"Your Majesty, I don't want to shave my head. A bald crown with a single braid hanging down the back looks so ugly!"
Tyrion shook his head repeatedly, refusing the Dragon Queen's "kind suggestion."
Daenerys was surprised. Up until now, only Tyrion had explicitly stated that the braided hairstyle was hideous.
This guy's sense of aesthetics is actually quite normal!
Well, she thought it was incredibly ugly too—ridiculous even—and it gave off a sickening vibe that only the "in the know" could understand.
That was exactly why she had tried to coax the little imp into adopting it.
The uglier, more ridiculous, and more disgusting he looked, the more amusement she got out of it.
Ever since she found out he was a Targaryen, Daenerys had grown to despise Tyrion's role in Game of Thrones' ending even more.
She wanted to see him humiliated, wearing a servant's hairstyle without realizing it.
Who would've thought his aesthetic sense aligned with that of a normal citizen of the Celestial Empire?
In this strange world, that was far too rare.
Back in the penthouse living room from the first-floor office, Daenerys, unwilling to give up, tried again:"Meereen is promoting the Round Skull Movement. Even the Ghiscari are starting to shave their heads.
If you shave yours too, I'll transfer you to Meereen and even give you a promotion. A second-rank official—eligible to attend the Small Council."
Her words were half true and half false.
Cleon's final act as the ruler of Meereen had been to push the Ghiscari to change their customs, shaving off their stiff, upright black and red hair.
But it wasn't a servant's hairstyle.
It resembled that of Mongol warriors—shaving the crown while leaving a ring of hair around the temples and back of the head.
Still very ugly.
And that so-called "second-rank official" was just a title boost without an actual job change.
Tyrion would still be the Wildfire General.
Tyrion waved a hand dejectedly and muttered, "I've got greyscale. I'm on the brink of death. Even if the Iron Throne were right in front of me, it wouldn't matter."
Nearby, Aegon, who was slumped on the couch in a daze, was visibly moved. His eyes turned red, and he looked like he was about to cry.
"Sigh," Clinton also sighed, his eyes dim, his whole demeanor lifeless and despairing.
Sister Ashara's gaze was full of pity, but she could do nothing. She simply stroked Aegon's back gently and whispered a few words of comfort.
Seeing this, Aemon offered reassurance."Don't worry. The Queen has a sorcerous lens and has already studied the characteristics of the greyscale virus.
Later, Laresa will teach you the Queen's fire magic techniques. With that and high-concentration alcohol, it should help resist the spread of the disease.
You might end up like Shireen Baratheon—only partially petrified."
"I've attended the Queen's magic lectures and tried using a glass candle too. I have no talent for magic, can't learn it," Tyrion shook his head.
Aemon paused, then added, "Balerion has gone to Jade Sea Thunder Isle to fetch Master Kuixi. She's the most brilliant mage in the East—maybe she can develop a miracle cure."
"Kuixi? Seven Gods above... it's actually her," Tyrion sighed, rubbing his forehead.
Daenerys asked curiously, "You know Kuixi too?"
"I heard about her from the fire mages. She's said to be the number one talent among the younger generation in the Eastern supernatural world—known alongside Lisbon as the 'Twin Stars of East and West.'"
Tyrion groaned, "What nonsense. 'Number one of the younger generation'—she can fool others, but not me.
I know Lisbon! That bastard conned me out of a sack of silver with that so-called 'Three Gods Return to the Cave' trick, and in the end got stabbed to death in an alley by some mercenary. What a pathetic way to go.
Pinning my hopes on someone like that? I'd rather take a gamble with wildfire!"
"How do you gamble with wildfire?" Aegon asked, lifting his head.
"I have an idea," Tyrion fixed his hopeful gaze on the Dragon Queen. "Your Majesty, your fire-controlling abilities are unparalleled. Could you precisely burn off just the infected layer of skin using wildfire?"
We could try that—try burning your entire little friend into ash!Daenerys internally scoffed at Tyrion's ridiculous idea.
