Daenerys had lost much since her marriage to Khal Drogo. Her new husband was a vegetable after an infected wound grew out of control. She had lost an unborn child. She had been betrayed by who was perhaps her dearest friend. But she had also gained much! She had hatched three dragons that were at her command, and had conquered just as many cities. She had traded with one of the world’s most powerful slavers to gain a deadly army of Unsullied soldiers, only to use them to double-cross him and conquer his entire city of Astapor with their own sold troops. Her cunning and power made her one of the most feared and powerful women in the land.
And yet, something was wrong. She was ruthless with her enemies, but kind and sympathetic with her citizens. She had seen how the slaves were treated and was disgusted by it, outlawing slavery as one of her first major decrees. Somehow, she ended up hated by the people. Even the slaves! No matter how clever she was, the delicate dance of politics and economics seemed to slip through her grasp. With the slave market gone, it created a vacuum. The traders were suddenly out of work, and the slaves had nowhere to go. The gladiators had lost the glory of the fighting pits, and the teachers and scholar slaves were now homeless without a master sheltering them. Daenerys was sure there was some way to fix it while remaining at least remotely moral. She had slaughtered an army with dragons and brutal soldiers, but she could at least end slavery with it.
Even those efforts were not going to be easy. Daenerys, her troops, and her supporters were being assaulted within her own city by a group called the Sons of the Harpies. It was some reference to their ancient avian goddess, but also some order of masked rebels that undermined Daenerys wherever they could. Her Unsullied were strong and orderly, but that worked against them as much as for them when they were fighting within their own city against foes hiding in the shadows of any given alley. She didn’t understand why the people she was trying to save were attacking her. She was doing what was right! What was fair for everyone! Why did it lead to failure and fighting and death?
Daenerys was frustrated to a point where she saw this as an organized resistance. This was no backlash from random people, but an orderly group of terrorists that was raising all this chaos. If she took out their leader, this singular Harpy who was riling up the ungrateful uprising, she would stop the attacks. Daenerys had been in Slavers’ Bay to improve relations with the locals, but she was simultaneously starting to root out who this Harpy could be.
She was still searching for any leads on the location of her foes the streets when the Sons attacked Daenerys. She had an escort of her Unsullied with her, and they were quick to get in the way of her would-be assassins. While they fended off the rebels, one of her eunuch soldiers hurried Daenerys to shelter, ushering his queen and her advisor/friend into an empty house nearby. The dark-skinned Missandei was a slave gifted to Daenerys when she had traded for the Unsullied, but she had freed her and kept the girl around for company and advise. She was highly educated and cultured, and had helped guide Daenerys through some of her more perilous decisions in ruling her kingdoms.
The house was really more of a single large room, essentially a large kitchen with some chairs on the other side. It had a low ceiling, and while not enough to require the ladies to duck, the soldier couldn’t hold his spear upright if he’d wanted to. Old and dull silverware was set out as well as other dirty cooking implements. The three were quiet as they scoured the dusty old place, the clatter of swords and shouts of battle continuing outside the single wooden door. Daenerys sighed, trying to vent her fresh frustrations when Missandei acted swiftly. She drew the sword out of the Unsullied’s sheathe, driving it through the side of the soldier’s neck before he knew what was happening. The Unsullied were well-known for their legendary indifference to pain, but a sword going all the way through the throat killed him the same as anyone.
Daenerys whirled to face Missandei in surprise. The Unsullied was already on the ground, and the freed slave was tugging at the sword. It was buried deep in the big man’s flesh, but it wasn’t being uprooted so easily. Daenerys stared in her surprise, Missandei finally releasing the sword and taking the guard’s long spear. She tried to turn and aim its business end at Daenerys, just for the rear of the lengthy weapon to hit the wall behind her. The tight spaces were clearly no place for such a sizeable tool.
“What do you think you’re doing!?” Daenerys demanded. She was surprised and hurt by the act of her supposed friend, but her fists clenched in anger.
Missandei frowned at her friend. “Those fighting pits you closed? They were a part of our heritage.”
“A culture of slavery!” Daenerys objected.
“Not just the slaves! It was a part of our religion!” Missandei corrected sharply. “You execute and desecrate the bodies of our former masters without trial, leaving them out as warnings until our streets reek of death. And when we fought back against you wiping out the people, you kidnapped children of the masters and threatened to kill them. You don’t know what you’re doing, Daenerys.”
