The sea shifted with the weather, but the Free Bay fleet had been fortunate. For over half a month, they had sailed without encountering any
The sea shifted with the weather, but the Free Bay fleet had been fortunate. For over half a month, they had sailed without encountering any storms, maintaining a steady pace throughout.
Drogo's flagship, Dragon Gallop, led the fleet with its sails fully unfurled, snapping in the shifting wind. The oarsmen rowed in perfect unison—so precise that the gap between ships never exceeded thirty yards, maintaining a strict battle formation. Drogo took great pride in that.
Due to his urgent timeline, just over a hundred warships had been seaworthy by the time of departure. Nearly twenty thousand warriors and thousands of horses were packed into them, making the ships feel cramped.
Another reason for the lack of space was the heavy armament on board.
Each ship's deck was lined with ballistae on both sides. Catapults stood at the bow and stern, along with barrels of burning pitch, stone projectiles, and other weapons of war.
The warriors had never seen naval combat before, but none of them complained. Proper armament gave them peace of mind—life, after all, was more important than comfort.
After days of standing, lying, or sitting in the same narrow quarters, Drogo and Daenerys had grown weary. They missed the feeling of firm ground underfoot, of walking among the crowds.
Along the way, they had seen nothing but barren islands. According to the navigational charts shared by the captains, they were now approaching the straits governed by Qarth.
Experienced sailors pointed out that their first supply stop, Banna Island, was near.
The sailors explained that the merchants on the island were infamous for their greed. They catered to every vice—musical and dance performances, magic shows, acrobatics, and more unspeakable indulgences. The island's main attraction, however, was its natural hot springs, complete with skilled masseuses.
Hot springs were excellent for relieving fatigue. Drogo was fond of that kind of relaxation, and Daenerys looked forward to it too—her smooth, delicate skin had been dried out by the sea wind and longed for the soothing touch of flower-strewn waters.
Suddenly, a wisp of gray-white smoke appeared on the horizon, where sea met sky. As they approached, the source became clear.
It was a towering lighthouse engulfed in flame, guiding sailors to the supply station.
To avoid trouble or being mistaken for an invading force by Banna Island's hired guards, Drogo ordered the fleet to stop rowing. He and Daenerys, accompanied by their bloodriders, boarded a lifeboat and headed ashore.
With each stroke of the oars, Banna Island grew larger. Drogo could now make out the outline of its hills and a massive fortress of black stone, adorned with gargoyle carvings.
The island was small but strategically situated. The harbor was crowded with ships, rocking gently beside the breakwater like stars on the sea.
Before entering the port, the sailors took in the sails and rowed the rest of the way. After mooring the boat, they were quickly approached by an overly enthusiastic Lysene man.
Drogo guessed he was either a recruiter for one of the local inns or a guide looking for a tip.
On such a tiny island, who needed a guide? At a signal from Drogo, Ago cracked his whip with a sharp snap, bursting the air just above the man's head.
Startled, the Lysene man turned and fled, cursing and spitting as he ran off toward another dock.
By nightfall, Banna Island was ablaze with light. Even the thick tree canopy couldn't hide its glow.
Crowds surged through the streets, surrounding the song and dance stages several layers deep.
There were lovers openly caressing each other. Daenerys blushed furiously. She wanted to watch but was too embarrassed to stare openly. She stole glances now and then, blinking shyly. Drogo couldn't help but chuckle. Curiosity was natural—he didn't scold her for it.
In such a festive atmosphere, it was easy to forget one's troubles.
Not wanting to attract too much attention, the royal couple didn't squeeze through the crowds to get a closer view.
Instead, they found a small open-air food stall. They ordered roasted apples and a whole lamb, washed down with cheap wine pretending to be Arbor gold. Nearby, a high-pitched singer belted out scandalous songs.
Suddenly, a loud BOOM! erupted from the performance area—above the heads of the crowd, a flaming ladder appeared out of thin air!
It was a magical surprise that delighted their party, especially since they hadn't dared to join the crowd for a closer look.
The fiery ladder shot up nearly thirty feet before holding its shape. A black-robed magician climbed swiftly like a monkey, hand over hand. Each rung disappeared behind him in a puff of silver smoke. When he reached the top, both he and the ladder vanished into thin air.
"Ah!"
Daenerys, still girlish at heart, gasped in awe. Her violet eyes went wide, and she quickly clamped a hand over her rosy lips.
The bloodriders, unaccustomed to such wonders, murmured their praise. "Amazing!"
But Drogo, who had seen many such tricks in past and present lives, scoffed. "Just illusions."
At that moment, a soft, cold woman's voice whispered by his ear: "Not an illusion—real magic."
"Who's there?!"
The voice wasn't Daenerys's—it lacked her gentle tone. Drogo sprang up, looking around, but saw no one nearby.
Rakharo stood and warned the others, "Something's wrong."
Daenerys looked startled. "What is it?"
Drogo concealed his unease and waved it off. "Too much time at sea. I'm hearing things—don't worry."
After enjoying their first fresh meal in weeks, Drogo led the way to a seaside bathhouse. For a few gold coins, they reserved two private rooms.
Though they were husband and wife, Daenerys preferred Missandei's assistance. Drogo, afraid of making a fool of himself in front of his wife while the beautiful Naathi girl was present, decided to bathe alone.
He lay back in a hot spring that would have scalded most men, but to Drogo it was blissfully soothing. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift.
Suddenly, a strong breeze stirred the gauzy curtain that veiled the ocean view. Then came the sound of water being disturbed.
A graceful figure approached—clad in sheer red robes, hooded, and masked. Her wooden mask, painted a deep crimson, concealed her face except for her large, glistening eyes.
Alarmed, Drogo leapt to his feet and seized the Valyrian arakh by the poolside.
"You must be the Shadowbinder from Asshai!" he shouted. "Dragonfire should've turned you to ash—how are you still alive?!"
The woman showed no fear. She kept walking calmly and replied in a cool, steady voice:
"The Shadowbinders died to dragonfire—but not I. I am blessed by the gods. My shadow was given life. What died… was only my shadow."
Her words made Drogo look again—and in the bright bathhouse lights, just as she claimed, the woman had no shadow.
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🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
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