Chapter Twenty Five
Jorah tried to ignore the pain that flared in his side, he'd landed hard on the deck, the dragon's back had still been meters above the deck; but Drogon couldn't get any lower. The sailors on deck surrendered their weapons quickly, but the captain at the helm was another story. The man drew on him and Jorah easily evaded the blade until sharp pain grabbed his chest and his opponent froze.
A tiny branch of fire arced through the space between them and Jorah took his opportunity; dispatching his opponent. And then he stared at the open deck, he hadn't even ventured into the lower decks; he'd had the displeasure of knowing what it could be.
"Do you speak the common tongue?" Jorah eyed the group of sailors cowering in the walkways, they eyed him uneasily; and the small dragon that had now perched itself on his shoulder. "What was your last port? Where are these people from?"
There was a long moment where no one spoke, only the sounds of the boat rocking, and the cries of fear from those below who could not see what was happening. Jorah paced the length of the deck, intended to check the hold for charts and a logbook; a faint voice stopped him. "We are from the Summer Isles, different places."
He nodded and knelt, drawing the dagger from his belt he reached for the man's wrists; the manacles were held closed by a pin rather than a key. Not an uncommon practice, especially given how many sets there were on this ship, striking the pin with the point of the dagger he drove it back.
"Release the others, try to keep them calm." Jorah instructed quietly, handing over the blade, turning his attention back to the sailors.
He gave the orders for the men to set sail for the Summer Isles, keeping his sword in hand, Jahara clung to shoulder watching everything that was happening; making squeals and squeaks it might believe to be threatening. But Jorah knew it was the grown dragons still flying alongside them that kept the sailors feeling compliant.
When darkness fell, he sensed the ship slow, no longer riding on the air currents the dragons created as they soared alongside. The Khaleesi must have taken the dragons to find somewhere to rest for the night, he paced the decks, what ever supplies had been below had been broken out and shared among the starving on board; women and children first had not needed to be said.
Still his best guess was tomorrow afternoon before they made land, at the earliest; he paid close attention to their course and the charts. He did not intend to be sent into a trap and perhaps the sailors sensed that; they made steady progress through the night and by dawn the dragons flanked them again.
Jorah was starting to feel the long night and walked the length of the deck, his body ached and as he stood, face into the wind he noticed a woman in the bow; still huddled in chains. Frowning he began to pick his way through the crowded decks, people stood now, and many had come up from the lower decks, moving stiffly and cowering whenever he passed them.
Most were half starved and terrified, some had the dead look of resignation, they knew what had awaited them at the end of this voyage; and watched him skeptically. When he shifted to kneel next to her someone called out to him; he saw them whispering but he already realized why.
She had been in chains a very long time, at some point they had bound her wrists to her middle and her ankles in a sick hog tie; he could pick out the chain within the swollen, infected wounds. She barely stirred as he gently shifted her wrists, then a rattling cough shook her chest.
"Bring me some fresh water." He snarled at the crowd still whispering behind him.
Eventually it was provided and with care he began to clean the wounds, slowly excising the long chain before cleansing and binding the wounds; she had been bound so she could hardly move long before this ship sailed. The little dragon clung to the front of his shirt, just below his shoulder and watched eagerly.
But as he finally began to work on her swollen and bloody ankles. Jahara launched herself to his forearm and he swallowed a groan of pain as the little dragon found balance; claws digging into his skin. As the dragon squealed at him, spreading it wings when he dipped another cloth into the water; glancing up he caught Rhaegal's eye. Even above the dragons were watching him.
Pausing he frowned as the mark on his chest gave a quick pulse, the dragons were trying to tell him something and as his own blood dripped into the basin of water and quickly dissolved. Uneasily Jorah continued cleaning the wounds, finally able to pull the chain free and standing he heaved it over the side. The woman still looked sickly but began to shift, Jorah offered her a hand and helped her to sit up; then slowly stand. Limbs slowly unfolded until she was upright, he held her firmly, afraid that she would collapse again as she clung to him; though her gaze flicked to the dragon still riding on him.