“I did it to set people free! To stop the rebels from killing more innocents! And I never harmed those children!” Daenerys pointed out, even though it had crossed her mind. “All these people understand is violence! And it looks like you’re no exception.”
“You are destroying yourself,” Missandei said plainly as she tossed the spear aside. “You took over our cities and felt like you knew what was best. It’s hard to blame you, but you only make things worse for yourself and for the people. And you won’t stop.” Missandei gave a sympathetic frown at Daenerys. “You know you won’t until everyone is dead…” The scribe stepped forward, her dress shifting across her dark skin as she steadily met Daenerys’ eyes. “Or you are. I’m sure you understand.”
“I understand that I’ve had a traitor standing by my side all this time,” Daenerys seethed, glaring back at her as her rage boiled over. “But at least now I have my hands on my Harpy.”
“It won’t do you any good,” Missandei corrected, lashing out and grabbing Daenerys by her white hair. “I will finish you here, take the escape tunnel, and return to the Sons of the Harpy to tell them our ruinous tyrant is dead.”
“You lying cunt!” Daenerys growled, swinging her fist into her advisor’s stomach. Missandei grunted and stumbled back, arms wrapped protectively around her midsection. Daenerys’ eyes scoured the room for any sort of weapon, but when none made itself known, she grabbed the handle of a cooking pot and swung it across her scribe’s face. Missandei fell to the ground, groaning and rubbing her face as a sore lump was starting to grow where she was struck. Daenerys ignored any possible sympathy for her and raised her improvised weapon to bring it down on top of her head. The dark-skinned servant saw the shield that had dropped from the Unsullied’s hand, snatching it up and blocking Daenerys’ attack with a resounding clang. The pot bounced off the sturdier metal’s surface, and while Daenerys staggered from the recoil, Missandei turned the shield to its side and rammed the flat edge of it into her lady’s stomach.
Daenerys staggered back until her hips hit the creaky old dinner table, her hands braced against the splintery wood. Missandei charged in while winding up with the shield, but the conquering royal leaned into the table and brought her foot slamming into Missandei’s dark chest. The scribe staggered back, but regained her footing to rush her former friend with the shield raised in front of her. It might have crashed into Daenerys’ chest, but she grabbed one of the light wooden chairs from beside the table and swung it in an arc towards the traitor.
The old chair shattered to bits, but the impact sent Missandei stumbling sideways. The shield fell from her grip and slid under a table, Daenerys stepping sharply towards her to cut her off from pursuing the questionable weapon. “You dirty little backstabber,” Daenerys seethed. “I freed you! I freed your PEOPLE! This is how you return the favor? Scheming against my forces and murdering me?”
“You kill far more than I by starving them in the streets,” Missandei shouted back. “Your rule is worse than the choking grip of a tyrant. You are like a child playing king without realizing what you do. You’ve doomed plenty with the blind and ignorant dreaming of a barbarian’s mad widow!”
Fuming with rage, Daenerys grabbed the nearest weapon she could and swung it at the hated translator.
“OW!” Missandei winced from the sharp but shallow pain of being whacked across her hand by a soup ladle. Both women paused as the former slave rubbed the sore spot, taking an awkward moment to share the feeling that perhaps their deadly confrontation should have taken place somewhere more… dramatically appropriate. Not necessarily fencing on a balcony dramatic, but with one of them saying something poetic about slavery or politics before sinking a dagger into her heart.
Instead, Missandei grabbed a nearby broom and swung its handle into the conquering royal’s side. Daenerys winced and grabbed the stick, holding it in place against her stinging side and pulling hard. It yanked Missandei close enough for Daenerys to drive her knee up into the dark-skinned scribe’s stomach and knock the wind out of her. She caught Missandei by the hair and dragged her the short distance to the fireplace, swinging her former aide so that her head slammed against the stone of the hearth. Missandei let out a short grunt, knocked senseless when Daenerys drove her head into it a second time and falling limply against before it. She was only dazed rather than unconscious, holding her aching head as the royal kicked her in the belly, knocking her into the old ash and cobwebs left inside the fireplace.
