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Taking a half step closer, Nox focused in on the small creature. There were many in the Sith Empire who truly believed that the Force was limited to only a select few in the galaxy; humans, Sith Purebloods, Miralukans and so on. They would scoff at anyone who even dared to think that the Force would bother with what they deemed 'mindless beasts.' But there were a few, and Nox was one of them, who knew that the Force was not limited so. It flowed through all sentient life in the galaxy. And this small little creature the size of a pup proved them correct. For the Force was strong in this little creature, very strong. To the point where Nox honestly believed that in terms of pure power with the Force, this little creature surpassed perhaps eighty to ninety percent of all those who stepped into the Sith Temple on Korriban.
"And what of Daenerys?" Nox asked bluntly, unafraid of exposing Jon's connection to the young girl across the Narrow Sea, considering everyone in the room already knew about it.
"She…She has hatched one as well," Jon admitted slowly. "On the same night as Archon was hatched."
"Archon," Nox repeated, making the little creature raise its head towards him, showing its intelligence as it already recognized its own name. "After the former rulers of Valyria."
"Jon…" Robb said slowly, obviously taking his time to choose his words carefully. "You know that I will always support you and protect you. But…This is a bloody-fucking-dragon! The very symbol of the Targaryens. King Robert, you know very well what his thoughts are regarding them. I doubt even his and father's friendship will be enough should word of…Archon's existence reach the King's ear. And there are more than a few Houses that would dance a merry jig at the thought of House Stark falling."
"I know," Jon nodded. "I've been keeping him secret for now, to the point where the only person outside of us who even knows of his existence is Sam. But should word get out…then… If need be, I will leave the North and shoulder the King's wrath."
"No, you won't, Jon." Robb said firmly. "You're family. And we wolves don't just let our packmates wander off on their own. For now, we'll keep him secret for as long as we can. And if the day ever comes where word of Archon reaches the King's ear…then we will deal with that when it comes."
Tuning his two Apprentices out, Nox went down to one knee before the little dragon to better examine it. The creature was strange. The Force flowed strongly through it, but as he looked closer at the little beast, he noticed that the flow was almost unnatural. As if the Force itself was sure yet at the same time not sure of just what to make of the creature. Yet another enigma. One that warranted his attention almost as much as the Force Nexus hiding as a comet. Fortunately, in this case, he would have weeks on the road to take his time to study the little dragon.
"Can he breathe fire yet?" Nox asked, bringing everyone's attention back to himself and the little dragon.
"Not yet," Ygritte answered. "The little beast be tryin. I can feel da flames he makes in his throat. Yet he can't do more than cough smoke out his little snout."
Nodding, Nox got to his feet. "How does he handle the cold?"
Jon shrugged. "As well as direwolves do. He's always warm and it doesn't seem like the cold bothers him at all."
"Good," Nox nodded, turning his attention away from the dragon and back to his Apprentices and their lovers. "The hatching of this dragon wasn't the only thing that brought me back to the North. While we were in Harrenhal we received word from the Night's Watch."
"Aye, I know." Jon nodded. "Ygritte was about ready to march off to the Wall and beyond the moment she heard about the missing patrol of Brothers and Free Folk."
"Then that makes this easier," Nox said. "On the morrow, the three of us plus Ghost and the little Archon here will depart for the Wall. Once we're there, we'll be heading beyond the Wall with a small contingent of Brothers of the Watch and Free Folk hunters to learn more about the patrol's disappearance, and what made them disappear."
"Tomorrow?" Robb repeated quickly. "But… We've only just arrived. And only the three of you? Should you not take mo—?"
"More men will only slow us down, my young Apprentice," Nox answered simply. "Speed is of the essence here. And the only one who is not fully rested is I. And I will be fine by the morning. Plus, the more men we travel with the greater the chance of Archon's discovery becomes. There is an old saying, Apprentices, that you should take to heart. 'Three can keep a secret, if two are already dead.' While I'm under no delusion that we will be able to keep Archon's existence a secret, we can at least delay the inevitable until we are able to better set the board in our favor."
Turning his back on the young dragon, Nox made to head back to his rooms, "Jon, Ygritte. Get some rest. We set out before first light tomorrow. And we'll be traveling fast. So, bring only what you can carry. Anything else will just slow us down."
