Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

Take the white-bearded man disguised in front of her, Barristan, for example. He appeared to have served four rulers from three royal families and now seemed intent on serving a fifth master—Daenerys.

More excessive than Lü Bu, the infamous turncoat?

Not necessarily. Barristan had merits worth mentioning. His achievements in quelling the rebellion of the Ninepenny Kings and his solo rescue of the Mad King Aerys during the Duskendale Rebellion were legendary.

During Robert's Rebellion, Barristan fought alongside Prince Rhaegar at the Battle of the Trident. Rhaegar fell at Ruby Ford, and Barristan himself barely survived with severe injuries. By the time he recovered, the Targaryen dynasty had already crumbled.

Why didn't he kill Robert Baratheon to avenge his former king? Remember the tale of "Prince Duncan the Small"?

Daenerys' great-uncle Duncan broke his betrothal to the Baratheon family, forcing the reigning king to offer Princess Rhaelle in marriage to the Stormlands' lord to appease their anger. Robert was the direct grandson of Rhaelle.

Ordinarily, such distant ties would mean little, but in critical moments, they provided a convenient excuse—a way for the people to justify their allegiance to the new king and ease their conscience.

"Khaleesi, can I have a few more wives?" Afanti, one of the older horsemen, sidled up to Daenerys, speaking shyly.

In the initial steps of establishing marriage norms, Daenerys deliberately chose older horsemen and women as role models.

She was all too familiar with her people's promiscuous tendencies. If she selected younger couples, the attractive young horsewomen might have several—if not a dozen—lovers. Large-scale infidelity would defeat the purpose of promoting exemplary unions.

So, she purposely matched older individuals. Elderly horsewomen, no longer desirable, were unlikely to have many suitors—horsemen didn't value chastity or marriage, and horsewomen rarely refused advances. With fewer temptations, older couples could lead stable lives together.

Additionally, aging horsemen lacked the vigor for mischief, making them ideal candidates for "model marriages."

"Have you forgotten so soon?" Daenerys glared at the old horseman, brandishing the Horsemen Code and chastising him. "Your signature is on this document, and you swore an oath to abide by it. What does it say?

'A khalasar, unless engaged in a major war and with a male-to-female ratio exceeding 1:1.2, cannot take multiple wives!'"

In reality, allowing multiple wives could benefit the tribe if the male-to-female ratio dropped below 1:1. However, a gradual transition was necessary.

For instance, if unmarried men and women were initially at a 1:1.01 ratio, a sudden mass remarriage could quickly shift it to 1:0.9 or worse, disrupting the khalasar's harmony.

"I understand, Khaleesi, I do," Afanti nodded vigorously. "But there are almost no elderly men among the new slaves. I don't know how the ratio is calculated, but it's obvious there are more women than men!"

Daenerys hesitated; the old man had a point. Among the newcomers, older male horsemen were rare, while weathered, aged horsewomen were more common.

Could it be that female horsemen had stronger survival instincts than their male counterparts?

"Are you even capable?" Jorah eyed the old man, whose braid resembled a pig's tail, with disdain. "You're not young yourself—don't waste what little time you have left."

"You—" The old horseman flushed red. If he were a few years younger, he might have drawn his blade.

"What do you need so many wives for?" Daenerys asked.

"To help me tend the horses!"

"Aren't your shepherds responsible for that?"

"Even as a leader, I still have to work. With more wives, they could help me herd the horses."

Daenerys deadpanned, "And what would you do?"

"I'd supervise them! I'm old and don't have much time left—I need to focus on preserving my health." The old man replied with righteous conviction.

Supervise? Like I supervise you? Sitting comfortably in an office giving orders?

Daenerys twitched at the corner of her mouth.

Jorah was dumbfounded. "This old fool wants to live like a noble lord!"

"I'll allow you to marry two wives, but only if they consent. Moreover, given your indulgent ways, you cannot choose from the new horsewomen. If any of the original khalasar's white-haired women are willing, you may take two wives."

Afanti asked around, but no one was interested in marrying him.

When he sought an explanation, a fifty-something horsewoman replied, "I already have work assigned by the tribe. Marrying you wouldn't help me but would force me to herd your horses. The khalasar doesn't lack food or drink—why should I suffer with you?"

The response left Afanti blushing with shame, nearly fleeing in embarrassment.

Meanwhile, Daenerys laughed heartily, entirely unbothered by the apparent failure of her "model marriage plan."

The horsewoman had a point.

The khalasar was primitive and barbaric, but it operated under a quasi-communal system. The tribe ensured everyone had enough to eat and wear. Elderly horsemen didn't need children for support or spouses for care—at least, not yet.

"Here's an idea," Daenerys said after laughing. "Any married horsewoman will receive an extra cup of fermented mare's milk every morning. Her husband cannot take it from her or interfere with her work."

Before she even finished, many older horsewomen's eyes lit up.

But Daenerys wasn't done.

"Additionally, in marriages witnessed by my dragons and me, husbands must entrust their assets to their wives. Wives, in turn, are responsible for guarding their husbands' wealth and chastity. If a child is born, the khalasar will help raise them, and the mother will be rewarded with half a pound of horsemeat daily."

