Game of Thrones: The blind warrior

**Daenerys's Perspective**

The heat of Astapor swirled around her, the sun relentless even in the early morning. Daenerys stood atop one of the grand pyramids, looking out at the city she had freed. It had flourished under her rule, the streets teeming with life and commerce, the freed slaves beginning to build their own futures. But as much as Astapor had changed, Daenerys's thoughts were elsewhere—on Yunkai, the next city in her path to freeing the oppressed.

Her hands rested on the warm stone railing, her eyes narrowing as she contemplated her next move. She had lingered in Astapor long enough. The Unsullied were disciplined and growing stronger every day, and her dragons were no longer hatchlings. They were her strength. Her fire. Her weapons.

"Yunkai is next," she murmured to herself, the words like a vow.

Behind her, Ser Barristan Selmy stood in silent reverence, always the loyal knight. His white cloak billowed in the slight breeze as he watched his queen. He knew her heart, knew her desire to free the world from the chains of slavery, and he did not question her resolve.

But Arren, standing near Barristan, did not share the same unquestioning loyalty.

"My queen," Arren's voice interrupted her thoughts. His tone was measured, respectful but firm. "Are you sure about this? I believe it's too soon to move on Yunkai."

Daenerys turned to face him, her silver hair shining under the sun's rays. "And why do you say that, Arren? Astapor thrives under my rule. My dragons grow stronger every day. Why should we wait?"

Arren stepped forward, his blindfold gone, revealing eyes that had been hidden for so long. His gaze was calm, but there was a weight behind his words. "Because we haven't consolidated our strength yet, Khaleesi. Astapor is still fragile. We've planted the seeds, but we need time for them to take root. Rushing into Yunkai before we've solidified our power here could undo everything."

Daenerys crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line. She respected Arren's counsel, but her patience was thinning. "Consolidation takes time. I don't intend to sit here in Astapor while the rest of Essos suffers under the yoke of slavers."

Arren met her gaze steadily. "And if Yunkai resists? If their armies are prepared for us? A siege could last months, maybe longer. You know this as well as I do. We're not ready for a prolonged war of attrition."

Daenerys's eyes flared with determination. "You forget, Arren," she said, her voice low and commanding, "I have dragons."

Arren fell silent, and Daenerys let her words hang in the air for a moment before continuing.

"If I choose," she said, stepping closer to him, "I do not need to lay siege to Yunkai for months. My dragons are my strength. I can fly over their walls, burn their armies to ash, and take the city in days. Do you really think their defenses will hold against dragonfire?"

The reminder of her dragons—the ancient, unstoppable force of war—hung heavy in the air. Even Arren, with all his experience and wisdom, could not ignore the power that Daenerys commanded. The fire of dragons had forged empires, and now that same power was at her fingertips.

Ser Barristan, watching from a distance, gave a nod of approval, his faith in Daenerys absolute. "The dragons are a strength that no army can match," he said quietly. "With them, Yunkai will fall."

Arren's jaw clenched, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly torn. "I don't doubt the strength of your dragons, Khaleesi," he said finally. "But we need to be smart. Let your dragons grow stronger—let them reach their full potential before we move. If we strike too early, we risk losing the advantage they give us."

Daenerys tilted her head, considering his words. The fire of her ambition clashed with the cold logic of his strategy. She wanted Yunkai, wanted to see its walls crumble beneath her dragons' fire. But Arren had a point. Rushing in without fully preparing could jeopardize everything she had worked for.

"You suggest we wait?" she asked, her tone sharp, though her mind was already turning over the idea.

Arren nodded. "Yes. Let your dragons grow. Let them become large enough to carry you into battle, to rain fire from the sky while you lead. When they are ready to be ridden, no one in Yunkai, or any other city, will be able to resist you."

Daenerys glanced over her shoulder toward the courtyard where her dragons were kept. Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal—each of them had grown significantly, but they were not yet the behemoths of legend. Still, she could feel their strength pulsing through her, a connection that ran deeper than blood. They would be ready soon. 

Her gaze returned to Arren, and she gave a slow nod, her resolve softening. "Very well, Arren. You are right. We will wait until my dragons are ready to carry me into battle. But make no mistake," she added, her voice firm, "when they are ready, Yunkai will fall."

Arren bowed his head in respect. "Of course, Khaleesi. I will prepare for that day."

Daenerys watched him for a moment longer, her mind racing. The thought of riding into battle atop one of her dragons, their wings carrying her high above her enemies, was exhilarating. The Free Cities had ruled Essos for too long, enslaving generations for their own gain. She would be the one to end it. 

But as much as she longed to strike Yunkai, she trusted Arren's judgment. His wisdom had saved her more than once, and his perspective—one shaped by the pits and the brutal realities of war—was invaluable. He saw things from a vantage point she didn't always have, and she would need that if she were to conquer and rule.

---

#### **Arren's Perspective**

Later that day, Arren walked through the streets of Astapor, deep in thought. His mind was already racing with ideas on how to prepare for the coming battles. The city's transformation under Daenerys had been nothing short of miraculous, but they were not yet ready to launch an assault on Yunkai. Patience, he reminded himself, was as much a weapon as any sword.

