Chapter 22 – The 22nd day of July, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
Daenerys smiled as she watched her children play.
Just two months earlier she had wandered out of the Red Waste, yet already her children had grown noticeably. In just weeks they had grown too large to rest comfortably on her shoulder, and now could soar hundreds of feet into the air. She still fed them from her own hand, but increasingly they hunted after their own prey. She watched as they flew higher and higher, circling the warm waters around the island.
Drogon was the largest and fiercest of her brood, but he did not always have his way. No sooner did he swoop down to grab a fish in his jaws, than his brothers screeched and clawed at him to relinquish his prize. They would follow him back to the beach, where he would deposit the fish, only to draw back and bring forth the fire in his belly. It was a curious sight. Faint jets of steam would hiss from his nose, then in the next moment a torrent of fire would spew forth. At first there had only been brief spouts of flame, but already her children looked capable of roasting a man.
"They are beautiful Khaleesi" a voice said beside her. "Magnificent, truly."
Daenerys turned. Draqos must have followed her out again. Maeresso's son had hair matching her own, though his silvery locks fell to his shoulders, while hers barely reached her neck, six months on from walking out of the pyre that should have killed her. Draqos had assured her that it did not affect her beauty in the slightest. Even bald Khalessi, he had said, men would fight duels for your favor.
She could not deny the magister's son was handsome, and nigh as tall as Ser Jorah, though only half as wide. He was only three years her senior, yet the way he said Khaleesi tended to make her blush, as if it was a childhood nickname. His father had sailed west shortly after their arrival, to report personally to his masters in Volantis, leaving Draqos and a score of guards behind.
Back in Qarth about the only thing Xaro, the Volentenes and she herself could agree upon was that she should not linger too long in that city. They could not immediately agree upon the next step. Xaro had wanted to take her to Qarkash, Port Yhos or one of the other Qartheen cities (he owned estates in each of them). Maeresso wanted to take her as far west as he could persuade her, all the way to Volantis if possible, or at least Slaver's Bay. Jorah had counselled the opposite, urging her to head east around the Jade Sea, seeking out the remotest port possible where her dragons could grow in obscurity. Daenerys had disliked the notion of fleeing even further east however. I am not going to hide in Asshai, ser she had told him sternly, then immediately felt guilty at the ashamed look on his face.
No, she wished to learn more about these Sōverior Hōzalbori that men said infested her kingdom. She would not head all the way to Volantis, that seemed reckless. There would be no way to hide her children there, but she did wish to be closer than Qarth. Xaro had brought out maps, and proposed half a score of options. In the end, she had made her own decision, feeling almost a queen as she did so.
Ultimately she had stayed in Qarth little more than a fortnight. Xaro had instructed her on petitioning an audience with the Pureborn, the rulers of the city. She had made a traditional sacrifice in the Temple of Memory, offered a traditional bride to the Keeper of the Long List, and sent a traditional persimmon to the Opener of the Door. She had then been granted an audience in the Hall of a Thousand Thrones.
She was encouraged in this effort by the Volentenes, who had set about the exact same task. Maeresso went in with her, telling them tales of the monstrous creatures now ravaging both sides of the Narrow Sea. The attitudes of the Pureborn seemed to vary. Some seemed disinterested, or even bemused, by the threat. Others were sceptical it even existed, but enough seemed concerned that some sort of action should be taken. Daenerys had returned to Xaro's manse while they deliberated.
Just two days later they summoned her again, and she was relieved to find they had granted a trio of war galleys from the Qartheen Fleet to escort her wherever she may go, and promised further aid to Volantis once their own agents had returned with firmer answers. Xaro had then gifted her two more ships to transport her Khalasar. Combined with the carrack Maeresso had arrived on, they were a flotilla of six. They had set off one bright dawn, heading west. They had stopped eleven days later in Port Yhos to take on fresh provisions, then headed south by west. Another two weeks and they had reached their destination.
Ghaen was a large island, almost the equal of the Arbor in Westeros, if the maps told it true. To the north the Ghiscari Strait separated them from the mainland of Essos, beyond which were the slaver cities of Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen. The ruins of Old Ghis could also be found there, where the Valyrians, her ancestors had burned the once great city to ashes and salted the earth so nothing would ever grow there again. Five thousand years had passed, and Old Ghis was still abandoned.
