No, seriously, what did he do? As a woman, I am very curious.
Rhaenys hadn't had any nightmares since leaving King's Landing. She didn't expect that she would suddenly have another one tonight. One that made so little sense.
As she sat on the bed, her chest went up and down every time she breathed. Her hair was sticking to her sweaty skin. She looked as if she had just taken a shower.
Rhaenys felt a strange and unfamiliar chill as she recalled that dream. Slowly, she looked down as she lifted her hands, palms up. They were sweaty, as was the rest of her body, but they were also shaking. Her whole body was. From the inside to the outside, she felt so cold. She had never felt so cold.
The red dragon purred at that moment, parting his eyes open. He and the other dragons had been sleeping at the feet of the bed, curled together while the direwolves laid on the floor. Feeling his mother's movements, Rhaegal was the first to awaken.
He was a pure red dragon with only some black in his belly and wings. But his eyes, just like all dragons, were golden and orange, as if fire was contained within them.
Rhaegal was a dragon. It couldn't really understand human emotions. But it could tell that something was wrong with his mother. He stood on his two small legs and walked toward the head of the bed with some difficulty, the soft material under his feet making him stumble.
Rhaenys finally looked away from her hands when she felt the warm scales against her. Rhaegal had reached her at some unknown time and had rubbed his head against her, purring like a cat that asked for attention. Or in this case, tried to bring comfort to another.
Whether awakened by their brother or by Rhaenys, the other three dragons soon followed. The freezing cold she felt to her core vanished along with all the unpleasantness of that nightmare.
Aegal, always sticky, directly laid on her lap. Eliria wiggled between her brothers, managing to stand at the forefront, passing the still clearly tired Edgon easily. Rhaegal was the one who gave her some trouble.
Despite the magic used by the Valyrians, dragons and humans could not truly speak the same language and understand one another. None of that seemed to matter now, though. The feelings between them were real and that was enough.
The little dragons had gone to try to comfort her, but Rhaenys ended up being the one that had to comfort them and reassure them that she was fine. Only when she had managed to put them back to sleep did she get off the bed. After that dream, Rhaenys didn't think she could easily go back to sleep.
Rhaenys stared at the four of them curled on the bed with the warm covers wrinkled under them. They nuzzled their noses against each other, seeking the comfort of a familiar scent.
These were her children. She didn't know if one day she would give birth to a child that was of her blood, but even if she did, these four would still be her children. When she thought of the bones of the previous dragons that laid under the Red Keep or that were buried in the Dragonpit at the top of Rhaenys's Hill, it felt as if there was a knot in her throat.
There were seven dragons on top of this ship. One day, they would breed more. And one day, she and Daenerys would die, but the dragons would remain.
Quaithe had shown Rhaenys the history of her ancestors in Valyria. Magic came with bloodline, and a little faith. Her ancestors' bloodline was powerful, so powerful that even after the Targaryens forgot how to use magic, they could still control dragons. But one day, that magic would disappear. Now that there were only two Targaryens remaining, two of the same gender, their bloodline would one day disappear, and with it, their magic.
What would happen to the dragons then?
Rhaenys turned away from the bed and went to a coffer that was placed against the wall. Once opened, there were only clothes inside. Still, Rhaenys rummaged until she reached the bottom.
She was quiet, to avoid disturbing the dragons. Under all the clothes was a wooden box, the same one Robert Baratheon had given her. But now, the ring was on her finger and the egg had hatched. It should have been empty, only having that old letter from her father.
Rhaenys placed the box on the desk of the office outside, opening it. The moonlight trickled through the window, falling over the large red stone at the top of the crown that laid on the box.
The crown was of gold, with dragons coiling around it, as if holding the red stone in the middle. Hidden within the cervixes of the dragons were inscriptions in High Valyrian.
Quaithe had given Rhaenys this crown when she left Old Valyria and had said that it held great power. Now that magic was nearly lost, this crown was the only thing that would allow her to use the powers of the old ages. She had said that this was everything Rhaenys needed. Only this crown and dragons.
But here it laid. She hadn't worn it once. Neither did she silently wait for her dragons to grow. Instead, she had come to Astapor for an army.
Quaithe hadn't mentioned it, but Rhaenys could feel it. This crown, as powerful as it was, its magic wouldn't last long. The amount of magic it could use was limited and there was something she wanted to use it for. No matter how hard things got, even if she had to make hard choices, she couldn't use this crown yet.
Tomorrow... She had until tomorrow to decide whether she would buy the Unsullied or not.
The red of the stone was reflected on Rhaenys's indigo eyes, giving the impression that flames were burning in a sea of stars. Beautiful yet dangerous.
"Have you changed your mind?"
Rhaenys lifted her head, not surprised at the appearance behind her. She simply closed the box then turned around before speaking. "It has been a while. Why did you come?"
"I heard of the... incident today. Your first meeting with a Warlock, how was it?" Quaithe didn't continue to push about her first question.
"He felt...weak. But there are so many more of those tricksters. They tried to kill Dany already. They will continue trying and I do not know if I can protect her the next time."
Quaithe clasped her hands in front of her, "They are nothing. What you must do is so much more important than a bunch of ants who are not part of your path."
"That is easy for you to say. They are not threatening your family. I want them gone. And I know you can make that happen. Or at least you know how to." Rhaenys met Quaithe's hidden gaze directly with no intention of giving in.
For some reason, there seemed to be a sort of barrier between Quaithe and everyone else. Something that stopped her from intervening too much. But for whatever reason, she wanted Rhaenys to fight for the throne and win it with her own strength. The Warlocks were an unneeded distraction.
The mask made it impossible for Quaithe's expression to be seen. No fluctuations came from her voice once she spoke either. "I do know some people who might be able to help you with your problem."
"Who?"
