Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

When Dany regained consciousness, she noticed that the sea vessel beneath her was as still as solid ground, with no trace of rocking.

Blinking her eyes open, she saw a low wooden ceiling above her. She was still aboard the ship—had the vessel stopped?

This realization made Dany eager to get up and take a look outside. However, the moment she tried to move, she found her entire body weak, as though she were a patient recovering from a long illness.

"Was I sick?"

Just as the thought surfaced, the last scene before she fainted came flooding back. I blew the Dragonbinder horn but didn't follow the Valyrian method to bend the dragon's will. Then everything went dark, blood streamed from my nose, and I passed out…

"Screech—"

Her thoughts were interrupted as three menacing "serpent heads" peeked into view, their warm breath washing over her in a strangely comforting way.

It was Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal. The three dragons had been standing guard by her bed all this time.

Relief washed over Dany as she realized that Viserion and Rhaegal had fully recovered. Their golden and emerald eyes glistened with life, gazing at her with affectionate warmth.

As her hand touched their warm heads, she felt a sudden surge of energy, as if the simple gesture had granted her strength. Struggling, she sat up and shouted towards the door, "Irri, Jhiqui, Doreah!"

The three handmaidens, who had been keeping watch outside, immediately rushed in at the sound of her voice.

"Khaleesi, you're awake!" Irri exclaimed, her eyes brimming with tears of joy.

"Khaleesi, do you need water? Are you hungry? It's been four days!" Jhiqui asked, rubbing her reddened eyes.

"Khaleesi, we've arrived at Slaver's Bay and are currently docked at the harbor of Astapor," Doreah said gently as she wiped Dany's face with a damp cloth.

"Four days? That long?" Dany was startled. She quickly asked, "During my unconsciousness, was there any trouble among the Dothraki or the sailors?"

Understanding her concern, Doreah reassured her, "Your dragons stayed by your side the entire time. Everyone knew you were just unconscious, not in danger. They were anxious for you to wake but didn't cause any conflict."

"Khaleesi, you were bleeding from your nose, mouth, and eyes. It was terrifying! We all thought—" Jhiqui's voice cracked as she broke into sobs.

"Ah, don't cry now. I'm fine. I'm fine."

After freshening up and changing into a simple gown, Dany, with the support of her handmaidens, made her way out to reassure Jorah and the others.

"That Dragonbinder horn is truly a cursed artifact, Your Grace. Please, don't ever attempt to use it again," Jorah urged. It had been only a few days, but his unshaven face and haggard appearance made him look utterly worn out. Even Ser Barristan, the ever-dignified knight, appeared fatigued, his snowy white beard stained with brown grime.

"What about the horn?" Dany asked, her tone nonchalant.

"It's stored in the lower deck. But, Your Grace—" Jorah began to caution her.

She waved him off with a smile. "I'm not foolish. I was merely asking if it's damaged."

"Damaged?" Jorah looked puzzled. "Why would it be damaged? It's forged from dragonbone and reinforced with Valyrian steel bands. You couldn't break it with a hammer."

That's not necessarily true, Dany thought to herself. She recalled how, during her ill-fated attempt to sound the horn, a series of glowing runes resembling golden-red lightning had flashed across its surface—likely a sign of internal instability.

Moreover, when she later tried entering a state of "dragon-dreaming" to restore her strength, she was surprised to find a golden-red lightning rune imprinted in her mind. Even though this was her first encounter with such a symbol, she instinctively knew it was linked to the Dragonbinder horn and its sorcerous powers.

As much as she was tempted to explore whether she had gained any magical abilities, common sense prevailed. In her weakened state, it was wiser to focus on recovery.

"When did we arrive at Astapor?" Dany asked, gazing at the towering crimson pyramids in the distance. They rose like gods' tombs against the skyline, evoking a bittersweet awe. How could a civilization capable of such monumental achievements have fallen so far as to base its economy on the trade of slaves?

The technological marvel of the pyramids was undeniable. Even in the 21st century, scientists remained uncertain about how the ancient Egyptians had constructed theirs. Some even speculated that extraterrestrial intervention was involved, given the immense architectural, geometrical, and astronomical knowledge required.

Though the Old Ghiscari Empire was destroyed by the Valyrians, the modern Ghiscari still built pyramids up to 200 meters high. It was said that Meereen's Great Pyramid stood at an astonishing 210 meters.

"We arrived yesterday at noon. The customs officials of Astapor even came aboard to inquire about what kinds of slaves we needed," Jorah replied.

Dany instructed him to inform the slavers of Astapor that she wished to purchase Unsullied. She remained on the ship for two more days to recuperate before finally stepping onto the docks for the first time.

Astapor sat at the mouth of the Worm River. Starting from its old and dilapidated docks, the streets were in disrepair, the city walls heavily weathered, and the pyramids within covered in a deep red hue.

To Dany, however, the red brick constructions felt oddly familiar. The Ghiscari of Astapor had used fired red bricks for everything—the docks, the streets, and even the pyramids themselves. Back in her hometown, there had been a brick kiln nearby, and every household used red bricks to build their walls.

Here in Astapor, the same red bricks gave everything a rustic charm. However, the buildings were so old and poorly maintained that large-scale weathering had taken its toll. A gust of wind kicked up a storm of fine red dust, which stung the eyes and made breathing difficult. The women of Astapor covered their faces with scarves when venturing outdoors.

