A/N: Review Responses are in my forums as normal. And a minor warning. Unlike GoT, I have no desire to depict graphic sex scenes. There will be no "sexposition" in this story. However, I absolutely indulged in the world building. So you will have non-graphic depictions of societal nudity and graphic art as was very common throughout history. Please also note that some elements of Qartheen society is from the books, not the show. In the books, Qartheen dresses bore one breast-something the producers chose not to put into the shows. Also, the Qartheen were described as very distinct ethnic group (milk-skinned), which again would have been difficult to depict in the show.
More notes at the end.
Chapter Four: Shadow Master
They sailed through the Straits of Qarth shortly before sunset two weeks after the crew hooked Taylor out of the water.
From a distance, it looked like a scar across the peninsula that housed it. As they sailed closer, though, the angle of the ship coordinated as if with intent with the setting sun, and suddenly the length of the city burst into blazing orange-white color as the late sunlight shone off a plethora of marble structures. Beside her at the prow, Barristan whispered, "Magnificent."
The city was situated on a sloping peninsula, giving it a commanding view of the straits. Even better, it had a narrow barrier island the citizens had shaped over the years into a massive, sheltered harbor. Three high walls, each thick enough to be a fortress in their own right, separated the massive network of stone quays from the city proper. And the ships!
The size, scope and number of the white stone wharfs and the sails of every color gave the port of Qarth a classical grandeur Taylor had never seen before. For some reason Taylor thought sails were always white, but she saw almost every hue she could think of—greens and blues, reds and yellows, and many with designs woven into the tarps. Yes, a few white sails, but most ships were teaming with colors.
The grandeur shrank the closer they got and Taylor began to make out details made invisible by distance. As the captain brought the ship around the lip of the harbor, which was guarded by a stone tower and a blazing fire on top of it, they had to furl their sails and instead broke out oars. Taylor remained beside Barristan as they drew closer.
This close, the grandeur disappeared entirely. Instead, what she saw were brothels and taverns, warehouses and loading facilities. She saw wood and rope booms that were able to lift tons of supplies out of the ships, and large wooden ramps that were almost level with other ships floating beside the stone wharfs.
One part of the harbor was obviously of higher quality construction than the rest, but that wasn't where the captain directed the ship. Instead, the ship steered toward a filthy stone quay in front of a line of taverns and whorehouses.
The topless women hanging out the windows made Taylor feel safe in identifying what types of places they were. More striking was the fact that Barristan didn't feel surprised in the Force at all. He barely even noticed, instead looking for the inevitable guards, thieves and other potential threats.
Men stood waiting on the wharf as the captain carefully drew the ship close before storing the oars and drifting. They threw several ropes, which Groleo's crew caught and pulled to secure the ship to its final moorings.
The moment the captain lowered a gangplank down to the wharf, a fat, milk-skinned official walked on board with a thin servant a step behind. Taylor didn't understand the language they spoke, but understood the bag of coins exchanged easily enough.
"The captain's commission was to come and serve Her Grace," Barristan explained. "So the ship will remain until the Queen is ready to depart on her. Our job will be finding her grace." He glanced down at her black flight suit. "It may assist our cause to find you more suitable attire, as well."
"I have to admit a change of clothing would be welcome," Taylor said. "I don't have any money, though."
"I have plenty of coin to spend," Barristan said. "Better still, little of it is mine. I find it easy to be generous with other people's money."
"Spoken like a seasoned man of the government," Taylor laughed.
The captain was happy enough to see them depart. Taylor continued to stay near Barristan's side as the two stepped down onto the wharf. One of Groleo's men carried Barristan's chest, though the knight himself carried his long sword over his back and a smaller arming sword at his waist. Both of them had to stop the moment they reached the stone wharf. It felt for a few minutes as if the earth were rocking underneath them.
"I hate sea travel," the old man admitted. Once the earth stopped moving, they started forward again.
