Cool wind wafted through the glittering palaces of Meereen. A wind that had borne witness to many things. This was the wind that had touched the heights of the tallest towers, and the shoulders of every king. This was the wind that swept the dusts of the slums, the broken faces of countless beggars. Ages have passed. Palaces, dynasties, names and ages had come and went. Of them, only the wind remains, scattering their memories to a thousand different worlds. 

Doors opened, and the wind flew in, shaking the room with its cold cry. It drifted over the walls and the floors. The golden scepters and silver goblets. Over the face of Daenerys Stormborn, who stood tall and proud against the wind. 

To her credit, she did not shiver. 

“You are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Queen of the Andals and the First men. Breaker of Chains, and mother of dragons.” 

On her throne, Daenerys tilted her head. She’d heard a great many men already. Petitioners, masters, scoundrels and slaves. She paid them attention and listened, as befitting of a queen. But they were like the wind, soon arrived and soon departed. Their faces seemed to melt away at times. Just like the face of the servants did, when she was a girl. 

Ser Barristan came forward and bowed. “Your grace. I am honored to introduce Master Ming, from the lands of the far east beyond Yi ti. A well traveled and read man.” 

Her ears perked up slightly. Viserys had told her of Yi Ti, at times. Before he became a cruel, vicious man. The boy she missed had told her about an azure blue sky and shining palaces, rimmed and carved with solid gold. 

Not as grand as Westeros, not by half, or so he had said. Westeros was a place of might and honor. A place the decadent emperor’s palace in the east could not hope to match. They were greedy men, those merchants, Viserys had told her. Their eyes saw nothing but gold. 

As her eyes wandered over the man, she was beginning to think that Viserys was wrong. The man was not tall, but it did not seem that way. Despite being in a queen’s court, he made no move to bow. Where most would lower themselves he only stood taller, and in his eyes there was an intensity that would have unnerved almost anyone. 

But Daenarys was not just anyone. She was a queen. So she offered a regal nod instead. “Welcome, Master Ming. What brings a traveler so far to Meereen?” 

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A small smile spread across his face. “A tale to share, and a queen to see. You have made a name for yourself, your grace. Radiant as a star in this dark world. Few see slavery for what it is. Fewer dare take action against it. To liberate cities, why, there is perhaps only one such woman in all history.” 

Flattery. But it was done well. Daenarys found her smile coming easier. “And the tale?” 

“I am uncertain if it is possible. But if you take a ship and journey far, far east, beyond even Yi Ti and the Jade Sea, you will find my home. A small island, but home to a great people. We have something of a grand dream. A land where disease is put down. Where man need not fear hunger nor cold, oppression or poverty. Where even the lowest and most wretched of men may dare to seek greatness.” 

His voice was strong, filled with the conviction of a man who did not doubt himself, and when he spoke the fire in his eyes seemed to make dragonbreath appear dim. A madman? Such a grand dream, a child’s dream, many would say. Yet… the way he spoke. She saw Ser Barristan shifting already. 

“Your Grace.” He bowed the stiff bow men used to hide embarrassment.. “I must apologize. I will-” 

“No need.” Daenarys said. She turned towards the man again. “Tell me more.” 

“We are a people of scholars. Come to our island, and head further still, and you will find a different world. Our history has borne witness to great defeats and triumphs alike, and the lives of countless empires.” 

Daenerys smiled. She had heard many people from many lands, but this Master Ming seemed more interesting than most. A good storyteller, maybe with more myth than truth to his tale. Words were wind. But some were more pleasant to hear than others.  

“There are so many more tales I could share. More than many could find time to hear. There is very little that you would not be able to find. Arts of war. Of ruling. Of making and enforcing laws. Of crafts and knowledge. Even the most well learned man cannot claim to know them all, and for all my life’s study I still know only very little. But I wish to share them with you, my queen, because I trust that there are many things you shall find value in.” He pulled something out of his robes.

A box of sorts appeared in his hands. He touched it, and it lit up. “A gift from me, my grace, as proof of my identity.” He began stepping forwards. Barristan gripped his sheath, but Daenarys motioned for him to be at peace. His hands did not leave his sword. 

She gasped as she saw the painting. Visceral, real. Almost as clear as it would have been, if she was there herself. In the box, she had a glimpse of a city. Massive, towering, sprawling buildings filling every inch of ground. 

“Life is not perfect here.” Master Ming said. “But it is far grander than any peasant or slave can imagine. Perhaps only one man of every ten will know what it is to be hungry, and fewer than one in every thousand will die because of it.” 

“Impossible.” Barristain’s voice held a shadow of a growl. 

“Perhaps. With a more fallen, degenerate age. A worse ruler.” His eyes never left hers. “But believe me, my queen, it is possible. I have seen it. I have lived it. And I know what it is to live in far darker times, times such as these. Is it not the poor, the downtrodden, and the innocent who suffer the most, when you kings and queens play your game of thrones? Three hundred years, and the wheel spins on. Time has come for it to break, my queen, and I trust we share this goal.”

Daenerys smiled. It was a warm, pure smile, born from joy that came from the soul. She felt warm, warmer than she had ever been. It was as if his words had become fire and grasped her heart. 

He drew the box back, and it turned dark. Daenarys found herself staring at the man, eyes wide. “What was that place?” She demanded. 

“A picture.” He said. “Of the times yet to come.”