Chapter 193: Chapter Ninety‑Eight: The Queen

The work that suits me is that of a guard, not the Queen's Hand, the old knight thought; the Imperial Iron Guard is already an honorable post, and I should not covet power and position, yet the Queen insists on giving this post to him.

The knight recalls what happened to the last Imperial Iron Guard who served as the King's Hand, and what he brought to the kingdom.

I will never, and besides, this is not Westeros.

This is a filthy, decadent, shameless place; it is no place where a white knight who speaks of honor can display his abilities.

Yet the Queen trusts me; she has entrusted her great army to my command, placed her courtiers under my arrangement and management, and put the safety of the entire great pyramid in my hands—even Criston Cole never once possessed such authority.

He knows the reason: the Queen has lost her sense of security; and the more she lacks it, the more she habitually entrusts everything to him.

The Queen has reason to feel danger.

Dragons—everything is because of the dragons.

When the fourth dragon danced in the skies above Meereen, all those in the know no longer believed she was the sole Mother of Dragons; everyone guessed she might merely be one of many dragon‑hatchers of this age—perhaps even more dragons will appear in the future.

If she is not the only one who possesses dragons, will her pride, the very thing she relies on—military power, the attention she receives—lose its foundation?

Qeylis accepted her because of the dragons; the slave masters of Astapor gave her the chance to obtain the Unsullied because of the dragons; even the Unsullied perhaps submitted to her and swore loyalty to her because of the dragons—not to mention the Dothraki who follow her.

Her opportunity stems from the world's belief that she is the human who brought dragons into this world; people believe such a person is destined to write a chapter in this world, and therefore they are willing to follow her.

If this faith is lost, will the surrounding forces still rally to her? The Dornish came to her because of the news of the dragons, and even he himself came because of her fame abroad; fame and dragons are inseparable.

The Queen was born special; she has not yet prepared herself for the possibility that, to this world, she might be merely an ordinary person—this is understandable.

People need to experience certain things before they can fully understand that this world does not revolve around them.

Reason is reason; the Queen cannot tell everyone that the fourth dragon is not hers—at least, she cannot voluntarily offer an explanation, nor will she shift the topic to the fourth dragon, for that is taboo.

She also gave a name to the fourth dragon—Meiliyasi.

Like other Westerosi noble youths, the Queen's Hand remembers the names of all the Targaryen dragons, even though decades have passed; the names he noted in his youth he can still recall in detail.

Meiliyasi—that is a red female dragon, the mount of Princess Alyssa and Princess Rhaenyra; people call that female dragon the "Red Queen." During the Dance of the Dragons, Princess Rhaenyra rode her in single combat against the greatest dragon of the age, Vaghar, and Prince Jaehaerys's golden dragon Sunfyre; though Meiliyasi lost, history deviated greatly because of this female dragon.

He could not help but sigh for history; now he too has stepped onto the great current of history, and if he is not careful, he will leave an ugly fork in history's progression.

The Queen's sense of crisis comes not only from the fourth dragon, but also from Prince Quentin and his dragon Weisailiang.

Weisailiang influences her more.

In history there has never been a dragon that betrayed its dragonrider, but there have been dragonriders who betrayed the Queen.

The Mother of Dragons, though she bears that title, in practice—especially after Prince Quentin succeeded in riding a dragon—does not look upon dragons differently because of who bore them; Weisailiang obviously taught her this truth.

If even the dragon she herself hatched can no longer be trusted or relied upon, what can she still do? This is the deepest fear.

The Queen undoubtedly shows this fear, and he can understand it.

Once, in a fit of anger, she proposed before him to kill the Dornish prince; hearing this, he was shocked and frightened, as if that moment had brought him back into the hall of Iris II, leaving him long‑struck with muteness.

When he was considering how to persuade the Queen to abandon this absurd notion, the Queen herself rejected it: "Dragons have three heads; they are destined to have their own riders; the only question is whether becoming a rider requires my permission, not theft."

"Yes, Your Highness, we must strengthen the defenses of the golden pyramid where Rey resides; otherwise anyone who might possess even a drop of dragon blood will risk stealing a dragon."

Prince Quentin had once borrowed gold coins from him, but he never imagined those coins would be used for theft—truly shameful.

"He stole my dragon." In the arena, before the gaze of ten thousand people, after receiving Quentin's fealty, the Queen still seethed: "I must take action."

"Action?"

"Punishment."

Even a slight move could possibly ruin the Queen's relationship with Dorne, ruin the Queen's relationship with dragonriders, let alone punishment.

"What punishment?" The words of advice rose to his lips but turned into a question; only a servant would speak like that, and the Queen's Hand should not.

