Chapter 38 – Varys's Little Birds
Watching Mero bleed without end, Daenerys showed no intention of calling for someone to bandage him.
He had provoked her again and again. She had long wanted to order Jorah and the others to seize him—but she knew she could not. Burning the Good Masters in the pits of Astapor had been a last resort.
If she acted that way again, no one would ever trust her. She would be branded a queen who broke her word and relied only on brute force.
Facing Drogon's calm, unblinking gaze, Daario and Prendahl stood frozen despite having drawn their weapons. They were certain that if they so much as raised a blade, Mero's fate would become theirs—perhaps even worse.
Mero had long since lost his earlier arrogance. He tore a strip from the hem of his clothes and wrapped it around his neck. Drogon had not cut through his throat—only carved brutally across the cartilage of his larynx.
"Captain Mero," Daenerys said with a smile, looking at the blood soaking his chest, "how much is the Wise Master of Yunkai paying you? I can offer double. You can still speak, can't you?"
"I… we—cough—y-you…" Mero winced in agony the moment he tried to speak and pointed shakily at Prendahl.
"The Second Sons have survived this long because we keep our word," Prendahl replied coldly. "If we didn't, we'd have disbanded years ago. Besides, you don't have more coin than the Wise Masters of Yunkai."
"I can give you what they cannot—lands and titles," Daenerys countered. "And once we begin the assault on Yunkai, do you really think you'll still get paid?"
Her gaze swept across the three captains.
"Mother of Dragons," Daario interjected politely, "with respect—eight thousand Unsullied alone won't make you Queen of Westeros."
"You're right," Daenerys replied calmly. "My dragons are growing. My army will grow with them. Joining now would not be too late."
Daario smiled faintly, nodded, and looked toward Mero without responding.
"Don't—don't y—" Mero tried to speak again, but pain stole his voice. Prendahl spoke for him.
"We have cavalry and infantry, all battle-hardened. We won't be easy to deal with."
"You know how formidable my Unsullied are," Daenerys said evenly. "Do you truly believe two thousand can defeat eight thousand? Or are you planning to take the Wise Masters' gold—and run when the fighting turns against you?"
"You filthy—" Mero began, then stopped short at the sight of Drogon. Swallowing hard, he spat out, "W-we'll see… on the battlefield."
After the three men departed, Daenerys frowned slightly, considering her next move. Negotiations with both the Wise Masters and the Second Sons had failed. A direct assault was now her only option—an outcome she had hoped to avoid.
At that moment, an Unsullied soldier entered and handed a scroll to Grey Worm.
After questioning the soldier briefly, Grey Worm passed it to Barristan.
"Our patrols spotted a small boy near the edge of the camp," he explained. "When they gave chase, the boy fled, leaving only this scroll behind."
Barristan examined it. There was no wax seal—only a simple cord tied around it. Finding nothing suspicious, he handed it to Daenerys.
She read it once, her expression a mixture of relief and concern, then passed it to Jorah and the others. The message was written in Valyrian; even Grey Worm could read it.
"It's from one of Varys's little birds," Barristan said, recognizing the agreed-upon mark.
"With so many guards on the walls and the Second Sons camped outside," Jorah frowned, "how did a child get this close?"
"The boy didn't come from Yunkai," Grey Worm replied, having learned Jorah's words from Missandei. "He came from somewhere beyond the city."
His Common Tongue was still rough—but his meaning was clear.
After Grey Worm finished speaking, they understood that the boy must have slipped out of Yunkai before its defenses were fully sealed—or had used some other hidden route.
The contents of the letter had already been passed around. According to it, Yunkai possessed a small postern gate, meant for those who needed to enter or leave after the main gates were closed at night. However, it was now under heavy guard.
"Even if the postern gate can be used," Jorah said after reading the letter, "the guards are far more numerous than before. Sending too few people would be risky."
"The postern gate can only admit a limited number of men," Barristan added. "Anyone sent must be an elite fighter."
After hearing everyone's assessments, Daenerys sighed softly.
"Once the Second Sons are dealt with, we'll enter through the postern gate. No matter how difficult, it's still better than suffering massive losses in a direct siege."
Though a clash with the Second Sons now seemed inevitable, reducing casualties during the assault on Yunkai was at least a small consolation.
They agreed to launch the attack on the Second Sons the following night. Once the details were finalized, everyone returned to their tents.
Irri prepared a delicate meal for Daenerys: fine pastries, savory dishes, a small bowl of beet soup, a plate of plums, and two bottles of red wine.
Drogon had already eaten his fill on the grasslands and only took a few plums as snacks. Daenerys rarely drank, but with a battle looming, she decided a little wine might ease her worries.
Red wine was hardly suited to the way Drogon ate meat. He still preferred fermented mare's milk and a fiery liquor whose ingredients he never quite identified—sharp on the throat, but once it settled in his belly, even his dragonfire seemed hotter.
Since Daenerys rarely drank, Drogon naturally kept her company. Before she had even finished one glass, he had already downed two.
He was used to eating and drinking in great gulps while in his full-grown form on the plains. Sipping slowly was something he simply couldn't manage. A bottle of wine disappeared in only a few swallows.
Worried about the coming battle, Daenerys drank more than she intended. Half a bottle later, she was slightly tipsy, lying on the bed with her head resting unconsciously against Drogon's side.
In her hazy state, she thought of the mother whose face she had never seen; of Rhaegar, the brother she had never met; of Viserys, who used to crawl into her bed as a child and tell her stories of the Seven Kingdoms. She even found herself missing her father, Aerys—the Mad King.
Thinking of them, a deep loneliness washed over her. Once, the dragonlords had spread across four continents. Now, she alone remained.
At that moment, she felt she was still that little girl who had always wanted to go home—yet had no idea where home truly was.
She was hailed as the Mother of Dragons, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She meant to reclaim the Iron Throne, to reclaim Westeros. Perhaps only then would she truly have a home again.
But could she really return to Westeros and sit the Iron Throne?
Though she constantly encouraged herself, made reclaiming the throne her purpose, facing Yunkai alone had already made her hesitate. She feared failure. She feared losing the Unsullied she had just gained—losing so many that she would no longer have the strength to sail west. She even regretted not listening to Jorah earlier, not abandoning Yunkai.
Hiss.
[You still have me.]
Sensing her loneliness—and seeing himself reflected in it—Drogon nudged the back of her hand gently.
Hearing his thoughts and feeling the warmth of his body, Daenerys wiped at the corner of her eye. Strength flowed back into her.
She was not alone.
She had Drogon. She had Rhaegal and Viserion. She had Jorah. She had Barristan Selmy, her father's Kingsguard. She had Missandei, Grey Worm, and her small khalasar.
Yunkai was merely her first true battle. After this would come Meereen, then the liberation of all Slaver's Bay. After that, she would cross the Narrow Sea and face King's Landing and the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms themselves.
If a single city like Yunkai could frighten her into retreat, what right did she have to claim the Iron Throne?
Daenerys felt herself become a queen again—the queen Jorah and the others believed in.
"Thank you, Drogon," she said sincerely, holding him close.
Without him, she would have lost everything in Qarth—her greatest pillar, her greatest hope. Without him, there would be no Barristan, no Unsullied, no path to the Iron Throne.
Watching Daenerys regain her confidence, Drogon swore silently to himself:
He would never allow history to repeat itself.
He would clear every obstacle from her path and see the Dragon Queen seated upon the Iron Throne.