Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

"Ahhh! The Iron-Faced Judge—it's Cleon the Iron Mask from Meereen!" Inspector Donal let out an excited shout after just a glance back.

Cleon wore a gray linen T-shirt and loose gray silk pants. Shackled in handcuffs and leg irons, he was being escorted by two Unsullied soldiers as he slowly descended the gangplank.

He walked with composed elegance, his lips curved in a slight smile as he raised a hand to acknowledge the cheering crowd. The chains on his wrists clinked rhythmically as he moved.

Though bound in chains and dressed like a prisoner, his expression was far from dejected. Instead, his entire being exuded a profound presence. Even with the rugged face of a butcher, there was an unmistakable air of fearlessness and resolve.

He resembled a righteous and noble magistrate wrongly imprisoned—yet dignified and serene.

"Cleon, the Earl…" Tyrion chewed on the name, then suddenly his expression changed as he muttered,"He's the Butcher Earl Cleon? I heard he's a ruthless killer, cruel and bloodthirsty, with the blood of countless suffering Ghiscari civilians on his hands. He's said to be the number one butcher under the Dragon Queen's command. But how does he carry himself with such righteousness and the bearing of a distinguished statesman?"

"He truly does have the demeanor of a great minister," Clinton said with a face full of wonder and doubt, murmuring, "He reminds me of Duke Tywin, who once resigned in anger as Hand of the King. But Cleon seems less bitter than Tywin—more carefree and composed."

"Slander is a terrible thing! The Ghiscari from Volantis have gone all out to smear the Dragon Queen, her Mother of Dragons Guard, and the new freemen of Slaver's Bay. They've even maligned a man like Earl Cleon, who looks every bit a virtuous official, as a greedy and bloodthirsty demon."

The fire mages nodded in agreement.

Indeed, Cleon's bearing was admirable and worthy of respect. There wasn't a trace of depravity or savagery in his demeanor.

The customs inspector spoke with a complicated expression. "Our enemy's villain is our hero. The Ghiscari's insults and slander are nothing more than badges of honor and praise for Earl Cleon.

He was undoubtedly severe with the Ghiscari slave masters, but everything he did was in strict accordance with the law. In the few months he served as the Lord of Meereen, he upheld justice with clarity and fairness, and was utterly impartial.

But because he was too just, unwilling to tolerate any corruption, and refused to let a single wicked person go unpunished, he completely offended the Ghiscari—who then brought charges against him before the Queen."

"What happened? Tell me everything," Tyrion leaned in eagerly.

"You," Inspector Donal frowned at the ugly dwarf, then asked Clinton, "Is he with you?"

"He and that female dwarf are acrobatic performers I purchased from a Free City," Clinton replied.

Donal's expression instantly turned sharp. He said coldly, "Slaver's Bay does not allow slavery. Any slave, upon entering the bay, immediately becomes a freeman.

As for you, you will be arrested for trafficking slaves. Even if you know Ser Barristan, it won't save you!"

At his words, two Unsullied behind him drew their short swords and cautiously moved toward Clinton.

Tyrion's eyes lit up. He clapped his hands and chuckled, "Wonderful! Long live the Dragon Queen, long live freedom! At last, we downtrodden slaves can stand up and be masters of our own fate!

No wonder so many people in Volantis are constantly wishing upon stars and moons, praying the Dragon Queen conquers their city."

"He's not a slave," Clinton stepped back and shot a cold glance at the gloating dwarf. "Look—no tattoos on his face, no shackles on his limbs. And what kind of slave talks back so much?"

"But you just said 'purchased'!" Inspector Donal pressed.

"Purchased their labor. That's called employment," Clinton argued.

He was starting to regret it. Had he known Slaver's Bay was this strict about slavery, he would've just claimed the noseless dwarf was his slow-witted son instead of giving him the identity of a court jester.

"Are you a slave? Don't worry—Slaver's Bay is a haven of freedom, and the Dragon Queen is the very embodiment of liberty. Once you pass through the Strait of the Maiden of Freedom and arrive here, you are completely free."

By now, they had reached the dock. All around were sailors and dockworkers in linen short-sleeves, and merchants in silk robes.

Elephant carts and horse-drawn wagons lined both sides of the wide dock, forming four distinct lines for loading and unloading cargo.

Because of the slave incident, Donal's team of fire mages also paused beside the Orange Wine ship.

"The Maiden of Freedom, the Strait of the Maiden—what are all these?" Young Griff was keenly sensitive to anything related to the Dragon Queen.

"You must be from one of the Free Cities. You don't follow the Faith of the Seven?" Donal asked.

"You worship the Seven?" Tyrion was stunned.

Donal, now treating the dwarf as one of their own, replied warmly, "Her Majesty the Queen follows the Seven. She transformed the Temple of Graces into a Grand Sept. As a result, the new freemen of Slaver's Bay all follow the Faith of the Seven."

"The Queen never forced anyone to convert, but we all feel the Seven are worth believing in—especially the Maiden, who symbolizes freedom," he added.

"So the 'Maiden of Freedom' is that same Maiden…" Clinton and the others finally understood.

—But wait, doesn't the Maiden symbolize purity, not freedom?

Tyrion's mouth twitched. Yet despite himself, he felt an inexplicable fear at the thought of meeting the Dragon Queen. Was she really only sixteen years old?