Standing on the balcony of her temporary office within the Tower of the Hand, Nyra Nox gazed down upon the mass of King's Landing, her eyes fixed on the large Dragon Pit off in the distance. It'd been little more than a full moon's turn since Harrenhal, and three weeks since she'd officially taken up her duties as temporary 'Mistress of the Arcane' while her husband went North to investigate the disturbances he'd felt in the Force. While her time on the Small Council had been productive, it had not been without incident, or even outright opposition.
There were many who objected to her presence on the Small Council, whether because she was a woman, or because of her position. And while those who objected were wise enough not to object to her face, the whispers still followed her everywhere. The mutters of 'whore', 'heretic', 'heathen', and worse yet had become so common that she had grown numb to the insults. And if the mutterings weren't bad enough, then there was a rather catchy song that many a bard like to sign. The 'Whore of the North'. A song written specially for her. 'Alim was right. This…city…is nothing but a cesspool of waste and filth doing all they can to try and stay above the rest of the shit.'
The whispers and insults she could stand. What was getting irritating was the outright incompetence of some of her fellow members of the Small Council and those within the Goldcloaks. And the irritating 'game' the nobles loved to play to try and get the better of each other.
The first instance she'd faced of both the game and the incompetence came to light when the Sea Wolf arrived from the North shortly after their own arrival in the city. True to her words, there were several purposefully unmarked barrels the size of man's head with black powder on the ship. But that wasn't all. There was also valuable fabric, gold, silver, foodstuffs, and even some Valyrian steel. While she was supervising the unloading of the material, it came to her attention that they were short one barrel of the powder. A quick count later, and it was discovered that a deckhand had disappeared. Thankfully, all it took was the showing of two gold dragons for the man's fellow deckhands to sell him out. After learning of where he slept, Nyra had set off with a contingent of Northern guards and had the man arrested for theft and thrown into the black cells. He'd tried to protest, but when the guards found the barrel of black powder he'd stashed beneath a loose floorboard, his pleas fell on deaf ears.
After the attempted theft, Nyra was faced with a level of…either incompetence or outright laziness on behalf of the King's own brother, Lord Renly Baratheon. The Master of Laws didn't see any issue with what had happened and merely wanted to have the man's hand removed as if he were just another common thief before being sent on his way. But Nyra knew that the man was no mere 'common thief'. There had been coins, valuable fabric, food, and even Valyrian steel on the Sea Wolf, all of which would've been remarkably easy to steal. Yet this man had forgone them all and instead had stolen an otherwise unremarkable barrel. A barrel that he should not have known the contents of which. And as much as the thought turned her stomach, she knew that the man had to be put to the question.
Renly had visibly paled at the thought and immediately dismissed her. Saying that she would need to settle her 'bloodlust' elsewhere and that she was not the Master of Laws, and as such the thief's fate rested with him. Not her. Nyra had actually needed to go directly to the King, who quickly agreed with her observations and, after berating Renly for his lack of attention, ordered that the thief be put to the question immediately. However, when the guards went down to perform the questioning, they found the thief dead in his cell. Strangled to death with no visible means of doing it himself. Which led Nyra to the conclusion that whoever had wanted to steal the black powder was someone of influence and power. And someone who had access to the black cells. Not a long list to be sure. But unfortunately, almost all of those on the list were considered 'untouchable'.
The next incident did not take long to happen either. After the King had agreed to her and Lord Stark's proposal to hire cleaners for the sewers of King's Landing using the coin won from the tournament, Nyra had set out immediately to secure what she needed to protect the future workers. Alim had been very, very thorough in his education of her, perhaps even a little too thorough at times. And one of the aspects he'd taught her was the importance of public health in relation to cleanliness, or hygiene as he put it. And the sewers that tunneled shit and piss were perhaps the most unclean place one could ever imagine. So, before she even went about getting workers, she commissioned the creation of two-hundred new full-length shirts, breeches and boots that were made of a combination of cotton and leather. She also petitions for the creation of face coverings that would protect the nose and mouth, but would allow one to still breathe. She then secured washer women that would clean these 'uniforms' each day after the workers were done with them. Once that was completed, she put the word out that there was a need for workers to clean the sewers of King's Landing, and that the workers would be paid one silver stag a day for their labors.
