Author's Notes: You guys might very well be the best readers. You've just been awesome and I really appreciate your support by following this fic and leaving your kudos! There have been some seriously insightful comments and it's a joy to see the discussions. I hope I can keep delivering!
I took more inspiration than usual from the original work A Clash of Kings for this chapter, rereading it several times. Some of it should feel familiar, but I take a very different direction from GRRM in what to convey. As well as inspiration from another Fantasy series. You might spot it.
Italicized dialogue with the star (*) means it was lifted straight from the chapter in the book, but I think there's just one line. As I'm sure you're aware, I make no money from this work and never will. GRRM owns it all.
I would like to thank my beta, catzrko0l, for tightening up the writing! Seriously, folks, she helped make sure this was readable and not an error-ridden mess and put in a lot of excellent work.
Chapter 57
Daenerys V
"Khaleesi, this place is ill-omened. Only shadows are born from this place. We must go," Aggo said to her, glancing at the ruin of the Palace of Dust in trepidation.
"And leave my dragons to these blue-lipped maegi? I think not," Daenerys replied harshly. She drew her lips into a thin line and walked forward slowly, her muscles stiff and unyielding with rage.
"You insult them at your risk, my beauty," Xaro Xhoan Daxos called to her from the palanquin. He wore a smile that stretched his face with false pretenses.
Her patience was already worn thin enough by Xaro Xhoan Daxos. She and her Khalasar had been stuck in Qarth for a month and, as far as she was concerned, it was one month too long. It had plenty of beauty and color, which she adored, but her nephew was waiting for her across the Narrow Sea. Never had she been so close to home, yet Xaro Xhoan Daxos, for all of his wealth, refused her passage in one of his many ships. She hadn't needed Ser Jorah to tell her that he was keeping her here for his own ends, unlikely to ever let her go. He offered her an entire wing in his palace for her Khalasar to make use of, he offered her an entire world's variety of food, marble baths, the finest in Meereen fashion and jewelry. Everything except the ship she so desperately needed.
Then her apartments at his grand palace had been broken into, her guards slaughtered, and her two dragons absconded with. She had rounded on him in her rage only to have it tempered by the mixture of horror and fury on his own face.
"It could only have been Pyat Pree and his fellow warlocks," Xaro Xhoan Daxos said with a grim face.
"Then let us seek them out. My dragons are my own! I am their mother, they are my children! We are not to be separated."
"This is what they want, my queen. They are baiting you into the House of the Undying. Once you step into their arms, they will have you."
"For what purpose?!"
"Only they know for what purpose, my love. It is folly to guess at their intentions." Yet his eyes slid in a way that suggested he was hiding something.
It matters not! My children need me, she had thought and stormed away, her bloodriders and Ser Jorah on her heels.
That warlock shall rue the day he had the gall, Daenerys thought, striding forward purposefully with fire in her eyes. She could feel her heart pounding with her rage. To think I had a dragon inside me worth waking. Her children were all she had and she would fight tooth and nail to have them back safe in her arms.
As if her very thoughts could conjure him, Pyat Pree stepped forward with a smile on his blue lips that did not reach his eyes and held his hands out to her. "My queen, it is an honor that you would grace us with your presence."
"Spare me the formalities. I know you have my dragons," she growled.
He cocked his head, but his knowing smile never diminished. "Pardon? Have they escaped their confines? We at the House of the Undying know nothing of this."
"You try my patience, warlock. Continue to mock me and I will bring an army down on your heads and tear your house asunder," she declared.
Her threat only seemed to amuse him. "Perhaps the Mother of Dragons seeks our counsel? If someone has your dragons, then we shall surely lead you to them," Pyat Pree said and held out his hand to her.
He must have them. This may be my best opportunity to get them back! She was just reaching for his hand when Ser Jorah grabbed her other hand.
"Your Grace."
She whipped her eyes to him and he was forced to bow his head from the intensity of the rage. "It's too dangerous! There are few who enter who ever come out. Think of your life! All is not yet lost."
