Chapter 4: Oh, the Queen Fell...
[Outside Yunkai. 30th day of the 8th moon. 299AC]
After Grazdan ran from her tent with his tail tucked between his legs, Daenerys was bombarded by hundreds of images each time she blinked. Every second, every fraction of a second, she saw things, heard words in her mind, screaming at her like a thousand voices as one.
Masters.
Dogs.
Whips.
Masters.
Herons.
Dragons.
Masters.
Old Men of the River.
Stone Men.
Death.
Khaleesi.
Khaleesi!
"Khaleesi!"
Her hand shot up to her face, her eyes were afire, and for the first time, she hated the heat. The worried calls from her people were there, muffled by the blinding pain in her head. This one was far worse than the headache she had as Jaime, the one that killed her after the lemon fell on her head. She didn't scream as she did then, more grunting and moaning as she tried pushing through the pain. The only calls she truthfully heard were coming from deep within her soul; her children were distraught.
Mother!
What's wrong?
Open your eyes!
She stood from the couch quickly while Ser Jorah grabbed her arm and held her steady. Her left hand was covering her eyes, but at least they were open now, and the pain was fading. She saw the dark, sinister glow in the reflection of her chalice she didn't know she knocked over, red wining flowing from the golden rim and under her boot. She lifted her right hand, shaking, and saw every line clear as day. She heard buzzing, cocked her head to the side, and spied the bloodfly flying slower than it should. Her hand snapped out, quick as a whip, and the buzzing grew hushed inside her closed fist as she tightened it. Pop, she heard it die.
'That... What?'
"Khaleesi?" Rakharo asked, unnerved.
She'd never been so quick before, faster than Ser Jorah, but fast enough to catch a bloodfly as Drogo had been? No. She could feel the purple blood staining her hand, the twitching of the dead fly's dozen fuzzy little legs against the bases of her fingers.
"I am..." She didn't know.
"My Queen," she heard Missandei say softly and felt her hand taken. Missandei's hands were so very soft. Daenerys looked down at her left hand, Missandei's thumbs rubbing over her pale knuckles, horrified at what she saw. 'I should have dragged him behind the army and let the horses fuck him bloody for what he did to her.' "Dany..." Missandei held her hand tighter.
Daenerys snapped out of it, the images thrown to the back of her mind for now, and looked into Missandei's eyes, golden and slick with tears. "I... Bath. I need a bath." She squeezed Missandei's hand, flicked the boodfly out of her other one, and looked at the others. "Not a word of this. Not now. Not until we have taken Yunkai."
She saw the reluctant nods of her Queensguard, the worried glance between her bloodriders, and the tiny nod from Missandei. Whatever questions they had would wait until she had the answers herself. Daenerys knew they were worried, scared even. But despite that, they would adhere to her wishes. As they always have.
It was a short walk back to her large tent, and Daenerys thanked the gods for that. She leaned into Missandei as her friend helped her walk. Her legs were weak, her head felt light, her heart thumped in her chest, and the people around the camp were so loud. Her dragons flew ahead, wanting to be in the tent when she got there herself, Rhaegal being the fastest for once.
Once inside, she sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed her eyes, blinked, and took deep, calming breaths. 'What the fuck was that? I just turned into Peter Parker for a sec-' Rhaegal screeched at her. She looked at him. All her children were staring at her, demanding reassurance that she was okay. She smiled and touched each of them on the snout as she looked around the tent.
Missandei was in the corner, pouring boiling water into the tub, glancing over her shoulder. Daenerys smiled at her too. She could see the crinkles in Missandei's dress, the folds of green silk pressing against her dusky skin. She looked away. 'Gods have mercy...' She looked at the table and saw the fruit bowl and the fly skittering across an apple; its ugly red-brown eyes looked at her. She didn't like it. 'Okay... Okay, calm the hell down, Dany.' Viserion and Drogon nudged her, purring glumly.
She touched their heads and again took deep breaths, slowing her rapidly beating heart to a steady rhythm. Their scales felt more pointy, but it was a soft feeling. She didn't know how that worked. Her hand glided along the silk sheets beneath her, the material even more lovely than she could imagine. She could fall asleep just touching them.
'Am I going to start shooting webs out of my arse now?'
"My Queen," Missandei called. She was standing beside the bath with her hands tightly gripping the rim, turning her knuckles white. Missandei was afraid. She didn't like that.
Daenerys stood from the bed, Viserion chirping at her in his unique way, his cleft tail flicking back and forth with concern. She walked across the tent, noting how Missandei's eyes checked her over more than once. 'So it isn't me she's afraid of.' That made her feel a little better, but now she wants to know.
