminded her of Illyrio. As per her suspicion, Kraznys was rude and condescending about her to the point he just referred to her as 'the whore' and other crude insults. Daenerys felt a bit grateful Jorah couldn't speak Valyrian otherwise he would have undoubtedly stepped in in offense to her. As it was Daenerys kept her anger tightly under control, walking abreast with the Good Master as the scribe and Ser Jorah followed one step behind them both.
They walked along the city walls, Daenerys eyeing the black-clad soldiers standing silently around them. Each Unsullied soldier had a short spear, sword and a round shield and each had the same blank eyes no matter the hue.
"The Unsullied have stood here a day and a night without food or water," the scribe said, swiftly translating for the Good Master as they walked, "They will stand until they drop. Such as their obedience."
They were led to a courtyard where twenty Unsullied stood waiting. When Kraznys came within arms reach in unison the soldiers stepped to the side, giving them an unobstructed path to the rise at the end of the courtyard.
"They may suit my needs. Tell me of their training," Daenerys said, as they stepped through the twenty Unsullied to the small rise.
"Tell her to look at the soldiers. Even the dim purple eyes of a sunset savage can see how magnificent my creatures are surely, tell her what she should know," Kraznys snapped at the scribe.
Said scribe's interpretation was more diplomatic, "They begin their training at five. Every day they drill from drawn til dusk until they mastered the short sword, the shield and the spear. Only one in four boys survives this training. They are the lockstep legions of Old Ghis come again, absolutely obedient, absolutely loyal, and utterly without fear."
"Even brave men fear death," Jorah said levelly from her side.
"My Master says the Unsullied are not men," the scribe translated, excluding Kraznys' insult towards Jorah, "Death means nothing to them and maiming less than nothing."
"The Good Master has said that these soldiers cannot be tempted with coin or flesh," Daenerys said, staring at the empty-eyed Unsullied who remained motionlessly in place like ancient statues, "But what if some enemy of mine should offer them freedom for betraying me?"
When the scribe interpreted, Kraznys snorted, "Tell the mewling fool they would kill him out of hand and bring her his head. Other slaves may steal and hoard up gold and silver in hopes of buying freedom, but an Unsullied would not take it if the little mare offered it as a gift. They have no life outside their duty to die at their master's command. They are soldiers and that is all. They fear no death or pain, they cannot be tortured or bribed. No man or woman can tempt them. They are wedded to their swords and the one who holds the whip of obedience. Tell the foreign whore to watch."
Kraznys didn't wait for the scribe to translate, instead marching down to the nearest Unsullied and ordering him forward. Despite Daenerys' protest, the slaver used a dagger to cut off the soldier's nipple who didn't even flinch as blood spilled down his skin to drip over his leather armour. To her side, Jorah looked impressed; it was one thing to be told the soldiers cared nothing for pain but another to witness it. Daenerys herself had gotten quite adept at absorbing blows, slaps or scratches from Viserys as his madness grew but he never took a blade to her. Watching the Unsullied stand there and let himself have a part of his bod cut off without even a twitch was disturbing.
Then Kraznys told her about the test of the Unsullied, as to how they were to kill a new born in front of its mother and pay for the baby with a silver coin. Krazynys didn't care about her offense and instead corrected her that the coin was paid to the baby's owner, not the mother.
Daenerys felt rage curdle her gut like boiling coals even if her face remained an impassive mask. Ser Jorah was watching her carefully, remained silent as Daenerys wrestled down the deep burden of anger at the injustice wrought by the greedy old man before her.
"How many do you have to sell?" she asked, voice completely controlled.
"Eight thousand," the scribe translated, "Master Kraznys asks that you please hurry and come to a decision soon, many other buyers are interested."
And with that, they left.
"Eight thousand dead babies."
"The Unsullied are a means to an end."
"Once I own them, these...men..."
"They aren't men," Jorah corrected as they walked back to the ship, "Not any more."
"Once I own these army of slaves, what will I be?" Daenerys argued. "Simply another slaver?"
"Do you think these slaves will have better lives serving men like Kraznys or serving you?" Jorah argued back as they walked down the stone stairs to the docks, "You will be fair to them, you won't mutilated them to prove a point. You won't order them to murder babies. You will see they're properly fed. A great injustice has been done for them but closing your eyes will not undo it."