Daenerys fumed. "You told me that live dragons were priceless beyond measure, did you not?"
"I did, Your Grace," he said, barely able to meet her gaze.
"They are worth even more than that to me. I am their mother! I will not abandon them," she declared. With that, she turned to Pyat Pree and took his hand. He led her through the door and she did not look back.
"For one so young, you have the wisdom of a crone."
"If you are just as wise, you'll guide me to my dragons and I will let you live," Daenerys replied.
His amusement never faltered, which only served to infuriate her, but she breathed deeply. She must keep her wits about her if she wanted to save her dragons. Only death could separate a mother from her children and she would surely die trying.
They entered under the archway and she felt like the outside world fell away from her.
"The House of the Undying was not made for mortal men,*" Pyat Pree began, the amusement finally fading away, and he now regarded her solemnly. "If you value your life, you will heed my words. This way leads in but never out. When you enter, always take the first door on your right. There may be rooms through other doors, but heed them not. The way will close behind you and a new way will open, but it is only temporary. You must be steadfast."
Daenerys felt her lips purse. Trust you? I wish not to make that mistake again, she thought, but the stillness in the air and within the ruin was unsettling. Ser Jorah, Aggo, and Xaro Xhoan Daxos had filled her ears endlessly on the ride over about the hidden dangers in the House of the Undying.
"This is the warlock's territory, Khaleesi. No matter the power of your dragons, they are small, and you are young. Trust your senses and be vigilant," Ser Jorah, her old bear, had warned her. There was no mistaking the fear and dread upon his face.
Her instinct was telling her to trust the warlock. For all of his pretty words and the falsity in his voice earlier, she could sense none now. With nothing else to go on, she may as well heed his instructions.
A dwarf dressed in fine silks of blue and purple stood waiting for her holding a silver tray with a crystalline goblet. Inside the goblet, a viscous blue liquid sat undisturbed.
"You must drink it. All of it," Pyat Pree said.
Shade of the evening. An easy way to poison me, she mused. The very liquid that permanently stained Pyat Pree's lips blue. She gave him a suspicious glance. "What will it do?"
"It will unstop your ears and dissolve the caul that dulls your senses. You will be enabled to find what you seek."
"My dragons. I seek my dragons. I will find them here?"
Pyat Pree's silence was answer enough.
"How do I leave then? The opposite?"
"There is no leaving. One does not come and go through the House of the Undying like one walks through one's own home. Always up, always through the door to your right. Never down, never any other direction. Pass the denizens in the doors, heed not their sweet words for it is poison."
She bent down and took the goblet, bringing it to her lips. The viscous liquid slid down her throat and her first impulse was to grimace, but she forced herself to drink. I have eaten a stallion's heart fresh from its body. I can drink this. Even as she was thinking this, the rancid flavor changed from the taste of salt on the air, the flavor of mangoes from Magister Illyrio Mopatis' table, to the spiced meat that the Dothraki enjoyed, Drogo's seed, blood, and the salt from her tears at losing Rhaego. A cold chill spread through her chest as though the liquid was set to freeze her heart She drew the cup from her lips and trembled. It took all of her strength to set the crystalline goblet back onto the silver tray and hold her head high.
"Now you may enter."
Daenerys stepped forward and entered a stone antechamber with a door on each wall. "Right only," she murmured to herself and went straight through the right door. It showed yet another antechamber, same as the last. She passed through it just as quickly only to be faced with yet another identical antechamber. Here she hesitated. Yet more sorcery. She thought back to the shadow magic of the maegi and felt herself shiver. But her dragons needed her. She pushed forward and went through the door again. Four antechambers, four doors, going through the rightmost each time.
Finally, Daenerys ended up in a hallway that stretched so far she couldn't see the end. Torches bracketed the right wall, but only the left side held doors. Thick, wooden doors, with iron bands stretching across them on the top and bottom. She began walking down them, her gaze straying curiously to the doors, but kept her feet moving forward.
Go through the doors on the right. Only the right, she commanded herself.