Only twenty responded to her call the first day, fifteen men and five women. Less than a tenth of what she'd hoped for. And three of them were children at that. But she knew that once word got out that the pay was indeed real, that many more would come. So, she made do with what she had. Each worker was commissioned a set of new clothes that were to be turned in at the end of their day, and to her dismay she actually had to teach some of the workers how to properly don their clothes and lace up their boots. And then after explaining what they would be doing, she sent them into the sewers to clean. Their work had…not been of the highest quality, but it was a start. And she made good on her word, seeing that each worker was paid a single silver stag for their work. And, as an added bonus, she'd brought clean water and soap so that each of her workers could properly clean themselves before putting their old clothes back on. For most of them, it was perhaps the first time they'd ever properly cleaned themselves. Something which greatly unsettled and slightly disgusted Nyra.
On the second day word had spread that she was good to her word and the number went up from twenty to nearly eighty. On the third the number went up to nearly a hundred and fifty. And by the fourth day they reached the point where it was necessary to turn away potential workers. By the fifth day the promise of bathing, clean clothes, and a silver stag a day had brought such a crowd that Nyra had needed to employ all of the Stark guards she had and even some of the Goldcloaks to keep any fits at bay and to turn around those who were not needed. By the seventh day, word had spread to every corner of the city. And while it was known by then that they were only accepting workers who had already worked for them, with preferential treatment given to the first lot who came, that did not stop the city from descending on the workers themselves. The moment the workers stepped out of the bathing area, they were immediately assaulted by merchants, whores, beggars, food vendors, and even cutpurses who were desperately trying to get their hands on the coin she'd paid out.
She was heartened to see that at least some of her workers were wise with their coin. Unfortunately, too many were not and immediately wasted their coin on drink or pleasurable company. She'd wanted to intervene and send all the vultures away. But then she remembered her husband's words. She couldn't save everyone. And what people did with their coin was their own business. If they wanted to throw it away for fleeting pleasures or drink or whatever tickled their fancy, then it was of no consequence to her as long as they continued to work.
A fortnight after starting up work on the sewers, Nyra sent out her announcement regarding the plans to renovate the Dragon Pit and workers were needed. The day after the call went out, the Dragon Pit was almost flooded by those seeking work, or more accurately the coin that was being offered. Though many were disappointed to learn that they would be earning only half of that which was being paid to those who worked in the sewers. But in Nyra's mind, reconstructing a ruin did not call for the same pay as cleaning the sewers beneath the city. But even with only offering half the pay, she was still able to hire enough laborers and skilled craftsmen before midday to complete the reconstruction of the Dragon Pit. Granted, most of the work would need to wait until her husband returned so that he could perform the 'appropriate Force rituals' during the construction of the new temple. But she could at least see to it that Alim would have a good foundation to work with.
"Milady Nox," the guard stationed outside her door called to her.
"Yes?" she called back, still staring out over the city she honestly never thought she'd see in her lifetime.
"There is a…woman here with her son. Says he's a candidate for Lord Nox's Acolytes."
Frowning, Nyra turned away from the balcony and made her way back to her desk. Judging by the way her guard said 'woman', she knew he meant 'whore'. This was not the first time, nor would it be the last she knew, that a whore or some other man or woman brought their child to her to see if they could find a place amongst her husband's Acolytes. Especially now that tales of Gendry, the King's Bastard who rose to the rank of 'Apprentice' along with Lord Stark's own bastard son, have spread across the country. While she wasn't an expert by any stretch, Alim had taught her enough in the short time since her Force awakening to be able to 'test' the children to see whether or not they were capable of learning the Force. So far, none had passed her test. She doubted that this time would be any different. She just hoped that this whore would at least keep her clothes on. The last one she turned away from had promptly stood up, dropped her dress right in front of her daughter and offered herself fully and exclusively to her should she accept the child. An offer which Nyra promptly denied. She would not betray Alim. Not after all he had done for her.
"Send her in," she said, gathering a small stone sphere and setting it on the middle of her desk as she prepared herself for yet another failed test.
The woman who was led in was not what Nyra was expecting. The others had worn frilly or silky dresses meant to entice and excite. But this woman wore a simple cotton dress that had clearly seen better days. Her hair was matted, and she had more than a few dirt stains on her clothes and skin. And the little boy at her side was not in much better shape. It was clear to Nyra right away that the woman had no doubt used every last coin she had, as well as perhaps offering her 'services', to ensure that they could meet.
"Lady Nox, I thank thee for taking the time to speak with me regarding my son," the woman curtseyed, her accent one that Nyra didn't recognize but sounded vaguely like the Lannister's silky voice, meaning she probably came from somewhere in the Westerlands.
