Three years ago, when Dany first went to Qarth, the city guards rode out to greet her. They came mounted on camels draped in colorful blankets, seated on gem-inlaid saddles, wearing rows of bright copper scale armor and long-nosed copper helms, with bronze scimitars at their waists.
It was beautiful and luxurious, but gaudy and useless.
She despised them—until she encountered the Ghiscar yellow silk cloaks in Astapor.
So it was true: the strong are propped up by the weak.
For years after that, Dany held the yellow silk cloaks in contempt, thinking them the most wretched of all, beyond redemption. Until a few days ago, when she struck Qarth.
So it was true: the strong really are propped up by the weak.
The yellow silk cloaks at least dared to fight, could fight, and were willing to fight. But the camel riders? After the Dragon Queen had raided so many cities on dragonback, they still hadn't built ballista formations, hadn't even set night watches. They weren't on alert at all, just living their idle days as always.
Needless to say, under cover of night, the Dragon Queen's first strike burned the warehouse where their ballistae were stored.
Her second strike unleashed dragonfire like a waterfall from the heavens, scouring the camel riders' camp—the palace grounds, outfitted with a spacious training field and a cluster of extravagantly decorated buildings.
Then, she began to do as she pleased.
To prepare for a possible dragon war at any moment, Dany had returned to Astapor with Valyrian steel ingots, summoned every smith in the city, and reforged the metal into scales.
By the day she struck Qarth, the smiths had produced three hundred pounds of scales, barely enough to fashion belly guards for Drogon and Viserion.
So as long as she didn't risk attacking the enemy fleet—warships armed with ballistae and scorpions—she really could do as she pleased in a city without its engines of war.
"She did exactly as she pleased. She brought only two dragons, and from nightfall until dawn, for seven or eight hours, no one stopped her.
She even had the leisure to plunder thirty-five Valyrian steel swords from the royal family and merchant houses!" Qrygg stared at the letter, unable to believe it.
"Is Qarth really that weak?" muttered the Pirate King of the Basilisk Isles, eyes glinting. "Had I known, I would have—"
"Hmph. The Qarth Straits stretch over a thousand kilometers, yet never has a single pirate dared venture in."
As if reading the pirate king's thoughts—and to remind the gathered envoys not to underestimate Qarth—Xaro said coldly,
"The camel riders belong to the royal family, and they number no more than eight hundred. For centuries, without foreign enemies, they've all but rotted away.
But Qarth's true defenses lie at sea.
The city fleet is no weaker than the Purple Sails of Braavos, not to mention that we, the Thirteen, along with the Tourmaline Brotherhood and the Spicers' Guild, each maintain armed caravans.
The Third Allied Fleet I command now is built around the war galleys of the Thirteen, is it not?
Even that mad Mother of Dragons only burned our merchant ships—she dared not touch the warships moored at our docks."
The room fell silent.
The God of War from Yunkai mused aloud, "What now? Apart from a lucky few who fled fast enough, most royals and great merchants are dead or wounded.
Even if they escaped once, what about next time? What if the Dragon Queen comes again to Qarth?"
"Alas, this is our fault as well," Xaro sighed slowly. "We always suppressed the royal family, forbidding them from keeping the camel riders too strong.
Even now, those riders still wield bronze weapons.
Perhaps it is time for change.
The royal family's power will remain curbed, but the city guard must be built up.
First, recruit mercenaries at the docks nearby, then slowly train strong youths from among the freedmen."
"At least we have gained something." The Tolosi delegate Pirro smiled.
"Regrettably, the Faceless Man succeeded. Aegon Targaryen was stabbed—he has little chance of surviving. That is why Daenerys, in her rage and humiliation, burned the Assassins' Guild.
By sheer chance she then struck defenseless Qarth." Qrygg was torn between delight and regret.
Had Qarth been well-prepared, even if the Faceless Men had been wiped out, taking down Aegon would still have been worth it.
"But after this, every assassin guild in the world will be terrified. Even the rulers of the Free Cities will forbid assassins within their realms from taking contracts against the Dragon Queen. Her vengeance is too swift, too ruthless, too cold." Sanetti frowned.
After burning Qarth, the Dragon Queen naturally launched a propaganda campaign, letting the people of Qarth and the entire world see her resolve: harm my beloved nephew, and I will wipe out your entire family.
Unfortunately, her beloved nephew did not die.
Old Maester Aemon's skill could not be doubted. The antidote he prepared for manticore venom had worked.
By the next morning, Aegon awoke groggily.
Yet there was one problem: he had been struck with a mixture of poisons. Not only the venom of the manticore, which stills the heart, but also a slow-acting poison—Widow's Blood.
"Aaah! I need to pee, my belly's going to burst, I can't hold it, Auntie save me, Maester Aemon save me, it hurts so much!"
Aegon clutched his swollen belly, round like a ball, wailing in agony.
Even the stitched wound at his side split open, seeping red and blackish-purple blood, a ghastly sight.
Widow's Blood was a vicious poison, named for its bright red color. It sealed both bladder and bowels, and within days the victim's own wastes would rupture his belly from within.
"Since we know it's Widow's Blood, eat less and drink less. That way, at least, you can hold out a few more days," Dany said helplessly.
This world's martial skill might look no higher than that of the common Middle Ages, yet strange beasts and cursed poisons constantly reminded her—it was indeed a land of fantasy.
Against Widow's Blood, she was powerless.
"I can't stand it! I'm dying! My belly's going to explode!" Aegon screamed, nearly losing consciousness.