At around seven in the morning, Dany and her party set out. For the sake of safety, she didn't ride her beloved silver mare but instead sat in a spacious ox cart that Jorah had arranged for her.

Quhuro, Aggo, and Belwas stayed on the ship to guard the dragons. Arriving at Slaver's Bay, Daenerys was more cautious than ever, unwilling to let her dragons roam freely.

She feared someone might attempt to gain the title of "Dragonslayer," so even Drogon was chained.

Daenerys didn't let her handmaidens accompany her this time. Instead, across from her sat Ser Barristan, the Whitebeard.

Jorah, ever since acquiring the dazzling set of Valyrian steel armor, had been wearing it daily. Clad in full armor, he, along with Jhogo and Rakharo, rode on horseback, guarding the ox-cart.

The early morning docks were deserted, and the wooden wheels of the cart clattered over the uneven red-brick road, blending with the sound of horse hooves, creating a faint echo.

"The Ghiscari are too lazy. The sun's been up for over an hour, and they still aren't out working," Daenerys remarked, peering out of the window with curiosity.

"Most who come here are only interested in purchasing Unsullied soldiers. Few merchant ships dock here, and without trade, there's no work for dockhands or vendors. Who would they work for?" Jorah explained.

"Oh, I see."

"Your Grace, your face..." Whitebeard had been quietly watching Daenerys' smooth, delicate skin. His expression was filled with puzzlement and doubt. He hesitated several times before finally asking, "I remember yesterday there was still a dark red scab."

Daenerys chuckled, stroking her now flawless skin. "I have an important meeting today! To recover quickly, I spent half the night by the fire. Luckily, we're docked; otherwise, there wouldn't have been enough firewood."

"By the fire?" The old knight looked even more confused.

"I roasted myself by the flames, like slow-cooking a sweet potato," Daenerys replied with a laugh.

"But wasn't it fire that burned your face?" Whitebeard asked, startled.

"It was dragonfire that burned me; ordinary flames don't harm me," Daenerys corrected.

"Sooner or later, I'll show you," she said, her tone more to herself than him. She stroked her cheek, muttering about things that went right over the old man's head. "High temperatures improve blood circulation, accelerate cell regeneration, disinfect, remove mites, exfoliate, burn fat, contour the face, tighten the skin—there are so many benefits!"

Just then, a loud "Mooo" rang out beside the cart. Daenerys lifted the curtain to see an elephant lumbering by, carrying a latticework seat on its back, led by a Ghiscari man with black-and-red hair gelled upright.

As they left the docks and moved onto the coastal streets, signs of life began to appear.

"Are you the Targaryen Queen of the Sunset Sea?" A rough voice speaking broken Common Tongue called out at a crossroads ahead.

Soon after, a group of a dozen riders on galloping horses appeared, their rapid approach kicking up a cloud of red dust. Daenerys promptly lowered the curtain.

"This is the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the mighty Mother of Dragons, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men—Her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn," Jorah announced, riding ahead to intercept the group.

The riders had amber skin and wore embroidered linen tunics, pleated skirts, and leather sandals. Yellow silk cloaks hung from their shoulders, decorated with shining bronze disks that reflected sunlight like miniature suns.

None of the Ghiscari riders wore helmets—it wouldn't have been possible with their traditions. Their black-and-red hair was greased and sculpted into bizarre shapes resembling horns, wings, blades, or grasping hands, giving them a hellish, grotesque appearance.

"The Good Master sent us to meet you at the docks, but we didn't expect you to arrive so early," their leader said casually, craning his neck to peer through the curtains of the cart.

Daenerys felt a flicker of anger at his rudeness but said nothing, silently noting it. Instead, she lifted the curtain fully, letting him see her face.

To her dismay, the man muttered in Valyrian, "No dragons?"

MMP, Daenerys thought bitterly. If he'd shown a bit of awe or offered a few compliments, she might have forgiven him. But now...

"Which Good Master sent you to greet us?" Daenerys asked with a calm smile.

"Didn't you come to buy Unsullied? Naturally, it was Kraznys mo Nakloz," the rider replied.

Slaver's Bay had three main slave cities: Astapor, specializing in the Unsullied; Yunkai, known for training bed slaves; and Meereen, which traded skilled slaves and elite gladiators.

Despite their vile practices, the slavers had given themselves lofty titles. In Astapor, they were called "Good Masters"; in Yunkai, "Wise Masters"; and in Meereen, "Great Masters."

The Ghiscari believed that castrating others was a virtue, mastering seven types of "bed moans" was wisdom, and forcing humans into beastly bloodshed was greatness.

"We've arrived. This is the Plaza of Pride."

The Ghiscari riders led Daenerys' group to a large square. The cart came to a halt, and Daenerys stepped down to survey her surroundings.

The square spanned over a hundred meters in both length and width, with a massive fountain at its center.

The fountain, made of red bricks, featured a circular pool nearly forty square meters wide. At its center stood a six-meter-tall bronze statue of a harpy—a beautiful woman's face with gilded hair, ivory-inlaid eyes and teeth, no arms, but bat-like wings, eagle talons clutching heavy chains, and a scorpion's curled, venomous tail.

Yellowish water with a faint sulfuric odor flowed from the harpy's swollen breasts, bringing a hint of coolness to the scorching plaza.

The harpy was the Ghiscari people's deity and their last remaining symbol.

(End of Chapter)

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