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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,539Kudos:6,021Bookmarks:1,661Hits:467,431
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 45: THE SCRIBE
Summary:
omg found this amazing figurine of Ghidorah. And on a more ficcy note, this is how he looks in the fic, his KotM form since I've gotten a few people ask about the times Ghidorah stands on his hindlegs or is on all fours, since classic Ghidorah his wings are more like big frills and fins. But yea, body wise he's based on the KotM form so he can fold his wings like a dragon and walk on them.
Chapter Text
Meereen was an old city. It was larger than Astapor and Yunkai combined, and within its colourful brick walls were wide streets and twisting alleys, grandiose temples including the golden domed Temple of the Graces, granaries, hovels, palaces, brothels, sprawling baths and lush gardens, fountains ranging from those bigger than elephants to no smaller than a basin, and of course the fighting pits. The pyramids, once home to the Great Masters, had now been transformed into homes for freedmen, libraries and scholarly institutes. Open for any ex-slave to learn how to read and study, to learn and grow. The garden terraces within them were open for any freedman to feed from the lemon and persimmon trees. Or to simply walk the gardens, to stroll through the night blooming flowers.
At the very least the Great Masters had been lax and stupid with their centuries of wealth and ownership; many slaves had been used for positions of importance, stock take and logistics. Only the more severe of masters had overseen it personally yet they had been few and far inbetween. Therefore the transition of Meereen from fully freed, after the trials nigh all the Great Masters failed had gone somewhat smoothly. Some parts faltered, stumbled, but were quickly gathered and repaired and Meereen continued to function as a city with her people calming from the siege and expulsion of the Great Masters.
How strange, in only a few short, bloody years the centuries of enslavement and masters over Slaver's Bay had been broken and the people were carefully, tentatively, gaining their independence.
Even so Missandei made sure to listen closely to the concerns of the freedmen, consistently meeting with groups and spokespeople. Even if the violence had drastically reduced after the siege, the trials, there were still growing pains, especially with refugees still approaching Meereen after Ghidorah's rampage and ravaging of the countryside.
It was something she thought of, in between her meetings with both the freedmen, Greyworm and Skahaz, in between searching through her hawks and missives and scrolls and so many books. Daario and the Tattered Prince had left through Dragon's Bay, to loot the cities Ghidorah left behind. She thought of her friend Daenerys and her monstrous child, flying into the Smoking Sea to seek answers to an ancient foe.
Masters. Be it cloaked in flesh or cloaked in ice. It seemed they would not be free of them, even after ripping apart the slave trade in Slaver's Bay. For another enemy awaited them, one that stole the freedom of the grave away from those held in thrall.
The Others. White walkers. Cold gods. White shadows.
Some things Missandei had found but separating myth and truth was no easy task. From little she had garnered the Long Night was a darkness which had engulfed the known world near eight thousand years before Aegon the Conqueror tamed Westeros. The first Long Night lasted an entire generation and near killed everything. It took the efforts of many to drive back the Others, creating the Age of Heroes. The Last Hero, who led them to the light yet who that one was was something she was unable to find. But the other heroes who aided in the Long Night Missandei found some things scattered between.
Westerosi Houses claimed ancestry through many of the heroes, however. Missandei spent many hours reading about the Houses, their histories and linage. Even the extinct ones. Bran the Builder was the most well known and founded House Stark. He reportedly collaborated with the Children of the Forest to create the Wall, Winterfell, Storm's end and Hightower. Lann the Clever who founded House Lannister, who claimed Casterly Rock with nothing more than his wits and words. Garth Greenhand, who was said to create life wherever he walked, and many stories claimed he was friends to Children and giants, and whose various descendants created the majority of Houses within the Reach including the Tyrells, Redwynes and Hightowers. Durran Godsgrief, the first of the Storm Kings who wed Elenei, a woman born of two gods and created House Durrandon which later became House Baratheon after Aegon's Conquest. There was the Grey King of the Iron Islands, who slew the great sea dragon and the bones still remain upon Nagga's Hill.
Then there was those not of Westerosi origin; Hyrkoon the Hero, Yin Tar, Neferion, the woman with the monkey's tail, and Eldric Shadowchaser. Leaders certainty, but not singular. Never.
So while Missandei had no doubt her queen would be instrumental in helping fight the Others, she knew Daenerys would not be alone.
And most certainly her child would be by her side, as Missandei's growing years at her queen's side made it more and more known that Ghidorah was no mere beast. He understood, just as well as any human.
So she would also assume the Others and any type of creature they came with would possess the same wits as human beings. Even moreso since they were ageless. For that, Missandei thought, would be the greatest danger, the greatest advantage, the Others would possess. Time and their utter exemption of it.
After all, in the books she had gained from Westeros she knew the Night's Watch was a shadow of what it used to be. A place where knights, honourable men and nobles would volunteer to take the black. It had been a great honour and a place of prestige. Now it was filled with thieves, killers, rapers and baseborn churls. The dregs who chose the black to escape their punishments and whose numbers were only at most a thousand. The Others could simply see to themselves for centuries and let themselves become myths and the world of man growing lax to their threat.
