[82] Blood of the Dragon

Chapter 82: Blood of the Dragon

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Through the flap of her tent, Daenerys watched her dragons soar across the evening sky of Yunkai. Drogon and Rhaegal's wings cast long shadows over the camp, their cries echoing across the barren landscape outside the city’s gates. Eight thousand Unsullied stood in perfect formation beyond, their spears glinting in the dying light.

Yet her thoughts drifted far from this situation, across the Narrow Sea.

"Tell me again," she said, turning from the sight to face Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah. Wine sloshed in her cup as she gripped it tighter. "About my brother."

Ser Barristan shifted uncomfortably. "The reports are consistent, Your Grace. Viserys Targaryen sits the Iron Throne. He arrived with a golden dragon during the Battle of Blackwater Bay, turning the tide against Stannis Baratheon's forces."

"A golden dragon." The words felt bitter on her tongue. "While I struggled in the Red Waste, while I lost my husband and child, he somehow hatched the egg he stole?"

"...There's more, Khaleesi," Jorah said quietly. "He's taken two brides – Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark. The marriage will be held in a few days. However, there's one surprising thing. He didn't announce any Queen. He said he'll choose one amid the two based on their competency, a year from now on. The Reach and the North support his claim."

Daenerys drained her cup, her eyes blazing with emotion. And what of my claim…? What of the throne that I promised my dead son?

"Your brother has changed," Barristan offered carefully. "The reports speak of a man unlike the one who sold you to the Dothraki. I'm unsure how, but he's not the same coward you remember. Otherwise, it’d have been impossible to convince not only the Reach but the North too, about giving up their princesses for a marriage like this. He executes justice personally, and protects the smallfolk-"

"He sold me!" The words burst from her like dragonfire. "He cared nothing for justice then. Nothing for protecting anyone but himself! He even threatened to kill my baby so that he could flee to safety!"

"…He didn’t, in the end," Barristan Selmy said. “From a young age, I noticed that Viserys was a coward unlike his older brother. But the stories I’ve been hearing are singing about a stronger man. Perhaps sending him letters will be wise, Your Grace?”

“Don’t force her to do anything, Ser,” Jorah said from his side, making the man frown.

Dany ignored their banter, looking away. Her hands shook as she poured more wine. "I thought... I thought I was the last dragon. I don't burn from flames, but he did. I thought that my children were the only dragons in the world and that I’d reach greatness through them. But now..."

"You still have a choice, Khaleesi," Jorah said. "You have two dragons of your own. An army of Unsullied. He only has one. You could sail for Westeros-"

"And what? Fight my brother, who has the support of the realm? Start another Dance of Dragons?" She laughed bitterly. "…As much as I want to see him dead, I know that's just a dream with our little army. For now, we can focus on what's before us." She set down her cup and straightened. "…Tell me of Yunkai. How have the Wise Masters responded to our presence?"

The two exchanged glances, and she realized they were surprised to see her maintain composure. However, what they didn’t see was how troubling it was for her to push thoughts of Viserys aside. Regardless, she focused on her surroundings. Yunkai.

Astapor still haunted her dreams. The crack of her whip, the screech of her dragons, and the way the Good Masters had writhed as dragonflames consumed them. She'd freed the Unsullied that day, watching eight thousand spears rise in salute when she gave them their choice. Their commander, Grey Worm, had proven himself worthy of the trust she placed in him.

The yellow walls of Yunkai waited for her now, ancient and imposing. Unlike Astapor's red brick, these walls seemed to absorb the evening light, making the city appear as if it were carved from pure gold. The Wise Masters had refused her terms—the liberation of their slaves—just as she'd expected them to.

Now, she was curious what they were up to.

Ser Barristan cleared his throat. "They've hired sellswords, Your Grace. Ten thousand strong."

"The Golden Company," Jorah finished. "Led by Harry Strickland, and they're usually active in the Nine Free Cities. The Wise Masters must have paid a fortune to bring them here. They have war elephants and a reputation for never breaking a contract."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "The most expensive sellsword company in the world? The Wise Masters must be desperate."

"That they certainly must be, after hearing what your brother's dragon did in the Blackwater," Barristan cautioned. "Interestingly, the Golden Company was founded by Aegor Rivers - a Targaryen bastard. They've spent generations trying to seat a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne. Although by now, all Blackfyre were dead."

"It'd have been commendable if they stayed in the Free Cities, but they had to come and work for the slavers. A disgrace to my blood, bastard or otherwise," Daenerys stood, walking to the tent's entrance again.