"No one." Quaithe paused, then continued, "No one of importance. By tomorrow night, the Warlocks of Qarth will be no more and your aunt will be safe from them. Happy?"
"Very. It also confuses me. But I know you still will not tell me why you want me on the throne. Or why you are doing all of this."
"I have my reasons. Just like you have your own. I might wear a mask, Rhaenys Targaryen, but it's not the same as yours. It is quite impressive. Tell me, how did you manage to act the way you did on that day? Robert Baratheon was lying there, weak and dying, bleeding with a hole in his belly. How did you manage not to do it? How did you manage to act like you forgave him when you wanted nothing more than to finish him yourself?"
Rhaenys pursed her lips. With every step she took toward Quaithe, her nightgown brushed against the floor behind her. "I did forgive him. That does not mean I will ever forget. What he, Tywin, the Mountain, what they all did to my family, I will never forget that. Do you want to know how I manage to not kill him myself? I managed that because I thought that if I gave him the finishing blow, his suffering would end. But as long as his milk of the poppy was later switched with something useless, his last hours on this earth would be filled with excruciating pain. It would be agonizing even for the mighty warrior that was Robert Baratheon. My only regret was that I did not get to see it. But in the eyes of everyone there, in the eyes of everyone's spies, I was a foolish little girl who only wanted him to ask for my forgiveness. If someone did cause his death, like adding something to his wine, it would not have been me."
The power Quaithe possessed, albeit great, was limited. She could understand people but not read their hearts. She couldn't watch the actions of all or always know everything.
She had never taken Rhaenys for someone who could so easily forgive. Now she understood where the strangeness laid. Forgiving is not the same as forgetting. It's just healthier.
"Eddard Stark thought you were such an angel. He would have been surprised."
"But he's dead. Just like my father is. What did it matter that he was honorable and kept forgiving his friend? What did Robert Baratheon ever do for him other than bring him disaster? I am no saint and I owed Robert Baratheon nothing. Leaving him with such an illusion of peace was enough. He must have died thinking that I would never harm his people once he was gone. Well, in the end, I never did harm them. They just did it to one another."
Had she not been wearing a mask, Quaithe's curling lips could have been clearly seen, "What will you do then, come tomorrow? Will you buy them? The Unsullied? We both know they are your best option if you wish to return soon to Westeros."
Rhaenys was in a bit of a hurry to return. If she were to depend only on the crown and the dragons to take the Iron Throne, she would have needed to wait years until they were grown. Buying an army was much quicker than building one yourself also.
Rhaenys stared at the curtain that stood between her and her children, as if she could see them through it, "I do not know. Not yet. I only know that time is running out."
"The clock ticking. You should decide soon, Rhaenys Targaryen." Quaithe turned around with the intention to leave, only stopping midway when she heard Rhaenys.
"You told me before that my dreams meant nothing. Just nightmares brought from fear, because I have lost so much. Are you really sure about that?"
Quaithe didn't turn around, keeping her back to Rhaenys, "I know your dreams seem real, but that is just what they are, dreams. Things are changing too fast and it is hard to adapt. However, there is nothing for you to worry and it will pass. Just keeping moving forward."
With that, Quaithe vanished into the shadows on the wall, leaving no trace of having ever been there. Only Rhaenys remained, frowning at the dark.
"Always the artists." Mance Rayder felt numb at that moment. Not cold, not frightened, not anything. He was just numb. Used to this sight which he had found with the others after reaching the Fist of the First Men.
With his ability, Orell had been able to scout ahead and they knew that the dead had long left this area. The only thing that should have remained were the corpses of the Night's Watchmen. But right now, not a single dead man could be found.
On the snowy mountain of the Hill of the First Men were only the corpses of horses. Horses that had been chopped into pieces and specifically arranged to form a spiral pattern that looked like a hurricane from above.
Mance had no idea why the White Walkers would waste time doing these arrangements, but they would always do so. As if it was a compulsion that they couldn't avoid.
Jon stood beside him, "It's only horses. No men."
Tormund, Orell, and Ygritte were also there. The rest of the wildlings stood away from the work of "art" that the White Walkers had made.
"You said there was dead crows." Ygritte turned toward Orell, the man not denying it, "There was."
They all knew what it implied. The corpses of the Night's Watchmen were not there, so where could they have gone? It wasn't like there were enough wild beasts in these parts to have dragged them all away.
"How many men were here?"
With Mance's question, Jon had also understood and his heart nearly missed a beat, "About 300."
"And you know what those men are now?" Receiving a nod from Jon, Mance turned to the horse carcasses while Tormund walked around, "We're all the same to them, meat for their army."
"Do you think anyone got away?" asked Jon.
Orell looked at him, furrowing his brows. He didn't trust Jon, so everything he did was taken as suspicious. Though, in this case, it really was.
Mance didn't think about it that much, "It's not impossible. You don't go far betting against Mormont. But dead or alive, he took a big gamble coming north. And he lost. His best fighting men are dead. And whether he's Lord Commander of the Night's Watch or a blue-eyed corpse, he's a long way from home. Tormund." Mance called back the redheaded giant and commanded, "Climb the Wall. Take Orell and 20 good men. And take this one." He pointed at Jon. "He knows Castle Black's defenses better than any of us. And if he's useful, good. If not, throw him off the Wall. See if crows can fly."
Jon seriously wanted to punch someone.
Tormund's excitement was difficult to describe. It had been years but the day he had been waiting for, the day all of them had been waiting for, had finally arrived. "We're finally going to war, old friend?"
"Hide near Castle Black. When I give the signal, hit them in the night. They've got a big old wall to hide behind, but it only guards one side." finished Mance, both men chuckling and hugging, patting each other's back.
Even with the approaching danger, Tormund continued to grin, "We'll meet again."
"Aye. If you do your job."