Daenerys frowned but pondered the words carefully. Her khalasar had mostly been slaves before she freed them and now they followed her willingly. She herself had known chains.
Mayhaps...
She got interrupted by a little girl on the docks rolling a wooden toy ball towards her, the girl's smile sweet despite her dirty features. Daenerys stopped the ball with her boot, smiling back at the little girl before bending down to pick it up. The wood was warm and smooth against her palm. She gave the girl an inquisitive look who gestured for her to unscrew it with a toothy grin.
Daenerys was about to unscrew it when a calloused hand grabbed her wrist, knocking the ball from her grip and sending her sprawling onto the deck. She heard Jorah shout and grab the hooded stranger but Daenerys hardly noticed as the ball spilled open a few feet in front of her and long spindly legs scuttled forth.
The insect almost looked like a shimmering green scorpion if not for the creature's disturbing human face; she could see the white eyes, the lipped mouth which was parted to show tiny pointed teeth, and a diminutive nose which seemed to sniff at the air. The arched tail curled, stinger twitching, but Daenerys couldn't look anywhere else except its horrible face.
Then a dagger pierced the manticore's carapace, the creature's tiny mouth lolling open in a silent scream while its eyes bulged in pain. Daenerys shoved herself back, stumbling to her feet even as the hooded stranger tossed aside the manticore's dead body before chasing the little girl who bared rotted blue teeth.
Jorah tugged her back up to her feet, Daenerys unsteady as they both watched the stranger stop before the edge of the wharf where the girl had jumped. They turned, looking up at the wall overseeing the docks and both Daenerys and Jorah followed the stranger's gaze to see what she'd thought was a little girl hiss down at them before fleeing.
"The warlocks," Daenerys said, still shaken from the manticore's appearance. She must've known they would've desired revenge for the House of the Undying.
Another threat to contend with, even after her killing of Pyat Pree. More who coveted her and her child.
"I owe you my life, ser," Daenerys said, turning back to her mysterious rescuer.
What she didn't expect was for him to respond with, "The honour is mine, my queen."
Jorah tensed as the man pushed back his hood, revealing a face weathered with wrinkles and a snow-white beard. His blue eyes were clear and his stance was strong despite his age.
Daenerys cast an inquisitive look at Jorah and, at his shocked expression, asked lowly, "Do you know this man?"
"I know him," Jorah said, "As one of the greatest fighters the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen and as the Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard."
"King Robert is dead," the man said, "I have been searching for you, Daenerys Stormborn, to ask for your forgiveness. I was sworn to protect your family. I failed them."
Daenerys watched as the man knelt before her, his eyes still searching hers as he continued with, "I am Barristan Selmy, Kingsguard to your late father. Allow me to join your Queensguard and I will not fail you again."
It turned out that the magister Illyrio Mopatis was partially responsible for Barristan locating her, as the knight promptly informed her he'd been sent with three ships and a handful of crew at the magister's behest. Indeed when they went back to the docks where her first vessel was her khalasar were flocked around the wharf with her bloodriders guarding the gangway with a man and a horse waiting close by and seemingly unperturbed by the hostile glares he was getting. Three great cogs were moored next to her ship, the gifts from the magister.
Daenerys recognized the animal as a zorse, having seen one of the rare steeds before in the markets of Vaes Dothrak. White coat thickly layered with gleaming black stripes like a tiger, strong and sturdy legs, white mane and tail. A broad man held the reins, sported a massive belly and his bare chest covered in countless scars. A small woven vest covered his shoulders and Daenerys could see the curved arakh strapped to the belt of his baggy trousers.
"Illyrio Mopatis sent us to protect you. Along with gifts of three ships to return you back to Pentos and even a zorse mare, bred by the Jogos Nhai for you. A token for the Mother of Dragons," the fat bald man said cheerfully when she got close enough, gesturing towards the black-striped mare next to him and then where the three ships were.
Daenerys frowned even as Jorah stepped closer to her side. While Illyrio had housed her and her brother he also facilitated in selling her off to Khal Drogo. He also had a house full of slaves, for all he tried to claim they weren't.
"What is your name, ser?" Daenerys asked instead.
"Strong Belwas they name me in the fighting pits of Meereen," the bald man said, slapping a hand against his hefty gut and making the dark flesh and scars ripple, "Never did I lose. I let each man cut me once before I kill him. Count the cuts and you will know how many Strong Belwas has slain."
