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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 64: Life in Asshai
The grey twilight of Asshai did not change with the passage of days.
There was no sunrise, no sunset, and no moon to mark the hours. Only the perpetual gloom, pressing against the black stone walls like a living thing, and the cold blue flames that burned in braziers throughout the city, casting their eerie light on masked faces and empty streets.
Daenerys had learned to measure time by the ache in her bones and the growling of her stomach, or by the moments when her dragons grew restless and demanded to be fed. Drogon would nip at her fingers with his small, sharp teeth. Rhaegal and Viserion would hiss and thrash in their cages until she relented.
They were growing, she noticed...slowly, but surely.
A week had passed since Aggo's ritual. A week of waiting, watching, and wondering if the man would burst into flames from within as Khalak had done.
Every morning, Daenerys woke with a knot in her stomach, half-expecting to find his charred remains in the courtyard. Every night, she went to sleep with the same fear gnawing at her heart.
He had not burned.
That morning, she found him in the courtyard behind the tower, sparring with three other Dothraki warriors. His arakh moved faster than she had ever seen...a blur of steel that left the others stumbling back, unable to defend themselves.
He was stronger, too. When one of his opponents lunged, Aggo caught the man's arm and threw him across the yard as if he weighed nothing, sending him crashing into a stack of wooden practice shields.
Ser Jorah stood at the edge of the courtyard, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had been watching Aggo train for the past three days, and Daenerys could see the calculation in his eyes, the assessment of a warrior measuring another warrior's worth.
"He is remarkable," Jorah said as she approached. "Faster than any man I have seen. Stronger, too. If these results can be repeated..."
"If." Daenerys stopped beside him, her eyes fixed on Aggo. "We do not know if the effects will last, or if there will be consequences. It has only been a week."
Jorah was silent for a moment. "The prince seems confident."
"The prince is always confident." Daenerys's voice was sharper than she intended. "That does not mean he is always right."
She watched Aggo for a while longer, noting the way his opponents struggled to keep up, the way his strikes landed with precision and power.
He showed no signs of pain, no signs of madness, no signs of the fire that had consumed Khalak. He appeared, if anything, more alive than before...his movements were fluid, his eyes bright, and his skin seemed to glow with a vitality that had not been there a week ago.
'Perhaps it worked this time,' she thought. 'Perhaps Joffrey was right.'
She could only hope.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
The merchant with the porcelain mask was waiting for her at the dock. His smile, painted on the white ceramic, seemed to mock her as she approached with Ser Jorah and five Dothraki warriors, who carried the last of her Qartheen goods in wooden chests and leather sacks. The goods had been stored in the hold of the Storm Dancer for weeks, gathering dust, waiting for this moment.
"Princess." The merchant bowed, his painted smile tilting. "Have you brought me more treasures to sell?"
"The last of them," Daenerys said. "Silks from the Summer Isles. Spices from the Jade Sea. And some jewelry that once belonged to the Undying."
The merchant's eyes gleamed behind his mask. He examined the goods with care, lifting each item, holding it to the light, testing the quality with the practiced hands of a man who had spent his life judging the worth of things. When he named his price, Daenerys bargained as she had learned in the markets of Pentos...back and forth. They reached an agreement that satisfied her, and the coins changed hands.
"And the ship you promised to show me?" she asked.
The merchant gestured toward the harbor, where a vessel of dark wood and black sails bobbed in the grey water. "The Shadow's Kiss. She is old, but sturdy. Her hull has been caulked, her rigging replaced. She will carry you wherever you wish to go."
Daenerys studied the ship. It was smaller than the Storm Dancer, leaner, built for speed rather than cargo. But it was large enough for her people. It had two masts, a covered deck, and enough space below for over fifty men. It was not a warship, but it would serve.
"The captain?" she asked.
"Dead, as I told you. Killed in a brawl near the docks. The crew has scattered, but you should be able to find sailors in Asshai who would be glad to work for you, if you can afford them." The merchant paused. "You will need to find your own captain, I am afraid."
Daenerys nodded. She had expected as much. "I will take it."
The merchant bowed. Daenerys paid him and signed the papers...a simple contract, written in bastard Valyrian, witnessed by Ser Jorah and a dock official in a mask of hammered copper.
The Shadow's Kiss was hers now.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Acquiring the ship had been easy. Finding a crew proved far more difficult.
The sailors of Asshai were a strange lot...masked, silent, with eyes as empty as the slaves who walked the streets.
Daenerys did not trust them, so she did not want them. She had learned that trust was a luxury she could not afford, and she would not fill her ship with men whose faces she could not see and loyalties she could not fathom.
Instead, she turned to the Volantene taverns near the harbor, where sailors from across the world gathered to drink and gamble and forget the horrors of the sea. There she found men willing to work for coin...hard men, weathered men, men who had sailed the Jade Sea and the Summer Sea and the treacherous waters of the Stepstones.
Some of them were frightened of her dragons. Others were fascinated. A few, she suspected, would have sold her to the highest bidder if given the chance.
Ser Jorah interviewed each candidate, searching for signs of treachery, his hand resting on his sword, just in case.
He asked about their experience, their loyalties, and their reasons for being in Asshai. He watched their eyes, listened to their answers, and weighed their words.
By the end of the week, he had assembled a crew of twenty. Volantene sailors, a handful of Summer Islanders, and a few brave Dothraki who had volunteered to learn the ways of the sea.
"We will need a captain," Jorah said. "Someone who knows these waters. Someone who can navigate the storms."
"Someone we can truly trust," Daenerys added.
Jorah nodded grimly. "That will be the hardest part."
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
She returned to the tower that evening to find Saera seated at the table in the main chamber, pouring tea into a cup of hammered copper. The maid's golden hair was braided, her blue eyes bright, and her smile was soft as she handed the cup to Joffrey.