Missandei gave a cry of mixed pain and outrage as her dark skin and clothes were stained by the hearth’s contents, spiders scampering for safety off of her hair. Daenerys checked the fireplace for a poker, but while she found none there, Missandei grabbed an abandoned piece of firewood and swung it into Daenerys’ knee. The royal’s leg gave out and she fell to her knees, though she only sported a notable bruise as a result of the clumsy weapon. Missandei ignored the splinters that scratched against her palms and swung her improvised club again, this time connecting with the side of Daenerys’ skull. The white-haired woman reeled from the blow, landing on all fours. She was dizzy, but her body showed little more than some minor scrapes and bruises.
Missandei seemed to leave her be for a moment, since she didn’t feel her continue with her beating. She was half right, as the former slave grab the short whip from off one of the shelves. Whoever had owned the house had kept slaves of their own, likely driven out of their home by Daenerys’ half-assed politics. Missandei clenched an angry fist around the whip before turning it against her lady, cracking it across her back. Daenerys screamed at having the slaver’s tool brought down on her, but she was still wearing her dress to provide some basic protection. The lash still stung like fire and tore some of the fabric from her garment. Daenerys cringed and recoiled instinctively from the cracking whip, scowling back at Missandei.
“Still so desperate for someone to own you, weakling?” Daenerys hissed at her bitterly. She had been caught up in the fight, but a getting another good look at her hated former friend made her blood boil.
“I only want peace and prosperity once again. It cannot happen with you still here,” Missandei said. She swung the whip again, but Daenerys saw the windup coming and ducked out of the way. Daenerys rushed her as Missandei got one more quick swing off, leaving a stinging lash across the dragon-wielding tyrant’s leg. Daenerys stumbled at the last moment, but still plowed into the former slave and drove her back into the stone wall. The royal grabbed an old clay cup that caught her eye, swinging and shattering it against Missandei’s cheek. The treacherous slave gave a pained grunt as the clay and stale water scattered over her, leaving a shallow bruise and multiple minor cuts from the hardened shards, but she clenched her fist around the handle of her whip and punched Daenerys in the jaw.
The reinforced blow sent the white-haired ruler to the floor once again in a daze. She shook her head to clear her vision, just to cry out as Missandei struck her with another painful but relatively harmless snap of her whip. The pain brought her back to her senses, though unfortunately for her, Daenerys’ senses were all directed at the dead Unsullied in front of her. The smell of blood reminded her body of the lethality of this moment, and she scoured the floor for anything of use.
The sword was deeply buried in the corpse, leaving it useless. The guards usually carried javelins, but they had little use within the confines of a crowded city full of narrow alleys. The shield had been thrown away, but one thing remained. As Missandei raised her whip again, Daenerys grabbed the spear and swung it upward. The blade couldn’t possibly reach either of them at this angle, but she was able to angle it so that the staff end of the weapon slipped between Missandei’s legs and slammed into her pussy.
The scribe let out a sharp cry and fell to her knees, hands clutching her womanhood as her legs curled up in pain. Daenerys grabbed her by the hair and pulled her over to the cupboard, slamming Missandei’s head into the wooden countertops several times over while she was still dealing with the pain in her nethers. “I would think that the mastermind behind a bunch of ungrateful terrorists would at least know how to fight!” Daenerys snapped at her as she delivered one bigger, harder slam of Missandei’s head into the wood. The darker woman groaned and held her head, but she focused long enough to drive her elbow back into her former lady’s stomach.
Daenerys grunted and let go of her foe, clutching her stomach instead of Missandei’s hair. The scribe threw open one of the drawers beside her, scavenging for another weapon but finding nothing but rusty old silverware. Anything of actual worth had likely been taken with the former owners or picked by any number of desperate masterless slaves. With nothing better to rely on, Missandei grabbed one of the dulled dinner forks and jabbed it into the hand of Daenerys that rested on the counter.
The royal screamed and recoiled, quickly noting that the fork had barely left a mark on her fair skin. It did distract her long enough for Missandei to tackle the paler woman to the floor, knocking several chairs out of their way as they fell. Missandei grabbed and pinned one of Daenerys’ wrists as she raised the fork and stabbed it down at her face. The dull implement couldn’t do much, but perhaps it could still take out an eye. Daenerys caught her attacker’s wrist, holding off the clumsy weapon with ease.