She cast a mute look at Barristan who spoke, "I have traveled far with Strong Belwas and can rely upon him, especially if this will have to end with swords."
Daenerys accepted Barristan's word; she had heard tales of the knight and naught heard anything whispering his word would be false. The fact he'd traveled solely to locate her, to full-fill his oath that he'd made to her grandfather, let her know he knew loyalty. And his remorse for his failure to protect either her father or brother made her feel he was genuine in his offer to aid her cause even Jorah still seemed wary of the other man.
Turning back to the pit fighter Daenerys said, "Strong Belwas, I have no intention of traveling back to Pentos and submitting back to Illyrio's graces. Anything I owed him vanished the moment he aided my brother in selling me as a bride. You may chose to stay and be accepted as my Queensguard, or you may return back to Illyrio."
Belwas grinned at her then, showing crooked teeth, "I have no need for the fat man with sweet stink in his hair. If the Dragon Queen wants Strong Belwas for a blade then here I'll stay."
And like that, she had two new additions for her Queensguard.
While inspecting the three cogs she heard Belwas calling her bloodriders 'horse boys' and seemed fairly entertained by them. At least he didn't seem hostile even if her khalasar seemed perplexed by Belwas's lack of hair but they had faith in their Khalessi and accepted the new additions without complaint. The additional three ships were welcomed, especially with their full cargo holds and the fact they were to be hers and not hired as the previous vessel.
Daenerys would feel somewhat guilty if she didn't know the kind of man Illyrio was. She hadn't forgotten the way his eyes had sometimes lingered upon her back when she'd been in his keep, or the horribly young, beautiful girls he kept close at hand. She did not have much tolerance for such men.
Most of the cargo could be sold except for the essentials, especially the food stores. She also decided upon keeping the zorse, though per Dothraki custom she simply decided to address the mare as the 'striped one'. She had missed her silver and how she fell in the Red Waste and was looking forward to riding again. There was also the dragon headed crown that she would keep.
Along the busy dock it was easy to sell the more redundant cargo and she was quite surprised at how easily Barristan fit in at her side with Jorah. Belwas was a more simple, straightforward sort and she could appreciate that. Pit fighters were of that sort, born and bred for the fighting pits. She had to wonder if what he said was the truth, that each scar was from every fight.
Barristan, when she explained her reason for being in Astapor, was vehemently opposed to buying the Unsullied. He told her in no uncertain terms that the people of Westeros would hate her on principle if she arrived with an army of slaves at her back. Jorah had argued with the knight then, sharply informing Barristan that they need soldiers for Daenerys quest for her family's stolen throne and that the Unsullied themselves would not pillage and rape. Barristan argued back that Rhaegar himself had men willing to die for him solely because they believed in him.
Daenerys had let them argue, as it seemed to be a result of two differing ideologies. Jorah was more practical while Barristan protested on ethical grounds. Daenerys understood both sides and also especially with Barristan as she wasn't going to become another Master.
She was going to kill the Masters.
"All?" The scribe sounded almost wary, as if fearing a trick. "Your Grace, did this one's worthless ears mishear you?"
Above them sunlight streamed through the coloured glass of the triangular walls of the pavilion, the wind bringing with it the smell of flowers from the garden through the elaborated carved terrace doors beyond. The room upon the top of the pyramid was cool and green compared to the dusty dry red of the city out beyond.
"Your ears hear true," Daenerys said calmly. "I want to buy them all. Tell the Good Masters, if you will."
Kraznys spoke through the scribe, "Of thousands, there are eight. Is this what she means by all? There are also six centuries, who shall be part of a ninth thousand when complete. Would she have them too?"
"I would," Daenerys replied when the question was put to her. "Eight thousand and those still in training."
"Those in training cannot be sold," the scribe spoke Kraznys's words. "If they fall upon the battlefield they will bring shame to all of Astapor and the reputation of the Good Masters."
"I will have them all or take none."
Eight brokers had met with her, included Kraznys, and with their own entourage of personal slaves to attend to them. Daenerys had brought in Ser Barristans, Ser Jorah, Strong Belwas and her bloodriders, along with Ishabi and Lessa.
