Chapter 10: The Golden Empire
The once-magnificent city of Qarth lay in ruins. Its gilded halls were blackened with soot, its streets littered with bodies, and its once-bustling markets now stood silent. Smoke hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the destruction the Dothraki horde had brought upon the city.
Mat and Daenerys stood at the foot of the Hall of a Thousand Thrones, surveying the devastation with mixed emotions. The grandeur of Qarth, a city once proud of its wealth and culture, had been reduced to a ghostly shell.
"Not much left to save," Mat muttered, his tone dry but tinged with regret.
Daenerys nodded, her gaze distant as she took in the sight. "No," she agreed softly. "But its riches... they can still serve a purpose."
Mat glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "You're thinking we take what's left."
"Why not?" Daenerys said, her tone firmer now. "The people who built this wealth are gone. Their treasures can help us build something better."
Mat smirked, a flicker of approval in his eye. "I like the way you think, Dany. No point letting it all rot here."
The Dothraki horde, though diminished, still held their infamous hunger for spoils. Under Mat's and Daenerys' orders, they scoured the city for treasures—gold, jewels, spices, fine silks, and anything else of value. The wealth of Qarth, once hoarded by the Thirteen, was stripped from its palaces and vaults and loaded onto wagons and pack animals.
Jorah oversaw the efforts with a grim efficiency, ensuring that their newfound fortune was organized and secure. Mat wandered through the looted halls, his eye catching on gilded statues and ornate tapestries that spoke of a city obsessed with opulence.
"So much for the greatest city that ever was or will be," Mat muttered, running his hand over a cracked vase inlaid with gold. "Now it's just a pile of rubble with some fancy trinkets left behind."
Daenerys joined him, Drogon perched on her shoulder, the dragon's head swiveling as it took in the ruins. "It's more than that," she said quietly. "It's a lesson. Power means nothing if it isn't used wisely."
Mat tilted his head, giving her a half-smile. "I'll drink to that. If we had anything decent to drink, that is."
By the time the looting was complete, the remnants of the horde were eager to leave the ruined city behind. The wagons groaned under the weight of their spoils, and the Dothraki riders though bloodied and battered, carried themselves with renewed purpose.
Mat and Daenerys stood at the head of the column, the dragons perched on their shoulders with gazes fixed on the horizon. The decision to head east had been made—toward lands that promised new opportunities, new alliances, and the chance to rebuild.
"East it is, then," Mat said, adjusting his hat as he looked out at the endless desert.
Daenerys nodded, her voice steady. "We'll rebuild our army. We'll make it stronger. And when we're ready..." She trailed off, her gaze hardening.
Mat grinned, finishing her thought. "When we're ready, Westeros won't know what hit it."
The horde began its march, the sound of hooves and creaking wagons echoing through the desolation. The wealth of Qarth was theirs, a foundation upon which to build their future.
As they moved further from the ruined city, Mat felt the dice in his head rattle faintly, a quiet reminder of the risks and rewards that lay ahead.
"Here's to new gambles," he muttered under his breath, his hand tightening on the reins.
Daenerys glanced at him, her expression softening. "You're incorrigible."
He nodded, his grin returning. "You bet."
Dany laughed and it was like music to Mat's ears after the massacre they were leaving behind.
And with that they rode on the rising sun casting long shadows behind them as they ventured eastward, leaving the ashes of Qarth in their wake.
The journey across the desolate lands east of Qarth had tested the endurance of every man, woman, and beast in the horde. Days stretched into weeks as they marched through barren plains, jagged hills, and endless stretches of sun-scorched emptiness. Supplies ran low more than once, and though Mat's luck guided them to hidden springs and scattered game, the strain of the journey was evident in the weary faces of the riders.
Daenerys had grown quieter as they pressed on, her attention often on the dragons that perched on her shoulders. The creatures were growing rapidly, their wings stronger, their hunger fiercer. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion were no longer small enough to sit atop her comfortably, often circling overhead before landing beside her.
