Her name was Hazzea. She was twelve.

Kurt didn't know what color her skin, her eyes, her hair had been. In his dreams, they were always black. She stared at him from inside a huge roaring fire as her skin shriveled and peeled away from her bones, unmoving, unblinking, until all that remained of her was a little black skeleton covered in ashes. She didn't even scream; she just looked at him, as if to say I know what you did.

Kurt screamed, instead. Every night he screamed and trashed in his huge featherbed – It's too big, it's too much, you were supposed to be here and I hate you and I love you and I need you – until Rachel or Quinn (since Santana and Brittany were away to take care of Tina) came rushing in and gave him something to put him to sleep again. It left his mind slow and dizzy in the morning, so he didn't take it normally when he went to bed, hoping that particular night would be different; but it never was.

"It was the- the black one, the bigger one" the man had said when he'd found his voice, breaking the silence. "He came down from the sky, and... and my daughter, she tried, she- she ran, but he... He..."

But he killed her.

Finn had taken charge of the situation from there, since Kurt had remained still on his bench, staring down at the bones as if nothing else existed in the world. Kurt didn't remember what Finn had told the father. Maybe something along the lines of We'll give you whatever you want to repay you. But what possibly could?

He didn't know that. But he knew what he could do to make sure it didn't happen again.

So he did it.

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As the days kept piling on top of one another, people from all over the world came to pay homage to the new king of Meereen. They gave him all sorts of things – tapestries, beddings, garments, jewels, strange exotic animals; it reminded him of the market where he'd been attacked in the Dothraki Sea, only it was a greater, richer version of it. Instead of poor, simple merchants, his admirers were knights, lords, noblemen. Apparently it reminded Finn of the same thing, because the knight had decided to forbid weapons in Kurt's presence, afraid that someone could try to kill him again to send his body back to Westeros and please the Claringtons.

It wasn't all about praises, though. There was a man once, a rich fat merchant from Mantarys, who gave Kurt a huge burgundy carpet fringed with gold. After Kurt's thanks, people usually left, but the merchant didn't. He stood there, looking at him intently with his piggy little eyes, and then he spoke.

"So, can I see them now?"

Kurt's jaw clenched.

"I'm afraid not" he answered, as calmly as he could.

The man raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his massive chest.

"Why not?" he prompted.

Because you would not live to tell the tale anyway.

"They're not available at the moment" he replied stiffly, but he heard his own voice faltering. "They're off hunting."

The man didn't buy his lie. His expression changed, and suddenly he looked like one of those overweight washerwomen always gossiping about everyone and everything as they gathered around a well.

"It's true, then?" he asked in an intrigued tone, but Kurt didn't understand what he was talking about, until he did. "They say you take them into your bed like men do with women, waiting for your husband to return. They say you feed them on little children, and then bathe in their blood to keep your skin smooth and silky."

The first thing that crossed his mind was to have the man killed right then and there. A nod to the Unsullied lined all along the marble pillars, and that would be done in an instant. The fat man's blood would stain the polished floor, but his Meereenese servants would wash it away afterwards.

But what would that say of him, if not that the rumor had struck too close to home?

So instead, Kurt stared at him hard, but otherwise did not show other signs of discomfort. He was getting used to hiding how he truly felt.

That's what being a king feels like.

"As it happens, my skin is smooth and silky without the need to do such gruesome things" he replied, head held high and proud. "And I prefer my lovers to be human, I'll have you know. People love to make up stories to save their lives from boredom. But I'm warning you: if you ever come back to my court, count to ten before you speak. You can go now."

The merchant bowed hastily and left, probably worried that Kurt could change his mind.

"That's disgusting" Rachel whispered from her spot near the bench, as a buzz of whispering grew all across the court. "How do you even come up with stuff like that?"

You tell it true, and then someone tells it bigger.

It worked like that with rumors; stories changed as they traveled from mouth to mouth, shaping themselves according to the hidden fears of those who recounted them. But only a fool would think the story had come out of nowhere. He knew what the first version was.