She heard a latch click next to her. It sounded like someone was trying to push through the door. She did a double take, her footsteps hesitating a beat.
Boom! Something big and heavy hit the door.
She screamed and hurried forward, praying that the door would hold.
You are a dragon. You are a dragon. It is nothing. Merely the warlock's sorcery, Daenerys tried to soothe herself, but she winced as she continued to hear something persistently ram against the door. Suddenly a door did open and she jumped away, expecting an attack, only to see a beautiful garden and a bright red door. Her mouth fell open and she took one step forward. There was the lemon tree that she had long dreamed of! Even as she watched the scene, the red door opened and an old figure hobbling on a cane stepped out. His eyes narrowed at her like he was trying to see beyond the glare of the Braavosi sun.
"Princess! You've arrived! You're home now, you're safe now." He offered her a hand, which she remembered to be soft as leather.
Ser Willem. Her mouth went dry and she stepped back. It frightened her how much she yearned to take his hand. I must keep going.
She once more hurried down the hall and tried to ignore his plaintive cry of "Princess!"
Suddenly, she heard a frantic scrabbling in the walls like so many rats were crawling on the inside, ready to burst into the corridor.
They want fear. They are trying to manipulate me. I am a dragon, a mother, and I am here for my children. I will not be dissuaded. She squared her shoulders once more and tried to ignore the eerie chittering and the scrape of claws against stone.
Daenerys tried to keep a measured pace, yet another door swung open. She peered into it and stiffened. Sandstone polished and molded into pillars and a smooth stone floor spread out before her, with berry red drapes on the pillars and plush rugs of blue and gold spread throughout the palace. Magister Illyrio Mopatis sat at his table with a man with short gray hair, his skin tanned and lined like leather. Where Illyrio was dressed in a robe of the finest spun gold cloth, showcasing an ornate design in a rainbow of reds, greens, blues, and purple, the other man was dressed simply in a blue tunic and breeches that appeared well-weaved, but dusty from travel.
A vague familiarity struck her and she was certain that she had walked onto this scene previously. Neither man had so much as glanced at her before, but now they turned toward her. Illyrio put on a smile wide enough to split his face and he stood with his arms outstretched. "Princess!"
The other man had eyes as blue as the ocean's deepest depths. While his face was pleasantly neutral, his eyes were cold and calculating.
She wilted and increased her pace once more, only breathing when the door shut behind her.
A few more doors down, yet another opened. She peered through it with trepidation. She could see the back of a man bent over a bassinet and the cooing cries of a baby. The man had wavy silver hair to his shoulders. A guard dressed in armor and a white cloak stood nearby, a small smile on his face.
"A fine boy fit for a king, don't you think, Ser Arthur?"
"Of course, my Prince. With you as his father, he'll be a just and fine ruler."
There was a pause and the prince never looked from the bassinet. "Any word on my princess?"
A shadow passed on the knight's face. "She is...recovering, but—"
"But she cannot have a third."
The knight was silent.
"That won't do. There are three heads to our dragon. The prophecy demands three heads. There must be three children."
"My Prince?"
"Do you know why I gave my son the name Aegon?"
"It is an ancestral name, the name of many of the best kings in Targaryen history," the knight replied dutifully.
The Prince finally looked at his knight and there was a feverish light in his purple eyes. "His name is Aegon because he is supposed to follow in Aegon the Conqueror's footsteps. Just as Aegon had two sisters, so shall he. The prophecy demands it."
The door shut in Daenerys' face and she startled. Was that—was that Prince Rhaegar? She wondered. Ser Arthur was a knight of the Kingsguard, her nephew was named Aegon. What prophecy? Why the three heads? Her thoughts circled in her mind like the flies that had circled her silver mount in the Red Waste. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and pressed forward.
At one point, she stopped as she heard a cry. She cocked her head, listening for it again? Was it a baby's cry or a dragon's? This time it was a screech and her heart filled with both terror and love at the same time. Her dragons were nearby! Or were they? Was this another one of the warlocks' tricks? Her heart sang at hearing their cries, even in distress. I will trust my heart. She hurried forward down the hallway.