"Rise," Nyra said, motioning the two forward. "Sit, please."
Nodding, the woman quickly rushed her son, who if Nyra had to guess was no older than Bran Stark, towards the empty seats across from Nyra. "Thank you, milady," the woman said. "My name is Jun, and this here is my boy, Stan. I–I know that the gods have blessed him, milady. And I pray he will be accepted amongst yer husband's Acolytes. He is a smart boy despite his age. He knows his numbers despite never having a Maester to teach him a—"
"—and I will see if he is worthy of my husband's time." Nyra said, cutting the woman off. It wasn't that she wanted to be rude, but the child had drawn her interest in a way none of the others had.
Granted, her own powers with the Force were fledgling at best, but she could sense the vaguest hints of the Force within the boy. Something she had not felt in any of the others that'd been brought before her. "Look at me, boy," she said calmly, drawing the boy's eyes up to her own.
With a deliberate slowness, Nyra held her hand out towards the small ball on the surface of her desk. It'd taken her more time than she cared to admit, but she was able to manipulate the Force enough to move the ball back and forth across the surface of her desk without her hand ever touching it. The boy's eyes widened as he watched with rapt attention as the ball moved, seemingly on its own. The young mother also stared with wide eyes and more than a touch of trepidation. "You see what I have done?" she asked, stopping the ball in front of the boy. "Gather your emotions. Your love, your anger. All that you are. Pour it into your will, your desire. And command this ball to move."
The boy glanced up towards his mother, who gave him an encouraging smile and nod. Swallowing hard, the boy held his hand out towards the ball. She could see the concentration building within his small frame, his face twisting and going red as he tried to force the ball to move. Just as it looked like the boy was about to give up, the ball twitched. Hardly more than a slight rocking that might've been confused for a passing breeze. But Nyra had felt the Force flow through the boy and into the ball. "That is enough," Nyra said, holding up her own hand and summoning the ball back to her.
The mother hadn't seen the movement, and apparently neither had the boy as his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Please," the young whore pleaded. "My son…I promise you he is special. Please, milady, I—"
"Who is his father?" Nyra asked, staring at the young lad. He looked so familiar for some reason but she couldn't place it, and it was starting to bother her.
The whore swallowed and lowered her eyes. "You…You know what I – what I am, milady. Most in my…Most like me who have children do not know the father. But I…I have always been careful. And I know who the father is. Stan was conceived when…when His Grace came through the Westerlands and…c-called upon my services."
The pieces fell into place in Nyra's mind immediately. The young lad looked almost identical to Gendry, albeit younger and with a slimmer frame. But his face, his eyes, and his hair were a dead match for Gendry. He even looked similar to little Barra as well.
"I – I am no noble hunter, milady," Jun continued, apparently taking Nyra's silence as condemnation for bearing the King's bastard. "I took moon tea after my services. But—But the seed of His Grace was strong and would not be denied. I…I never wanted to use my son to take advantage, so I kept him away. But…But recently he started doing odd things. I thought it was just tricks of the eye, milady. But—But I was at Harrenhal hoping to earn some coin. And—And I heard about the King's bastard Gendry and I thought that—"
"You need not explain yourself," Nyra said, holding out her hand. Reaching into one of the drawers of her desk, she pulled out a coin purse and set it before the young woman. "The Temple that my husband petitioned the crown for is nowhere near completion. This should be enough to find you and your son lodging for some time here in the city without forcing you to return to your…craft. Once my husband returns, he will test your son again. And should he be satisfied, then your son will have a place amongst my husband's Acolytes."
Jun stared wide-eyed at the coin purse before her. With an almost shaking hand, Jun picked up the purse and shot to her feet, dropping into a low curtsey suitable to honoring one of the royal family. "Thank you, milady! Thank you! I–I promise you. My son will not disappoint your husband! Stan!"
"Um…Thank you…milady," the young boy said awkwardly, rising to his feet and bowing so quickly and so deeply that Nyra was afraid that he would hit his head on her desk.
Dismissing them both, Nyra leaned back and let a small smile form on her face. 'I've found another Acolyte for you, my love. And another one of King Robert's bastard children. A boy who looks just like Gendry and Barra. If he proves himself, the King will no doubt be pleased. Considering how much he laments about his children by way of the Queen who don't even have a drop of Force potential within them.'
