Daenerys III

The smoke of Astapor was visible from a day away, even as the dragon flies. Dany's pursuit had led her over the Jade Sea, past the straits of Qarth, and finally to a place labeled "Slaver's Bay" on sailors' maps. An ominous name, yet this was the first sign of dragons she had since the attack.

If I look back, I am lost.

Two years she had spent with Quaithe, the woman in the red lacquer mask. Even in all that time, Dany had never seen her true face, not once. Quaithe taught her much of dragonlore, how the lords of old Valyria bound these beasts of fire with blood and spells and secret words. She learned how to light the glass candle, and how thought itself might cross long distances, and the terrible cost.

Above all, she learned of the Song of Ice and Fire, and what she must do, what she had been called on to do by destiny itself! But the dragon has three heads, and Dany only had the one.

It all started when Drogon grew large enough to ride. Other life withered and died in Asshai by the shadow, yet her dragons thrived. With blood and spells and a cruel whip of woven ghost grass fibers with a handle of Valyrian steel carved with sorcerous runes, she mastered her fierce black child and placed a saddle upon his back.

At first, she dared only short trips, but as Drogon began to heed her secret words and the crack of the whip, Dany ventured further afield. Her other children absolutely refused to be ridden. Quaithe had said a dragon would have only one rider, but she was the last Targaryen. Who were Viserion and Rhaegal for?

Even if they wouldn't suffer Dany upon their backs, her other two children were happy enough to follow. They would even obey her commands...most of the time. Once she knew her children were strong enough to make the trip, she took flight for the Mountains of the Morn and roasted the false emperor in his tower like Aegon the Dragon had done for Black Harren. That was for Drogo and all his khalasar! That was for faithful Ser Jorah, her knight! Most of all, that was for little Rhaego, her darling son who lived not even a year upon the earth!

Vengeance should've tasted sweet, but salty tears clouded her vision on the journey home. Drogon knew the way to Quaithe's manse in Asshai, at least. The people of the city, skittish at the best of times, gave Dany and her three dragons a wide berth. In fact, she began to suspect Quaithe was much feared, as often as she lit the glass candle. Dany knew what that took. Folk who lingered too long about her manse oft disappeared. Daenerys' hands weren't bloodless either. Rhaegal especially liked the taste of human flesh, and there was little good to eat in the Shadowlands save blind fish. They couldn't import everything, after all, not enough to feed three growing dragons.

Dany began to dare longer journeys over the water, flying a day and a night before landing on Leng, which had good hunting for her children, but always returning to Asshai within a few days. As the days grew shorter, Quaithe told Dany she must soon think of the journey home.

Home. Just where was that? Westeros, the Sunset Kingdoms? Quaithe had shown her what was there, how her people fought the cold dead things, but they seemed to have it well in hand. Mortal men, even children, could defeat these Others with their pale blades. When Dany saw a girl even younger than herself slay one with a blade of Valyrian steel, she whooped with joy.

"That was not even the van they faced," Quaithe pointed out, ruining her fun. "The true power of winter waits for the appointed time. Their cold will reach even the Shadow if they are not stopped."

Her dragons kept growing, and soon no lair, not even in this mostly-empty city, could contain them. As much as anything else, that made Dany's decision for her.

It was an easy journey on dragonback. She took pains to fly high, so folk would not be able to get a good look. Black specs in the sky would be all any sailor ever saw, not remarkable at all. Someone spotted them, though.

There was a low hum, almost like a fly buzzing in her ear, but they were too high for flies. Drogon went mad beneath her, and Viserion and Rhaegal dived out of sight. The hum became a rumble, a tremor she felt in her teeth. Her blood burned most of all.

This is a magical attack! she thought in pure, animal terror. Had Quaithe betrayed her at last, seeking the dragons for her own? At the edge of her awareness, Dany felt her bond with Drogon fraying. His long black neck was turning in the wind, trying to snap at her. He let out gouts of dark flame and tried to buck her off, but thankfully she was fastened in place with saddle chains.