Mat, ever the gambler, kept the morale of the horde as high as he could with his sharp wit and confident leadership, but even he felt the weight of the march. The dice in his head had been rattling more frequently, their faint hum a reminder that something was coming—something big.
It was on the thirty-ninth day of their journey when the landscape began to change. The flat, barren terrain gave way to lush, rolling hills, dotted with strange trees whose leaves shimmered like gold in the sunlight. The air grew warmer and heavier, carrying with it the faint scent of blossoms and spice.
The riders murmured among themselves as the unfamiliar scenery came into view. Whispers of Yi Ti—a land of ancient cities, immense wealth, and strange customs—spread quickly through the horde.
Mat rode at the front, his keen eye scanning the horizon. In the distance, he could make out the silhouette of a city, its walls impossibly high with towers glinting like polished jade. Banners fluttered atop the battlements, their intricate designs unlike anything he had ever seen.
"Well," he said, tipping his hat back, "this certainly looks more interesting than the last few hundred miles of nothing."
Daenerys pulled her horse alongside his, her eyes wide as she took in the sight. "Yi Ti," she said softly, her voice tinged with awe. "The Pearl of the East."
Mat snorted, his lips quirking into a wry grin. "Pearl or not, let's hope they're more welcoming than Qarth. I'm not keen on another siege."
As the horde approached the outskirts of Yi Ti, they began to encounter signs of life. Small farming villages dotted the landscape, their inhabitants staring in wide-eyed fear as the Dothraki rode past. The wealth of Yi Ti was evident even in these outlying areas—fields of exotic crops stretched as far as the eye could see, and the villagers wore clothing of vibrant silks.
But there was an unease in the air, a tension that Mat couldn't ignore. He caught glimpses of strange symbols carved into the walls of the villages, their meanings lost on him but clearly significant to the locals.
"We're being watched," Jorah muttered, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Mat nodded, his gaze sweeping the hills. "Aye. And whoever's watching doesn't seem too thrilled to see us."
Daenerys frowned, her fingers brushing over Drogon's head as the dragon growled softly. "What do we know of Yi Ti?" she asked.
Jorah hesitated before answering. "It's a land of immense wealth and power," he said. "Its cities are ancient, its culture as rich as its coffers. But it's also a land of secrets. Their ways are... different."
Mat chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Different usually means trouble. Let's hope they're not too different, or this might get messy."
The horde set up camp on the outskirts of the nearest city, their tents stretching across the golden fields. Scouts reported that the city was heavily fortified, its gates guarded by soldiers in ornate armor, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight.
Daenerys stood at the edge of the camp, her dragons perched around her as she watched the city in the distance. "This is it, Mat," she said quietly. "The next step in raising our ranks."
Mat joined her, his hat pulled low as he leaned on his ashandarei. "Feels like it," he said. "The dice are rattling, Dany. Something's coming. I can feel it."
Daenerys glanced at him, her expression a mix of determination and concern. "We'll face it together."
He smiled faintly, his eye glinting with mischief. "Aye, together. Let's just hope they're ready for us."
As the sun set over the hills casting the landscape in hues of gold and crimson, the horde prepared for whatever lay ahead. Yi Ti was a land of promise and peril, and Mat and Daenerys would need every ounce of their strength, wits, and luck to navigate its treacherous waters.
The sprawling capital of Yi Ti, Yin, loomed before them like a dream brought to life. Its jade-green walls soared into the sky, their surfaces smooth and glinting in the sunlight. Towering gates carved with intricate depictions of mythical beasts stood resolute, guarded by soldiers in elaborate armor adorned with gold and azure tassels.
From their vantage point at the edge of the camp, Mat and Daenerys surveyed the massive city with a mixture of awe and apprehension. The horde murmured behind them, the sheer scale of Yin unlike anything the Dothraki had encountered before.