Not all the Ghiscari had perished however. Most of the survivors had become slaves to their new Valyrian masters, but a few had escaped even that fate. They fled further south, on foot and then by ship, founding refuges on Ghaen and other islands. The greatest of these had evolved into a city, though only since the Doom had it truly prospered. New Ghis was huddled on its own island some leagues to the south.
"Yes" Daenerys replied, glancing from her children to the magister's son. "They are beautiful, as you keep saying." The boy seemed earnest enough, but Daenerys had learned not to trust too easy. She trusted Ser Jorah, and her three bloodriders, but few others with her life, let alone the lives of her new children.
She was under no illusions about most of her escort. The Qartheen galleys had anchored in a nearby cove. From New Ghis had soon come a party of that city's own masters, whom Xaro was familiar with. They had marvelled at her dragons in turn. One of them, Meirdos zo Laaq, invited her into the manse in which she now stayed. Her hosts had been entrusted to guard her, but they did not truly belong to her. Including her khalasar and other servants, they were a gathering of several hundred. It seemed a large enough an escort for the Mother of Dragons, but her hosts insisted it was the minimum that was needed. In such a time of trouble, secrecy was paramount.
"Meirdos says there is news from New Ghis" Draqos went on, slowly pulling a slip of paper from his ornate robes. He looked at Ser Jorah as he did so, standing by her side. The big knight nodded, and he approached her.
"What news?" Daenerys asked eagerly. She had heard very little since Qarth.
"Of your usurper, Khaleesi."
Daenerys frowned. "Robert is dead. Your father said as much."
"Yes Khaleesi, but not all of the usurper's children are dead" Draqos said cautiously.
"Not all of them?" Daenerys replied. "Who lives?"
Draqos handed her the paper. She looked over the High Valyrian glyphs quickly.
"Myrcella?" she said. "The girl?"
"Yes, Khaleesi. Her grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister, retreated from King's Landing, after the city was destroyed. He has proclaimed her Queen at your Casterly Rock."
Daenerys thought on this a moment. "Another usurper then?"
"It appears so, Khaleesi. Both Myrcella and this Stannis Baratheon claim to be the rightful lord of the sunset kingdoms."
"Then what of the Hōzalbori?" she asked. "Stannis has turned to worship them, but Myrcella has not?"
"Perhaps not, Khaleesi. There is a new High Septon, now at Oldtown, after the destruction of King's Landing" Draqos went on. "He proclaims Myrcella the true queen."
Daenerys was still reading the note.
"And what is this…Harrenhal?"
"Yes, the great fortress Aegon ravaged when he first came to Westeros. Supposedly, the Hōzalbori have attacked it as well, killing hundreds of men inside."
"And how did this happen? By dragonfire?"
Draqos seemed uncertain. "There are different accounts Khaleesi. From Oldtown, there is talk that your Stranger took wing, in the shape of an enormous bat, bigger than a dragon, and reigned fire down on the castle in black of night."
Daenerys pondered on this further. She handed the note to Jorah. "What do you think, ser?"
The big knight examined the paper in turn, frowning. "It shows that Westeros is still a divided land, Khaleesi. Perhaps it is a good thing. If the Hōzalbori were so powerful, then Tywin and his pretender would have been crushed by now. It must be possible to resist them."
"Yes, I thought that as well. Perhaps it is good news. Do you think this Myrcella could make a useful ally?"
"Myrcella is not who you will have to convince, Khaleesi. The girl can't be older than ten or so. It is lord Tywin who backs her."
"Another man who betrayed my father, and after he had raised him to Hand as well."
Jorah nodded. "He is another man who deserves death for his crimes, and they are many, but perhaps you could show him mercy. If he offers to bend the knee, you can secure him in his position as Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, and Warden of the West."
"The High Septon too…he would have to recognise me as the true queen, not this pretender."
"One look at your dragons, Khaleesi, and I am sure he can be convinced."
"Pardon Khaleesi" Draqos said, watching the exchange. "There is one more piece of news, concerning the Dothraki. Do you recall one Khal Moro?"
"Moro? Yes I know him" Daenerys replied at once. "He was in Pentos, when I was wed to Drogo."
