Boom!
The tallest of the Fourteen Flames suddenly erupted with even more violent surges of magma, expanding the devastation nearly twofold and forcing the dragons to flap their wings in frenzy and retreat back to the sea.
With the dragons returning, Drogo immediately gave the order to weigh anchor and set sail at full speed, putting as much distance as possible between them and the cursed land.
Daenerys listened intently, not missing a single sound. She could discern the emotions in her children's cries.
Once she was sure all three had returned safely, her heart eased. She closed her eyes and sank into an even deeper darkness.
Suddenly, something struck her on the head, rousing her from her stupor. When she opened her eyes, a wave of blackness nearly made her faint again.
There, at the ventilation slit, was a long-missing glimmer of light—just a faint candle flame, but light nonetheless.
As her eyes adjusted through her fingers to the brightness, she saw a hooded, masked figure behind the flame. The man's visible eyes were pale blue—light, icy, and emotionless.
There were deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, a clear sign of age.
Daenerys thought to herself, "Pale blue eyes… Who is he?"
Many people in the Free Cities, like those from Tyrosh, had such eye colors. Not uncommon among the fleet, though none had ever gotten close to her, despite their desires.
But if this man wore a mask, then he was clearly not aligned with the rest of this grand fleet. Daenerys said nothing, waiting—she knew he'd grow impatient. Before the next sentry passed, he'd reveal his purpose.
As she predicted, the man soon spoke.
"Princess Daenerys, do you wish to escape this dark, filthy cell?"
The masked man spoke in the Common Tongue of Westeros. His voice was hauntingly familiar.
"You're Jon Connington!" Daenerys exclaimed.
The man did not confirm directly. "You are very clever, Your Grace."
Daenerys narrowed her eyes, both confused and perceptive. "Former commander of the Golden Company… If I escape this cell, where would I go?"
The exiled Hand of the King answered solemnly, "Anywhere you wish—even to King's Landing, to claim the Iron Throne. We are your strongest supporters."
Then, sounding somewhat indignant, he corrected her, "Former commander? No, Your Grace, you are mistaken. I have always been the commander of the Golden Company. I never relinquished that role."
Daenerys remembered seeing Jon Connington and Carey standing together in camaraderie. She had seen it from atop her dragon as she hovered between the two armies.
That memory led her to believe that her brother Rhaegar's old friend must have made a secret deal with Carey, reclaiming the Golden Company from within.
Still, she asked, "Then what of Carey?"
Connington glanced around cautiously, then replied with some agitation, "It was Carey's duty to support the true dragon. I played a crucial role in all of this. He understands—his position came from Drogo, but I can take it back at any time. The Golden Company never truly belonged to that barbarian of the Great Grass Sea. The Golden Company is the finest mercenary force in the world. A century ago, it was founded by Bittersteel, a bastard of King Aegon the Unworthy. When noble bastards sought to challenge the legitimacy of trueborn heirs, Bittersteel joined the Blackfyre Rebellion. After Daemon Blackfyre and his rebels were crushed at the Battle of the Redgrass Field, the survivors—refusing to bend the knee—crossed the Narrow Sea. Among them were Daemon's young sons, Bittersteel, and many landless lords and knights. With nowhere else to turn, they sold their swords. Some joined the Ragged Standard Company, others the Second Sons or the Company of the Maidens. Bittersteel saw the Blackfyre cause fracturing, so he founded the Golden Company to unite the exiles. Since then, they've lived in the disputed lands, fighting minor wars for Myr, Lys, or Tyrosh, while dreaming of reclaiming the lands their fathers lost. They are sons of exile, unforgiven and rootless, but feared nonetheless. And for those who long to return home, their hearts still beat for the blood of the dragon. Even now, the wealthy Magister of Pentos supports them—only the true dragon can fulfill their dreams."
Daenerys felt alone—she trusted no one anymore.
"That fat cheesemonger," she said bitterly, "He gave me to the strongest Khal as a gift—how can I trust him? Drogo's wealth now rivals Illyrio's, and he is generous. Mercenaries fight for coin, don't they? And those so-called Golden Company elders who long for home are long gone. The Company is a mixed rabble now. Do they truly still support House Targaryen?"
Connington hesitated, then answered, "Wealth no longer satisfies the cheesemonger. He craves greater power. That is why you must not doubt his loyalty to the pure-blooded heirs of Aegon. Only the Mother of Dragons can give him what he desires. As for the Company's allegiance—that rests solely with me."
Daenerys snapped, "And he, like me, desires the Iron Throne! The true dragon he wishes to back—is it not that soft-faced boy Aegon VI? The one who wants to possess me… and my dragons? I'm nothing more than a plaything to you men. A girl of tears, used as a stepping stone to power!"
Then she laughed coldly, "But the good news is—Aegon VI is already dead."
Connington's face darkened with sorrow. "The boy you knew is gone. What remains is someone reborn with a heart of stone. Your Grace, he is your ideal consort—the only one who can preserve the pure dragon bloodline."
Daenerys laughed bitterly.
"Ha… ha… ha…"
"Shhh! Quiet, please!" Connington hissed, afraid the sentries would hear. "My poor princess…"
Daenerys stopped laughing, then murmured, full of grief, "Because of Drogo, I can no longer bear children. Even if every man in the world were to have me, Hand, your cherished union is no longer possible."
Jon Connington's brow furrowed. The once-proud heir of Valyria now stank of excrement and madness.
"Your Grace," he whispered, "A prison break now would draw too much attention and lead to heavy casualties. Unless your dragons answer only to you, we must wait. Once the fleet enters the Bay of Tears, that is when your freedom shall come."
With a final whisper, whoosh—Connington blew out the candle, crouched down, and disappeared into the shadows.
In the darkness, Daenerys slowly shook her head and muttered with disdain, "I don't need help from clowns like you to escape. My children will free me. I am the Bride of Flame—each time I burn, I am reborn. But when I've burned away all filth, when I embrace my children and my freedom once more… where will I go? Who is left to trust? The dragon has three heads… must I ride alone and burn away the usurpers' reign?"
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🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
📢 Fire and Blood! 📢
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