"That won't work," Aemon immediately shook his head, explaining,"By the time symptoms appear, the virus has already entered the bloodstream and circulated throughout the body.
That's why the popular folk remedy of amputation has never been recognized by the Citadel.
Take Ser Clinton, for example. Even if he chopped off his right arm, the rest of his body still has a high chance of being infected."
"Tyrion, maybe you could try drinking a little wildfire. Who knows, it might awaken your Unburnt bloodline!" Daenerys said with a mischievous grin.
"Daenerys!" Old Aemon raised his voice, shooting her a meaningful glare.
Once out of everyone's sight and inside the lab, Aemon warned her,"Daenerys, don't tell Tyrion the truth about his identity."
"Why not?"
"There are too many dragons," Aemon said with a wry smile. "Too few true dragons and there's the risk of extinction. Too many, and you get bloody civil war."
"With Jon counted, there are already three adult male Targaryens. You may not care about the Iron Throne, but they might tear each other apart over it."
"Jon Snow's identity hasn't been confirmed yet! Even if he is Rhaegar and Lyanna's son, like Tyrion, he's still a bastard. Bastards have no inheritance rights," Daenerys said.
"Traditionally, yes. But Aegon is different from you. You are 100% the daughter of Aerys and Rhaella—a true dragon, known to all.
But Rhaegar's children were said to have died 16 years ago—that's also common knowledge.
To the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms, a prince of questionable identity is no more noble than a bastard with a confirmed one.
I'm certain that if a Great Council were ever held, Jon, Tyrion, and Aegon would all have equal claims and influence—unless you make a firm choice to support one of them."
Aemon fixed his intense gaze on Daenerys, as though trying to peer into her soul.
"It's a pity... you don't like any of the three of them, do you?"
Dany looked a little awkward, her eyes shifting as she said, "Old man, a relative suddenly shows up and you're already pouring your heart out to him?"
Old Aemon nodded earnestly. "When I was at the Wall, even before I knew Jon and Tyrion's true identities, I felt an inexplicable fondness for the two of them."
"And Aegon?"
"Aegon…" Aemon paused, then sighed. "Perhaps he appeared too suddenly, so the feeling just isn't there."
Dany argued, "I admit I don't like them much, but I don't bear them any ill will. Otherwise, why would I have told you about Jon and Tyrion's identities?"
"So, what do you plan to do with them?" Aemon asked.
"Do with them? I'm already overwhelmed with my own affairs. Let them fend for themselves. What do you expect me to do? You're the elder here—why don't you decide?"
Dany tossed the ball right back.
Aemon sighed. "Jon has already taken the black; his life is destined to be bound to the Night's Watch. As for Tyrion, let him continue as a Lannister. Don't tell him the truth about his identity—for now, we can help him become the Duke of Casterly Rock in the future. Aegon, being Rhaegar's legitimate son, should inherit the Iron Throne."
He looked at Dany, testing the waters. "How does that arrangement sound?"
"Fine by me, as long as Aegon has the courage to join the fight against the Long Night and can kill the Night King."
Dany nodded without hesitation, completely at ease.
Around three in the morning the next day, the sky was still a deep shade of indigo.
Darkfyre glided through the darkness like a ghost and landed on the torch-lit walls of the Great Pyramid.
Though Darkfyre had never been to Dragonstone, Dany had projected her spirit into its underground crypts many times. As he was linked with Dany's dragon soul, he naturally knew the way to Dragonstone.
Kui Xi looked just as she had on their first meeting—wearing a hooded, loose-fitting blue mage robe and a red wooden mask.
She was not alone. An elderly man from Yi Ti, with long white hair, accompanied her.
Besides the two of them, Darkfyre also carried a large canvas bag—roughly the size of a basket—filled with four to five hundred pounds of magical herbs.
Missandei, Tyrion, and a few Unsullied holding torches waited atop the pyramid.
