The captain's cabin on the *Groleo* was more spacious than Daenerys had anticipated, spanning over 30 square meters. She had the sailors remove the tables, chairs, soft couches, chests, and other clutter, leaving only a double bed and a wide, open space.
"My dragons will live with me," she told Blackbeard.
"But this place is too small to fit three massive iron cages!" Pentos's Blackbeard asked, puzzled.
"You've prepared cages? There's no need," Daenerys said, surveying the cabin. "After we leave Qarth, I'll remove the chains from their necks."
"What if there's a fire?" Blackbeard said, his face twisting in distress. "Even the Hall of Dust, with its stone walls, was reduced to ashes by your dragons. A wooden ship with canvas sails would be even more flammable."
Daenerys frowned, stepping around a dried pool of vomit, and asked casually, "Have you heard of the *Dragon's Homage Painting*?"
"What's the *Dragon's Homage Painting*?" Blackbeard asked, confused.
Whitebeard, standing behind her, suddenly startled. "There's a rumor at the docks," he exclaimed, "that Your Highness's Black Dragon painted a portrait for a merchant from the Summer Isles, meticulously depicting the scene when he paid his respects to you and your Dragon. The merchant calls it the 'Dragon's Homage Painting.' I thought he was just drunk and bragging."
"Hmm, I've heard that too," Blackbeard said. He first looked thoughtful, then dismissive. "I've also heard the Black Dragon sings and recites poetry for visitors. Utter nonsense. Anyone who believes it is a fool."
"Ah, a Dragon's throat bones can't produce human voices. The poetry part is true, but only I can understand it. This rumor is false," Daenerys said, shaking her head.
Blackbeard and Whitebeard were horrified. If she said that, wasn't she indirectly confirming the rumors about the "Dragon's Homage Painting"?
"It's true. Many people were present, and I've seen the Black Dragon paint many times," Jorah said, his chin raised slightly, a look of pride on his face.
Daenerys summarized, "I can make the Dragons paint, and I can control their behavior. At least they won't burn down your ship."
"Alright then."
After more than an hour, Daenerys had inspected every part of the ship, from the deck to the bottom hold. The conditions were appalling: filth and squalor ran rampant, rats and cockroaches scurried freely, rotting clothes lay discarded in heaps, and the ship's planks were caked with layers of dried mud.
Returning to the bridge, she said, "The crew's quarters are too filthy. They must be cleaned regularly, or disease will break out."
"We'll give the ship a thorough cleaning before we set sail," Blackbeard nodded.
"Buy some rye to store in the hold. I have eighty horses."
"Is that really necessary?" Blackbeard began calculating on his fingers. "A fine steed might fetch two gold dragons at most, but the space it occupies, along with the food to sustain it, could be used to store spices and gems, yielding at least thirty gold dragons in profit.
Besides, the sea voyage is long and perilous. Animals are prone to dying. It would be better to sell them all in Qarth and buy as many horses as you need when we reach Pentos."
If they were truly going to Pentos, he was right. Not to mention the profit margin, it would be a miracle if forty of the eighty horses survived the tens of thousands of miles at sea.
"My horses are quite special," Daenerys explained. "They're immune to the Dragon's Might and possess twice the endurance and charging power of ordinary steeds."
Whitebeard exclaimed, "You feed them dragon dung?!"
Daenerys looked at him in surprise. "You know about this?"
The old man nodded, his expression complex. "Legend has it that before the dragons were exterminated, House Targaryen established a stud farm on the plains south of the Blackwater Rush to breed dragon horses.
"Dragon horses raised from foals are said to be fierce, with tales of them killing shadowcats. Only the most skilled and powerful knights can tame them, yet every generation of the Kingsguard has had its own dragon horse."
"Nonsense!" Ser Jorah scoffed. "You Southerners probably rarely encounter shadowcats. They're the rulers of the forests—with the claws of a leopard, the agility of a cat, the ferocity of a tiger, and the strength of a bear. They're even larger than horses."
"If such a legend exists, there must be some truth to it," Whitebeard said calmly.
"Heh." Jorah smiled without comment.
Daenerys glanced at the two men and asked Blackbeard Groleo, "Do you have any fruit to give the sailors?"
"There are lemons and oranges," Blackbeard said matter-of-factly. "On the sea, failing to eat fruit will earn you the curse of the demons."
It seemed that even in this primitive world, thousands of years of seafaring had allowed people to develop a sophisticated system of maritime survival wisdom.
At noon, as news of the Mother of Dragons' arrival spread, merchants and captains from the ships near the docks gathered around the Saedurion to observe. Only after Aggo shouted down to them, "The Mother of Dragons didn't bring her dragons today. Do not disturb her!" did the crowd temporarily disperse.
But the dispersal was only temporary. The next morning, after Daenerys boarded the Saedurion with a large group of horsemen, dragon seekers began arriving in droves, requesting an audience.
Today was the final day. By evening, the ship would sail out of the harbor with the tide.
*Hmm, Daenerys was leaving Qarth.*
When she left Xaro's mansion, she presented him with a gift: a large-sized Zhongshan suit woven with gold thread and fastened with black jade buttons.
