The greatest City that ever was or will be

She walked the streets of Qarth lost in her thoughts, despite her clear goal. Three moons ago, her obsidian candle had flared. A sharp bright light that should have been impossible. And a moment later it was extinguished again.

She had set off to investigate immediately. There were only so many forces that could be responsible and of those, the warlocks of Qarth were the most likely. They were one of the few groups of practitioners that she could imagine working together for long enough to invoke anything at such a scale. The red priests of Volantis were another.

Sorcery was a solitary craft in Asshai and no knowledge was freely shared with others, so that possibility had been discarded quickly.

The trip to Qarth had been long and without incident but she was grateful to have arrived all the same. The prospect of whatever had happened made the sea difficult to enjoy.

It was hot day in Qarth, the sun high in the sky and nary a cloud to be seen. Even so she did not shed her cloak or mask. They marked her as a shadowbinder, which carried certain advantages. Thieves and troublemakers went out of their way to avoid her, wary of what might happen to them should they draw her ire, and most common people presented her only with the plain truth, eager to earn her favour or minimize their time in her presence.

Finally, she reached the last line of houses. The House of the Undying was a decrepit ruin, surrounded only by the trees the warlocks used for their shade of the evening. It mirrored its inhabitants in that way.

She circled the clear field at the last line of houses. To have that kind of an effect would hopefully mean that something would be noticeable from the outside. She had no wish to drink their vile concoctions and enter on their terms.

There. One of the walls had been destroyed and was in the process of being repaired. Looking inside was impossible, they had erected some kind of barrier on the inside of the wall, but the wall had clearly been broken down. Slaves were laying down the new brickwork and the slight colour difference between new and old stones allowed a good view of the original extent of the damage.

It was about the right size for a person to fit through, which raised all sorts of questions. The first was time. This damage was new, only a few days old at most, and whatever incident had agitated the glass candles had happened much earlier. Coincidence? Certainly possible but she doubted it.

The second question was what had happened to cause such damage. The building may look like a ruin, but it had stood the test of time for centuries, and a person capable of that kind of destruction was incredibly rare. The warlocks certainly weren't, but the broken stone fragments suggested that the wall had burst open from the inside. Whoever or whatever the cause was, it had been trying to get away. She wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign yet.

Judging that there wasn't much more she could do by just observing from a distance, she left. She owned accommodations in the city though they were rather simple. In the past she had enjoyed much greater luxury, but that kind of lifestyle would only attract unwanted attention.

She debated simply turning in for the day even if it was still quite early but decided instead to roam the city. A port as big as Qarth held wares and news from all over the world and you never knew when you would stumble upon something interesting or useful.

There were very few materials that innately held any magical qualities, but performing certain rituals and sorceries was made much easier with the right preparation and ingredients.

She browsed the market for a few hours, until she ended up back at the harbour. Here there were even more people walking around than in the streets. The port of Qarth was one of the greatest in the world and an important stop for trading vessels coming from both the Jade and Summer Seas.

Slaves were buying food and merchants peddling wares of all sorts to whoever walked past. Ivory, jade, saffron, gems of all sorts, and more were exchanging hands followed by exuberant gratitude from both sides. The Qartheen so liked to pretend at politeness.

One of the smaller stalls, managed by a tough old woman who walked without issue despite her advanced age had attracted an unusual amount of attention. She walked closer, weaving through the crowd of people that were clamouring for a look at the wares.

The reason for the interest was immediately apparent. Books and scrolls in varying states of disrepair could be seen all over a shaded little desk. Some were in Yitish, others in N'hgai'i, and there was even the rare tome in Valyrian.

A few of the books were falling apart from old age and there was at least one without any binding remaining, just a collection of pages held together by a piece of string haphazardly tied around the bunch, but all in all their condition was quite good.

God Emperor's Folly and Jade Compendium were familiar enough but some of the displayed items were entirely new to her. Swallow's Flight, An Introduction to Metallurgy, Intricacies of Species Interbreeding. All of them were of interest to her but one tome especially drew her eye. The title was Valyrian and the cover looked appropriately old, the dark leather faded and brittle. On the Origin of Flame was certainly a lofty title but no one had ever accused the Freehold of being humble.

Books of this age were rare and precious and of particular interest to sorcerers. Magic had mostly left the world with the dragons, so any information predating that could have value. The scattered accounts that predated the Doom were even more sought after.

"Good woman, I would buy your stock." She didn't hesitate to act. It was only a matter of time until some rich fool with the necessary funds would turn up and buy these to display in some airy mansion. A few singular tomes had already changed hands.

