I Became the Mother of Dragons

      In a sudden revelation, Daenerys realized that the Valyrians must have plundered the arcane secrets of mystic factions, amalgamating them into the sacred grimoire that now resided within her essence—a superlative arcane secret.

Observing the comprehension dawning upon Dany's countenance, Quaithe paid it no mind and continued with a touch of emotion, "The Grand Sorcerers who possess such a complete inheritance can transcend the bounds of witchcraft, forsaking the need to unravel the cryptic meanings of glyphs. We, the sorcerers of Asshai, have toiled for millennia, yet the Valyrians' methods remain an enigma beyond our grasp."

A wry smile graced Dany's lips as a playful thought crossed her mind. "I wonder if I could harness the magics of the Red God's priests?"

Quaithe's response was a somber shake of the head, her voice laden with complexity. "The magics of Gods are but a mortal's fleeting touch, not a theft to be claimed."

With an expectant gaze and a mischievous grin, Daenerys ventured, "Well, I suppose I am content with mastering your sorceries."

"Regrettably," Quaithe replied, her tone unwavering, "I cannot impart to you any sorcery."

Perplexed, Dany questioned, "But why? Knowledge is meant to be shared, and I am willing to trade my own magical knowledge with you."

"I am unable to wield your brand of magic," Quaithe stated flatly.

After a thoughtful pause, Quaithe inquired, "You are aware that I am a Sorcerer skilled in the art of prophecy, are you not?"

"So what?" Daenerys inquired, her curiosity unabated.

Quaithe continued, her tone laden with gravitas, "Do you comprehend the gravest trespass in prophecy?"

Without awaiting Dany's response, she expounded, "It is the sin of meddling in the course of Prophecy. Prophecy, you see, is akin to an intricate mathematical puzzle... You are likely familiar with the concept of multivariate calculus, I presume?"

Dany replied with a muttered affirmation, "I am aware."

"Prophecy, much like a mathematical conundrum rife with countless variables," Quaithe elaborated, "were I to be by your side, I too would become one of those variables, a significant one at that. Do you grasp the gravity of this?"

Daenerys furrowed her brow in contemplation, "But you've advised me countless times on what to do and what not to do. Isn't that a form of interference?"

"I've merely conveyed the prophecies to you, not intruded upon your choices. Rest assured, I shall not appear before you again unless I possess a lucid prophecy," Quaithe responded with unwavering resolve.

Dany questioned, "So, you have another prophecy for me? It seems the last one hasn't concluded yet. Isn't this rather frequent?"

"You are the catalyst of many outcomes," Quaithe replied impassively, "I am tasked with sharing what I perceive."

"Very well, speak then."

Quaithe's voice, melodious as a haunting melody, intoned, "The glass candles are aglow. Soon approaches the pale mare, followed by others. Lion and griffin, the sun's son, and the mummer's Dragon. Place not your trust in any of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal."

Daenerys nodded thoughtfully, "Indeed, I've kindled the glass candle and have not forgotten the Undying Ones' lesson. But what of the pale mare, Lion, and Griffin? What do they portend?"

Quaithe, as expected, offered no direct response to Daenerys' inquiry. She merely sighed and uttered her counsel, "Daenerys, you may acquire my locating spell, but it'd be wise not to wield it.

After teaching me meditation, my former mentor, a Sorcerer of great repute, imparted upon me a solemn commandment. It is one that I now pass to you—witchcraft is like a razor-sharp blade, one that lacks a hilt to grasp. It can harm not only others but potentially yourself. The true aim of a Sorcerer is the relentless pursuit of truth; witchcraft is but an alluring veneer, leading one astray on the path."

In the blink of an eye, the black-robed figure before her vanished, leaving only the sound of Daenerys' own breath in the dimly lit chamber.

As she blinked once more, Dany reclined on her feathered bed with a resounding "thud." Her gaze fixed upon the ceiling, she mused, "The sated do not comprehend the hunger of the famished. I might similarly declare that the crown is a weighty yoke, one that carries the destinies of countless lives. Glory and power are akin to 'poisoned wine,' enticements leading a Queen astray."