Her brow furrowed as she approached and found a staircase heading down and came to a halt. There were no doors on the right, only the left, and now this staircase. Her heart was in her throat. Pyat Pree said only doors on the right and stairs leading up! Has he led me false? She looked back the way she came and felt her heart still as she saw the farthest torch down gutter out. Beyond it the hallway was a cavernous darkness when it had seemed to go on forever. Another torch darkened. She strained her ears to hear a scraping sound of something large dragging itself across the tattered rug. Another torch gone. She could now hear the heavy wet sound of breathing and she looked around frantically for an escape.
I am lost! The thought sounded frantically like a bell in her head. She stared at the last door, then the door to its left. The last door is on the right of the left door, the idea struck her and she barreled through the door before she could second guess herself.
She spilled out onto the cobbled street of a city. People were streaming past her, frantically looking behind them, and screaming their fear and terror. A mighty roar drew her attention to the sky and she gaped as a large, dark dragon passed over head.
Her breath caught in her throat and she frantically hurried into the street, trying to catch a glimpse of the beast. Although she could feel the press of bodies, bumping and nudging her, they didn't give her any more notice than if she were a cat on the street. She saw a belltower and ran towards it, pulling herself up its spiral stairs. Once at the top, she could see a blaze of several fires. Two beasts were wheeling about in the sky and as she desperately searched them, she saw the unmistakable cream and gold of Rhaellon as she dipped down and set a nearby street ablaze. More screams rent the air and her dragon roared its delight.
No...how can this be?! Sweet Rhaellon, her kitten who frequently nudged herself under her hand for neck scratches could never do something like this willingly. Is this the fate of the world if the warlocks keep my dragons? Even as she thought it, Drogon, more massive than his sister, finally swooped around a distant castle on a hill and breathed a stream of fire up the hillside. The high walls crumbled under the intense heat.
This isn't real, Daenerys thought. She wrenched her gaze from the heavens and looked around. There was supposed to be another door and if she wasn't quick enough, she could only imagine she'd be stuck here. Her eyes flitted desperately through the street below and then she saw an opening, a telltale glow behind it suggested it was otherwise not of this realm. She flew down the stairs and raced towards it.
The door was still several houses down when she heard an unearthly screech. She felt her head turn and her eyes grew wide with fear as she saw Rhaellon began to wheel in her direction. She picked up speed and cursed her flimsy, silk slippers for sliding on the smooth cobble. There was a roar of spewing flames and she screamed as she threw herself through the door. When she turned, only a blank wall stared at her, but she would swear she could feel the intense heat of dragonfire and flames licking at her clothing.
Daenerys trembled and breathed heavily in exertion, tears pricking at her eyes as she thought about the countless people who would have been instantly vaporized by the fire. Innocents didn't deserve that kind of fate, particularly not those ones. She had seen their worn clothing and smudged faces. Those had not been the freshly-washed nobility who made the decisions that allowed the common folk to suffer.
It took her a moment to ease her breathing and she did not stand until her hands stopped trembling. Now when she looked up, she was struck by how cold everything appeared. The sharp contrast between the screaming masses in the streets coupled with the roar of the dragons to a deathly stillness unnerved her. She was in a castle. What little light seeped through the cracks of the doors was sharp and pale, making the world feel unearthly.
Not for the first time, the Qartheen way of dressing left her feeling uncomfortably exposed and she wanted nothing more than to cover the stray breast open to the air. Despite the cool lighting, the air did not feel particularly chill, yet something in the air caused her skin to prickle. Magic? She wondered. No matter. I need to focus on my dragons. There was a great set of double doors several feet down that were cast wide open, the cold light filtering into the hall. She walked towards it and peered in.
A layer of bodies littered the hall. It was a massive throne room, lined with smooth sandstone columns. If there had been a rug, it was hidden under the bodies and blood. At the far end a slumped figure sat on a throne, an excess of melted swords framed it.
