Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

A seagull spread its slate-gray wings, casting a leisurely silhouette against the clear blue sky.It glanced down at the white sails scattered across the sea before gliding diagonally into the red-bricked city of Astapor.

At 4 p.m., the large sailing ship Orange Wine slowly approached the docks of Astapor.

The hot sea breeze blowing from the land tousled the messy blond hair of the dwarf standing at the ship's railing.

"You're about to see your aunt—why the long face? You're not me; you don't have to worry about losing your head.Niece and aunt, reunited in tears—what a touching scene. Just imagining it makes me want to cry," Tyrion said cheerfully to the young man beside him.

The blazing summer sea made the heat nearly unbearable. Tyrion and the young man were dressed almost identically: thin linen short shirts open at the chest, silk pants rolled up to the knees, and leather sandals on their feet.

The young man had a tall, lean build and a well-proportioned frame. He appeared to be seventeen or eighteen, with shoulder-length silver hair and violet eyes—an unusually handsome man with a somewhat delicate air.

On board the Orange Wine, sailors and passengers all called him "Young Griff," knowing he had come to Slaver's Bay with his father, Old Griff, and a few attendants in search of family.

It was said that Young Griff's aunt had made a fortune during the Slaver's Bay liberation wars.

"You warned me that showing up empty-handed would make me look like a beggar," Young Griff muttered gloomily.

"No doubt about it—compared to her, you are a beggar. There's no shame in understanding that. In front of someone like her, even your father would barely be more than a beggar," Tyrion said with a smile.

"My father was a true dragon, and so am I! I have a stronger claim than she does!" Young Griff growled.

"And that's exactly the problem—your father is dead. What you have now is an intangible, unrecognized claim. She, on the other hand, is the Mother of Dragons, Queen of Slaver's Bay, Valkyrie of the battlefield, the demon of slave traders across the world, the savior seen as a blessing by countless suffering slaves—Mhysa."

Tyrion gazed into the distance at the golden sunlight bathing the Grand Pyramid and sighed. "Look at that. What a magnificent structure—and it's only one of her sleeping palaces.I hear there are similarly luxurious pyramids in Kyzan and Meereen serving as her residences."

"Westeros is her true homeland. The Red Keep is her real home—our home," Young Griff stressed.

"A home she's never spent a single night in? Never had a single breakfast in? A home that only exists in fantasy?"

As expected, Tyrion was delighted to see the young prince clenching his jaw in frustration, face red with fury but at a complete loss for words.

Tyrion couldn't help but think of Joffrey—he too had often been driven into a rage by Tyrion's jabs.

I really do have a talent for pissing off princes.

Still, it was a satisfying feeling. The long, dull voyage at sea had little joy beyond this.

He thought so.

But at the thought of Joffrey, Tyrion quickly reined in his smirk.

Watching princes dance with anger was fun—but so were the slaps they delivered in retaliation. And those slaps didn't just hurt; they could cost him his life.

Lesson learned.

So he quickly added in a consoling tone, "Being a beggar isn't all bad. At least your miserable appearance might stir some pity in your aunt. Who knows, she might even gift you a dragon."

"I don't want her sympathy through self-pity," Young Griff snapped, veins bulging in his neck. "She's my aunt. She'll marry me and become my wife.There are three heads to the dragon. I don't need her to give me one—I was meant to be one of them."

Tyrion smacked his forehead and groaned. "Just look at that. What nonsense has Old Griff been feeding you?"

Just then, a small boat flying a black banner with a green dragon approached the large ship. The boat sailed parallel to them, and a customs officer in a white short-sleeved shirt with blue stripes stood at the bow, shouting through a copper megaphone:

"Where's this merchant ship from, and what cargo are you carrying?"

The officer's chest bore a green dragon—just one, wings spread wide in flight. It wasn't the red field with three black heads of House Targaryen.

The ship dropped a rope ladder, and a customs officer along with two Unsullied were brought aboard and led down into the cargo hold.

A sense of unease and doubt began to creep into Young Griff's heart. He withdrew his gaze and forced himself to stay calm. "What's wrong? Is something off?

Only she and I remain of House Targaryen. By tradition, we're meant to be like Aegon and his sisters—joined together, reclaiming the Iron Throne.

Besides, Lord Illyrio told me himself—my aunt needs help. She needs me.

She once wrote to Illyrio, asking about the prophecy of the three-headed dragon. She even planned to invite Lord Velaryon to become a dragonrider.

That's why I turned down your suggestion to march straight back to Westeros.

The Golden Company only numbers ten thousand—enough to take the Stormlands at best. But I want the Iron Throne, not Storm's End."

Indeed, on their journey from the Rhoyne to Volantis, Tyrion had repeatedly urged Young Griff to lead the Golden Company ashore at Dorne, then ally with Doran Martell, march into the Stormlands, and push all the way to King's Landing.

At this point, Tyrion had already begun his slow descent into darkness—haunted by patricide, tormented by his inner demons, unable to suppress the urge to exact revenge on his whorish sister.

In the original storyline, Young Griff really was tricked into that plan——while Tyrion himself stayed behind and ended up being captured by Jorah Mormont, who was visiting a brothel seeking comfort.

But the butterfly effect caused by Dany was far too great.

First of all, she wasn't like the original Daenerys—heartless and indifferent—who took Illyrio's three large ships and cargo worth hundreds of thousands of gold dragons without any guilt, and even forgot about it not long after.

Dany, on the other hand, immediately had a sea merchant from Pentos deliver a letter on her behalf. While promising to compensate the spice merchant double, she also briefly explained her current situation in Slaver's Bay.

