Think twice?
As the defeated party, drawing swords against the victors at a surrender ceremony, and you talk about thinking twice?
Daenerys could not understand. She did not know whether there was something wrong with her mind or whether the world was simply this absurd, but one thing was certain: the wrath of the True Dragon had been ignited.
She had originally only planned to go along with Aegor's order and let Strickland suffer a bit in prison, to avenge his failure to protect her blood relative...
But now, she had killing intent.
Drogon, flying in the air, sensed the emotional change in the dragonrider bound to him. He lowered his altitude slightly, gliding over the heads of the Golden Company members. His massive form blotted out the afternoon sun, instantly achieving a deterrent effect better than any verbal threat.
After applying pressure with silence that lasted for tens of seconds, Daenerys finally swept her cold, ruthless gaze over the Golden Company officers surrounded by the Unsullied.
"What about you? Do you think the same way, and want me to... 'think twice'?"
Aside from Mace Tyrell and his guards, who had already retreated far away, the remaining Golden Company officers exchanged glances and slowly put away their weapons. Drawing arms to protect their commander was a combat habit developed over many years, a subconscious reaction from muscle memory. But after calming down, these sellswords, each shrewder and more life-loving than the last, quickly reached an agreement.
A useless commander who could not lead everyone to victory, could not even sort out compensation for the fallen soldiers, and could even cause trouble at a surrender ceremony, how was he worth protecting with their lives, even going so far as to fight against a... no, two giant dragons?
Seeing his subordinates sheath their swords one after another beside him, even looking at him with accusatory and contemptuous eyes, as if urging him to quickly put down his weapon and surrender to Daenerys... Harry Strickland's entire body of fat began to tremble.
He felt cold all over, a cold sweat breaking out on his back, as though he were trapped in a nightmare he could not wake from.
He completely could not understand. Why had a transaction that was clearly agreed upon as mutually beneficial inexplicably evolved into the current situation?
Should he gamble on surrendering and still having a chance to walk out of the dungeon alive, or tear off the facade and fight to the death?
Not wanting to die yet, Harry Strickland, with a last glimmer of hope, looked toward Aegor, who had directly negotiated with him, trying to discern any clue from his expression or body language. Even just a reassuring look or gesture, and he would immediately give up resisting.
But the black-clad Hand stared at him coldly, indifferently, and full of hostility. This time, he did exude that legendary intimidating pressure, but where was the slightest hint of the ease he had when they met?
As his heart pounded violently, a surge of hot blood rushed to his head and face.
If you are unjust, I will be faithless!
"Hand of the Queen! This was all arranged according to your requirements, how can you go back on your word and instead accuse us of lacking loyalty and discipline?" The Golden Company commander dropped the gold-inlaid sword that he probably would not get a chance to use, and suppressing the trembling in his hands, took out the exquisitely crafted pardon from his bag.
He had lost his temper, but his remaining reason at least knew that mentioning the details of the transaction publicly would truly seal his fate.
He did not say the scroll in his hand was a pardon, only clutched it and waved it as a threat.
However, things still did not suddenly improve as he had hoped.
"What nonsense are you talking about!" Aegor's indifference turned into confusion and annoyance, but his hostility did not diminish at all. "What do you mean, 'my requirements'?"
"Last night's chaos, you were the one who told me to arrange it!" Seeing Aegor still playing dumb, Harry, cornered, went all out. Not only did he shout, but he also fully unfolded the scroll in his hand, grabbing people nearby and making them look. "The Queen already pardoned me yesterday, how can I be arrested and imprisoned again today? A pardon from the dignified True Dragon Dynasty, valid for less than half a day?!"
Chaos erupted around him. Before, everyone had merely been disgusted, but now they were avoiding him like the plague.
Although they had long suspected that killing the prince might have been a deal between their commander and Daenerys, when Harry actually produced the evidence, none of them wanted to see it.
Are you joking? Everyone loved gossip, but this particular piece of news could cost them their lives if they heard it.
His subordinates' reaction was expected, but what frightened Harry even more was that the two people opposite him, neither Daenerys nor Aegor, still had bewildered expressions.
A huge sense of foreboding began to cloud Harry Strickland's mind. Something was wrong.
There was no reason for Daenerys and Aegor to feign ignorance like this. To prevent the world from knowing about this dirty deal, they only had two options: fulfill the agreement and pay the reward, or kill him to silence him. Even the latter option should have been carried out quietly after the war ended and everyone had relaxed. In fact, Harry had already figured out how to respond and protect himself.
But now, a completely unexpected situation had arisen. They seemed to genuinely have no idea what he was holding!
"Bring that thing here," Daenerys ordered, frowning deeply.
Several Unsullied, radiating killing intent, advanced toward the sellswords with their spears. Harry was hesitating over whether to hand it over when Black Balaq, the archer commander standing beside him, snatched the pardon and handed it to the nearest Unsullied.
"Black Balaq, you!"
"Commander, just be honest. Do you want to get everyone killed with you?!"
As betrayal and arguments began among the sellswords, the pardon reached Daenerys's hands.
