The Quintessence of a Queen Chapter 9: On To Astapor, a Game of Thrones + Worm Crossover fanfic

A/N: Chap 8 review responses are in my forums as normal. Thanks all for reading.

Chapter Nine: On To Astapor

The next morning, just as they were preparing to ship out, eleven disaffected sons of New Ghis arrived at the dock carrying large packs wrapped in a heavy tarp on their backs. Every one of them wore a beard dyed and parted with grease. All their beards were green, which made Taylor begin to wonder if the dye color was a sign of kinship.

They also could have been Rezhal's brothers for the similarities not just in hair style and fashion, but in their builds and features. Taylor knew from Rezhal's mind that all were members of House Zhaeq, which had evidently fallen on hard enough times there was fear the oligarch of the family would begin selling younger members into slavery to cure it's debt.

"There was another," Rezhal admitted to Taylor as the men boarded the ship. "But twelve is an unlucky number. There are three choirs of gods, eleven each. The best number is thirty-three, like the Great Pyramid of Old Ghis. But for smaller numbers, eleven is best. And...by the gods!"

Temeraire chose that moment to come bounding out of the cabins, flapping his wings in an impressive show of dominance, before clawing his way up Taylor's culottes and leather vest to find a spot on her shoulder. Just to make sure the interloper understood his place, the black and red dragon hissed at him.

"This is Tameraire," Taylor said. The other Ghiscari drifted closer to see the wonder. "Elliot and Saphira are...there they are."

The two other dragons arrived, drawn as much by competition with Tameraire as a desire to be with their adopted mother. When all three were settled, Taylor regarded her new officer core. "Dragons grow quickly. They added six inches to their size just in the three weeks we've sailed. In time, their wings will blot out the sun. And since you fight for me, their fire will fall on your enemies."

"They are small to protect you yet," one of the men said. He kept his tone neutral, but Taylor sensed the threat.

"Protect me? Quaithe, would you mind holding the dears?"

The men backed away, holding their hooked fingers between their eyes in either a sign of respect or fear as the other woman left her cabins. Quaithe wore her mask and looked every part the mysterious Shadowbinder. Wordlessly she came and let Taylor hand the young dragons to her. The square sail above boomed as it caught the wind, tilting the deck slightly as the ship made its way to the calm waters of Slaver's Bay.

With that done, Taylor stepped calmly to Barristan, who'd remained nearby on the deck watching as the men boarded. Having discussed the previous night her intent, the man calmly handed her two wooden practice blades.

She came back to Rezhal. "I am not a ruler who leads from the back of an army. I will be there fighting with you, side-by-side. But I know you are not accustomed to fighting with a woman. Even though I am tall, you think I cannot be as strong as a man. For you to trust me as your queen, and as a warrior, you must see. Rezhal, aside from yourself, who here is your best fighter?"

"Meiqin zo Zhaeq," Rezhal said without a moment's hesitation.

The other men nodded or grunted their agreement, stepping aside to let a short, compact man only a few years younger than Rezhal step forward. Taylor tossed him a practice blade, which he caught with a sure hand.

"We'll spar. The blades are blunted, so we will spar to three hits. Agreed?"

"Are you sure these are the blades you wish to spar with, foreign queen?" Meiqin asked.

Barristan flushed red with anger, but Taylor laughed. These men were soldiers-she'd heard worse from her own men on Earth. "It seems the only one you can handle, Meiqin."

The others laughed, and Meiqin blushed but accepted the riposte for what it was. "You can have the first swing, Queen."

Taylor regarded the man. "That's a good way to get yourself killed, Meiqin. What's the first rule of facing an unknown enemy?"

"Never underestimate them," Rezhal said. He turned to the soldier. "Boy, this is our queen now. If she says spar, then spar. Fight like it's your Cousin Ezghal, spitting at you from that marriage bed he snaked away from you."

That was a story. Meiqin got the message, though. He bent his knees, turned his body slightly, and attacked.

The Legionnaire approach was not that of fancy sword fighting. In close quarters, they fought with spear, sword and shield. Thrust, shield, retreat. Thrust, shield, advance. He attacked with a lightning quick thrust of his straight short sword, and then moved to step back from the expected counter attack.