The dragons would be key to their success, and he needed to ensure they were ready when the time came. Already, their strength was evident in the way they flew, the way they scorched the sky with their fire. But flying a dragon into battle was not something that could be done haphazardly. It required preparation, planning, and—most importantly—control.

As he passed by the blacksmith's quarter, an idea began to form in his mind. Saddles. It seemed simple enough, but riding a dragon required more than a simple saddle. He needed something that would allow Daenerys to guide them, to direct their flight with precision. The dragons were intelligent, but they were still beasts of fire and fury, and even the queen needed to find a way to command them in battle.

Arren entered the blacksmith's shop, the heat of the forge immediately engulfing him. The clang of hammers on metal filled the air as the blacksmiths worked diligently, shaping armor and weapons for the Unsullied. One of the blacksmiths, a burly man with soot-covered arms, noticed Arren's arrival and approached.

"Ser Arren," the blacksmith greeted him with a nod. "What can I do for you?"

"I need saddles," Arren replied, his voice firm. "But not just any saddles. I need ones that can be attached to dragons."

The blacksmith's eyes widened in surprise. "Dragons, eh? Never made anything like that before."

"No one has," Arren said, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But you're going to."

He stepped closer to the blacksmith, explaining his vision. The saddle needed to be sturdy, capable of withstanding the violent movements of a dragon in flight. But more importantly, it needed a system of hooks—small, yet strong—that could attach to the dragon's scales without harming them. These hooks would allow the rider to communicate subtle signals to the dragon, guiding its movements in battle.

"It's like nothing we've done before," Arren admitted, "but I've seen how the dragons react to their surroundings. They understand commands, even if they're not spoken. This system will let Daenerys control them in the heat of battle."

The blacksmith rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed in thought. "It's a tall order, but I think it can be done. We'll need the right materials, and I'll need time."

"Time is something we have," Arren said, "but not forever. Begin immediately. I'll work with you to refine the design as we go."

The blacksmith nodded, already calling over his apprentices to begin gathering materials. Arren left the shop, satisfied that the saddles would be ready by the time Daenerys and her dragons were prepared for war.

---

#### **Aerial Training with the Dragons**

As the weeks passed, the dragons continued to grow, and under Arren's guidance, preparations for aerial training began. The idea of Daenerys riding her dragons into battle was no longer a distant dream—it was becoming a reality.

One afternoon, Arren stood at the edge of the training grounds as Daenerys prepared to mount Drogon. The black saddle, sleek and fitted perfectly to Drogon's back, gleamed in the sunlight. The dragon's dark scales shimmered like polished onyx, and his eyes glinted with intelligence and fire. 

Daenerys approached Drogon with a calm, steady gaze, her connection to him as strong as ever. Arren watched her carefully as she climbed onto the saddle, her movements smooth and confident.

"Are you ready?" Arren called out to her, his hand resting on the side of Drogon.

Daenerys nodded. "Ready."

As Drogon unfurled his massive wings, the air around them shifted, the force of his wings sending gusts of wind in all directions. With a powerful leap, the dragon took to the sky, carrying Daenerys high above the training grounds. Arren watched as they ascended, his heart racing with a mix of awe and pride.

He had spent weeks working with Daenerys on controlling the dragons, helping her understand the subtle signals needed to guide them. The hooks in the saddle dug gently into Drogon's scales, allowing Daenerys to guide him with shifts in her weight and tugs on the reins. It was a system that required precision, but Daenerys had taken to it naturally.

Arren had also trained with the dragons, though he never rode them. Instead, he had hung from Drogon's side, his body suspended by ropes and harnesses as he studied the way the dragon moved in flight. He needed to understand every aspect of the dragon's movements, how it responded to pressure, how it adjusted its course mid-flight.

From the ground, he watched as Daenerys directed Drogon through a series of maneuvers, swooping low over the city before rising high into the sky once more. The other two dragons, Viserion and Rhaegal, circled nearby, their own training beginning to mirror Drogon's.

As Daenerys brought Drogon back down to the ground, she dismounted, her eyes glowing with excitement.

"How did it feel?" Arren asked, stepping forward to meet her.

"Powerful," Daenerys replied, her voice breathless with exhilaration. "Like nothing I've ever experienced before. It's as if Drogon and I are one."

Arren nodded, understanding the gravity of what she was saying. "You're ready," he said quietly. "When the time comes, you'll ride into battle as a true Targaryen."

Daenerys met his gaze, her expression softening. "And when that time comes, Arren, I'll need you by my side."

---

As the day ended, and the light of the sun gave way to the soft glow of dusk, Daenerys, Arren, and the others gathered near the fire, the warmth of the flames reflecting the closeness they had developed. 

Daenerys sat beside Drogon, watching the stars emerge in the sky above. She glanced at Arren, who was lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the dragons. For a moment, she saw him not as the man who had fought in the pits, not as the cursed warrior who had lived with darkness for so long, but as something more. A man who had stood beside her through everything, who had questioned her when needed, who had believed in her even when she doubted herself.

In that quiet moment, as the fire crackled and the night settled in, they shared a warmth and connection that words could not express.

And in the distance, the dragons watched over them, their silent guardians, waiting for the day they would take to the sky once more, ready to change the course of history.