The people of Qarth celebrated the arrival of Daenerys and her khalasar. As they walked through the streets, men beat gongs while others blew curious horns that encircled their bodies like great bronze snakes.
"Qarth is the greatest city that ever was or ever will be," Pyat Pree told them. "It is the centre of the world, the gate between north and south, the bridge between east and west, ancient beyond memory of man and so magnificent that Saathos the Wise put out his eyes after gazing upon Qarth for the first time because he knew that all he saw after that should look squalid and ugly by comparison."
Daenerys took the warlock's words well-salted, but the magnificence of the great city was not to be denied. As Daenerys walked through the city, small children rushed out to scatter flowers in her path. They wore golden sandals and bright paint, no more.
Buildings crowded about her fantastical as a fever dream in shades of rose, violet, and umber. She passed under a bronze arch fashioned in the likeness of two snakes mating, their scales delicate flakes of jade, obsidian, and lapis lazuli. Slim towers stood taller than any Daenerys had ever seen, and elaborate fountains filled every square, wrought in the shapes of gryphons and dragons and manticores.
The Qartheen lined the streets and watched from delicate balconies that looked too frail to support their weight. They were tall, pale folk in linen and samite and tiger fur, everyone a lord or lady to her eyes. The women wore gowns that left one breast bare, while the men favoured beaded silk skirts. Daenerys felt shabby and barbaric as she walked past them in her old Dothraki clothing. Her Dothraki called the Qartheen "Milk Men" for their paleness, and Khal Drogo had dreamed of the day when he might sack the great cities of the east. She glanced at her bloodriders, their dark almond-shaped eyes giving no hint of their thoughts. Is it only the plunder they see? she wondered. How savage we must seem to these Qartheen.
Pyat Pree conducted her little khalasar down the centre of a great arcade where the city's ancient heroes stood thrice life-size on white and green marble columns. Next, they passed through a bazaar in a cavernous building whose latticework ceiling was home to a thousand gaily-coloured birds. Trees and flowers bloomed on the terraced walls above the stalls, while below, it seemed as if everything the gods had put into the world was for sale.
She looked at the merchant prince Xaro Xhoan Daxos, who approached her. "If you see here anything that you would desire, O most beautiful of women, you have only to speak, and it is yours."
"Qarth itself is hers. She does not need baubles," blue-lipped Pyat Pree sang out from her other side. "It shall be as I promised, Khaleesi. So come with me to the House of the Undying, and you shall drink of truth and wisdom."
"Why should she need your Palace of Dust when I can give her sunlight, sweet water, and silks to sleep in?" Xaro said to the warlock. "The Thirteen shall set a crown of black jade and fire opals upon her lovely head."
"The only palace I desire is the red castle at King's Landing, my lord Pyat," Daenerys told them. "And if the great of Qarth would give me gifts, Xaro, let them give me ships and swords to win back what is rightfully mine."
Pyat's blue lips curled upward in a gracious smile. "It shall be as you command, Khaleesi." He moved away, his long beaded robes trailing behind.
"The young queen is wise beyond her years," Xaro Xhoan Daxos murmured. "There is a saying in Qarth. A warlock's house is built of bones and lies."
"Then why do men lower their voices when they speak of the warlocks of Qarth? All across the east, their power and wisdom are revered."
"Once, they were mighty," Xaro agreed, "but now they are as ludicrous as those feeble old soldiers who boast of their prowess long after strength and skill have left them. They read their crumbling scrolls, drink shade-of-the-evening until their lips turn blue, and have a hint of dread powers, but they are hollow husks compared to those who went before. Pyat Pree's gifts will turn to dust in your hands, I warn you."
The Professor turned his head towards Daenerys. "Are we sure we should trust them?" he asked. "I don't like it. It could be a trap to gain your dragons."
"Who are safely in your TARDIS," Daenerys said. "Didn't you tell me that no one could get through those doors?"
The Professor nodded. "I did."
"Then they'll be safe," she said. "Besides, I need their help to gain my crown. Xaro has vast wealth, and Pyat Pree…."
"Cares only about power," the Time Lord interrupted. "I've met people like him before. Something seems odd about this place."
"The Qartheen themselves seem sweet, though."
"Maybe. Or it's a guise to cover up what they actually want and who they are."
Daenerys looked up at him. I am his queen, she thought, but he would always protect me. It made her feel safe. She remembered everything that he had done for her ever since they met. It made her smile.
Xaro Xhoan Daxos had offered Daenerys the hospitality of his home while she was in the city. She had expected something grand. She had not expected a palace larger than many a market town. It makes Magister Illyrio's manse in Pentos look like a swineherd's hovel, she thought. Instead, Xaro swore that his home could comfortably house all her people. And indeed, it did. It swallowed them. An entire wing was given over to her. She would have her own gardens, a marble bathing pool, a scrying tower and warlock's maze. Slaves would tend to her every need. In her private chambers, the floors were green marble, the walls draped with colourful silk hangings that shimmered with every breath of air.
