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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 108: The Dragon's Arrival
The sea stretched before her like a sheet of beaten bronze, the sun's heat shimmering off its surface in waves that danced and blurred the horizon.
Daenerys Targaryen stood at the prow of the ship, her silver-gold hair whipping in the salt-tinged wind, her violet eyes fixed on the distant shape that had appeared on the horizon.
Astapor.
The city rose from the heat haze like a vision from a fever dream. Its yellow stone walls seemed to glow in the afternoon light, and a massive pyramid that thrust toward the sky stood out more than anything else...the Great Pyramid of the Good Masters, its steps climbing higher than any structure Daenerys had ever seen during her journeys. It was a monument to power, to cruelty, to the arrogance of men who believed they could own other men.
"We're almost there, Khaleesi."
Ser Jorah Mormont stood beside her, his weathered face turned toward the city. He had been her shadow since the day she had stepped into the fire and emerged with dragons at her breast, and his presence was a comfort she had grown to rely on. He was not a handsome man, nor a young one, but he was loyal, and in this world, loyalty was worth more than gold.
"Look at it," Daenerys said, her voice hardening. "A city built on the backs of slaves. A city where they cut the tongues of their soldiers so they cannot speak. A city where freedom is nothing but a pointless word with no meaning."
Jorah nodded slowly. "Astapor is a cruel city, Khaleesi. The Good Masters are not good at all. They are merchants of flesh and blood, and they have grown rich on the suffering of others."
"And that is exactly why I'm here," the Queen said.
She turned away from the city, her eyes sweeping across the small fleet. Three ships, their sails billowing in the wind, carrying the forces she had gathered on her long journey from Asshai.
She had come far, farther than any Targaryen had traveled in centuries, and she had brought with her the seeds of a new world.
Above them, the sky was dark with wings.
Drogon soared at the head of the formation, his black scales gleaming in the sun, his red eyes fixed on the city below. He was larger now, much larger than he had been when they had left Qarth, his wingspan stretching nearly twenty feet from tip to tip.
Rhaegal and Viserion flew behind him, their green and cream-colored scales shimmering as they banked and turned, their roars echoing across the water.
"They are beautiful, aren't they?" Daenerys said, her voice filled with pride. "My children."
"They are also dangerous, Khaleesi," Jorah said, his voice cautious. "They are growing more powerful every day. And Drogon... he does not always listen anymore."
Daenerys's jaw tightened. "He will learn to follow my words. They all will. They are my dragons, Jorah, and I am their mother. They will obey me. At least, they will learn to."
Jorah did not press the point any further, but Daenerys could see the concern in his eyes.
The dragons were growing bigger by the day, and with their growth came independence...and with independence, danger. She had seen the way Drogon looked at her sometimes, as if testing her authority, as if wondering whether she was still worthy of his allegiance.
Daenerys knew that the dragon riders of the past would only bond with a single dragon. Earning the trust and loyalty of their dragon took many years of hard work. She was supposed to control three dragons, and sometimes being their mother was not enough.
She wished Joffrey was here already. He would probably have a solution to offer, but he had yet to return after his sudden disappearance.
"They will learn," Daenerys repeated, more to herself than to Jorah. "I will make them learn."
The ships entered the harbor of Astapor as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. The port was crowded with vessels from across the known world...merchant ships from Volantis and Lys, pirate ships from the Stepstones, slave ships from the inland cities.
The air was thick with the smell of salt and fish and something else, something that made Daenerys's stomach turn.
The smell of blood.
"Astapor," Tyrion Lannister said, appearing at her side. He had changed in the months since she had met him...his expressions were a bit less cynical, and his eyes less guarded. He had found something in her cause, something that had given him hope. "The city of the Unsullied. The city where they make soldiers out of children and monsters out of men."
Daenerys glanced at him. "You know the city well?"
"I only know the stories, Your Grace," Tyrion said. "The Unsullied are the finest soldiers in the known world. They feel no pain, they fear nothing, they obey without question. They are the perfect soldiers, if you can call them soldiers. They are more like... tools. Oh, and they have no cocks."
"Tools," Daenerys repeated, her voice flat while also ignoring Tyrion's last words. "That is how they see them. Tools to be used and discarded. I will never view my men like that."
"That is how the Masters see them," Tyrion said. "They are bought and sold like cattle, and they are trained to believe that they are nothing more than property. It is a cruel system, but it is effective. And it has served them well for many centuries now."
Daenerys turned around, gazing at the deck of the ship. Her forces were gathered there...the enhanced Dothraki, their bodies hardened by the dragonblood ritual, their eyes fierce with loyalty to their Khaleesi. The Red Temple knights, their crimson robes a stark contrast to the white sails and blue water.
Lyssara, who was now the head Priestess of the temple, was there as well, her eyes fixed on the city with an intensity that bordered on feverish.
"Is something wrong, Lady Lyssara?" Daenerys asked. "Have you seen something in the flames that could be relevant for me?"
