Daenerys Targaryen
Hizdahr agreed to those terms, though in return, as an advance gesture of goodwill, he requested that the fighting pits be reopened. And he brought with him many fighters who begged her to grant it.
Daenerys yielded yet another concession. During the first bout at the fighting pits, where she attended as the guest of honour, another attempt was made upon her life — this time with a delicacy made from locusts. Belwas devoured the exquisite dish instead. The sellsword soon began choking and dying, panic swept through the crowd, and unrest erupted amongst the spectators. Another riot flared, and once more the Sons of the Harpy appeared. Drawn by the commotion, Drogon descended from the sky. The dragon burned many people alive and saved his mistress, carrying her away upon his back.
Drogon landed far from Meereen, amidst a dry, sun-scorched steppe. There Daenerys was found by the riders of Khal Moro. Then came captivity, the journey to Vaes Dothrak and the temple of the dosh khaleen, and the council of khals who gathered to decide her fate.
She overturned the braziers and burned them all alive together with the temple.
From the raging inferno she emerged as the Mother of Dragons, and the countless thousands of Dothraki acknowledged her as their khaleesi and mistress.
From Vaes Dothrak back to Meereen she returned at the head of a vast army of horselords and accompanied by Daario, who had succeeded in finding her.
The city greeted its queen with wary and gloomy faces. The people did not rush to smile or celebrate her return.
That night, after the heat of passion with Daario faded, she lay awake for a long while. At last she stepped out onto the balcony and silently gazed upon the enormous city sprawling below.
Meereen had been built chiefly from bricks of red, yellow, blue, green, and orange. The morning sun played across those colours, awakening from yet another night the broad streets, temples and granaries, hovels and palaces, bathhouses and brothels, gardens and fountains, fighting pits and markets.
Everything here felt alien…
With bitterness, the girl realised she would never truly understand the soul of this city. And the city, in turn, would never understand her.
None of her efforts had truly taken root. With one stroke she had abolished slavery and freed tens of thousands of people. Yet little by little the old ways crept back, and she could do nothing to stop it. Even Hizdahr had managed to persuade her into another compromise — reopening the fighting pits… Her dream of bringing joy and happiness to Slaver's Bay had become a nightmare and a complete failure.
She thought with dread of what she would do once those ninety days expired. And there was very little time left.
*
Then, unexpectedly, everything changed.
A formidable fleet sailed into Meereen under the command of Oberyn and Quentyn Martell. And Daenerys understood at once — this was her chance. Fate favoured her once again!
Daenerys received her guests within the Great Pyramid of Meereen, where she herself resided. The pyramid rose thirty-three tiers high. Before the conquest, a great bronze Harpy had stood atop its summit, but Daenerys had ordered it torn down.
Drogon now liked to rest there in its place.
She sat upon an elegant bench of ebony richly adorned with gold and ivory. The walls around her were fashioned from purple marble. One side of the chamber opened onto a terrace planted with lemon trees and flowers. Sweet fragrances drifted inward whilst the lazy wind stirred the thin curtains. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight.
On her right stood Barristan Selmy, and on her left Missandei. Close beside her, a little behind, stood the grim Grey Worm, one of her most trusted followers and commander of all the Unsullied. Grey Worm, like every one of his warriors, was a eunuch. He wore his dark hair cropped short, possessed no beard, and rarely smiled.
A long stairway descended below — more than ten steps in all, each guarded by a pair of Unsullied.
The Dornish delegation numbered nine men. Some halted midway through the throne hall, but three continued forward and stopped only a few paces away.
In the centre stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair and a sharp gaze. Though he moved slowly in accordance with courtly etiquette, danger lingered in every motion.
To his right stood a sturdy, short-legged young man of middling height. His face was grave. He stared intently at Daenerys, seemingly lost in thought.
On the other side stood another youth — tall, handsome, red-haired, and wearing the faintest hint of a smile.
Daenerys knew well who had come to visit her. Ser Barristan had already described the newcomers and given brief judgements of their characters. At the centre stood Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper — a cruel man well versed in weapons, poisons, many tongues, and the customs of distant lands. A commander and leader. The sort of man others followed willingly.
At his right stood his nephew Quentyn Martell, son of Doran, Prince of Dorne. To the left stood smiling Cletus Yronwood — eldest son and heir of the ancient and renowned House Yronwood, whose castle guarded the Boneway between Dorne and the Reach.
Noble guests indeed had come before her.
And their purpose was no simple one.
She looked upon their calm, almost imperious faces and understood — these were not exiles from Westeros like Ser Barristan or Ser Jorah.
No.
Different men stood before her now. Men who possessed real power, and who would demand a steep price for their service. Their costly garments proclaimed their station, and slender swords hung at their waists. These men knew their own worth and counted few others as equals.
But what did they want?
And what would they offer in return?
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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