Frowning, Nyra leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. 'Nox said that the Force is often passed from parents to offspring. Though it wasn't unheard of for the ability to not be passed on. Yet still…why are the King's three children by way of Cersei seemingly completely unable to use the Force? Yet his bastard children that I know of are all Force sensitive…and how is it that the three children I have met, by three different mothers, all share the same coloring and look as the King? Yet the royal children… They are all their mother with almost nothing of the Baratheon look or build to them. Why?' Not caring for where her train of thought was bringing her, Nyra looked out over the landscape of King's Landing, her gaze pointed towards the North. 'Alim…please be swift, my love. I need you here. Now more than ever.'
Pulling his heavy cloak tighter around his body, Jon Stark stared up at the intimidating sight of the Wall. His Master had not been lying when he'd said that he was planning on heading to the Wall at first light after arriving at Winterfell from Harrenhal. Before the sun had even begun to crest the horizon, his Master had barged into his room and roughly pulled his sleeping covers off of his, and Ygritte's, naked bodies before roughly telling them to get dressed and down to the stables immediately and that they would break their fast on the road.
Normally, it would take at least a fortnight to reach Castle Black from Winterfell. But the pace his Master set had the three of them reaching the home of the Night's Watch in ten days. Honestly, Jon was surprised that they hadn't killed their horses. Though he was positive that that was only the case because his Master, and himself, were constantly aiding their mounts through the Force, giving them stamina and strength beyond what was normally possible. But still, the pace was brutal to the point where even for Ygritte, despite having grown up amongst the Free Folk and as such was used to constantly being on the move, was driven to the point of discomfort. Though she blamed it on Winterfell turning her 'soft', as she put it.
When they arrived at Castle Black, much to the Lord Commander's surprise, Jon was half afraid that they would set out immediately for their task north of the Wall. But their speed in arriving had proven to be a detriment as the ranger party that would be joining them from Castle Black, and the pack of hunters from the Free Folk, had yet to be finalized. Which meant that they would have a few days to rest and recover as they waited for those who would be part of the ranging to organize themselves. Lord Nox had not been pleased, but had relented that they would rest a few days as guests until the ranging was ready.
Jon was grateful for the respite, however short it might be. But he knew that it also came with a great risk. A risk of Archon, who was currently resting within the confines of Jon's cloak against his person, would be discovered. And while the Night's Watch was supposed to take no part of matters of the realm, he still agreed with his Master that the fewer individuals who knew about Archon, the better.
Breaking his gaze away from the heights of the Wall, Jon pushed his way through the ankle deep summer snow towards the squat tower that held Castle Black's library. And more importantly, house the Maester of Castle Black. Arriving at the maester's doors, Jon politely knocked a few times before slowly opening the door and stepping inside while Ghost obediently sat down just outside the door like a guard. "Maester Aemon?"
Hearing a rustling coming from nearby, Jon quickly entered to find the aged maester trying desperately to rise from his bed. "Maester Aemon," he said, hurrying over to the old man's side and helping him up into a seated position on his bed. Though calling it a 'bed' was honestly a disservice. It was more akin to an aged table that had fallen apart and given a few feathers for comfort. 'I need to talk to father about sending something, anything, to Castle Black to try and improve conditions around here.'
"Egg?" Maester Aemon called out, his unseeing eyes searching desperately as his hands came up and felt Jon's face. "No. Jon. Jon Stark…I'm sorry, my boy. You sound and move so much like Egg that…that I got lost in my memories."
"There is nothing to forgive, Maester Aemon…uncle."
A smile graced the old man's withered face. "I had thought that when Lord Mormont sent word south that you would accompany your Master here. But I did not hold out hope of seeing you. Hope can be a man's lifeline, or his death."
"Aye," Jon nodded.
The aging Maester smiled and patted his face. "You don't understand. Yet one day you will, my boy. Now, I don't suppose you've come simply to talk about mundane matters, Jon."
"No. No, I haven't," Jon replied, adjusting his cloak just enough to allow Archon to poke his head out into the open. Taking his great-uncle's hand, Jon carefully led his fingers towards the dragon's snout.
Maester Aemon gasped softly as his fingers touched the scaled snout of the dragon. The small beast's warm breath warming his wrinkled fingers. Jon was nervous about allowing the old Maester to go further, as of now the only true interactions Archon had had with people was with him and Ygritte, but amazingly Archon all but scampered out of the confines of his cloak and into the waiting hands of the Maester. The sudden weight in the old man's hand nearly caused him to drop the young dragon. But Jon was right there to carefully catch Aemon's hands and help him hold the weight of the small creature.