Taylor spun inside his thrust so fast he never had a chance. She hooked her foot around his ankle and had her blunted sword to his neck as he fell to the deck. He stared up in surprise, before nodding. "Point."

She stood and offered him a hand. He stared at it in confusion a moment before he let her pull him up. This time, when he took his position, he was much more cautious. It didn't matter. She scored two more points in rapid succession, each time helping him up.

"You move too fast," Rezhal noted. He said it as an accusation. "I was watching and could barely see you."

"Yes," Taylor said. "And I am stronger than a woman my size should be as well. I can leap distances far beyond what a normal person could. I am not just a queen, I am a dragon lord of old. I have magical powers this world hasn't seen since long before the Doom. What you've seen here is only the lightest of my powers. So, I am a woman, yes. But I am your queen. And I am a warrior. Do any of you doubt?"

No one doubted. Taylor considered the initiation of her new officer corps complete.

~~Quintessence~~

In thinking of terms that could adequately describe the city of Astapor, all Taylor could think of was a heaping pile of shit.

From a distance, it didn't look too bad. It was made almost entirely of red bricks, from the walls of the pyramids within. The golden Ghiscari harpy could be seen over the city's main gates and atop the pyramids within. The dome of the Graces occupied a place of honor within.

But as they docked and Taylor left the boat dressed not in her flight suit or "spear-maid" costume, but in a ridiculously expensive New Ghis made dress of silk with an overcoat of cloth-of-gold decorated with amber, rubies and other precious jewels, with an ornate golden head dress that almost looked like a crown as it wove into her black hair, the reality of the city proved to be something else.

New Ghis was a slave city only in the sense that it had a slave market and used slaves within the city itself. Astapor was a slave city in the sense that its entire economy was built around the obtaining and training of slaves. This became apparent when their first location of note after leaving the ship was the Plaza of Punishment. Men and women of all ages and ethnicities hung on wooden crosses.

"You cannot show weakness or anger," Quaithe whispered beside her from behind her mask. "You are a queen, and above such concerns."

Rezhal had joined Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah on their walk, and looked down the line with contempt. "Stupid," was all he said. It seemed even a slaver took issue with Astapor's treatment of slaves.

Within the city, things were little better. The city itself looked as if it were crumbling- twice Barristan almost tripped on red flagstones that cracked under his weight. The stones led to a constant haze of red dust in the air that, with the slightest breeze, could irritate the eyes or skin. Many of the female Good Masters who ran the place wore scarves against it.

Most striking, though, was the absence of an economy. Taylor did not see any shops or markets. She had no idea how food was distributed within the city. There were no inns or taverns. According to Rezhal, travelers were housed by whichever good master they were dealing with, or remained on their ships in the bay.

All she saw were the so-called "Good Masters" and their slaves.

The particular Good Master they were referred to for the purchase of the Unsullied was Kraznys mo Nakloz, a short, bald man with an ornately crafted beard and silver thread woven into the green and yellow overcoat he wore over his white linen blouse and trousers.

At Taylor's insistence, Rezhal had introduced himself as a paid guide to Queen Rhaenys. He'd played up the idea of viewing a female ruler in contempt, and in moments the two Ghiscari had bonded in their contempt for her.

"My Unsullied have more manhood than these fools who follow this whore of a bitch," Kraznys mo Nakloz said to Rezhal, and the two other Good Masters who accompanied them.

Rezhal laughed with the rest of the men. "Her money spends easily enough."

"All gold does. Girl, tell the freakish giant whore to donkeys that the Unsullied have stood here for a day and a night with no food or water. They will stand until they drop. Such is their obedience. They may suit her needs."

The only mildly entertaining part of the morning that Taylor could find was listening to how skillfully the Good Master's slave girl translated his insults and curses. She did so with such calm smoothness it might as well have been her alone speaking. It was as if "whore, cunt, fucking dogs" and other insults just automatically switched to "your graces", "kind sers" and "honored guests." And her Common Tongue was flawless.

Taylor was doing her best to maintain a "Royal We" face that she and Quaithe had been practicing. "How are they trained?" she asked. The girl translated.

Naklaz began describing the brutal, inhuman training, making sure to salt his descriptions with as many insults as he could. But as the girl translated, Taylor almost stumbled on something he said. It took all her control to wait for the translation so as not to give away the game. "You require these men to take a babe from its mother's arms, kill it as she watches, and pay for her pain with a silver coin?"

