The Birth of Dragons

Prince Aemon Targaryen

Astapor stank of shit, the people looked like shit, and the whole city just reeked of corruption and all the things he despised about people. If he was of the mind, Aemon knew he could destroy the city and build it back up again, but he could not be bothered. He was not in Astapor to free slaves or change the social order of Astapor, he was merely there to buy soldiers for his army, and move on. The man who was responsible for the Unsullied was a fat and obnoxious man, and Aemon could tell he was hungry for Dany, the thought alone made Aemon grip his sword all the tighter, whilst one hand rested on the dagger on his belt. He listened to the man prattle on insulting them in Valyrian, pretending he did not understand. When in fact he understood perfectly.

Kraznys mo Nakloz, one of the masters speaks in an obnoxious tone, translated by his slave. "The Unsullied are trained from a very young age to face fear and pain without complaint. They are taken from their mothers at a young age, trained in the arts of defence and aggression and prepared for war."

Aemon nods, then looks at the master and his slave and asks. "And how are they trained to fight. What is their preference for fighting techniques?"

He waits and listens as his question is translated to the slaver, and listens to the response. "They are trained in the art of formation, shield and spear are their preferred weapons. They fight in the lock step formation of the old Ghiscari legion. They know more about fighting in formation than any fighting force in the world."

"How would they do against archers?" Aemon asks, thinking about the tales of the Reachmen and the Stormlords.

The question is translated. "Get one of your horse lords to fire." Comes the response.

Aemon nods. "Rakharo." The man comes up, bow in hand and fires at the Unsullied, Aemon watches as shields are pulled up and the arrow bounces harmlessly off of the shields. "Again." Aemon barks, and the same thing happens. He watches impressed, then says. "Very well, I shall not wait and ask more questions, how much would the master accept for them?"

"Six hundred thousand dragons and the girl." Comes the response.

Aemon laughs. "I see. Ser Jorah, give the man the money." The knight throws the bag onto the space between them.

"The girl." Is the response.

Aemon pulls Dany closer to him and responds. "The girl is mine."

"The girl and the money, or nothing." Comes the response.

Aemon feels the anger inside of him grow at the response, he pulls out his sword, and barks. "The girl is mine. The unsullied are mine." He looks at the unsullied and sees them hovering, uncertain, the money is there before them, they heard the original terms, they know who their master is. "You are mine now."

"Fight!" the master screams, in every language he knows, the Unsullied do not move.

Aemon laughs. The dragons begin soaring up into the air, roaring their delight at being free, more masters and people begin venturing out of their hovels, trying desperately not to look up, for fear of being burned. Aemon watches as the dragons soar higher, and once they've reached the right height, he roars. "Dracarys." Chaos breaks out then, the dragons led by his dragon breathe out their rage and anger, fire, red hot, black and gold and green, all of it dances before them, burning the master, and his slaves, reducing them to ash. He laughs, as the unsullied turn on their former owners, the masters try and marshal some resistance, but nothing comes of it. Aemon draws his sword, wielding like a man possessed he moves through the carnage, working his way toward the people who he knows to be responsible for this. He cuts them down like the pigs they are, laughing as he does so. Eventually, the carnage ends, but his bloodlust has not fallen. "We shall destroy the city." He roars, his men roar alongside him.

It all passes in a blur, fighting, killing, fucking, more and more men fall before the blade, he laughs, they all laugh, the fighting breaks out into carnage. When the debris begins falling, Aemon stands above the tower of the sun, sweating, blood soaked and alive. He looks at what has happened, he looks all around them, and raises his sword, tired and ill, but victorious, his sister by his side. "This is not the beginning of the fall; this is the beginning of a new age. You are mine now. And together we shall claim what was stolen from me." A roar sounds in response and he smiles. "We shall cross the sea, and regain the throne of my ancestors." Another roar. "Now kill the enemy." And the chaos begins once more, he watches as more blood is shed in the name of the dragons, in his name.

When the dust finally settles, he finds himself with a cup of wine in one hand, and his dagger in the other, how he got there he does not know, but he is alive, they are alive, and Astapor is burning. Aemon sits down. "We move toward the ships soon."

"Your Grace, what of the slaves?" Jorah asks.

"Let them remain here, I do not need them, they are not my responsibility." Aemon responds.

"What of Missandei? Can we keep her?" Dany asks, her voice slightly pleading.

Aemon looks at his sister, then looks at the girl. "We are not going anywhere else in Slaver's Bay, what will she be to you?"

His sister leans in to the girl and presses her lips to the girl's, then pulls away and responds. "A friend, and someone to use."

Aemon smiles. "Very well she may stay, but we leave, and we leave tonight." With that he turns and walks away, Ser Jorah and the Unsullied following him, his heart thumping with pride.