"You are too generous," Daenerys told Xaro Xhoan Daxos.
"For the Mother of Dragons, no gift is too great." Xaro was a languid, elegant man with a bald head and a great beak of a nose crusted with rubies, opals, and flakes of jade. "On the morrow, you shall feast upon peacock and lark's tongue and hear music worthy of the most beautiful women. The Thirteen will come to do you homage and all the great of Qarth."
She thanked Xaro for his kindness before she sent him on his way. Pyat Pree also took his leave, vowing to petition the Undying Ones for an audience. "An honour rare as summer snows." Before he left he kissed her bare feet with his pale blue lips and pressed on her a gift, a jar of ointment that he swore would let her see the spirits of the air. The last of the three seekers to depart was Quaithe, the shadowbinder. From her, Daenerys received only a warning. "Beware," the woman in the red lacquer mask said.
"Of whom?"
"Of all. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see, they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power."
When Quaithe was gone, too, the Professor approached Daenerys. "I think she's right. Some people would love to have your dragons."
"I don't understand her, though." Pyat and Xaro had showered Daenerys with promises from the moment they first glimpsed her, declaring themselves her loyal servants in all things, but from Quaithe, she had gotten only the rare cryptic word. And it disturbed her that she had never seen the woman's face. Remember Mirri Maz Duur, she told herself. Remember treachery. She turned back to the Professor, who had taken out his sonic screwdriver, and he aimed it at a corner of the room. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Summoning my TARDIS," the Professor answered. "Can't have her out in the open for long." He had given his sonic screwdriver a whir, and before too long, his TARDIS began to materialise in the corner.
Daenerys nodded before turning to her bloodriders. "We will keep our watch so long as we are here. See that no one enters this palace wing without my leave, and take care that the dragons are always well guarded."
"It shall be done, Khaleesi," Aggo said.
"We have seen only the parts of Qarth that Pyat Pree wished us to see," she went on. "Rakharo, go forth and look at the rest, and tell me what you find. Take good men with you—and women, to go places where men are forbidden."
"As you say, I do, blood of my blood," said Rakharo.
"Professor, go with him," Daenerys said, turning to the Time Lord. "You have more languages than my bloodriders. You can find out more than they can and help them."
When all the men had gone, her handmaids stripped off the travel-stained silks she wore, and Daenerys padded out to where the marble pool sat in the shade of a portico. The water was deliciously cool, and the pool was stocked with tiny golden fish that nibbled curiously at her skin and made her giggle. It felt good to close her eyes and float, knowing she could rest as long as she liked. She wondered whether Aegon's Red Keep had a pool like this and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, indeed. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world.
The thought of home disquieted her. If her sun and stars had lived, he would have led his khalasar across the poison water and swept away her enemies, but his strength had left the world. Her bloodriders remained, sworn to her for life and skilled in slaughter, but only in the ways of the horse lords. The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms; they did not rule them. Daenerys had no wish to reduce King's Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom prosperous and beautiful, filling it with fat men, pretty maids, and laughing children. I want my people to smile when I ride by; as Viserys had said they smiled for my father.
But before she could do that, she must conquer.
She remembered what Jorah Mormont had told her back at Vaes Dothrak. The Usurper will kill you, sure as the sunrise. Robert had slain her gallant brother Rhaegar, and one of his creatures had crossed the Dothraki sea to poison her and her unborn son. They said Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. And with him stood the great lords her brother had named the Usurper's dogs, cold-eyed Eddard Stark with his frozen heart, and the golden Lannisters, father and son, so rich, so powerful, so treacherous. How could she hope to overthrow such men?
When Khal Drogo lived, men trembled and made him gifts to stay his wrath. If they did not, he took their cities, wealth and wives and all. But his khalasar had been vast, while hers was meagre. Her people had followed her across the red waste as she chased her comet and would follow her across the poison water too, but they would not be enough. Even her dragons might not be enough. Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king . . . but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things.
Her doubts made her shiver. Suddenly the water felt cold to her, and the little fish prickling at her skin was annoying. Finally, Daenerys stood and climbed from the pool. "Irri," she called, "Jhiqui."
As the handmaids towelled her dry and wrapped her in a sandsilk robe, Daenerys' thoughts went to the three who had sought her out once she had arrived in Qarth. The Bleeding Star led me to Qarth for a purpose. Here I will find what I need if I have the strength to take what is offered and the wisdom to avoid the traps and snares. If the gods mean for me to conquer, they will provide, they will send me a sign, and if not . . . if not . . .
It was near evenfall, and Daenerys was feeding her dragons when Irri stepped through the silken curtains to tell her that her bloodriders had returned. But they didn't return alone. "Send him in with whomever he has brought," she said, curious.
When they entered, she was seated on a mound of cushions and her dragons all about her. The man he brought with him wore a cloak of green and yellow feathers and had skin as black as polished jet. "Daenerys," the Professor said. "This is Quhuru Mo, captain of the Cinnamon Wind out of Tall Trees Town."