The two struggled briefly before Daenerys gave a furious shout and kicked hard with one of her legs, sending Missandei flying back until her shoulder hit the countertop of the cooking area. The scribe dragged herself back up while Daenerys did the same, but as she charged the traitor, Missandei swiftly stepped aside and swung open one of the low overhead cabinets. The small door whacked Daenerys in the face and had her reeling backward in surprise. Missandei gave a sharp, single laugh at her expense, only to hear the movement behind her. She looked up too late, as the batch of mice that had been hiding in the long-emptied cabinets poured out in a panic.
While Missandei wasn’t afraid of mice or vermin, she still screamed in surprise as the creatures poured over her, little claws and teeth pricking at whatever flesh they found along the way. The scribe thrashed to throw them off, shaking one out of her hair before pulling at her dress. Several more had fallen down into her cleavage, and she had to flap her garment a few times to let them tumble the rest of the way down. The rodents hit the ground around her feet and scurried out through one hole or another in the walls.
“I always knew you were a host to vermin, you whore,” Daenerys growled bitterly. “But mice falling from your dirty cunt must be a new one.” Missandei turned to her to retort, but Daenerys didn’t wait long enough to listen to her. She cut her off by swinging a pan hard enough to clang off of Missandei’s face, knocking her silly and falling chest-first onto the counter. The scribe groaned and rubbed at her aching head, her cheek swelling from the blow. She could hear the clang of Daenerys dropping the pan in favor of a fishing net. It had a few extra holes in it between rot and especially hungry mice, but it would do the job she needed it for. Daenerys slung the net onto the counter and then pulled back, looping it around Missandei’s neck and proceeding to strangle her with it.
Missandei gagged and grabbed at the net, trying to keep it from crushing her windpipe. The rough rope still scraped painfully across her throat, reddening the flesh around her neck where it scraped across her beautiful skin. She staggered around as she tried to pull away, but Daenerys kept her fists clenched around both sides of the net. Her breasts pressed into Missandei’s back to limit her mobility. Missandei bounced off one of the walls, her face turning red as she coughed wetly in an effort to stay breathing. She stomped a heel down on Daenerys’ foot, and when that failed to stop her, she slammed an elbow back into the royal’s ribs. Missandei heard her target grunt near her ear, affected enough by the strike that she stepped back and swung the net to jerk the scribe to one side. The net remained stuck around her neck, but Missandei was able to steal a quick breath of air before she crashed into the table and chairs, sending them toppling over.
Missandei landed painfully amongst the heavy wood, feeling aches where several more bruises were starting to swell. Daenerys secured her grip on the net again, and even another elbow from Missandei into her bruising side didn’t cause her to relent.
“It’s fitting. As a filthy traitor, I would have hung you anyway,” Daenerys panted in her ear, pulling up on the net once more and getting another sputtering noise from Missandei. Her vision blurred as tears built up in her eyes, but she made out a broad shape on the ground. Missandei dove forward, jerking her white-haired assailant with her as she grabbed the discarded shield from earlier in both hands. Daenerys had locked herself in place by her grip on the net, so Missandei had no trouble finding her with a blind swing back over her head. A quick but clear clang told her she had hit her target and Daenerys released her to grab the top of her head and ease the pain.
Missandei forced herself to press her attack, sucking in a deep and painful breath before she spun around, backhanding Daenerys with the shield. A bright red welt appeared on her cheek as the paler woman was knocked into the nearest wall, leaning on it for balance. She tried to push herself back upright, stumbling towards the cabinets before Missandei collided with her again. The treacherous scribe rammed her body into Daenerys while raising the shield, using it to pin the royal’s head against the cabinet and lean into it. It wasn’t long until Daenerys started to scream as the pressure started making her head throb.
Missandei held her back while breathing heavily, heart pounding as she regained her breath through her rope burned throat. “Your mad reign ends today, you pathetic barbarian whore,” she hissed, leaning into the shield to apply more pressure to her former employer’s skull.
Daenerys thrashed for a moment, finding her grasping hands unable to do anything worse than scratch and tear at Missandei’s dress. With that going nowhere, she grabbed at the counter top for anything available. Missandei saw her probing for a weapon and suddenly removed the shield from its crushing position. Daenerys gave a gasp at the sudden relief, just for Missandei to shove the shield sharply forward again and bash it off of Daenerys’ face. The conqueror crumbled to the floor, blood running quickly from her nose. Missandei lifted her shield for another swing, but Daenerys was both dazed and furious. She lashed out wildly with the butter knife she had taken before she fell, leaving a shallow but painful slash across Missandei’s thigh.