"I am alright now, Missandei," Daenerys reassured as she watched Missandei slosh the water in the tub, her hand going red at the heat but not crying out. "Are you? That water looks quite hot."
"Yes, My Queen," Missandei said, uncertain.
Daenerys sat on the rim, took Missandei's hands, and bid her sit. Missandei sat next to her. Dany rubbed circles on the top of her friend's hands, smiling softly, and said, "I promise you, Missy, I'm okay. Better than okay." Missandei looked at their hands, bit her lips, and nodded before meeting their eyes. She gasped. "What? What is it? Am I that gorgeous?"
Missandei raised a shaky hand to touch Dany's eye. "Your eyes," Missandei faltered. "Dany, they've... changed."
"What?" She was trying to ignore the thumping in her chest. Turning quickly, Dany looked at her reflection in the rippling water of the bath. Her cheeks were pink, her nose red, but her eyes she focussed most on; they had gone darker. And her pupils were vertical now, like a cat or a dragon. 'The purple looks... wow!' Her pupils expanded, and the purple was now entirely black, a dark purple-black glow almost like smoke. 'How the fuck did I do that?!'
"My Queen, are you certain you are well?"
Daenerys looked at her friend and smiled, feeling her eyes pupils right themselves. Missandei was again holding Daenerys's hands tightly. "I am so much better than well, Missandei."
—————
It was later that afternoon when she finally had the answers to her questions about what the fuck happened to her. Or at least the ones that made the most sense to her. Her power had levels, each more difficult to reach than the other. The first level was a simple way of building up fear by using the strangeness of her eyes, and the requirement of the next was terrifying someone into madness, it seemed. She didn't know if Grazdan was mad because of his fear for her, but she'd see soon enough.
As she sat on the couch, her leg crossed over the other and a coin rolling between her knuckles, she thought about what she was about to do. Would it build up her power even more? She hoped it would. She shook her head when Missandei offered her some wine, not wanting to drink and possibly bring back the headache. She looked at the empty spot on the couch beside her, wondering where her dragons had flown off.
"What do you think?" She asked Ser Barristan, who stood on her right, his fingers hooked on his swordbelt.
"Your Grace?" He asked, confused.
"About what we are going to do? Do you not condone it?" She hoped he didn't see her in a bad light over this.
"That sword across your knees is obvious," he said, nodding to it. "Should they not pick up on what's happening, that will be their downfall." She nodded, a small smirk forming.
Grey Worm turned his head to the entrance, and she sat up a little straighter. Ser Jorah led the four men into the tent, each looking around suspiciously before he took his place by her left. Belwas stepped into the corner, gripping the hilt of his arakh. The captains took their seats, drank the offered wine, ate the offered fruit, and Daenerys observed in silence.
Mero, the Titan's Bastard, is the Captain of the Second Sons. A tall, thickset Braavosi man with wicked pale green eyes and a long, bushy red-gold beard over a fat, cleft chin. His reputation is disputable; Ser Jorah had told her, a man with simple goals; killing, fucking, and gold. She didn't like the way the man looked at Missandei. Her pupils expanded, ready to pounce, as she touched the hilt of her sword.
Prendahl Na Ghezn, one of the Commanders of the Stormcrows, is a stocky man with short brown hair, a pointy greying goatee, and yellow eyes on a gaunt face. He had a feverish look in his eyes that reminded Daenerys too much of Viserys for her liking. He seemed delightfully fond of wine, already sipping his second cup after downing the first.
Sallor the Bald was just that, bald. He was so bald, his head gleamed in the sunlight, red from sunburn. He is a fat man, fatter than even Belwas, with a brown beard down to his belly button, with plats and gemstones dotted throughout. Whenever he wasn't gorging himself on the fruit, his finger was up his nose like it was the Lannister mines.
And last but not least, Daario Naharis. This one Daenerys liked not a fucking bit. He sat with a smirk on his face like he knew a jape no one else did and was waiting for the perfect time to tell it. His long, curly hair was dyed blue and reached his collar, with his three-pronged beard also blue. His dark blue, almost purple eyes looked Daenerys up and down one too many times already. He dressed for court; a fine yellow doublet with rings on every finger and a gold tooth that he seemed keen on showing off.
"Hello there," she greeted, but Mero stood up and interrupted her.
"You're the Mother of Dragons?" He asked, stroking his beard thoughtfully, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "I swear I fucked you once in a pleasure house in Lys."
"Hold your tongue or lose it," Ser Barristan said, scowling. Grey Worm glared at Mero with stony eyes. Unsullied. 'Well, that sucks for him.' She almost laughed.