"Jon," Aemon gasped as the two carefully brought the dragon to his lap, where it promptly curled up and started almost purring while tears formed at the corners of the old man's eyes. "This…This is…"
Stepping back, Jon watched with a smile on his face as the aged Targaryen carefully caressed the little dragon as if it were a newborn babe. "His name is Archon."
"Archon," Maester Aemon repeated, smiling as he ran a finger down the length of the dragon's back and tail. "A fine name for such a fine young one. Is…Is he alone?"
Letting his senses flow outwards, Jon made sure that he couldn't sense any unwanted ears nearby before answering. Even after confirming, he still knelt close to Aemon and lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear his words. "Archon is not alone in the world. Daenerys has birthed her own. A female, Droga."
If possible, the old man's smile grew even wider as tears started falling freely from the corners of his eyes. "For so long I dreamed…dreamed of a return to magic. To the Valyrian line. For a time, I thought your sire would perhaps be the one to see my dreams come true. Yet it was not his destiny, but yours and Daenerys's to bring life back to that which was once lost." Aemon tilted his head up, his unseen eyes staring off into the distance as his hands kept their gentle caressing of the dragon hatchling in his lap. "A dragon is no mere beast, Jon. The Maesters and many others would have us believe otherwise. But they are fools."
"I know," Jon replied, grinning as he stared down at Archon, who was soaking up Aemon's caresses like a dry sponge that'd been dropped into a lake. "My bond with Ghost is much the same. I swear, Ghost is far smarter than half of the people I've met. Maybe more. And Archon, even young as he is, is far too smart for his own good."
Having heard him, Archon lifted its head from Aemon's lap and glared, as best as the little dragon could. He then opened his maw, allowing a small puff of smoke to billow out and float towards Jon. "Indeed, he is," Aemon smiled. "And being born in the North seems to have imbued him with a northerner's rough demeanor as well."
Carefully lifting the dragon, Maester Aemon handed Archon back to Jon, who immediately dived back into Jon's cloak and the small traveling sack. "Are you prepared, Jon?" Maester Aemon asked, his joyous look still in place, yet his voice had turned as hard as the ice on the Wall.
"Prepared, uncle?" Jon asked, going to a knee before his great-uncle so that they were eye to eye.
It felt almost like Aemon's unseeing eyes were boring into his very being, not unlike Master Nox's did whenever he was trying to make a point to him. "A dragon does not hide, Jon Stark. They fly. They conquer. Archon may be content now, but in time you will not be able to hide him for long. Word will spread faster than a blizzard can coat the ground in snow. Friends, enemies, and those seeking to use both of you will come for you. And when that day comes… You must kill the boy, Jon Stark. Kill the boy, and let the man be born…Jaehaerys Stark."
The advice was…strikingly similar to that which Master Nox had given him when he first learned of Archon's existence. He needed to be prepared for the day when Archon became widely known to Westeros. For his sake, and for the sake of Archon and his family.
Standing before a reflective glass seeing herself staring back at her, Dany adjusted the strap on her dress. She was doing her best to try and remain calm, yet she couldn't help but stare and fidget uncomfortably. Part of that was because of the sight of one of her breasts being purposefully exposed from the confines of her otherwise flawless dress. While she could admit that the city of Qarth was indeed impressive, she could not necessarily say she fully endorsed their style of fashion. The women typically wore this style of dress that purposefully left a single breast exposed, while the men often wore beaded linen skirts. The children of the city were often completely bare save for body paint coverings at most. While she was no stranger to an exposed body, even exposing her own, the amount of flesh on display within Qarth would take her some time to get used to.
Satisfied with the state of her dress, Dany took a moment to look around the chambers that'd been allotted for her usage while she stayed as a guest within the estate of Xaro Xhoan Daxos. The room was lavish, far more than she had grown accustomed to during her time with the Dothraki, and more akin to her time she spent within the manse of Magister Illyrio. Scattered around her room were various gifts that'd been bestowed upon her by Xaro, all of which held great value. A silver collar necklace with an enchanted amethyst that he said would protect her against poison. Several small vials of perfumes and fragrances. A few scrolls from Valyria that dated before the Doom. A small set of a thousand knight figures, each made from silver and gold with precious gems imbedded into each. In all, the gifts were worth a fortune, and not something normally bestowed upon a guest. Which told Dany exactly what Xaro's intentions were. He wished to court her, and take her hand in marriage. Though for what gain eluded her, until her faithful sworn shield Jorah had explained a custom of Qarth marriage to her.