Her seat was far enough from the Good Masters of Astapors she could not make out the exact words as they spoke low and soft, but nonetheless she could see the greed shining upon their faces with her declaration. She took a sip of the persimmon wine from a tall silver flute etched with delicate golden harpies and gemstones no larger than a grain of sand, with the breeze lightly tugging at the violet silken skirts of her dress. Still, her silken dress meant nothing compared to the gemstone-encrusted bodies of the slavers before her. One had the fringe of his tokar laden down with hundreds of shimmering pearls that clicked and clacked against one another every time he moved. The city had hundreds of slavers within its bounds yet the eight before her were the greatest in wealth, power and influence. When selling bed slaves, field hands, scribes, craftsmen, and tutors, these men were and always would be bitter and vicious rivals but their ancestors had allied one with the other for the purpose of making and selling the Unsullied. Together against her they were united.
It was Kraznys who finally announced their decision. "Tell her that the eight thousands she shall have if her gold proves sufficient. And the six centuries if she wishes. Tell her to come back in a year, and we will sell her another two thousand. The risk of the half-trained boys falling is too great."
Daenerys set down her flute, "I will have them all or take none. Many will fall in battle, I will need the boys to pick up the swords they drop."
The slave relayed her words. It was returned with a no.
She frowned, hands folded primly upon her lap, "Very well. Tell them I will pay double so long as I get them all."
"Double?" one of the masters all but drooled in greed as her words were translated.
"This little whore is a fool, truly," said Khaznys mo Nakloz, a sneer marring his face. "Ask her for triple, I say. She is desperate enough to pay. Ask for ten times the price of every slave, yes. That is what we shall do."
The master with the pearl-laden tokar spoke then, the scribe as his mouthpiece, "Your Grace, Westeros is indeed wealthy, yes, but you are not being queen now. Perhaps will never being queen and Westeros is so very far away. Even Unsullied may be losing battles to the savage steel knights of the Seven Kingdoms across the Marrow Sea. I am telling you that the Good Masters of Astapor are not selling flesh for promises and oaths. Do you have the gold and trading goods sufficient to be paying for all these Unsullied you are wanting?"
"She doesn't have enough to pay unless she is a conjurer and can bring forth jewels from the air, we have already searched her vessel," one of the other masters began to argue with each other. "Her ship will buy her a hundred Unsullied. The left over gold and supplies within the hold of her ship will buy ten more. The Dothraki will buy three."
"There is the dragon crown, that will buy a hundred," the one with the golden fringe said.
"Still, that would leave seven thousand, seven hundred and seventy seven Unsullied left for her to buy. How would she afford the rest?"
Daenerys straightened in her seat, for she had considered long and hard upon what she could offer. It was her only choice.
"I have a dragon. I'll sell you him, in return for all Unsullied."
The scribe was visibly shocked by the offer, quickly translating to the group of Good Masters. At the scribe's words all of the slavers gathered at the meeting gasped but Daenerys didn't drop her stare from Kraznys mo Nakloz.
Jorah and Barristan, who'd accompanied her to the meeting, were also shocked by the suggestion but a sharp look to them both silenced their attempted protests. The Good Masters wouldn't turn down the offer, she could tell by the light of greed in their eyes. Astapor had thousands of slaves, thousands of boys to turn into Unsullied. The great wide world only had a lone dragon. For all the Ghiscari held them in contempt, five times had ancient Ghis challenged Old Valyria and five times they had been drowned in fire. A dragon, the last living dragon, was too much of a prize and too much of a rarity for them to ever turn it down.
So they accepted, Daenerys's violet gaze never leaving Kraznys as he agreed. Then all the other Good Masters in attendance added their agreement, until they were eight.
"The Unsullied will learn your savage tongue quick enough but until such time you will need a slave to speak to them. Take this one as our gift to you, a token of a bargain well struck," Kraznys said and so when they left the pyramid it was with the golden eyed scribe following her.
It was nearly laughable but Daenerys accepted without complaint and with that left to fetch Ghidorah even as the Good Masters bustled off in a flurry of silks.
The scribe, who informed Daenerys softly that her name was Missandei when asked, quickly fell in step behind her and her two knights. Daenerys was swift to inform her that her duties would be as a handmaid yet even then she offered the Naathi freedom. The scribe declined Daenerys's offer for her to leave, to return to any family. All of hers was gone and she remained, alone.
"There is no place for me to go," Missandei said.