"Afanti, I'll marry you!" The same woman who had rejected him earlier now shouted excitedly.

"Afanti, take me! I know you're poor, but I don't mind," another elder horsewoman chimed in eagerly.

"Afanti, I'll marry you, even as a second wife!"

"Afan Ti"

It seemed that in an instant, Afan Ti, the old bachelor, was suddenly adorned with the aura of a "national husband."

"No, I don't want to! I don't want this!" Afan Ti looked at the cheering female centaurs who clamored to marry him as if they were a group of ferocious demonesses.

Yes, demonesses like the Black Mountain Witch, not the gentle Xiao Qian.

"Khaleesi, I don't want to get married anymore. I don't want a wife, not even one," he pleaded tearfully to Dany.

"No way. You said it yourself—two wives, no less than that," Dany responded, holding back her laughter and putting on a stern face to scold him.

In the end, Afan Ti grudgingly chose two elderly female centaurs with gray hair. Apart from him, twelve other senior male centaurs from the herder and craftsman guilds also successfully found wives.

However, they each chose only one.

Afterward, Dany called out the Great Black and placed him on the ceremonial table. Sitting beside it, she watched with amusement as the jubilant female centaurs led the begrudging male centaurs forward, one pair at a time, to perform the marriage rites.

First, they bowed to the Khaleesi. Then, they turned to the northeast and bowed to the sacred Mother Mountain. Finally, they knelt before the Great Black.

The Great Black did not receive these grand gestures for nothing. His claws swiftly sketched portraits of each couple onto parchment, and with Dany's guidance, he inscribed the words "Marriage Certificate" in Han characters.

Like a living printer, the Great Black worked swiftly, completing 13 marriage contracts in just over half an hour.

To celebrate this groundbreaking collective marriage, Dany arranged for people to purchase over a dozen cows and sheep and dozens of barrels of wine from the city. From 5 PM to 9 PM, even the sailors aboard the four ships joined in the festivities for a much-needed break.

Even Euron, locked away in a cage, was given a roasted lamb leg and a large jug of wine.

Under the sparse moonlit sky, the northern sea shimmered faintly, reflecting the cool moonlight. To the south, the grand pyramid tops blazed with lights. On the deck, centaurs and sailors reveled together, while the great slave owners of Astapor indulged in their hedonistic lifestyle, just as they had on countless nights before, in their lofty aerial mansions.

Unlike the pyramids of Egypt, built for the afterlife, the pyramids of Astapor served as the opulent residences of the wealthiest slave masters. These pyramids lacked pointed tops; their flattened summits were transformed into lavish sky gardens.

Each evening at dusk, the Good Masters would order silk lanterns to be lit on every tier of the pyramids, making the structures glow with dazzling colors.

However, the streets, squares, and arenas below remained shrouded in darkness. In the darkest barracks, one could imagine young boys feeding scraps to their dogs—their sole "reward" for the day they were castrated.

Even aboard the merchant ship, Dany and her companions could see the colorful lanterns adorning luxury yachts that slowly cruised along Worm River. From afar, they could faintly hear soft music and the laughter of men and women.

These Ghiscari slave masters would dock their yachts near the islands, where dark-haired, red-clad young men and women strolled along the shallow waters, indulging in endless feasts, fine wines, and unbridled pleasures, oblivious to the gazes of others.

On the top deck, Dany gazed at the distant extravagant lights and remarked, "The lives of Astapor's slave masters are even more indulgent than those of the merchant princes of the Free Cities."

"The towering pyramids of the Good Masters are built upon countless corpses of slaves. The crimson wine in their goblets resembles the blood of the enslaved," said Ser Barristan with a furrowed brow. "Bricks and blood forged Astapor; bricks and blood forged its people.

That's an ancient poem a maester once taught me in my youth. Until now, I never realized how vividly true it was.

Princess, you may not wish to hear this, but I must urge you not to buy those slave soldiers.

—Anyone who participates in the slave trade is complicit in its evil.

That same maester told me this. Buyers fuel the market, and purchasing slaves perpetuates the trade."

"How rare," Jorah quipped with a smirk, "Not everyone has the privilege of being taught by a maester."

Dany chuckled faintly and said, "Astapor, I've already made my decision."

Ser Barristan sighed and tapped his cane lightly, clearly unsettled.

"Why hasn't Khal LS attacked Astapor, given its lax defenses?" she asked, seemingly offhandedly.

"Two reasons, Your Grace," Jorah said, moving to the railing and gazing at the centaurs celebrating on the lower deck. "Astapor has Unsullied. The story of 3,000 Unsullied defending Qohor is true; that's one reason.

Second, Slaver's Bay is near the Dothraki Sea, making it convenient for khals to sell slaves here. A stable trade relationship has already formed.

Why do the Dothraki raid cities?

It's for gold, treasures, and slaves.

If the inhabitants of Slaver's Bay became slaves themselves, who would the Dothraki sell their captives to?"

"Moreover, just like the governors of Pentos, Norvos, and Myr, the Sons of the Harpy would undoubtedly host lavish banquets for passing khalasars and present them with extravagant gifts.

After accepting the gifts, the khals quickly move on, having obtained what they wanted—at far less cost than attacking a city."

(End of Chapter)

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