They say you feed them on little children.

He shivered.

"Who's next?" he asked tiredly. He was always tired, more so after what he'd done. He felt numb, detached from the world, a shell of himself.

I miss you. All of you.

"The Green Grace" Rachel told him gently. "I told you yesterday, khalees."

He loved that they still called him that. The Meereenese had their way of addressing sovereigns, but there was something in his early title, something that felt like home. Maybe it was the connection it had with Blaine's title. Maybe he just liked to be reminded that he was still bound to him, always would be. Even when everything around him was falling apart. Even when nothing seemed to go as it should.

"Right" he told her, nodding distractedly.

The Green Grace was a sort of priestess, in charge of the Temple of the Graces. The Gods of Old Ghis were many, each one associated to a color, but the green one was the most important of them. Kurt had commanded to leave the temple alone during the conquest; religion was something sacred, regardless of the single beliefs.

That was the first time the priestess came to him. Kurt didn't know what she could possibly want.

Her name was Galazza Galare. She arrived with two girls trailing silently behind her, covered in green from head to toe, their faces hidden behind semi-transparent veils. The Grace herself was dressed like that, but her garments were richer, more refined. They had to be novices, or something like that, while she seemed to be at least fifty from the way she moved. She was posed and elegant, though; Kurt wondered if she'd been beautiful when she was younger, if she'd ever fallen in love, if someone had ever broken her heart, before she'd decided to devote her life to serving Gods.

She didn't bow when she stopped walking, but Kurt didn't expect her to. She looked too proud to do that.

"I'm honored to have you here, Your Benevolence" he told her courteously. Her eyes shone, and to Kurt they looked green, too.

"The honor is mine, Father of Dragons" the Green Grace said, her novices silent and still at her sides. "I was looking forward to meeting you. Many of the noblemen who come here to see you come to our temple, too, to pray before going back home. Some of them say you're the most beautiful man in the world. So I was curious about what you would look like."

So first I bathe in blood and mate with dragons, now I'm the most beautiful man in the world, Kurt thought, scoffing internally.

But the way she spoke amused him somehow, and that didn't happen often anymore. She seemed to mean every word she said, unlike most of the people who came to court every day. Or maybe the veil that concealed her mouth hid the true meaning of what she said with it, too.

"I'm sure I've disappointed you, then" Kurt told her, giving her a little smile. "People say many things."

Too many.

"Men are not my field of expertise, but I can recognize beauty where the Gods have put it" the Green Grace replied. "I also wanted to thank you, Magnificence, for sparing the Temple of the Graces. When Valyrians destroyed Ghis, they didn't show such mercy."

"There's no need to thank me. Your temple is safe, and always will be."

Don't make promises you can't keep, he reprimanded himself. No one is safe.

Something shifted in her eyes; Kurt realized there was some bigger purpose behind all that. Curiosity and gratitude were not enough to bring a middle-aged woman to make such a long climb, and the Graces were known for being almost constantly secluded inside their multi-domed temple.

"There's something else" he prompted, crossing one leg over the other.

"There is" she conceded, her voice more solemn now. "I come here on behalf of all the Graces, to tell you that we will approve of whichever Meereenese you will decide to take as your consort. Kings in Meereen used to have theirs selected by the Graces among the city's most powerful families. This is our gift to you, to thank you for your kindness towards us. Freedom of choice."

Kurt blinked a couple of times. Around him, he could sense Finn and the others shifting awkwardly, equally surprised.

"I have a husband" Kurt told her, his brow furrowed. "I thought you knew. I'm sorry you had to come all the way up here. My Khal is not from Meereen, I know, but-"

"We know about him" Galazza Galare said calmly, interrupting him. "We know he's far away, and may not be back for quite some time."

"If that somehow implies never, I'm afraid our conversation is at an end" Kurt couldn't help but tell her, bristling. He didn't like people talking about Blaine that way. He would be back.