"I can give you freedom, but not safety. I will do my very best to protect you as I would any of my subjects but like any that may not be enough," Daenerys warned. "I have a world to cross and wars to fight. You may go hungry. You may grow sick. You may be killed."
"Valar morghulis," said Missandei, her High Valyrian perfect and calm.
"Yes, all men must die. But we are not men."
When they reached the ports she let Ghidorah out of the tiger cage he'd been bundled in, the golden dragon yawning with all three heads as he crawled out the pen with languid movements. Then he gorged himself on the offered pile of fish at the bow of the ship as her khalasar pulled around a covered wagon along the wharf. Ghidorah would be too heavy for people to carry to the courtyard where they'd commence the handover.
Daenerys did notice how Missandei had changed her thin skirts as the woman came to her side, the dress covering her body more modestly compared with the scant coverings while a scribe. Daenerys made no comment, as she had granted the Naathi permission to clothe herself however she wished from their supplies onboard, instead watching as Rakharo and Aggo lead her striped one to the wagon, securing the zorse between the shafts as the mare snorted and tossed her mane. Across the deck Ghidorah finished swallowing down his mouthful of fish, forked tongues flicking out.
The Mother of Dragons had sold her child.
"Khalessi, are you sure this is the wisest path?" Ser Jorah pressed as the wagon was ready, "Selling your dragon to the slave masters, even for an army-"
"I made my decision," she snapped in a tone that brooked no argument.
Jorah drew back even if she knew he wasn't happy with her choice. Same with Barristan. Her khalasar didn't comment at all as they fixed up the wagon while Belwas was too occupied with eating a jar of pickled sheep kidneys to worry over her decision. Missandei said nothing over her choice, the young woman instead staring intently at Ghidorah's golden form as were many passing by on the docks. A dragon was a living treasure trove and her son shone like gold.
Daenerys swallowed down her nervousness and budding rage, instead walking to the supplies and retrieving the metal chain and cuff. The chain easily looped around her wrist like a silver serpent, the cuff a dark leather and warm in her palm.
Ghidorah perked up at her approach, now at eye level with her when she knelt down between his neck and junction of his wing. It seemed only yesterday when she could hold him easily in her hands. His left most head started nuzzling at her face, even as his right started sniffing at the chain while the middle watched her levelly. Then his right head swung around to look at the wagon waiting down the gangway as his middle grabbed the left by the horn and yanked him away from Daenerys's face. His legs were sturdy, the talons longer than her fingers.
When she reached forward with the cuff to secure it around his ankle Ghidorah hopped back with a hiss even as his wings flared out. His tails lashed, one striking the railing along the prow and breaking the polished wood with a crack.
Daenerys frowned, violet gaze flicking between her child and the waiting wagon. There was an odd ebb and flow of emotions that seemed foreign to her, much like a dream. Murky and distant like how she'd stifled herself when Viserys' madness grew but she wasn't that girl any more, so where were these feelings coming from? She reached for her child and Ghidorah hissed; the right snapping, the middle glaring and the left shying away. He was defensive and angry at her.
People were watching but Daenerys didn't care. Dropping the chain she reached forward again to take a hold of Ghidorah's middle head, despite his wrinkled muzzle threatening to bite and how his head was now the size of a wolf. She could easily cup his scaly cheeks in her palms. The small spikes growing along his serpentine jaw were rough under her fingers but currently still rounded and harmless. His wings were still spread, the spines on his tails flexing but he didn't bite her despite the growling.
Maesters have said dragons are as intelligent as any man, some even moreso.
It was something Viserys had said so long ago, when he was telling her of the Targaryen dragons throughout their rule. The way his right head kept twisting around to look at the wagon waiting and his hostile reaction to the chain.
What type of mother was she, letting her child think she was going to sell him?
Regardless of her plans, hidden from those closest due to fear of the ear-laden rocks of Astapor, her child beyond all else should be given no secrecy in her plots. If she could not trust her own son then there was nothing for her.
Daenerys leaned forward until her forehead was resting against Ghidorah's, feeling the pebbly scales and seeing how closely his crimson eyes were watching her. The strange flux of emotions was stronger now, pressing against Ghidorah and she realized with some shock it was his that she was feeling. Weak and disoriented but his nonetheless.