To the poor little slave girl's credit, she understood how utterly disgusted Taylor was. But she was also trapped by her position. "My master would like you to know that the silver is paid to the baby's owner, not the mother."

She glanced at the stiff-backed Barristan. In his eyes she saw the same disgust she felt. She also saw the truth of their situation. Even she knew forcing a region to change decades of culture and economy was a lifetime endeavor. Just looking at the American South after the civil war was proof of that.

Taylor swallowed bile. "Ask the Good Master how many Unsullied are there in the city, including those in training."

Through the little slave girl, Taylor learned a total of eight thousand were ready for sale, with another five thousand in training. "The master says it is wise to blood them early. There are many small cities between here and there, cities ripe for sacking. Should you take captives, the masters will buy the healthy ones for a good price. And who knows? In 10 years, some of the boys you send them may be Unsullied in their turn. Thus all shall prosper."

So much for regional unity. "Ask the Good Master how much it would cost for all those in your possession, trained and in training?"

"Fifty thousand golden honors per legion," came the slave girl's translated response. "This includes their entire kit and weapons. It is a great value. The Good Master asks that you decide quickly, though. There are many buyers who value the Unsullied."

"We will have an answer on the morrow," Taylor decided regally.

The three of them left the punishingly hot forum where the Unsullied had been on display for potential buyers.

~~Quintessence~~

"We appear to be one hundred and forty-five thousand golden honors short," Barristan said dryly over lunch in her cabin.

"So, it appears," Taylor said. "I swear, Barristan, I'm tempted to snatch those men away and burn this city to the ground."

"Why don't you?" Ser Jorah asked.

"Because then I'd be stuck with eight thousand men in hostile territory with no way to feed them," Taylor noted. "I'm not sure how it works today, but in my world's military, food and supplies were the most vulnerable part of any military endeavor."

"An army marches on its stomach." Rezhal had joined them. "Daily ration for the Iron Legions is two pounds of food a day-grain with a cut of bacon, mutton or beef. More if possible. Minimum of a ton at least for each thousand men per day, if you want them in top fighting condition. The army can only march as fast as the herds of food animals behind them. These Unsullied can go without for a time, but they'll fight weaker for it."

The logistics of it all was daunting. It wasn't like Taylor could order airplanes for quick transport or a train to transport food and supplies. "How much could a carriage carry?" she asked.

"Two tons, max," Rezhal said without a moment's hesitation. "Two wagons per thousand men for four days rations. Or one wagon and a herd of food animals. You don't want your men to outpace their food if you can help it."

"Another possibility is to take ship across the Bay," Barristan noted. "A great cog like ours can hold six hundred men. The trip can be taken in a day. With a little coin, we could have all the men in Tolos in a day or two."

Rezhal popped a pickled fish into his mouth. "True. The march around the bay takes two months. But think of this. Kraznys was not wrong, talking about blooding. The smaller cities along the bay are accustomed to being attacked. They tolerate it because the Unsullied do not rape, and will only kill if ordered to. Some cities will surrender immediately and pay a ransom to make the soldiers go away. Borash has not fought a battle in a hundred years, but has been conquered every time an Unsullied legion is purchased. Question is, where are we going?"

Good question. She met Barristan's eyes, and he seemed to catch her meaning. "Pentos?" she asked.

"Pentos," he agreed. "At least for now. We'll need to stop in Volantis for supplies, I have no doubt. Once there, I should be able to send ravens to our merchant friend."

"You forget one thing," Rezhal said. "How will you pay for your soldiers?"

This time, Taylor smiled at Quaithe. "What's the most valuable commodity in the world right now that I have, but no one else does?"

Behind her mask, the Shadowbinder's eyes widened. "Surely not."

"No. But let's say I have a dragon egg. One ready to hatch within six months. It would have to be warm to the touch. Ser Jorah here has seen such eggs. Do you think that would be worth something?"

"If one is worth much, three would be worth even more," Quaithe said.

"Then it seems we have work to do. Rezhal, I need you to take a message to the Good Master, please. Let him know that the Dragon Master Rhaenys Targaryen has three living dragon eggs taken from the fire pits of Asshai-Beyond-the-Shadow, each ready to hatch within the next six months. Tell him that these are the most valuable items in the world, and are worth all the Unsullied in the city, trained or not, and a week's worth of rations and transportation for them all."