The Iron Throne, she thought and felt herself drawn to it, despite the bodies. How often had her brother described the throne? Yet the image she had conjured could not equal its majesty and failed to capture its grim countenance.
Daenerys had to look down as she picked her way to the throne. She couldn't help but notice there were more than just soldiers among the bodies. Women, young and old alike, wore fine dresses that were ripped and tattered. She saw a lovely young woman with auburn hair, wearing a velvet dress in green and gold. She lay on her side, her hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. An equally young man with a scant beard lay on his stomach, his hand reached out to her. She saw a somber looking older man with the largest sword she had ever seen resting limply in his own hand, his face a permanent grimace of pain. There were a dozen holes puncturing the snarling wolf on his chest.
Next she came upon a tall blonde warrior. At first she assumed it was a man, but on closer inspection, there was a delicate softness that suggested a woman. A blond man was laying across her protectively and there was a noticeable chunk of flesh missing from his skull. Their swords were still in hand. A black-hair figure lie close to them, barely of maturity, holding a child close to him.
A plump older man, a full gray-haired man who hugged a young girl close, a young man who held a broken cane, a bald warrior, two ladies clung to each other, one with dark hair and one with red hair, another half dozen soldiers wore a variety of red and gold, grey and black, green and yellow armor. Then the countless children's bodies lay behind nearly everyone. Few were older than toddlers, including two young girls resting against the bottom stairs, each other holding their own broken swords.
Daenerys was grateful to finally look away from those bodies, only to approach the one on the throne. He had a head of curly dark hair. He was dressed in armor of grey, black, and red. The sigil of House Targaryen was painted across his dented breastplate and she could see a hole in his side where he had bled out. Clutched limply in his grasp was a blue rose, as fresh as if he had just picked it.
"Aemon Targaryen," she whispered and reached for the rose.
A creeping, scraping sound drew her attention behind her. She turned slowly to see every single body in the hall rising to their feet. Instead of life shining in their eyes and plumping their skin, blue eyes flared from every skull, looking like torches in the darkened hall. The two girls who were the closest to her turned simultaneously and leveled their swords at her.
Her breath caught in her chest and she took a step back. A hand gripped her and she turned to find the Tarygaryen king now had the same bright blue eyes.
Daenerys screamed and wrenched her hand away, darting off to the side. Where's the door?! I need a door! She ran back behind the throne to a pair of double doors on the side, but just as she reached them, they opened.
A figure appeared that was cold as ice, had bright blue eyes, and a wrought iron crown that grew out of his skull. Unlike the other dead, his eyes peered at her with ruthless intelligence. He held a spear made of ice and he raised it, ready to plunge it into her chest. Daenerys ran behind the throne to the other side of the room, seeing yet another double door over there and hoping it did not hide yet another undead abomination. Her wrist was caught yet again and this time it was a soldier dressed in red and gold.
"Let me go," Daenerys shouted, desperately trying to unhook the fingers that dug painfully into her flesh. She hadn't expected her shout to do anything, but the lack of reaction she saw in the person's dead face chilled her. The cold king approached her at an unhurried pace and she knew then that he was the one who would kill her. She glanced around frantically and saw that the double doors she'd been angling for were now open and shimmering. Her way out! She tugged harder, but the fingers had fastened to her as deftly as a hook had caught her clothes. The other dead were closing in around her, as though to prevent her escape, the only opening where the cold king was about to enter.
Suddenly she heard a cacophony of shrieks and fire blazed around her. The fingers finally loosened and she pulled her wrist free. Half a dozen of the dead bodies now crackled with flames and she took the opportunity to break through them.
Rhaellon, she thought. The cream and gold dragon flapped in front of the door and screamed at her, as though beckoning her onward. But where's Drogon?
As if her thoughts could summon him, she heard another plume of dragonfire and glanced back to see him harassing the cold king.
"Drogon!" She shouted. Her tiny black dragon dutifully turned and flapped towards her. "Through the door!" She would not pass until her dragons were through.