The bond between Targaryen and their dragon was said to be strong, none would ride another's dragon- Rhaenys and Visenya never dared to mount Balerion the same way Aegon never dared to mount Vhagar or Meraxes while his sisters lived. Dragons would only accept a single rider and one of Old Valyria blood.
Did Rhaenys scream when Meraxes was killed beneath her, feeling part of herself also die?
Pushing that aside Daenerys tried to explain her intention to her frightened child. It was strange, lacking words or actions but rather trying to use her mind to convince. Awkwardly trying to visualize her intent, her intention with the Good Masters, her plans and plotting. How she needed him to go to the wagon but her decision and the reasoning, the reveal for it. What must be done.
She wasn't sure if she'd succeeded but when she pulled away, dropping her hands from Ghidorah's golden scales, all three of his heads where staring intently at her. The left and right were close enough she could feel the warm puffs of their breath against her skin and ruffling her hair. She had to wonder how much he truly understood.
After a long moment of staring, Ghidorah's middle head bobbed once.
Then he leaned on his wing, offering her his scaly ankle. Satisfied her child was soothed, Daenerys secured the leather cuff around the joint before she lead him down from the ship to the wagon. He followed along, climbing up into the wagon and letting her tie down the horse-skin sheet with him inside.
Once done she looked back to Ser Jorah and those awaiting across the docks, saying, "Shall we be off then?"
All eight thousand Unsullied were already waiting her arrival, set up in lined formation. Eight thousand and six hundred in the spiked bronze caps of fully trained Unsullied, and five thousand behind them, bareheaded, yet armed with spears and shortswords. The ones farthest to the back were only boys, she saw, so small, but they stood as straight and still as all the rest. They had been assembled in the Plaza of Punishment, just before Astapor's great front gate, so they might be marched directly from the city once Daenerys had taken them in hand. There was no great bronze harpies awaiting before Astapor, instead it was a wooden platform where rebellious slaves were publicly racked, and burned and flayed, and mutilated, and hanged. A warning for any slave with foolish thoughts of disobedience.
The Good Masters were waiting her and Daenerys noticed there was far more than the eight she'd offered Ghidorah. Most likely it was the majority of slavers in Astapor in attendance, no doubt drawn in by the allure of Ghidorah. There were also traders and workers and smiths and merchants and others watching, along with the city guard. Slaves flitted through the clusters of Good Masters, bearing platters of figs and wine and honeyed cherries. The few horses near were nervous, able to smell the dragon close.
In the covered wagon her child was quiet, Rakharo leading her striped one and the rest of her khalasar following in its wake. Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, Missandei and Strong Belwas were following behind Daenerys as she led her little group up to where Krazyns was waiting before the other Good Masters who were clustered behind him. The golden whip was held loosely in his hand, the handle carved in the like of the harpy. Nine long thin leather lashes trailed from it, each one tipped by a gilded claw. A flog.
As they got within earshot of Kraznys he started to speak, Missandei beginning to translate by Daenerys' side.
"The Master says they are untested. He says you would be wise to blood them early," her voice was calm, "There are many small cities here and there, cities ripe for sacking. Whatever plunder she takes will be hers alone, as the Unsullied have no desire for jewels or gold. Should you take captives the Good Masters will buy the healthy ones and for a good price. And mayhaps in ten years some of the boys may be Unsullied themselves. As all shall prosper."
Daenerys hid her disgust from the Good Master, keeping her face blank until they reached the rise before Kraznys. Her khalasar stopped behind her, the zorse snorting softly as Rakharo steered it around until the back of covered wagon was facing them.
With her head high Daenerys walked to the wagon, deftly untying the horse-skin cover and throwing it back. Then she took a hold of the metal rod attached to the chain, letting it spool out as Ghidorah climbed out of the wagon. Gasps came from watchers even as Ghidorah shook his golden scales before spreading his wings. The bell weaved into her hair chimed as Ghidorah flapped his wings, once, twice, to land upon the cage.
She offered the leash to Krazyns and he all but snatched the rod from her hand, barely looking at her even as he handed over the golden whip.
"It's done then?" Daenerys asked, voice cold and calm, as she stared at the whip in hand. So light for something in command of thousands of lives. "They belong to me?"
"It is done," Missandei translated, "You hold the harpy's fingers."