He promised.

"His Worship has misunderstood me" the Green Grace hurried to explain, even though her voice never seemed to falter. "I beg his forgiveness. What I meant is that there's time for you to choose, before his presence... let's say, distracts you. After all, the dragon has three heads."

"I- I'm not sure I'm following."

He wasn't. The dragon that symbolized his family had three heads, but what she was saying didn't make any sense.

"The dragon has three heads" she repeated, as if that could make him understand somehow. "For centuries, Hummelsmythes married within their own family, to preserve their dragon blood. But instead of one sister, your ancestor Aegon the Conqueror married both of his, Visenya and Rhaenys, to give each one of them a dragon to ride on. Westeros is very far from here, Magnificence, but Valyria isn't, and we of Ghiscari blood know much and more about its history, its glory, its fall. Hummelsmythe history, most of it. A dragon is easier to tame if it has its own rider. And Meereen needs a Meereenese king."

By the end of it, Kurt was gaping at her. He closed his mouth quickly, trying to recompose himself as a million thoughts swirled inside his head. He had known about his family's past, of course – Sebastian had made sure of that. But it made no matter. He knew he was going to make himself a great enemy, but there was nothing he could say to please her if that was what she truly wanted.

As for dragons, maybe what she said was true, but it was too late now. So many people claimed to know something about them, but he had gotten to the conclusion that they were all fools, himself included. Nobody really knew. Dragons were the stuff of legends, and maybe the world just wasn't strong enough for them.

It was wrong of me to think otherwise.

"The fact that one of my ancestors enjoyed incest and polygamy doesn't mean I should, too" he japed lightly, a smile on his lips, hoping to look apologetic instead of daring. "I'm very sorry, but what you ask is something I can't give you. One day I will leave to claim my rightful throne; on that day, the people of Meereen will choose another king to replace me, and you will choose his consort."

The Green Grace didn't look pleased. Kurt couldn't really know because of the veil, but he could almost picture her jaw clenching slightly. Even so, she kept her composure when she answered.

"I am compelled to obey to His Radiance. But let me give you a piece of advice: if you want the Meereenese to love you, you have to respect their traditions. The Graces have always kept themselves well above the horror that is slavery, but that's not the only thing people care about. I will accept your answer, for now."

Again, she didn't bow. She just turned and left, the silent girls in green following her.

"That was so weird" Puck commented, promptly elbowed by Quinn. "What? A guy marrying both of his sisters? That's fucking messed up if you ask me, and that really says something."

Kurt decided to ignore him. After all, the sellsword wasn't exactly wrong, even though he was talking about one of his own ancestors. It was something he didn't approve of, either.

Speaking of traditions to be respected, the next was Adam Crawford. Kurt had lost count of his visits by now. He just sat there and listened to the Meereenese adding new good reasons for him to reopen the pits every time he came to court. This time, though, he had the decency to be creative at least.

"Your Worship, I beg forgiveness on account of the whole city for the rumors that are spreading about you. People can be so horrible when they have nothing to keep their minds off the emptiness that is life. If they could have something to distract them, I'm sure they would stop making up such awful stories to entertain themselves."

Kurt couldn't help but chuckle.

"Is this your way of convincing me today? It's the best you've come up with so far."

Adam's face seemed to lighten. His tokar was a deep blue today, striped with silver, a sharp contrast with his light skin tone.

"Is that a yes, Magnificence?" the nobleman asked hopefully. Kurt felt almost sorry to disappoint him.

"You know it's not. But at least you made me laugh."

A smile.

"It's always a good sign when a man makes you laugh. Anyway, I had another reason to try and convince you today. I only learned about the rumor when I came here. Today, Your Radiance, I offer you a deal."

Kurt knew he looked unimpressed. He was.

"A deal? What sort of deal?"

The pause that followed was entirely strategic, he knew.