Her dragons wheeled overhead, their shadows merging with the approaching dusk. "It’s odd, though. How fitting that they've forgotten their roots while fighting for the throne for hundreds of years, while my brother has never forgotten his and regained the throne in so little time." One thing she'd give to Viserys… he was like a cockroach, doing anything necessary to survive. And when the time was right, he took what was his.

She just wondered what part she had to play here. Only recently did she start dreaming about the Iron Throne, but had they all been nothing but a child's fantasy?

She watched the sun sink behind Yunkai's ancient walls, her heart heavy with questions she couldn't answer. Was this her destiny – to free slaves while her brother ruled the Seven Kingdoms?

"…Send word to their commander," she said finally. "I would meet with this Harry Strickland before we begin."

****

Daenerys sat under the silk canopy of her open tent, watching her two dragons tear into roasted sheep. They were still chained, but Drogon and Rhaegal ripped at the meat with a fierce sort of elegance, afternoon sunlight glinting off their scales. Pride always filled her chest when she saw them, even if worry gnawed at her thoughts.

Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah stood at her side, their hands close to their sword hilts. In front of them sat a table piled with fruits, meats, and sweet treats, ready for their guests.

“How long must we wait, Ser?” she asked, and footsteps answered her before they could.

When the leaders of the Golden Company arrived, Daenerys studied them closely. Harry Strickland led the group—a round-faced man with a friendly look that didn’t quite match his reputation. Behind him walked two odd figures whose names she wasn’t aware of. An older, clean-shaven man with blue-dyed hair that didn’t fully hide the red underneath, and a younger man with the same artificial coloring.

“...Welcome,” Daenerys said, standing up to greet them. “I’m glad you Sers accepted my invitation.”

“The honor’s ours,” Strickland answered with an easy smile, bowing a little. “Not many get summoned by the Mother of Dragons.” She was surprised at how polite he was, especially since he was hired to kill her.

They took their seats across from her, while the older blue-haired man’s gaze lingered on her dragons in a way that made her curious. His younger companion tried to hide it better, but she caught the same interest.

“Please, have something to eat,” she offered, gesturing at the food in front of them. “We have a lot to discuss.”

Servants started pouring wine, and Drogon screeched so loudly that Strickland flinched. The older blue-haired man, though, only smiled.

“They’re magnificent,” he said, his voice carrying an accent Daenerys couldn’t pin down. Like he was faking it. “I never thought I'd see real dragons.”

“They're still growing,” Daenerys responded. She raised her hand, and Drogon instantly paid attention. “Drogon, dracarys.”

The black dragon’s flames roared out, charring a hanging haunch of meat in seconds. Her guests murmured in appreciation at the display.

“Now, let’s get to business,” she went on. “The Wise Masters pay you well, no doubt. But I can offer more than gold. I’m giving you the chance to join something bigger – freeing Slaver’s Bay under the Mother of Dragon’s command.”

The three of them exchanged glances, and rather than answering, they started eating. It made Dany frown, and she exchanged glances with her advisors. Ser Barristan stepped forward, his gaze locked on the older blue-haired man. “Excuse me, Ser, but have we crossed paths before? You look familiar.”

The man’s smile stayed easy. “Perhaps we have,” he replied, sipping his wine.

Daenerys leaned in. “You still haven’t answered me. What’s your decision?”

All three exchanged looks again as if they were talking silently among themselves. Then, out of nowhere, the younger blue-haired man gave a soft laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Daenerys asked, taking a closer look at him now.

His violet eyes—how hadn’t she noticed them right away?—met hers warmly. “I think we can negotiate a lot more than this Slaver City, Aunt.”

“…Aunt?” The word felt strange on her lips.

He stood up, lifting a hand. Ser Barristan moved in to protect her, but it wasn’t needed. Instead of a weapon, the man just took off his blue wig, revealing his real hair. The silver-white hair of a… Targaryen.

“Forgive me, I can’t keep the act going too long. It hurts to do it in front of family.” He bowed, his expression genuine. “I’m Aegon Targaryen, Rhaegar’s son—your nephew. The Golden Company only took this job so I could meet you, the future Queen of Westeros. I know this is all confusing, but… I have proof.”

Daenerys felt like the ground vanished under her feet. The dragons, the tent, and even her loyal knights seemed to fade away as she stared at this man who shouldn’t exist.

Another dragon. Another claim to the throne.

Another piece of her broken family standing right there with her silver hair and her own violet eyes. It felt like a heavy weight pressed on her chest, leaving her speechless as the reality of his words washed over her like waves crashing on the shore.

Aegon Targaryen had come to her with an alliance proposal, promising her the throne if she stood beside him against her imbecile of a brother.

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