Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

Euron grinned and raised a finger, speaking softly:

"My asking price isn't high—a single longship. A weapon that can control dragons in exchange for just one ship? That's a bargain."

"Even if you hadn't said it outright, I could have guessed. That weapon must be in that woman's hands," Grazdan said, slapping his palm in frustration. "We all underestimated her—she pretended not to understand Valyrian and deliberately hid her true wealth. Otherwise, with her thirst for the Unsullied, we could have easily tricked that dragon-controlling weapon out of her."

Kraznys' face turned red and then pale as he gritted his teeth. "Send a message to Kayakyan immediately and have them—"

"What can they do?" Euron interrupted with a dismissive wave, sneering. "That wench has thirteen thousand Unsullied now. Do you think Kayakyan's slave soldiers can stop them?"

"There's no need for war. A massive army of nearly fifteen thousand requires food and supplies she can't possibly afford. We can force her to hand over that weapon. What is it exactly? Tell me now!"

Seeing Euron still acting nonchalant, Grazdan's gaze turned dangerous. He threatened, "Remember your place. Don't push us to do what we masters are all too willing to do. If I catch you outside the city or at sea, I'll break you until you're the most obedient slave. You'll even lick my boots and be grateful for it."

If we were at sea, if my Silence were still with me, even if all eight of you fat pigs came at me together, I'd cut off what little you have left and offer it to the Storm God!

That vicious thought flashed through Euron's mind, but he merely shook his head and said,

"One longship, and I'll tell you everything. Likewise, my crew and I need a place to stay—our cooperation depends on it.

"As you said, once we're at sea, who knows if you'll keep your word? Without my own ship, I absolutely refuse to explore Valyrian ruins again."

The eight masters exchanged glances, quickly coming to an unspoken agreement. Kraznys stepped forward and promised,

"A New Ghis warship."

There were three main types of ships at sea. The first was large, flat-bottomed merchant vessels like the Saduleon, which Daenerys had sailed on. These had great cargo capacity and were stable in storms.

However, their size was both a strength and a weakness—they relied entirely on the wind, making them slow, and if the wind died, they were stranded.

The second type was warships, typically longships with both sails and oars. Their prows were reinforced for ramming, allowing them to slice into enemy ships like a blade in boarding battles.

Armed longships were designed to secure naval supremacy. Due to the high-quality timber needed to build them, flagship-tier warships were extremely expensive.

After the Game of Thrones version of the Battle of Red Cliffs, Cersei spent a million gold dragons rebuilding the royal fleet—yet she could only afford a dozen armed longships.

However, longships had narrow hulls and couldn't carry much cargo.

Euron had raided many Eastern merchant ships, but Daenerys hadn't found a single bolt of silk or jar of spices aboard the Silence. Clearly, he had discarded such "cheap" goods—they simply took up too much space.

The third type was oared merchant ships, like Summer's Sun from Blackbeard Grolio's fleet. These had sails, oars, and large cargo holds.

They had some defensive capabilities but were slower and lacked the ramming power to dominate the seas.

Kraznys' promised New Ghis warship was a classic armed longship—the very type Euron desired most.

"Oh? A New Ghis war galley?" Euron's interest piqued. He leaned forward, intrigued. "A new ship or an old one? How many oars?"

"Three hundred oars. In service for over ten years," the slaver replied.

"Ten years?" Euron frowned. Wooden ships could last that long, but "in service" meant it had been actively fighting pirates—who knew how many times it had been damaged?

Perhaps it had been retired from the New Ghis Iron Legion and sold cheaply to the Astapori?

"Fine." He nodded slowly. "That will do. It's a Dragonhorn—"

"Oooooo—"

A deep, mournful horn blast rippled like waves through the pyramid's rooftop garden, sweeping across the entire city of Astapor.

"The Dragonhorn?!" Euron leaped to his feet and strode to the thick granite parapet. One glance beyond the city gates, and his expression changed drastically.

"Damn it! You worthless Ghiscari scum! An army of ten thousand is at your gates, and no one even thought to warn you?!"

The Great Pyramid of Grazdan was only separated from the city gates by Pride Plaza—a mere two hundred meters. From the hundred-meter-high tower, one could clearly see a vast sea of Unsullied standing ready, their swords drawn.

"Report!"

Before Euron's words even faded, a Ghiscari guard in a yellow silk cloak stumbled up the steps, panting. With a trembling voice, he cried,

"Master, bad news! The Queen of Westeros has brought the Unsullied to attack!"

"What?!"

The masters, still struggling to process the sudden turn of events, were struck dumb.

"She's gone mad! Why would she do this?"

Kraznys staggered down from his high-backed wooden chair, his luxurious tokar slipping from his shoulders. He took one look below—and collapsed like a pile of rags.

