Game of Thrones(ASOIAF): The Sorcerer Prince

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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

”Dialogue”

’Thoughts’

-Author notes-

Chapter 109: The Price for Power

The tension in the chamber had grown thick enough to choke on.

Daenerys sat across from the Good Masters, her posture regal and her expression unreadable, a mask of calm that betrayed nothing of the storm within.

She had made her request, and now she waited for their response, the silence stretching between them like a wire pulled taut.

The Masters exchanged glances, their greed warring with their suspicion.

They were men who had grown rich on the suffering of others, who had never known a moment of true fear. They believed themselves untouchable, masters of all they surveyed. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

The chief Master leaned forward, his piggish eyes fixed on her with calculating intensity. ”You ask for all of our Unsullied,” he said slowly. ”Eight thousand soldiers. The finest army in the known world. And in return, you offer us... an unknown sorcery?”

Daenerys met his gaze without flinching. ”I offer you the means to create warriors beyond anything the Unsullied could ever become. Warriors who feel no pain, who never tire, who heal from wounds that would kill a normal man. Warriors who can withstand fire itself. Surely you can all see the value in my offer.”

”And you expect us to accept this... just like that?” another Master scoffed. ”You expect us to trade our entire army for some... some magic trick?”

”I expect you to be smart,” Daenerys said, her voice cold as winter steel. ”I have given you proof. My Dothraki are living evidence of the ritual’s power. But if you require further demonstration, I am happy to provide it.”

The Masters leaned forward, their interest piqued despite themselves.

”How?”

Daenerys gestured to Tyrion, who stepped forward with a small vial in his hand. The liquid within was dark and thick, shimmering with an eerie inner light. It was dragon’s blood, mixed with a few drops of her own, combined with the alchemy concoction Tyrion had learned from Joffrey.

”I will transform one of your slaves before your eyes,” Daenerys said. ”One of your Unsullied, perhaps. You will see the power I offer, for yourselves.”

The Masters conferred among themselves for a long moment, their voices low and urgent. Finally, the chief Master nodded. ”Very well. We will provide a slave. But if this fails, if your trick does not work, the deal is off.”

”It will not fail,” Daenerys said, before glancing at Tyrion, who nodded in response.

A young Unsullied was brought forward, his face a mask made of stone, his body scarred from years of brutal training. He was thin, his muscles wiry, his eyes hollow. He had been broken and remade into a perfect soldier...a tool with no will of his own, a thing that had been stripped of everything that made a man human.

Daenerys felt a surge of pity as she looked at him. He was not a man, not really. He was a thing that had been made, a weapon that had been forged. But he was also a person, a person who had been denied everything that made life worth living.

”What is your name?” she asked, her voice soft.

The Unsullied did not respond. He simply stood there, his eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance, as if he had been trained to see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing.

”I asked you a question,” Daenerys said, her tone firm but also kind and reassuring. ”What is your name?”

The slave hesitated, his eyes flickering for just a moment. ”I have no name, Khaleesi. I am Unsullied. I am nothing.”

Daenerys felt a surge of anger...not at him, but at the Masters who had done this to him. ”You are not nothing,” she insisted. ”You are a man. You have a name. What is it?”

The slave was silent for a long moment. Then, barely audible, he spoke. ”Grey Worm. They call me Grey Worm.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. ”Is that truly your name?”

”It is the name given to me by the Masters,” Grey Worm responded, his voice hollow.

”I see...” Daenerys frowned. ”That will have to do.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. ”I am going to make you stronger, Grey Worm. I am going to give you power beyond anything you have ever imagined. And when I am done with my business here, you will be free. Do you understand?”

Grey Worm’s eyes flickered again, something like hope sparking in their depths for the first time in what must have been years.

The Masters laughed, their voices cruel and mocking. ”You speak to him as if he were a man,” the chief Master said. ”He is not a man. He is a tool. He feels nothing, wants nothing, hopes for nothing. You are wasting your words on him. Just get on with the demonstration already and stop squandering our valuable time.”

Daenerys ignored him. She turned to Tyrion and nodded.

Tyrion stepped forward, the vial in his hand. He had learned the ritual from Joffrey, had spent weeks perfecting it, memorizing the words, understanding the process. He had transformed the Dothraki, had watched them scream and suffer and emerge as something more. He knew what was coming.

”Sorry, I don’t speak Valyrian, so you probably won’t understand me, but... this will hurt,” Tyrion said to Grey Worm. ”It will hurt more than anything you have ever experienced. But if you survive, you will become something far greater than what you are now. Okay?”

Grey Worm looked at the dwarf and nodded, his expression unchanged.

Tyrion shrugged, unsure if the soldier before him had actually understood a single word, but he moved his hands to the vial nonetheless. He uncorked the container and poured the dark liquid down Grey Worm’s throat. The slave choked, his body convulsing, his hands clawing at his throat.