The scribe gave a sharp cry as the shallow cut shed some of her blood, lowering a hand to grab at the injury instinctively. “You dragon-fucking witch!” Missandei hissed. “You should know the kinds of things an infected wound can do.”
“How dare you!” Daenerys snarled and lunged at her, and while the shield kept her body at bay, Missandei couldn’t do much good against the small knife. It snuck around her guard and raked along her shoulder, not enough to draw blood this time but leaving a raking scratch running along her dark skin. With its advantage no longer what it was, she used it to shove Daenerys back.
While Daenerys tried to rush in again with her dulled knife, Missandei dropped the shield and grabbed the rolling pin from the nearby shelf. The scribe awkwardly dodged around the thrust of the tiny blade just to bring her newest makeshift club swinging at Daenerys. The white-haired woman recoiled, but it still hit with a loud, dense thump against her upper arm. The momentum behind the blow left a broad red spot that rapidly started to discolor into a bruise. Daenerys gave a short cry of pain, squeezing the sort spot and giving Missandei a chance to come at her again.
The darker woman shoved the royal backward, ramming her back into the table and bending her over it. She was staring up at Missandei as she raised her rolling pin, catching her by the wrist just before it came crashing down on her head. With a strained gritting of her teeth, Daenerys tried to swing her butter knife into her former aide’s chest, only to have the favor returned as Missandei caught her former friend and unwanted ruler’s arm as well. Both women were bruised, dirty, dusty and sweaty from all the rolling around the old house.
While it was far from a break to be holding off the other woman’s weapon, it was one of the few times they had been left staring face to face with each other. Even filled with her hatred and sense of betrayal, Daenerys had trouble ignoring just how physically attractive her enemy was. Her beauty stood out through the bruises and scrapes, creating a stark contrast on her face of the beautiful and intelligent woman that she knew against the vicious and unrelenting fighter she was up against. In any other situation, it might have been appealing to her.
Instead, Missandei used her higher position to knee Daenerys in the crotch. The royal grunted as the strength left her momentarily, barely able to dodge around the incoming rolling pin. She clumsily tried to aim her dull blade at the treacherous scribe, but Missandei caught her wrist and slammed it against the table. The wood cracked and Daenerys felt splinters scrape against her skin, still pinned by the would-be assassin. When she saw Daenerys still held her crude weapon, Missandei lifted and slammed the white-haired woman’s hand against the table again. Daenerys winced as her hand hit the brittle wood once again, her other hand reaching up and clawing at Missandei’s chest. It was a testament to the quality of her weapon when her nails were proving to cause deeper, more painful scratches.
Missandei wasn’t going to take this lying down, bringing her roller pin around to slam down on Daenerys’ trapped hand. The dense thump and the struggling royal’s cry of pain indicated she’d hit her target, but the cracking noise that followed seemed out of place. Even in its better days, the table was not built to support two struggling human bodies. The crackling peaked as the table snapped right in half, catching both women by surprise as they hit the floor among the shards of wood. Their weapons fell from their hands, and while Missandei tried to lunge after her rolling pin, it was… well, rolling away.
Daenerys didn’t bother reclaiming her weapon, taking one of the table legs and using it to hit Missandei square in the back. The scribe shouted in pain and fell onto her chest, landing among the shards of woods and only missing any nails by good fortune. Daenerys raised her makeshift club and rammed one end into the back of Missandei’s head, driving her face to the floor with the rest of her.
“Your goddess Harpy is long dead,” Daenerys hissed down at the groaning traitor. “I think it’s about time you joined her.”
Missandei was clutching at her aching head, feeling a fresh lump forming where she had been struck. With any of her weapons from earlier missing either ruined or out of reach, she was forced to beat Daenerys at her own game. After all, the table had more than one leg. The scribe snatched up one of the other crude clubs and rolled onto her back so that when Daenerys’ weapon came down, it met its twin with a dull thud.
“Slaying gods?” Missandei grinned despite her heavy breathing. “And I had thought you were mad with power before.” She kicked Daenerys in her stomach; not a particularly powerful blow given her position but enough to drive her back. Missandei stood back upright, her weapon at the ready. She spared herself a half-second to shake her head, shedding some scraps of wood from her hair and tattered clothes, but nothing more. There were far more important matters at hand than her cleanliness.