The black man knelt. "I am greatly honoured, my queen," he said, not in the tongue of the Summer Isles, which Daenerys did not know, but in the liquid Valyrian of the Nine Free Cities.
"The honour is mine, Quhuru Mo," said Daenerys in the same language. "Have you come from the Summer Isles?"
"This is so, Your Grace, but before, not half a year past, we called at Oldtown. From there, I bring you a wondrous gift."
"A gift?"
"A gift of news. Dragonmother, Stormborn, I tell you truly, Robert Baratheon is dead."
Outside her walls, dusk was settling over Qarth, but a sun had risen in Daenerys' heart. "Dead?" she repeated. In her lap, black Drogon hissed, and pale smoke rose before her face like a veil. And out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the Professor left the room. She wondered what he was up to. "You are certain? The Usurper is dead?"
"So it is said in Oldtown, Dorne, Lys, and all the other ports where we have called."
He sent me poisoned wine, yet I live, and he is gone. "What was the manner of his death?" On her shoulder, pale Viserion flapped wings the colour of cream, stirring the air.
"Torn by a monstrous boar whilst hunting in his Kingswood, or so I heard in Oldtown. Others say his queen betrayed him, or his brother, or Lord Stark, who was his Hand. Yet all the tales agree that King Robert is dead and in his grave."
Daenerys had never looked upon the Usurper's face, yet seldom a day had passed when she had not thought of him. His great shadow had lain across her since the hour of her birth when she came forth amidst blood and storm into a world where she no longer had a place. And now, this ebony stranger had lifted that shadow.
The Professor had arrived back in the room but was now accompanied by Rumplestiltskin. "What he is saying is true," he said. "And a boy, Joffrey, sits upon the Iron Throne now."
Quhuru Mo nodded. "The Lannisters rule now. Both of Robert's brothers have fled King's Landing. Both lay claim to the crown. Both have declared themselves king. So has the late Hand's son, who has declared himself the King in the North. As we speak, he marches down to King's Landing to avenge his father, who was seized for treason."
It pleased Daenerys that the Usurper's dogs were fighting amongst themselves, though she was unsurprised. The same thing happened when her Drogo died, and his great khalasar tore itself to pieces. "My brother is dead as well, Viserys, who was the true king," she told the Summer Islander. "Khal Drogo, my lord husband, killed him with a crown of molten gold." Would her brother have been any wiser, had he known that the vengeance he had prayed for was so close at hand?
"Then I grieve for you, Dragonmother, and for bleeding Westeros, bereft of its rightful king."
Beneath Daenerys' gentle fingers, green Rhaegal stared at the stranger with eyes of molten gold. When his mouth opened, his teeth gleamed like black needles. "You're a captain of a ship, right? So when do you return to Westeros, Captain?"
"Not for a year or more, I fear. From here the Cinnamon Wind sails east, to make the trader's circle around the Jade Sea."
"I see," said Daenerys, disappointed. "I wish you fair winds and good trading, then. You have brought me a precious gift."
"I have been amply repaid, great queen."
She was puzzled at that. "How so?"
His eyes gleamed. "I have seen dragons."
Daenerys laughed. "And will see more of them one day, I hope. Come to me in King's Landing when I am on my father's throne, and you shall have a great reward."
The Summer Islander promised he would do so, and kissed her lightly on the fingers as he took his leave. Jhiqui showed him out while the Professor and Rumplestiltskin remained.
"You shouldn't have told him of your plans," Rumplestiltskin said. "Take it from me. This land is full of enemies. They'll only spread your plans to everyone that he knows."
"Let him," Daenerys told him. "Let the whole world know my purpose. The Usurper is dead. What does it matter?"
"Because a new king sits upon the Iron Throne. And this new king is more unhinged than Robert ever was."
"Joffrey?" the Professor asked.
Rumplestiltskin nodded. "The reason why Lord Eddard Stark was seized for treason was that he learnt the truth of Joffrey and his siblings. They are not Robert's children. They are the children of his queen and her twin brother. In all fairness, dearie, Robert's true heir is his younger brother, Stannis."
"He is not the rightful heir," Daenerys said. "I am."
"They won the throne from your family. It is their throne. To make the throne yours again, you must win it back."
The Professor nodded. "He's right. But before you win the throne back, you must win over the people. And have the people support you and your claim."
Daenerys pursed her lips. "This changes everything. Before the Seven Kingdoms were like my Drogo's khalasar, a hundred thousand made as one by his strength. Now they fly to pieces. We can let them destroy each other, and then I could come and pick up the remaining pieces."
Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Now you're getting it. Let the high lords fight each other."
"Though we will still need a fleet, gold, armies and alliances," the Professor said.
Daenerys took the Time Lord's hands in her own, and looked into his blue eyes. "I know."
"Leave that to me," Rumplestiltskin said. "I have some deals and promises I made back in King's Landing. Let me use my magic, and I'll have it beneficial towards you. I promise."