Tyrion watched Grey Worm closely. This new version that Joffrey had invented before suddenly leaving worked much faster than the previous one and did not require fire to activate. It also had a much higher rate of success.

It was thanks to this that Tyrion had been able to transform so many Dothraki by himself.

However, the increased speed of the potion also came with another side effect. The pain felt by the subject was many times higher than before. It did not last too long, but it was truly unbearable even to the toughest of men.

It only took a few seconds before the process began.

Grey Worm screamed.

It was a sound of pure agony, a sound that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, a sound that made the Masters flinch back in their chairs.

His body contorted, his muscles bulging, his veins glowing with golden fire.

His skin rippled, his bones cracked audibly, his eyes blazed with an eerie inner light. The Masters watched in horrified fascination, their faces pale, their mouths open.

Daenerys watched as well, her heart pounding. She had seen this before, had witnessed the transformation of her Dothraki, but it never got easier.

The pain was terrible, the suffering immense. But it was necessary. It was the price of power.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

Grey Worm lay on the ground, his chest heaving, his body slick with sweat. He was still, so still, and for a moment, Daenerys feared he had died.

Then he rose.

He was visibly stronger now, his muscles more defined, his posture straighter. His eyes glowed with an amber light that had not been there before, a fire that burned from within.

He moved with an almost inhuman grace. He looked at Daenerys, and for the first time, there was something in his eyes that had not been there before.

Hope.

Daenerys smiled, a genuine expression of triumph. ”You see? The ritual works. Your slave is now more powerful than any other Unsullied. He will serve you with the same loyalty he had before, but now he is a weapon that cannot be matched.”

The Masters stared at Grey Worm, their faces a mixture of awe and greed. One of them leaned forward, his voice trembling with excitement. ”And... and the potion can be replicated? We can create more?”

Daenerys inclined her head. ”You can. With the knowledge I will give you, you can create as many as you wish. But you will need dragon’s blood for the process.”

Another Master spoke, his eyes gleaming with avarice. ”And where are we supposed to get that? Unless you are willing to give us one of your dragons as part of the deal.”

Daenerys’s expression remained neutral, but inside, she felt a surge of disgust. These men wanted to own her children, to use them as tools for their own greed. She would never allow it.

”My dragons are not for sale,” she said, her voice cold as ice. ”They are my children, and I would sooner die than give them up. But I can provide you with enough dragon’s blood to transform a thousand men. That should be sufficient to demonstrate the ritual’s effectiveness.”

”And when we need more?” the Master asked.

Daenerys gave them a cold, knowing expression. ”Then you will have to negotiate with me again. I am sure we can come to an arrangement.”

The Masters exchanged glances, their greed warring with their suspicion.

They understood what she was doing...she was forcing them to rely on her, to come back to her when they needed more blood. It was a clever move, one that ensured they could never turn against her without losing everything they had gained.

”You are a shrewd woman, Queen Daenerys,” the chief Master said, his voice grudgingly respectful. ”You have given us much to consider.”

Daenerys inclined her head. ”I am glad you think so.”

The negotiations continued for another hour, the Masters haggling over every detail, trying to find a way to cheat her. But Daenerys was patient, her will unyielding.

She had learned much in her journey, had faced dangers that would have broken lesser people. She was not afraid of them.

In the end, they reached an agreement. The Masters would give her the Unsullied...all eight thousand of them. In return, she would provide them with the ritual knowledge, a supply of dragon’s blood, and the promise of future negotiations.

”However,” the chief Master said, his voice sly, ”only half of our Unsullied have undergone the full process of training. The others are still... incomplete. I would advise you to take four thousand now, and return for the rest once they have finished their training.”

Daenerys had heard what the full process entailed from Lyssara. The Masters cut off the Unsullied’s manhood, then forced them to kill a child to prove their loyalty. It was a cruel, barbaric practice, one that sickened her to her core.

”I will take them all now,” she said, her voice flat. ”All eight thousand of them. As they are at this moment.”

The Masters looked at her, confused. ”But they are not fully trained. They will not be as effective as-”

”They will be sufficient,” Daenerys said. ”I will train them myself, in my own way.”

The Masters exchanged glances, shrugged, and agreed. They had gotten what they wanted. They did not care what she did with the Unsullied.

Daenerys was taken to a massive courtyard, where the Unsullied were assembled in neat rows.

Eight thousand men, their bodies scarred, their faces empty, their eyes fixed on something in the middle distance. They were impressive, in their way...disciplined, obedient, utterly loyal. But they were also broken, hollowed out by years of cruelty and abuse.

”They are impressive, are they not?” the Chief Master said, his voice filled with pride.

Daenerys nodded slowly, her eyes sweeping across the army before her. ”Yes,” she said. ”They are impressive.”

