Rumors of dragons had spread through parts of Essos with growing interest. Words whispered of a Khaleesi having taken victory in Qarth. Warlocks burned with dragonfire, legion of Unsullied taken from Astapor, Yunkai fallen and Meereen taken. All by a single silver-haired woman with rumor of dragons at her call.
One by one with each victory tale of slaves freed and slavers punished was heard even so far as the Shadow and beyond. On the plains of the Jogos Nhai whispers between the various clan’s and their moonsingers of the dragons fire that trailed the sky an omen. Shadowbinders in Asshai and the red priests of R’hllor all spoke of the coming of Azor Ahai.
Deep in the east, near the Hidden Sea the whispers had traveled over the Mountains of Mourn to fall upon curious ears. Far to long had such ears remained hidden in the shadow, far to long had one wished to step into the light, escaping from the cage of secrecy. Thoughts of revival strong in mind, but to bring back what was lost one must no longer remain hidden.
Amethyst hues fixed upon the sky watching with brief lament as the large shadow passed over. It was safer to travel upon zorse than it was by normal means for him. The ride would be long and far but always the shadow passed over during the night gentle reminder that should he have need it would be there.
The gates of Meereen rose high, stench of the bay thick in the air mixing with the heat of the land. Perspiration forming upon his body at the humidity of it, so unlike his home, the air was thick like a moist blanket and the sounds and smells of this new land overwhelming. He took in the grandeur of colored bricks and the pyramids, looking up at the harpys upon the walls their mouths open in deadly scream.
Passing through the gates he noted the watchful eyes of Unsullied posted and Dothraki about. He urged the zorse onward though weaving through the streets towards the Great Pyramid. He wanted to see for himself if it were true, if there was indeed a Mother of Dragons. A smirk on his lips at the title, one of many it seemed this queen had attained. He wondered did she wear bells in her hair as her Dothraki did?
Finding himself before the Great Pyramid he left his mount with a child, a golden coin placed in it’s hand to keep the creature safe while he sought audience. Whether or not the boy would keep his word he did not know but he had coin enough for new mount if need be. It would not be hard to replace the creature.
A steward held hand up as he entered. It seemed there were many that sought audience from noble person to commoner, rich and poor the crowd stood before great doors to the throne room. There were some with what looked like charred bones in sacks others distraught looking shepherds.
He could feel eyes upon him though, his pale hair and amethyst gaze perhaps rarity here. Attention turned to someone who spoke Valyrian to him, the guttural growl of the Ghiscari mixed in bastardizing the sounds. His own dialect far older, archaic now yet pure.
“I am Lysander Balaur and I’ve come to see the Dragon Queen”, he said simply as his turn had come.
