"Your Majesty, are you sure you should be dressed like this?"
Whitebeard's wrinkled old face furrowed like a conservative father seeing his beloved daughter adopt a punk-rock style.
"I find the qipao you designed quite beautiful," he suggested hesitantly. "It perfectly suits the royal style."
Since meeting Daenerys that day, Whitebeard and Bavos had remained by her side, claiming it was their duty to protect her. They vowed to follow her wherever she went, never leaving her side.
Daenerys, believing neither man to be malicious and that any ulterior motives they might have wouldn't harm her, agreed to their request.
Ser Jorah was deeply displeased by this arrangement. He had repeatedly warned Daenerys that Astan was problematic and didn't act like a proper attendant.
While Daenerys acknowledged his concerns, she countered that they would all soon be crossing the sea together, and it was impossible to keep the two men separated forever.
Thus, Ser Jorah also began fulfilling his duty as one of the Queen's Iron Guard, becoming one of Daenerys's bodyguards.
"Since we're at the stables, we might as well ride out. My qipao isn't suitable for this," Daenerys said, leading out her Little Silver horse, saddling it with practiced ease, and mounting with agile grace.
"The Little Queen looks like a warrior in this outfit. Bavos would love it," the eunuch remarked. He didn't ride, instead walking beside Daenerys with long strides.
"Ahem, you two, and Ser Jorah, please stop calling me 'Queen' from now on. You can use the title to intimidate outsiders, but we're all familiar with each other now. Let's drop the pretense!"
The horse stepped lightly over the threshold and onto the street.
"You are the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Whitebeard said solemnly.
He and Jorah rode beside Daenerys, while Rakharo and four other Dothraki horsemen formed a protective ring around her.
"My brother Viserys always proclaimed himself the protector of the Seven Kingdoms and King of Westeros, yet everyone mocked him as the 'Beggar King'," Daenerys explained. "From now on, you can call me Khaleesi, Princess of Dragonstone, or simply Daenerys."
When Daenerys was born, the Targaryen Dynasty still held a flicker of its former glory, not yet utterly extinguished. Her status as Princess of Dragonstone was undeniable, though she was, at best, an exiled princess.
Qarth was built along the northern shore of the strait, with its docks located in the southern part of the city.
Xaro's mansion stood in the wealthy eastern district, and they had to cross eight streets before reaching the slums of the southern quarter.
Here, there were no colorful marble palaces or fragrant gardens, only row after row of dilapidated brick and tile houses, their street-facing sides lacking even windows.
The filthy streets were filled with naked children, beggars with dirt-caked faces, emaciated, sand-colored dogs, and fair-skinned Qarth residents.
Not everyone could afford to wear the opulent clothes that symbolized Qarth's traditions, as Xaro did daily. These commoners wore only a single, grimy linen shift.
As Daenerys passed, everyone stopped their work and turned to watch her leave with numb eyes.
They all recognized her; they all knew she was the Mother of Dragons.
The initial fervor that had swept through the city upon her arrival had vanished. Now, their indifference was tinged with fear.
The Hall of the Undying collapsed in a massive cloud of smoke and flames, a sight witnessed by nearly all of Qarth.
Initially, many were deceived by Daenerys's lies, believing the Undying themselves had burned down their ancient temple. After all, the Hall of the Undying had truly become the Hall of Dust, and it was time to tear it down and rebuild. Everyone knew about the warlocks' madness; burning down houses was perfectly normal for them.
One house builder even approached Great Warlock Pyat Pree, offering to construct the new Hall of the Undying for free, asking only for the street-facing shops in return.
A naked man sprinted out of the Black Tree Forest, screaming, "Where's my tail? I want my tail!"
It was utterly bizarre.
Other merchants who had missed out on the opportunity were terrified. Qarth residents no longer dared to openly discuss the warlocks' house-burning spree.
People began to wonder: if the warlocks were reacting so violently, could it be that the Mother of Dragons had lied?
Overnight, Qarth residents remembered the danger of dragons. The once-eager crowds who had come to pay their respects vanished, and Daenerys's mansion became deserted.
But Daenerys didn't care. She was leaving soon anyway; what did the opinions of Qarth's people matter?
Passing through Qarth's slums, they entered the dock district, where the streets grew increasingly crowded with merchants, sailors of all skin tones, street vendors hawking their wares, carriages, sedan chairs, and camel caravans.
A pungent, peculiar aroma hung in the air, a bizarre blend of the merchants' and noblewomen's perfumes, roasted meats, leather, dung, sweat, and fish. This strange scent, mingled with the clamor of shouting and the salty sea breeze, gave the place an oddly vibrant, earthly vitality.
Daenerys found herself growing fond of Qarth. She shouldn't have stayed cooped up in Xaro's Garden Palace all this time, almost missing the true splendor of this capital of eastern trade.
"Make way! Make way for the Mother of Dragons!" the burly Bavos roared, shoving a mule out of his path.
"I smell it—poisonous water," Jhiqui, the Dothraki handmaiden, shouted to Daenerys.
The Dothraki distrust the sea and all things maritime. To them, any water horses couldn't drink was impure.