She did not even need to read the content to know it was fake. Although it was beautifully and formally made, her Targaryen Dynasty had never issued any documents in this format and medium, let alone a pardon.
But with the intention of being thorough and understanding the whole story, she still read the "pardon" from beginning to end, not missing a single word.
The text was not very standard, but ignoring that for now, the seal was fake. They had even gotten the most basic detail wrong, whether it should be round or square. The person who made this thing definitely had never seen an internal document from Daenerys's government.
As for the fingerprint at the very bottom...
Seeing Aegor also lean in to look, Daenerys simply handed the item to him.
Aegor showed an even deeper expression of confusion. After a breath, he looked up and sternly asked, "Who gave this to you, and when?"
"Still playing dumb?" Harry Strickland, while being pulled and pushed by several subordinates, reached out and pointed at him. "It was you, who personally handed it to me yesterday afternoon before sunset! Even if the pardon is fake, the fingerprint at the bottom was pressed by you in front of me. Your Grace, if you do not believe it, have him press his fingerprint for you to see right now!"
Press a fingerprint?
Was that necessary?
Daenerys sneered, and her already weak suspicion of Aegor instantly vanished.
If Harry had said the time was midnight, there might have been a slight possibility that Aegor was up to something, but he said it had been before sunset.
She was certain. Her Hand had been with her all day yesterday except when he was sleeping.
Daenerys did not speak, but Aegor, angered to the point of laughing, shook his head. "Bring the inkpad. Today, I will let you... die knowing why!"
An Unsullied soldier and Myrcella jogged toward the carriage where Aegor kept the inkpad, while Harry Strickland, sensing things were going badly, began shouting out the names of the nine people who had met with him yesterday, treating them as a lifeline.
But no one was willing to step forward and say a single word for him.
"That is to say, Your Grace," Aegor ignored the noise over there and said softly to Daenerys, "someone impersonated me and fed this fool the lie that 'the Queen wanted him to kill the prince,' and then he actually believed it and carried it out! I had only said it casually before, but now the nature of the matter is different... We must thoroughly investigate this!"
Daenerys clenched her fists without a word, only biting her lip and nodding slightly. She suddenly had a feeling that the mastermind who sent someone to impersonate Aegor and falsely convey her orders this time was likely the same culprit behind the poisoning in Winterfell that had almost wiped out her Kingsguard.
Not only did they scheme to kill her last blood relative, but they also wanted to pin the title of kinslayer on her. This malice and hatred... could not be resolved without flaying them, breaking their bones, and then cremating them with dragonflame!
A moment later, the inkpad was jogged over to Aegor.
"Which hand, and which finger?"
"Right thumb!"
Aegor did not say another word of nonsense. He rolled up his sleeve, dipped his right thumb in the inkpad, and pressed his own fingerprint next to the one at the very bottom of the pardon.
No two people have the same fingerprint. This grand statement was not even necessary at this moment. His fingerprint and Leon's were one whorl and one loop. Only a blind person would fail to see the difference.
After confirming that Daenerys had seen the two different fingerprints, Aegor handed the "pardon" to the Unsullied soldier who had brought it over. "Go return it to Lord Strickland. No, before that, let everyone in the Golden Company examine it, including Lord Mace Tyrell. Everyone, please make sure to read the whole thing from top to bottom and see how the commander of the first sellsword company in Essos was made a fool of!"
With the Hand's order, everyone could finally examine this "evidence" with peace of mind. The pardon was passed from person to person in a relay among the Golden Company officers and Lord Tyrell, finally returning to Harry's hands.
Although he had already vaguely understood the situation from the expressions of everyone who had seen the pardon, when he actually saw the two fingerprints, one new and one old, clearly and completely different, Harry's brain momentarily lacked oxygen, and he felt the world spinning.
He had been tricked!
This pardon, which he had cherished close to his body as an amulet all night, from beginning to end, not a single word or even half a symbol was real!
"That Aegor was fake..." Something finally surfaced in his blank mind. He reacted, screaming hysterically, "That Aegor was fake! This must be the Red Priestess's sorcery! You sent someone to use sorcery to change into Aegor's appearance to deceive me, and then at the end, you turned hostile and denied it, pinning all the blame on me! Despicable and shameless liars!"
If the "you" in this sentence were changed to "Aegor," it would be almost entirely correct. Unfortunately, this incorrect subject with an unclear target of accusation ultimately completely enraged Daenerys.
Her face turned ashen. "Take him down!"
The sellswords, fearing implication, scattered, leaving Harry alone to face the more than ten Unsullied soldiers rushing toward him. Knowing there was no escape from death, he desperately cursed these cowardly traitors, tore up the pardon in his hand, and turned to run toward the main Golden Company force not far away.
"Do not chase!"
Daenerys loudly called back the Unsullied.
She was so angry that she wanted to personally kill this bastard on the spot, and held back from ordering his immediate execution only because she was mindful that Aegor and others were present and watching. But since Harry still would not obediently surrender, he could not blame her for being brutal and bloodthirsty!
The Black Dragon's massive body executed a nimble turn above their heads, swooping past Daenerys and flying west.
Daenerys shouted the only word that could vent her anger at this moment.
"Dracarys!"
(To be continued.)