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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
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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 79: The Road Ahead
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm orange light across the faces of those gathered around the table.
Lyssara had not yet recovered her composure. Her pale eyes were still wide, her hands trembling slightly as she clasped them before her. The ruby at her throat pulsed with a deep, inner light, matching the rapid beat of her heart.
Joffrey watched her for a moment, his green eyes unreadable. Then he spoke.
"You would be wise to keep what you have heard to yourself."
Lyssara looked up, her expression troubled. "You mean... not speak of the being you meet at Stygai? Of the possibility that it is the Lord of Light himself?"
"I mean that you should not spread the word that your god may exist in the physical realm. And certainly not that he may be dying." Joffrey's voice was firm, almost cold. "Faith is a fragile thing, priestess. It thrives on mystery, on the unknowable. A god that can be seen, touched, measured... that is no god at all. That is merely a creature.
Lyssara flinched as if struck. "You are saying that the truth would destroy us."
"Some truths are best kept in the shadows." Joffrey leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "Let your people believe in the Lord of Light as they always have. Let them pray to the flames and see visions. The knowledge we have shared here does not need to leave this room."
Daenerys nodded slowly, her violet eyes thoughtful. "He is right. The Red Temple has already suffered enough. Malachar's betrayal, the fire, the loss of so many priests... the faithful are shaken. They do not need to learn that their god may be dying. Especially when we have no way to know for certain if the two are truly connected." She glanced at Joffrey, seeking confirmation.
Lyssara was silent for a long moment, her pale eyes fixed on the flames. Then she drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "You are right, Your Grace. Both of you. I will speak of this to no one."
She took a seat at the table, her hands finally steady. The firelight caught her long red hair, and her pale eyes regained some of their usual calm.
Tyrion, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and impatience, cleared his throat. "Now that we have settled the theological crisis, perhaps we could discuss something more tangible. Such as what you actually brought back from Stygai, Nephew. I know you well enough to believe you did not return empty-handed."
Joffrey allowed himself a thin smile. "Knowledge can sometimes be more valuable than any physical object, Uncle. I learned the origin of dragons, of magic, of the Shadow Lands themselves. I would say that alone was worth the journey."
"Yes, yes, very impressive." Tyrion waved a hand dismissively. "But you also brought something else. I can see it in the way you keep touching your pack."
Joffrey's hand had indeed drifted to the leather satchel at his side. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers tracing the worn leather. Then he reached inside.
"I did find one interesting thing before leaving," he said.
He pulled out the egg.
It was black as obsidian, smooth as silk, and warm to the touch. It pulsed with a faint, inner light, and when Joffrey set it on the table, the glow seemed to intensify, as if the egg itself was responding to the firelight. Shadows danced across its surface, but no light escaped from within...it was as if the egg drank the flames and held them captive.
"Is that what I think it is?!" Tyrion almost choked on his wine, coughing and sputtering.
"I am not certain about that..." Lord Varys narrowed his eyes, leaning forward to examine the object.
"A dragon egg?!" Ser Jorah spoke for the first time, his voice rough with surprise.
Daenerys leaned forward, her violet eyes wide. "May I?"
Joffrey nodded. "Go ahead."
She took the egg in her hands, cradling it gently. Her fingers traced its smooth surface, and she gasped. "I have never seen anything like this," she said. "It is not a dragon egg. Dragon eggs have scales. They are rough, almost stony. This is... different. It is something else entirely."
"It is the last gift from that primordial creature," Joffrey said. "What lies inside, I do not know. But I intend to find out."
Lyssara rose from her seat, her pale eyes fixed on the egg. Her hands were clasped before her, but Joffrey could see them trembling. "That egg came from the fire being?" she whispered. "From the one who may be... the Lord of Light?"
"It did."
"A gift from the god himself." Lyssara's voice was filled with wonder, almost reverence. "I never thought... I never imagined..."
"Whatever is inside, it is alive," Joffrey said. "I can feel its power. But what it will become, I cannot say. We will have to wait until it hatches."
He wrapped the egg in its cloth and placed it back in his pack.
Tyrion leaned back in his chair, his mismatched eyes thoughtful. "So. We have an egg of unknown origin, a dying god, and an army of former temple guards camped outside a tower that is far too small for them. What is our next move?"