"Missandei, I may need that wine after all," she sighed as Missandei offered her a goblet of sweet red. She took the golden cup, sipped the wine, and stared at Mero with her cocked to the right, her eyes narrow. "You are a stupid cunt." She saw the surprise. They were probably expecting a dainty little girl. "Insulting me with nine thousand Unsullied around this tent? One word. All it takes is one word; they will pick up pieces of your men for years to come."
"You have eight thousand Unsullied, Fair Queen. Not nine," Daario corrected, smirking.
She looked at him. "So you are also a dumb cunt? Figures. Only a dumb cunt would dye his hair blue," she said, irritated. Daario's face grew red with anger, but he thought better of saying anything rash and only smirked wider.
"The Dragon Queen's got herself some steel," Sallor said, chuckling as he flicked a booger at Daario. "She'd be right; only a cunt dyes his hair blue."
"Would you have preferred I say I have eight thousand six hundred fully trained Unsullied along with two and a half thousand boys still in training? And, Ser Jorah, how many freedmen from Astapor are willing to fight under my banners?"
"Two thousand, Your Grace." She thought it was less.
"Hmm. That is far more than five thousand, no?" She sipped her wine.
All laughter died then. Mero glanced around nervously, his eyes falling on Grey Worm more than once. Prendahl looked at her, downed his tankard of wine in one gulp, and wiped his brow. "You are a clever little whore, aren't you?" He said with a grin. "Once the battle's over, maybe we'll take turns with you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"And I thought you might have been the smart one," she sighed, nodding. There was a flash of steel and a fountain of blood. A droplet rolled down her cheek as she sipped her wine, the head rolling on the table. It stopped on Mero's plate, who looked down and saw the confusion mixed with agony on the face of Prendahl. Thud, the body fell out of the chair, twitching before going still.
Belwas stepped back, wiping the blood from his sword on the red half-cape around his waist, grinning like a fool. There it was again, the burn in her eyes. Though dulled, it still hurt like a bitch. The other looked at the head, the colour draining from their faces. They looked at her, saw the glow in her eyes, the steel across her knees, and the terror set in.
"I don't like being called a whore, you see," she spoke after a silence, letting them drown in the realization that she could kill them all right here. "I'd hoped for a more civil conversation, though it seems to me I've underestimated your stupidity. How hard is it not to call someone a whore?" She shook her head, lifted the sword and looked at it. "Take your men and run. Run far, far away, and you might be left to conduct your business elsewhere."
The Silver Queen.
The Queen.
The Mother of Dragons.
She smirked. "Now take your friend here and get the fuck out of my tent."
—————
[Outside Yunkai. 2nd day of the 9th moon. 299AC]
[The Battle near Yunkai]
Daenerys sat on the Silver, her hair loose and stirring in the wind, much like the mare below her. She could see the men by the city gates, where the crumbling yellow walls loomed over the forces of Yunkai like a monstrous shadow. Daario's horse read as she shouted at his men, and she saw Mero doing the same, only making far more indecent gestures.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and saw the fear coming from the slaves, forced to defend their owners. She didn't want to see too many die, she didn't like death, but she knew it was inevitable. She opened her eyes, and she could see even more clearly. The tall men on stilts with ridiculous pink armour were less afraid than the others, but death had a way of scaring the shit out of anyone. 'They'd be so badass if the armour wasn't so... that.'
When the waiting grew tiring and her patience thin, Daenerys pulled her dragonbone bow from the saddle bag and drew an arrow from the quiver. She notched it, drew back the bowstring, aimed at a high arc, and loosed it. The death stick whizzed through the steel tip gleaming in the sunlight before dropping from the sky and lodging itself in the eye socket of one of the Yunkish soldiers.
She looked at Missandei, who sat on a black mare of her own. "Yes. Yes, I did do that." Missandei deadpanned, though the corners of her lips twitched.
When she looked back down the hill, she saw the Unsullied charge. Belwas ran at the enemy with a speed no one of his sizes had any right to have, shouting a war cry that even she heard. Ser Barristan rode ahead, a white stallion breaking the ribs of one of the Herons before he lopped his head off with a single sure swing of his sword. Belwas cleaved a man clean in half, grabbed another by the leather jerkin, and headbutted him so hard Daenerys swore she heard the crack of his neck. Belwas threw the man's body at another as if it weighed nothing.
The fighting ended mere moments after it started, with the slaves throwing down their swords and spears, dropping to their knees in surrender, and Ser Barristan commanding them to gather their dead and lay them out across the field.
'The least I could do is identify them, let their families see them again.'
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