Ahead, a group of naked children, the eldest no more than ten, the youngest around six, clustered around a group of tall, black sailors walking off a beautifully made ship with a swan statue at the prow. The children were calling out for something in Qartheen, but Taylor couldn't understand the language.
"Summer Islanders," Barristan explained. "Counted among the finest sailors in the world."
One of the sailors laughed and threw a big bag of almonds into the air that sent the children scrambling across the stones. Meanwhile, Taylor watched as a girl of ten skillfully cut away the companion sailor's coin purse.
While she was walking away, the man who threw the almonds noticed his friend's missing purse. Rather than curse or make a show of it, both men laughed. Curious, Taylor followed the little girl with her eyes. Not a block from the main gates into the city, the young thief opened the purse to reveal another handful of almonds.
The girl stomped her bare foot angrily and started cursing in her language, even as she obligingly ate the almonds the two smart sailors had fooled her with.
"First rule of Qarth," Taylor said. "Don't trust naked children."
Barristan had seen the entire exchange as well and snorted a dry laugh. "I dare say that rule applies to any city. King's Landing is no better, though at least that child would be clothed. The captain said the Inn we're looking for is called the Harbor Rose."
Taylor hoped there was a picture. Though she'd learned the spoken language quickly enough, she hadn't had time to learn the entire written language yet. There weren't many books on Groleo's ship, given that other than the captain, Barristan and Nargus, no one else could read.
They found the inn two blocks away from the dock, within sight of the walls of the city. Unlike the dank, crowded taverns and brothels along the wharf itself, this building was made of marble on the ground floor of similar coloring to that of the main city, with a pale wood timber comprising the second and third floor. Two men in bronze armor with cudgels hanging from their belts stood on either side of the door, glaring at the naked kids that ran about making a nuisance of themselves.
"This place is priced such we won't be able to stay more than a day or so," Barristan said. "But Groleo said they have a seamstress on staff, and baths."
"Bless you," Taylor breathed.
The old warrior laughed as they stepped past the two guards. They were met almost immediately by a bald man in saffron yellow robes. The man painted his ears blue. He took a look at Barristan's sword before bowing. "How may I serve, Ser?"
His Common Tongue was perfect, as far as Taylor's inexperienced ear could tell. More importantly, he seemed to know what language to speak just by Barristan's mannerisms and dress.
"I wish a suite for my daughter and I," Barristan said. "We were waylaid by pirates and she lost most of her belongings. I'll need clothes made for her, and baths drawn for us both." As he spoke, Barristan removed two large gold coins.
Behind them, Groleo's grudging sailor placed Barristan's chest on the tiles and left without a word. A pair of scantily clad servants quickly came and gathered the chest. Meanwhile, at Ser Barristan's mention of Taylor as his daughter, the bald, painted man glanced briefly at her. His calm poise broke for a split second as he beheld her eyes. The moment lasted barely a heartbeat; he covered his lapse with a deep bow.
"It will be our pleasure to serve you and your beauteous daughter. May it please you to follow me to your suite?"
Barristan nodded, while Taylor tried not to stare to obviously at the place. The walls were filled with colorful, beautifully crafted tapestries that featured some of the most graphic and lovingly crafted pornography she'd ever seen outside of the internet. When she drew her eyes from the tapestries and saw that the servers were all loin-cloth-clad young men and women, she began to wonder just how full-service the inn was.
They went up a wide marble staircase with a rich, crimson runner made with floral designs. It took a moment to realize that the golden thread wasn't woven in flowers and vines like she first thought, but rather a series of dueling penises and vaginas.
Good grief. "You seem to have a strong...theme in your decor," Taylor noted.
The bald man with blue ears turned and smiled. He focused on her mouth rather than her eyes. "We Qartheen are a lusty lot, it's true. What more is there in life, but to embrace it to its fullest and live with joy?"
Barristan said nothing as they entered their suite.