"If I can stop the murders in the streets, you will reopen the fighting pits."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up to his forehead this time. They had yet to find the Sons of the Harpy, what made that man think he could?

He must know people, though. People who would get other people to talk easily. No one trusts my men.

"And how would you do that?" he asked suspiciously. "Who tells me you're not behind all of it in the first place, so all you have to do is tell them to stop?"

"Who, me?" Adam pointed at his own chest, where the tokar showed one of his nipples. "Magnificence, you offend me. What would I gain from butchering freedmen in back alleys and brothels? That's the work of scum, I tell you. But like every powerful family in this city, mine has spies. So, what do you say?"

Kurt chewed on his lip for a moment. It was a fair bargain, if he thought about it. He hated to have to accept a compromise, but if that would bring peace and safety inside the city, maybe he could live with it. After all, it wouldn't be the first sacrifice he made for his people.

Don't think about it.

"Only willing fighters" he commanded, staring hard at the nobleman. "No one must be forced."

"Yes" Adam conceded, nodding enthusiastically.

"Fourteen at least" Kurt went on. "Not younger."

"Yes."

"And only after the Sons of the Harpy are actually stopped. When I see their heads on spikes, then you will have your fighting pits."

"Deal" Adam Crawford said.

Deal.

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He was on the terrace, staring at the sky. He had always loved sunsets, with their rich plump shades of orange and red, but now they just reminded him of fire, and it hurt to see how beautiful they were.

It's for the best. You know it is.

When Grey Worm appeared, Kurt felt almost grateful for being saved from his gloomy thoughts, but then he took one look at the Unsullied.

"What happened?" he asked in a rush, stepping away from the balcony to reach him in the middle of the terrace.

Not that again. Please.

"It's Yunkai" the soldier said through a mask of despair. "It's fallen."

"What do you mean, fallen? How?"

"The Wise Masters turned up in Astapor somehow, from the mountains. They allied with the Astapori, bought new companies of sellswords, and marched to take back the city. The garrison we left there was too small. It fell in a day."

Kurt knew the reason of Grey Worm's sadness. His brothers were dead.

And my children, too.

"One of us managed to come all the way here to warn us" the Unsullied went on. "They didn't do it before because they never saw them coming. They used the same way they had escaped from, the tunnels."

Kurt could only hope there wasn't some other secret tunnel linking Yunkai to Meereen.

Every time he seemed to solve a problem, another one came up. And it was his fault. Back in Astapor, he wasn't sure of what he truly wanted yet, so he'd let it go; left the slavers where they were, only lacking some hundreds of slaves, to march on his way without a second thought. And now all he'd done, all he'd achieved, was ashes and blood, just like in his dreams. All he seemed to do was to cause trouble.

Where are you, my sun-and-stars?

If that was some cruel jape of the Gods, to prove to him that he actually needed someone, well, it had worked. They could stop now.

They organize a council of war, with Grey Worm, Finn and Puck. What they came up with, though, was something Kurt had already realized, as foreign to military matters as he was.

"We can't march on Yunkai" Grey Worm announced sadly, staring up from a map of Slaver's Bay. "We don't have the numbers, and we would have to leave the city unguarded. With half the Unsullied in the Dothraki Sea, we can only hope the Yunkai'i don't decide to take Meereen, too. If they do, let's hope the khalasar comes back soon."

A very loud silence fell over them. Kurt could feel the heaviness of what that implied. If the Yunkish army actually marched on them, they would be under siege soon, which meant no food from the outside world, walls stormed with trebuchets and catapults, and death, death, death. But if Blaine had managed to claim a whole new khalasar, that could be enough to rebalance the numbers. It depended on how many soldiers he'd lost trying.

Then Finn spoke up.

"Khalees, we could... send them..." he whispered, his voice hesitant.

"Don't" Kurt said sharply, looking away from him. "Please don't."

Don't talk about them. It hurts too much.

