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Chapter 66: A Wild Khaleesi Appears
🕑 Added 2024-10-08 07:34:41 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note:
Hey guys, I'm back. Sorry for the delay, but since the news about my mother, I was, and probably still am, in a bad spot. Like I mentioned before, a lot of things will change since she had a really good-paying job for my country (which is a third-world country), so yeah, even if by some miracle she manages to get another job, her pay will be much lower. It’s hard, and it complicates a lot of things since I don’t study in my hometown. Thankfully, I started my dream of writing fanfiction, and while I’m still a small creator, at least I earn enough to cover my college expenses. But I'm still considering going back to my hometown so we don’t have to pay for the room I’m renting and the cost of food.
Eh... things are somewhat messed up, but I hope we’ll overcome this. I cannot thank you enough for the support you've all shown me through your subscriptions. Really, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope you enjoy the chapter—bit of an info dump, but I wanted to show some butterflies. I’ve always disliked how no one told Dany about her father and the atrocities he committed in his madness, so here Ser Whitebeard was honest with her, gaining her trust while evaluating if she is worthy to follow. Also, Tyrion's planning is just so much fun—he’s an intelligent man, and having the knowledge Robb gave him opens a lot of doors for him to hype himself up for Dany.
Daenerys Targaryen.
I sighed, looking at the horizon of the sea. I was thankful to leave Qarth for good finally; my memories of that place were not all pleasant. Having to suffer betrayals and the like for so long was no good for me. Yet, even after all that, I could not deny that I was as happy as I could ever remember being.
My dragons, my children, were flying and chasing each other in the wind, and I smiled when they dove deep into the water in search of food. They were my joy, a reminder of better times. Even if they were born after Drogon’s death, they were a stark reminder of my sun and stars.
The Dothraki who followed me were distrustful of the ships; they called the sea the "poison water," distrusting the liquid that their horses would not drink. On the day my ships sailed from Qarth, it appeared as if they were riding to the entrance of hell. Even if some were determined not to show fear, I could see past their facades. It was hard for me to see them so afraid, but it needed to be done if my plan to return to my homeland was to be fulfilled.
But I felt at home; there was something in the sea that calmed my racing thoughts. The Narrow Sea was often stormy, but I had crossed it so many times when I was younger, running from the dogs of the Usurper.
It felt freeing to be here once again, and it only hardened my resolve to fulfill my late brother’s dream of going back to Westeros and making the Usurper’s family pay for all the wrongs he had done to my family. Being on the run from his hired knives, living dime to dime, going days without food—I hated him so much. After hearing of his death, I felt lost. One of the things that kept me going was the thought of seeing him groveling at my feet, but it was impossible now.
But his blood was still sitting on my throne… or was it, though? I thought with morbid amusement at him being cuckolded by his wife and her twin brother. In the end, it did not matter at all. While I could not extract vengeance from the Usurper, just imagining the Lannisters’ suffering made my heart flutter.
Looking at my children, I smiled, seeing them so happy; the faint feelings they provided me through our bonds were capable enough of that. While I could not communicate with them directly, I could feel some of their emotions when they felt like it. I loved seeing them like that, free and flying through the air with no worries. They were getting bigger and bigger, with Drogon being the largest of them all.
“It’s wonderful to see them like this, is it not?” I asked aloud, a smile on my face.
“Aye, it is,” murmured Ser Jorah at my side, always protecting me. The exiled knight had been with me since Pentos, and while before me he had offered his services to my brother, that changed after some time. He had protected me for so long, and I appreciated his help dearly, even if I was not sure how to respond to his advances. “I would have loved to see the famous dragons of my line before they went extinct,” I added softly—Balerion the Black Dread, Vhagar, Meraxes, to name a few. I was sure they were magnificent, and I hoped my children would grow up like them.
My only children, a dark part of my mind whispered harshly. According to the sorcerers in Qarth, I won’t be able to have babes anymore without divine intervention, the curse placed upon me by the maegi Mirri Maz Duur. Oh… how I hated her for that reason. The memory of her last moments was one of the most satisfying I had.
