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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,535Kudos:6,019Bookmarks:1,659Hits:466,902
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 12: Stormchasers
Chapter Text
"Your servants were set upon as they walked the bricks of Meereen to keep Your Grace's peace. All were well armed, with spears and shields and short swords. All were well armoured. Two by two they walked as you commanded, and two by two they died. Your servants Black Fist and Cetherys were slain by crossbow bolts in Mazdhan's Maze. Your servants Mossador and Duran were crushed by falling stones beneath the river wall during their morning patrol. Your servants Eladon Goldenhair and Loyal Spear were poisoned at a wine shop where they were accustomed to stop each night upon their rounds."
Grey Worm's report was delivered without emotion but Daenerys had enough fury for both of them.
Her voice was deathly calm as she asked, "Have any of the murderers been caught?"
Daario answered her, "We've got the owner of the wine shop and his two daughters. They claim innocence."
Skahaz, who he and Reznak had been added to her council to add a Meereenese presence, spoke, "Give them to me, Your Radiance. I shall wring out whatever answers they hide. They all claim innocence, I will strip them bare to see if it is indeed truth."
Daenerys thought about that for naught but a moment before she said, "Very well. Question them gently at first, separately, then press harder if you must."
He bowed to her, the sunlight streaming through the windows gleaming off his bald skull, "As you command."
"Who else has been slain?"
"Three freemen, Your Radiance," Skahaz said, "There was a money lender, a cobbler and a harpist named Rylona Rhee. For the harpist they cut off her fingers as well, before killing her."
Daenerys twitched, eyes darkening. Rylona Rhee had been from Yunkai, had followed Daenerys along Essos and the hard march all the way to Meereen. Sometimes when they'd set up camp Daenerys could hear the delicate music of the harp echoing through the tents and over the clang of training and blacksmithing. In Meereen the woman had been a vocal supporter for Daenerys for the locals and a prominent voice in the host of freemen.
And now she was dead, slain by the agents of the Great Masters.
"Have we any captives for these murders?"
"None, Your Radiance."
"Very well. Skahaz, question the wine seller sharply," Daenerys snapped, her blood burning.
"As you command. If I might be so bold...I could question his daughters sharply, while he watches. It will quicken the wringing."
"Do it," she ordered. She thought for a moment before addressing Grey Worm, "Pull your soldiers back to the barracks, I will have no more Unsullied deaths. They will guard the gates, the walls, and this pyramid and that is it. The Meereenese will keep the peace in Meereen from now on."
Grey Worm nodded, knocking a fist against his armoured chest as she turned back to Skahaz, "You shall make up a new watch to patrol the city, Skahaz. Made up of shavepates and freemen in equal parts to keep an eye upon the Harpy."
"As you command. How many shall be this group, Your Radiance?"
"As many as you require."
Reznak protested at that, "Gentle queen, where is this coin for such a thing to come from? They will demand wages to be a city watch-"
"Do not call me that," Daenerys snapped, making Reznak cower as if he thought she was to leap over the table at him, "The Harpy's Sons think I am weak and gentle and feeble. My more than generous mercy is at an end. The wages for the city patrol shall come from the pyramids of the ancient Meereenese families as a blood tax. I will also take one hundred pieces of gold from each for every soldier and freeman killed within these walls from now on."
"It will be done," Skahaz said, a fairly vicious smile crossing his face before he said, "Though Your Radiance must know two of the oldest families, the Zhak and Merreq, are seeking to leave Meereen."
"They may leave," Daenerys said, "But with nothing else but the clothes upon their back."
"Your Radiance," Reznak said carefully, "We cannot know if they are of the Harpy or if they mean to join your enemies. They are most likely simply going to their estates within the hills. They fear for their children."
"There is nothing to buy within the hills," Daenerys replied, "The gold shall stay in Meereen and they shall take none of it. Now, I have audiences to attend to."