He sent them away from his chambers on the top of the pyramid and began to descend, one floor after the other, down, down, down following the marble stair that spiraled all the way underground. He passed the floor where the servants slept, the one with the kitchens and the food storage, the one where they kept all the animals he'd received, the treasure chambers.

The floors at the bottom were empty, and then there were the dungeons. It was absurd to think that he was in the same building as before, and yet everything was different; the walls were poor, left bare, barely lit, where a dozen floors up they were covered in works of art from the most remote corners of the earth, some of them even from Sothoryos, the unknown, wild continent lying south of Essos across the Summer Sea.

He followed the stairs, slowing his pace to be sure not to fall, until he arrived in front of a thick wooden door with iron hinges. He gave a nod to the two Unsullied guarding it; one of them produced a key and opened it for him. The climb went on, down, just a little above where the Seven Hells must be. And it was just as hot.

The more he walked, the more stifling the air got, and the stone walls he touched to support himself as he made the steps got scorching, even though it wasn't a problem for him. At the end of the stair there was another huge door, entirely made out of iron this time. It seemed to glisten red and orange from outside, like the sunset he used to love so much.

There were two other Unsullied there, their spears held securely in their hands, but they were more reluctant when he asked them to open the door.

"Khalees, it's too dangerous" one of them told him. From beyond the door came a noise that sounded like thunder.

"Not for me" he said stubbornly. "Open the door."

They did. After he entered, they closed it again and told him to knock from the inside when he wanted to leave.

The dungeon was a huge pit covered with sand – a fighting pit, the private one once owned by the kings of Meereen – but now it was unrecognizable; the walls were completely black and the air stank of smoke and rotting, burned flesh. In the center, Rhaegal and Viserion were chained to the ground and the wall behind them with thick iron chains bound around their necks, which allowed them only enough movement to eat what the Unsullied were commanded to feed them every day; cows, sheep, goats that no one bothered to remove once they were dead.

They screamed when they saw that Kurt was there, close but still out of their reach, just as they had screamed when he had had them dragged down there two weeks before, lulled by food and praises before being covered by webs of iron thread and forced to make the descent. It sounded almost human, a cry for help, and it broke Kurt's heart all over again.

What kind of father does this to his children?

They were bigger than before, and not seeing them for so long made them look enormous to Kurt. When they spread their wings to try and fly to him, only to have their collars drag them back forcefully, the wall behind them was entirely covered by their span. Their tails were longer, lashing left and right nervously, and their bodies were larger, not just longer. Kurt felt like crying when he realized that, now, he could actually ride them.

But I can't. I never will.

Drogon was gone; he had never come back from hunting after Hazzea's death, and the Unsullied's attempts at catching him had been useless. He perched on top of random pyramids sometimes, a black little point far away in the distance, but when someone tried to approach him he took to the sky again. He didn't even listen to Kurt when he screamed to him to come back. Because he didn't want to. Or maybe he sensed what had happened to his brothers; maybe he knew he would be punished, so he stayed well away from Kurt's pyramid.

The last time Kurt had seen him had been one week before, flying over the Skahazadhan. He was even larger than Rhaegal and Viserion, because dragons grew faster when they were left free to fly around – Sebastian had told him that. Vhagar and Meraxes, the dragons bred in the Dragonpit of King's Landing back when the Iron Throne belonged to the Hummelsmythes and those Hummelsmythes had dragons, never reached the size of Balerion the Black Dread, Aegon the Conqueror's favorite beast.

As Drogon flew, his black scales reflected the sun so beautifully it took Kurt's breath away.

But then everything came back to him: the father collapsing to the ground in sobs after telling them of his daughter; the little skull staring back at him from a pile of charred bones; the dead girl of his dreams. And then the rest as well: the murders in the streets, the dead Unsullied who'd paid a whore to be held at night, all those people he'd left in Yunkai, condemning them to die or be enslaved again.

Rhaegal and Viserion roared in anguish. Kurt closed his eyes.

I am the blood of the dragon, he thought. If they are monsters, so am I.