"Couldn't we insert a tube, to drain… the waste?" Tyrion asked.
"I tried. It wouldn't go in," Aemon shook his head.
"Does anyone know of an antidote for Widow's Blood?" Dany asked.
"Perhaps the Citadel does. The manticore antidote recipe, I found in its library." Aemon replied.
Dany then contacted both Marwyn and Perestan (the red-nosed old man Jhello Dayne had found). Both were firm: Widow's Blood had no antidote.
In truth, the Citadel hadn't even unraveled its recipe.
Many maesters, like Grand Maester Pycelle, liked to collect poisons in bulk. But most of their stock was imported from Lys.
The Pleasure Gardens of Lys were famed the world over—but its true industry was poison.
It was Tyrion who reminded Daenerys: quickly go find the foremost youth of the East, the Grand Mage Kuixi!
Kuixi truly lived up to his reputation and immediately provided a solution: the patient should swallow roundworms, expelling the accumulated filth in the stomach through the mouth, followed by applying ointment to the affected area.
Roundworms as long as an arm and as thick as chopsticks, still wriggling, were stuffed into Aegon's mouth.
That scene—no need to watch it—even just hearing Aegon's screams and retching made Daenerys's hair stand on end.
While Aegon was being tormented half to death, Marwyn sent word: the High Sparrow invited a representative of the Duke of Dragonstone to attend Cersei's trial by combat.
In theory, since Daenerys had claimed Dragonstone, and Regent Kevan had acknowledged the Targaryens' hereditary right to rule Dragonstone—just as Casterly Rock belongs to the Lannisters, Sunspear to the Martells, Highgarden to the descendants of the Gardeners (the Gardener family being the elder line of Garth Greenhand), and Winterfell to the Starks—
No matter what the future held, unless Daenerys followed Robb's example and declared Dragonstone's independence from the Seven Kingdoms, she would at the very least bear the title of Duchess (Princess) of Dragonstone.
This title would be recognized by both allies and enemies alike.
Therefore, the High Sparrow's summons to Cersei's trial would extend to Dragonstone as well.
"The High Sparrow must have a death wish. That Ser Robert Strong is the Mountain. Even without magic, I'm no match for him, and yet the Sparrow wants trial by combat against him!?" Daenerys sighed, pressing her forehead.
"I heard the High Sparrow received the blessing of the Mother and now wields the power of the Smith. I myself witnessed it beneath the preaching platform: he raised a silver hammer, and a holy flame of red and white blazed forth from thin air.
I fear all the maesters may have been wrong. The Seven are not carved wood—they truly exist.
As the High Sparrow proclaimed, the Seven dwell beyond the starry sky, too far from the material world," Marwyn said solemnly.
"Uh, really?" Daenerys felt a bit awkward.
The High Sparrow truly was something. If the Mother deceived you, fine—listen for yourself. But how could you go and use her words to deceive others?
"Your Grace, do not doubt it. I can feel the immense divine power within the sacred flame. It far surpasses the power of the dark gods I once witnessed in Asshai," the bull-necked scholar declared gravely.
"When does the combat begin?" Daenerys asked.
"In three days."
"Go and observe. As before, broadcast it live," Daenerys said.
"This…" Marwyn hesitated.
"Your Grace, the trial by combat will be held in the Great Sept, under the eyes of the Seven. To wield magic within a temple is the greatest taboo in the world of the arcane!
If I truly did so, the Seven would be angered. Even if they did not strike me down, they would surely command their faithful to seize me," the scholar said anxiously.
"Don't worry. I am also a High Septon. I'll inform the Seven in advance for you from Slaver's Bay," Daenerys said casually.
Marwyn was left speechless.
"By the way, has Queen Margaery's trial concluded?" Daenerys asked again.
"Yes. That one was handled as an ecclesiastical trial. It was indeed a fact that Pycelle had supplied her with moon tea several times. Margaery had no choice but to confess to adultery."
"Wow!" Daenerys clapped her hands with a cheer. "At last, the true face of the so-called 'Virgin Queen' is revealed! How did the High Sparrow deal with her?"
"She was released without penalty. However, an old septa representing the 'Maiden' will supervise her conduct henceforth, until she bears an heir for Tommen," Marwyn replied.
"Ugh, being king must be suffocating for poor Tommen," Daenerys said, exasperated.
"There is no helping it. King Tommen is far too young, while Queen Margaery is already a grown woman. If she remained chaste, it would be a great virtue; if she gave in and strayed, it is still only human nature."
"And how do the people of King's Landing see their once 'Maiden's Rose'?" Daenerys asked curiously.
Marwyn shrugged, his expression calm. "For months now, grain ships from the Reach have arrived every morning along the Blackwater. The people still recognize the queen's kindness and compassion.
Even if she is unchaste, they blame the king for being only nine years old, unable to bring her happiness.
She lies, she betrays, but she also brings life-saving grain to King's Landing. To the people, she remains a good queen."
The smallfolk of King's Landing—so pragmatic!
"Have the White Walkers been killed?" Before ending the conversation, Daenerys asked one final question.
"Killed? Why kill them?" Marwyn was puzzled.
"Didn't the High Sparrow send seven maesters? Then why did Sam bother going to the Citadel?"
"Ah, he had already left with a chest before the maesters were sent."
(PS: Widow's Blood is not original either. It's a bizarre kind of poison that seals the pores, preventing urination and defecation.)
(End of Chapter)
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