Joffrey looked around the table. Daenerys, Tyrion, Varys, Jorah, and Lyssara. These were the people who would shape the future.
'Strange company,' he thought.
A deposed queen, a disgraced knight, a eunuch spider, a dwarf, a red priestess, and a sorcerer prince. The world would not know what hit it.
"The tension in the city grows worse by the day," he said. "The shadowbinders watched while we destroyed the warlocks. They watched while Daenerys burned the Red Temple. Now they are afraid. They do not know if they are next."
Varys nodded, his pale face grave. "That is correct. My little birds tell me that the shadowbinders have been meeting in secret. They are divided...some wish to flee, others to fight. But they all agree on one thing: they want us gone. One way or another."
"So we are no longer welcome in Asshai." Tyrion shrugged, affecting a nonchalance he clearly did not feel. "What a tragedy... such a beautiful city. I shall miss the charming locals and their delightful masks."
"Then we will go," Joffrey said. "We have learned what we came to learn. I have acquired enough materials for my work and hundreds of ancient tomes to study. There is nothing left for us in Asshai."
Tyrion raised his cup. "That is the best idea I have heard in months. I was beginning to think I would go mad in this gloomy place. No sun, no wine worth drinking, no brothels, and everyone wears masks. It is like living in a mummer's farce that never ends."
Daenerys frowned, her brow furrowing. "And where would we go? My goal has always been Westeros. To reclaim my father's throne."
"With what army?" Joffrey's voice was blunt, almost brutal. "You have a hundred knights and priests, and a few dozen Dothraki warriors. That is not enough to take a single castle, let alone the Seven Kingdoms. Unless you wish to wait until they all undergo the dragon ritual."
Daenerys's jaw tightened, but she did not argue. She knew he was right. A hundred soldiers, even loyal ones, would not win back the Seven Kingdoms. She needed more. She needed to make progress faster, or it might be too late.
"Then what do you suggest?" she asked. "Where can I find an army?"
The table fell silent. Tyrion drummed his fingers on the table. Varys folded his hands. Jorah stared at the map spread before them, his eyes tracing the coasts of Essos.
It was Lyssara who spoke.
"Your Grace, I have seen something in the flames. A vision, very clear, that came to me just before the prince's return."
Daenerys turned to her. "What did you see?"
Lyssara's pale eyes were bright, almost luminous in the firelight. "I saw you standing before a great crowd of poor, ragged people. They were wearing chains, but the chains were broken. And they were calling to you... Mhysa. "
Daenerys's breath caught. The word was from the old tongue of the Dothraki. It meant mother.
"Where was this?" Daenerys asked. "Where did you see me?"
"I do not know the name of the city," Lyssara admitted. "But I saw great brick pyramids, and a hot sun, and streets filled with people in chains. It was not Asshai. It was not Westeros. It was somewhere east of here, across the sea."
Tyrion leaned forward, his mismatched eyes narrowing. "Brick pyramids. Hot sun. People in chains." He looked at Daenerys. "That sounds like Slaver's Bay. Astapor, perhaps. Or Yunkai."
"Slaver's Bay." A frown appeared on Daenerys's face. She had heard the name before, whispered in the ports of Pentos and the markets of Qarth. A place of cruelty and suffering, where men were bought and sold like cattle.
Jorah nodded grimly. "I have been there, Khaleesi. They are cruel places. They trade in flesh, in suffering. The Unsullied come from Astapor...slave soldiers, trained from childhood to feel no pain, to obey without question."
"The finest warriors in the world," Tyrion added. "Expensive, but worth every copper. Or so they say."
Daenerys shook her head. "I will not buy slaves. I have said it before. I will not change my mind."
"Then do not buy them," Joffrey said quietly.
All eyes turned to him.
"The Unsullied are slaves," he continued. "They have been beaten, branded, and broken since childhood. They know nothing but obedience. But if you were to offer them something else...freedom, purpose, a cause worth dying for, they would follow you to the ends of the earth. You cannot buy that kind of loyalty. It is something that you must earn."
Daenerys studied him, her violet eyes searching his face. "You want me to steal them."
"No. I want you to give them freedom." Joffrey met her gaze without flinching. "Lyssara's vision showed you as a liberator, a breaker of chains, not a slaver. That is not a prophecy about buying an army. It is a prophecy about freeing one."