Missandei was still doggedly reaching out to the Wall, consistently, relentlessly. Her butterflies were nesting in Braavos, strengthened by the Sea Lord's continued friendship to Queen Daenerys. Dany's own loss of Aemon and her gift to the black brother she found, a trader city was ripe for whispers. Braavos was close to the Wall, without having to slog through Westeros and King's Landing itself- even if her butterflies creeping through the west were still only caterpillars but now she was getting faint whispers, louder every week. Soon she would be able to reach out to the Lord Commander of the Watch directly.
But with her reaching to Braavos it did come with the knowledge there was frost in the canals- timid and careful, not yet solid or staying but it was telling winter was beginning to ease forth, was beginning to be birthed forth into another Long Night. For it was said the longer the summer the harsher the winter and in Westeros it had been their longest summer on record. How long it would take to creep across to Essos Missandei was unsure but nonetheless she kept a close eye upon the recovered farmer fields around Meereen and their growing harvests. Starvation could kill as easily as any sword and they would need every crop they could muster.
Her entire chamber, nearly as large as Daenerys' own, was swamped with obscure texts, thick tomes, yellowed parchment and mountains of books. Each she diligently read and arranged in lots assosiated with each land- Westeros, the Free Cities, the Dothraki sea and then further east to Yi Ti, Asshai and the shadow lands, Sothoryos and the Summer Isles and the Jade Sea. Then further categorized through contents such as mythology, people and culture with various rolls of parchment with her notes, thoughts and speculations. A great map of the known world filled up one of her chambers, little colour coded flags at each continent, kingdom and isle.
Missandei had always been curious, even her enslavement had not beaten it from her and though her neck and back would ache she devoured everything and anything she got her hands upon about those strange foreign lands. And there were so many, to the point the Others were not the strangest creatures rumoured to exist.
Which led back to Old Valyria, where her dear friend and monarch was currently searching for further answers when she received the hawk that told her Daenerys had entered the Smoking Sea. It filled her with fear and unease. Missandei could not know if Daenerys would find anything in the ruined city of dragonlords but there was no denying that the Valyrias were well weaved with magic. Their swords and roads stood the test of time and before dragons went extinct they knew no equal.
It was what Missandei thought over, as she sat upon the lofty terrace of her room overlooking Meereen, as she ate a supper of garlic infused buttered mushrooms, a soft-boiled egg with a wedge of strong smelling cheese, accompanied by a small pot of mint tea. About what might be found in Valyria if Daenerys returned. For while Missandei had faith in her friend, and faith in the devotion her son had towards her, at the same time the Naathi understood the importance of planning of any eventuality including one where her queen did not return.
Dany had faith in her, trusting Missandei with her true purpose in her journey from Meereen. In trusting her with the strange vision of a golden dragon and a land of snow and ice, in her desire to search the dead city of dragonlords. She trusted Missandei in her absence. Acting not only as a freedwoman, working to protect the safety and freedom of other fellow freed slaves, but also in having the trust of the dragon queen to safeguard the city and enact her will.
Missandei cut the egg into quarters with a small knife, eating the soft flesh as she watched the sun slowly descend to the horizon. The rings upon her fingers glimmered faintly in the light, her nails painted gold. Around her neck still was the fang necklace, though Missandei now had her bracers of soft leather strapped to her forearms beneath the flowing sleeves of her dress with their hidden knives.
Legends and myths, dragons and monsters. Missandei was witnessing the end of man and the rise of magic. For that was something she discovered with Westeros, that ever since the dragons were driven extinct centuries ago their winters grew harsher. Ghidorah hatching was predated by the crimson star in the sky for all to see. Missandei was not one for destiny but it seemed many things were shifting following that fallen star and a three headed dragon.
The bowl of buttered mushrooms empty, Missandei took a calm sip of her tea. It was why she looked just as closely to tales of fantastical creatures; ice dragons were said to live in the Shivering Sea and the White Waste. Remnants of the last Long Night or their own creatures? Mossovy and the Land of Shrykes was still quite beyond her reach, the Bone Mountains their own barrier. Not just to Yi Ti but all those lands beyond. What was real and what was not, distance quieted everything.
Another wedge of cheese and out in the horizon the stars were beginning to sparkle forth along the rapidly darkened sky.
Did the Others live to the east? Or did the combined efforts in the first Long Night forced them west to the Wall? So many speculations and theories, so little answers.
And then more mundane issues, feelers towards Westeros and then closer west. Cities such as Volantis, Myr and Lys for when they headed west Missandei would hope it was with lesser bloodshed. It was why she also had a meeting with the Dornish prince awaiting her the coming morn, where she hoped to speak more to the young man and his House's disposition towards Daenerys. There had also been a letter, vague and general, soft and probing, she had sent at noon towards Westeros. Seeking the Golden Company, with gentle reaching to a potential prince. If a relative of Dany's was to await them when they reached her birthland, the Iron Throne, then Missandei wished for it to be as potential allies and friends. Daenerys trusted the scribe's instincts before she left for Valyria, giving Missandei her authority to send the letter to her nephew.