"Bloody massive," Mat muttered, adjusting his hat. "This place makes Qarth look like a backwater village."
Daenerys nodded, her eyes scanning the distant gates. "And yet it's so quiet," she said softly. "No war cries, no army preparing to meet us. It's... strange."
Jorah, standing at Daenerys' side, frowned as he studied the scene. "They could be luring us into a trap," he said. "The people of Yi Ti are known for their cunning."
"Cunning doesn't bother me," Mat said, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "It's when they stop trying to be clever that you've got to worry."
Their musings were interrupted by movement at the gates. A group of figures emerged, their bright colorful attire stark against the green of the city walls. As they approached, it became clear they were no ordinary emissaries.
The dignitaries wore elaborate robes embroidered with symbols that seemed to shift in the light, their sleeves long and flowing. Their faces were framed by strange hats that resembled the heads of monkeys, complete with beaded tassels that swayed with each step.
Mat raised an eyebrow, leaning on his ashandarei as he watched the procession. "Well, this just got interesting."
The lead dignitary stepped forward, bowing deeply before Daenerys and Mat. When he spoke, his voice was high-pitched and melodic, his words halting and heavily accented. "Great Khaleesi. Great Khal. Ruler invites... welcomes you to... capital city Yin."
Daenerys exchanged a glance with Mat, her expression cautious. "They're inviting us in?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.
"That's what it sounds like," Mat replied. "Though I can't say I'm thrilled about the idea."
The dignitary, as if sensing their hesitation, gestured toward the city with an elaborate flourish. "No danger. Great Emperor wishes... parley. Safe passage... guaranteed."
Jorah stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "This could be a trap," he warned. "Yin is vast. If they wanted to, they could swallow us whole and no one would ever know."
Mat shrugged, his hand resting casually on the haft of his weapon. "Could be. But traps go both ways, Jorah. Besides," he added with a grin, "my luck hasn't let us down yet."
Daenerys hesitated, her gaze fixed on the distant gates. She felt the weight of the decision pressing down on her. They were outsiders here, strangers in a land of mystery. But they couldn't afford to ignore an invitation from the Emperor of Yi Ti.
"Fine," she said finally, her voice steady. "We'll go. But only a small group."
Mat nodded, his expression serious despite his usual irreverence. "Good call, Dany. Less people means less targets if things go south, and I can handle myself for the lot of us."
As the dignitaries led them toward the city, Mat, Daenerys, Jorah, and a small contingent of bloodriders followed cautiously. The remaining horde stayed encamped on the outskirts, their wary eyes fixed on the towering walls.
The gates of Yin swung open with a deep, resonant hum, revealing a city that seemed to shimmer with impossible beauty. The streets were paved with smooth, polished stone, and every building was a masterpiece of intricate design, adorned with gilded carvings and vibrant murals.
Mat's eye darted around, taking in every detail as they were escorted deeper into the city. "I'll say this for them," he muttered. "They've got a flair for the dramatic."
Daenerys remained silent, her hand resting lightly on Drogon's head as the dragon hissed softly. Her unease mirrored Mat's, but she forced herself to stay composed. They were in uncharted territory now, and every step felt like a gamble.
As they approached a grand palace at the heart of the city, the lead dignitary turned to them, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his monkey hat. "Great Emperor... awaits," he said simply, gesturing toward the towering doors ahead.
Mat glanced at Daenerys, his grin returning. "Well, Dany," he said, his tone light despite the tension in the air. "Let's see what kind of game they're playing."
Daenerys nodded, her gaze steady as she stepped forward. "Let's."
And with that they entered the palace, the fate of their journey now intertwined with the mysterious city of Yin and its enigmatic ruler.
The grand hall of the Emperor's palace was a spectacle unlike anything Mat had ever seen. The walls were adorned with shimmering silks and golden inlays, the ceiling painted with scenes of ancient battles and celestial beasts. Lanterns of glowing jade cast an ethereal light over the room, their soft green hues reflecting off polished floors that seemed to stretch forever.