"It is said the Hōzalbori fell on his Khalasar near Pentos. They cast great illusions of fire and smoke, but soon the illusions became real. They killed Khal Motho, and all his sons. The remnants of his khalasar fled, where they joined Moro's people. They survived, but only by riding back east as fast as their horses could carry them. Half are said to have died of exhaustion. They have crossed back over the Rhoyne, and Moro is said to be riding hard for Vaes Dothraki. He has sent out a call to the Dosh Khaleen, and they have summoned all the khalasars back."
That was serious. Usually the khalasars only came together every three or four years, depending on the passing of the seasons. To call them back after less than one year was unusual indeed.
"Then the Dothraki fear the Hōzalbori as well." It was just the latest of many foul omens. Already she had heard that the fighting in the Disputed Lands had stopped, with Tyrosh, Myr and Lys reforming their triarchy. Qohor and Norvos had ceased their skirmishing along the Darkwash and forged a fresh alliance. Mantarys, Elyria and Tolos. Meereen, Astapor and Yunkai. New Ghis and Qarth…The pirates in the Stepstones had gone quiet. Even the corsair kings in the Basilisk Isles had declared a sort of ceasefire and recalled their fleets.
Every war in the world was ending she thought. Under different circumstances, it would be cause for rejoicing, yet somehow it seemed the opposite. What else could put a stop to every war in the world, except its imminent end? She looked up at her children again. For a moment even Drogon, fierce as he was, seemed helpless against the rising tide of darkness. She could feel it, brewing on the horizon like some great storm. Draqos must have sensed her disquiet. "Have faith Khaleesi" he said, taking her hand gently. "We are the blood of old Valyria."
"Valyria met its doom" she said, before she could stop itself.
"Yes, it did Khaleesi. We already faced the wrath of the gods, but I do not believe we are due to face the same again, not for another five thousand years or so." He cracked a weak sort of smile. "The whole world is uniting against this threat. The triarchs have ordered new levies. In the Century of Blood armies went forth from Volantis numbering in their hundreds of thousands. They hope to raise the same again. Other envoys have gone to Astapor, in Slaver's Bay, to purchase Unsullied. There were other bids, from Lys and Qohor. There were eight thousand for sale. We purchased half, and Qohor the rest. Now a million Dothraki will soon pour out of the east as well."
"None of them can fly though" Daenerys pointed out.
"Your children can" he said, with a broader smile this time.
He was still holding her hand, close to his chest. She could feel his warmth, thought it was already a warm day. She went to extract it, though she leaned in first to give him a peck on the cheek. "Your words are always comforting. Thank you, Draqos." She started walking back to the manse. The magister's son seemed frozen to the spot a moment, then followed after her and Jorah.
Meirdos zo Laaq kept a clean household. He inhabited the manse for perhaps half the year, while in the other half he sat in court in New Ghis as one of its masters. It was not quite as large as Xaro's, and rather crowded with her khalasar, but to Daenerys, for whom memories of the Red Waste were still fresh, it was the lap of luxury. The master was past fifty, with a broad belly and wiry red hair slowly giving way to grey. He still wore it crafted in the elaborate shapes common to his people, usually as a pair of pointed horns. His High Valyrian was halting, and thick with the accents of Ghis.
"You get the news, Khaleesi?" he asked that evening, as they sat down to supper.
"Yes, master, thank you" she replied.
"The horselords ride back east, back to city."
"Yes, I know."
"They fear Sōverior Hōzalbori. They speak of Shiqethi zhavorsa, Khaleesi."
"Shiqethi zhavorsa?" she repeated, thinking back to her time in Drogo's khalasar. It took a moment for the meaning of the words to come to her. Iron dragons.
"How can a dragon be made of iron?" she asked, struggling to picture such a thing.
"No man knows, Khaleesi, but that is what they say."
Daenerys looked down at the humble meal on her plate, at the cups of apricot wine. Suddenly she felt the urge to fling them off the table. Draqos must have noticed her expression.
"What is wrong, Khaleesi?" he asked earnestly.
"What is wrong?" she asked, her voice quivering. She looked around at them all. "What is not wrong about this? Everything about it is wrong. I led my people into the Red Waste. I sacrificed my husband. I lost my brother, after losing everyone else I ever knew. I followed the red comet and gave birth to my children. Yet now, a plague of Hōzalbori are descending on my kingdom, a land I have never seen, riding Shiqethi zhavorsa, and I have no knowledge of who they are, where they have come from, or even what they look like."