After a few days of convalescence in Astapor, her facial and neck burns had healed completely, and Barristan had reforged Sunswallower into a plain, unadorned two-handed greatsword.

Just as they prepared to depart, emissaries from Windblown and Qarth's spies arrived almost simultaneously with urgent news. One hundred elephants and five thousand elephant-mounted soldiers, hired by the Allies on the Isle of Elephants, had reached Qarth.

Windblown's intelligence was more comprehensive. Each elephant bore a rider, an archer, and a lancer. Half of the five thousand elephant soldiers would remain in Qarth, while the remainder would be transported westward by ship to Volantis.

Volantis also boasted its own complement of elephants, manned by seasoned elephant riders.

Windblown divulged an additional piece of information—the Allies had mustered a colossal force, a super regiment exceeding one hundred thousand troops. They appeared poised to divide into four separate contingents, launching simultaneous offensives upon Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen from four distinct directions. 

The Allied generals mulled over their options, with the prevailing notion favoring the idea of dividing their forces. Even if they couldn't seize the city, they reasoned, they could at least disrupt the Mother of Dragons' agricultural efforts.

The Allies were well aware of the significance Daenerys attached to her agricultural endeavors.

However, "Dragonslayer" Grazdan vehemently opposed such a strategy of division. He staunchly advocated unity and the abandonment of tactics that were "seemingly ingenious but ultimately futile." His unwavering stance was clear—to fortify their positions and engage in a protracted war.

Following his acquisition of the Dragonslayer Blade, Grazdan had pledged an oath: "In this life, I shall slay Dragons." It was this vow that had earned him the epithet of "Dragonslayer".

"No one can outwit the cunning and treacherous Mother of Dragons in the realm of tactics," the Dragonslayer lamented at the Allied meeting.

His rallying cry was clear: Unite the world's might and shatter the dominion of Slaver's Bay.

Notably, Grazdan did not recommend an immediate assault. He argued that the Allies lacked the numbers and proposed enlisting the support of every nation, from the Summer Isles to Westeros, from Braavos to Lorath, and even the Dothraki and the lands bordering the Jade Sea.

Westeros, despite being void of a slave trade, held a king upon the Iron Throne who was no friend to the Targaryens. If the Allies faltered, would the Dragon Queen relinquish her claim to Westeros, which she considered her birthright?

If the Dragon Queen were to call forth would Braavos, the self-proclaimed most powerful Free City accept the yoke of her dominion?

Grazdan's vision of a "true global alliance" was no mere madness; it held a palpable chance of becoming reality.

Amid the disagreements among the various factions, the final strategy of the Allied forces remained undecided. Nevertheless, two points were universally accepted: a fervent desire to expedite the hatching of the Dragons and a crowdfunding campaign aimed at hiring Faceless Men to assassinate the perceived culprit.

The Windblown dispatched an extensive intelligence report, several thousand words in length, with a prominent warning inscribed in bold red ink: Beware of the Faceless Men!

This sudden revelation jolted Daenerys into the realization that she possessed a captive from the Faceless Men. Under the veil of night, she descended into the depths of the Great Pyramid in Astapor, where the prison lay shrouded in shadow.

Asking her captive, she inquired, "Who sent you to end my life?"

The confines of the prison were no more than ten square meters, a cramped stone chamber with thick oak doors secured by sturdy iron panels. The room was oppressive, akin to a coffin within a sarcophagus, suffocating in its confinement.

Devoid of any skylight, the cell remained cloaked in darkness throughout the day, punctuated only by the delivery of water and coarse brown bread by the guards through a small grille beneath the door, happening twice daily. There were no sounds from the outside world, no reminders of the world beyond these stone walls.

A low wooden bed, scarcely half a meter in width, occupied a corner of the room. The stench of excrement and urine clung to the chamber, and the edge of a small wooden pail bore traces of brown and yellow filth. In the dim crimson torchlight, pale maggots wriggled in and out, their presence an unsettling contrast to the surrounding darkness.

The prisoner herself was in a wretched state, draped in a disheveled gray linen gown. The air hung heavy with the smell of neglect, and she lay curled in a fetal position on the corner of the wooden bed, her head buried in her knees. Her response to Daenerys' inquiry was as absent as a ghostly whisper.

