"Old man, do you know how to kill the greyscale virus?"
Dany called out to Grey Worm, planning to clarify the disinfection protocols first.
"Virus? That's a new term," Old Aemon mused with a nod. "Normally, we just burn the infected person and everything they've touched."
"Burn them?" Tyrion shrieked. "Isn't there any other method? The Citadel has had a medical school for thousands of years—have they really not come up with a cure for greyscale?"
"First, scald the infected area with boiling water, then apply a poultice made from lime and mustard," Aemon offered uncertainly.
"What's the success rate of this method?" Dany asked.
The old maester's gaze drifted, his voice barely audible. "Very low."
"There must be at least a fifty percent chance—at least thirty?" Tyrion asked hopefully.
"There's no conclusive evidence that this method has ever saved anyone," Aemon said awkwardly.
"Zero chance?" Dany said blankly. "So it's completely useless?"
"Not necessarily," Aemon quickly explained. "About fifty years ago, there was a greyscale outbreak in Oldtown. The maesters promoted this treatment, and half the city died. Three-quarters of the Citadel's residents perished."
"Wait a moment," Dany raised her hand, interrupting with a strange expression. "The maesters used the lime-mustard paste and three-quarters died? But the commoners, who didn't use it, lost only half?
Old man, even a fool can tell three-quarters is more than a half."
"Dany, you can't look at it that way!" Aemon said seriously. "We maesters devote our lives to study, so that in times of crisis we can step forward.
Those three-quarters of the Citadel who died—ninety-nine percent of them were infected while treating the city's people.
When an acolyte becomes a full maester, he swears to serve the Seven Kingdoms.
And every qualified maester has a silver link on his chain, symbolizing medicine. We're the frontline healers."
"But," Dany was moved for a moment, then quickly noticed another problem, "the Citadel sacrificed so much, clearly gave it their all—put everything on the line, right?"
"Of course. Don't forget, the Citadel violated guest rights, exterminated dragons, but when it comes to their ideals, they fear no sacrifice." Aemon's expression grew complicated.
"I've always known those bastards weren't afraid of dying."
Otherwise, I would've had them killed long ago.
If the people do not fear death, how can death frighten them?
Dany nodded with a strange look. "But even after all that effort, it didn't seem to help. Half the city still died—no better than other cities hit by greyscale."
Jorah Mormont nodded. "A few years ago, I witnessed it myself. A Braavosi merchant ship infected with greyscale docked at the port in Pentos.
The infected crew were executed and burned, but the rats on the ship got loose and spread the disease to nobles and commoners alike, triggering a massive plague.
But only 2,000 people died. Not even one percent of the city's population."
"See?" Dany spread her hands and looked at Old Aemon with wide eyes.
"That's why I said the mustard-lime paste isn't exactly... effective," the old maester said reluctantly.
Then he quickly added, "Stannis's daughter, Shireen—her greyscale was suppressed using this method by Maester Cressen."
"The Citadel is a joke!" Dany sneered. "They've had a medical school and systematic study for thousands of years. They shamelessly steal knowledge wherever they go, and still, they only know how to use leeches. They haven't even developed a proper medical theory."
Compared to these incompetent maesters, traditional medicine from the Celestial Empire might as well be magic.
"You think the Citadel hasn't tried?" Aemon couldn't help but defend his order. "After that outbreak, they immediately launched the 'Mage Lens Research Project,' spending millions of gold dragons.
To get funding from your father, they even wrote to me at the Wall, asking for help."
Mage lens?
Dany's eyes lit up—she finally remembered she had one of those in her treasure vault.
She'd have to dig it up and run some tests.
"They wiped out the dragons. Studying mage lenses now is like climbing a tree to catch fish," she scoffed.
"Sigh." Aemon let out a helpless sigh.
Dany turned and looked at Tyrion and Aegon with a mischievous smile. "If you cut off the infected organ, could that stop the disease from spreading?"
"Cut it off?" The two brothel-frequenters shivered violently, their faces going pale as they wailed, "N-No! You can't cut it!"
"If you won't cut it, then burn it. Pick one," Dany said with a stern face.
"Didn't that girl Shireen recover? Let Maester Aemon try the lime and mustard paste!" Aegon pleaded miserably.
"Don't be afraid, child," Clinton said gently, pain flickering in his blue eyes. "The infection is only on the Imp's thigh, and it hasn't turned hard or scaly. Maybe you haven't caught it."
Aegon suddenly stood up and roared, "Maybe? Maybe? If you hadn't hidden it—"
"You insolent brat!"
The Dragon Queen's expression turned stormy, her beautiful eyes radiating such authority they seemed almost tangible, making everyone in the room feel an invisible weight pressing down on them.
Tyrion and Clinton looked alarmed, and Aegon turned pale.
"Who do you think you're speaking to? He is your adoptive father!" Dany scolded harshly.
Aegon was livid, but the moment he met his aunt the Queen's gaze, he instinctively turned his head, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly, unable to say a word.