"In Qarth, when a man and woman marry they each make a single request for a gift from the other. A sign of submission to one another. They can ask for anything. Family heirlooms. Scrolls. Gems. A single item that holds value to the other. Should the request not be honored, then the marriage is considered void, and the one who refused shamed. Should you marry Xaro Xhoan Daxos, Khaleesi, he will ask for your dragon as his gift. And you will have no choice but to accept. Or lose Qarth as a potential ally forever."
The thought of having to give up her daughter, or her son, had filled her with such rage that various pieces of furniture within her room had started to shake in response to her fury. She didn't speak to Xaro for almost a full day after as it took her that long to calm herself. After calming herself down, she began changing the way she spoke and interacted with Xaro. Instead of giving him any indication that she was interested in courting him, she treated him more as an advisor or a partner. She wasn't sure if he realized her change or not. But he had ceased his gifts shortly after her change and the two had settled in a comfortable allyship after.
But she had not been strictly idle during her time in Qarth either. In the desert her one thought and goal was the continued survival of her people, her son, and her daughter. Now that they were within the safety of another's estate, she had time to plan. Drogo had agreed with her ambition to bring about the return of Valyria. And they had even begun creating a plan to see it come to fruition using the strength of their Khalassar as their army. But now her husband was gone. And so were the Dothraki. She needed a new army now. And new allies, both militarily and politically. During one of her few lessons with Master Nox, the Sorcerer had emphasized that one of the main differences between poor rulers and good rulers boiled down to those they choose to advise them. And that no ruler, however intelligent, strong, brave, cunning, or ambitious could do everything. She needed advisers. People she could trust. Not just to give her sound advice, but also tell her what she needed to hear, not just what she wanted to hear.
Knowing that choosing a military commander immediately would be pointless, considering she didn't have an army to command, she instead focused on trying to cultivate allies amongst the merchants of Qarth. After all, who would better advise her on the matter of coin and commerce than those who dealt with it on a day-to-day basis?
Xaro was a good start. The man was well versed in matters of trade and had contacts that he was willing to share with her. He'd even managed to secure her a meeting with the Thirteen, of whom Xaro was one. Her talks with the merchants had gone favorably she'd thought. They hadn't outright dismissed her at least and listened to her goals of re-establishing the Valyrian Empire in Essos. While at the end of her time with them they hadn't given her their support, they also didn't tell her 'no.' Which was better than nothing she supposed. And now, after being a guest within Xaro's estate for over a moon's turn, the man had managed to gain her an audience with the Pureborns, the noble rulers of Qarth. And that was what she was going to do this very day. Stand before the Pureborns and offer not only an alliance, but a place above all others within her Valyrian Empire.
Turning into a separate adjoining room, Dany found Doreah sitting in a chair near the cradle that held her son and daughter. "Khaleesi," Doreah greeted her, rising from her chair while folding her hands before her and bowing her head.
"There is no need for such formality when we are alone, Doreah," Dany said with a smile, walking towards the cradle and peering within.
Her son was sleeping peacefully on his back while her daughter was sleeping right next to him. Droga's snake-like head was curled around Rhaego while she had a single wing over his body as if to protect him while asleep or to keep him warm. Or mayhap her little dragon was trying to warm herself against him. Either way, it was a precious image. One that Dany would commit to memory.
"The khalakka has been sleeping soundly since he last fed from your breast, my lady."
Smiling, Dany reached down and gently smoothed her son's hair before allowing her fingers to continue onwards over to Droga, making a trail down her long slender neck and to her tail. "Let us hope he continues this way," Dany said, backing away and turning away from the heartwarming sight. It was for them, for Rhaego and Droga, that she was doing this. She wanted to create a better world for her son and daughter. "I will be in talks with the Pureborns today. Hopefully for some time."
Doreah nodded. "I will watch after the young khalakka, my lady. He will not be the first child I have watched over for an extended period of time. And I will give everything to see him and your…daughter safe, my lady."