After all the gold-leaf pillars and half-naked servants, Taylor was expecting a massive room with palm fronds, slave girls holding grapes and naughty statues. Instead, they entered a modest room with four columns that bordered two doors, with a balcony that looked directly toward the white plaster walls of the city proper. With the setting sun, the top of the walls blazed with orange light, even as the lower portions sank into shadow.
"Shall you bathe before or after your meal?" their porter asked.
Barristan looked to Taylor. "Before, if that's okay," Taylor said.
The man bowed. "I shall have a servant take you to the baths soon, then. Food shall be waiting upon your return. If you have any needs or desires, pull the bell rope."
He bowed, and left.
"What a strange man," Taylor said.
"A eunuch," Barristan noted. "One such as he served both the old king and the new in King's Landing."
She tried not to stare. "Is that...common, here?"
"Qarth does a lot of trade with Slaver's Bay. A cut boy is less likely to be aggressive."
"Right." She sighed. "Will my eyes be a problem, Barristan?"
"Noticed that, did you?" The old knight let his long sword from his shoulders and leaned it against the chest that made its way into the room before them. "I wish I had an answer, but these are not my people. I don't have their language nor custom. All I know of the city is what I've been told and what I've read."
As he spoke he opened the doors onto his sleeping chamber. Taylor did the same, revealing small but comfortably appointed rooms with relatively large beds with feather mattresses and pillows, draped in silken sheets as smooth as any modern fabric.
For a moment, Taylor could almost forget she was on another world in a primitive society. Right up until she saw the privy closet, complete with a removable golden pail. She wondered if the gold made it smell better, somehow.
Her sole possession consisted of a burlap bag in which she'd stored her helmet. She placed that on the bed and stepped back out just in time for a distressingly young woman in a diaphanous silk gown with oiled, milky-pale skin and rich black hair to appear at the door with a bow. The girl didn't say a word and would not look at her eyes, but seemed intent that Taylor follow her.
"Different culture," Taylor whispered to herself. "Different culture."
They went down to the ground level, further back into the surprisingly long building, until they reached the baths. Immediately through the curtain, she realized the baths were co-ed. She knew this when she was greeted just inside the door by the sight of a hugely fat man with a vanishingly small penis and breasts almost as large as her own (if covered in a thick mat of black hair) who walked by with yet another distressingly young woman in another scandalously revealing gown leading him.
"Right. Just like the shared shower in New Zealand," Taylor told herself. During the worst of the fighting, amenities were a luxury, and in a co-ed force of Parahumans and mundane soldiers, having separate women's and men's showers when they barely had the materials to set up a medical tent became unrealistic.
"No prudes in Qarth, that much is certain," she muttered as the young serving girl led her to a table in a far corner lit by two braziers and an array of candles.
Two other women waited there. The most noticeable was a very large, strong-looking woman whose stomach hung over the edge of her loincloth. She had pendulous breasts and thick, meaty arms and hands that looked like clubs. Like the girl, the larger woman had an odd, milky-pale tone to her skin that Taylor realized was a peculiar racial stock she'd never seen on earth.
The second woman draped her thin form in a silken gown of bright greens and yellows, but which left her right breast exposed. She looked to have ten years on Taylor, with the same pale skin as the other two. The lot of them looked as if someone took a group of Egyptians and then bleached them. She wore an actual unibrow-a solid line of thin, sculpted hair that stretched across the entirety of her browline. She bowed when Taylor arrived, but like everyone else refused to meet her eyes.
"Greetings, Mistress," the lean woman said in heavily accented Common Tongue, viewing Taylor's flight suit with a mix of curiosity and scandal. "We are most honored by your presence. I am Ettachrisiantia, lowly seamstress of the Harbor Rose. It is my pleasure to prepare clothing for you during your baths. My master told me you were waylaid by pirates and had to dress...differently. Shall I prepare for you your traditional robes?"
