S6, Chapter 4: DAENERYS

24 0 0

"You're going to wake the dragon!"

Mouth gagged with white cloth strained around her head, a knot in the middle, preventing her from uttering audible sound. Frail hands bound behind with rope noosed almost as tight as the two firm handgrips on each of her arms.

A gash on her temple, twin tears of blood traversing her pale cheek. Her grey dress made of meereenese silk, partially covered with mud and sand and stains of fresh blood that had dripped from her chin.

Only the bright full moon lit the muddy, sandy, windswept street where Daenerys Targaryen was being violently dragged like a slave by two Warrior Maids.

Struggling, resisting, using all of the little strength in her arms, hoping one of them would loosen their grip.

She could hear the shouts. Or was it yells? Or chants? She was too far away to discern, but she was getting closer. She straightened her legs and pushed against the pavement, thinking it would slow the pace, but when she hit the pointed corner of carved stone, her bare dirty feet quickly turned from dark brown to bright red.

Dany looked up to her left and saw Moddabha. Moddabha...the kind, generous warrior who offered her turquoise berries as they bonded on the Sand Road... Her grip was so tight that her nails had started to pierce into Dany's skin.

Muffling, whimpering, pleading with her watered eyes... Moddabha wouldn't even indulge her a stare. She was marching where she peered, straight in front of her. The warrior to her right was colder still, merciless... but both were dutiful.

They turned the corner, and there it was, the angry mob standing in one gigantic crowd, pushing one another to get the better view, shouting at the top of their lungs, repeatedly throwing their fists in Dany's direction.

Warriors, elders, mothers, children, even the men...with their shaved heads and white drapes covering their bodies, all smaller in height than the women around them.

Each scream sent a sharp, excruciating pain into Dany's mind and her frowns formed canyons on her brow. Biting on the knot through gritted teeth, her hands beginning to ache against the strain of the tightened rope.

The violent slurs spitted out by the people of Bayasabhad were indecipherable. Nevertheless, they hurt her inexplicably.

They laughed... "what was so amusing?" As she got closer and closer, the laughter got louder, "Make it stop!" it pierced into her spine.

"You're going to wake the dragon!" she kept repeating in her mind.

She could feel the wings latching out of her back, but alas, it was only the strokes of the whiplash.

A foot away from the mob and the crowd split itself in two, leaving a path in the middle where at the end of it, a large wooden pier, imitating the one she had built for Khal Drogo.

She saw him up there, sleeping peaceful on a bed of twigs, white drape covering his body. A smile came over her at the thought of a reunion with him, but as she stepped closer, the image of her late husband flew with the breeze and the only shape she could make out, standing at the bottom center of the pier, was the one of Lady Zenad, the old, blind lady who had graciously welcomed her into her home. She was holding a book in one hand, a cane in the other.

"You promised me safekeeping! This place was not so bad, you told me. I will burn you all! Mark my words, each and every one of you will burn under the heel of fire and blood!" Daenerys was screaming with her eyes.

The walk to Zenad felt like a lifetime. Men, women and children alike spat on Dany's greasy dark-white hair, the saliva dripping onto her face like sap leaking out of a bleeding weirwood. One woman came out of the crowd and ripped at Dany's dress, revealing one of her breasts.

Let's Make Game of Thrones Great Again (one chapter at a time...)Where stories live. Discover now