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Chapter 31: Shackles of Gold
🕑 Added 2025-09-08 07:46:39 +0000 UTCDaenerys looked at the broken man before her and felt a strange, detached pity. Jorah Mormont’s story was a tragedy, yes, but she was no stranger to tragedy. Her own life, the life of the girl whose body she inhabited, had been a litany of loss. She had no time to dwell on the sorrows of the past; the present was too demanding.
"Lynesse is a Hightower, is she not?" Dany recalled. "The captain of my ancestor’s Kingsguard, the legendary 'White Bull,' Ser Gerold Hightower… he was of that house."
"He was her great-uncle," Jorah confirmed.
"And her actions brought no shame upon such a noble family?" she asked, unable to comprehend the different rules of this world.
"I am the one who shamed my house!" he said, the words torn from him in a spasm of pain. "I am the one without honor!"
"Did she ever return to them?"
"She is now the chief concubine of the trade prince Tregar Ormollen," Jorah said, the name like a stone in his throat. "It is said she is his most beloved."
Dany had to press on. This was a wound that needed to be fully lanced. "Did you see her again? After you returned from the Rhoyne?"
The pain in Jorah’s eyes deepened. The man who was a tower of strength seemed ready to crumble. "The trade prince is a powerful man. He sent word to me while I was still on the road to Lys." He couldn't meet her eyes. "He made it clear that I was to see the situation for what it was… and not make a nuisance of myself. He said if I were to bother them, it would not be long before I… disappeared."
"And you were afraid of his threats?"
"No!" the knight insisted, his head snapping up. "I only made certain that she was not being held against her will. Once I knew she was safe, and had made her choice… I left."
She had likely made her choice long before you left, Dany thought with a touch of cynicism. "And do you still love her?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"Love?" He spat the word out as if it were poison. "Love and hate." He seemed to shrink into himself. "Your Grace, I am tired. Please, allow me to leave."
"Wait," she said, stopping him. The time for games was over. "Do you have feelings for me that go beyond those of a knight for his queen?"
His expression was a complex mask of shame and a strange, hopeful relief. He had been seen. "The first time I saw you," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper, "I thought how much you looked like her."
The answer was a punch to the gut. Zero points, a cold, angry voice in her head declared. You absolute fool.
"I am nothing like her," she said, her voice flat and final. "And even with Drogo gone, I will not marry another man." The dead Khal was a stranger to her, but he made for an excellent shield.
Jorah’s face fell, but he understood. He bowed his head deeply. "Your Grace, I am your Queensguard. That is all." With heavy steps, he turned and left the tower.
The next morning, she took her children outside the city walls. On her back was a remodeled wicker basket. From it, three snake-like necks emerged, the dragons hissing and crying out as they twisted around her waist and shoulders. The sun was just rising, filling the dead city with a thin, silent mist.
Her dragons could fly, but it was not enough. She remembered the clumsy, lumbering beasts from the stories of her old world and worried. A dragon that could not turn quickly, that was weak on the ground, whose wings were as fragile as rags… how could such a creature conquer the world?
Last night, she had melted down Drogo's gold medals, forging them into small, heavy chains. Now, she took the black dragon from the basket and carefully fastened a chain, as thick as her little finger, to each of his shins.
"Come, Dahei," she said. "You are the eldest. Show your brothers how it is done." She held him up and threw him into the air.
Flap, flap… THUMP.
He struggled, his wings beating furiously against the weight, but he managed only ten meters before falling headfirst into the sand.
Hiss! He turned his head and let out a grievously wounded cry.
"Crawl back yourself," she said, not looking at him as she began to fasten the golden shackles onto the white dragon.
Flap… THUMP.
The white dragon did even worse, tracing a short parabola before smacking into the ground.
HISSSS-FWOOSH! Enraged, he shot a thin stream of red flame into the sky.
"Do not waste your energy," she shouted. "Come back and try again."
He ignored her, stumbling around in a circle, flapping his wings and spitting fire indiscriminately. Annoyed, Dany strode over and gave his small head a sharp rap with her knuckles.
Gyaaas! he shrieked, snapping at her, his own fury matching hers.
Unlike with Dahei, she could not use her mind to soothe the white and green dragons. The training was a frustrating, hands-on process. With a sigh, she bent down, took his body in her hands, and forced him to stand upright, walking him back to the basket step by step. She would not carry him. The first time she carried him would lead to a second, and a third. They had to learn to be strong on the ground.
After a morning of weighted flight training, she did not remove the chains. She carried them on her back as she went to find them their meal. Avanti and his old herdsmen now served as the dragons’ hunters, spotting small prey in the sand and hills.
Dahei’s first kill of the day was a palm-sized scorpion.
FWOOSH! A thin jet of flame incinerated it, leaving only a pinch of black ash.
"Don't burn it all!" she scolded, rubbing his head. "It's too small to waste!"
"Khaleesi! Another one here!" Avanti shouted from a nearby dune.
This time, Dahei moved like black lightning. In the blink of an eye, the scorpion was in his mouth.
Thump! Thump! The scorpion’s tail stabbed wildly at the corner of the dragon’s mouth. Dany could see the faint purple glint of the stinger striking the soft flesh again and again.
"Are you poisoned?" she asked anxiously, her mind connected to his. She’d been told this kind of scorpion could paralyze a horse with a single sting.
But Jorah had told her that in all the histories, no dragon had ever been killed by poison. A dragon is fire made flesh, he’d said. It has magma for blood. She knew that wasn't literally true, but their body temperature was incredibly high; stroking their scales was like touching a hot stone.
After a moment, she felt no pain or illness from Dahei, only a triumphant satisfaction. She was finally, truly relieved. Her children were not just magical; they were invincible.