"Do you?" Rezhal asked. "Have such eggs?"

"We will," Taylor promised.

~~Quintessence~~

The part of Shadow magic that Taylor found most distasteful was its dependency on blood. As she very carefully chiseled in the lines that Quaithe drew on the large, smooth oval river stones that would serve as the base of their eggs, Quaithe placed the sheep's blood in the cauldron with the other witch's brew of ingredients necessary in the privacy of her chambers.

"You know what they should look like, Aeksiae?"

"I lifted the images from Mormont's mind," Taylor admitted.

The answer neither surprised nor bothered the Shadowbinder. "That is good. The image must be clear in your mind to secure the illusion and compulsion."

"Right. I think I'm done."

Quaithe reviewed the stones, making a few minor adjustments with the chisel and hammer, before nodding. She gripped the first stone with wooden tongs and placed it entirely in the cauldron, which boiled with what looked like a dark blood pie filling. The smell of copper, ozone and magic filled the room.

After five minutes, Quaithe removed the steaming rock and placed it on a white cloth on Taylor's desk. Taking a deep breath against what she knew would be awful, Taylor began chanting in the twisted, gullet-tripping language of the Shadowlands.

She felt the Force around her twist and shriek in protest to being perverted into darkness, but still she chanted. She layered the illusion into the blood that had permeated the stone, securing the image of a glorious dragon egg. It wasn't enough, though. With the illusion came a compulsion, powerful enough to compel even the strongest mind. It was a compulsion of avarice and need.

When she finished, she took the now dried egg and placed it in an ornate wood and gold chest that Barristan purchased for her clothes in New Ghis. Taylor viewed it as a worthy sacrifice to their cause.

"I'm going to have to meditate for a week to purge out all this darkness," Taylor muttered.

"I am jealous," Quaithe said as she placed the second stone before her. "I could not do what you are doing, not for all three."

"I haven't done them all yet," Taylor warned.

Her caution was well-earned, because the second one was much harder than the first. The amount of power needed to even pronounce the words was draining, and because of the sheer darkness of the magic, the Force recoiled from her attempts to refresh herself. In this one area, if she were true Sith, she would have found the work much easier. But because her entire power was based on balance, the light within her made harnessing the darkness difficult.

She was sweating profusely by the time she finished.

"Can you do the last?" Quaithe asked.

"I have to."

She had two false starts, one bad enough that Quaithe had to re-boil the stone. But finally she finished, gasping and reeling at the Dark Side energy that now polluted her veins. Without a word, Taylor stumbled to her bed, assumed a Lotus position, and then entered the deepest, most profound cleansing meditation she could.

~~Quintessence~~

Barristan watched with a keen eye as the ten men Rezhal brought on board trained on the deck of the ship. Their fighting approach was brutally simple, and designed to work in tandem with their fellows. Individually, they were likely not much better than a well-trained Westerosi. But as a unit?

"I'd not want to face a thousand of those men without at least five hundred heavy horse at my back," Ser Jorah said. The two stood on the aft castle of the ship, watching.

"And another thousand afoot," Barristan added. "The horse to break their formation, and the men afoot to finish them. The way they lock their shields is impressive. The simplicity of their drills makes them effective."

"Aye. They're not knights, to be sure, but they're solid soldiers."

Movement from the dock made him look to see Rezhal mo Zhaeq climbing up the plank. He greeted his fellows in their native language, though he surprisingly spoke the Common Tongue as well. He saw Barristan and Jorah and climbed the steep stairs to bring them news.

"Kraznys demands proof of the eggs," Rezhal said. "And proof of the Aeksiae's claim that she is a dragon master."

Barristan nodded. The sun was already setting, so they were done for the day. None of them were fool enough to step into a slaver city at night. Not without heavy guard. "Which means he's willing to entertain the offer."

Rezhal snorted. "Dragons would make Astapor the most powerful city in the bay. I have no doubt they would take those dragons to Yukai, and Mereen after. Kraznys would sell both his wives and all his children for dragons."

"Then tomorrow we'll have our soldiers," Barristan nodded. "Speaking of, I'm going to go check on her grace."