Taylor had no idea what traditional robes she meant, though if they left a breast bare she'd probably refuse. She sensed that something was off, though. All three of the servants (slaves?) acted as if they somehow recognized Taylor. Or at least, she amended, thought they recognized her.
"Ettachrisiantia," Taylor said, struggling not to trip over the name. "Please look at me."
All three of the women tensed. Taylor added, gently, "I promise I won't hurt you."
The gowned woman glanced up, and that was enough for Taylor to slip into her mind. The woman's terror buffeted Taylor's mind like a raging storm. Fueling the fear was a woman's voice, speaking from behind a mask made of bronzed, hexagonal scales.
"A Shadow Master comes, not from the East, but from the West. She carries fire and death in her wake, cleansing the old. Where she passes, life comes anew. Fear her coming; rejoice in her passing."
Shadow Master.
"What do you know about Shadow Masters?" Taylor asked.
The youngest of the women whimpered. The larger woman shivered. Ettachrisiantia, though, could only stand, trapped as she was within Taylor's gaze.
"They c….ahait dula ae' sho Asshai."
They come from Asshai. Asshai-Beyond-The-Shadow, where animals and children may not walk lest they perish. Where R'hllor revealed his mysteries and dragons still live. Where Binders birth demons and masters wield shadows like weapons. Oh please, mistress. Please, I have children. Please don't take my soul. I beg of you…
The woman's terrified thoughts echoed through Taylor's mind in her native language. The words faded into intense emotions and memories of her two children. Unlike the other two women, Etta was no slave. She was a free woman of the merchant class whose husband was lost while sailing to Leng. And so she worked to provide for her son's tutor, and her daughter's dowry, leaving almost nothing for herself. She did so happily, praying to the gods of Qarth that her son may find a place with one of the merchant princes of the city, and her daughter a good husband.
"You have been very informative, Etta," Taylor said. The Qartheen tongue glided smoothly from her lips. It felt like a mixture Greek and Chinese though had no relation to either. "I shall require three sets of traditional robes. But also, three sets of…" A brief glimpse through the seamstress's mind gave her what she hoped for. "A Summer Islander's archer garb."
Taylor released her hold on the woman. Etta gasped and struggled not to collapse to her feet. Taylor gave her a moment to collect herself. Her telepathic touch would not have hurt the woman; rather it was her terror that dominated her.
Still, she collected herself and bowed from the waist. "I shall be honored to do so, Mistress. May I ask that you disrobe so that I may have your measure?"
Taylor peeled herself out of her flight suit, careful to detach her gauntlet and weapon belt. None of them stared at her well-healed scars. Etta quickly and efficiently took measurements of Taylor's body, finding comfort in the familiar.
When she was done, the larger woman pointed to the table. "If it pleases you, mistress," the woman said in Qartheen.
All thoughts of black-eyed Dark Siders was lost in ecstatic pain. Evidently a full bath in Qarth meant an oiled rub and then a massage that came damned close to bringing Taylor to the consistency of rubber. At the same time, the much smaller, younger girl brought a set of pails and a pitcher and began to wash Taylor's hair in scented soap-infused water.
By the time she left the table, Taylor didn't care that naked, fat old men could see her. She'd been oiled, rubbed, washed and then scraped enough that by the time they led her to the tepid water of the baths, she could barely move. She didn't open her eyes until she felt the water of her stone tub move, and saw with some surprise that Barristan Selmy sat opposite her.
"They don't have baths like this in King's Landing," he noted with just a touch of indignation and very red cheeks.
She was naked in a tub with Ser Barristan. But damn it, she felt so good at that moment she couldn't bring herself to care. "They don't do it like this where I'm from either," Taylor admitted. "But my hair's clean."
The old man chuckled. "What little I have is clean enough."
They both leaned their heads back against the smooth stone lips of the tubs and just luxuriated in the warmth of the water and a brief moment of peace.