"Ah." Tormund stared at Mance's back as the man walked away from them, heading toward his awaiting army. Before he could get too far, Orell asked, "How will we see your signal?"
Mance continued striding forward, not turning back, "Send your eagle above the Wall every night. When it's time, I'm going to light the biggest fire the North has ever seen."
People say that when you're having fun, time goes by very fast while it goes slow when you're bored. Rhaenys wasn't sure whether to believe that anymore. The morning had come so soon that she felt unprepared.
Going into the room, Daenerys saw Rhaenys sitting by the window, staring outside. Her silver hair was clipped behind her back with a hairpin. The clothes she currently wore were a bit like the Sand Snakes Rhaenys met in Dorne. Dark trousers with leather boots and the top was a red cloth that went down past her knees with leather straps and a belt, the skirt splitting on each side to make movement easier.
The cloth was thin, easily being carried away by the wind. The V neck on the chest was deep, meeting the belt. Her arms completely naked if it wasn't for the bangles on her wrists and upper arms. The straps of the top met on the back of her neck and so, if it wasn't for her hair, a good part of the skin on her back would be seen.
Against the wooden floor of the ship, Daenerys's steps were crisp as she strode forward. "Have you decided yet, what you are going to do?"
"I cannot say I have." Rhaenys kept staring outside. The ship was docked and there was only so little that she could see. Whether it was the sky or the ocean, it wasn't as freeing as when she watched it before. "I find the irony surprising. You know, Dany, that that ugly chair was never something I was too interested in. Even after Lord Eddard died, I only thought of killing the people responsible, the people who had murdered my family twice. That would be all. After, I could go to Winterfell or Dorne, or anywhere else. It did not matter as long as I did not have to be the Lightbringer, Rhaenys of House Targaryen. I just wanted to be free of it all. I could help Robb and someone better could be King. There had to be someone who could do it."
Those eyes that were a mix of dark blue and purple just stayed on the moving waves and clouds, not once shifting. "And then I heard. Because of Jaime's and Cersei's indiscretions becoming known, Joffrey ordered every bastard child of Robert Baratheon to be slaughtered as if they were nothing. No one defied him, no one tried to stop him. Not his Council, not his family, not the gold cloaks whose only job is to protect the people of King's Landing. Not one of them thought of defying their King even if what he ordered them to do was wrong. I wondered, if the Lannisters are brought down, who would be the next king? The North would not care, they only wanted independence. Would the Tyrells do it, or Stannis? Or would it be the ambitious Littlefinger, or someone else who I did not consider? What exactly would change? So, why not? If this is what my fate dictated, then I would do it. I would be Queen. Then I come here, and the army that I need is made over the corpses of dead children. Isn't it ridiculous? How am I any better than Joffrey if I need to step on dead children to rule? I might not have killed them with my own hands, but I might as well have. When you stand by when someone is doing something wrong, when you allow them to profit from it, you are just as bad as them."
"What about the Starks? Or Dorne? I know that you want an army that is loyal to you, but you do have friends. We can build that army later."
"I wish I could do that. I have friends, Dany, but those friends are not their whole armies. After a war, the only thing those soldiers will want is to return to their homes. Even if we have help from the inside, fighting is inevitable. Once it's over, how many will truly remain in King's Landing? Order still needs to be kept in the capital, I need to strengthen my rule over each of the kingdoms and cities. Any remnants who just hate the Targaryens or were loyal to the Lannisters could try to assassinate us. And then, there is the Iron Bank to whom the crown currently owes quite a lot. There is no point in me debating this. I need the Unsullied. That's all there is to it. Unfortunately, we cannot even afford to buy that many."
Rhaenys finally turned away from the blue outside, looking at the sun that was slowly rising from the east of the world. That burning light reflected on her own eyes, igniting a flame. "We need more. We need all of them."
Daenerys stood behind her, standing by the desk. She was just seventeen, not having reached eighteen yet, but her voice was one that should not belong to someone her age. It was filled with maturity and certainty. "How obedient do you think the Unsullied truly are, once you buy them?"
Rhaenys curled her lips, the amethyst of her eyes meeting Daenerys's. It was as if all her worries had been swept away with the waves. "I wonder... Should we ask?"
Just like yesterday, the entourage was divided into two groups. Now that the little birds knew where to find Rhaenys and her people, there was no need to search for them to find new information.
Just like yesterday, Qoren and Ser Jorah followed behind the Targaryens with the addition of Ser Barristan. Gabriel and the others remaining with the ship.
The place they would meet Kraznys mo Nakloz today wasn't the barracks from before. The barracks where were they kept the Unsullied that had not yet been sold. Now that the "merchandise" had already been shown, they would meet in one of the pits to negotiate.
The pit was further inside the city of Astapor. The fastest way to reach it was by going down the harbor through a path that went over the red walls, overseeing the sea.
As they got closer, they passed through what the Astapori called the Walk of Punishment. Every two meters was a small platform with steps on each side. On top was a cross with slaves chained to them, whip marks and blood covering every inch of their skin. Rhaenys and the others had been walking for close to an hour and still hadn't reached the end. They also did not see a single platform that was empty.
Whether it was men or women, young or old, each platform had one slave. Some of the wounds were so deep that they reached the bones. Some had teeth or nails missing while others lost fingers or limbs. There were also some that seemed to still be whole, but their wounds were no better.
After walking for so long under the scorching sun, Rhaenys's legs and feet ached. Still, she never moved her gaze from the slaves on the Walk of Punishment. No matter how gruesome the scene was, she didn't turn away.
Ser Barristan walked behind the two Targaryens. Even a man like himself who had seen more than enough death found it hard to watch. He didn't think it would be any easier for the two Targaryens. "The Walk of Punishment is a warning."
"To whom?" asked Daenerys.
