Dragon King of Ice and Fire

After acquiring a great fortune, Drogo could have easily rented ships and taken the more convenient sea route to Astapor. However, his people feared the black saltwater; even approaching it made them uneasy. With no time to reeducate them, he had no choice but to travel by land.

Once they entered the domain of slaveholding nobles—those bearing titles like Good Masters, Wise Masters, and Great Masters—towns and travelers became more common. Though the journey remained exhausting, food and drink were never scarce.

At times, they didn't even have to pay—others gladly covered their expenses.

No one in Drogo's company was surprised. Merchants and nobles familiar with the devastation Dothraki left in their wake would rather pay tribute than risk a massacre. Hoping to hasten their departure, they presented gifts to the Khal as a form of insurance.

Drogo's bell-braided warriors longed to return to their old ways, but both he and Daenerys put a stop to it.

Daenerys, unsurprisingly, disapproved of any form of oppression. Having suffered so much herself, she refused to let her strength be used to crush the weak. She possessed a rare kindness that had no place in this world—but Drogo didn't scorn it. Since his rebirth, he too had come to value mercy.

On the road, Daenerys deliberately avoided her husband, keeping the three hatchlings leashed tightly by her side. Her fierce protectiveness left Drogo helpless. The matter of the dragons hadn't even been decided yet—was a cold war really necessary?

Didn't she realize that desert days were unbearably hot and the nights freezing? That a man needed someone to share his furs?

In this tense silence, after more than a month of travel, they finally arrived.

Astapor, one of the largest cities on Slaver's Bay, lay at the mouth of the Worm River. Though it lacked the ancient prestige of the Nine Free Cities—Braavos, Lorath, Lys, Myr, Norvos, Pentos, Qohor, Tyrosh, and Volantis, all former Valyrian colonies—it remained infamous for one reason:

It was the birthplace of the Unsullied, slave soldiers forged of blood and brick.

Upon reaching the red-bricked city, Drogo did not rush in. Instead, he ordered the khalasar to make camp outside.

The Dothraki valued freedom like the wind. Living behind high walls was tantamount to chains.

Though his numbers were not enormous, they were enough to unsettle the city guards. The gates were sealed tight—none dared let the infamous horsemen inside.

You couldn't blame the guards. Merchants and freemen alike kept their distance, avoiding the long-braided warriors like the plague.

Drogo, long accustomed to such treatment, didn't mind.

He'd been to this slave city before—it was a place of fortune for him. Most of the slaves he once captured had been sold here for hefty sums.

Back then, with nearly fifty thousand warriors under his banner, the Good Masters dared not haggle. Fearing their city might be razed, they met his demands with forced smiles—and sent him off with gifts.

Truth be told, Drogo had once wanted to sack every major city along Slaver's Bay. But even the Dothraki Khals knew better. If all the slavers were killed or bankrupted, who would buy the slaves? What use would they have?

For the sake of long-term profit, they spared their fellow villains.

Once the camp was set, Drogo, with three bloodriders at his side, shouted toward the guards peeking from the city walls:

"Go tell the eight men whose tokars are adorned with silver fringe, gold tassels, and white pearls that Drogo of the Great Grass Sea has arrived!"

The yellow-cloaked guard didn't respond but soon left the wall—likely to deliver the message.

Times had changed, but Drogo was still the same proud Khal. The cold reception annoyed him.

What truly enraged him was that they waited from noon until near sunset before the gates slowly opened.

Worse still, none of Astapor's masters came to greet him. Instead, they sent a slave girl—no more than ten years old.

She had dark skin, a thin body, and a round face with the golden eyes unique to the Naathi. Standing before the towering Khal, she showed no fear. In flawless Dothraki, she said:

"Khal, I am Missandei. My master, the Good Master Kraznys mo Nakloz, invites you to Proud Square. He is willing to hear your request."

The Naathi were known as the peaceful people—gentle by nature, they were popular as servant-slaves. At first, Drogo was about to scold her for not showing proper respect, but upon hearing her name, he held back. In the stories, this girl would one day become Daenerys' closest companion.

Loving someone meant loving what they cherished.

Drogo glanced toward Daenerys's tent and called out: "Snowball, come."

The blood-marked white lion cub, still far slower-growing than the dragons, was indeed adorable. Drogo had grown used to calling it Snowball and had no plans to change it.

White lions were formidable in battle, and at first, Drogo had thought of using Snowball's presence to intimidate and recruit more of its kin. But lions thrived only on open plains—conquering cities wasn't their strength.

As the cub trotted over wagging its tail like a pup, Missandei finally showed a flicker of fear—her eyes locked on the blood-red mark on its brow.

Drogo said coolly, "Lead the way."

She nodded and turned quickly toward the gate.

Rakaro stepped up and asked, "Blood of my blood, shall we bring the warriors?"

Drogo shook his head. "No. Just the three of you will do. This is a negotiation, not a battle."

And with long strides that matched every two of Missandei's, he followed her in—such was the privilege of long legs.

He had considered bringing Daenerys to meet the Good Masters, but someone had to keep the dragons in check.

The world regarded dragons in three ways: with fear, with pride for slaying them, or with greedy longing for their power.

To avoid unnecessary trouble, Drogo had ordered the dragons confined to the tent.

Not that a tent—or even an iron cage—could truly contain dragons.

But a mother's will could.

Not that he needed to say it—Daenerys had already chained the dragons and stood guard, arakh in hand, radiating the kind of menace that said: Touch my children, and you'll die with me.

Who would dare provoke a tigress protecting her cubs?

Certainly not Drogo.

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🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire

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