Though Missandei's more sensitive work for the queen was written in code, a language of her own making and a mix of all thirteen languages Missandei spoke until it was its own unique one. Best to act cautiously before it was needed. Even after breaking their armies, Missandei knew the slavers were not yet defeated and they would need to be carved out before the Others could be confronted. A hawk that arrived that very morning with a curt reply from Qarth cemented that, rebuking Queen Daenerys' demand for them to remove themselves from the slave trade.
(Though there had also been secret missives, from five of the newly appointed council of Thirteen offering support for Queen Daenerys and her demands, upon the condition they were allowed to keep their wealth and status. Something Missandei would have to arrange for when her queen returned, as at least those five seemed to have sense after seeing the destruction of an army of eighty thousand and subsequent cities lost.)
When Missandei finished her supper and night was fully embracing Meereen, she was not too surprised to find the shadowbinder watching her within the depths of her chambers. Though she had only met the woman briefly, when the maegi handed over their amulets and strange witchery to Daenerys before she left, Missandei still recognized Quaithe with her crimson mask.
"Missandei of Naath," Quaithe's voice was mild.
"Quaith of the Shadow," Missandei's response was just as calm. She was not very surprised the woman had somehow gotten into her chambers, despite the guards.
The maegi did not stop Missandei from clearing her supper, passing her dishes to the servants before cleaning the small table at the terrace. Once done Missandei then proceeded to light several of the candles in her darkened rooms, Quaithe looking like nothing more than a bloodred mask surrounded by shadow as she watched.
"Is there need of me?" Missandei asked as she put down her flint.
"I have simply come to speak."
"Alone?"
"The red priestess still calls to her fires, seeking visions and aid from her red god. The will of R'hllor is not one I am interested in invoking regardless."
"So then what do you need to say to me?" Missandei asked, facing Quaithe fully in a swirl of skirts.
The maegi just stared at her, eyes bright glints through the slit of her mask. The shadows from the candlelight danced across the red wood. Missandei watched her in return, curious as to the woman's intention. She did not feel threatened by Quaithe but the woman was still an unknown.
"Information, perhaps, for the Others? I have put forth my own efforts," she gestured to the hordes of books and tomes strewn about.
"The Others are hidden by their own magic and storms," the maegi replied. "To look would be to invite them to look back. Though there are knowns within the army we will face; the wights are corpses, arisen from necromany. Fire and iron works upon them as well as any man. As our queen learned, dragonglass and Valyrian steel is needed for their masters. They are not an unkillable enemy, but they are vast, ageless and merciless. Every ally of our own killed is a number for their own."
"As we know, though do the Others have their own spellweavers or is it an ability for any and all of their kind?"
"They're beings of ice, I would claim all have such a talent," Quaithe said, shifting forth from the shadows and studying the map Missandei had in the middle of her chambers. "Though perhaps some would have more talent in magic than others, I would say they are like the Children. Their icy blood runs thick with magic and you can no more remove them from it than you could the sun from the sky."
There's so much we don't know, Missandei sighed.
"Dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power," Quaithe mused, the shadows bending and curling around her. "And fire the Others shy from, even if it cannot destroy them. Dragonfire however, is beyond such a thing. Magic in origin, like the beasts themselves."
"Could...perhaps our queen find dragon eggs on Valyria?" Missandei asked. It was something the Naathi thought of, ever since Dany told her of her plans to head to the birthplace of dragons. Dragons would be one of the greatest weapons against the Others. Ghidorah was powerful, beyond any dragon known, but he was still only one.
Quaithe peered down at the map, reaching out and taking one of the small wooden tokens from its surface; this one a tiny mimic of Ghidorah with its three heads and twin tails. Across the map, among the tiny flags, were other symbols; harpy for the Masters, horses for the Dothraki, lions for the Lannisters, wolves for the Starks and so many others representing their peoples and Houses.
"If eggs were to be found it would be indeed fortuitous," Quaithe said. "But in my long life fortune is a fickle creature and if eggs are in Valyria there is nothing to say Daenerys can find them nor would they hatch. Or perhaps the Doom has warped whatever is inside those eggs, or there are other wild creatures there. Speculations are ripe for Valyria for even with myself I do not dare to trod upon that soil. Not even within shadow. While there may be hope it should never cloud reason and Old Valyria is a hopeless place indeed."
Missandei joined her at the table, gently adjusting the carved butterfly resting over the Isles of Naath. Her home, which she would never return to. Her place was at Dany's side, sheltered beneath dragon wings even if she never may fly with them.
"However," Quaithe put down the little three headed dragon, her eyes flashing like stars within her mask as she faced the scribe. "I do come with some...messages, I believe could benefit you and your information gathering. If you choose to hear it."
"If it may aid our course, then please do tell me what you know."
"How much do you know of a man called Brynden Rivers?"
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