She rounded on Jorah. "We are still too far away from Westeros, ser" she said, suddenly angry. "We should go further west."
The table had fallen silent. Meiros, Draqos and Jorah all looked at each other. "Khaleesi…" he said, in a tone so gentle it bordered on patronizing. "I would caution against that. I know you must be frustrated. I feel it too, but I would not be reckless. We are already as far west as I think we dare go, without revealing your children to the whole world, including these monsters."
"There are hundreds of us here, and my children fly further and higher every day. Soon rumours will spread."
"Rumours, Khaleesi yes, but rumours of what?" Draqos reassured her. "Our agents are everywhere. My father has instructed them to spread their tales. They will say that you perished in the Red Waste. That you have gone further east to Yi Ti or Leng. That the horselords took you back to their city with all the other Dosh Khaleen. Whatever words reach these Hōzalbori and their servants, they will not know what to believe. Do not worry, Khaleesi. We can keep you hidden. We can keep you safe."
Slowly, her breathing calmed. She took another sip of wine. "Forgive me, then. I feel…I feel like I am still groping in the dark. I can sense something, something in there with me. I can hear its breathing, sense its approach, yet I do not know its nature. The uncertainty, it is…"
"We all feel, Khaleesi. We live in the same world as you do" Meiros offered. "My people once lived in fear of yours. We would cower in our burrows and cracks in the rock, while the dragonlords flew overhead. Whoever these demons are, and whatever world they have come from, we have endured worse. I believe that."
"Yes, you are brave. Your people are, master" she suddenly found her courtesy. "I cannot speak for the crimes of my ancestors. I do not ask for your forgiveness, but I thank you again for the hospitality of your home."
"Think nothing of it, Khaleesi. Your dragons can grow in safety here. The waters around Ghaen are well patrolled, and filled with fish. There is no safer place."
She picked at her food, but other worries weighed on her mind. She found herself thinking of Eroeh, defiled, raped and murdered on the Dothraki Sea. Jhaqo called himself a Khal now, with Mago as one of his bloodriders. She had vowed that their fate would be worse than hers had been, that they would die screaming. Yet now this new threat presented itself. Could she simply put aside such feelings? To ally with such men?
She couldn't be sure, yet she knew men were doing the same all over Essos. She looked on the servants in the manse, all of which were slaves. Ghiscari mostly, enslaved by other Ghiscari. She wasn't sure whether that made it better or worse. "Your people were enslaved by Valyria, master" she said. "Yet now you enslave each other? Why?"
"There have always been masters and slaves, Khaleesi" Meiros said, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "At least now we have a chance of being the masters again."
"What if you had been born a slave?"
Meiros cocked his head, as if giving the matter serious thought. "I would hope to have a kind master, and be grateful to eat from his plate."
"And what if you had a cruel master?"
"It is unwise to be too cruel, Khaleesi. Cruel masters find their slaves rebelling much more often. It is bad for business."
She turned to her big knight. "There are no slaves in Westeros, are there, Ser Jorah?"
"No khaleesi."
Meiros and Draqos shared a bemused sort of look. "Please, Khaleesi" said the latter. "There are smallfolk beyond count in Westeros, just as there are slaves in Essos."
"But they are not property" she protested. "They cannot be bought and sold like slaves. There are no slave markets."
"No, but the lands they are tied to can be bought and sold" Draqos said. "I had tutors in Volantis would talked of this sort of thing, even one of your maesters once. Marwyn, his name was. He told us that when a lord gains control of a new piece of land, by purchase or inheritance or conquest, the smallfolk are now his. They cannot leave the land without his permission."
She turned back to Jorah, who was frowning now. "The smallfolk have some rights Khaleesi" he pointed out. "They cannot be forced to work on the seventh day, or other royal holidays and days of the faith. Nor can they be punished, unless they break the king's law. They require their lord's permission to marry, but the marriage must also be done by their consent. They are tied to the land, it is true, but they can petition their lord for the chance to leave. If a family has too many sons for instance, too many mouths to feed, a few may move elsewhere, to one of the towns perhaps. Some asked this of me during the long summer, and usually I granted it, so that Bear Island is not too crowded come winter. These rights they have, and in return, the lords are obligated to protect their people."
