Chapter 20: Chainbreaker

The sound of horses' hooves echoed on the red cobblestones of the city, which was busier than usual. Everyone in the streets turned to look at the white-haired riders on their steeds, as different from each other as they were themselves. Daenerys rode a white mare, and Aemond a black warhorse. They were followed by three knights, two mercenaries, Missandei, and three Dothraki carrying the small cage with the dragon inside.

They had met at the gates of Astapor, and there was something in Daenerys's gaze that made Aemond think she had control of the situation. The Plaza of Pride, with its great bronze harpy, was too small to hold all the Unsullied the Dragon Queen had purchased. Instead, they had been gathered in the Plaza of Punishment, facing the main gates of Astapor, so they could leave the city directly as soon as they were handed over to Dany.

"You're not going to give it to them, are you?" Aemond asked, low enough for only her to hear.

"Would you?" was all she replied, without even looking away from the front.

After a long journey of seeing the slaves suffer, the dragons approached Daenerys's new army. Both had to get used to each other's presence; after all, this would be their life from the day they married.

Rows of thousands of soldiers stretched before them. Eight thousand six hundred, with their bronze helmets tipped with spikes, Unsullied with full training, and behind them, about five thousand, unhelmeted but armed with spears and short swords. The Good Masters awaited them on a small, makeshift platform.

Aemond dismounted first, walking a few steps forward until he stopped, waiting for Daenerys to advance, since, being her business, she should be at the forefront. As he let her pass, he took the opportunity to look around. Hundreds of citizens had gathered to witness the exchange, or rather, to see Drogon.

"They're still unseasoned," Master Kraznys said through Missandei, though he kept his eyes on the two silver-haired individuals. "Tell the whore from Westeros that the best thing she can do is to have them taste blood as soon as possible. On her way, she will find many small cities, ripe fruit for plunder. All the loot she obtains will be hers alone. The Unsullied have no interest in gold or gems. And if she decides to take prisoners, she only has to send them to us in Astapor with a few guards. We will buy the healthy ones and pay her well. And who knows? Perhaps in ten years some of the boys she sends to us will become Unsullied themselves. Thus, we will all prosper."

Slowly, Daenerys stepped back to the small cell she had constructed for her dragon. The woman could feel the disappointed and sad gazes of her knights, but she couldn't do anything to change it yet. Then she took the end of the chain and pulled the creature out of the cage.

It was the first time Aemond had seen a dragon, but he knew he would feel the same way every time he saw them. He was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life, nor did he want to. Drogon was so black he seemed like a shadow, but occasionally, the rays of the sun struck his crimson scales, making them shine like rubies. And it wasn't until Daenerys handed the chain to Master Kraznys that Aemond could truly feel the fury. He didn't even have dragon's blood and yet he was holding one.

"Is it done then?" Dany asked, not wanting to look at her son in the hands of a man like Kraznys. "Do they belong to me?"

"It's done," the master replied, holding the animal tightly, as if Drogon wanted to fly away. "She has the whip. The bitch has her army."

Aemond frowned at the insult, assuming that Daenerys hadn't said she spoke High Valyrian. She should, being a Targaryen, but it was always safer to pretend ignorance, especially when you had silver hair.

"She's calling her," he thought, seeing how Drogon went wild and growled toward his mother as she walked toward the Unsullied. Did a slave army really worth as much as a dragon? Maybe the last dragon.

"Unsullied!" Daenerys shouted in front of them, causing them to respond with a coordinated clang of their helmets, though alerting those who didn't know she spoke Valyrian. She gave the soldiers a few brief orders to ensure they obeyed.

"Tell the bitch that the beast doesn't obey!" Kraznys ordered Missandei, not even noticing what the Targaryen had done.

"A dragon is not a slave," she responded in perfect High Valyrian. Instinctively, Aemond wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it at any moment.

"Do you speak Valyrian?"