"You are free." The woman shifted to lean on the side and for a moment he feared she would heave herself over the rail. He knew the Khaleesi enough to make that promise, he knew doing this would help her; and he wished it was her looking into this woman's eyes.
…
She let Jorah lead the way, using the maps on the ship to find the right port, but the dragons soared ahead, and she realized the port they were heading for as the islands appeared on the horizon. It was not until late in the afternoon that they arrived in the harbour, people on the docks scattered as the dragons soared overhead; a few froze in terror. Drogon found a perch on a low wall, Rhaegal landing beside him and Daenerys climbed down to stand between her dragons.
Sheltered between them she watched the ship come into port, some on board did not wait for them to come alongside; throwing themselves over the side to swim for the dock. Jahara gleamed in the sunlight, perched on Jorah's shoulder as he closely watched the sailors tying off the ship. As the people cautiously disembarked, locals watched from everywhere, faces filled doorways and windows; and those that hid on the decks of other ships peered out.
When Jorah finally lead the sailors off, making them stand in front of her before he crossed to her; he had carried one woman off, setting her gently at the foot of the wall. He looked tired and glanced at the little dragon who began to call eagerly to the other dragons; she hadn't realized Jahara had crawled out of the satchel until she had seen her riding his shoulder on that ship.
"The captain resisted; the rest are here." Jorah informed her quietly, he did not climb to stand beside her but turned to stand before her; hand going instinctively to his sword.
For a moment Daenerys was silent, her eyes on that ship. What was to stop the slavers from capturing more people the moment they flew home? "Can that ship be repurposed?"
Jorah shook his head, his gaze flat. "It wouldn't be."
He was right, she knew that and as her gaze slid to the men kneeling before her anger coiled in her gut. But she also remembered a plea Jorah had made a long time ago, all men needed a chance to change; yet they had to want it.
"I am Daenerys Stormborn, Heart of the Dragon, and daughter of the true Valyria. I free you. And I will rise against any who bind men or women into slavery." She spoke in Valyrian, her voice loud and clear, people stared, some looked confused; but she knew at least a few understood.
She glanced to Jorah and he strode forward, slicing the lines that moored the ship; and as he urged those nearby to step back Daenerys gave the command. On a powerful breath her dragons lit the ship and the force of their fire drove the ship out from the dock; consuming it quickly.
That ship would never transport slaves again, and she would keep her promise; slavers would tremble when they saw the dragons' shadow or heard the flap of their wings. The sailors stood uneasily where Jorah left them, Daenerys had no pity; they could be thankful they had not been left onboard.
The ship burned quickly, even the water struggled to douse the flames as the hold burned; and finally, the flames flickered out. The chains on that ship would sink to the bottom of the harbour, and with the spectacle over the harbour began to move again.
It warmed her heart to see people come from their homes to help the weak who struggled to walk, the woman Jorah had helped was carried away. She didn't know if these people had lived here, or if this city simply knew the horrible ordeal that they had survived; living in fear of it themselves.
Jorah stayed at her shoulder as she roamed towards the open-air market, she knew he sensed the eyes tracking them. Rhaellys pulled herself free of the satchel and made the short transfer to sit next to Jahara, noticing Jorah's wince as the two young dragons rode on his shoulder. Her older sons took flight, circling high above the island, exploring while they waited for her call them.
But it was too late in the day to make it back to Valyria and she wanted to explore for herself. She knew Jorah had a lot on his hands yesterday, he'd managed to control the crew of the ship and make them change course. Keeping the dragons close had kept the men compliant, but it had given her time to think; and though she did not sleep her mind tossed as it did when she dreamed.
Only she was not dreaming, her mind tumbled through the memories of that slave holding, the images of her dream; the fate of the freehold that had enslaved thousands in the pursuit of powerful magic. Had the magic of the dragons not been enough for them? Or had they lost the ability to use it? Had she truly seen the magic of her children yet?
It was a question that she came back to over and over again; it was only as she glanced to the man beside her that she thought she might know the truth; she felt the truth. The market hummed with activity, but word was spreading, and it followed them through the street.