At the far end of the hall sat the Emperor of Yi Ti, a man whose presence was as strange as the city itself. Draped in layers of ornate robes that shimmered like water, his face was painted with swirling patterns, his lips stained blue. A crown of intricate jade spikes rested atop his head, and his eyes—black as midnight—seemed to pierce through anyone who dared meet his gaze.
"Ah," the Emperor said, his voice a curious blend of cheer and menace. "The Khaleesi and her fabled dragons. And the gambler Khal who defies fate itself. Welcome to Yin."
Mat's hand tightened on the haft of his ashandarei, his instincts prickling at the Emperor's tone. He had the feeling this man enjoyed games as much as he did—but with far higher stakes.
Daenerys stepped forward, Drogon perched on her shoulder, his golden eyes locked on the Emperor. "You invited us here," she said, her voice regal and firm. "What do you want?"
The Emperor smiled, his teeth startlingly white against his painted lips. "To join forces," he said, spreading his hands. "Your dragons and my legions, united in conquest. Together we could reshape the world."
Mat raised an eyebrow, his grin faint. "That's quite the proposition," he said. "But I don't suppose you're just offering your legions out of the kindness of your heart?"
The Emperor's laughter echoed through the hall, soft and lilting. "Of course not, Khal Mat. There is a price. A test, if you will."
The Emperor leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "To prove yourself as a true ruler, you must journey to Asshai by the Shadow. There, amidst the cursed ruins, lies an artifact of immense power—a relic lost to time. Retrieve it, and you shall have my legions."
The words sent a chill down Mat's spine. He didn't know much about Asshai, but what little he had heard was enough to put him on edge. A cursed city filled with darkness and death—it sounded far too similar to Shadar Logoth for his liking. He remembered one of the visions he saw and shivered as he realized the dark land was Asshai.
"And what exactly is this artifact?" Mat asked, his tone guarded.
The Emperor smiled, his painted face serene. "A black crystal, carved with ancient runes. It is said to hold the secrets of the Shadow itself. Bring it to me and you will have my eternal gratitude—and my army."
Daenerys stepped forward, her face pale with anger. "No," she said sharply. "We don't need your legions. We have the dragons and the Dothraki. We don't need to make deals with a city that thrives on shadows."
Mat felt the dice rattling in his head, louder and more insistent than ever. He met Daenerys' furious gaze, his chest tight with the weight of the decision he knew he had to make.
"Dany," he said softly, "this is something I need to do."
Her eyes blazed with anger and hurt. "Why? Why risk your life for something we don't even need?"
Mat didn't answer immediately. The dice in his head spun faster, their silent rhythm a drumbeat of inevitability. "Because I feel it," he said finally, his voice low. "This is the path we need to take. My gut's never steered me wrong, Dany."
Daenerys' voice shook as she stepped closer, her hands clenched into fists. "You're letting some foolish instinct lead you into a trap. You'll die in that cursed place, Mat. And for what? Some trinket for a man who wears paint on his face?"
"Maybe," Mat said, forcing a grin that didn't reach his eye. "But I've played worse hands and come out ahead."
She stared at him, her fury giving way to something softer, more vulnerable. "Please," she whispered. "Don't do this."
Mat's heart ached at the desperation in her voice but the dice were deafening now, their clatter drowning out everything else. He stepped back, his gaze steady.
"I'll be back," he said, his voice firm. "I promise."
Daenerys' expression hardened, her hurt transforming into icy anger. "If you walk out that door, Matrim Cauthon, don't expect me to forgive you."
Mat hesitated, her words cutting deeper than any blade, but he forced himself to turn away. "You'll see, Dany," he said over his shoulder. "This is the right thing to do."
With that he strode out of the hall, his ashandarei clutched tightly in his hand.
The palace doors closed behind him, the cool night air washing over him like a slap. He paused for a moment, his chest heavy, before mounting his horse.