"This isn't possible… This…" he muttered in a daze. "Just yesterday, she gifted each of us a precious dragonbone scepter—why would she attack Astapor?"

Something clicked in Euron's mind, and he asked urgently,

"When did she send the gifts?"

"Before she left."

"Bullshit! You idiots! That was a guest gift—a clear sign that your relationship was over!"

Euron was furious. How could they miss such an obvious warning?

These greedy slavers had squeezed every last gold dragon out of her. Only a fool would send gifts out of gratitude.

"She hasn't attacked yet," Grazdan suddenly snapped to his senses, clinging to a sliver of hope. He grabbed the messenger by the collar and shouted desperately,

"Is she trying to extort passage money?"

"No!" The Ghiscari guard's black-and-red hair stood on end as he wailed through his tears,

"It's over. We're all finished. She doesn't want a single coin—she's here to kill every last slave master."

As he spoke, he held up a rolled parchment.

One of the slavers took it, unrolling it to reveal words written in High Valyrian. The title read:

"The Seven Grievances."

The first few lines condemned slavery as cruel, inhumane, and an affront to the gods—all things Grazdan could barely comprehend.

But the last two lines left him baffled.

"An obstacle to civilization."

"A hindrance to social harmony."

What the hell did that even mean?

Yuron leaned in for a look. He had no idea what "civilizational development" or "social harmony" meant. Scratching his nose, he guessed, "The Targaryen family converted to the Faith of the Seven three hundred years ago. That whore probably worships the Seven too. For believers of the Seven, 'seven' is the luckiest number, so she forced the charges to add up to seven."

"Hiss—Gah—Hiss—Gah—"

Suddenly, the Great Masters instinctively felt darkness overhead.

"Boom!"

A muffled thud echoed as flakes of "snow" drifted from the sky.

"Look! A dragon—it's her dragon!" Yuron looked up to see a black dragon circling about 50 meters above, scattering small white papers from the sky.

"We need to get inside the pyramid!" The scabbed skin on his face burned faintly as Yuron rushed into the stone stairway.

The eight Great Masters weren't as quick to react. Seeing a real dragon for the first time in their lives, they froze, staring at the sky in awe.

Dany remained in her dragon dream, dropping leaflets over the pyramid while also scouting enemy positions.

After all, aside from the Unsullied, Apóst had thousands of city guards, and the Great Masters had their own slave soldiers.

Seeing the eight Great Masters partying on the pyramid's rooftop with Yuron, without a single archer in sight, Drogon dived from above.

"Boom—"

A surge of dragonfire instantly engulfed three Great Masters and six of their attendants.

"Ahhh—!"

Jolted from their daze, the remaining five scrambled, wailing, and crawled toward the corridor.

"Hiss—Gah—Boom—"

This time, Drogon locked onto Grazdan, swooping low over his head and leaving a trail of flame seven or eight meters long.

"Ahhh—!"

Grazdan's eyeballs and nose melted in the crimson dragonfire, like wax meeting intense heat.

"Hiss—Gah—"

Drogon circled in frustration as Kraznys and two other Great Masters escaped into the passage, then roared and flew toward the next pyramid.

Across all 18 pyramids in the city, 500 copies of the Declaration of Freedom rained down:

"I am the Mother of Dragons, the enemy of slavery, the Mother of Freedom. In the name of my army of thirteen thousand Unsullied and my three great dragons, I declare—you are free. Take up your swords and slay your masters. Remember, freedom must be won by your own hands, even if it means shouting just once: 'I want freedom! Freedom forever!'"

Dany dropped no leaflets anywhere but the pyramids.

The Unsullied could take the city easily, but each pyramid was a fortress on its own.

Few slaves could read. Even if they found a leaflet, most wouldn't understand it—but the slave masters would.

The leaflets were meant for the Ghiscari. They would carry Dany's message to the slaves, whether by tightening their chains, whipping them harder to break their will, or instilling enough fear to prevent rebellion.

Slaves were human. They understood expressions, could read the subtlest emotions of their masters—those who couldn't had long been hanged on the punishment racks in the central square.

Every time a slave sensed fear growing in their master's heart, their own fear diminished. When fear was finally gone, courage took its place.

Dany divided her forces into three: securing the northern main gate, the eastern gate near the Worm River, and the western docks.

Suddenly, atop the northern city walls, a Ghiscari soldier in a bronze helmet appeared. Shield raised, he shouted through a metal horn at the unmoving army below:

"Unsullied! Protect your masters! Defend your city! Kill that oath-breaking Westerosi whore!"

Five thousand Unsullied stood as still as stone statues, only the black dragon banners flapping in the sea breeze.

(End of Chapter)

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