~~Quintessence~
~~Quintessence~
In the time it took for Taylor to finish her soak, the first of her garments was finished. The garments consisted of a simple white linen shift that hung down to her knees, followed by a flaming red dress with wide, voluminous red sleeves. Over that was a black cloak and hood. The final item was a mask-a mask of hexagonal bronze scales woven over silk that left her eyes, nose and mouth bare.
Etta almost trembled with fear as she presented the clothing. Though Taylor was horrified at what looked like the garb of a primitive Sith, she forced a smile for the other woman. "You've done well, Etta."
The seamstress's relief was palatable. She helped Taylor pull the fabric on. For all its ominous nature, the silk dress was nearly paper-thin, and the cloak was a light cotton-like fabric that breathed well.
"I shall have the rest prepared for you by the morrow, Mistress," Etta said with a bow.
"I look forward to seeing more of your work."
The woman bowed again, and then fled. She was quickly replaced by a trembling boy in a loincloth who led her silently back to her suite. When she arrived, her flight suit, helmet and weapons belt were waiting for her.
She threw her cloak on her feather mattress, removed her mask, and pulled the absorbent lining from her flight suit. She never gave up her boots. Though her boots were unlike any footwear around, she would be damned if she was going to give them up.
At her call, another serving girl brought a pail of water and scented soap in a bottle. Taylor got most of the salt and sweat stains out of her tinker-tech fabric, as well as a few splotches of mold, but even so the lining would never smell good again. Still, it was the best she could do. After she let it dry out, she set it back in her suite and then rolled it into her helmet.
Food came in a heavy tray delivered by a grown man. He also wore only a loin cloth, and slim, pale body glistened with oil. Like the porter, he was shaven bald and had an odd softness about his face that made Taylor think that he, too, had been cut. He never met her eyes.
Ser Barristan arrived moments later in leather pants and a linen tunic. He stopped just inside the door and stared at her flaming red dress. "By the Gods, they dressed you like a demon worshipper!"
"Oh, it gets worse," Taylor said. She slipped back into her room, pulled on her mask and cloak, and returned.
Barristan visibly bristled and made a strange sign, touching his forehead, lips and chest. "Did you ask to dress that way?"
Taylor removed the mask and cloak. "My eyes, Ser Barristan. The seamstress thought I was from some place called Asshai. A Shadow Master. She offered to make traditional robes, but I didn't want to dig too deep on just what that meant."
"Asshai?" The old knight stiffened. "Asshai-Beyond-the-Shadow. A land of myth and legend. None ever go there, not that I know of. I've not heard of Shadow Masters, but I've heard of witches who call themselves Shadow Binders."
"She knew about those too," Taylor said. "She thought I was something different. She was terrified of me, Barristan. Like she thought I was going to kill her for just existing. Or worse." She looked down at the mask. "On the other hand, if Shadow Masters are so scary, do you think it might help if you have one with you?"
The old man sighed. "Gods above, it might," he admitted. "I'm famished and tired. Let's eat, then speak of it more on the morrow."
Taylor found she couldn't argue with that logic.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Breakfast came in the arms of yet another scantily clad, bronze-skinned child. This one was another boy, probably no more than twelve. He didn't seem concerned about wearing nothing but a cloth diaper and satin slippers as he carried a large tray of food and drink into their room. He placed it on a marble table near the balcony. A cool breeze made the gauze curtains billow as the sun rose from over the city.
He left before Taylor could thank him, then realized he was probably a slave, just like all the other servants. She tried very hard not to think about it, though. By herself, she couldn't save everyone. All she'd get for it was a cut throat and thousands of dead slaves for the effort, no matter how powerful she was. She never got her college degree, but she'd studied enough military history to know slave revolts rarely worked out.
It would take generations to eliminate slavery, and a tide of support from the world at large.
She sat with Barristan over the meal, which appeared to consist of a soft, strong-smelling cheese, hard rye biscuits, small pickled fish and what looked like poached eggs. Though foods themselves were odd, the taste was savory and the meal itself filling.