The squire Whitebeard was standing vigilant behind all of us, even when it wasn’t needed. My people would not harm me. “Balerion the Black Dread was two hundred years old when he breathed his last. From what I’ve heard, a dragon does not stop growing with age, Your Grace.”
I still was not sure what to think of him; he had arrived with Strong Belwas, sent by Magister Illyrio Mopantis to protect me. But I was in no position to say no to more help. I understood enough that I was a weak girl with no army behind my back, and while Viserys had said enough times during my childhood that Westeros awaited our return, I had noticed enough discrepancies about that to doubt it was true.
“You sail from Westeros, Arstan?” I asked him softly.
“Indeed, Your Grace,” he said in his usual tone, not showing much emotion or what he was thinking, but I noticed a small turn of his lips, maybe remembering better times. News had not reached us from Westeros for a long time, so we were in the dark about the happenings there. The last thing I heard from there came from Arstan himself, proclaiming the death of the Usurper.
I was meant to be the Queen of Westeros, and I knew almost nothing about them, something I hoped to fix now that he was here. While Ser Jorah tried, I knew that he was biased in his stories and was from one of the most reclusive kingdoms of Westeros.
“Tell me about my father,” I asked with a serious tone; it was time I learned the truth.
He was conflicted; I could see it plainly. It appeared that I was correct in my assumption: there was more to the story than Viserys had told me growing up.
“King Aerys was a complicated man,” he admitted softly, a storm of emotions on his face for all of us to see. I waited for him to continue, but he was having trouble picking up the words.
“I want the truth, Arstan,” I ordered firmly.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I had the honor to meet him before the Defiance of Duskendale, Your Grace. Before the Defiance, he cut an imposing figure; he had an appearance of majesty and power.”
“Go on,” I smiled at him; it was good to learn about my direct family from someone else finally.
“His Grace Aerys Targaryen was considered a charismatic figure and an energetic ruler during the beginning of his reign. He was ambitious and wanted to prove himself. Remember that he sat on the throne when he was twenty years old, Your Grace,” he continued, before taking his cane and putting his weight on it, his shoulders relaxing minutely. “However, even at the beginning, he showed some troubling signs of vanity and pride. He could be rash and overreact to perceived slights.”
The smile on my face was wiped out so fast that it almost hurt. “Are you telling the truth?” I asked somewhat harshly.
“I am, my queen,” he replied firmly. “Like I said, that was before the Defiance… While he had those signs, it was easy to ignore them for the greater good of Westeros. But after that…” He sighed, his expression that of a defeated man.
“What happened after that?” I asked in morbid curiosity.
“You need to remember that he was six moons in captivity, suffering from who knows what, Your Grace,” Arstan cautioned. “Are you sure you want me to tell the truth?”
I just nodded mutely. I needed to know, once and for all.
“After Ser Barristan saved him from Duskendale, His Grace had become disheveled and unkempt. His once glorious silver hair grew wild and tangled, as he stopped the servants from cutting or grooming it. His nails, too, grew long and dirty, curling themselves from the length. His eyes burned with paranoia and malice; he grew obsessed with the idea that everyone around him was a threat. Not even his family was spared from this paranoia.”
I could feel the sting in my eyes as if thousands of ants were walking in them… It was hard to hear about the failings of my family. But I vowed to be better than them, to be a just ruler.
“Careful with your words, old man,” Ser Jorah growled from my side. I could feel the tension rising in the atmosphere, but before I could put a stop to it, a belching sound cut through.
“Burp,” could be heard from the stairs, with the eunuch warrior walking toward us. “Strong Belwas has awoken,” he said with a large smile on his face. He was a peculiar one, but his skill with a blade could not be denied.
Before Ser Jorah and Arstan could continue their spat, I intervened, ignoring the eunuch for the moment. “I’m sure he meant no harm, Ser Jorah. He answered my question truthfully, unlike some,” I finished with a mild glare toward my exiled knight. I had asked about my family numerous times, and he always answered with songs and stories he probably invented. I understood why he had done that, but that did not mean I was not miffed. The truth had been hidden from me for so long.
“Please continue, my friend,” I urged after seeing them calm down. There had been hostilities between them ever since the old squire saved me from the manticore. Ser Jorah had been peeved for failing to do so himself, something of his pride as a man that I did not understand, but I was happy to ignore as long as it didn’t become a problem. While we were busy, Strong Belwas found some food to eat from who knows where and plopped himself on the floor next to us.