As he rode through the silent streets of Yin, Mat's thoughts churned. He hated leaving Daenerys angry and hurt, but he couldn't ignore the pull of fate—or the rattling dice that told him this journey to Asshai was necessary. Not only that, but there was some force that seemed familiar pulling him to that dark land.
He glanced at the horizon, where the distant mountains loomed like jagged shadows against the sky. The path ahead was dark and uncertain, but he had faced worse.
It wasn't until he had rode out of the immense city that he thought there was something that tugged at his memories about the Emperor but he brushed the feeling aside and rode into the night.
"Alright, Asshai," he muttered, spurring his horse onward. "Let's see what you've got."
The heavy doors of the Emperor's grand hall slammed shut behind Mat, the sound reverberating like a final blow to Daenerys' heart. She stood frozen, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she stared at the spot where he had just been. He was gone, and the weight of his departure pressed down on her like a crushing tide.
He had left her.
The man who had stood by her side, who had fought for her, laughed with her, and shared her dreams of a better future—he had walked away without looking back, leaving her drowning in a mixture of anger, confusion, and betrayal.
Her hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she turned to face the Emperor. Her dragons hissed and snapped, their agitation mirroring her own as Drogon flapped onto her shoulder, his tail curling protectively around her arm.
"You," she said, her voice trembling with fury. "This was your doing. Your test. If anything happens to him, I swear I will bring fire and blood down upon your empire."
The Emperor's expression remained serene, but the faint curl of his painted lips betrayed his amusement. He leaned back on his jade throne, his fingers steepled as he regarded her with a look of detached curiosity.
"Fire and blood," he repeated softly, as though tasting the words. "How fitting for the Mother of Dragons. Yes, I imagine you would."
Daenerys' rage flared, her fists trembling at her sides. "Do not think I won't," she said coldly. "If Mat dies because of your test, your cities will burn, your people will scream, and your empire will crumble to ash."
The Emperor chuckled, the sound low and melodic, his black eyes gleaming with something unnervingly close to delight. "Such passion," he said. "Such resolve. Truly, you are a queen worthy of legend. But tell me, Khaleesi—do you truly believe your Khal has no choice in his fate?"
Daenerys hesitated, her anger warring with the sting of his words.
The Emperor tilted his head, his smile widening. "Your Khal is a man who walks the path of destiny, is he not? A gambler who dances with fate? This was always his choice, my dear queen. The dice in his head rattled, and he followed their call."
"Don't speak of him as if you know him," Daenerys snapped, her voice sharp.
The Emperor's expression softened, but his amusement lingered. "I know more than you think," he said cryptically. "But do not despair, Khaleesi. Your Khal is a man of great cunning and luck. If anyone can return from Asshai by the Shadow, it is him."
Daenerys turned away from the Emperor, her fury dimming under the weight of her worry. She couldn't shake the feeling that she and Mat had walked into the web of a madman, one who reveled in chaos and manipulation.
"Jorah," she said, her voice quieter now, though it still trembled with anger.
Her knight stepped forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "Khaleesi?"
She looked at him, her violet eyes blazing. "What do you know of Asshai?"
Jorah's face darkened, his expression grim. "It is a place of shadows and sorcery," he said. "A cursed city steeped in darkness. Those who go there rarely return—and those who do are never the same."
Daenerys' breath caught, her fingers tightening on Drogon's tail. "Then why would he go?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Why would he risk himself like this?"
"Because it's who he is," Jorah said gently. "Matrim Cauthon is a man who thrives on risk. He follows his instincts, no matter the cost."
Daenerys closed her eyes, her heart aching with a mixture of anger and fear. "And what if his instincts lead him to his death?"
Jorah hesitated, then placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Then we will honor him. But I believe he will return, Khaleesi. He always has."