She glanced at the Unsullied at the front of the formation. It was Grey Worm, his now amber eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart swell.

She turned to the Red Temple knights, who were standing nearby. Two of them approached, carrying a box and a book.

The book contained all the instructions for the conversion process, written in careful, precise script. The box contained glass vials filled with dragon’s blood, enough to transform a thousand men.

”These are yours,” Daenerys said, handing the items to the Masters. ”The book contains the ritual, the words, the process. The vials contain the dragon’s blood. The rest of the ingredients are easy to find...I am sure you will have no problems providing them.”

The Masters took the items eagerly, their eyes gleaming with avarice.

They were already planning their future, already imagining the invincible armies of dragon warriors they would create.

Daenerys looked up at the sky, where Drogon was circling overhead. The dragon’s shadow fell across the courtyard, dark and ominous. The Masters followed her gaze, their expressions shifting from greed to fear.

”We would pay handsomely for one of your beasts,” one of the Masters said, his voice oily. ”A mountain of gold. Or enough ships to carry your new army to the West. All we want is one dragon.”

Daenerys’s expression remained neutral, but inside, she felt a surge of rage. They wanted to own her child, to use him as a tool for their own greed. She would never allow it.

”I told you,” she said, her voice cold. ”My dragons are not for sale.”

She turned away from them, her eyes fixed on the Unsullied. She had made her deal, had gotten her army. Now it was time to use it.

She raised the ceremonial scourge, the Harpy’s Fingers, that the Masters had given her. It was a whip made of braided leather with gold handles, a symbol of authority over the Unsullied. The men before her would follow her orders as long as she held it.

She looked at Grey Worm, at the glimmer of hope in his eyes. She looked at the thousands of other Unsullied, their faces empty, their bodies broken. She felt a surge of determination.

”Unsullied!” she called out, her voice carrying across the courtyard. ”I am Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I have bought you from the Masters, and you belong to me now.”

She paused, letting the words sink in. The Masters nodded approvingly, their faces smug.

”You will obey me,” Daenerys continued, her voice hardening. ”You will follow my commands without question. And your first command is this...”

She turned to face the Good Masters, who were watching her with satisfied smiles. They had no idea what was coming.

”Kill them,” Daenerys said, her voice cold as ice. ”Kill every Master in Astapor. Kill every man who carries a whip. Kill every man who wears the symbols of a slaver. Spare the slaves. Spare those who surrender. As for the Masters... I want them all dead.”

The Masters’ smiles vanished, replaced by expressions of shock and terror. The chief Master rose to his feet, his face pale, his hands raised in protest.

”You cannot!” he screamed. ”We had a deal! We gave you the Unsullied! We gave you-”

Daenerys cut him off, her voice ringing across the courtyard like a bell. ”You seem to have forgotten that I am also a Khaleesi. During my time with the Dothraki, I learned to take what I want using the power I have at hand. You gave me nothing. I took what I wanted. And now... I will take everything else.”

The Unsullied surged forward, their bronze shields raised, their spears gleaming under the scorching sun. They moved with a terrifying discipline, cutting down the Masters and their guards with cold efficiency. The courtyard descended into chaos, but Daenerys remained still, her dragon circling overhead.

She looked up at Drogon, her heart pounding with the thrill of victory. She raised her hand, pointing at the Great Pyramid, and for a moment, she felt the connection she shared with her children.

Daenerys tapped into this connection and spoke one word. ”Dracarys!”

Drogon opened his mouth, and a torrent of flame erupted forth, bathing the pyramid in fire. The stone melted, the walls crumbled, and the screams of the Masters echoed through the city.

Daenerys watched it all, her expression calm. When the last Master had fallen, when the last guard had surrendered, she turned back to the Unsullied.

They stood before her, their weapons bloodied, their faces still empty. But there was something different in their eyes now...a flicker of something that had not been there before. Something that might have been yearning.

”You have done well,” Daenerys said, her voice carrying across the silent courtyard. ”You have obeyed my commands, and you have earned your reward.”

She paused, looking at each of them in turn.

”You are free now,” she said. ”I do not own you any more, and no one will own you again. You can walk away from this place, and I will wish you well. Or you can follow me, and we will build a new world together. The choice is yours.”

The Unsullied were silent for a moment, their faces unchanged. Then Grey Worm stepped forward, his voice strong and clear.

”We follow the Dragon Queen,” he said. ”We fight for the Dragon Queen. We die for the Dragon Queen.”

The other Unsullied echoed his words, their voices rising in a chorus that shook the very stones of Astapor.

Daenerys smiled, a fierce, determined expression. She had done it. She had outwitted the Masters, freed the Unsullied, and taken her first step toward Westeros.

She had her army now. She had her dragons. She had everything she needed.

Now it was time to take what was hers.

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