Smiling, Dany walked up to Doreah and gave the former slave-whore a warm embrace. "I know, Dorea. I trust you, perhaps more than any other." Backing away, she cast one final glance towards her sleeping son and daughter before raising her head and walking out of the room.
She knew that Rhaego and Droga were in good hands with Doreah. But for some reason, Dany couldn't shake the sense of foreboding danger that'd been picking at her like a needle to the back of her head. Pushing the sensation aside, Dany focused herself on the here and now. The Pureborns could be amongst the most powerful allies she could ask for, especially so early in her campaign. And she needed to keep her focus on them, not on what could happen.
While she might just be a simple handmaiden, Doreah could truthfully say that she had no complaints regarding her new lot in life. Certainly not when compared to her old lot as a slave whore in a pleasure house being passed around from sweaty sailor to merchant to peddler to old men who could barely get their manhood to rise to the occasion. No, this was a far better life than she had ever envisioned for herself. Her mistress, her Khaleesi, her Lady Daenerys Targaryen was a kind and thoughtful woman that she served without hesitation and with all her heart. And while there were some that would take her kindhearted nature, or the fact that she was a woman, as a sign of weakness, Doreah knew far better. Daenerys had tamed the greatest of Khals of the Dothraki, rode him using the techniques Doreah herself had taught her until she'd broken Drogo in like the prized stallion he was. And best of all, while some of her duties might be considered demeaning to some, Daenerys had never commanded or even asked for her to go back to using the skills she'd learned during her time as a whore.
Doreah would, should Daenerys ask it of her. She would use the skills she learned for her Lady in a heartbeat, sometimes she even dared to dream of such an occurrence coming to pass. Or if Daenerys asked her to use her skills to further persuade those who needed it. She would not enjoy returning to her whoring days. But if it benefited her Lady and helped to see her dream of returning Valyria from the ashes, then Doreah would do so. Though she knew that Daenerys would never ask, or demand, such a thing from her. Which made Doreah's respect and admiration for her Lady rise even higher.
Hearing Rhaego starting to fuss, and Droga's light call, Doreah ceased her musing of her life and immediately went over to the cradle that held her Lady's son and daughter. Rhaego was looking up at her, and the moment his little dark violet eyes fell on her his face split into a wide smile as he babbled and reached for her. Droga eyed her, but ultimately did nothing as Doreah picked up Rhaego and went over to where a wooden bowl with goat's milk and a cloth had been set. Sitting down, Doreah dipped the cloth in the milk, making sure to soak it thoroughly, before moving the cloth to Rhaego's lips and allowing the hungry child to have his fill. While no substitute for mother's milk, goats' milk was a fine alternative.
Hearing Droga cry out, Doreah looked up to see the little dragon, now the size of a large cat or even a small hound, was using its wings and taloned legs to balance on the edge of the cradle. When she'd first seen the dragon, let alone been tasked with holding it, Doreah had honestly thought she would lose control of her water. She'd grown up hearing story after story about the Dragon Lords of old and the beasts they rode. And none of them were flattering. Tales of death and destruction. Of men, women, and children being fed to the creature's insatiable appetites. But as time went on and she got used to Droga, she could no longer see the little beast as one of those creatures. Especially not with how it acted around her Lady and the little Rhaego in her arms.
"Patience, little Droga," Doreah smiled, dipping the cloth again in the milk, "I will find you some cooked meat once I h—"
A flash passed over her eyes, and next she knew something hard was pressing hard into her throat, cutting off her ability to breathe. Doreah, flailed on instinct, her hands holding onto little Rhaego as she desperately reached for whatever was around her neck. Rhaego started screaming and Droga hissed and cried, her claws scraping against wood and stone as Doreah fought to try and breathe.
Her vision darkened as her breath failed her. Then there was something sharp and hard entering her chest, followed by warmth spreading down her front. A dagger. In her chest. All strength left her as her neck was released. Without her strength, she collapsed. Only able to watch as little Rhaego was torn from her arms as she fell. Fighting against the agony in her chest and the darkening of her eyes, Doreah tried to turn her head, desperate to see who…who had killed her. Her eyes widened as she saw the figure step over her as if she was nothing and walk confidently towards little Droga.
The little dragon hissed and cried. But in the end could do nothing as an iron cage like a basket was placed over her. Hearing the man's steps leave her, Doreah used the last of her strength to dipper finger in the blood leaving her chest. She just barely managed to complete drawing two letters on her unbloodied arm before all her strength left her and the darkness claimed her.