"Welcome back, Princess," Saera said, her tone pleasant. "I hope you do not mind if I stay in the tower from now on. The ship was... uncomfortable and lonely."
Daenerys glanced at Joffrey, who shrugged. "She asked. I saw no reason to refuse."
"I believe we have an empty room on the second floor," Daenerys said.
"You are welcome to—"
"Thank you, Princess. But the prince has allowed me to stay in his chambers. So I can attend to his needs more easily." The smile on Saera's face did not waver, but something flickered in her eyes...a flash of possessiveness, perhaps, or jealousy.
The Princess had seen those eyes many times before and understood what they meant.
Daenerys made no mention of it. She took a seat at the table as Varys emerged from the shadows, his soft robes rustling as he approached.
"Your Grace," the eunuch said. "I have brought news."
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Varys had been busy. His new little birds...informants, spies, and the desperate souls who sold secrets for coin, had spread throughout Asshai like roots from a tree, creeping into every corner of the city, listening to every whisper.
"So your network is finally starting to show results. That is good." Joffrey commented, and Varys nodded.
Daenerys knew little about this, only what she had overheard, but she did not doubt that Joffrey had used a considerable amount of coin and goods to help the eunuch rebuild his network of spies and informants. It was an investment, one that might pay dividends in the days to come.
"There are no new threats from the warlocks," Varys reported. "The ones you killed appear to have been the last members of the order in Asshai. Their main temple has been sealed, their goods looted, and whatever followers they had left have scattered into the wind." He paused. "However, there are other powers in the city that we should be wary of."
"Such as?" Joffrey asked.
"The shadowbinders, for starters. They are divided into several different groups, but for the most part, they are the ones who control the city. They do not see you as an enemy yet, but they are wary of you, my prince. They all know it was you who exterminated the warlocks, and they know about your... abilities."
Joffrey nodded. "As long as they do not get in my way, I have no reason to antagonize them. What else?"
"The pyromancers and necromancers are keeping to themselves. Especially the last ones...I cannot seem to get much information on them. There is also another powerful group who seem to have great interest in both the prince and..." Varys glanced at her. "And in you as well, Princess."
"The Red Temple." It was Joffrey who spoke, surprising Varys.
"My prince is well informed, despite never leaving the laboratory. Yes, the priestesses of the Red Temple often speak of you two. They have expressed a strong wish to meet. Their intentions do not seem hostile, but I suggest caution. The red priestesses of R'hllor have quite the reputation."
Daenerys frowned. "I know of them. They practice human sacrifices as offerings to their god. I have no wish to meet with them."
"A strong refusal could be interpreted as an affront to their temple, Your Grace," Varys said.
"They have yet to send word to us, so there is no point in discussing that now." Joffrey's voice was dismissive. "Do you have anything else? If not, I have some business to attend."
"There is one more thing." Varys paused. "A ship has been sighted approaching the Shadow Lands. Its description matches the Summer's Gale. Your uncle's vessel."
Daenerys gasped. A wave of emotions rushed through her. "Your uncle? The... King Slayer—"
Joffrey quickly interrupted her. "Calm down. It is not Jaime."
"Oh, my apologies, Princess." Varys realized the confusion. "I meant his uncle Tyrion Lannister. We left King's Landing at the same time, but he had something else to do before joining us in Asshai. Thus, the delay."
Daenerys calmed down, though her heart still raced. Even if she was aware of how terrible her father had been, she did not know how she would react if she were to meet Jaime Lannister, the man who had murdered her father with a sword through the back.
"Tyrion," she muttered, trying to recall any information she had about him. "Is he the one they call the Imp?"
"Yes, that one," said Joffrey. "But I am sure he would prefer if you did not use that nickname in his presence." He glanced at Varys. "How far is he?"
"He should be here by morning," Varys continued. "I have arranged for a spot near the Storm Dancer. The harbor captain knows to expect us."
Joffrey rose from his seat, his tea unfinished. "I will leave the reception to you. Take the Hound tomorrow and go meet him. Then bring him to the tower."
He turned and climbed the stairs toward the laboratory, his footsteps echoing on the black stone. Saera watched him go, her eyes lingering on his retreating form, then glanced at Daenerys with an expression that was difficult to read.
"Princess," Saera said, her voice cool. "I hope you will forgive me if I do not join you for the evening meal. I have duties to attend to."
She curtsied...a shallow, almost mocking gesture, and followed Joffrey up the stairs.
Daenerys sat in silence, her hands wrapped around her cup of tea. The warmth seeped through the metal, but she did not drink.
"She does not like me," she said.
Varys, who had remained at the table, moved slightly closer and lowered his voice. "She is protective of the prince. And perhaps a little jealous of the time he spends with you."
"I have no interest in him. Not in that way." She said it quickly, perhaps too quickly.
"Interest or not, you occupy his attention. You have a role to play in his plans." Varys smiled thinly. "Saera sees that. It frightens her."
Daenerys set down the cup. "What do you see, Lord Varys? When you look at me?"
Varys was silent for a long moment. "I see a young woman who has been forced to grow up too fast. A ruler without a throne. A mother without a home." He paused. "And I see someone who might, if she is lucky and clever and brave, change the world."
"Change the world." Daenerys's voice was soft. "That is... a great deal."
"There is plenty of time for that, Your Grace." Varys bowed. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have preparations to make. The prince's uncle arrives tomorrow, and I would not want to keep him waiting."
He slipped into the shadows and was gone.
Daenerys remained at the table for a long time, staring at the cold blue flames of the brazier.
Change the world.
She did not know if she was ready for such a thing. But she was learning, day by day, that the world did not wait for anyone to be ready.
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