"To any slave who contemplates doing whatever these slaves did." As if proving Jorah's point, a man passed beside them with a slave following behind. The slave was but a young teenage boy. It probably wasn't long since chains were put on him as the visible skin was free of any scars or wounds. As they walked by the platforms, the young man would glance at the people on them and unconsciously stand a little further away without his Master noticing.
If one looked around the path, one would see that many of the slaves around appeared no different. They tried to keep their distance, as if that would keep them from falling under the same fate.
Daenerys moved closer to her niece, "Rhae..."
"It is all right. We won't be here for long." Even as she spoke, she never looked away. It seemed like anywhere people resided, suffering would follow. Even animals were nobler. It was only humans who enjoyed finding new ways to hurt one another.
Ser Barristan couldn't resist remaining silent any longer. "Leave this place, Your Grace. Leave tonight, I beg you." He had already disagreed with buying the Unsullied since yesterday, but as he had only joined them, he hadn't dared speaking up. But with every passing second, his disgust for this place only increased.
Ser Jorah did not have the same reservations, "And what is she to do for soldiers?"
"We can find sellswords in Pentos and Myr."
"Is it 'we' already, Ser Barristan?" Ser Jorah obviously did not like the new addition very much. He couldn't exactly say it out loud, less so now, but it was like having a second Eddard Stark hovering around him like a ghost.
Qoren simply shook his head, "I understand your misgivings, Ser, however, sellswords are paid soldiers. They are loyal only to money and the highest bidder. Even if we manage to find some that are more loyal to the person who hires them, they will run at the first sign of true danger. You cannot expect Her Grace to take the throne with an army of thugs."
"I know it is not that easy. But an army of slaves..." Ser Barristan could not finish what he wanted to say. As he trailed off, Ser Jorah spoke, "Your Grace, if you want to sit on the throne your ancestors built, you must win it. That means blood on your hands before the thing is done."
"I know what it means. I have seen war before." Twice, to be more precise. Although she didn't remember clearly the first one, she could sometimes see it. But even if she couldn't remember, she knew just how much blood was shed then. "It does not mean I want innocents to die."
"Even if you do not, Your Grace, lives will still be lost. Innocent lives." Jorah knew that Rhaenys was hesitant about buying the Unsullied, the option which he thought was best. Qoren was also of the same mind. Now that Ser Barristan was here with his righteous words, this man who had stood behind the enemy, Ser Jorah was afraid the Targaryens would change their minds, putting them that much further away from reaching the Iron Throne. "Ser Barristan, how many wars have you fought in?"
Ser Barristan wasn't a fool and could see what he was getting at, "Three."
"Have you ever seen a war where innocents didn't die by the thousands?" Ser Barristan couldn't answer, simply shaking his head. Ser Jorah found it difficult to speak of it, more so since the people he was telling this to were the biggest victims of it. "I was in King's Landing after the sack. You know what I saw? Butchery. Babies, children, old men. More women raped than you can count. There's a beast in every man, and it stirs when you put a sword in his hand. But the Unsullied are not men. They do not rape. They do not put cities to the sword unless they're ordered. If you buy them, the only men they'll kill are those you want dead."
Ser Jorah had been beside Daenerys for only two short years, but that was enough for him to get to know her. Although he had seen Daenerys learn to love Khal Drogo and adapt to the culture of his people, she could never accept the brutality of the Dothraki. In the end, it was that kindness that gave that witch a chance to murder Khal Drogo and Daenerys's child.
In his mind, Rhaenys was not that much older and she seemed to have as kind a heart as her aunt. They were very much different from the Mad King who was the father of one and the grandfather of the other. As much as it pained him, though, Ser Jorah knew such kindness would not give them victory.
Rhaenys did not immediately reply to him. Instead asking Ser Barristan while they continued to stride forward. "What about you, Ser Barristan?"
"When your father Rhaegar led his army into battle at the Trident, men died for him because they believed in him, because they loved him, not because they'd been bought at a slaver's auction. I fought beside the last dragon on that day, Your Grace. I bled beside him."
Ser Jorah glanced at Rhaenys's back hesitantly. "I know he was your father, Your Grace, but the matter stands that no matter how valiantly or nobly he fought, he still died. Just like Eddard Stark."
Rhaenys didn't stop him. It was the truth. She had no intention of being like her grandfather or Joffrey who chopped people's tongues off just because they said something that displeased them. As long as they were respectful and truthful, she would listen. Listening was one thing, though.
At the end of the road, the pit was in sight, only a couple of more meters away. It didn't look big, with only two floors. The building was circular. The bigger circle was at the bottom, large gates leading inside. On top was the smaller circle that made for the second floor, windows all around it. It was on top of that second floor that a golden harpy crouched, its wings spread open threateningly. It was there that the Good Masters would meet buyers for the final bargain.
It was there where everything would begin.
"You are both right on a number of things. Being loved is good, but it's not enough. Being noble is not enough either. Only true strength will keep you alive. Oh, and Ser Barristan, you seem to forget, my father was not and will never be the last dragon. He was far from it."
"All?" Missandei had been the one to greet them as usual. As the only translator between Rhaenys and the Good Master, she had also been the first one to hear the offer. Even Qoren, Ser Barristan, and Ser Jorah were surprised. Daenerys stood only a couple of steps behind Rhaenys, her expression not changing in the slightest.
Despite her shock, Missandei still politely asked once again to confirm. "Did this one's ears mishear, Your Grace?"
"Not at all. I want to buy them all. You can tell him that." Rhaenys was in the center of the room, behind her was the door and in front of her the Good Masters, the only people who were sitting comfortably. Her hands were clasped behind her back, no flickers of nervousness or hesitation in her eyes. It was as if she hadn't been pondering for a whole day what to do.
Missandei wore the exact same clothes with no change other than them being dirtier. Her hair, however, was not tied like before, the curls freely spreading.
