Chapter 344: Suitors

The docks of Yunkai had turned into a sea of fire.

Screams and cries spiraled into the smoke-filled air, unheard by anyone who could offer help.

Longships weaved through the flames and splintered wreckage, their banners displaying golden krakens writhing in the wind, exuding an aura of death.

Victarion Greyjoy stood at the prow of the Iron Victory, cradling a massive horn in both hands. Smoke swirled around him, curling and twisting as if drawn to the runes etched in red and gold along the horn's surface, glowing faintly like a living, breathing entity.

"The fire sacrifice is complete," intoned Moqorro, the red priest. The flames tattooed on his face flickered as the horn's runes pulsed in unison. His empty sleeve fluttered in the salty breeze.

"Does this mean I'm now the master of the Dragonbinder horn?" Victarion's voice trembled with barely restrained excitement.

"Yes," Moqorro affirmed. "No matter who blows the horn, the dragons will obey your command."

"Good!" Victarion's satisfaction was evident.

He cast his gaze past the burning docks to the yellow-bricked city beyond, his expression darkening slightly. "A pity the Dragon Queen has already left Yunkai for Meereen. Otherwise, tonight, she would be sharing my bed."

"You'll have your chance soon enough," Moqorro assured him. "The Lord of Light has shown me your glory in the flames."

"The Lord of Light..." Victarion ran his hand over the horn's smooth surface, his tone tinged with newfound reverence. "This splendid offering we made honors both gods. They rise anew in fire, cleansed of mortal corruption, and journey to the Drowned God's watery halls to feast and dance until the seas run dry."

He slung the Dragonbinder over his shoulder and barked an order to his crew:

"Hoist the sails! We sail for Meereen!"

The sails unfurled one after another, immediately catching the fierce winds that propelled the longships forward.

Victarion cast one last glance at Yunkai. The battle within the city was nearing its end, but that no longer concerned him. He had no interest in this yellow-bricked city.

All he wanted now was to find the Dragon Queen, marry her, and return to Westeros with her and her three dragons—

As a king.

---

"Why are the ironborn in Slaver's Bay?"

Quentyn Martell stood on the shore, frowning at the longships bearing golden kraken banners as they disappeared into the horizon.

"Who knows?" said Gerris Drinkwater with a shrug, his golden hair rippling in the hot breeze. "The ironborn raid all the seas they can reach. It's not that strange for them to come plunder Slaver's Bay."

"But Slaver's Bay is so far from the Iron Islands. Did they really cross half the world just to burn a dock?"

"Don't underestimate the wealth of Slaver's Bay, Your Highness..." Gerris trailed off, realizing he'd said too much. Thankfully, none of their companions seemed to notice.

Quentyn was no longer a Dornish prince—he was now a sellsword of the Windblown Company.

Their journey across half the world to find the Dragon Queen had been fraught with hardship. Pirates, storms, thieves, and war had claimed three of their companions and drained their funds.

And still, they hadn't met Daenerys.

They had followed rumors to Qarth, only to learn she had already departed. Then they sailed to Astapor, only to find she had marched to Yunkai. By the time they reached Yunkai, she had moved on to Meereen.

Reflecting on their struggles, Quentyn couldn't help but feel disheartened.

Were the gods mocking him?

But he couldn't give up now.

From sailors' gossip, Quentyn had learned of his father, Prince Doran's, death, and the turmoil that engulfed Dorne.

Grief had clarified the meaning of his father's final letter:

Dorne needed dragons.

He had to marry the Targaryen princess and claim her dragons. Only then could he save Dorne.

"We must go to Meereen!" Quentyn declared with resolute determination.

"Are we leaving the Windblown? Going on our own?" Gerris hesitated.

Slaver's Bay was in chaos, and traveling alone in such a place was exceedingly dangerous.

"We have to leave," Quentyn insisted. "The Windblown have been hired by Yunkai's masters to fight against Daenerys. If I want to win her hand, I can't be her enemy."

Daenerys had executed Yunkai's former masters and freed their slaves, but once she left, new masters had quickly risen to power, re-enslaving the population. The streets of Yunkai were stained with blood and littered with corpses.