She was still annoyed, even more so when it was revealed Hizdahr zo Loraq was once again seeking an audience with her. After she had granted him the request to bury the Great Masters within the plaza the man had come forth five more times to petition for the fighting pits to be reopened. Five times she denied him but the man did not seem to be deterred. Even her council were urging her to do so; Skahaz saying it would win her support against the Sons of the Harpy, Reznak stressed the amount of coin to be gained through taxes of the profits, both Daario and Strong Belwas, as past pit fighters, also encouraged it. Even Jorah stated it would help Meereen to take its mind from the current civil unrest to have them reopened. Daenerys did not shy away for violence for a decent sake but for simple entertainment was something she would not endorse.
"Hizdahr zo Loraq, I have refused you five times," she informed him from the ebony bench, clad in delicate white, "Have you come to petition for another cause this time?"
"I have not come alone, Your Radiance," Hizdahr said to her. He was dressed plain, with robes of blue and grey of a fine yet dull fabric.
He brought in his seven companions, too muscled and calloused to be Great Masters and with Hizdahr's introductions she realized he'd brought in the pit fighters themselves to plea his cause.
Daenerys knew them by name, the fighting slaves had been among the first to listen to Grey Worm and his Unsullied when they snuck within the bowels of Meereen for her attack. They were among the lead in the attack from within.
"Very well," Daenerys said, "Speak."
Like the previous petitions of Hizdahr, all seven of the fighting veterans asked the same thing; for the fighting pits to be reopened.
"Why?" she finally asked, once their pleas were done, "I freed you, none of you are beholden to the whims of the Great Masters. You are now free to chose your own paths, not to die within the pits."
"Dragon queen," Goghor the Giant, who aptly lived up to his name through towering over all his fellow fighters, "I train since three, I kill since six. You say I am free to chose, I chose to fight."
"If you wish to fight, then fight for me," Daenerys said, "Swear your sword to the Mother's Men or the Free Brothers or the Stalwart Shields. Teach my other freedmen how to fight."
Goghor shook his head, "You say I can chose; before I fight for the Masters, now you say I fight for you. But I chose to fight for me. For gold, for glory. Gold and glory just for me." He punctuated his words through pounding a great fist against his bare, scarred chest.
The Spotted Cat, who had the pelt of a leopard thrown over one shoulder, also spoke, "Goghor speaks for us all. When I was a slave I slept upon furs and ate fresh bloody meat. Now I sleep upon straw and have nothing but stale fish and that is only when I can get it."
Another, Khrazz, spoke, "Hizdar says any winners get half of all profits at the gates. More than any time of when the Great Masters owned us."
Daenerys was about to protest, mouth open to say it was not that simple when she shut it again. Because it was that simple, wasn't it? She set them free but now she was demanding they fight only for her cause. Both Belwas and Daario had made that argument before, saying that if the fighters chose to fight then indeed it was their choice. 'Some peoples gifts are in killing others' Daario had pointed out to her, 'some want to spill guts, not sew cloth. That is their skill, and in many cases their only skill. Let them fight.'
"What about the losers?" she tried instead, "What will they receive?"
"Their names shall be carved upon the Gates of Fate with the other valiant fallen," declared Barsena Blackhair. For eight years she had killed every other woman sent against her. "All men must die, and women too but not all will be remembered. People die each day, let us do so with our own wishes. This time I fight solely for me, not for the demands of the masters. My coin and valour is mine. I say open the pits, Dragon Queen, so we can fight as we chose."
There were murmurs of agreement among the other pit fighters at Barsena's words and Daenerys was hesitant. It was their city long before hers and if it truly was their choice who was she to deny them? None of the pit fighters before her where children. They were grown adults and part of being free were the choices allowed. If they all chose to return to the pits...
"I will consider all you've said. Thank you for your counsel."
Hizdahr looked pleased at her words, since it was not an outright refusal like all other times he'd petitioned her. Despite the early hour Daenerys felt exhausted when he and pit fighters left. She did not understand the idea of violence for entertainment. She remembered the deaths at her wedding and how none seemed to care of a man dying upon the ground next to them. Death was inviable, being killed a high possibility, but to do so simply for entertainment was abhorrent for her. If they were enemy soldiers or even the Harpy's sons then yes, she could understand. But simply to stir the blood of a watching crowd did not settle well within her.