She stood to the right of Kraznys mo Naklos. To the man's left was another Good Master, an older man with greying hair and pale skin called Greizhen mo Ullhor. All three were on a wooden platform that was only a bit higher than the rest of the floor. Behind them were iron spikes, serving as a shield.
The whole pit was just this open and round room. The stone walls were curved, feeling like they were constantly enclosing, with banners with the Astapori sigil above each door. Above them was no actual ceiling, letting the sun flow in. There were only iron bars through which the people above the walls could be seen. Or to be more precise, the slaves who were kept in the pit but were not allowed to actually reside inside of it.
Missandei lowered her head, carefully translating Rhaenys's meaning, "She wants to buy them all."
"She can't afford them. The slut thinks she can flash her tits and make us give her whatever she wants." Kraznyz mo Naklos scoffed, chuckling with the other Master.
The Good Master said nothing more and it wasn't like Missandei could translate that. Thankfully, Missandei was used to this by now. "There are 8,000 Unsullied in Astapor. Is this what you mean by all?"
"Yes. 8,000. Well, add to that the ones still in training. Just... every single one you have."
Missandei translated her confirmation. Kraznys mo Nakloz rolled his eyes, taking it as Rhaenys not accepting his kindness when she was allowed to back off with some dignity but was instead asking for a mile when given an inch.
At the very least, Greizhen mo Ullhor, the other Good Master, was more interested in other things, "If they fail on the battlefield, they will shame Astapor."
By that, he referred to the Unsullied still in training. Knowing that, Missandei was more than happy to actually translate something rather than reword everything she was told. "Master Greizhen says they cannot sell half-trained boys. If they fail on the battlefield, they will bring shame upon all of Astapor."
"Then tell the Good Masters that I am not bargaining. I want them all or not at all. I am going to war. A long war. I cannot come back to buy new ones every time some of my soldiers die, now, can I?" Jon wasn't the only one who had some use for the techniques Rhaenys had taught him when it came to acting and lying to people's face. Although it wouldn't make her their equal in the minds of the Good Master, acting ruthless could make her seem like any other buyer.
Kraznys mo Naklos loudly groaned, not hiding his dissatisfaction, "Ugh, the slut cannot pay for all of this."
"Master Kraznys says you cannot afford this." Missandei began translating as the man spoke. Once he finished a sentence in High Valyrian, she would begin one in the Common Tongue.
"Her two ships will buy her 400 Unsullied, no more, and this is because I like the curve of her ass."
Missandei tried to ignore the lecherous laughter between the men, not that she could hide her true feelings well, "Your two ships will buy you 400 Unsullied. Because Master Kraznys is generous. The gold you have is worth 1,000."
Her maternal family could be really generous when it came to certain things. The ship they gave her was seriously good quality and large, and they had given her coffers of gold. It was just too bad that the Unsullied were really just too expensive. A single soldier was worth hundreds of golden coins. That's why most people just bought a couple to serve as guards rather than to fight in an army.
Maybe if that much gold had been offered by a man, the Good Masters wouldn't have been such arrogant and coarse-tongued pricks. "Those Dothraki she has smell of shit..."
"The Dothraki you have with you..." Missandei faltered, nearly saying something she shouldn't. She could only wait for Kraznys mo Naklos to finish before she could translate it.
"...but may be useful as pig feed. I will give her 3 for those."
"The Dothraki you have are not worth what they cost to feed, but Master Kraznys will give you 3 Unsullied for all of them." It was seriously becoming difficult for Missandei to keep her polite smile.
"So, ask this beggar queen, how will she pay for the remaining 6,597?"
"Master Kraznys asks how you propose to pay... for the remaining 6,597 Unsullied?"
It was funny how a title that had been previously given to Viserys to mock him in the Seven Kingdoms was now being used on her after coming to Essos where Viserys had resided for years.
Rhaenys was barely paying attention to anything they said, truly. Even if the language could not be understood, everyone in the room could tell that Kraznyz mo Nakloz was not saying anything good.
Therefore, as the words entered through one ear and left through the other, Rhaenys trailed her eyes over the roof. The pit didn't have that many slaves. Standing on the walls, looking at the strangers, were only less than a dozen slaves. All children, and all girls. Their clothes were thin tatters and on their necks was the same collar as Missandei, the same collar Rhaenys had seen throughout the city.
There were thousands of slaves more than there were masters. Still, they did not dare to take off that collar. They only gazed at the strangers with dead eyes. There was none of the curiosity Rhaenys was so familiar children would have due to her silver hair and purple eyes. Though they were indigo now.
Those same indigo eyes that did not hide their flame anymore lowered to meet Missandei's gaze. "I have dragons. I can give him one."
Missandei jumped where she stood. Unable to hide her astonishment, she translated for the Good Masters in a much-hurried tone than before. No matter how mocking they had been before, the two Good Masters now were just like Missandei, shocked beyond belief.
Daenerys showed no change, her eyes clear of any ripples. The men behind the Targaryens were different, however. Each one trying to walk faster than the other.
"You will win the throne with dragons, not slaves, Your Grace."
"Your Grace."
Rhaenys lifted her hand, silencing them. Daenerys lowered her gaze to the floor, then trailed it over to the three men. She said nothing, yet her expression gave the same feeling as Rhaenys.
Rhaenys didn't look back. Seeing the Good Master understood her deal and was very much interested, she strode forward, only stopping when she was right in front of him.
Such a burning and freezing gaze was something Kraznys mo Naklos was not used to. Too bad he didn't listen to his instincts. With what little Common Tongue he knew, the Good Master tried to speak to her directly, his heavy accent ringing with every word. "Three dragons."
"One."
"Two."
"One."