Usually, men and women shied from the mask and cloak, but the merchant didn't bat an eye, only regarding her with an experienced eye. The woman was unsurprisingly an old hand at haggling, but she didn't overly mind paying the set price.

All the material she had bought would keep her busy for a few weeks at least. They exchanged the expected signs of gratitude for satisfactory transaction, and she was left with a container filled with books and scrolls.

Before she could give any thought as to where she could find the next option to deliver the box to her residence, the old woman turned towards the nearest dock and called over the din of the city.

"Boy! Get over here and make yourself useful!"

At first the shape the woman had addressed really seemed like a "boy" but after another angry shout from the merchant the shape unfolded from its seat. With a lingering glance towards the water the person walked towards them.

Ripped, dirty clothes, unnaturally pale complexion, a crown of blonde hair, and dull blue eyes. Taller than her, but not by much. Secured around his wrists were heavy steel shackles, a few links of chain hanging towards the ground from both of them, though they weren't connected. She supposed he would even be handsome were he clean, but she had no interest in some random slave.

For a moment his eyes cleared and cut right to her face. In that moment she was sure that he could see her, see the real her, hidden beneath mask and glamour. And then the moment passed as if it had never been.

The impossibility of that shook her. She had definitely not imagined it.

Once he was close enough the old woman waved him towards the box containing all of the books and scrolls that had just changed hands. He bent down and placed it on his right shoulder with nary a noise of complaint. She could see his right hand then.

Swollen and discoloured and haphazardly secured with scraps of cloth. It had clearly been broken recently.

The old woman waved him off and gestured towards her.

"Just show him where to go. Doesn't talk, but he follows simple commands easily enough."

"One of your slaves?" she asked, on account of the chains.

The woman snorted and shook her head. "He has no brand. Bloody fool sits at the dock all day. If he is gonna take up space, he might as well work." She nodded her head accepting the information and bid the old woman a good day.

The man glanced at her, waiting for directions. She stepped towards him, intending on having him follow her, but as soon as she got close, she felt it. The man positively reeked of magic. This was no small trace left after being part of some ritual. It almost seemed like he was made of it, blood and bone. She froze. There was no way that whatever had happened to the warlocks, her candles burning, and the sheer magical presence of this man could be coincidences.

He turned away like nothing had happened, box still balanced on one shoulder.

Instead of giving everyone watching more of a reason to suspect anything, she started walking, the man easily matching her shorter stride as he followed her lead.

She was lost in her thoughts when he addressed her, speaking in accented Yitish.

"That's an impressive illusion," he said, his voice dull. Her eyes snapped towards him, but he was staring resolutely ahead, skilfully weaving around the pedestrians that hadn't gotten out of way.

Her hands unconsciously twitched towards the Valyrian steel dagger hidden under her robes. She did not often have to physically defend herself, but she was prepared to do so nonetheless. His gaze moved to her hand for a moment before focusing on the street again.

"If you are going to apologize, do it now. Won't stop me this time either."

That made her hesitate. If she understood him correctly Sorrowful Men had been after him. That group of Qartheen assassins always apologized to their targets before dispatching them. Obviously, they hadn't been successful. That almost definitively connected him to the damage done to the House of the Undying. The warlocks would hire Sorrowful Men for such business and with the magic he exuded, he was certainly capable of that kind of destruction.

If he could dispatch Sorrowful Men, he was more than capable physically, even if it had earned him a broken hand. The legends were that they had never failed to kill a target.

She relaxed her posture, her hand falling away from the dagger. There was no point in an altercation, she had no quarrel with him.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. She was debating how to broach the subject of the warlocks with him when they arrived at her residence. The two-story house was close to the water, allowing her to experience the sea breeze whenever she wished, and had more than enough room for her needs.

After she had directed him on where to place the box, he turned to leave.

"I have no allegiance to the warlocks of this city and do not share their views or goals." Not that she necessarily knew what those fanatic addicts were planning. He stopped in the doorway, his back to her.

"And?" he asked without turning around. Rude, but she had more important things to focus on.

"I came to this city looking for information. Whatever the warlocks have done seems connected to what I am investigating. I am sure an agreement can be reached between us."

He remained silent, thinking. She waited.

"Maybe it can. I just don't care." He left towards the docks, never sparing her another glance.