Daenerys recognized that they were left on roughly equal footing, a fact that neither woman was especially fond of. Daenerys knew that this was a part of Missandei’s ambush, and she could have any number of tricks up her sleeve. However, it was clear that her sleeves were fairly empty, given her torn clothing and the fact that if she’d had a real weapon beyond what had been buried into the Unsullied, she would have already used it. Missandei, on the other hand, had originally planned on a quick kill. The longer their fight went on, the greater the chances of them being discovered. Whatever the result, both women were still staring steadily at the other. They were committed to their fight, no matter how chaotic it had become. They were going to see it through to its finish.
Missandei struck first, giving a broad swing with her table leg that Daenerys swept her weapon to parry away. She countered with an upward swing that Missandei stepped back from, landing a quick jab of her club into Daenerys’ ribs. She grunted from the light strike and doubled over, but gave another short swing of her hunk of wood to catch Missandei in the knee. She gave a short howl of pain and retreated, giving a warding strike of her own club that cracked into the royal’s again. Their weapons were heavy and clumsy, hitting each other hard but with little room for technique. Apart from some uneven breaks around the edges, there was no sharpness to their weapons to stab or slice with. The old wood dented when they swung hard enough, but they pressed on with their limited experience in live combat. As they traded more probing feints and vicious swings, the old wood showed its age as it sprayed both combatants with chunks and splinters.
Before long, the table legs were barely comparable to their original form. They were dented and chipped, showing damage they had taken from the other like two unintentional sculptures commemorating their every clash. Both women sported their share of lumps and bruises, but their largest marks seemed to come from the hefty clubs.
Daenerys gave a furious cry as she took a wide swing for Missandei’s head. The scribe ducked under the strike, Daenerys too weary from their heavy-handed duel to stop her out of control weapon. The club smashed into a wall, blasting them both with a spray of splinters as its head nearly exploded on impact. Daenerys flinched and recoiled while Missandei capitalized on the opening. She raised and swung down hard with her table leg, aiming for Daenerys’ skull but her surprised retreat making it come up short. It came down just short of her nose, but Missandei felt a surge of satisfaction as it reached Daenerys’ chest and caught on something. The royal gasped and froze in shock from the blow, but when the scribe pulled back on her weapon she found it hadn’t crushed her opponent’s ribs as she had hoped: it had only caught on the top of her dress, the jagged wood tearing off a chunk of her garment and exposing one of her breasts. She was still recalling her club when a furious Daenerys smashed the scribe’s other arm and leave a broad, thin bruise in its wake.
Missandei fell to her knees with a cry of pain, clutching her freshly injured arm before she lashed out with her foot, tripping Daenerys to the floor beside her. The light-haired royal landed on her back, the scribe throwing herself at her with her club raised and a scream of fury escaping her throat. Daenerys rolled aside just before it could connect, letting the club snap a quarter of its length off against the floor instead of her skull.
Daenerys scrambled back to her feet, leaning against the wall of the simple home. She breathed rapidly through her nose, her chest heaving as she glared back at Missandei and brandishing the broken remains of her table leg. The scribe hurried into a similar position, adjusting her grip on her weapon with sweaty palms as she eyed up the room for any more viable options for destroying her enemy. As the women sized each other up, Daenerys felt something she hadn’t in a very long time: she felt aroused. It seemed out of place, but there was a definite heat building between her legs that made her pause and look over the lovely traitor.
The fight and any such wandering thoughts were interrupted when the door burst in on them. Several of the Unsullied, having dealt with the rebels, broke the door off its hinges and stormed the simple house. Daenerys was quickly brought back to reality as she waved at her culprit. “Arrest this traitor,” she ordered. The Unsullied were quick to obey as always.
Missandei knew better than to resist, glaring at Daenerys as she dropped the ruined club. Daenerys had expected as much, but this confirmed her suspicions that her aide had planned on no retreat from their face off. If her plan had gone off as intended, this meeting should have ended in one of their deaths. She had mentioned the trap door earlier, so she certainly had the means to leave at any time during the fight, but had shown her dedication to her cause by committing to ending it here, win or lose. One of the Unsullied bound her wrists and dragged her off, leaving Daenerys to thoughtfully rub her groin before adjusting her dress and head back to the safety of her quarters to think things over.
The End