They both knew such mythical creatures like dragons were worth far more than a couple thousand soldiers, no matter how well trained. A grown dragon could burn such an army in minutes or even seconds. One single dragon was enough to buy ten times the amount of Unsullied she was getting.
Kraznys mo Nakloz leaned back on his seat angrily. But as angry as he was, he hadn't turned them away. He turned to Greizhen mo Ullhor and shared a couple of words before Kraznys mo Nakloz motioned for Missandei to translate his last sentence.
"They want the biggest one."
"Done."
"Done." replied Kraznys mo Nakloz in the Common Tongue. With that, the deal was sealed and there was no going back. A dragon for 8,000 Unsullied plus the untrained ones.
Rhaenys was about to leave but she stopped midway. This time, her words were not directed at the Good Masters. "I want you as well. Right now. I believe the Unsullied only speak Valyrian and not the Common Tongue. I shall be in need of a translator, and I do not know if I will be able to find one. If he disagrees, do remind the Good Master that my dragon is worth more than enough."
Anyhow, she did not think Kraznys mo Nakloz was that attached to this one girl or that he had no other translators at his disposal.
Missandei was struck once again today. Her voice was clearly much softer and hesitant as she spoke to the master in Valyrian. "She asks that you give me to her, as a present, since she will be in need of a translator for the Unsullied. She asks that you do this now."
For once, Kraznys mo Nakloz wasn't looking at Rhaenys like he would a foolish woman. For him, foreigners were lower beings, more so a woman. Today had opened his eyes.
The man curled his lips, leaning forward with a glint in his eyes. His interest had come a tad too late. In the end, he did not argue and just waved his hand, giving Missandei to another person like she was a bag.
She had nothing to pack, but she was sent away first to await by the entrance of the pit. With no translators beside the Astapori, there would be no problem with the others speaking once they went out of that meeting area and to the corridor.
Rhaenys's every step was fast as she went in the forefront. Not yet detecting her anger, the three men were quick to follow, and to speak.
"Your Grace, a dragon is worth more than any army. Aegon Targaryen proved that."
Rhaenys stopped before reaching the entrance, turning back to face them, "I know you are all more experienced and older than me. I value that, and I value your advice. I will gladly hear it when I should. However, do not mistake that for meaning that you can speak over me or argue with my decisions, less so when we are with strangers. Strangers who already look down upon me. This better be the last time."
The three men lowered their heads, remaining still in place when Rhaenys walked away with Daenerys. It was only when some distance had been built between them that they slowly walked farther behind. Sometimes when treated kindly and as an equal, it was easy to forget that that was not the case. At the end of the day, they were still the subjects and she was their Queen, their ruler.
Missandei kept her head down, wanting to disappear and act like she heard nothing. When the two women reached her side, she carefully followed behind them, still keeping her head down and hands before her.
"Your name was Missandei, I believe?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Daenerys glanced at the girl who seemed both frightened and fearless at the same time. It was hard to tell what she felt about her current situation. "Do you have a family? A mother and a father you'd return to if you had a choice?"
"No, Your Highness. No family living."
Rhaenys breathed out a sigh, slowing her pace so that they could stand side by side, "I am sorry to hear that... Missandei, you are not his anymore. Whether it is his interests or business, they are not your priority anymore. I am. I expect only the truth from you."
Hearing that, Missandei thought that she would be probably asked about what Kraznys mo Nakloz had actually said in the past. "Of course, Your Grace. Lying is a great offense. Many of those on the Walk of Punishment were taken there for less."
"Will you? Then tell me, if you were one of them, one of the slaves on the Walk of Punishment, what would you do if you had the chance to live and be forgiven?"
Missandei lowered her head further, her chin nearly reaching her chest. "I... I would rather die there, Your Grace. I would rather not be forgiven."
"Why?"
"Because... there are no masters in the grave, Your Grace."
Rhaenys blinked, her throat and lips feeling dry, "No, there are none. Is it true what Master Kraznys claims about the Unsullied? About their obedience?"
The corridor they walked through to get out of the pit was covered with Unsullied, the men who were not considered men anymore standing by the walls with their shields and spears. No matter how long they stood, their backs never bent and they never slacked. It was something you would never find in any army.
Even as she spoke of them, Missandei did not look at the Unsullied against the wall, "All questions have been taken from them. They obey, that is all. Once they are yours, they are yours. They will fall on their swords if you command it."
"What about you? You know what I want this army for, that I am taking you to war. You may go hungry. You may fall sick. You may even die. It will not be fun. Are you really willing to go?"
This was the first time Missandei was asked if she was willing to follow her master. It was a strange feeling. But she grew up in Essos, after all. "Valar Morghulis."
The phrase was originally from Braavos. Words in High Valyrian that were used as a greeting despite its meaning. It had somehow reached all corners of Essos, though.
It was a phrase that should have meant nothing to Rhaenys, yet her lips curled. "True. All men must die. But we are not men."
The arrival of Tywin Lannister at King's Landing had brought a number of changes. Joffrey's unrestrained cruelty had been put in rein and wasn't as open for all to see as before. It gave the illusion that he wasn't a crazy brat anymore. That wouldn't last for long.
The Small Council had also slightly changed. With Tywin as Hand, not only was Pycelle back and Bronn gone, but Joffrey was barely invited to go. As for Petyr Baelish who hadn't gotten the chance to enjoy Harrenhal, not that there was anything to enjoy as it was rundown, his title had become nothing more than words on a paper as his seat was under the control of Roose Bolton at the moment. However, he had gotten an even better opportunity.
He would soon be sailing for the Eyrie to meet Lysa Arryn and finalize their engagement, marrying right after. That would make him the future Regent since the little Lord Robin could barely be considered liege lord material. And since he was to go and probably not return any time soon, a new Master of Coin for the Small Council needed to be appointed. For some reason, Tywin thought Tyrion would be perfect for the job.