Even when Viserys was killed it was because of his actions, of threatening to cut Rhaego from her belly and leave her dead. She watched him die, her brother who she'd loved dearly until he transformed in a monster wearing Viserys' face, but she felt no pleasure. Just grim satisfaction, at knowing he would never again be able to harm her. A part of her, in the following days, wished he'd died sooner so that not so many memories of her brother had been tainted from his abuse. But he'd died due to his actions, not for sport. Not for gold or the cheers of a crowd.
She brooded over the issue all the way back to her chambers, Barristan and Missandei by her side. Barristan stopped at the threshold, obviously intending to stay guarding the doorway, but Daenerys beckoned him inside.
"Tell me how you escaped Kings Landing, Ser Barristan," She asked, even as she settled down at one of the tables. She wished for no more tales of the pit and instead yearned for something of valour.
Through the windows of her chambers she could see the tip of one of Ghidorah's tails swaying back and forth like a particularly strange fruit. Already it was larger than any of the flanged maces in the armoury.
"Your Grace, there is no particular interest in a story of my simply fleeing for my life."
"Either way, I wish to hear it. It was the Usurpers son who dismissed you, wasn't it? Joffrey Baratheon."
"Indeed, Your Grace. They cited advanced age for my dismissal but their interest was elsewhere; they wished the Hound to wear a gold cloak and to give the title of lord commander of the Kingsguard to the Kingslayer. When they informed me of it before the audience, I...reacted harshly and removed my cloak and threw my sword at their feet."
"What did you say?" Daenerys asked, curious.
Barristan grimaced, "The truth, yet such a thing is not well received at that court. I left that room with my head held high yet I did not know where I would go. I gathered by things and penned my final accord in the White Book when I realized I never should have accepted Robert's pardon. He was a good knight yet a terrible king for he had no right to the throne he sat upon and had desire to rule over the kingdom and everyone suffered for it. It was then I realized I need to redeem myself and must serve the one true king with all the strength that remains within me."
"Viserys."
"Yes. However I was set upon in the stables by the gold cloaks. Joffrey had offered me a tower to die in and when I spurned that it became a dungeon. The commander of the city watch confronted me along with three of his men. I was without my sword but I still had my dagger. I escaped the Red Keep yet the roads were congested and I was caught at River Gate. They crossed their spears to bar my way."
"How did you escape?" Daenerys asked, still intrigued.
"A true knight is worth ten guardsmen, Your Grace," Barristan said even when he explained how he'd killed the men who were sent to stop him. How he was left with nothing but a staff and a handful of silver, sleeping in streets and eating what he could. And how he witnessed Ned Stark lose his head.
"A traitors end," Daenerys said at that.
"Your Grace," said Barristan, voice calm, "Eddard Stark played a part in your family's fall but he bore you no ill will. When the Spider Varys told us that you were with child Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand."
"Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?" she said angrily.
"Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace."
The Lannisters and Cleganes, built upon the bones of children and everyone knows the Cleganes were brought as dogs for the lions, she thought. Above she heard Ghidorah's low growl as he sensed her rising temper. And those numerous birds of the Spider, spinning him tales of Rhaego. Would I have had my son, if not for his spies? Even Vaes Dothrak was not free of those little birds and their treacherous songs.
"Lannister or Stark, what is the difference?" she said aloud, "If there is a pack of hounds and only one rips out your throat, would you only blame that single hound? Or the whole pack, for joining the hunt?"
She was scowling and so she picked up one of the pears in the gilded bowl upon the table and bit into it angrily. Missandei offered her some wine but Daenerys waved her away; the wine of Meereen was bitter now, the Masters having burnt the old fields of ripe grown trees in their retreat and now only bitter young ones remained. Food was always in peril.
"I tire of this topic," she said, staring at the gilded bowl upon the table and the delicate patterns and gemstones set within it, "Leave me."
They both bowed, Missandei parting with a swirl of silks and Barristan with the clicking of chainmail and armoured plates.
She got up to pace, munching away on the pear. Outside the window she could see the long barbs on Ghidorah's tail flexing. They were now longer than her forearm, serrated like bastard blades.
