What a pity.
Young Aegon was infected.
"Waaah, I can't feel anything anymore. Why am I so unlucky? Out of all those people, all those folks and even the Imp are fine, and only I… waaah… I don't want to live anymore! Rather than waiting to die in shame, I'd rather end it all now!"
The Dragon Queen descended from the sky on her green dragon, bathed in the golden glow of the evening sun. The moment she dismounted, she saw her eldest nephew bawling as he charged toward the wall, apparently intending to throw himself off.
Old Aemon grabbed his sleeve, but was dragged along, stumbling behind him.
Anxiously, the old man pleaded, "Child, don't do anything rash. Your aunt is back, she knows magic—maybe…"
"Let him jump," Dany said coldly, taking a towel from Jhiqui and wiping her face. "You won't die jumping off a pyramid. At most, you'll break a few bones. If he wants to jump, let him. A broken leg might just teach him to behave."
"Uh…" Old Aemon's face turned dark at her words, but after a moment's thought, he realized she wasn't wrong. The pyramid had 33 levels, each step a little over three meters high, totaling 105 meters. Falling straight down wouldn't be enough to kill someone.
"Seven hells, why is my life so miserable?!"
Young Aegon gave up on jumping. He squatted on the ground, covering his face and wailing.
"Look at you," Dany sneered without a trace of sympathy. "Where's that so-called 'Prince That Was Promised' now?"
"Well, to be fair, even Azor Ahai might break down over this," said the Wildfire General, drinking alone in dejection. "To see blood pouring from a wound and feel absolutely nothing—any man would lose his mind."
The dwarf woman sitting beside the Imp and pouring him wine looked up cautiously at the Dragon Queen and gently comforted, "Don't lose hope. Her Majesty can do anything. She'll definitely cure you."
She wasn't just flattering her. Since arriving in Slaver's Bay, seeing the noble, beautiful, kind, and awe-inspiring Dragon Queen ride her dragon into battle, she'd become her devoted fan.
"How have things been at the theater troupe lately?" Dany asked casually.
Phenny, whose real profession was comedic acting, used to perform slapstick routines with her dwarf brother. One rode a pig, the other a dog, pretending to be knights jousting with exaggerated movements, absurd lines, and ridiculous plots that made audiences roar with laughter.
Because Cersei had placed a high bounty on Tyrion's head, Phenny's brother was caught up in the mess. Some mercenaries killed the wrong man, then claimed his head was Tyrion's to collect the reward in King's Landing.
According to the original plan, Tyrion was supposed to take his place and team up with Phenny as a comedic duo.
But although the Dragon Queen didn't like Tyrion (disliking the Game of Thrones finale), she had no intention of humiliating him by making him ride a pig as a clown.
—Tyrion would probably have preferred to be her fool and perform comedy with Phenny than become the Wildfire General.
Besides, Slaver's Bay had a more suitable role for Phenny: the Militia Theater Troupe.
She had been adapting well to her new life in the troupe.
"Everyone's very kind and treats me well. This afternoon I even played young Hill in The Shrike, Hill, and the Stinkbug! After the show, lots of people applauded me!"
Phenny's cheeks turned as red as apples, making her look adorable.
"Keep it up. One day, you'll be the true leading lady," Dany encouraged.
"Mhm! I'll do my best!" The little dwarf girl raised her small white fist in excitement.
—Sigh, I don't have a future anymore.
Tyrion watched her pure, heartfelt joy and felt a complicated mix of emotions—relief, sorrow, and even a touch of jealousy. Jealousy for the man Phenny might marry after he was gone.
"How are things in Meereen and Qarth?" Aemon asked.
Dany shook her head with a sigh. "Not good. In Meereen, public wells have been contaminated with stone men, and nearly a hundred people have contracted greyscale. As for Qarth, no patients have been discovered—yet."
"Skreeee!" A dragon cry rang out from the west.
Everyone turned their heads and saw a dark silhouette flying against the setting sun.
The shadow approached the Great Pyramid, growing larger and clearer.
Gradually, they could see it was a fierce and formidable black dragon, exuding an awe-inspiring presence.
"Blackie's back from Dragonstone already? That was fast," Aemon exclaimed.
Seeing the dragon, Tyrion's gloom instantly vanished. He stood up in excitement and said, "Seven hells, only two days, and he's already made a round trip between Dragonstone and Astapor. Dragons are unbelievably fast.
If I had a dragon, I wouldn't trade it for the Iron Throne. I'd fly around the world every day."
"Get real. You don't have a dragon, and you don't have the Iron Throne either," Dany said flatly, shooting him a sideways glance.
"Your Majesty, you control the heavens and the earth, but can you control my dreams and fantasies too?"
Now that he had a terminal illness, Tyrion no longer felt the need to speak cautiously around the Dragon Queen. He shot back directly.
Splash! As Blackie flew over the pool, he dropped a bundle the size of tree trunks, wrapped in sheepskin, into the water.
"What is that?" Tyrion walked over curiously to take a look.
"Fish out Grand Maester Tobho Mott," Dany instructed the Unsullied.
Blackie flapped his wings, stirring the leaves of the nearby persimmon trees, then landed on the wall. He stretched out his long neck toward Dany and called out in a melodious voice, "Motherrr, I'm baaack!"
"Very good. At least this time you didn't call me by name," Dany said with a smile, patting his nose in praise.
"He… he's talking?" Tyrion's jaw dropped, stammering.
Even Aegon stopped crying and got up in amazement. "Blackie, you can understand people? What are you saying?"