Long before Xaro revealed his scummy nature, while Daenerys was having a Qarth tailor make a qipao for him, she had already prepared this gift for him.
According to Westerosi customs, guests give gifts to their hosts before departing as a token of gratitude.
At first, Daenerys was genuinely grateful to Xaro, who had been showering her with gifts at his mansion.
Xaro proved to be the scumbag he was. He didn't even come to see her off, instead sending his steward with a message: "The Great Male Warlock Pyat Pree will not let you leave safely."
Daenerys had the steward relay her thanks to Xaro, but she didn't take the warning seriously.
Once at sea, with her dragons, she had few rivals.
At most, Pyat Pree might disguise himself as a pirate to hunt her down, but ships were made of wood and sails of cloth—all flammable.
"Khaleesi, the captain of the Apricot-Eyed Maiden has brought only an arm-thick silver statue for you. Shall I let him aboard? The Ginkgo Maiden is just a small vessel; its captain might not have much wealth," Jhoggo reported to Daenerys.
On the deck facing the sea, a tall wooden chair had been placed. Daenerys sat upon it, her Black Dragon curled at her feet, as crew members and merchants lined up to pay their respects.
*They're here to see the dragon.*
Following Xaro's initial rule, every visitor to the dragon had to bring a gift, and the order of audience was determined by the value of their offerings.
Even after Daenerys went to visit the Warlock's Immortal Hall, the visitor list remained long and uncrossed.
Now that she'd moved to the great ship and was leaving tonight, Daenerys's "Dragon Zoo" was opening its doors for a brief period once again!
The main reason was the overwhelming enthusiasm of the visitors, most of whom came from Western Essos. Having established herself in this region, Daenerys didn't want to earn a reputation for being "reclusive and unapproachable" or "arrogant, cold, and ruthless."
She needed to smile, be amiable, dress beautifully, and demonstrate her perfect control over the dragons. That way, the labels "Daenerys Targaryen: peerlessly beautiful, kind and gentle, noble and elegant, and immensely powerful" would be helped by countless sailors to spread throughout the Free Cities.
*Indeed, seeking fame.*
Although her primary goal was to enhance her reputation, she didn't want to miss the opportunity to profit. Each guest still had to present a gift.
"What kind of statue?" she asked.
"A young woman," Aggo replied.
"A maiden!" Whitebeard, standing guard nearby, interjected. "Is the *Ginkgo Maiden* from the Sunset Sea?"
"I don't know, but his accent is somewhat similar to yours," Aggo said.
"Your Highness, you should receive him," Whitebeard urged. "He's a subject from your homeland."
Daenerys nodded. "Let him come aboard."
Daenerys had seen merchant ships from Lys, Braavos, Pentos, and the Summer Isles, but not a single pure Westerosi merchant vessel.
The silver statue was small and worth only a few silver stags, but its significance as a token of a visitor's status was extraordinary.
The man who approached was lean and middle-aged, missing a front tooth. His shoulder-length hair was streaked with white, and his long, narrow face, framed by fresh stubble, clearly showed he had tidied himself up before coming.
"Great Mother of Dragons, Guardian of the Seven Kingdoms, true Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men!" The man spoke with perfect Common and knightly courtesy.
"I am Jordan Snow, captain of the *Ginkgo Maiden*. Your beauty is like the moon over a tranquil lake—sacred and radiant, a sight mortals may behold but never touch. You are the Maiden's earthly incarnation."
As he spoke, he knelt on one knee and presented the small statue of the Maiden in his cupped hands.
The dominant religion in the Seven Kingdoms was the Faith of the Seven, which worshipped the Seven Gods as seven aspects of a single deity, each representing a different virtue. However, less educated common folk often saw them as seven distinct gods.
The Father represented judgment, the Mother embodied maternal love and nurturing, the Warrior symbolized strength in battle, the Smith represented craftsmanship and labor, the Crone embodied wisdom, and the Stranger represented death and the unknown.
The Maiden represents innocence and purity, and people often pray to her for the protection of maidens' chastity. Others, like the horse-faced Jordan Snow, use the term "maiden" to praise a woman's beauty and grace.
"Thank you for your gift," Daenerys said. "I will pray to the Seven Gods that the Smith blesses you with a safe return to King's Landing." She paused, then tentatively asked, "Captain Snow, you're from the North, aren't you?"
In the Seven Kingdoms, bastards were traditionally given surnames derived from common local elements, signifying their low status. For example, Northerners often bore the surname "Snow," reflecting the region's frequent snowfalls; those from the Reach might have the surname "Flower," referencing the area's mild climate and abundant flora; Dornish bastards often had the surname "Sand," a nod to the desert region's vast sandy expanses; and those from the Vale might be named "Stone," a reminder of the rocky terrain.
By a bastard's surname alone, one could often determine his region of origin.
If the bastard was born to a noble house, his coat of arms typically related to his father's family—perhaps with reversed colors, an added bar, or a combination of both parents' sigils if both were nobles.
Many experienced people could deduce a person's noble lineage with just a glance or a few words, identifying them as a "bastard" of a particular house.
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