"Khaleesi," Lyssara said, approaching her with measured steps. "I don't have any prophecies to offer you, but I do have some advice, based on my own wisdom, if you want it."
Daenerys nodded.
"The Masters of Astapor are divided amongst themselves. But there are a few things they all have in common. They are all greedy, arrogant, and they will try to cheat you. You cannot trust anything they tell you. They will also look down on you, just for being a woman."
Daenerys nodded slowly, allowing a soft smile to appear on her face. "Yes, I already know they will underestimate me. In fact... I am counting on that."
The docking was swift and efficient. Daenerys descended from her ship with her retinue, her dragons circling overhead, their shadows falling across the red brick streets of Astapor.
The common people who saw her fell to their knees, their faces pale with terror, their hands raised in supplication.
The Unsullied stood guard at the gates, their faces showing no emotion.
They looked like statues holding bronze shields. They did not bow, did not kneel. They simply watched them with empty eyes.
"Look at them," Daenerys murmured, her voice barely audible. "They are like stone decorations. Like they have been hollowed out."
"They have been, Your Grace," Tyrion commented. "But all it will take is a single word from their Masters, and... they kill us all without hesitation."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Daenerys responded.
They were led through the streets to the Great Pyramid, the seat of power of the Good Masters. The building was massive, its steps climbing into the sky, its walls covered in intricate carvings of warriors and slaves.
At the top, the Masters awaited them, their faces filled with the arrogance of power.
The negotiations were held in a chamber at the top of the pyramid. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the heat of a dozen braziers.
The Good Masters sat in a semicircle, their faces showing a mixture of curiosity and contempt.
They had heard of Daenerys Targaryen, and of her dragons, but to them, she was just an entertainment. She was a girl, a stranger, a foreigner who had wandered into their city seeking their help. And she was beneath them.
They had no idea what they were dealing with.
Daenerys sat across from them, her advisors flanking her. Jorah stood at her right. Tyrion sat on her left, his sharp mismatched eyes missing nothing.
Lyssara stood behind her, observing the Masters with the cold gaze of a woman who had predicted the future and knew they would not survive it. And she did not need any supernatural powers for that.
"Princess Daenerys...or is it Queen Daenerys now?" said the chief of the Good Masters, a fat man with greasy hair and piggish eyes. "You have come to us seeking the Unsullied, have you not? The moment we heard of your arrival to our beautiful city, we made the presumption that you wish to buy our soldiers."
Daenerys inclined her head. "I have heard much about the might of the Unsullied. And I require a strong army that will help me recover what was taken from my family."
"Then you have come to the perfect place, Your Majesty." The Master said. "But... what can you offer in return?" He looked behind her, at the handful of Red Temple knights and the few Dothraki men who had accompanied her and were now waiting at the entrance. "I do not see your servants carrying any chests with gold or jewels. We do not give away our soldiers for nothing. They are the finest in the world, the most disciplined, the most loyal. They are worth a great deal."
"I am aware of the value of your soldiers," Daenerys said. "That is why I am offering you something that will make you far more powerful than you could ever become with the Unsullied alone."
The Masters leaned forward, their interest piqued. "And what could that be?"
Daenerys rose to her feet and gestured to the doors. Two of her best enhanced Dothraki approached, Aggo and Kovarro... their bodies gleaming with power.
"These two men were once ordinary Dothraki," Daenerys said. "Now they are something more. They are stronger than any normal man. Faster. More resilient. They can withstand fire that would kill a lesser warrior. They do not tire, do not feel pain, and heal any injury much faster."
The Masters stared at the two Dothraki with disbelief in their eyes. "They do look formidable, but... do you expect us to take your word for it?"
"Of course not." Daenerys glanced at her men. "Kovarro... show them."
"Yes, Khaleesi." Kovarro walked to one of the massive braziers made of bronze and, under the watchful eye of everyone present, he placed his entire arm over the flames and held it there.
They watched in shock as Kovarro kept his arm over the flames for almost an entire minute before retrieving it. His skin was unmarked, unburned, as if he had simply rested his arm in warm water. Then he grabbed the entire metal brazier, which must have weighed over three hundred pounds, with one hand, and lifted it into the air, sending red coals everywhere.
He grasped it with both hands and bent it ninety degrees without effort, showcasing his inhuman strength.
"How is this possible?" one of the Masters exclaimed.
"What magic is this?" another one said.
Daenerys smiled, for she knew she had them. "This was something created for me by the Sorcerer Prince, Joffrey Baratheon. I'm sure you have heard of him by now."
"How did he make them?" the Masters wanted to know.
"He used a method that combines dragon blood with human flesh to create warriors beyond the measure of normal men. A ritual that originates from the fallen Empire of Valyria and that had been lost to the world for millennia." She glanced at them. "A method... that I am willing to sell you, for the right price."
The Masters of Astapor looked at each other, and they had all reached a consensus almost immediately.
"How many Unsullied do you want?"
Daenerys smiled, a cold, predatory expression. "I want them all."
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