( ACT II; the age of the dragon. )
⟵ ◊ ⟶
chapter 11: one-hundred and sixty-three miles.

MEREEN would be the final destination during their liberation of Slaver's Bay and likely the hardest to defeat. With Yunkai and Astapor liberated, Mereen remained as the last and most powerful stronghold along the bay. They would not go down without a fight, Daenerys knew, but with the help of the Second Son's along with the Unsullied she hoped they would be victorious in the end. They had to be, with their dragons not nearly large enough o contribute to the effort.

Daenerys stood with her arms crossed, a smirk of amusement playing at her lips as she watched Daario Naharis and Grey Worm contesting their endurance, which they have been doing since midnight. She'd found them shortly after being readied for the trek to Mereen to continue. She'd set out from her tent early, which was currently finishing up being deconstructed. Either of them would likely escort her to find her brother before the march set off once more.

The two sat on the ground facing each other while holding their weapons by the blade between their palms, their eyes never leaving each other as they concentrated and fought the exhaustion that had likely set upon them hours ago. They weren't holding mere daggers; no, they clasped their palms against the blades of their swords. Daenerys could only imagine the burning that surged through their muscles.

"And what is it that you two are doing?" She grinned as she continued to watch them.

"Ah, gambling, my princess," the sellsword tightened his lips as he concentrated harder.

"And what exactly are you gambling for?" She asked in amusement.

"We are deciding who will ride with the vanguard, princess," Grey Worm replied in his heavy accent. "The sellsword wished to ride alongside you, but I told him it is my duty."

"And I see it has sprung this game of endurance, then," she chuckled.

"I will tell you," Vaegon voice sounded behind her as he entered the tent. "That the honor is to Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan, who have not kept this host waiting all morning." He wore a cotton linen doublet of blue to keep him cool during the march, a skill they'd acquired since they first entered the desert-tropical environment of Slaver's Bay. "Instead, you two will ride at the back of army. With the livestock."

His statement earned the exasperated groans of the two warriors. Then Vaegon said, "And the last one holding his sword will find a new king to serve."

They dropped the blades immediately, the tips sinking into the ground with a soft thud.

Vaegon chuckled at the sight of their panic, much to Daenerys's surprise. She knew how much her brother had already grown to resent Daario. She hoped he hadn't heard his desire to ride alongside her.

The entertaining event of watching the sellsword and the Unsullied commander gamble had been enough to spur Daenerys into a somewhat pleasant mood by the time they were back on the trek toward Mereen, the entirety of their army filing miles behind them. She spent time riding alongside her companion, Missandei, have general discussions to feel a little bit of normalcy despite leading an army toward their next target.

The Naathi woman assured Daenerys that Mereen would be wise to fear their approach considering the last three victories they'd had. The princess hoped that we're the case, but didn't expect for an easy defeat.

Upon the first rest that the host took to allow the Unsullied marching on foot to recover, Daenerys found herself on a grassy cliffside not too far off to cool herself of the wretched heat. Their dragons flew over head, lazy in their flight but still chasing after each other in playfulness.

Her violet eyes are drawn to Daario, who has made his way up the hill to visit with her. His hand remains behind his back until he stops next to her, presenting a bouquet of freshly picked wild flowers for her.

She sighed, expressing her annoyance at the small token of affection.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Daario Naharis," she muttered, crossing her arms and diverting her gaze back to the soaring dragons.

"Is it a crime to present a bouquet of flowers to a beautiful princess?" Daario exclaimed, still offering them to her. She eyed for a moment in contemplation before taking them from his hand.

"Vaegon would not react kindly to such behavior," she muttered, eyes narrowed. "The last man that tried to take me for wife is locked in a vault in Qarth."

Daario chuckled. "I do not make this offer as a way of disrespecting His Grace by expecting the princess to marry a commoner such as I," the sellsword exclaimed. "Though the statement of you being a beautiful princess still stands, I offer these flowers for a different reason. They are to paint a portrait for you, for various reasons such as to understand your surroundings as royalty, as a conqueror. A skill you could perhaps teach your brother."

She wondered for a moment if he was truly there to offer advice without having to approach Vaegon directly, but somewhere else she knew he'd been eyeing since he'd first joined them. She'd seen it in the longing glances he gave her, the way he would witness her tending to their dragons. She was no fool.

"Perhaps so," she murmured, her gaze not leaving the sellsword as they stood there. "My brother is very protective of me, to say the least. The only advice I can give you is to tread lightly. I know you've seen what he can do to a man."

She referred to the infiltration of Yunkai that she'd been briefed about by Ser Jorah. That experience alone was enough for the sellsword to understand how dangerous he was without her even mentioning his time with the street fighting in Pentos.

"His Grace is indeed lethal," Daario agreed with a raise of his brows. "He used a spear as an extension of himself. Though if I may be so blunt, princess, does he do the same with you?"

