Dragon King of Ice and Fire

"How many do you want?"

The eight Good Masters of Astapor stared in disbelief at Drogo's ambition.

Kraznys mo Nakloz sneered. "Do you even know how many Unsullied we have?"

Drogo shook his head. He didn't.

Back when he ruled a khalasar of one hundred thousand, fifty thousand of them bell-wearing warriors, he had never bothered to count the eunuchs of Astapor. His business had been pillage, pleasure, and profit. He had always known there were many Unsullied—but not how many.

Kraznys looked at him as if at a fool. "There are nine thousand fully trained Unsullied, those who've earned the spiked helm. With the reserves in training, the number rises to over eleven thousand. Can you afford that many? Don't forget—you're no longer the fearsome Khal Drogo you once were."

The other Good Masters chimed in with cutting remarks.

"We have no time to entertain the delusions of a man stuck in the past."

The once-invincible Khal now tasted humiliation. But beneath their mockery, Drogo stood tall. He had pride—and a secret card to play.

"I've brought twenty chests of jewels worth more than gold," he said calmly. "And the blood-marked white lion cub—Snowball."

The little lion whimpered uneasily and rubbed against Drogo's leg.

Without hesitation, old Grazdan, his eyes bleary with age, said,

"Even with all those jewels and that lion cub of noble blood, you could afford no more than 1,200 Unsullied."

Drogo's brow furrowed. He stared hard at the man.

"That lion could stir a beast stampede. And you think it's worth only two hundred eunuchs?"

A younger Grazdan with silver tassels laughed.

"We are not Khals, nor wildlings of the plains. That lion wouldn't survive the Red Waste. To us, it's little more than a guard dog. Is that not fair?"

Facing these slick merchants, Drogo gave up on words—and played his trump card.

"What if I told you I had a bargaining chip worth more than the armies of all Westeros combined?"

The younger master looked intrigued.

"What could be worth that?"

Before Drogo could answer, Kraznys cut in smugly.

"We'll see soon enough."

Then, with a fake smile, he looked at Drogo.

"Former Khal, please be patient. Let us verify your claim first."

Drogo folded his arms, standing tall.

"My offer is—"

"Shhh," Kraznys interrupted. "I said we don't need to hear it. Just wait quietly."

Humiliated again, Drogo's fury surged.

"Are you selling or not? If not, I'll take what I want—my way."

Kraznys smirked.

"Oh, we'll sell. But why so impatient? No wonder people say Dothraki are mindless beasts."

He squinted at Drogo.

"And tell me—how did someone who speaks only a savage tongue learn Valyrian?"

Finally, Drogo smiled coldly.

"You fools never heard? The trueborn heir of Aegon the Conqueror—Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen—is the woman who carries my child."

He knew Daenerys was barren, but the lie gave him the swagger he needed.

Kraznys smirked.

"After your khalasar fell apart, I removed you from my list of partners. Whether you married or captured the beggar queen—I couldn't care less."

That stung. Drogo's bloodriders clenched their fists. Murder danced in their eyes.

Just then, a guard entered, dressed in embroidered linen and a yellow silk cloak fastened with bronze discs. He looked pale.

Kraznys gestured for him to enter a side room and followed. Even the other Good Masters looked puzzled—what secret had just been shared?

Ten minutes later, Kraznys returned, visibly shaken. He walked swiftly to Drogo, now all smiles.

"Honored Drogo Ka'al," he said obsequiously, "your jewels have been verified. And your… offer is indeed enough to buy every Unsullied in Astapor. What's more, once the deal is sealed, we'll throw in five hundred handpicked bedslaves from Yunkai."

The deal was struck.

But instead of being pleased, Drogo grabbed him by the robe and roared in his face:

"You dared send men into my khalasar—into my wife's tent!?"

Whoosh!

The Unsullied raised their spears, ready to strike.

Kraznys waved them down and wiped his face.

"Calm yourself, Khal. I only sent Captain Ozu with 1,000 Unsullied to… check on your wife and people. No harm was done—I swear it."

The eldest Grazdan stood and said coldly,

"Khal, learn to weigh the stakes. Don't let anger ruin your fortune."

They were trying to box him in. Drogo looked at the eight of them as if they were already dead. Then he shoved Kraznys aside and growled,

"This deal might be sealed—but I want a test. I want to see if your Unsullied really fight like the legends say. Since they saved Qohor, they haven't faced Dothraki steel. At dawn tomorrow, pick your best. I'll fight him myself."

Kraznys, sprawled on the floor, chuckled confidently.

"As you wish. Come to Punishment Square. Before all the Good Masters and Unsullied, you will face our fiercest warrior."

Drogo snatched Aggo's arakh and, with a flash, split open Captain Ozu's skull.

Then, in a voice rising from quiet to thunder, he roared:

"One? That's not enough. I'll take on ten!"

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🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire

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