The people of Meereen needed to settle, the blood upon the stones needed to dry but the Harpy was doing everything possible to halt that. She'd proceeded with her plans to plant new crops, to dig ditches to create new water ways from the rivers. One of her orders was to take the Good Masters or, if they'd been crucified, their grown siblings or children or relatives who'd ordered the burnings to lead those endeavours. Let them known manual labour, let them work next to those they'd enslaved for centuries after their spiteful arson. Wounded pride but better than their heads upon spikes. Food, food, food. It seemed to be as such a topic as the Harpy's Sons. At the very least they still had their fishing vessels; Ghidorah's presence in Dragon's Bay had scared off any pirates in the area. At one point a Yunkai'i ship had tried to creep down the river only to turn and flee when Ghidorah had started circling it like a hunting eagle. They had not returned.
Far further up the city the blockade continued, as did the one beyond the sea. None dared to venture within sight of Meereen, however. They still had fish.
She still felt grief over not going to Westeros. Ruling was arduous but Daenerys could not look away from the sins of the slaver cities. She couldn't simply leave with her army as she knew those freed would be back in chains before her host left sight of the city. Much like with Yunkai.
Finished with the pear she stepped out onto the balcony and tossing the stem over the side. Above at the flat plinth tip of the Great Pyramid Ghidorah was curled up like a cat, his scales shimmering with his easy breathing. He looked deceptively placid with his dozing. She wanted to reach out to him but didn't, not wanting to burden him with her guilt and uncertainty. Ghidorah did not understand politics or city management.
A butcher queen, she could be. It would be so easy, to simply give the order for all the Great Masters and their families to be dragged into the plaza and executed. Ghidorah could do so, his breath could blast them all into dust and leave no bodies behind to rot and stink the air with flies. Take the source of the problem and be done with it. Surprise would need to be used, so the lesser pyramids could not have the chance to mobilize in defence before they were dragged out. But at the same time she couldn't just execute her subjects upon a whim or out of irritation. But it was also not fair for the freemen to suffer for the selfish wish of the masters. More would die each day from knives in the dark.
The opportunity to leave to Westeros felt as if it were slipping through her fingers like sand.
Her current means of ruling Meereen wasn't working. She was compromising, she was compromising too much and the Great Masters took her mercy to mean she was weak.
She thought of Ben Plumm's comment at how she had not used her dragon for war, only for executions. At how the slavers were taking advantage of this. Of her hesitation.
Daenerys leaned against the marble railing of the balcony, a soft warm breeze ruffling her silver-gold hair. Below she could hear the hustle and bustle of Meereen's daylight activity and the air carried the scent of the sea.
Aegon the Conqueror was, perhaps, the most well known name in all of Westeros. Even in Essos he was known, not as well and not as often but still known. The last family of dragonlords.
Aegon was also a man who offered mercy, Daenerys knew. When he and his sisters began the conquest of Westeros Aegon offered the kings the chance to accept his rule without bloodshed if they just bent the knee.
However when they rebuked him, like King Hoare of Harrenhal or Loren Lannister, Aegon offered no mercy to them just as he promised. He only accepted their surrender once he deemed them sufficiently humbled and ignored their pleas until he judged them cowed.
But Aegon also had Visenya and Rhaenys by his side; fellow Targaryens, fellow dragonriders, who understood the burden of his blood and status.
She was alone naught for her child, the last two dragons. She had to wonder what Aegon would think of her and Ghidorah. Would he encourage her west? Or would he simply slew the masters and be done with it? Perhaps he would have done so, perhaps he would have used Balerion upon the lesser pyramids and burnt the noble families alive for the indignity and offence of refusing to accept her rule. One warning was all the Conqueror would give.
Daenerys turned away from the loft view of Meereen, walking back into her chambers to search for her books. Well thumbed and read but currently the only comfort she had.
Her sleep that night was shallow and she woke up three times with forgotten nightmares biting at her nerves. Each time it was her child which woke her, a probing at her mind that jolted her from whatever terror stalked her sleep. At the top of the pyramid, where her chambers were now located, when she stepped out onto the balcony she could easily see her child perched at the tip of the Great Pyramid upon the empty plinth where the harpy had stood. He was too large to fit through the windows or door but when she was in the balcony he could reach down his heads to her, within reach. The third time she stirred she stayed outside, wrapped up in a lion's pelt with a hand pressed against his scaly snout. Ghidorah did not understand the nuance of ruling and she envied him for his more simplistic way of reasoning. It reminded her of the Dothraki, who simply took what they wanted and hang the consequences.
