The once-arrogant cracks of whips and cruel, inhuman judgments were now drowned out by the anguished cries of vengeance. The wrathful howls of those once treated as playthings rose, shaking the heavens. Fear replaced tyranny, and pleas for mercy replaced orders. Atop the pyramid, the three young dragons roared in unison, casting fiery brilliance over the dawn of Astapor's living dead.
Seated high upon the throne, Drogo murmured a slightly altered quote from his previous life:
"Water can carry a boat—but it can also overturn it. And that water is the people's tears. Only when the waves rise do the rulers begin to understand."
He allowed himself a hint of pride. After all, it was he and Snowball who had shattered the wheel of Astapor's oppressive history.
He had seen and caused so much bloodshed that he was now numb to it. He paid no mind to the ferocity of the Unsullied, nor the rage of the slaves now freed. Most of his attention remained on his wife, who stood near the edge of the high platform.
The Dragon Queen, still radiating heat and flames, held the Harpy's Finger high above her head, refusing to lower it. Drogo knew why—such power, absolute command over tens of thousands, was intoxicating, especially for someone experiencing it for the first time.
The slaves she had just freed knelt and chanted with devotion:
"Glory to the Mother of Dragons!"
In that moment, Daenerys outshone even him. But Drogo didn't mind—this glory, after all, was something he had chosen to give her.
The tyrants were gone, the city conquered. The real challenge now was ruling it.
Drogo's mind was fixed on Westeros. He didn't plan to stay in Slaver's Bay for long. He would rest, then lead his people to Qarth—the Golden City—and enter the House of the Undying, to seek the visions that foretold his fate.
Though Pyat Pree was treacherous, the prophecy Daenerys had once received had proven eerily accurate: three betrayals—one for blood, one for gold, one for love. And each of them had come true.
The betrayal for blood came from Mirri Maz Duur, who killed their unborn child out of revenge.
The betrayal for gold came from Hizdahr zo Loraq, who married Daenerys under false pretenses and tried to kill her for control of Meereen.
And the betrayal for love… came from Jon Snow, the man she loved, who drove a dagger through her heart.
Beyond that, the visions Daenerys had seen in the House of the Undying—like Robb Stark's fall at the Red Wedding—had also come true.
Now that Drogo had been reborn, he would do everything in his power to change the fate of his wife. The first betrayal had already happened—he couldn't stop it. But the second and third? As long as he lived, they wouldn't happen.
If he ever saw Hizdahr, he would kill him on sight.
And Jon Snow? If he dared fall in love with Daenerys, Drogo would cut him down without hesitation.
His rebirth gave him the power to change fate. If he could change hers, perhaps he could change his own too. He would confront the Undying, and while he was at it, sack Qarth and use its wealth to fund the invasion of Westeros.
With over ten thousand Unsullied at his command, he feared nothing. But abandoning the Red City would be wasteful. He would stabilize it before leaving.
He loved conquest. His rule had always relied on overwhelming strength—forcing others to bow in awe and fear. But now, in this new life, he longed for a society like the one from his past: built on law, merit, and fairness.
That's why he had handed the Harpy's Finger to Daenerys. In her, he saw a rare kindness—foolish, perhaps—but aligned with his ideals.
He believed she could reshape Astapor into the utopia he envisioned, under his protection.
Still, as the books made clear, ruling Slaver's Bay with mercy would take time. The land was soaked in the poison of the masters' ideology.
And the Dothraki way of ruling through brute force would not work here.
Not with Yunkai and Meereen still standing—two sister cities, close and powerful. Unless they were conquered too, Astapor would never be safe. But ruling all three? That would be a nightmare.
And what of the Ghiscar within? He couldn't just kill every Ghiscari.
He knew that. He couldn't return to his old, merciless ways. He'd only kill the guilty, those who posed a direct threat. The rest, he would have to leave—for now.
A headache for another day.