As disgruntled as he was with his new job, quite the downgrade from Hand of the King, Tyrion still went the next day to pick up the royal ledgers which, strangely or ironic enough, were hidden under the floor of Baelish's office inside his brothel.
It did save them some time, though, so it wasn't that bad.
After picking up the ledgers, Tyrion and Bronn left Podrick, Tyrion's silly squire, inside the brothel to enjoy his gift for all the help he had given Tyrion during this long and dangerous year.
Tyrion couldn't give him much and his father wouldn't give the youth any honors despite saving Tyrion's life more than once. The very least Tyrion could do was let Podrick lose his virginity late in life.
He wasn't thoughtless about it. Tyrion and Bronn were very careful and chose three of the best women in Littlefinger's brothel. There was Genna, the specialist in virgins, Marei, who was definitely not shy and "quite the spear-handler," and Kayla, a famous prostitute in Volantis for something called the Meereenese Knot.
Michael had no idea what that was. He just nodded his head and hummed as if he did while Bronn and Tyrion talked about it in the latter's new office. His brother had called him to help him go over the cart full of ledgers, but they spent most of the time talking about something else entirely.
What could he say? It wasn't like Michael could admit to his brother, who would definitely annoy him about it, that he was also a virgin who hadn't even held a woman's hand. It was enough that Stefan Tyrell had somehow found out and would remind him every chance he got. He didn't need these two idiots to join in.
Finally, they managed to get over a couple of the ledgers. Luckily, Tyrion had been given a new room which was much better and larger than the cramped closet he was thrown in after the Battle of Blackwater Bay.
But the further in they read, the more worried Tyrion and Michael got. His older brother not so much, but Michael knew a bit more about the situation through his mother. He knew that Casterly Rock was practically empty. He also knew that the crown was in debt. He never expected it would be by so much. How Robert Baratheon managed to squander nearly three centuries of accumulated wealth, he had no idea.
"For years I've heard that Littlefinger is a magician. Whenever the crown needs money, he rubs his hands together and, poof, mountains of gold." One could just hear the sarcasm dripping from Tyrion's words.
Tired of standing around, Bronn was walking all over the room searching for wine, pausing when he heard Tyrion, "Let me guess. He's not a magician."
"No."
"He's stealing it?" asked Bronn while also sniffing a bottle of wine.
"Worse, he's borrowing it." grunted Tyrion.
Bronn didn't really understand, "What's wrong with that?"
"It wouldn't be so bad, actually. If we could pay it back. But we can't. Not this amount. And since we are at war, we will only be losing more gold as time goes, not making any." The only thing Michael knew that was going for them was that they had good credit. Like the self-proclaimed king of Qarth, even if they had nothing, as long as their credit was good, no one would notice anything for the time being. "The crown even owes millions to Father."
Bronn walked to the desk and began playing with anything he found interesting that laid on it, "Seeing as it's his grandson's ass on the throne, I imagine he'll forgive that debt."
Tyrion nearly laughed out loud, "Forgive a debt, my father? For a man of the world, you're strangely naïve."
"I've never borrowed money. I'm not clear on the rules." Bronn seemed interested in the conversation, but he really wasn't. This was obviously his first time in the office of the Master of Coin and he just couldn't stay still, even finding an interesting... contraption.
Tyrion cleared his throat, coughing loudly to bring Bronn's attention away from the toy, "Well... The basic principle is, I lend you money and after an agreed upon period of time, you return it with interest."
"What if I don't?" Bronn sat on the chair beside Michael, in front of the desk. He wasn't joking when he asked. He was very serious about it.
"Well, you have to." Tyrion saw it as common sense, but for Bronn, he really didn't see the problem, "But what if I don't?"
In the end, Tyrion could only give up, "This is why I don't lend you money."
"He does make a great point." hummed Michael. There were people that really couldn't be offended, but at the same time, there were others you could just use and run. The problem was that if you ever need money in the future, you have to find someone else to borrow from.
"Anyways..." Tyrion just really wanted to change the subject. He had never lost an argument in such a ridiculous way. "...It's not Father I'm worried about. It's the Iron Bank of Braavos. We owe them tens of millions. If we fail to repay these loans, the bank will fund our enemies. One way or another, they always get their gold back."
Even if not their gold, it would still teach a lesson to those who thought of not returning the money. Since they were penniless, the Lannisters couldn't afford to elongate this war anymore. But if the Iron Bank funded the Northerners or Stannis, or even the Greyjoys, the war would become much longer.
Which also brings another problem. The crown doesn't have that much gold as it is. If they won the war, with winter approaching, it was hard to say how they would survive after. At the very least, many of their extravagant expenditures would need to be reduced. Even if they wanted to borrow more to feed the people to avoid more revolts, whether it was the Iron Bank or any other bank they were friends with, no one would lend them money.
The Tyrells were helping now, but who knows how long that would last. Cersei was making it her mission to get rid of Margaery already.
They had no time to grovel in the depressing future ahead. They heard the door open and close from outside. This was an interesting office. The room didn't have windows, just large doors that made most of one wall and led to a square courtyard that was surrounded by walls but had no roof so the sun could go in. One of the entrances to the office was through that courtyard and it was from that one that Podrick entered.
Podrick was neatly wearing his red armor and his hair was all in place. He skipped toward them, not getting the chance to say anything before Tyrion did.
"Ah, the return of the conquering hero. Does he have a little jaunt in his step?"
Podrick stood nervously in front of the desk. His hands were clutched and he was sweaty. Bronn just took it as him being shy. "The lad's practically skipping."
Tyrion looked back down at the ledger he was holding, "You were gone a long time. I trust you got your money's worth. Or should I say my money's worth?"