Daenerys couldn't remember when she'd had a fully rested, safe sleep. It seemed she was always on edge, the troubles of Meereen gnawing at her innards like the tiny fish within the bath of the gardens.
A part of her wanted to leap up Ghidorah's back and flee. He would not try to argue her out of it, he would take to the dark sky and they could travel across the entirety of Essos. Even fly over the narrow sea and fly over Kings Landing. He could fly above the clouds, out of range of any bolt or arrow. Fly all the way north to see the Wall. See if there truly were dead men with blue eyes lurking in the lands of forever winter. Or perhaps go east, to the shadow lands. Or perhaps to Old Valyria, to fly over the smoking sea and glimpse the wandering demons within the smog.
Or perhaps to Braavos, to seek out the house with the red door and the lemon tree. Back when she could be a child, be young and cheerful without the crushing burden of rule and when Viserys was a dear brother, not a tormentor. The dagger of the Harpy hung tight above her nape like a noose but she could not just abandon everyone who followed her, who put their trust and lives upon her, simply because her neck was beginning to ache from the weight of a crown.
Ghidorah's presence anchored her as well. His mind was older, less flighty and curious than when he'd been a hatching and they'd crossed the Red Waste. Now it was more watchful and hungry. His simplistic view helped soothe her worries even if she did not agree with him. The Targaryens had tamed themselves upon Valyria but their scaly cohorts never did. She wondered if she'd been happier if she'd risen from Drogo's pyre as an actual dragon, free to fly and free to shake free the bonds of responsibility. To never brood upon anything than when her next meal would be.
She dozed there upon the balcony, overlooking the city and leaning against her child's snout with a pelt wrapped around her when a distant rumble and a surge of excitement woke up Daenerys from her shallow sleep. She jolted up, confused as Ghidorah pulled away from her from where his heads had been draped over the side of the pyramid, rearing up upon his hind legs with his large wings unfurled. It couldn't be an intruder, Ghidorah would have reacted and the door to her chambers was well guarded.
Instead she followed the direction he was staring towards but it was still deep in the night so she could see nothing. Then a distant flash lit up the landscape in a jolt of lightning, illuminating the hills and crests of the ocean and the billowing thick clouds.
A thunderstorm?
They happened before, in her time within Drogo's khalasar as they roamed the Dothraki Sea. Some were so vicious with wind they'd hurl tents and even people around. Others were just accompanied by the lightning which could cause wild fires or unleash torrential rain down upon them. Ghidorah had never seen one before, she realized. The weather had been blessedly mildly in her campaign so far.
Above her, Ghidorah huffed before his left most head leaned down to nip at the pelt wrapped around Daenerys' shoulder and nearly pulled her over. His eagerness washed over her, despite her own mounting confusion. It took her a few moments, and some more nips from her child, for her to realize what he wanted her to do.
He wants me to ride him? He wants to fly in the storm?
The winds could be ferocious in storms and when she looked back over the balcony she could see how the lightning strikes were getting closer and closer. Brief flashes of cold blue, compared with the gold of Ghidorah's breath. Her child's wings grew stronger every day but to directly fly within the maw of a storm...
Ghidorah's excitement, his desire to share that moment with his mother, swept her doubts and fears away like a riverbank bursting. Daenerys found herself almost sprinting back into her room, even as the peals of thunder grew louder as she ransacked her room for clothing, tossing aside silks and pelts and fragile fabric until she found something appropriate.
It was her Dothraki garb, for comfort over long weeks of riding rather than aloft wealth. Breeches and woven shirt, hardy boots intended for long wear. Her fingers fumbled as she quickly changed, Ghidorah's overriding giddiness making her nervous and sent her stomach rolling. Her hair was tied up awkwardly in a long tail, Daenerys ignoring how unkempt it was to the elegant braids Missandei wove within her hair. Daenerys also grabbed more loops of leather for her hands, tying them around her wrists and hands. That way she'd be able to anchor herself to Ghidorah like a makeshift harness.