After all, Illyrio was, in name, funding her restoration of the throne—he was Dany's investor. If she was changing her course of action, it was only right to inform her investor.

Illyrio knew she needed a dragonrider (Dany was deliberately testing him), and also knew that she had no immediate plans to reclaim the Iron Throne (she wouldn't return to Westeros before the next summer).

Naturally, Illyrio didn't send the Golden Company to Volantis to wait for the Dragon Queen, so Young Griff had no way to reroute the company halfway through.

Another reason was that this Dany was even more audacious than the original Daenerys—so bold and wild that even the heavens and earth responded. An entire anti-Dragon Queen alliance had been formed.

Illyrio, Varys, and Jon Connington weren't fools. They all understood that the Dragon Queen's most pressing issue was dealing with the allied forces.

So they almost reached a consensus: let Young Griff go to Slaver's Bay first and build a relationship with his aunt, hoping to become a dragonrider. Once the Dragon Queen defeated the allied army, once the dragons matured (they were only two years old and deemed too young for major responsibilities), and once winter passed, then they would move to conquer Westeros.

They even echoed what Dany herself had jokingly said to the guests at the tourney banquet: if she defeated the allied forces, she would rightfully become the supreme Empress, and taking Westeros would be as easy as reaching into a sack. Even if she lost the war, it wouldn't be the end—they could flee back to Dragonstone on dragonback, just like Aegon and his sisters once did.

Thus, the plot changed completely. Young Griff had come to Slaver's Bay to seek refuge with his Aunt Dany!

"S-13 Dock, two silver coins per day for management fees. The Orange Wine rented the dock for 12 days—24 silver coins in total."

The customs inspector had already led two Unsullied soldiers to inspect the cargo hold. Now, holding a pen, he was quickly writing on a document placed over a wooden board.

The captain from Volantis pulled out 24 silver stags from his purse and handed them to the Unsullied, then asked curiously, "I heard from a friend that if you purchase a certain amount of goods in Astapor, you can get a subsidy from customs when leaving?"

"That's right. If you purchase goods worth 100 gold coins, Her Majesty the Queen will subsidize you 10 to 50 gold coins," said the inspector in a green dragon-print shirt.

"By the Seven! A subsidy of 50 gold dragons?" the imp exclaimed. "The merchants in Astapor must be making an enormous profit! How much tax does the Dragon Queen collect from them?!"

"Not all goods or merchants qualify for a 50% subsidy. Astapor's goods are priced lower than those in the Free Cities, and the Queen barely receives any taxes. In fact, she has to subsidize over a hundred thousand gold coins every month," the inspector said seriously.

The Volantene sea merchant nodded in agreement. "Astapor's white sugar and refined salt are priced at only half of what they cost in Volantis, yet their quality is ten times better—white as snow, fine as sand, with not even a hint of impurity."

Young Griff walked over, puzzled. "Then what does the Dragon Queen gain from this?"

"Look," the customs inspector pointed at the bustling dock, filled with people and carts. "Once upon a time, you couldn't even spot a single elephant cart on that street. Days would pass without a single foreign merchant or pedestrian. Now, it's a thousand times more prosperous.

Even though the United Nations clamored to blockade Slaver's Bay, in reality, most merchants sailing the Summer Sea still come in to trade goods and replenish dried fruits and fresh water."

Tyrion stood on tiptoe and looked around. The dock and the surrounding streets were almost as crowded as those in Volantis. Ships were packed like shells on a beach, and merchants and travelers brushed shoulders as they passed.

"I was wondering the same. The allied army has hundreds of thousands of troops sharpening their blades—how is Astapor still so full of people?" he asked in confusion.

"Hmph! Slaver's Bay is the Queen's private bath. With dragons soaring overhead, even the allied navy dares not enter the Bay of Grief," the customs inspector replied proudly.

You could picture the geography of Slaver's Bay like a crooked-necked gourd: Meereen was the head, the upper half was Slaver's Bay, and the Astapor Peninsula was stuck at the gourd's waist.

The Bay of Grief formed the lower half, with New Ghis located at the gourd's bottom, linking it to the Summer Sea.

Of course, the inspector was exaggerating a bit. While the Dragon Queen did control Slaver's Bay entirely, the Bay of Grief was too vast—even dragons couldn't patrol the entire area.

"But she can't keep subsidizing like this forever, can she?" Tyrion frowned.

"Once the allied army is defeated and the world belongs to the Queen, there will be no more need for subsidies."

"Ugh." The imp's twisted face darkened.

It was a sharp and painfully accurate point—he had no argument against it.

The customs inspector tore off the dock rental bill and handed it to the Volantene merchant, reminding him, "Always collect invoices when doing business in Astapor—both for buying and selling goods.

You've got a batch of Qohorik steel in your hold. Once it's sold, you can bring the invoice to the central customs office and receive a subsidy equal to 15% of the total amount."

"Hehehe! Fat Fatt wasn't lying after all!" the sea merchant laughed in delight.

Tyrion looked thoughtful. "Slaver's Bay lacks steel."

"No, Slaver's Bay doesn't lack iron—it lacks refined steel for forging weapons," the merchant corrected with a grin.

The inspector gave the two of them a glance—neither confirming nor denying—then said his goodbyes and prepared to leave with the two Unsullied.

"Wait, Inspector," a black old man in a mage's robe reached out to stop him as he was about to descend the rope ladder, and asked with a smile, "Is the Dragon Queen still recruiting fire mages?"

(End of Chapter)

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