Politics, economics, military strategy, and even religion—she demonstrated extraordinary talent in every area. In just two short years, she had built a flawless nation from nothing.

"At the entrance of Slaver's Bay, there's a long island called the 'Island of the Maiden of Freedom.' The strait between that island and Astapor's Long Arm is the Strait of the Maiden of Freedom.

Meereen, Khyzai, and Astapor lie on the eastern coast of Slaver's Bay. Once the coalition is repelled and the western cities of Elyria and Tolos are taken, Her Majesty plans to rename the entire bay 'Bay of the Statue of Liberty,'" Donal said.

The look of deep thought and concern on Tyrion's face did not escape the inspector's notice. He assumed the dwarf was internally torn—unsure whether to report his master and reclaim his freedom.

He softened his tone. "Dwarf, don't worry. You've arrived in a land of true freedom. Here, you'll never have to fear for your safety or future.

The Dragon Queen will grant you land and a house. Even if you don't farm, you'll receive equivalent compensation—enough to buy a home in the city. The local council will even help you find work.

You could start your own business, continue performing as a jester.

Supporting your dwarf wife would be easy. Even raising ten or eight little dwarves wouldn't be a problem.

In short, any slave who arrives in Slaver's Bay has essentially entered paradise!"

Inspector Donal feared that the dwarf, like some timid skilled slaves, believed they couldn't survive without their masters. So he went on a passionate, persuasive rant, doing his utmost to encourage and reassure him.

After all—he himself was proof of that promise.

Donar had once been a scholar within the Great Pyramid. Back then, he lacked ideological awareness and believed that without a master, there could be no carefree life. He stubbornly refused to reclaim his freedom and even pleaded with the Dragon Queen to sell him again.

Later, the Dragon Queen took him in as a scribe and supported him for a year.

Then, while working at customs, he discovered something: the cost of the Dragon Queen supporting him was far less than the wages he deserved through labor.

So, he mustered his courage and, with a nervous heart and hesitant demeanor, approached the Dragon Queen to request the termination of their "support contract."

The Dragon Queen gladly agreed and signed a new labor contract with him.

He was truly independent—free.

He became a civil servant in Astapor.

Life was thriving and far happier than his days of being a slave to the masters of Ghiscari—a thousand times happier!

He had truly awakened and understood how precious the freedom brought by the Dragon Queen was for slaves like them.

Upon seeing the little imp who seemed like a slave, he saw a reflection of his former weak self and began preaching fervently.

"Are you a slave?" Clinton stared coldly at Tyrion.

The little imp grinned wide, revealing an ugly, ghost-like bitter smile, and shook his head. "Funny. I actually wish I were just a common slave right now."

Unfortunately, he wasn't ordinary.

If he lied, and the Dragon Queen later learned of his identity as a Lannister, Clinton and the others wouldn't plead for him—they'd likely add fuel to the fire. In that case, it was highly likely that his grotesque, oversized head wouldn't remain attached to his neck.

"Sigh, Inspector Donar, I truly am not a slave. Lord Clinton hired me, and—" The imp glanced back at Fenny, whose cheeks were flushed and eyes watery.

The moment Fenny met his gaze, she immediately looked down. Her face turned even redder, and her blue eyes shimmered even more.

"We're not husband and wife, and we won't be having any little dwarves," the noseless, ugly dwarf said coldly, with resolve.

Fenny's rosy cheeks suddenly went pale.

"If you're performers for the Queen, then come with me," Donar said emotionlessly, signaling Clinton and the others.

His previous politeness vanished instantly. Now that the dwarf wasn't a slave, his status seemed to have dropped two notches.

"This Slaver's Bay... quite interesting. And the Dragon Queen... she intrigues me," the little imp said, his spirits lifted as he watched Donar's back.

"I used to think she was just trying to win hearts, or perhaps it was a rare moment of girlish compassion—like my wife Sansa," he added, casting a veiled glance at Fenny beside him. Seeing that her lips were merely pressed tight, her eyes not red or swollen, nor filled with sorrow or resentment, he felt relieved.

"What about your wife? What does she have to do with the Dragon Queen?" Young Griff asked curiously.

Tyrion grinned. "My wife Sansa is a kind and beautiful lady—she cherishes cats and dogs dearly.

But the moment starving refugees looked at her with hunger, she could instantly become like my sister—hoping the Kingsguard and the Gold Cloaks would charge forth, slaying every last rioter.

That's the compassion of noble girls—cheaper than a prostitute's overnight fee."

"So yes, I'm quite surprised. Compared to us, the Dragon Queen is truly... extraordinary."

"I heard the Dragon Queen has an ancestor named Baelor the Blessed. Maybe she's as devout to the Seven as he was," murmured Pogba, one of Valyria's two champions, his frame bony and thin.

"Baelor the Blessed had no brains—he didn't understand war or politics, and couldn't even quell domestic rebellion. But look at the Dragon Queen. Look at this thriving Astapor."

Amid the crowded port, the imp pointed to the endless flow of pedestrians and the shops lining both sides of the street, filled with dazzling goods, and sighed:

"Can you imagine? Right now, the major city-states of the world are uniting, gathering an unprecedented army of hundreds of thousands, preparing to lay siege to this city?

Now look at the faces of Astapor's residents—do you see even a hint of worry or fear?

This confidence and pride... I've rarely seen it anywhere else."

(End of Chapter)

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