They had paused at a bakery, her stomach growled as Jorah handed over the coin for two flaky warm pastries, he had to be as hungry as she was. She took a bite of the one he handed to her, delighted to find it full of sweet fruit; the dragons on his shoulder looked at her curiously. They were hungry too.
"Will you find us a room for the night?" She asked, knowing they both needed to rest, and while her grown children would find their own food, she wanted privacy to feed the babies.
Jorah nodded but paused, his eyes narrowed, fixed on something behind her; she turned to see an ornate litter had come to a halt at the top of the street. A young man in fine robes stepped from it, Daenerys narrowed her eyes at the men left standing at each corner, they wore no collars, but she didn't trust that to mean anything.
People in the street quickly moved aside and let him pass, she glanced to Jorah; of course, the leaders of the city would hear of this. The man approached, speaking a language she did not understand, and one look told her that Jorah didn't know it either; he switched to a version of valyrian.
The man cut between her and Jorah, turning her towards the high street; she glanced back to see that Jorah was still close. She did not trust the man and saw shadows pass above; her dragons had come too. He was a prince, proudly introducing himself as a son of the Isles, his father was king of this island, and she did not miss the greed in his eyes as he looked back to the little dragons riding on Jorah's shoulder; he was not the first man to covet her dragons.
No doubt he had been sent to find out who she was and what her intentions were; but she sensed his own ambitions as well. It was in his eyes, in the familiar way he spoke and pried into who she was; and in how he deliberately ignored Jorah.
"If you will excuse me, there is an inn on the corner." Daenerys ignored his question, glancing back to Jorah. "We've had a long journey and another tomorrow."
"You are more than welcome to stay at the palace." The prince offered eagerly.
"I must decline, I do not come as an ambassador of a nation to make offers to you; but to keep a promise I made long ago." One she had lost sight of as Westeros loomed in front of her, and yet in that country she had lost more than she'd ever gained.
"But you do represent a nation, and a great house. You lay aside a throne to allow your nephew to take it, giving him the banners of a great house and armies to take back the Seven Kingdoms." The Prince spoke clearly, and Daenerys heard the shadow in his voice; did he think her weak for stepping aside? "And he may sit on a throne, but Westeros is barely his; the Lannister Queen lives."
Daenerys froze, trying to keep the surprise from her face as she processed that news. Cersei Lannister was as dangerous as long as she lived, and if she had escaped then Aegon was not safe; she would not abandon her claim to the throne. The legacy of her family was not restored. But what of her friends, of the armies that had faced their fears to follow her?
"Does she hold Casterly Rock?" She had asked them to fight for him, she had asked them to win the Seven Kingdoms for her family; for their legacy.
"No. The Lannister Queen fled to sea; I have not heard if she's made port." He informed her eagerly, dark eyes scanning her face; he'd sensed her interest in the conversation change and Daenerys schooled her features carefully.
"Then I would say my nephew holds Westeros." She countered, though her mind spun, and she drew back. "I am afraid I must find some rest."
The man had little choice but to agree, and slowly took his leave; she knew he noticed when Jorah's hand came to the small of her back. She did not care, he would not get whatever it was that he wanted from her; in the morning they would go home.
They took a room at the inn and a meal, though it was not for them. As she fed the meat to the little dragons, now contentedly perched on the side table Jorah sat on the other side of the bed, sipping a cup of ale as he removed his boots; his weapon belt leaned against the table on his side.
Rhaellys grabbed the last piece of meat and she turned to him, he was tired; but it seemed to hit him suddenly and she had seen him bear up under far more difficult circumstances. It was warm here; Daenerys had already abandoned her gown and she reached over to pull his shirt; hiding her gasp at the mottled bruising and cuts on his shoulder.
She knew better than to comment but heard his sigh as she smoothed her hand over the bruises. She'd been able to soothe his pain once before; her touch had comforted him as his scars melted away after he came from the pyre. But tonight, he only lay back and closed his eyes.