Every single day he could be found at the docks. Just sitting there, looking out towards the sea. He didn't seem to be looking for anything specific, just taking in the sight. Sometimes merchants called him over to them and he would get up after a few lingering moments and then go over and carry a crate or help move something heavy or do a hundred different things that the traders at the harbour couldn't be bothered to do themselves.

As soon as he finished, he would head to his dock again and sit down, watching. Sometimes they would give him a morsel of food, or a cup of watery wine and he would absent-mindedly eat and drink, his eyes never straying from the water for long.

Two times she had seen him rummage through the pouches at his belt, before procuring the same item both times. A long black cloth, with a steel disk sewn on in the middle. There was a queer symbol in the steel, but she could make no sense of it.

He would hold it, sometimes looking at it for a few minutes before holding it out over the bay. He never dropped it and put it back in the pouch again afterwards.

It was certainly curious.

The first time she had approached him at his dock, the day after their first run-in, he had turned his head, taken a single look at her, and then focused back on the water. He had ignored all her questions about his person or situation, simply sitting and watching in silence.

She wasn't deterred so easily. Such stubbornness was usually not in her nature, but she couldn't ignore his potential, both as a source of information and as a practitioner of magic.

So she returned, every day. It became part of her routine. Visiting the harbour, and while she browsed the stalls and wares, keeping a careful eye on him as he sat. As far as she knew, he slept in the very same spot.

She had given up on approaching him after the first three times. There were better things to spend her time on than waiting for answers that never came. Now she only watched from a distance while she was near.

The warlocks finished their repairs on the fifth day of her stay in Qarth but keeping watch on that process had not yielded any new information. As far as she could tell nothing about the deliveries to the House of the Undying had changed, but she could not track all of the comings and goings all the time.

They worked their trees, produced their shade of the evening but whatever was going on inside, she did not know, and without entering, there was no way she could see to find out.

When she entered the harbour on the sixth day, someone else was walking up to him. The cowled stranger was tall but lanky and walked with a dancer's grace. She could not say whether it was man or woman, the clothes obscuring a clear view of anything from behind.

They stopped behind Shackles, her own, admittedly petty, name for the magical man, and simply watched for a few moments. Then they knelt and leaned close.

Her eyes could barely track what happened next, but there was a knife, a fist to an elbow, and then the stranger tumbled from the side of the dock, his own weapon planted in his neck. Shackles had not even stood up, but there was blood on his left hand now. He turned back towards the sea, watching.

It seemed like the warlocks were not yet done with him.

She walked up to him from behind, hoping that he would be more inclined to talk today. If he did not already know who was targeting him, enlightening him may gain her some good will.

"He a friend of yours?" he asked, indicating the bay with his head.

She ignored him, carefully stepping closer until only an arm's length separated them.

"Do you know why they target you?" It was the wrong question to ask, she thought, but it was the first one she considered appropriate.

As was to be expected, there was no answer. Maybe she was approaching this in the wrong way. In the time she had watched he had acted uncaring towards all things, except for one. Sitting at the docks.

A sea breeze drifted towards them, ruffling her cloak and his dirty blonde hair. The sensation was familiar and pleasant and helped orient her thoughts as she spotted Shackles lean forward into the breeze.

"Is it the sea you watch, or the wind?"

That one clearly surprised him. He glanced at her, but she didn't move her head to meet his eyes.

"The wind," he answered eventually. There was a sad note to his voice then and for a moment she questioned his true age. The old woman had called him boy, but he had a man's body and face.

He raised his right hand, chains clinking together, and swirled his index finger. She felt his magic respond and a small wind tugged at their clothes as it moved around his body. It dissipated as quickly as it had appeared.

'Aeromancer,' she realised. That art was not completely unfamiliar, though the kind of natural control Shackles exhibited was beyond those practitioners she had observed during her time in Asshai.

"How did you learn?" Aeromancers were just like any other sorcerer in this, tutelage did not come free. Additionally, he was young. Whether he was only fourteen or well past twenty, mastering elemental sorceries could take decades.

"People were after me. But every one of them was incredibly strong. I had a technique, a strong one, already." He opened his hand, palm facing the sky, and magic gathered. It swirled like a tornado, moving faster and faster. Then it dissipated, incomplete, and he dropped his hand. She had never seen something like it.

"But it wasn't enough. I had to improve on it somehow. My teacher taught me what my affinity was and then showed me how to learn. I rushed through the training as fast as possible. My friends had gone out to fight, to protect me, but I didn't want them to get hurt for my sake." His voice had grown wistful towards the end, but Shackles seemed to realise that he had been rambling and stopped himself from saying more.