"It will be a challenge to get into the city," Barristan predicted. "Groleo tells me the Qartheen are distrustful of outsiders. If we tell them we seek a foreign queen, even one who is a guest, they may refuse us."
"What's your plan, then?"
"Well, I was going to try bribing the guard," the old man admitted. "However, while you washed your clothing last night I went to the lobby hoping for news. I spoke to a Braavosi merchant who warned me against the attempt. The guards would take my money, then kill me for bribery."
She poured a little of the garum sauce on her cracker and sardine. It reminded her of a slightly gamey Worcestershire sauce. "What, then?"
The old warrior looked back over his shoulder at his weathered travel chest. "When that bastard Joffrey dismissed me, he made me give up my cloak and sword. The fool boy never thought I had several. I shall present myself as Ser Barristan Selmy, Commander of the Kingsguard of Westeros, with a mission to find and arrest Daenerys Targaryen."
"Won't they know you've been dismissed?"
"Perhaps. But Westeros is far, far away. And few in Qarth would know one Westerosi knight from another. And you?" Ser Barristan regarded her red dress. "You shall be a witch I hired in Volantis to help me contain the dragon queen and her dragons."
When they finished their meal, Taylor assisted Ser Barristan in donning his ornate, gold-trimmed plate armor. He wore it as if it were a second skin, despite the whole set probably weighing thirty to forty pounds. She then helped him attach a long, white satin cloak trimmed in cloth-of-gold.
"I bet you were popular with the ladies," she said when she saw him fully armed. She found herself adjusting his cape. "If nothing else, they will take you seriously."
"If what you've said is true, it will be having an eastern witch at my side they will pay attention to."
Her own raiment was far simpler. Her only allowance to her old gear was to pull her weapons belt over the red dress, giving the shapeless dress a cinched waist that hugged her figure. With the cloak, it didn't even look that out of place. She pulled on her mask, then her cloak.
"Don't look too hard, Ser," she said. "I'm scary."
She hoped for a laugh. Instead, she received a frown. "You are, lass," he said. "There are parts of Westeros where dressing so would get you burned as a witch. It was wise to have other clothes prepared."
All of her other clothes, including her flight suit and helmet, were safely locked in Ser Barristan's chest.
He studied her intently for a long minute more before nodding. "Are you ready?"
"Lead on, Ser Barristan."
When the two left the inn, they received a lot more attention than when they arrived. Money bought service; armor, weapons and the threat of dark magic earned caution. When they stepped out onto the cobblestoned street, people automatically made away for the resplendent knight and his attending Shadow Master.
They were far from the only armed people on the wharf, but no one wore heavy plate armor like Selmy did. It looked like the whole world would part for them like the Red Sea to Moses. Right up until they reached the first wall of the city.
Taylor knew from her benefactor that three gates provided passage from the harbor to the city within. Set in the wall above the outer gate, Taylor saw carvings of a pair of entwined snakes and a woman bent over and being penetrated by a man from behind, both painted with loving and graphic detail, with a third relief looking like an excited stallion, its massive member pointing toward the west.
Though the gate stood open, men in bronzed armor and weighted kilts that hung to the grieves over their shins and knees stood guard, each with a conical helmet, a long spear, and a shield. The two guards at the gate saw Selmy coming from several hundred feet away. By the time the old knight arrived, the two guards had become six. A seventh man stepped into view as Selmy arrived. Unlike the other men who wore boiled leather vests, this one wore heavy steel mail, and his bronzed helmet was shaped almost like a hammer, if the head of the hammer were hollow and rested on his head.
Ser Barristan walked without a moment's hesitation right up to the obvious commander of the guard and bowed his head.
"Good day," he said in a booming voice. "I am Ser Barristan Selmy, Knight Commander of the Kings Guard of Joffrey Baratheon, by the Grace of the Seven King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm of Westeros. I come in peace, and seek audience with one authorized to speak on behalf of the city."