Tyrion nodded slowly. "He makes a valid point. The Good Masters of Astapor are not beloved. If you were to free the Unsullied, you would not be buying slaves. You would be ending slavery in Astapor and earning the loyalty of thousands."
"And you would have an army," Jorah added. "The best in the world."
"The other cities of Slaver's Bay would not be happy about this development, though." Varys's voice was silk, careful. "Slavery has been an integral part of their history and a crucial component of their economy. Freeing slaves in Astapor would also make you enemies in Meereen and Yunkai."
"So you do not agree with this plan?" Daenerys asked.
"Oh, I do. Very much so." The eunuch's smile was thin. "One cannot be truly successful without creating a few enemies."
Daenerys looked around the table, her gaze lingering on each face. Finally, her purple eyes landed on Joffrey. "And what do you truly think about this?" she asked. "Is this what I should do?"
Joffrey considered his answer carefully. He could not tell her the whole truth...that more subjects meant more candidates for his rituals, more opportunities to test the dragon's blood, more chances to perfect the transformation. But he could give her a reason she would accept.
"From what I have learned, the Unsullied are some of the finest warriors in all of Essos, and they will serve your cause," he said. "You may be able to take King's Landing with your dragons and a few hundred men, but to maintain control, you will need a very loyal army. An army that has nothing left but their duty to you."
Daenerys was silent for a long moment. Her hand drifted to the pendant at her throat, the one he had given her, the portkey that could take her to safety. She had refused to use it. She would not run.
"We will go to Astapor," she said finally. "Not to buy slaves. To recruit an army."
<><><><><><><><><><>
With the decision made, the next few days were spent in frantic preparation. Supplies were gathered from the markets of Asshai: dried meat, hard bread, fresh water, and casks of wine. Maps were studied by lamplight, routes plotted and debated. The ships were readied for the long journey west, their hulls scraped, their rigging replaced, their sails mended.
The Storm Dancer and the Summer's Gale, Joffrey's two vessels, were still seaworthy, though they would need to be restocked and repaired before they could face the open sea.
The Shadow's Kiss, which Daenerys had purchased weeks ago, was smaller but faster, built for speed rather than cargo.
Together, the three ships could carry perhaps two hundred and fifty people...the sailors, the Dothraki, the knights and priests of the Red Temple. It was cramped, but it would suffice for now.
"We will need more ships," Jorah said as he surveyed the fleet from the dock. The grey twilight of Asshai pressed against his shoulders, and the cold mist clung to his beard. "If we are to transport an army of Unsullied, we will need more room."
"Then we will acquire more ships," Daenerys replied. "In Astapor, or in one of the other cities."
"The slavers will not simply give them to us."
"Then we will take them."
Jorah said nothing more. He had learned not to argue when Daenerys spoke in that tone. It was the tone of a queen, the tone of a conqueror.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
On the morning of their departure, the grey twilight of Asshai seemed somehow heavier than before. The mist clung to the black stone walls, and the cold blue flames of the city's braziers flickered in the damp air.
The shadowbinders watched from the rooftops, their masked faces turned toward the harbor. They did not interfere, did not attack. They simply watched.
Joffrey stood at the prow of the Storm Dancer, his hand on the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The wind tugged at his cloak, and the salt spray stung his cheeks.
The Hound stood behind him, his obsidian spear in hand, his scarred face hidden beneath his dog's helm. Aggo and the other Dothraki were already aboard, their arakhs gleaming in the dim light.
Daenerys walked up the gangplank, her crimson cloak billowing behind her. Her dragons circled overhead, their cries echoing across the water, their shadows dark against the grey sky.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
Joffrey nodded. "I do not think I will miss this gloomy city."
"Neither will I." She stood beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her presence.
They had spent over half a year in Asshai. Their time there had been far from pleasant...filled with danger, death, and dark magic. But their gains could not be denied. Just the knowledge they have acquired could be considered priceless. They had come for power and purpose, and they had found it.
Together, they watched as the city of Asshai shrank behind them.
The black towers grew smaller, the grey mist grew thinner, and the cold blue flames faded into memory. The sea stretched before them, vast and empty, leading toward the unknown.
"To Astapor," Daenerys said.
"To Astapor," Joffrey echoed.
The sails unfurled. The wind caught them. And the fleet sailed east...away from the shadow, and toward the sun.
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