Chapter 18 — Missandei
Daenerys ignored Jorah and Barristan's panicked objections and silenced them with a single sharp warning glance.
Kraznys, who had been lounging lazily in his chair, abruptly sat upright.
"You truly mean to trade a dragon to me?"
"Yes," Daenerys replied evenly.
"I want two. Not that one." He gestured at the two dragons circling overhead, then glanced at Drogon on Daenerys's shoulder. He couldn't understand why this one was so much smaller. Defective egg? Poorly developed?
"You will get only one," Daenerys said, tone like iron.
"I said two."
"One," she repeated, unmoved.
Kraznys fell silent, then exchanged a quick discussion with the fat Great Master beside him.
"…Fine. One. I want the gold one."
With a dragon of his own, one of the last three in the world, Kraznys was certain he could sell it later for a fortune—more than eight thousand Unsullied combined.
"And I want her. Now."
Daenerys pointed to the girl serving as translator.
The young slave looked startled. She didn't know why Daenerys had suddenly taken interest in her, but repeated the request dutifully to Kraznys.
Kraznys's eyes swept over the girl, then flicked toward Daenerys with a smirk that made his intention obvious.
"Since you like her so much… fine. For a dragon, I'll gift her to you."
They agreed to finalize the trade in one hour at the Unsullied training grounds south of the city.
The girl followed Daenerys out of the plaza, visibly nervous.
"What's your name?" Daenerys asked.
"Missandei, my lady."
She stole a curious glance at Drogon perched on Daenerys's shoulder—his fine black scales gleaming like gemstones in the sun.
Feeling her gaze, Drogon looked back and hissed twice in greeting:
[Hello, little Missandei.]
He had liked her in the previous timeline too—Dany's interpreter, advisor, and guardian of secrets.
Daenerys caught the exchange and frowned slightly. Why does it feel like Drogon already knows her?
"You belong to me now," Daenerys said softly. "And I expect you to speak truthfully to me from now on."
"I would never lie to my master," Missandei answered automatically, hands folded before her. "To lie means execution."
"I am not your master. And from today forward, you will have no master at all."
Daenerys reached to Jorah's belt, drew his dagger, grabbed the leather collar around Missandei's neck—and cut it off in a single motion.
The collar fell into the dust with a dull thud.
Missandei touched her bare neck, stunned. She stared at Daenerys, then at the discarded collar, caught between confusion and overwhelming relief. She never imagined she would be freed in a place like this.
Jorah watched in thoughtful silence.
Barristan opened his mouth to object again about trading a dragon, but Jorah stopped him with a warning look.
Back at the docks, Rhaegal and Viserion landed on the deck.
Daenerys ordered a heavy iron shackle and an oversized wooden cage to be built.
She hugged Viserion for a moment to calm him, then quietly tried to slip the shackle over his leg.
But even his half-grown mind understood the danger. With a frustrated rumble he yanked his limb away again and again. The chain scraped against his scales—not painful, but irritating enough to rile him. He bared his teeth at Daenerys in warning.
SMACK.
Drogon slapped Viserion on the head with one tiny claw.
The paw was small—but the force was ridiculous.
Viserion hissed in pain and whipped his head around to protest — only to meet Drogon's blazing, molten-like gaze. His defiance crumbled instantly.
Head drooping, he allowed Daenerys to slip the shackle over his talon and—utterly humiliated—slunk into the giant wooden cage.
The sight alone sent Rhaegal, who had been watching from the side, flapping straight up into the sky like her life depended on it.
When they were little, both dragons had been obedient enough. But as they grew, they stopped listening to Daenerys, snapping at her whenever they felt annoyed.
After a few beatings from Drogon they had learned not to bare their fangs at her… but today, cornered and angry, Viserion briefly forgot his place.
Seeing him finally locked inside the cage, Daenerys stroked Drogon's tiny head and kissed the scaled cheek of his shrunken form.
If not for Drogon — not only could she never ride a dragon, she would have never been able to tame them in the first place.
Becoming a dragonrider was never meant to be easy.
Ignoring Viserion's furious roars from inside the cage, Daenerys left several Dothraki warriors behind to guard the ship, then led Jorah, her bloodriders and the others south.
---
To the south of the city, an enormous open training field stretched across the sand.
Eight thousand fully trained Unsullied stood in military ranks.
Behind them — nearly a thousand half-trained recruits and boys who had only just been castrated and marked for the program.
In the stands, the lords and ladies of Astapor's Great Masters had gathered, all drawn here by the promise of witnessing a real dragon up close.
Four Dothraki hauled the massive cage behind Daenerys as she approached the platform.
Eight thousand Unsullied did not all belong to Kraznys; he merely owned a large share of them.
But every Great Master present turned their attention toward the violently shaking cage.
At Daenerys's signal, the cage was opened.
She stepped forward calmly, gripped the thick iron chain, and dragged Viserion out — the young dragon seething with rage, wings flaring, fire almost spilling from his jaws.
The moment he was outside, Viserion tried to lift off.
He rose less than five meters before the chain snapped him back.
He fought savagely against the restraint, wings hammering the air, nearly ripping the chain from Daenerys's hands.
Just as it seemed she might lose her grip, Drogon — perched on her shoulder in his small form — lifted his head and released a single sharp juvenile roar.
Viserion froze instantly.
He folded his wings and lowered himself, trembling, barely daring to flutter them for balance.
Shock rippled through the stands.
A baby-sized dragon cowed a full-sized one — with one sound.
The Great Masters exchanged wide-eyed looks.
Kraznys's face went from pale to dark to pale again.
Had he chosen the wrong dragon?
Was the small one somehow the dominant one? A child of the Dragon King?
Why was the larger dragon weaker?
Daenerys cut through his confusion.
"Great Master Kraznys — let us complete the trade."
It was too late to regret anything now.
Jaw clenched, Kraznys descended from the platform.
He placed the whip — the symbol of command — into Daenerys's hand.
With the other he grabbed the chain.
"Done," Daenerys declared.
"Done," Missandei translated.
Kraznys echoed, "Done."
"Done," Missandei repeated.
The moment Kraznys gripped the chain, Viserion went wild again — thrashing harder than he ever had with Daenerys, dragging Kraznys several steps across the sand.
Daenerys didn't look back.
She walked forward without hesitation, whip in hand, face set like steel.
Behind her, Viserion screamed and fought, the sound echoing across the field — not just rage, but heartbreak.
Daenerys never turned around.
---