"Those Dornish who climbed the pyramid with him, the traitors of the Windblown, especially the Yunkai who opened the convenient gate for him—if he opened the gate for the Dornish for a few paltry coins, he would also open the gate for the sons of the Harpy; perhaps Weisailiang was not ridden, but shot down by another gang. I must punish them."

"Dragons can sense a person's intent, distinguishing friend from foe." He did not know, "Dragons are not so easily slain."

"He should not have opened the gate for that Dornish man; and those Windblown traitors—I released them from the Windblown contract, yet they repay me thus!" The Queen's anger on her face could no longer be concealed, reminding him of the hatred she revealed in her daytime speech and the bloody, foul smell drifting in the air.

"Your Highness, please calm yourself; Prince Dorne has already sworn fealty to you. If you punish his companions, he will feel your hostility, perhaps provoking his worry and resistance, which is not conducive to uniting allies or winning important strength. Your Highness, ruling is the way of balance and tolerance." Prince Quentin is still young; perhaps once he understands the pros and cons, he may be more willing to ride a dragon back to Dorne, drive out his sister, and rule Dorne himself as Prince of Dorne. "We need not resent what has already come to pass; moreover, a loyal ally mounting a dragon—is that not our fortune?"

Without dragons, on the battlefield the defeated might not necessarily be the Volantis coalition.

"Before he came to Meereen, I did not know him; I had no contact with Dorne. He said he is the Prince of Dorne—could this not be a false identity? How can I trust him? Today he may help me attack the Volantis and New Ghis armies; perhaps tomorrow he will help other armies attack me!"

"Your Highness, this is unfair," you and Dorne are not without connection—"your brother, Prince Rhaegar, married Quentin's aunt; he and Dorne and you are naturally related."

"But the bond of that relationship has been broken; they are dead, their children have been killed by the Lannister dogs—everything is severed."

"Severed, yet it can be rebuilt."

"How to rebuild?" The Queen's question floated in the empty palace; after a long silence, she suddenly awoke, opened her eyes wide and gazed at him.

"Your Highness, this is yours to decide. But Prince Dorne did not come to steal dragons; he most likely came under Prince Doran's orders for marriage. The bond between Targaryen and Martell has indeed been broken, but at least a shared hatred remains; Prince Doran will not easily give power to an outsider: the prince's coming here is mostly to re‑establish the blood and marriage ties."

Uttering this is not easy; with dragons, Prince Quentin's chance to wed the Queen has greatly increased—power makes men more handsome.

"The Martell family last married a Targaryen who shares your name; I believe they will wish to marry another like you."

"I still have the two great dragons Zhuogeng and Weisailiang; must I also marry those two dragonriders?"

"Your Highness, why worry about the future?"

Conqueror Aegon married two women, still his sisters; the Queen marrying two husbands is not impossible. He restrained himself from imagining this absurd scene.

"How can I not worry? Dragons choose their riders according to their own will; riders are people, and people may betray—like Ser Qiao La. If I also encounter men like Xiu Fu or Bai Wu Fu, what shall I do? I must not only kill the traitors, but also kill my dragons. Do not think I am unaware of this history."

"Your Highness, dragonriders are not only men without honor like Xiu Fu; there are also loyal knights like Ya Deng Wa Lie Li An."

The Queen offered no verbal rebuttal.

"Moreover, Quentin is the Prince of Dorne; he bears honor, unlike those fickle bastards."

The Queen's Hand felt weary—not merely bodily; he felt a constant, indescribable anxiety. Persuading the Queen to abandon the slaughter of the dragon‑thieving gangs or to pursue their responsibility drained his spirit, and when the Queen declared she would mount Zhuogeng, he felt the whole world spin before his eyes.

He could not speak to stop her: a Queen who cannot ride a dragon is hard to imagine, but riding a dragon means risk.

How should he dissuade her or what advice should he give? This is surely an adventure.

The Targaryen family never had a clear, reliable method of dragon‑training; much less now, when the Queen has lost the inheritance. Those Targaryens who died attempting to tame dragons may be more numerous than the dragons that have ever appeared in this world.

"If the Dornish can ride dragons, then of course I can."

"Of course, Your Highness." What else could he say? "Perhaps we could ask Prince Duoen what method he actually used."

"I will never ask!" the queen flared up again in anger, "I will never ask a thief!"

"He is now a knight loyal to you. You should trust him, just as you trust me."

"If he is trustworthy, just as I trust you, then I need not marry him."

The old knight was startled; he did not want his words to cause the prince to lose this opportunity.

"He is a fine young man, Your Highness; you also need to marry to produce an heir."

"Before I climb onto Outstanding and Upright's back, I will not marry."