Queen of Ashes [ASOIAF]

―the chained prophet.

          𝓚aeshai stood behind her master, silent and unmoving. She listened to the proceedings, with hardly a care. Her mind was elsewhere, in the green dreams. The red bricks of Astapor cracking, oozing red-black blood. An inhuman scream. Master Grazdan looked at her over his flute of persimmon wine. He had a way of knowing when his slave had been blessed with the green dreams. He also had a way of beating her if her interpretations fell short of the truth.

          The dreams were never easy to understand, but this one was particularly unsettling. For the first time in five years, Kaeshai was not eager to share the dream with her master. Whatever it meant; she would take a beating before she interpreted it for him.

          The esteemed guests of the masters sat before them. One they called the mother of dragons, a silver haired woman with kind features. The other had hair as black as coal and a disinterested expression. The latter had been introduced as a traveler from the northern lands of Westeros. Kaeshai had stared at the woman, searching her look for something familiar, before receiving a threatening look from Master Grazdan.

          Kae's mother had been Northern; a commoner, sold into slavery by her family. Her mother's face had faded. She'd been replaced by the face of the cold Lysene woman who slipped into her father's bed when his first love was gone. The dark-haired woman looked like neither.

          The ripple sent through the Great Masters, drew Kaeshai from her thoughts. The masters spoke amongst themselves, eager and excited. A dragon. They would have a dragon. It was a poor trade; anyone could see that. Not even a million Unsullied were worth that price. The silver haired queen was trading a dragon for less than ten thousand.

              If the Northern woman was surprised by her companion's decision, it did not show on her face. Her face was serene, even as the older man who'd accompanied them was escorted from the dais. The woman raised her wine to her lips, and then said something to the other woman. Though Kaeshai was too far away to hear, she become skilled at reading lips. Sometimes the visions she saw could not be heard.

          "They're calling me," she said simply. Kaeshai could hear no voices, but those around her. But the woman stood and walked to the litter that had brought them to the masters. She did not emerge again.

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

          The dragons were brought into the square. The one with green and bronze scales let out an inhuman scream. Kaeshai looked to it with wide eyes before schooling her expression into one of serenity. The dark-haired woman held out a hand to the green dragon and pressed it to the beast's broad forehead. As the day before, if she were upset with the silver haired women, she hid it better than their companions. The man with the long white beard sulked behind, like a young boy who'd been scolded.

         The women hung back as the Dothraki riders brought forward the riches. Piles and piles of fine goods, but the real prize was yet to come. The silver haired woman whispered something to the other. Their expressions were so identical, Kaeshai was surprised she had not seen it before. Sisters. The dark-haired woman was no Northerner, at least not by blood. The thought reassured Kae. She would find no trace of her mother's people in the face of a Valyrian.

          Finally, the goods were given, and then it was time for the final trade. The silver haired woman stepped forward. In her hand was the chain of a black scaled dragon, the largest of the three. She put the chain in the hand of Kraznys mo Nakloz, and in turn he placed the whip of the Unsullied in hers.

         The dragon unfurled its wings, casting a shadow over the master. Kaeshai looked at the beast intently. Black and red.

          The silver haired woman took the whip and held it before the assembled Unsullied. Her sister lingered near the dragons. Though Master Kraznys held the chain of the large black dragon, he struggled to make it move.

          Among the Unsullied, the woman yelled, she spoke Valyrian with no accent. Only Master Grazdan took notice. Had he looked to his seer, he may have known what fate awaited them, but he did not. "He will not come," Kraznys complained.

          "There is a reason," the silver haired woman told him. "A dragon is no slave." She brought the whip down across the man's face, and he screamed. Blood dripped down into his red-black beard. "Drogon, dracarys!" The great black beast unleashed a dark flame on Master Kraznys.

          The other woman whispered the same word to the green and cream dragons. A moment later there were three beasts flying above the crowd. The masters ran for cover but were slow and hindered by their tokars. Kaeshai stood amongst them, unmoving even as the flames cut around her. It was not until the red bricks of the pillars behind her cracked from the heat of the flames that she stepped from her place behind her master's chair.

          The green dreams are inevitable, her mother had spoken once. Not even the great masters of Astapor could stop them. They were not so great. But the women who watched the dragons, the slaves who took arms up against their masters, they were great. No, mother, we are inevitable.