Daenerys turned back to the Emperor, her anger simmering beneath her sorrow. "You had better hope you're right," she said coldly. "Because if he doesn't come back, I will make good on my promise. I will destroy you."
The Emperor's grin widened, his black eyes gleaming with what could only be described as glee. "Ah but you see, Khaleesi, destruction is part of creation. Should you bring fire and blood to my empire, it will only add to the legend of Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons."
Daenerys stared at him, her fury and disgust palpable. She turned on her heel, her dragons hissing in unison as she strode from the hall, Jorah following close behind.
As the grand doors of the throne room closed behind Daenerys and Jorah, the serene mask of the Emperor of Yi Ti began to crack. His painted lips twisted into a malevolent grin, his black eyes gleaming with a sickly light. Alone in the vast hall, he leaned forward, his hands gripping the jade armrests of his throne as a low chuckle escaped him.
"Oh, Matrim Cauthon," he murmured, his voice laced with a dark, mocking glee. "How perfectly fate has played its hand."
The laughter grew, filling the chamber with an unsettling resonance, until it erupted into a full-throated cackle. It was the laugh of a man who had long since left sanity behind—a laugh that had once echoed in the caverns of the Pit of Doom and the blood-soaked fields of the Last Battle.
Padan Fain had always been a survivor. When Mat had dealt him what should have been a killing blow during the Last Battle, he had felt the pull of death, the sweet oblivion that had so nearly claimed him. But Mashadar—his ever-present shadow, his constant companion—had not been so eager to let him go.
In his final moments, as his body collapsed under Mat's dagger thrust, his mind had reached out, driven by the unnatural hunger of the corrupted entity within him. Across the threads of the Pattern, across the infinite possibilities of existence, it had found a foothold: the body of a foreign emperor in a distant world.
And so, Padan Fain was reborn, his spirit entwining with that of the Emperor of Yi Ti. The transition was seamless. The Emperor's mind had been weak, a mere vessel waiting to be filled. Fain had taken control effortlessly, his influence spreading through the court like a disease.
Fain rose from his throne, pacing the jade-carved dais with a restless energy. His long robes swept the floor as he moved, the patterns on his painted face twisting grotesquely in the flickering light.
"They thought they'd rid themselves of me," he hissed, his voice echoing through the empty hall. "The Dragon, the Aes Sedai, and you, Mat bloody Cauthon. But here I am, alive and well in this... horrid world."
He stopped, his hands clenching into fists as his grin widened. "And now you've wandered right into my web, like a fly too stupid to realize it's already been caught."
The thought of Mat—a man who had defied fate, who had dared to strike him down—being sent to Asshai filled him with a perverse joy. The cursed city held secrets older than even Fain could comprehend, but it also held something familiar.
"Yes," he muttered, his tone reverent. "Mashadar's echo lingers there. Weak, forgotten, but not gone. And with the right push..." He laughed again, a sound devoid of humanity. "You'll awaken it, Matrim. You'll curse yourself as I was cursed. And when it takes hold of you, when it twists you into something monstrous, I will watch this world burn beneath your feet."
Fain returned to his throne, his fingers drumming against the armrests as he savored the brilliance of his plan. Sending Mat to Asshai was not just revenge—it was poetry. To turn the great gambler into a pawn of the Shadow, to see him tainted and broken as he almost was when he had the dagger, was the sweetest vengeance he could imagine.
"And your little queen," he mused, his voice dripping with mockery. "Oh, how she'll weep when she sees what you've become. Fire and blood? Let her bring it. I'll feed her to the darkness, just as I will this entire world."
He leaned back, his eyes half-closed as he let out a contented sigh. The dice had been cast, and the game was already in motion. All he had to do now was wait.
Padan Fain, once a peddler, then a creature of the Shadow, now the Emperor of Yi Ti, smiled to himself, his laughter echoing through the chamber like the tolling of a death knell.
"Let chaos reign," he whispered, his voice as soft as silk but as sharp as a blade. "Let the world choke on it."