Daenerys' expression froze as she looked at him. Her cheeks grew hot and she felt her heart thundering in her chest the longer his words ruminated in her mind.

Vaegon was always protective of her, even in situations where he wasn't able to do anything, such as her marriage to Drogo and the events that followed. Yet, now that she was without out a husband or an heir of her own as an extension of her late husband, there was nothing stopping Vaegon from taking her to wife. Why then, did he string her along? Give her indirect answers of their future while never truly answering her questions? Was he so indecisive about his wants that he couldn't give her the decency to be together or move on. She hated to consider the thought.

We were always meant to burn together, though, she thought to herself.

"That is a bold accusation to make for someone who has been in our company for such a short time, let alone learned anything about us," she said through her teeth.

"I know the Targaryen's practiced the old Valyrian customs of marriage within the family," Daario shrugged, unbothered by the truth of she and Vaegon's heritage. "I merely wonder if that will be the case with you and him, or will you wait the rest of your life to find out the answer to that question?"

She couldn't decide if it was Daario's attempt at getting in her head, to somehow convince her that he was a better option than Vaegon. She would do as she pleased, she'd promised herself long ago, and no amount of convincing would have her making any sort of relational decisions.

She cleared her throat and did not look at him. "Thank you for your counsel, I will take it into consideration."

She dropped the bundle of flowers on the ground before beginning her trek back to the army, to her horse. She left Daario where he stood as he looked after her.

♜

VAEGON found the Lady Stark to be far more interesting than he'd previously realized. She had much to say, a fairly lonely person it seemed yet he would never say it to her face. He'd been fortunate enough to not experience the level of loneliness she had, as he'd always had Daenerys. The closest he'd ever gotten to it was the time in which they lived in the Great Grass Sea with the Dothraki. He hated thinking of the particular point in his life when Daenerys had chosen her captor of a husband over him.

During the stretch of marching between the first rest period and the point at which they would camp for the night, the king had spent quite some time learning about the northern woman as they rode alongside each other to pass the time. The quaintness of the life she explained reminded him of his younger years, when they'd been living in the streets and scavenging for food until Magister Illyrio found them and took them in. Perhaps not the same severity of troubling times, but he couldn't imagine having the weight of being a bastard on his shoulders, no less a woman. He found her to be strong.

He learned she had a twin brother named Jon, donning the same dark hair and eyes she did and they both had direwolves as their other true born siblings did, hers being at the Wall in the north with him while he remained with the Night's Watch. His wolf was a white beast named Ghost, while hers was named Ryder, a pelt of charcoal. After a kind boy she'd met in the small town south of Winterfell, she'd told him.

He'd seen the enthusiasm in her eyes as she talked about her desires in life, of what she wished for herself and her future. He even took the time to tell her about street fighting he did in Pentos to pass time and the joy he found in wielding a spear. The spark of happiness had been enough to make his heart feel full, up until the point at which the army came to a sudden halt. The reason for the change was more than enough for Vaegon to temporarily forget what they'd been speaking about as he quickly slid off his horse and made his way toward the front of the vanguard.

On a makeshift cross, a small girl of no more than ten was nailed to the wood, her head dropping and her left arm pointed toward the direction they were marching. Toward Mereen. A leather collar still clasped to her neck, the site made him think of a hound. Her skin was beginning to grey and crack, her lips peeling back from her teeth as decomposition began to assume.

He felt a pit of utter fury fill him as he tried to maintain his composure. Raina appeared at his side, her eyes wide and her complexion near white at the sight of the crucified slave girl.

He turned quickly to warn Jorah or Barristan to prevent Daenerys from reaching the point, but he was too late. She was already standing at the head of vanguard, expression black as her violet eyes rested on the poor girl.

Jorah came after Daenerys as she met them to stand before the cross. His expression grim, he looked down the road.

"It appears there is one for every mile marker from here to Mereen," he stated solemnly, pointing. "One-hundred and sixty-three miles."

Vaegon squinted his eyes enough to see a tiny figure down the dirt road, hard to see but obviously another one of the slaves. He clenched his jaw.

"We can have outriders go ahead and bury them before we reach them," Barristan suggested after he too had arrived to the grisly scene.

Immediately, Daenerys objected. "No," she stated sternly. The emotion she felt was apparent in her eyes, in her voice. "They will be removed and their collars taken off before they are buried. But not until I have seen every face from here to Mereen."

Vaegon never intercepted any demands about what Daenerys wanted to do about the slavery. She had been the one with the desire to destroy the practice in the first place. If she wished to see each one before they were buried, then so be it.

"See to it she is buried with the instructions the princess has put out," Vaegon uttered to Jorah and Barristan. Grey Worm and Daario were still at the back of the army, unaware of the ghastly discovery.

"Keep the collars," he muttered, his eyes still trained on the slave girl. "I have use of them."