“King Aerys was called the Mad King for a reason, Your Grace. As I said before, he had some disturbing tales even before the Defiance, but after his long stay in that dreary castle, everything became for the worse. It shattered any remnants of his previous mental stability. He became obsessed with treachery and hoped to see his enemies, either real or those he imagined, burn, and burn they did. He ended up being jealous of his Hand, Tywin Lannister since he earned the respect of the smallfolk for being fair and making things work for the better.”
Arstan took a deep breath before continuing. “He also hated him for not saving him from his capture to the point where he even doubted him for being the mastermind behind that plot. That is something I don’t know, but that did not matter at all. King Aerys ended up sacking him from his position as Hand, and as history has shown us multiple times, Tywin Lannister is not someone to cross lightly.”
I took a deep breath. “Is that the reason why he sacked the city to end the rebellion?” I asked with a surprising amount of rage. That action had cost my family dearly, and what happened to my aunt, niece, and nephew was something that kept me up at night. To be capable of doing so much harm to people who did not deserve it was not something I understood.
Arstan nodded his head before shrugging. “I’m sure that was one of the reasons, but it was not the main one. Tywin Lannister ended up hating the king for many different reasons: his admittedly strange infatuation with Tywin Lannister’s wife, losing the job of Hand, and probably the worst one of all—the king forcing his heir to join the Kingsguard in petty revenge. From what I know of him, Tywin Lannister cares for only one thing in life: his family name.”
I was pensive after hearing that. While the knowledge of the things my father did while he was king hurt to hear, at least I would not be ignorant when I sailed to Westeros in search of the throne. I now knew that I could expect zero to little support from the Westerosi, no matter what Ser Jorah told me. But I also learned about Tywin Lannister’s biggest fear, something that I hoped to put to use when I visited him.
“If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace.” He bowed. “I need to attend to Strong Belwas’s needs.”
Nodding graciously at him, I thanked him from the bottom of my heart for the honest truths, even if I wondered who he truly was. There was an air of danger around him, and I was sure that was what had Ser Jorah on edge. He moved with surprising ease for someone his age. While it was true that he didn’t carry himself like the rest of the hardened men in the city, I somehow knew deep in my mind that he was even more dangerous than my most experienced guards. The only reason I didn’t call him out was that I needed all the help I could get, and I did not think he wanted to do me harm.
I could see the way he observed me when he thought I did not notice; it was like he was testing me. For what reason, I could not say. But I could see his eyes on me as I went about my day, and his reactions baffled me. He sometimes had an appreciative smile on his face, while other times he frowned softly. But even if he did not approve of my actions, he did not say a thing to me. There was something else going on, but I hoped he would keep being my companion. I had grown to like him.
“You should be wary of his words, Your Grace,” Ser Jorah warned with a deep frown on his face. “I do not trust him, Your Grace. Something is going on with the both of them, and I don’t like it.”
“I know what you mean, Ser Jorah,” I nodded. “But I am in no position to deny all their help.”
Ser Jorah grunted. “They were sent by the Magister for your protection, but you need to remember that he supported your brother instead of you. If you blindly trust every schemer who crosses your path, you will end up the same as your brothers, and I don’t want that, Your Grace.”
His concern was heartwarming, even if it made me angry. The last thing I needed or wanted after all my suffering was to be treated as a kid. He was right, of course, but that did not mean I had to like it.
“I know he is more than what he pretends to be, Ser Jorah.” I sighed, before walking back to my room with him in tow. When we entered the room, I ordered Irri and Jhiqui to leave us alone. This was something that needed to be done in secrecy.
“He knows way too much, Your Grace. And he is older than any squire that I have met in my life. Please, I beseech you, don’t trust him,” Ser Jorah continued. “I have been thinking of something: instead of going directly to Pentos under the protection of the Magister, let’s head to the Free Cities. You can buy an army there. That way, you will have a thousand swords under your control and be in a position of power when you meet with him. I am sure he will think twice before crossing you.”