"Apprentice to Her Majesty the Queen, Lalesa, greets President Bu Tian and Master Kui Xi. On behalf of Her Majesty and General Wildfire, we welcome you both."
Once Kui Xi and the white-haired elder dismounted from the dragon, Lalesa continued, "I've arranged food and rooms for you. You've had a long journey—please eat something and rest for the night. At dawn, Her Majesty will receive you personally."
"Greetings, Masters. I'm Tyrion, Tyrion Lannister. Aside from being General Wildfire, I'm also the only person granted a yellow robe by royal decree."
Wearing a golden robe, the Imp strode over with his short legs and head held high. "I'll dine with you on behalf of the Queen and also brief you on the epidemic in Slaver's Bay."
Indeed, Tyrion had come specifically to entertain.
At this hour, the Dragon Queen was asleep and unable to receive guests.
Still, they couldn't let esteemed guests dine alone in the hall, so the royally appointed General Wildfire took on the task of host.
After all, he could hold his drink and was quick-witted—perfect for the role.
"Master Kui Xi, your reputation precedes you," Tyrion said.
After the introductions, Tyrion began showing off his wit.
He stepped up to Kui Xi, who wore the red lacquered mask, gave a thumbs-up, and praised, "First among the younger generation, your fame is rivaled only by Lisben of Volantis—"
"Enough!" the Shadowbinder suddenly raised her voice, her tone nearly cracking.
"I am not the best of my generation, and stop comparing me to Lisben!" she said in a low, steady voice after taking a breath.
"Uh… haha…"
Tyrion was stunned for just a moment before laughing as though he had understood something: this lady mage was modest, shy even—perhaps a bit embarrassed.
"Master Kui Xi, your humility is truly admirable. But who doesn't know your name and your standing in the world of magic? Even an outsider like me knows how revered you are—you're being far too modest," he declared loudly.
He couldn't stop complimenting her just because she was humble. In fact, the more modest the person, the more compliments they deserved—he knew it would leave a better impression.
After all, he was ill and needed her to cure him.
Kui Xi's eyes were deep and reflective, like mirrors flashing with several shadows. But the red lacquered mask concealed her expression.
The dwarf raised his thumb again, waving it in front of Kui Xi and the elder from Yi Ti, and exclaimed, "Master Kui Xi, the finest of your generation—who else could it be but you?"
Kui Xi's body trembled slightly, her fists clenched involuntarily. But the night wind atop the tower ruffled her large mage robes, and her hands were hidden within her sleeves—no one could see.
*Someday, I'll make this dwarf pay!*
The Shadowbinder thought to herself.
Lalesa, sensing a strange shift in atmosphere, couldn't pinpoint what exactly was wrong with Tyrion's compliment. Wasn't "best of the younger generation" flattery enough for this Shadowbinder?
So she began to wonder if the two esteemed guests were unhappy that the Queen hadn't come to greet them personally.
Thinking of this, she smiled and explained, "Her Majesty has been staying up late researching greyscale disease—tonight was no exception. She only just went to bed not long ago. It wasn't her intention to neglect you, Masters."
The white-haired elder waved a hand, then looked deeply into Darkfyre's intelligent eyes and said meaningfully, "In truth, I have already seen the Dragon Queen. The Grand Mage's dragon-soul talent is both enviable and awe-inspiring."
The elder from Yi Ti wore a tall crown and voluminous robes, exuding the aura of someone long accustomed to power and prestige.
Lalesa felt curious about what "dragon-soul talent" meant, but since he was an honored guest from afar, it wouldn't be polite to ask. Instead, she respectfully led the way and said, "Please follow me, Masters."
"Her Majesty has prepared Arbor Gold from the Isle of Cedars. Let's drink to our hearts' content tonight," Tyrion added with a smile.
The old man seemed to hold great status—he ignored Kui Xi altogether and said, "No need for rest or feasting. I was meditating throughout the flight. I'm not tired. Take me straight to the laboratory!"
"The legendary Witch's Lens—knowing it's right next door, how could I possibly sleep?"
(End of Chapter)
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