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It took every trick she knew, every spell and secret word, to get her mount back under control. Dany pricked her finger with a knife and smeared her blood over the sorcerous runes on her whip handle. With snaps and shouts, she took the beast in hand and made him obey. They landed together on a distant shore, and for a time she feared he would turn on her again, but it didn't happen.

Obedient as usual, Drogon lent her some of his fire for her camp. Dany took a small cookpot from her saddlebags and set it over the heat. The black dragon was even good enough to land them near a water source so she could set her hardbread and salt pork to soaking.

Viserion and Rhaegal would usually return after leaving them to hunt, but it never happened. Dany camped for three days, waiting for her children to come back. Every time Drogon took wing, she feared he'd leave her too, but deep down, the bond was still there in her blood. Daenerys could feel it.

She considered returning to Quaithe, but then Dany would be right back where she started. All the queen without a kingdom could do was continue west and hope for a sign of dragons. Burning Astapor was her first lead after a fortnight in the air.

The city smelled like roast pork, which she knew was similar to the aroma of men bathed in dragonfire. Had her wild children gone mad and attacked this place?

The streets were queerly empty, almost like Asshai, and the red bricks of the pyramids were stained with smoke, if not outright melted in places. Dany circled the city thrice, looking for signs of life. Drogon, knowing her will, spotted movement atop one of the pyramids and spread his dark wings, swooping down like a great black falcon. The folk about screamed in terror and tried to get inside the walls of the pyramid, but Drogon blocked their path.

"What happened here?" she demanded from the saddle, speaking High Valyrian. Somewhere, she recalled that the people of this land spoke a dialect of Valyrian.

"Mercy!" cried a deranged man, his eyes wide and white with terror. The fabric draped over his form was tattered and singed. A woman and a child hid behind him.

"I say again, what happened here?"

For a short space, these people were too terrified to speak, but eventually the child peeked out from behind his father's skirt. Well, Dany assumed he was the father, and the garment looked like a skirt to her eyes.

"The dragon got loose," the child, a girl, Dany thought, explained, as if it were obvious.

So a dragon was here! Dany rejoiced in the news. "What dragon?" she questioned sharply. "What color was it?" Looking about the city, somehow, this seemed like Rhaegal's work to her. The green child was always the most vicious and hungry for manflesh, though Drogon was larger.

The man gulped and mastered himself, though he was still shaking like he had a palsy. "There were two. A man rode a white dragon. He was an Andal of the Sunset Kingdoms, we think." Dany had to concentrate to understand him. Though he spoke Valyrian, it was a bastard dialect, leavened with the guttural tones of Old Ghis. "He came with a fleet, and first we feared he meant to sack the city, but it was trade he came for. He bought all the unsullied in the city, eight of thousands, and in return presented the Good Masters with silk, spices, and a green dragon."

All Dany heard was that the one-eyed man rode Viserion and sold Rhaegal. How could this be? What man in all the world had the magic to take her dragons from her? She knew her enemy at last. "And where is he now?"

"S-s-sailed off, oh Dragonrider! He took his soldiers on his ships, and bent oars southwest. It was a fool's bargain, a poisoned gift, as that wild green dragon could not be tamed! He melted off his chains and set upon the people of the city! After burning and eating his fill, the creature flew off in the direction of the Doom!"

The Doom! No living thing could last long in the ruins of old Valyria. Dany wanted to weep, for he had gone to the one place she couldn't follow. She had survived the poison smoke of the false emperor, but there was no guarantee the unwholesome fumes coming off the Doom would be the same.

Most of all, she wanted to give chase, but this one-eyed man had a fleet, an army, and a dragon. He knew magic as well, dangerous magic that had almost undone her. For now, she took comfort that her children still lived, hoping there would be a chance to take them back. If she could get to a glass candle, there was a chance she could draw Rhaegal at least back to her.

At her command, Drogon leapt off the pyramid and took wing. Her chance would come to reckon with the one-eyed man, but not just yet.