"I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," she declared confidently, with her entire army behind her, "of the blood of old Valyria. Valyrian is my native tongue." She then turned to the Unsullied. "Kill the masters, the soldiers, and any man with a whip, but don't harm any child. Break the chains of every slave you see!" She looked back at Master Kraznys and saw him taking a whip, starting to lash Drogon to make him obey. However, just as she was about to give the order to finish him, a sharp and clean blade of steel fell on the arm of the Astapori, dropping to the ground in a pool of blood. "Dracarys," she ordered the dragon once she knew Aemond was far enough not to be caught in the flames.

A swirl of dark flames engulfed Kraznys's face. His eyes melted and ran down his cheeks. The sudden stench of burning flesh overtook even the perfume, and his scream seemed to drown out all other sounds. His blood dripped from the tip of Darkfire, whose bearer received a grateful growl from the dragon.

Everywhere, slave traders ran, weeping, pleading, and dying, and the dusty air was filled with fire and spears.

When it was over, Aemond waited for Daenerys on the back of his shadow. All the Unsullied were lined up as if nothing had happened, though the banners still burned and Drogon's growls could still be heard in the air.

"All their lives they have been slaves," he began to address his soldiers, just as a true leader would, "Today, they are free. Anyone who wishes to leave may do so, and no one will harm them." He rode through the ranks one by one. "I give you my word. Will you fight for me? As free men?"

A deathly silence enveloped the square, probably as never before. Until, gradually, the Unsullied began to bang their spears against the ground in honor of their queen. Aemond smiled ironically, thinking that none of his men would give him such a show of support except on the battlefield.

Golden Company Camp...

"And what? Am I supposed to call her 'my queen' now?" Harry Strickland asked hostilely, walking toward Herrath. "Tell your little friend that where he puts his cock doesn't give me orders."

"You're speaking of your king," the blonde man stated severely, not even feeling threatened by the contrary, "so you will address him properly. And yes, you will call her 'my queen,' because she will be your king's wife."

"Well, what a king," he murmured, turning to sit with the others. "Disband the company, make us fight against a Targaryen to let him go, and then he marries the other one." He sighed and looked around. Only about fifty men were present at the meeting. "We must admit that our 'hero' is no longer the same as before. He has lost his fire; now he is... he is..."

"Careful," Herrath warned, knowing he was the only man in that place who would support Aemond to the end, but he wanted to stay to hear what they said behind his friend's back.

"Weak," Harry said fearlessly, receiving support from the others. "The weight of the crown on his head has begun to affect his ideas. A Blackfyre married to a Targaryen, by the seven hells!"

"I remind you, Harry, that you are welcome to leave at any time," the blonde man walked forward with his arms crossed, "everyone is. As you said, the company has been disbanded, so there is no contract to break."

"And abandon everything we have fought for all these years?" This time, Royland, the person Herrath least expected to be there, spoke. "That would be unfair, don't you think?"

"Unfair is judging a person by their political arrangements," he skillfully countered. "The deal King Aemond made with the Mother of Dragons says that, together, they will reclaim the Seven Kingdoms. Besides, don't get mistaken ideas. Everything you have, every drop of wine, every piece of fruit, everything, you owe to Aemond. Thanks to him, we made the agreement with the Triarchy, and they are the ones who send us what we have, under their orders." He stood in the middle of them. "So, the next time I hear you speak of His Majesty, let it be praising his good reign."

That same night, the queen's camp and the king's camp had merged for the celebration, as was customary after a victory. They were beneath the young night, sprinkled with a hundred bright stars that heralded the sunset.

A large cedar table stretched horizontally where the two kings and their companions were seated. From left to right were Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, Missandei, Daenerys, Aemond, Ser Jon, Rylon, Herrath, Septa Lemore, and Haldon.

"Gods," Aemond couldn't help but exclaim when he saw two Dothraki begin to fight ruthlessly over a woman, and when one won, he mounted her next to the unconscious body.

"You get used to it," Dany said with a half-smile. She found it amusing how pale he looked compared to an average Dothraki. They called him fearsome and cruel, but his manners made him uncomfortable witnessing such acts. "One would think that a mercenary with your reputation wouldn't be bothered by seeing blood."