The men started speaking to each other in their native language. Ser Barristan stood unmoving, his helm open but his face as set as the steel he wore.
Taylor then translated his words into her newly acquired Qartheen. The soldiers all stared at her with wide eyes.
"Why does one of your kind travel with the barbarian?" the officer demanded in his native language.
Taylor considered the fear that Etta and her fellows felt; the fear that the porter and other servants in the inn felt, and finally the fear in this man's mind as well. "Who are you to ask my business?"
Rather than take offense, the answer seemed actually to relieve the man. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed. "Just so, Mistress. I shall guide you and your companion."
"You speak their tongue?" Barristan said, sotto voce.
"I do now."
The officer exchanged a few words with his men before motioning for them to follow. Two of the guards fell in behind them as they walked through the gate of the first wall and into a broad courtyard crowded with merchant stalls and money changers. A second gate lay right ahead. The painted relief over this gate featured another couple making babies, this time flanked by an elephant bull's long member pointing west, and rutting pigs.
The gates of the second wall were the same size as the first, with four guards rather than just two. These guards were actively searching anyone who approached, going through caravans and collecting fees from any of the camel-leading caravan merchants who tried to enter.
The guard captain led them through that gate into the second and final courtyard. This one wasn't as crowded as the first, but instead had windows set in the third wall itself. Taylor could see offices within the thick walls where bureaucrats counted coins or weighed produce. Merchants were doing business with some, exchanging yet more coins of various shapes and sizes.
The captain led them to one of the larger, more ornately decorated windows. Within sat a thin man draped in cloth-of-gold and bright, violet silks woven through with precious gemstones. He wore a mustachio that hung down to his chest, though his jaw was shaven, and had in some cases two or three rings per finger, all with large, precious gems. He appeared bored out of his skull, so much so that he looked up with a gleam of hope when she and Barristan appeared with the guard at his window.
The guard captain snapped off a few quick words before the young, obviously rich man climbed down from his throne and sauntered with a sway of his hips to the window. He had long, oily hair artfully curled about his face and wore black mascara about his eyes.
"Westerosi?" he asked in what felt like a seductive purr. "With a witch from Asshai? How interesting." The man's Common was flawless. So much so, she could hear the odd interest in his tone. He was obviously coming onto to them, but Taylor could see she wasn't the recipient of his interest.
Barristan just nodded. "I am Ser Barristan Selmy, Knight Commander of the Kingsguard of Joffrey Baratheon, by the Grace of the Seven, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm of Westeros. Our people have informed us that an enemy of the Seven Kingdoms has taken up residence in the city. I seek an audience to have her remanded to my custody."
"Ser Barristan Selmy," the young man said. "Barristan the Bold. My father sent me to King's Landing to trade silks years ago. A profitable trip. I heard much of the mighty Barristan Selmy while I was there. I see the words I heard pale to the truth. I am Astaliskianatious Choroiustorious, though you may know me as the Silk King of Qarth. I have the honor of representing the Thirteen this glorious day."
"I greet you, Silk King," Barristan said with a curt bow of his head. "I seek the arrest of Daenerys Targaryen, the Pretender."
The man smiled and then clapped his hands in delight. "Then your king will be pleased this day, Barristan the Bold. Come, enter our fair city, so that you may look upon the face of the Mother of Dragons."
A/N: I viewed Qarth in the books like a combination of Hellenistic Alexandria, Pompey and Byzantium, but without before the advent of Christianity. It is a pagan, cruel world that straddles the hemispheres of its world. The use of pornographic art and statuary was directly inspired by Pompeii. The slavery is straight from the SOFAI books, as is the practice of gelding boys, which was common in many parts of our world until very recently. (it was so recent, in fact, that there is a recording of the last living castrati in Italy).
Next chapter, things really start moving.