The cold king pulled his arm back, ready to throw the spear. Rhaellon and Drogon slipped through the door. She watched the spear release from his hand just as she followed and she pleaded once more that the door closed the moment she was through like it had last time.
She stood hunched over, gasping for air as her panic began to leave her. Just as she was about to look for them, a set of soft claws settled on her shoulder and then she felt the other on her other shoulder.
"My children," Daenerys whispered to them and stroked their heads. "How I've missed you! We are never to be parted again. I will make sure of it." She indulged another moment with them both before turning to address the new scene and she gazed in wonder.
Unlike before, where everything was cast in a cold light, the sun spilled through the balcony doors onto the stone terrace and a gentle breeze shifted the curtains, carrying with it the scent of fresh air and salt. A soft cry drew her attention and she saw a kindly-faced, plump woman rocking a babe as she nursed it. If she had noticed her presence, she hadn't stirred.
The door on the other side of the room opened and she took in a breath as the very same king that had been slumped dead on the Iron Throne now strode across the room all smiles. She could see now his crown was gold with red rubies and instead of armor he wore a black doublet with a cape. The Targaryen sigil was once more splashed prominently on his chest.
"Your Grace," the woman murmured softly and dipped her head.
"How is the babe?"
"Well, Your Grace. It's only fussed a little."
"May I?"
The wet nurse held the baby aloft and the king scooped it up with such care, it looked like he was carrying it like crystal. She couldn't see the babe, but heard its soft coos. He grinned and whispered back at it in excited tones that she could not hear.
Daenerys smiled and tilted her head at the warm scene. Is this how it would've been with Rhaego had he lived? My little stallion, she thought, a deep ache developing in her chest and she had to fight the tears that threatened to choke her. It had been two months since she lost her sweet babe and yet the wound was still as raw and painful as the day it had been inflicted on her. She held a hand to her heart, grimacing at the pain that erupted there, threatening to envelope her.
"My queen?"
She froze and brought her head up, her eyes connecting with the steel gray ones of the king. He appeared puzzled to see her, but then smiled. "I'm surprised the Grandmaester has let you out of bed. Couldn't resist seeing our babe, I guess. 'Tis a sight to behold. Come now!"
While he had not approached her, he still held the baby out to her. She studied his face, trying to discern his intent. Though his eyes were indeed a wintry gray, they were warm and looked on her with love.
She stepped back. I can't trust this vision. No more than I can trust the dragons destroying the city or the dead walking, she thought. This is a trick. She glanced around for the shiny door and saw it on the balcony. It took every bit of effort she had not to look back, for she knew she would then step forward to take that babe into her arms.
Her dragons took flight once more, biting into her shoulders with their claws to lift off. She pelted towards the door.
"Dany, wait!"
It was almost enough to make her stop, but her dragons flew through the door and so did she.
Daenerys collapsed once more after going through the door, breathing heavily in exhaustion and anguish. She screamed as something cold fell on her and she gasped for air like she had plunged into a still pond. Water ran down her hair and arms, puddling on the ground. She turned to see a servant in the same livery colors as the dwarf place a bucket once more at her feet. The lack of expression on the servant's face perturbed her as she pulled herself up. Just as she straightened her back, her dragons wheeled and settled themselves on each of her shoulders once more, both hissing at the occupants of the room.
"Daenerys Targaryen, you come before us, cleansed, having passed your trial. You should be proud. Never has one so young made it to the Quorum." A man who appeared older than Pyat Pree sat on the other side of a round table, though his lips were equally blue. His thin beard, brighter than her hair, was so long it trailed down his front, disappearing below the edge of the table. There were a dozen others also sitting at the table, their arms in their sleeves as they peered at her stoically.
An aged woman with black hair that fell in intricate braids down her back and with the same blue lips, gave her a terse frown. "Your dragons. They should not be here."
"And they wouldn't be had you not stolen them," Daenerys snapped back, her hand resting on the back of the chair as she glared at them all.
"Sit, child."