"That's Valyrian. He's saying 'Mother.' I understood it," said Jhiqui proudly, the Dothraki handmaiden.
"You understand dragon-speak?!"
Tyrion, Clinton, and Aegon were stunned. Their views of Jhiqui instantly changed.
"Jiki, what else did Dahei say?" Dany asked calmly.
"Hello, everyone?" Jiki frowned.
"Try again."
"I'm back?" Jiki guessed tentatively.
"Correct. You got it right."
"Hehe." Jiki giggled foolishly.
The Imp looked at her oddly and asked, "In the dragon tongue, is the only word you understand really just 'mother'?"
"No, I also know 'mighty,' 'Palace of the Rising Sun,' and 'Palace of Compassion and Tranquility,'" the centaur maid replied seriously.
The Imp was speechless.
"Your Grace, this person has been unconscious for who knows how long. His condition is very bad."
At that moment, the Unsullied had already dragged the sheepskin-wrapped figure from the pool onto dry land.
When the wrap was opened, it revealed an old man with a long, thin face.
His head was bald, a ring of whitish stubble surrounded his lips, and his medium build made Dany wonder—this little old man wasn't burly at all, lacking even the strong biceps a blacksmith should have.
At present, the blacksmith master's eyes were tightly shut, his gaunt face tinged with blue. Vomit stained the corners of his mouth and collar, and his chest, clad in a lavish checkered robe, barely moved.
Was he about to kick the bucket?
"Let me take a look." Aemon hurried over, crouching down to examine him.
"Seven above! That really is Master Tobho of King's Landing's Street of Steel!" Tyrion exclaimed, turning to the Dragon Queen in shock. "You dragged Master Tobho here—why?"
Arms crossed, the Dragon Queen watched Aemon press on the blacksmith's chest and abdomen, and said casually, "Aside from his forging skills, what else could I possibly want from him?"
"Forging…" Suddenly, Tyrion recalled two things: Tobho had reforged a Valyrian steel sword for his late father, and the Dragon Queen had seized dozens of Valyrian steel swords in Volantis.
"You're planning to reforge Valyrian steel swords? Is that really necessary—kidnapping someone over a sword?" the Imp said, bewildered.
"Cough, cough, cough." With Aemon's rhythmic compressions, the blacksmith's bluish tint gradually faded, and his breathing grew deeper.
Finally, he coughed up a mouthful of filth and opened his eyes in a daze.
"Where... am I?" Tobho the blacksmith muttered groggily.
"Master Tobho, do you remember me?" Tyrion leaned closer and asked with concern.
"Ah—!" The grotesque face of Tyrion, missing its nose, startled Tobho so badly he let out a scream and tried to scramble away.
"Uh, Master Tobho, it's me—Tyrion Lannister!" the Imp said awkwardly.
"Whew…" Taking a few breaths, Tobho looked around. He saw several massive dragons, and a silver-haired, violet-eyed woman of striking presence. He let out a long sigh toward the heavens. "So I really am in Slaver's Bay."
"Well, at least you have an old acquaintance in me," Tyrion said gently in comfort.
Tobho held a prestigious position—he was effectively the head of the blacksmiths' guild on the Street of Steel in King's Landing. Tyrion had met him several times before.
During the War of the Five Kings, Tyrion had even worked with him for a time to forge river-blocking chains.
They had quite a bit of history.
"Sigh, when you suddenly got that close just now, I thought I'd fallen into the seven hells and was face to face with a soul-devouring demon. My apologies," Tobho said with a bitter expression.
"Am I really that ugly?" Tyrion asked, slightly annoyed.
"A person's instinctive reaction is always the truest," Dany said with a laugh, then turned serious as she addressed the blacksmith. "You know who I am, and why I brought you here, don't you?"
Tobho remained seated on the ground, only turning his head slightly to glance at the Dragon Queen from the corner of his eye. A cold arrogance appeared on his gaunt face. "If you'd let me ride a dragon here instead of grabbing me like a sack of straw in its claws, maybe we could have had a proper conversation."
"Very well." Dany nodded slightly, then turned to the Unsullied. "Send him to Hathar."
"As you command!" Two Unsullied immediately stepped forward and lifted the smirking blacksmith master by his arms, escorting him toward the stairwell.
"Hmph, you want me to surrender? Never going to happen," Tobho said firmly, turning his head to glare at the Dragon Queen.
"Uh, Master Tobho, don't be stubborn. That Hathar is called the 'Tail of the Demon'—he's terrifying!" Tyrion said anxiously, glancing between his old friend and the Dragon Queen.
"Your Grace, let's talk this through. The master was just dragged here; it's only natural he feels some resentment. Let me handle him. With time, I can persuade him to join you willingly."
"I'm busy handling a plague right now. I don't have time to waste with you or him," Dany said, waving her hand to urge the Unsullied to take the blacksmith away.
"That Valyrian steel sword of yours, 'Clear Sky,' isn't it working just fine? Why go to all this trouble?" Tyrion sighed.
"I want Valyrian steel armor. Once I distribute my current Valyrian steel swords to my commanders, there won't be enough left to melt down into armor. That's why I need Tobho's secrets," Dany explained.
"Tobho only knows how to reforge Valyrian steel. He doesn't know how to forge it from scratch," Tyrion pointed out.
"I know, but if I can figure out the incantations, maybe I can derive the method to forge Valyrian steel myself."
Tyrion suddenly remembered something. His expression turned strange. "You want Valyrian steel? I know of a place with dozens—no, hundreds—of tons of the stuff. Enough to craft five thousand full suits of Valyrian steel armor."
(End of chapter)
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