As Daenerys's flames began to fade, Drogo rushed toward a noblewoman skewered in the chaos, tore off her pale blue tokar, and hurried back to his wife. Just before the flames vanished completely, he draped it over her, no room for objection.
The gesture snapped Daenerys out of her daze. She looked at the bloodied tokar, then at Drogo, who was patting his chest in relief.
"My sun and stars... is something wrong with me?"
Drogo scowled.
"Your problem is being too open! You're a woman—you should know how to be shy!"
Her cheeks, already flushed, turned redder than a ripe apple. She muttered in protest:
"Women here—and in Qarth—often dress like this. And back at the sacred lake in Vaes Dothrak… that night under the stars… people were watching and…"
True. Drogo had no argument—he dressed openly too. But his views were conservative. So he put on his most domineering tone:
"I don't care what others wear. From now on, only I see that side of you."
Possessive, yes—but also deeply caring. Daenerys felt it. She nodded gently, then reluctantly held out the Harpy's Finger.
Her expression said it all. Drogo clasped his hands behind his back, refusing to take it.
"I'm giving you command of the Unsullied. Outside of battle, they answer only to you. And when you're strong enough to lead alone, they'll be your khalasar."
She blinked.
"But I'm your Khaleesi… and you're the Khal."
He looked to the sky.
"Even if I conquer the world, someone has to govern it. You're my Khaleesi—and my queen. We may never have children, so we only have each other. What's mine is yours."
Daenerys wiped her eyes, then pointed at the dragons atop the pyramid.
"We do have children—Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion."
He didn't laugh.
"They're not heirs. Dragons don't rule. They destroy."
She moved to embrace him, but he stopped her:
"Not in broad daylight! You're Queen of Astapor now!"
Daenerys paused, then asked:
"And you?"
"I'm the King, of course! Why should a Khaleesi be just a consort and not a queen? Look at Westeros. Baratheon may rule in name, but six other kingdoms have lords who call themselves kings."
"So if anything's on your mind, speak to me. Don't keep it hidden."
A reminder: power lies in command of armies—not just bloodlines. And now that he had handed her that power, Daenerys had no reason to hold back.
"We have three dragons and ten thousand Unsullied. When do we cross the Black Salt Sea and head for Westeros?"
There it was again. Drogo groaned.
"To reach the land of eternal summer, we need more than people. We need ships, food, and wealth. That's why I'm going to sack Qarth! You just became Queen of Astapor—ready to abandon your people already?"
Daenerys echoed him:
"Who says I stop being queen just because I leave?"
"You're too naive. If we leave now, the city will fall within three days."
She wasn't stupid—but Drogo still didn't know what she was really thinking.
The cries of battle had faded. Only weeping remained—a deep, grieving release.
Daenerys used the moment to argue again.
"The masters are dead. The people are free. I believe they'll defend this reborn city in my name."
But could slaves who had never known freedom truly hold off Yunkai or Meereen?
Drogo was about to speak when a familiar voice called out:
"Blood of my blood—this Ghiscar swine says he has vital information for you."
Argo and Rakharo dragged forth an old Grazdan, pearls swaying from his clothes.
As the trembling man approached, Drogo growled:
"Speak. Now."
"I… I have critical news. If I tell you… please, spare my life!"
Drogo hated his arrogance.
"If you won't speak, then die."
"I'll talk! Kraznys mo Nakloz—he sent word to Bonno, who just left Slaver's Bay! He told him you're here, hoping Bonno will kill you quietly! You can't kill me—I gave you everything!"
Drogo sneered.
"I never promised you'd live. Bloodriders—send him to the Harpy."
As they dragged him away, Drogo turned to the eastern sky and muttered:
"Bonno… once my ko. You swore to die with me. But when I fell, you betrayed me. I have no mercy for traitors. If you come at me with bloodlust, I'll send you straight to hell. You are not worthy of the starry night lands where true heroes ride."
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