The Windblown had been summoned to "restore order" to Yunkai. It was only a matter of time before they were sent against the Dragon Queen.

"Let's move tonight," Gerris suggested. "We can't let anyone notice."

When they joined the Windblown, they had signed a one-year contract. Sneaking away now would be considered treason.

Quentyn nodded tightly, understanding the risk but knowing it was unavoidable.

Before they could leave, a messenger arrived.

"The Prince of Dorne is summoned by the captain-general," the sellsword announced.

Quentyn and Gerris exchanged wary glances.

"Deny everything," Quentyn whispered as they walked to the Windblown leader's tent.

To their relief, they found dozens of other sellswords already gathered inside, most of them Westerosi or of Westerosi descent.

"We have just received word," the captain-general, the Tattered Prince, announced. "The Dragon Queen has taken Meereen. The Yunkai masters have declared war on her, vowing to drive her from Slaver's Bay and restore order."

"Well, let's fight her, then," one sellsword said. "But why are we here? Do you want us Westerosi to lead the charge?"

"No," the Tattered Prince replied. "Your task is to go to Meereen and join Daenerys' army."

The tent fell silent for a moment, then erupted in murmurs.

"You want us to be spies?"

"She won't trust us. Why would she?"

"Why not?" the Tattered Prince countered. "Daario Naharis betrayed his own comrades to join her, and she welcomed him. You're Westerosi; you speak her language, worship her gods. You'll be even more appealing to her."

Quentyn and Gerris exchanged glances, struggling not to laugh.

They had doubted the gods' favor, but this turn of events felt like divine intervention.

Leaving the tent, Gerris murmured, "The gods are with us!"

"Indeed," Quentyn replied, his confidence renewed. "Let us find the dragons!"

---

Meereen, Great Pyramid, Top Garden

Daenerys Targaryen gazed at the twinkling lights of the city below, her emotions a mix of pride and frustration.

She had conquered Meereen, the last city of Slaver's Bay. But Yunkai had fallen back into chaos.

As soon as she left, new masters had risen, re-enslaving the populace.

She had liberated these people, yet they willingly bowed to new masters, the people that put on their chains.

Her anger was directed at the masters, but her disappointment was with the slaves.

Still, she couldn't abandon Meereen to retake Yunkai. Leaving Meereen vulnerable would invite the same disaster.

Perhaps Caesar had been right to oppose changing Slaver's Bay. But Daenerys wasn't ready to give up.

"Your Grace, Green Grace Galazza Galare requests an audience," her handmaid whispered.

"Let her in."

The elderly woman entered, her green robes flowing as she offered a deep bow.

"Your Grace, "If I may be offended, you look a little tired. Did you sleep well?"

Daenerys gave a wry smile. "Not well. Three freedmen were murdered last night, their blood used to paint a harpy."

The Sons of the Harpy were an ever-present threat, assassinating anyone who supported her rule.

Galazza's expression turned grave. "They are blasphemers, Your Grace. We condemn their actions."

Daenerys studied the priestess intently. "Why won't the Meereenese accept me? I've spared them, This time when I entered the city, I didn't kill anyone. I only asked the nobles to hand over hostages. They should be grateful."

"We are certainly grateful for your kindness," Grazdan said, "and thank you for not harming those innocent hostages. The people of Meereen are willing to accept your rule, but we hope that you can also accept our customs."

"I've already put on my tokar." Daenerys fiddled with the slightly cumbersome clothes on her body. "What else do I need to do?"

"They fear change, you're a conquerer across the sea, after all." Galazza said gently. "But there is a way to ease their fears."

"How?"

"You must marry, Your Grace. A nobleman with pure Ghiscari blood will make you one of their own."

Daenerys's eyes narrowed. "And who do you propose?"

"His Grace Hizdahr zo Loraq."

The suggestion was clearly premeditated.

"Thank you for your advice," Daenerys said, her voice distant. Her fingers absently toyed with the silver fringe of her tokar as her gaze drifted into thought.

(End of Chapter)