"You're emotionally unstable right now," Dany softened her tone. "Go downstairs, take a bath, and get some sleep. Don't go out today. Wait a day and see if your body still feels anything."
"Listen to your aunt. Go on," Aemon said with a complicated look, then called over two Unsullied to escort the dejected Aegon downstairs.
"What's going on with you?" Dany turned her gaze to Tyrion and frowned. "It's been a week since the wildfire experiment. Why hasn't there been any sign of abnormality?"
If it hadn't been for that encounter with a Blue Sister, Tyrion might've gone on indulging himself for who knows how long!
"It's on the inner thigh—can't be seen, and rarely touched. If there had been pain or itching, I might have noticed sooner. But greyscale has no sensation," the Imp said bitterly.
"Did you try stabbing it with a knife?" Dany asked again.
"I did. It was like stabbing wood. No pain."
His eyes were red, on the verge of tears.
"You haven't slept all night either. Go get some rest."
After Tyrion left, dejected, Dany turned her gaze to Clinton, who wore a look of deep sorrow.
She glanced at the solemnly seated big bear and sighed. "Ser Clinton, don't blame yourself. This is fate."
It was the writers' fault!
In Game of Thrones, it was Ser Mormont who caught greyscale. Now it had become Clinton, which made her earlier "foresight" utterly useless.
Well, she really shouldn't complain—Clinton and his group didn't even exist in Game of Thrones.
"Your Grace, shall I go begin sealing off the city?" Grey Worm asked.
Dany nodded. "Remember to wear gloves and a face covering. I'll have Maester Aemon accompany you and guide your team on proper safety measures."
"Any concerns?" she asked the old maester.
Aemon stood and nodded. "Rest assured. Though the Citadel has no cure for greyscale, it has developed a fairly thorough set of protective protocols."
"Is locking down the entire city too extreme? It could cause a panic among the citizens," the Green Maiden said with concern.
"Post public notices to inform the people of the truth. Greyscale itself isn't a huge issue, but if it evolves into greypox, that would be disastrous," Dany said seriously.
"Oh, and have the older women in each neighborhood inspect one another." Remembering that the Unsullied were all male in appearance, she added this as an afterthought.
The city was sealed off at dawn. The residents had just woken and hadn't yet left their homes, so they were surprised to see the Unsullied blocking the streets.
When hundreds of Unsullied marched through the city reading the Queen's proclamation through tin megaphones, it did cause quite a stir—but the city did not descend into chaos.
People stayed quietly in their homes, anxiously awaiting the outcome.
Before long, the Dragon Queen rode her green dragon above the city, circling several times with little Gold trailing behind.
The dragon's sharp cries echoed through the air, calming the people's fears.
The Queen is with us.
That was the thought in everyone's mind as they watched the giant dragon sweep past their rooftops.
However, the Unsullied ran into trouble while sealing the docks.
Many foreign merchants refused body checks or isolation in inns.
Their guards and sailors even clashed with the Unsullied.
One man shouted, "We're foreigners, risking offense to our allies just to do business in Slaver's Bay. This is not how we should be treated!
Otherwise, we won't come again—and Astapor will return to desolation."
Then the dragon descended, its wings stirring up sand and stones. The arrogant foreigners shielded their eyes and fell silent.
Perched atop her dragon, the Dragon Queen looked down coldly at the merchants held back by the Unsullied.
"Anyone unwilling to cooperate with the checks—leave now."
"Dragon Queen! You're destroying Astapor's market! No one will trade with you again!" one merchant cried out.
"I'll take New Ghis, then Qarth. The entire Summer Sea will be my pond. Don't want to trade with me? Fine. Go back home and farm," Dany sneered.
Fuming, the foreign merchants protested, "The allied armies number in the hundreds of thousands—"
Dany raised a hand to silence him. "Enough. Cooperate, and you remain honored guests of Astapor. Refuse, and we'll strip your clothes off by force."
At her signal, three thousand Unsullied marched into the docks and sealed off every shop, pier, storehouse, and warehouse.
"Dany, what are you doing?" Old Aemon hurried to Little Green and whispered anxiously, "Body checks are one thing, but searching goods and warehouses? That's too harsh. You'll provoke the people."
"My people are in Astapor. They support me. These foreign merchants are profit-seekers. If there's money to be made, they'll come back," Dany replied unconcerned.
As the Unsullied pushed aside resisting sailors and mercenaries and stormed the ships and warehouses, the old maester grew more uneasy.
"Years ago, during an epidemic, Lord Quentyn Hightower burned every ship in the harbor, sealed the city gates, and ordered his soldiers to kill anyone who tried to flee—man, woman, or child.
But when the plague passed and the port reopened, the survivors didn't thank him. They dragged him and his son from their horses and slit their throats."
"You think someone can drag me down from a dragon's back?" Dany chuckled.
Screeeech—Little Green's icy emerald eyes swept the crowd as a trail of fire-flecked smoke puffed from its nostrils.
"Alright, no more jokes," Dany said, returning to a serious tone. "There's something I've been neglecting, and Tyrion just reminded me."
(End of Chapter)
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