I could feel myself getting excited. The plan needed work since the only gold I had available was the one that Qarth gave to me during my stay there, and while it was a substantial amount, it would not be enough for me to buy an army.
“I know slaves are cheap, but I don’t believe the gold we have is enough to buy an army, Ser Jorah,” I admitted, my spirits dampened. Oh, how I would love to have thousands of soldiers at a similar level to Strong Belwas, but it was impossible for now.
“I’m sure we can manage to get a trade, my queen,” he smiled while getting closer to me, but I stepped back and created some distance between us. I knew he had feelings for me, but I felt the need not to succumb to any indiscretion with my knight. Even if I returned his feelings, it was not to be. He could not be the one on my side when I reclaimed the throne, and the hurt I felt from my sun and stars’ death had yet to dissipate.
I knew my relationship with Drogo was not a common one, but I grew up to love him. He was surprisingly tender with me after our first night together, something I honestly did not believe when I first saw him in the Magister's manse. The deadpan warrior who visited with his khalasar, the man who saw me and left without a word, making me question my beauty.
“Please, call Irri when you leave, Ser Jorah. I wish to rest before I command the captain to sail to Astapor,” I said in a clipped tone. “Make sure my bloodriders rest. I’m sure we will need all the rest we can get before we reach our destination.”
Ser Jorah looked hurt at my denial, but he was gentlemanly enough not to push me any further. While I was not sure what I could do to him if he continued, I knew that my blood-riders or my protectors from Pentos would attack before he managed to do something substantial—something I did not wish to see. I could not return his advances, he was not high-born enough for us to be together, but that did not mean I wanted to see him hurt because he failed to control himself.
Lying on my bed, I dreamed of the future, hoping that all my hardships would mean something in the end, and hoping that I could become the just ruler I desired to be. The Targaryen name was in tatters back in Westeros, and the responsibility to take my name and make the people respect it was going to be hard. I hoped to be that and more, and for that, I needed an army.
One Month Later
Daenerys Targaryen.
Finally hearing the captain shouting from the deck that land was in sight, I felt butterflies in my stomach. This was it. We had talked with my advisors about what we could offer the Wise Masters for the Unsullied army; ideas flew from all of them, but in the end, the two options we had were to take advantage of Magister Illyrio and his goods to obtain at least a thousand swords for me to go back to Pentos, and the other one was more dubious. It was proposed by Ser Jorah, and while Arstan did not like the honorless action, even he could not deny that it could work. The only reason he did not object to it was because of who the Wise Masters were. It appeared that to the chivalrous squire, slavery was the lowest of the low, and he did not have a single ounce of compassion for them.
To offer my biggest dragon as payment for all of the army they had at their disposal, and while Arstan objected to slavery quite vehemently, he understood my point, even if it pained him. That did not mean that he stopped trying to make me reconsider.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Your Grace?” he asked seriously. It was probably the last time he would try to make me change my mind before we docked.
“Arstan, I understand your concerns, and I value your honesty,” I replied just as seriously. “But I need an army behind me to reclaim my throne. Even if the lords in Westeros oppose me for that, there is no other way for me to obtain such a large and disciplined force.”
“Sellswords, my queen,” he said, and I admitted that he was almost as stubborn as I was. If I did not value his honesty—something that people denied me for so long—I would have ditched him long ago.
“Sellswords are dishonorable,” grunted Ser Jorah. “They can be bought; they will change their allegiance when someone else offers a bigger bid for their services, and the Lannisters have more gold than any of us can imagine.”
The old squire narrowed his eyes. “I know that you have experience being a slaver yourself, Ser Jorah Mormont. But a queen cannot be seen breaking the law of her homeland, even if it is needed. The law exists for a reason. Ever since the Seven Kingdoms united under the banner of Aegon the Conqueror, slavery has been prohibited for all, even the royal family.”
Ser Jorah stood up in fury, taking his sword from its scabbard and pointing it toward the old squire. I took a few precious seconds to see what he would do, considering he was unarmed, but besides gripping his cane tightly and the tightening in his eyes, he did not make any overt moves.