His explanation asked more questions than it had answered, which was both frustrating and something she had strangely missed for a while now. There was nothing quite as teeth-grinding as trying to figure out the actual merits of a ritual from half-remembered rumours and three different versions of the actual instructions that all disagreed on the details.

It also made her realise something.

She had been approaching this in the wrong way. If she was reading him correctly, he was trusting by nature. Get him to talk and she would find out what she needed.

"I have looked for masters and teachers all my life. They are very rare. Of those that remain, none I have found gave their teachings freely."

He refused to answer the implicit question, but she had half expected that already. Perhaps now was the time to broach her actual business with him. The main one, anyway. His abilities as a sorcerer were secondary to that.

"Did the warlocks capture you?" she ventured, taking a guess as to what had happened to him.

"I wanted to ask them for help. They tricked me and tried to use me." He emphasised the second part heavily and she revised her opinion of him slightly. He was obviously aware enough to recognise attempts at manipulation.

"I proposed an exchange," she defended herself, though it was only a token effort. He snorted and turned his head, once more seemingly looking right through her mask and glamour. She had to find out how he did it.

"I heard. You just didn't care whether I actually got anything out of it." She let the accusation wash over her. There was a kernel of truth to it, after all. He turned back to the water again, leaving her to her thoughts.

It sounded like a childish reason, to expect that kind of regard from a stranger, but then most people were quite childish no matter their age. And, she supposed, there was something to be said for treating people in the way that you wanted them to treat you. That kind of humanity was rare in Asshai.

"Very well. What would you have of me then? In exchange for your information?"

He stood up, chains clinking, and scrutinized her, eyes clear and discerning. Finally, he held out his hand.

"A name for now."

That didn't surprise her now that she was able to form a clearer picture of him in her mind. Now, how to answer him? He obviously valued truth, but she wasn't in the habit of giving that truth away, to anyone.

"You can call me Quaithe." She clasped his hand with her own and noted that the impression of his magic was even stronger with physical touch.

He obviously noticed the careful wording, but accepted the slight deception, nonetheless.

"I'm Naruto."

And here comes Quaithe. These two will be the POV's for a few chapters at least. My title is sadly to long for the actual chapter name :/.

This is, at least in part, meant as a better view of Naruto from the standards of this new world he is inhabiting. In the next chapters Naruto will do some experimentation with his own capabilities. He is powerful, extraordinarily so, even reduced as he is. In terms of chakra, Naruto at the height of the Fourth War is basically his own Tailed Beast, and in my mind that means that he is still kind of shit at control. He is passable after Jiraiya/Sage training, but he works at such a big scale that he is basically unable to gain the kind of fine control that others have normally. It's a math/sensation problem in very basic terms. When Naruto takes a bunch of his chakra the difference between 2000 units and 2100 units is impossible to perceive for him when he he has access to more than 20000 units (numbers are obviously just an example). His own immense power/reserves force a lower resolution on his chakra control. What exactly is going on with Kurama and Naruto and why they are weakened won't become clear for some chapters yet.

A big problem for me in the books as they are right now is that Quaithe among other similar characters seems mysterious just for the hell of it. Her advice to Dany can certainly be explained as being the result of visions/dreams and therefore being as accurate as Quaithe can be. She doesn't actually know the precise identities and actions of people, she only knows of signs and interpreting them would distort the insight she has for Dany. But what are her own goals? She seems invested in Dany's survival but is that actually her goal or just a necessary byproduct? Does she know of the forces now active in the world, i.e. White Walkers/Great Other/Long Night? Is her interest only in the dragons? We just don't know, and should WoW/ADoS ever be published and we don't find out, that would be pretty cheap.

She is a shadowbinder, or at least disguises herself as one, and the only other one we know in the story is Melisandre. I would say that it's unlikely that all shadowbinders have the same or even aligned goals in a world like ASoIaF and Mel is much more priestess of R'hllor than she is just shadowbinder, so her own goals would differ even if there were some unifying plan among shadowbinders/sorcerers.

The Maesters are similar in my mind. Apparently they are anti-dragon/-magic except for Marwyn but I don't buy that all the other Maesters are really on the same page. If you ask me, the Maesters in canon are not as big a deal as they make themselves out to be. They have an almost-monopoly on knowledge but I don't believe that they actually did anything to get rid of the dragons. They just claim they were responsible now. Who could dispute them after all?

Any way I'm rambling. Thanks for reading/reviewing and until next chapter. See you.