"Lords and smallfolk" Meiros said gently. "Masters and slaves. Whatever differences exist, it is a matter of degrees. Most are simply not destined to rule. They are destined to plant seeds and harvest the crops that grow. To rear cows and sheep and pigs. To row ships and clear muck from the stables. Who would wish to do such things, Khaleesi? Few would, so a master's lash is necessary."
"Yet in some places the lash is harsher than others" Daenerys said. "I think I would rather have been born a smallfolk on Bear Island, than a slave in Volantis."
Draqos looked bemused now. "Perhaps, Khaleesi. Life would be easier, but what glories belong to your Bear Island? Volantis is the greatest city in the world, the heir to the freehold, because we wield our lash the best."
"Perhaps the young magister tells it true" Jorah conceded. "The greatest empires are built on the backs of the greatest suffering. Still, I would rather have been born on Bear Island. Slaves in Volantis have almost no rights Khaleesi. They are forbidden from learning to read and right, unless working as scribes. A master can kill them if they are displeased, or abandon or otherwise dispose of them. A few days a year they may not have to work, for holidays in honour of the Magisters, or to worship at their chosen temple, but not much else."
"And what of the other free cities?" she asked. She had travelled to most of them as a girl, and seen slaves in each one, but had not thought to question how their status might differ from place to place.
"Tyrosh is much the same as Volantis, Khaleesi. Myr a little gentler. There a master cannot simply kill his slaves, unless they have committed some great crime, or tried to escape more than once. They are only allowed to remove an ear or a finger the first time…Lys may be the most gentle. There a Master is obligated to feed and clothe his slaves. They must sleep under a roof, for instance, and be provided a pair of shoes. They can even petition the First Magister if they are mistreated, though I have not heard of many successful petitions…The laws vary from city to city, Khaleesi."
"What of Pentos?"
"Pentos abolished slavery after the last war with Braavos, ninety years ago, Khaleesi."
Draqos snorted. "Your big knight does not know of what he speaks" Draqos said, looking down on the Westerosi like he was a particularly dim-witted child. "The Pentoshi professed to giving up the trade, it is true, but not in practice. The magisters call them 'servants' now, and in theory they must pay them wages, but in truth they receive only what they need to eat. They are no better than Lys, truly."
The hour had grown late, and the conversation soon petered out. Defeated, Daenerys allowed her plate to be carried away by a slave girl, who looked to be her approximate equal in age, though with wiry red Ghiscari hair rather than her silver locks. She had soon retired to bed.
She shared it with Irri that night, as she usually did. Her handmaiden was soon snoring softly beside her, but dark thoughts kept Daenerys awake. She had survived the Red Waste. Now she was safe, and her children were hidden in a place where they could grow and thrive, but she was dwelling on the future again. Had the Gods truly spared her, so she could return home on dragonback, and rid her realm of these demons? How could she possibly achieve this task, when men could not even describe to her what they looked like? Or where they had come from?
She felt just about to finally drift off when she heard another voice.
Find him, Daenerys Targaryen
She sat bolt upright in the bed, clutching the sheets across her chest. Irri stirred but did not waken. In the corner of the room stood another figure, though the door remained closed, and she had never heard it open. The face was concealed, but she recognised the dark red lacquer of her mask.
"Quaithe?" she whispered. The shadowbinder, one of the three who had sought her out at Vaes Tolorro. Had she arrived during the night? Had she taken ship to follow her? Yet somehow it seemed not to be. Moonlight trickled in around the curtains of her room, yet the figure looked little more than a shadow, and her voice was strange, echoing as if across some great chasm.
Find the silver-haired man
Silver of beard, silver of tongue, glass of eye
Find him, spare him, let him speak
Learn the truth, and decide upon your path
"Find who?" she asked, bewildered, but now Irri was sitting up beside her and the figure vanished as suddenly as it had come.
"What is it Khaleesi?" the handmaid asked, looking around the empty room. "Who do you speak to?"
For a moment Daenerys was tempted to give an honest answer, but no, she did not want to be thought mad, not by one of the few people in the world she still trusted.
"Nothing, just a dream Irri" she said, lying back down. "A bad dream. Go back to sleep."