"Why do you remain silent?" Daenerys took a cautious step forward, mustering her resolve, and delivered a resolute pat upon the woman's head, disregarding the pungent stench.

The abrupt, stinging pain compelled the captive, a woman from Lys, to raise her head. Her visage, pallid and gaunt, bore the marks of destitution, with one eye the color of charcoal that had smoldered through the night.

"I don't know a thing," the assassin croaked.

Stepping back a few paces, Daenerys veiled her nose with a silk scarf and muffled her voice. "You're well-acquainted with the training methods of the Faceless Men, aren't you?"

"Alright, I'll humor you," the assassin replied with an empty cough. "The first principle of the Faceless Men: Fear not the darkness, embrace solitude. This cell, a hell to common folk, is but home to me."

"The second principle: Guard the secrets of the Faceless Men, never reveal them to anyone."

She paused, a malevolent glint in her eye. "The third principle: Valar Morghulis, the Faceless Men must open their hearts and welcome death."

The Lys assassin regarded Daenerys with a taunting gaze, asking, "There are more principles. Do you wish to hear them all?"

Dany raised her hands in surrender, a tone of helplessness in her voice. "I concede, I yield. You win. The Faceless Men are truly remarkable."

The tragic death of Doreah had instilled in Dany a profound loathing, leading her to deliver this Faceless Man to Hattur of Astapor, who, despite his reputation as an expert in transcending the bounds of the ordinary, was primarily a torturer, specializing in meting out punishments to disobedient slaves.

Upon reclaiming Meereen and defeating Yunkai, Dany returned to Astapor. Hattur, despondent and guilt-ridden, approached her, admitting that he had exerted every effort to break the assassin but had failed.

Driven to a desperate impasse, she resorted to an ancient and ruthless method—the dreaded black cell.

Yet, after more than three months of confinement, the assassin remained resilient and undaunted, showing no signs of capitulation.

Daenerys had intended to prolong the ordeal, but unsettling news from the Windblown made her apprehensive.

Daenerys had long been aware that the Lys assassin had not been hired by the Ghiscari, and she harbored suspicions about those Wise Masters and Great Masters of Meereen. The Ghiscari had indeed resolved to pay a handsome sum to hire an assassin, with the funds still amassed within the Great Pyramid of Meereen as part of their crowdfunding effort for the mission. Simultaneously, they were arranging their fleet for transport to Braavos. Unbeknownst to them, the Dragon Queen's "50,000-strong army" had descended upon Meereen and launched a sudden assault, precipitating their downfall. Millions of Gold Honors were now under Queen Daenerys' dominion, stored within her personal treasury.

With the weight of evidence and circumstances, Dany had reached an unequivocal conclusion: there were hidden adversaries lurking in the shadows, intent on bringing her harm.

"I've decided to release you," Daenerys stated to the Faceless Men.

The assassin's lackluster blue eye flickered, "Why?"

"You've instilled a profound fear of the Faceless Men within me. I'm terrified, and I seek reconciliation with you. Let's pretend nothing ever transpired. The Faceless Men will abandon their assassination list, and I won't trouble you. What do you say?" Daenerys proposed.

A sardonic grin curled on the female assassin's lips. "Are you the one to decide whether or not to trouble the Faceless Men?"

"I am the Mother of Dragons, the ruler of Slaver's Bay, and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Daenerys declared with a measure of indifference.

The assassin countered, "The Faceless Men have existed since the days of Valyria. The Dragonlords may have had dragons, but we possess the entire world."

Daenerys retorted, "I'm not ignorant of the history of the Faceless Men. Back then, you were nothing more than Valyrian miners."

The assassin taunted, "You know nothing!"

Daenerys remained resolute. "I believe you don't understand the situation. You're but a messenger. The one who bargains with me is the leader of the Faceless Men. He is the one who determines whether to accept my terms. Even if you harbor different opinions, you will not negotiate!"

"Very well, I'll convey your message," the Lys assassin agreed.

That very night, the assassin changed her attire and departed, forsaking even a meal.