He nodded to the men before making his way down to the cabins below. He reached his chosen queen's cabin and knocked softly on it. He heard a muffled response not from Taylor, but from Quaithe. Still, it was permission. He opened the door, only to pause just inside.

Without ceremony, the maskless shadowbinder pulled him in and closed the door behind him.

The young faux queen floated a foot off the bed, her face held in an intense, almost pained expression of concentration. The air around her shimmered with a dark cloud. "What is happening?" he whispered.

"She is being attacked!" Qiathe hissed. "She had to use the Shadowtongue to enchant the stones, but the darkness weakened her and left her open to...to this!"

"Who attacks her?"

"The Warlocks of Qarth," the Shadowbinder said, snarling the words. "All of them."

"What can you do?"

"In this? I can do nothing," Quaithe said. "Any protections I draw will fail, because the attack already happens. It would be like you putting on your armor after the battle when the knife is already in your gut."

For a moment, Barristan's chest tightening and breathing became difficult. Not again. "Is there nothing we can do?"

"We can pray, Barristan the Andal."

He stepped to the bed. Around Taylor, the air shimmered with the edge of shadow, as if a door into reality was trying to open behind her. Hesitantly he reached in, only to quickly pull his hand back at a sharp pain and the smell of burning hair. The white hairs on the back of his hands had burned away, leaving his skin red and raw.

"Be strong, girl," he told her. "We are here for you."

The waiting was unbearable. They dared not let Rezhal know, telling him only that the queen was meditating for tomorrow. Jorah, though, stumbled in alarm when he entered and saw how Taylor hovered impossibly in the air, fighting a battle of magic against unseen enemies a quarter of a world away.

"Sit with us, Jorah the Andal," Quaithe said. "Pray with us. Our faith may grant her strength."

Quaithe intentionally patted the cushioned floor beside her, and since Barristan was at the desk, Mormont had no reason not to do as she asked. He sat beside Quaithe, and did not question when she took his hand and held it tightly. "Pray with us, Jorah," Quaithe said. "For the Azor Ahai must not fail in this test."

Barristan barely noticed as Quaithe took the first steps in her plan of seduction, and instead stared and prayed for the girl he'd helped rescue months before.

The waiting became almost unbearable, especially in the presence of almost palpable magic. The air felt like they'd just survived a massive thunderstorm, and twice the shadowy umbra surrounding Taylor flared out in little flames of blue that felt more cold than hot.

Two hours before sunrise, though, something changed. Barristan jerked out of a light doze, and saw that Quaithe sat up from where she rested her head on Mormont's lap, while the other knight also dozed. On the bed, Taylor's face had darkened to an intense expression of effort. Around her, the cold blue light flickered more energetically, making the air pop.

Quaithe rose to her feet, only to collapse to her knees by the bed. "Fight, Aeksiae! Fight!"

The sound woke Mormont. "What's happening?"

Before Barristan could answer, the dark cloud around the queen cracked. The blue flame burst around her in a dark, brilliant halo, and then abruptly was gone. Taylor collapsed into the bed, bounding boneless as Quaithe caught her from rolling off the edge.

Barristan's knees popped as he too rushed to the bedside. Taylor was blinking her now gold-star eyes up at him, smiling weakly. "I kicked their asses," she whispered. "Broke their glass candle."

She then passed out.

"By the gods," Mormont whispered.

"Yes," Quaithe said. "She is chosen of the gods. Not even all the Shadowbinders of the Lord of Light could have defeated the Warlocks of Qarth. But she will need to rest, at least a day."

"The good masters are waiting for an answer," Barristan noted.

"Then I shall buy us a day," Quaithe said. "We shall tell them the truth. That the Aeksiae is spending the day preparing the eggs for Kraznys, and tomorrow as the sun rises we shall present him with three living dragon eggs in the presence of one already hatched. If he is satisfied with such proof, then we shall take in return for the eggs all the Unsullied, trained or not, with a week's rations and transportation."

Barristan nodded. "That I can do. After some sleep. You'll stay with her?"

Quaithe smiled and gently touched Taylor's cheek. "I will. Now that the battle is over, I can paint protections about her room to prevent it from happening again."

"Then we'll leave you to it. Come, Ser Jorah. We have a few hours left to sleep, then tomorrow we buy time from the slavers."