"It's uncomfortable to see blood while I'm eating liver pie," he replied with distaste, taking a sip from his silver goblet. He wore a gray, almost black doublet with a scaled collar. A silver brooch in the shape of three dragon heads from his house fastened his red cloak, which fell to his calves on one side. "When we marry, they won't call me Khal, will they?"

"Probably," she hesitated, knowing that many of her riders didn't like Aemond, but if she decreed it, they would have to comply, just as they had called her Khaleesi. "If women become Khaleesis by marrying Khals, I don't see why it can't be the other way around."

"Lemore says we should wait seven days for the ceremony, otherwise 'the gods will be angered,'" she quoted her septa verbatim. "I wish I had the patience of the gods."

"We won't be here in seven days, nor will I marry in the desert of Essos," Dany stated firmly, causing Aemond to frown at her. "We'll depart in four nights if you wish to come."

"Where do you want to go?"

"To Yunkai," she answered, picking up her goblet from the table. "There are also slaves there who need us."

"Do you intend to free all of Slaver's Bay?" he asked incredulously and astonished, as no one had ever dared to do so. It was curious that his future wife was the first person to think of it.

"After today, don't you want to?" She looked at him with a certain glint in her eyes that Aemond couldn't quite understand. "I do, and if you want my army, you'll have to come with me."

"And where do you intend to marry us?"

"When we reach a worthy place," she replied seriously. "No matter how political our wedding may be, we are of dragon blood; we cannot celebrate it just anywhere."

"We're not even married yet, and you're already giving me orders," he stood up at that moment, looking at his betrothed with hesitation. "In four nights we'll depart and marry in a worthy place," he repeated, then bowed in a reverence. "I'll go for a walk, if you don't mind." Dany nodded in approval, allowing him to leave.

He walked among the mercenaries and Dothraki, who, surprisingly, had managed to get along and shared women and fermented mare's milk or wine. They had to get along, as they would be living together for an indefinite time, and he knew that some Dothraki customs would appeal to his mercenaries. Everyone was enjoying themselves, and as he left them behind, Aemond felt, for the first time that night, an uncontrollable need to urinate. He slowly walked to the side, behind a tent.

When he relieved himself on the ground, he tucked himself back into his trousers, tying the laces, and then noticed footsteps approaching from behind. When he turned, Ser Jorah was waiting a few meters away.

"Ser Jorah," he greeted with a nod of his head, positioning himself in front of the knight to hear what he had to say. "How can I help you?"

"You're going to marry the Khaleesi," began the Andal, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword. "I'm afraid it's a done deal and there's nothing I can do to change it." His words made Aemond raise his eyebrows in surprise; he hadn't thought he had made a bad impression since they had barely spoken. "But I want you to swear me something."

"Ser?"

"There will be times when I won't be able to protect her from your presence. It's not that I think you're dangerous, but…"

"But you want me to swear that I won't harm her," the white-haired man interrupted with narrowed eyes. "You know, Ser? For a moment, I thought you were saying this with an uncontrollable paternal instinct, perhaps with the thought of a daughter you never had, or a sister." The other man tensed, to which Aemond smiled peacefully. "Relax, your secret is safe with me, and I swear not to harm the queen while she is my wife." He stepped closer and offered his hand for Jorah to shake, which he did, sealing his words.

They returned together to their people, by the queen's side, although Aemond preferred to spend the night laughing with his friends and companions. On the other hand, Daenerys laughed at the anecdotes from Ser Barristan and Jon about her brother Rhaegar. Everyone enjoyed the evening, despite the somewhat awkward beginning.

"A good jug of wine can unite anyone, Your Majesty," Rylon told her when he noticed her discomfort with the interaction between the two camps. "Forget about them," he requested with a smile, accompanied by Herrath. "Come, we have a gift for you."

Aemond knew that smile very well, and the fact that Herrath was on his side indicated that they were planning something. He could never resist the adventures he had with his two friends, so he excused himself with Daenerys and left the celebration with them.

They led him to the stable where they kept their horses, which they used to ride back to Astapor, though not with the same intentions as hours earlier. They guided him through various streets, some more affected by the looting than others. After navigating alleyways, the horses emerged in front of a large crowd of people, all gathered in that part of the city as if nothing else mattered.