“Enough!” I shouted with as much force as I could. “I will not have my people fighting among ourselves. Arstan, you were out of line.” I glared at him, but he just bowed his head in submission before closing his mouth. “And you, Ser Jorah. Enough with the attitude you have against Strong Belwas and his squire. I know you don’t trust them, but until they show they wish to go against me, you will respect them.”
“As you command, Your Grace,” he nodded grimly, clearly unhappy that I did not support him against the protectors sent by the Magister. But what Arstan said was the truth; there were other ways, but I could not deny that I was anxious and in need of an army.
Taking a deep breath, I observed everyone on deck. “I made a decision, and I ask all of you to trust me. It will be the best of both paths.” I glared at them to oppose me.
Seeing them all silent, I nodded in satisfaction, the beginning of a plan running a mile a minute in my mind. I did not wish to be seen as a slaver who brought the act back to Westeros like a tyrannical ruler, mad as my father. But I also needed the men, and what better way to take the army than freeing them from their shackles, making them free of obligations?
I knew that such a move would be honorable enough to gain the support of whoever Arstan truly was, and I would still get my army. While I was sure to lose some swords who decided not to follow me, his honesty was something I appreciated more than a thousand swords, if I was honest with myself.
Seeing the harbor close, I walked toward the center of the deck, looking into the eyes of every follower of mine. “I ask you to trust me, trust that I will make the best decisions I can in my situation. I want to be a just ruler for my people, and while my next actions may seem dubious to some of you, I ask you to show your support for me in the faces of the Wise Masters. I want them to see that we are a united front. Wait until the end of my plan; at that point, I will hear all of your grievances.”
I smiled at seeing their nods of agreement, along with a couple of shouts from my blood riders.
“Remember that we will only speak Dothraki and Common Tongue during our stay in Astapor. That way, we can have an advantage over the Wise Masters,” I said firmly. And while only Arstan and I spoke High Valyrian, I wanted my followers to show incomprehension when the Masters spoke.
Getting my serious face on, I started walking toward the docks where some slaves were working for their masters. Their faces, full of despair or acceptance, only hardened my resolve for my next steps.
Before we could all disembark, a group of cloaked men approached us. Seeing them looking all mysterious, I raised my eyebrow while my blood riders, Arstan, Ser Jorah, and Strong Belwas walked in front of me in case a fight broke out.
“Lady Daenerys,” the one in the lead greeted us, his face covered with a wooden mask. The man slowly looked at every one of my defenders, and I noticed that his gaze lingered a little longer on Ser Jorah and Arstan than on the rest of us. He raised his hands to show he was unarmed.
I wondered who he was. He was expecting me, something that should not have been possible since the change of destination happened at sea. Another maegi, I wondered.
“We have been expecting you, my lady,” he said firmly. He was a big man, buff almost like Strong Belwas, maybe even more than my protector. His arms were the size of my torso, and I did not doubt for a moment that he could break me with his hands alone.
“You are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Dothraki, and mother of dragons. Pay your respects,” said Ser Jorah with a threatening tone.
“Silence, you disgusting slaver. I was not talking to you,” snorted the man in the lead, glaring at Ser Jorah with a surprising amount of venom in his gaze. “She is not my queen yet, something that can change in the future. But until then, she will receive the respect she deserves for being a lady of her house.”
Before this conversation could escalate to something I did not desire at this moment, I intervened.
“Who are you, good Ser?” I asked. “How did you know we would sail to Astapor?”
“I might be a friend of yours, Lady Daenerys,” he said with morbid amusement, something that weirded me out since I could only see his eyes. Some people said that the eyes were the entrance to the soul, and at this moment, I knew they spoke the truth. This masked man's eyes were expressive enough for me to discern that he did not wish me harm, though I could not say the same for Ser Jorah.
Before I could respond, the immense man continued, “If you would be so gracious as to follow me, my lord is waiting for you in his manse. You can take whoever you want with you if you want their protection. You will be offered bread and salt at the entrance of the manse to show that we mean you no harm at all, my lady.”
I was silent for a moment before nodding my head. “My blood riders, stay in the galley and protect it with your lives. I will be back when we finish dealing with this supposed lord,” I said with a calm smile, even if I was not that confident about the situation. If this lord wanted me to be on my back foot for this meeting, he was doing a wonderful job accomplishing it. “Ser Jorah, Strong Belwas, Arstan, you will follow me to see what he wants.”