Daenerys barely got back onto the balcony before Ghidorah picked her up, teeth firm but gentle as he grabbed her shoulder with one jaw and her waist with another. He deposited her upon his back, and Daenerys firmly looped the leather around two thick spikes at the base of his central neck. She'd barely tied them secure before Ghidorah pushed off from the top of the pyramid, great wings mimicking the thunder in the distance as he rapidly ascended.
Normally she would refuse to do such a thing; previously her flights with Ghidorah had been calm. He had never taken quick or abrupt movements with her upon his back, as if he feared to dislodge her. And Daenerys had also been hesitant, wanting to acclimate to riding him. Stationed within Meereen, she'd been so busy ruling and dealing with the treacherous Harpy's she had not flown with him for quite some time. Now they were heading straight towards the gigantic thunderstorm slowly but surely making its way to Meereen.
However there was no uncertainty in Ghidorah's mind, his enthusiasm washing over Daenerys and filling her limbs with fire. It reminded her of when she lit Drogo's pyre with the eggs and the maegi lashed to it, to walk among the flames. Sheer overriding instinct, the knowledge that it was right.
She clung to his mind, their thoughts merging that Daenerys could feel the sweep of their wings, the wind whipping through their hair and the rain washing over their golden scales and skin as they approached the great storm. Another peal of thunder boomed over the landscape even as more flashes of lightning lit up the roiling clouds and then they shot into the stormfront like a golden arrowhead.
Daenerys got soaked to the bone in seconds but Ghidorah's scales were hot beneath her, keeping the chill away even if she barely noticed it. Through their bond she could sense how Ghidorah studied the wind that screamed around them, at how he knew when to fold or flare his wings to keep himself aloft and moving rather than simply being thrown aside like a leaf in a current.
They were a glittering speck among the roiling clouds, so dark it was as if they were surrounding by pulsating shadows. Occasionally lightning would lance through, lighting up the area and making Ghidorah's scales seem silver. Then the thunder followed, roaring and grumbling until she could hear nothing else.
Her own joy mingled with Ghidorah, the euphoria of flying within a raging tempest even with her hair and skin soaked. Sometimes Ghidorah would loop and for a dizzying moment she'd be upside down, so swiftly her body had no time to fall before they were back spiralling through the black clouds. Her fingers were frozen, gripping tight of his slick spines and the leather creaking as Ghidorah surged beneath her. The dense muscles in his wing arms and spine flexed, making his scales ripple like a golden hoard as he shot through another cloudfront with Daenerys laughing upon his back.
Then a fork of lightning struck the claw tip of Ghidorah's wing, the membrane glowing bright and Daenerys felt the lightning as it travelled through her after snaking down his wing in a great jolt before it shot out the tip of his opposite wing. Though when it lanced back out into the tempest it was edged in gold, rather than the cold blue tint of before.
It made her reel, insides tingling and violet eyes sparkling before another lightning bolt struck Ghidorah's right head, to ripple right down his horns and spines and again it burst through her like a bucking horse before radiating out of his wing fingers.
Ghidorah trilled before opening his mouths, spitting out three lances of brilliant golden light that rapidly got swallowed within the storm and soaring back through the black clouds with a flare of his great wings.
Something began to shift as they danced, as if the storm was now no longer buffeting and pushing against Ghidorah and her but rather coiling around them and flying with them even as the lightning snaking through the storm grew more and more gold tinted until it gleamed just like Ghidorah's breath as it rabbited next to them through the clouds. More of it struck Ghidorah but his body absorbed it easily as if he was a part of it- and just as easily passed through her from where she clung tight to her child, their shared joy mingling together as she continued to laugh miles high above the city.
Below, Meereen was struck with ferocious winds that ripped open shutters and torrential rain which rapidly began to flood the sewers and make the river run swollen as the residents cowered within their homes. Lightning danced through the clouds, tongues of the brilliant light occasionally lashing down below and exploding the burnt remains of the orchids or scorching the stone paths. Thunder boomed so loudly it made windows rattle even as dogs howled and horses whinnied.
High above in the heart of the great tempest, the lightning and clouds swirling around them, mother and child continued to dance with the storm.
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