Podrick slowly stepped forward. The object clutched in his hands was finally seen by the others. The squire placed the pouch filled with coins on the desk, making a sound as they clattered against one another. The sound alone was enough for them to tell that the pouch was still full. To begin with, the amount in the pouch was exactly the price to pay all three prostitutes and nothing should have been left behind. Even if there were extra coins, the three women would have still probably taken it.
Tyrion never expected this shy fool would actually reject the opportunity, "Oh, it was a gift, Podrick. This is more than I give you in a year."
"He's a squire. You don't pay him." reminded Bronn.
"Oh, then it's much more than I give you in a year."
Podrick didn't know what to say. He did sleep with the three prostitutes and he did offer them the money. He wasn't a scumbag. "They wouldn't take it, my lord."
Michael might have never gone to a brothel but even he looked at Podrick strangely with the other two men. There was just something so very wrong with that sentence.
Bronn tried to brush it off, "Maybe they're trying to curry some favor with the new Master of Coin."
"Have you ever known a whore to turn down gold? They were happy enough to take it when I gave it to them." Whether it was when he was the heir to Casterly Rock, technically although his father never agreed to it, or when he first went to find the three women for Podrick. That's how he knew how much money to leave, because he had already agreed with them beforehand.
Bronn shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what other reason there could be, "What did you tell them?"
"I didn't tell them anything." They weren't exactly quiet but none of them were in the mind to speak at that time. He was a tad too distracted for that.
"What did you do to them?" Tyrion asked this time.
"Lots of things."
"And they seemed to like these things?" Tyrion was a bit confused now.
"Yes, my lord."
"Of course they seemed to like it. They're paid to seem to like it." Bronn was clearly resistant here. His ego was taking a huge hit.
In response, Tyrion held the pouch filled with coins and showed it to him, "Only they weren't paid."
"What are you saying? These ladies enjoyed him so much, they gave him the time for free?" Bronn turned to Tyrion and Tyrion turned to Podrick, "Is that what you're telling us?"
The poor Podrick looked all over the room, not knowing what to say.
"Sit down, Podrick." Tyrion pursed his lips and stood up, getting wine and cups for all of them while Bronn rose from his seat and gave it to Podrick. Tyrion gave each a cup, quickly filling Podrick's until it was full. "We're going to need details. Copious details."
Seeing where this was going, Michael tried to get up, "I should leave."
Tyrion immediately moved to his side. As short as he was, Tyrion still held some advantage when he stood while his brother sat and was able to push him down. "Oh, no. you're staying right there and listening with us, little brother. This might help you make your future bride a very happy woman. Or any other ladies you find pleasing to spend your time with."
Night was slow to arrive, but once it did, Astapor became as silent as a grave. In the Dornish ship, other than the soldiers on watch, most were sleeping in their cabins.
It would take a while for Kraznys mo Nakloz to give her the Unsullied. He first needed to inform all the other buyers that there would be no more merchandise for a while and gather all 8,000 Unsullied along with those still in training which would make their numbers nearly double. It might not seem like much, but it was a lot of work.
Until then, Rhaenys and the others had nothing left to do other than wait.
Rhaenys sat on her bed with Rhaegal on her lap, his tail and wings wrapped around her. The others also wanted to get sticky, but they could feel that now wasn't the time.
The dragons were still young and small. Other than color, it was hard to see the differences. Rhaegal was clearly the one that was slightly larger, though. Not that the Good Masters would know that.
Rhaenys stroked the purring dragon, the candles and moonlight being the only source of light. As the moon got higher, Daenerys knocked on the door before going in.
Rhaenys looked up to her, "How is our new friend?"
"She has no new clothes of her own, so I lent her some. We'll need to buy some for her. It will take a while to remove her ingrained fear, but she is a bit more comfortable now." Daenerys brushed her skirt to the side and sat beside Rhaenys on the bed.
"That's good. I assume that it will be even harder when it comes to the Unsullied. Their training has been long ingrained in them since young."
If you had been taught your whole life to write with your left hand, it would be difficult to suddenly begin writing with your right. It might seem like a silly comparison but that was what the sort of brainwashing and training the Unsullied went through was like. If they didn't do as ordered, they would be beaten or even killed. If they did it as they should, they might be even given a little more food or simply spared from any beating. After a while, they would become accustomed to doing things one way and couldn't just change their mindset in a single day.
But as long as they obeyed the person who bought them, that was enough. Other things could be done slowly.
Daenerys moved her hand and touched the hard scales on Rhaegal's back. The dragon didn't react. They had only known each other for two days, but he had already grown familiar with her. "Are we not telling them?"
Rhaenys didn't immediately reply. She wasn't thinking how to answer or pondering about it. She was just angry. "No. When has a ruler ever needed to explain their decisions to their subjects?"
She knew she shouldn't be. She had expected it actually. Despite how many people had supported her claim, not all of them did it because of who she was. The common people did it because of the omen, others did it because the Targaryens had brought prosperity to Westeros while Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters brought poverty and hunger. There were others who simply saw the Targaryens as rightful heirs and some sorts of deities, keeping their loyalties strong.
Whichever the case, none of those reasons had anything to do with Rhaenys Targaryen specifically.
Only a smaller number of her supporters had actually gotten to know her. Some had even changed their allegiance and bowed to her, accepting her as their ruler.
But whether it was the people in the former category or those in the latter, many still saw her as an inexperienced woman. Her name couldn't be dismissed either.
The inexperience made those older than her think that they should lead her through the correct path while being a woman made them believe she was soft-hearted and could not do what was needed. And her being a Targaryen left a small shred of fear of what would happen if she went mad.
She had known that she would need to prove herself every single time. That every time she made a choice or gave an order, someone would ask her why. It still made her angry when it happened even if she had expected it.
"I am their Queen. I do not need to explain myself to them. They serve me, not the other way around. If they cannot understand that, then it will be unfortunate, but... I will have no more need for them."