"Poisonous water? Aggo and the others have been bathing in the sea every day for days without dying," Daenerys asked Aggo beside her. "Tell her—is the sea water poisonous?"
"It's poisonous, Khaleesi," the Dothraki nodded solemnly. "I drank a few mouthfuls and nearly died. Everyone has tried—seawater is undrinkable. And anything undrinkable must be poisonous."
*What logic...*
Qarth was one of the world's greatest ports, with taverns, warehouses, and casinos lining its streets. Cheap brothels stood shoulder-to-shoulder with temples dedicated to all manner of strange deities.
Under the massive canopy of the docks, merchants and travelers from across the globe jostled together, while thieves, thugs, and swindlers lurked in the shadows.
Whitebeard Astan introduced the area to Daenerys. "The docks themselves are a vast marketplace. Goods from both the Eastern and Western Continents flow in and out at all hours. You can find almost anything in the world here."
After a moment's contemplation, he sighed. "At the same time, this is a lawless and immoral zone. Slaves can be bought and sold freely, and illegal goods are peddled openly. If you don't ask about the source, the same items cost a fraction of the market price. Do you understand why, Your Majesty?"
Several thoughts flashed through Daenerys's mind. She asked in surprise, "Pirates and bandits openly fence their stolen goods here?"
A flicker of admiration crossed Whitebeard's melancholic blue eyes. "This is the capital of world trade, and also a den of sin."
"Mother of Dragons! Mother of Dragons!"
Daenerys turned to see a gaunt man, his head wrapped in a white linen cap, hopping and waving at her from across Jorah.
The middle-aged man's skin was dark and oily, his frame thin and withered. The whites of his eyes were unusually large, standing out vividly against his black skin.
"Mother of Dragons! Mother of Dragons! I have dragon eggs! I have dragon eggs! Will you buy one?" he shouted in Valyrian, his accent thick with regional dialect.
At the mention of dragon eggs, Daenerys instinctively pulled Little Silver to a halt. She instructed Jorah to let the merchant approach and asked, "Are you sure you're not lying to me?"
"How would I dare lie to the Mother of Dragons? Come see for yourself." The gaunt man assured her with feigned solemnity as he unceremoniously tugged Little Silver toward his stall.
On a dark red blanket lay an assortment of bottles and jars. At the center, a bundle of soft Yi silk cradled two brightly colored stone eggs.
They were the size of pineapples, their surfaces covered in fine, iridescent scales that shimmered like glazed enamel. The dappled sunlight filtering through the open ceiling cast a coppery glow on their surfaces.
Daenerys gave a soft "Hmm" and dismounted, striding quickly to the stall. She bent down and carefully picked up a stone egg from its silk-lined nest, turning it over and examining it closely.
"Mother of Dragons, don't be deceived by Old Bao Khan," said a thin, wiry old woman standing at the stall next to the black-haired man. She wore no chair but had two strings of beer-bottle-shaped clay pots hanging from her shoulders. Through the gaps in the wooden stoppers, a rich aroma of goat's milk wafted faintly.
Meeting Daenerys's gaze, the Qarthian woman, whose back was bent nearly double, revealed a toothless, withered mouth and grinned. "If it were a real dragon egg, that Asshai barbarian would have presented it to the royal family long ago!"
"You..." The black-haired man, whom the woman had called "Bao Khan," glared at her, his fingers itching to gouge out her eyes. He hopped up and down, cursing, "Bastard! Son of a bitch! Old Granny Qira! I've never wronged you! I even buy your goat's milk every morning! Why are you slandering me?"
The old woman rolled her eyes and retorted, "I don't want to lose a regular customer."
"What did you say?"
"I don't want you to be cut in half by one of the Khaleesi's Dothraki boys for deceiving the great Khaleesi," she sneered. "Have you forgotten who you're dealing with? She's the Mother of Dragons, after all."
"You fool! When you meet her, you should run far away. If anyone in the world can identify a true dragon egg, it's her."
*The old woman is truly wise!*
The gaunt, dark-skinned man was speechless, his swarthy face turning pale as wax. The onlookers nodded in agreement.
"This is indeed a dragon egg," Daenerys said, her words stunning the old woman into silence.
"What? It's really a dragon egg?" Even Baohan himself was taken aback.
"A dragon egg! The Mother of Dragons says it's a dragon egg! Baohan's dragon egg is real!" The nearby stall vendors erupted in a clamor.
"Your Highness, are you certain?" Whitebeard leaned closer, picking up the other dragon egg and turning it over and over. He struggled to verify or refute its authenticity.
He considered himself an expert, having handled true dragon eggs in his youth—the eggs of the Targaryen dragons.
"Haha, it's a dragon egg! I'm not lying!" Baohan, the Asshai man, jumped and danced like he'd won the lottery, shouting to the crowd. "You all saw it! This is the legendary Mother of Dragons, the one who hatched three dragons! She confirmed it—this is a dragon egg!"
"It is indeed a dragon egg," Daenerys said with a smile. "If I were to purchase it, what would be the price?"
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