"The bitch has her army," Kraznys spat those last words at her in Old Valyrian, which Missandei tactfully didn't translate. Above Ghidorah hissed but didn't try to move away from the Good Master as Daenerys turned back to the Unsullied, despite the dragon's left most head keeping his gaze fixed upon her as she walked away. His tails lashed.
All eight thousand Unsullied waited before her, silent and ready for her commands. Almost like statues in how they remained still and quiet with barely a twitch or waver to their formation. Some were tall and some were short yet she wagered they were aged from fourteen to twenty in age.
They were a variety of people, of those torn from their families and brutalized until they weren't even called men any more to which their owners would boast. More than half had the copper skins and almond eyes of Dothraki and Lhazerene, but she saw men of the Free Cities in the ranks as well, along with pale Qartheen, ebony-skinned Summer Islanders, some with the golden hair of Lys, others with amber hued skin like Kraznys himself and some with bristly red-black hair of ancient Gris. Daenerys was not surprised the slavers traded their own kind, it was akin to how the Dothraki would enslave one another when enemy khalasar met in battle within the Great Grass Sea.
Yet despite their variance in looks and despite how their eyes could range from black or brown or blue or grey they all had the same gaze. Each and every eight thousand before her, looked at her in the exact same manner.
She could see slavers walking the formations, long barbed whips in hand. The whip in her own hand was oddly light for something which held eight thousand souls in vice.
Daenerys's violet eyes narrowed before she called out in Old Valyrian, "Unsullied! You are mine! You are the dragon's now!"
In unison every soldier pulled up his shield, standing up straighter at her call. The noise seemed to reverberate through the plaza like the sounding of a gong.
"Forward march!" There was no hesitation as they obeyed, same as when she shouted, "Halt!"
The slavers were not listening to her words, too intrigued by the golden three headed dragon. Many were shouting advice to Kraznys, who was unable to get Ghidorah to move much less obey.
Ghidorah snarled at Kraznys as the man ineffectively pulled on the chain, the dragon snapped a long neck towards him and making the Good Master stumble. Angrily, she heard Kraznys yell, "Tell the bitch her beast won't heel!"
Discarding any attempt of subtly Daenerys turned, moving closer to the man before she said in their shared tongue, "A dragon is not a slave."
Kraznys twitched, his head snapping towards her as he asked in shock, "You speak Valyrian?"
A sneer on her face, she answered, "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Blood of Old Valyria. Valyrian is my mother tongue."
Daenerys yanked up her arm and whipped him across the face with the barbed tails of the harpy's fingers. The man screamed and stumbled, dropping the rod as blood ran down his cheeks. The sharp claws of the whip had sliced thought his flesh, shredding his face in a single pass but she did not contemplate more before she called for her child.
"Jelmazmar!"
Ghidorah's throats glowed gold before he vomited forth triple lances of lightning onto the slaver, Kraznys robes igniting as his skin turned blackened. The light was so strong Daenerys squinted as the reek of burning flesh filled the air while a hideous popping noise sounded as the Good Master's eyeballs burst out his head. Several smaller of tongues of lightning lanced off Kraznys's spasmodically thrashing body to lick against the nearest armoured guards, causing them to shriek and drop their metal weapons as their flesh burned.
Then the Plaza of Punishment blew apart into blood and chaos as Ghidorah took to the air, spitting out several more lengths of lightning. The slave masters were screaming and running, tripping over their tokars and shoving one another in their haste to get away. Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah grouped around her, even as her bloodriders moved. One mounted soldier went to lunge his horse forward, only for Jhogo's whip to coil around his throat and yank him free of the saddle. Rakharo's arakh laid open one guard's throat in a spray of blood while Aggo's arrows were sinking into the flesh of any with a tokar.
Distantly Daenerys could hear one of the Good Masters who had been in audience with her earlier start screaming, howling for the Unsullied to defend them. Aggo's arrow caught him in the throat and his shrieks cut off to gurgling blood.
"Unsullied!" her voice was harsh and sharp, "Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child! Strike the chains off every slave you see!" She raised the harpy's fingers in the air before she flung the wretched thing to the side. "Freedom!" she sang out. "Jelmazmar! Jelmazmar!"
"Jelmazmar!" the Unsullied called back, "Jelmazmar! Jelmazmar!" while all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died with more blood soaking into the bricks, while the dusty air of Astapor was filled with spears and fire and golden wings.
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