Ser Jorah opened his mouth to complain, but I shook my head firmly. This lord had gained my undivided attention with this move, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Lead the way, good Ser,” I told the leader. “I trust that you are honorable enough not to try something underhanded.”
The big man guffawed, his laugh booming in the harbor, loud enough that some slaves turned their gazes toward us. I also noticed that his laugh seemed to confuse Ser Jorah as if he had heard it sometime in the past but could not figure out from where.
“Do not worry, little lady,” he said firmly, and I could almost see a smile on his face from his tone. “My people are as honorable as they come; you can be sure of that. All this cloak and dagger will end when we are safe in the manse.”
Following him with my small group, I turned my gaze to observe the city. When we were close to the harbor, the buildings seemed to be brimming with life, even if it was not the good kind. There were so many slaves, with their obese masters whipping them for whatever they wanted. It was hard to watch and not do something, and I knew I wasn’t the only one feeling that. Arstan was gripping his cane so tightly that I could see his knuckles whiten; Belwas was looking at the surroundings with a surprisingly carefree smile on his face. Maybe seeing that brought memories of his childhood. I didn’t know if they were good, but I could not say that he was a deep thinker on his best days. He had learned to enjoy the small moments of his life.
Ser Jorah was the only one who looked, while not unaffected, at least uncaring of the plight of these slaves—something that made me angry, but I did not show it.
The farther away from the harbor, we went, the less populated the area became, filled only with poor people who weren’t slaves but also weren’t highborn. I think we reached the slums of the city before long, but it was something that took my breath away. The buildings were in disrepair, but there were smallfolk and slaves alike with smiles on their faces, walking in the streets in peace in search of something that I could see were kitchens, filled with Unsullied and servants cooking whatever they could to fill their bellies.
“It is hard to watch this, is it not?” the leader asked softly, and I nodded mutely. The situation of the city sickened me, but what I was seeing right now filled me with hope that there was good in the world.
“Is your lord responsible for this?” I asked just as softly, smiling at the children who ran toward us with smiles on their faces, hugging the cloaked men and looking at me with curiosity.
“Indeed, my lady,” he replied with a gentle tone. “I did not know he had it in him to help these poor people, but he earned our loyalty with this action.”
“He must be a great man,” I murmured. “How long until we arrive, good ser?”
“That he is, my lady,” he replied, looking at me with those expressive eyes of his. “And we have arrived; it’s the manse in front of us.”
Looking at it from the outside, I could see that it was a manse as grandiose as the ones from the Wise Masters near the harbor. While I could see that it was damaged, it was beautiful in its own right. The red bricks contrasted with the dimming sun at this hour, probably making it grander than it normally was.
“Come on in, my lady,” the leader said, walking toward the entrance where another small group waited for us. This one consisted solely of servants and Unsullied, but they were different from the ones in the middle of the harbor; for once, they had small smiles on their faces.
“We offer you bread and salt,” he said grandiosely, gazing at the cute little servant who was a beauty in her own right. She had delicate features, with high cheekbones, expressive golden eyes, and a petite and slender frame, just like me.
She approached us somewhat timidly, her unsure steps gaining courage with each of them, and before long, she was in front of us.
“My lady,” she curtsied and said in a surprisingly clear Old Tongue.
“What is your name, child?” I asked softly, noticing the marred skin on her back. They were old wounds, and I hoped from the bottom of my heart that this lord was not the one responsible for them.
“Missandei, my lady,” she replied, more relaxed than before.
Before long, the ceremony ended, and we followed the leader to what appeared to be a meeting room. It was gracefully decorated, and the table was filled with food that made my stomach growl. It was a long journey from Qarth, and the food at sea could not compare with this.
In the middle of the room, a figure sat, looking as regal as the ones from his companions, his face hidden from view thanks to the mask. He was small, smaller than any man I had ever seen in all my travels, almost the size of a child.
“My lady Daenerys,” he said with a happy but mysterious voice, “you have no idea how long I have been waiting for you to arrive here.”
The sharp intake of breath from Arstan was the last thing I heard before my gaze zeroed in on the small figure with a grown man voice.