"I wish to remain standing," she replied.
The old man's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. "I said ssssssit!"
When next Daenerys blinked, she found herself seated and her breath caught in her throat. Her startled dragons rose to the ceiling, flapping once more, but there was little wind for them to catch in the stale air and so they alighted on the table. The table itself was so massive in circumference that she didn't think they would've been able to touch, even if any of them had reached out to their neighbors. She peered at it curiously and noticed scenes engraved in bronze that flickered in the surrounding torchlight. Though there was no other light sources, the bronze shone as if it had an inner glow. Even as she peered at the engravings, she could see them shifting in a way that had nothing to do with the torches. One of the scenes closest to her she thought resembled a woman looking up into the sky where a comet resided. Just behind her, flapped two birds. No, dragons, she realized. This is me.
"Daenerys Targaryen, you come before the Quorum seeking our guidance—"
"I came seeking my dragons. I have them now. Release us and we shall put this incident behind us," she replied, drawing herself up and peered down at them.
A dry wheezing echoed around the room that she recognized as laughter.
"You have entered the House of Undying. You're in our domain," the old man said with a self-satisfied smile. "No one leaves but at our say so."
Drogon squawked at him and flapped his wings frantically.
"What do you want from me? Perhaps we can come to an arrangement," Daenerys said, her voice steady and even as she watched this Quorum. Her skin prickled once more and when she glanced down between her eyelashes, she could see the hair on her arm standing on end. I will not be afraid. I am the blood of the dragon.
"Precisely," the man said, his smile stretching wider across his face, "the blood of the dragon. Rare blood it is. You are the last, Daenerys Targaryen. Not just the last dragon, but the last of pure Valyrian descent. The properties in your blood are unmatched by any other."
Daenerys tensed. "You want my blood?"
"The potions we can make, the spells we could conduct, are virtually limitless.
Another blink of an eye and she felt vines tightening around her wrists. She pulled her wrists, trying to slip out of them, but the vines cut so deep they were already starting to draw blood.
"Unhand me," she shouted.
"The blood of the dragon and the dragons themselves. Such a boon we have collected this day," the old man said, looking towards the ceiling and holding his hands up as if a God had answered his prayer.
"So simple, foolish child. You played right into our hands."
"You're ours now."
Whispered voices from the other figures sitting at the table began to erupt around her and she could feel her heart thudding in her chest.
"I am but one person. Dispose of me and you'll have no blood at all!"
The old woman that had been speaking wore a pleasant smile and peered at her as if she were speaking to a dull child. "No need for death. It is possible to milk the blood from a being and still leave them alive. You have decades yet to live, child."
Her eyes widened. "You want blood for your magic? I thought only those in Asshai practiced in blood magic."
The woman snorted. "All magic is blood magic."
Daenerys pulled at her wrists and looked frantically around the room. This is just a vision. I just need to break free and another glowing door will appear. Even as she thought this, she continued to be fastened to the chair. Despite her pulling, she failed to break free and struggled to ignore the warm, stickiness of blood seeping out from underneath the vines onto the table.
A hand fell on her arm. She jerked away from it, but a stream of bluebell flames engulfed the person and they screamed. Her dragons had been screeching and flapping frantically on the table. They now lashed out, spraying flames on all of the figures seated at the table. Panicked screams erupted and a few figures escaped the ring of fire.
The vines fell away and she pushed back from the chair with such force it toppled behind her. She saw the few lucky warlocks leave through a heavy door on the other side and she dashed after them. "Rhaellon, Drogon, come," she shouted to them and they obediently flew past her, their eyes gleaming in the low light. She dashed down the hall, her breath coming out in short gasps. The warlocks had already disappeared, but there was a long line of torches.
Suddenly, she came to a three-way split in the hall and stopped. She stared down each hall frantically, but they appeared the same. As she looked down the halls, smoke followed her and before long she saw stray embers from the fire that burned unabated. The moldy carpet would be no match for such flames. She could still smell the odor of burning flesh and she felt sickened at the way it stirred hunger in her belly.
Where do I go? She thought. Pyat Pree told her to always follow the first door on the right, but did those rules apply here? Were those rules ever to be followed? She couldn't say and longed still to see him burn for this betrayal.
Drogon's screech split the silence and he flapped down the right hallway. Rhaellon settled on her shoulder, digging her claws in to cling to her dress. Daenerys picked up her skirts once more and rushed after Drogon. She had no answers, so she might as well follow him. Surely the dragons possessed an instinct that they could use to help find their way. He passed all of the doors that she saw, but when the path split at the stairs, he went up. She followed still as he took yet another flight of stairs up. Then he flew down the hallway and she kept running. Her lungs burned in her chest and there was a sharp pain in her side, but her footsteps did not flag. She only stumbled to a halt when the hall came to an end at a moldy tapestry but a line of doors on her left.
"Drogon?" She asked, pleading with him to find a way. He screeched, flapping hard to stay aloft. He had to be exhausted. "We can't rest. Not until we're safe from here."
He crooned in answer to her before landing on the floor, hunched over his wing tips. He seemed to take a moment for rest and then snapped his head back and spit fire at the tapestry. It caught and nearly disintegrated in the heat and she saw the hidden hallway beneath. She ran forward, only stopping to scoop up Drogon in her arms as she threw herself into the hallway. She followed it and nearly cried with joy as she saw sunlight that arced into the doorway.
Daenerys ran out to see Ser Jorah and her bloodriders confronting Pyat Pree who shrieked at them unintelligibly.
"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said, once he caught sight of her.
She fell to her knees, gasping for breath, clutching Drogon to her. He clung to her just like his sister, seemingly afraid to let her go once more.
Pyat Pree screamed and ran at her, pulling a knife hidden in his robes.
Aggo snapped his whip and caught him with the tip and blood poured out of a wound on Pyat Pree's face. She couldn't resist smiling at the sweet sound of the cracking whip. Aggo continued to rain blows down on Pyat Pree. The smile vanished just as quickly as she thought back to the horror of being enslaved by the warlocks, being harvested for the endless supply of blood her body could create.
"Aggo, that is enough! I am safe now."
"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said to her again, offering her a hand. "Are you sure you're well, Your Grace?"
"I will be," she said, taking his hand. She turned to look back at the Palace of Dust and was surprised to see dark clouds of smoke billowing out of the openings.
"My love, we must leave," Xaro Xhoan Daxos called to her. His face was the picture of concern and he waved for her to join him.
She stood up straight, her back rigid once more, and smiled satisfactorily as she walked to the palanquin, keeping one hand on each dragon. They nuzzled into her hands and crooned their pleasure.
Xaro fretted and muttered to himself as they rode back to his vast palace. Daenerys fed her dragons hunks of meat, which they devoured eagerly. She noticed people rushing past through the curtains of the palanquin. Alarm and confusion was on every face. No doubt they were all pointing to the column of smoke in the sky where the Palace of Dust burned. She found that she could not bring herself to feel pity for the warlocks. They brought it on themselves when they sought to tame my dragons and hold me captive, she thought. I would've happily let them be were it not for that grave mistake.
"The council will not like this, Khaleesi," Xaro Xhoan Daxos said to her finally, using her given title for once.
She frowned at him. Though she had only been living in his palace for about a month, she thought he lacked concern for anything outside of it. He was always pleasant, always smiling, greeting her every day with warmth and cheer. She did not believe for an instant that he was truly that pleasant, but to see his facade slip so suddenly and thoroughly was alarming.
"They stole my dragons. I merely reclaimed what was mine," she replied.
"Your dragons are a thing of wonder," he replied and for the first time she thought she saw hunger in his eyes as he looked upon the dragons.
She glared at him. "They are mine. I birthed them, I'm raising them. I am the blood of the dragon. I am their mother and they are my children. They will not tolerate another in my place," she replied, the warning clear in her voice.
Xaro Xhoan Daxos' frown deepened, but he gave no answer back.
