[Chapter Size: 1200 Words.]
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At dusk, crimson light spread across the desert sky as clouds gathered on the horizon.
Even as night fell, the heat of the Red Waste lingered, heavy with the stench of sulfur.
Daenerys and her company had reached their limit. Looking at Drogon perched upon her shoulder, Dany felt a wave of despair.
She had been filled with joy when she first gained her three dragons, but now the cruel wasteland had nearly broken them. They were weak, and she did not even know what they were meant to eat.
Even her own people struggled to find food and water.
After a long night, Daenerys ordered her three bloodriders to mount the last surviving horses and ride in three different directions. Their survival would depend on whether any of them could find a town or village.
Dany sank to the ground, drinking the final drop of water before licking her cracked lips.
"Will we ever escape this red hell?" she whispered, despair thick in her voice.
"You are the hope of all. You are the Mother of Dragons. We will find a way," Jorah Mormont answered firmly.
Daenerys looked at the three hatchlings inside their wooden cage and felt a flicker of hope return.
Just then, a horse appeared on the horizon. Jorah went to investigate, only to find the severed head of a bloodrider tied to the saddle.
"It seems we've crossed paths with another khalasar," Jorah said grimly.
Dany took the head into her hands, her tone filled with grief and anger.
"They will pay. I will make them pay."
"Of course," Jorah replied, "but first, we must live long enough to take our vengeance."
At her command, Jorah burned the bloodrider's head, a sacred Dothraki tradition, so the warrior might ride with Khal Drogo in the night lands.
Two days later, the bloodriders who had gone south returned with hopeful news: a great trading city lay three days' march to the south, willing to grant them entry.
Daenerys's heart leapt, and she immediately led her people toward salvation. The three-day journey became four, and they arrived utterly exhausted.
When the golden walls of Qarth finally came into view, adorned with carvings of flying fish and strange beasts, Daenerys felt a surge of relief.
Qarth stood in the southeast of Essos, a wealthy port that bridged trade between the East and West.
"Though the city is nominally ruled by a royal family, true power lies with thirteen merchant princes, each as rich as a kingdom," Jorah explained.
With a deep rumble, Qarth's gates opened. First came a company of guards, followed by the so-called Thirteen, the city's true rulers.
Daenerys stepped forward. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."
"Stormborn! I know you, Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons. Welcome to Qarth, the greatest city in the world!" A fat merchant interrupted her introduction.
Dany was taken aback. "My lord, you know me?"
"Ah, not a lord. Merely a humble spice trader. I do not know you, but I have heard whispers. Some say you are a true dragon, and that you have given birth to three beasts who can conquer the world.
Forgive our ignorance, but will you allow us a glimpse of your children?"
Daenerys and Jorah exchanged a wary look.
"My friend," she said carefully, "my people and I have suffered long on this journey. We have neither food nor water. If you would give us sustenance, I would be grateful beyond words. I…"
"Pardon me, Mother of Dragons," the pale, heavyset man cut her off, stressing the title with deliberate weight. "I am not certain your children even exist. I only wish to see proof. After all, your followers are Dothraki, you understand what I mean."
Dany's face hardened with anger. "I do not lie."
"Of course, of course," the merchant said smoothly. "I do not doubt you. But this is our first meeting. My companions are not so easily convinced." He gestured toward the twelve others.
Daenerys gave a bitter laugh. "In my homeland, guests are welcomed into palaces with honor. They are not humiliated outside the gates."
"Then perhaps you should return to your homeland and let its people welcome you, and your children," the fat man sneered.
After saying this, the fat merchant turned and walked away. Who would care about the remnants of a fallen dynasty in Westeros?
Only a beggar princess.
And now, a beggar Khaleesi.
Daenerys's chest heaved with anger. "You promised to receive us, yet now you cast us aside!"
The fat man turned back with a blank expression. "And now that you and I stand together, is that not a reception?"
"If we cannot enter the city, my people and I will starve to death outside these walls!" she cried.
"A shame," the merchant sneered, "but I will not allow a horde of Dothraki savages inside the city." His face twisted with disgust.
Then he smiled coldly, gave her a mocking wave, and turned away.
Daenerys's face flushed with fury. "My lord, when my children grow, they will help me reclaim all that is mine, and destroy those who have wronged me!
Flames shall sweep the land, and fire shall devour the city!
Whoever bars me at these gates shall be the first to burn in dragonfire!"
At her words, Jorah's hand drifted instinctively to the hilt of his sword.
But the fat merchant burst out laughing. To him, Daenerys's threat was little more than a child's outburst.
"Hah! You are truly a Targaryen. But you are right about only one thing: if we do not admit you into this city, you and all your people will die!"
At that moment, another voice rang out. A tall, dark-skinned man of immense girth stepped forward.
"You tremble before a young girl and a few Dothraki. That is not the courage of a great ruler of Qarth."
"She threatens to burn my city, and you would still invite her in to drink?" the spice merchant protested angrily.
The black-skinned man, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, gave a derisive chuckle. "Your city? Qarth belongs to the Thirteen, not to you alone."
Though contempt lingered in his eyes, Xaro's lips curved into a gracious smile. "I, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, invoke my rights as one of the Thirteen to grant protection to the noble Mother of Dragons."
The spice merchant, the so-called Pureborn, snarled in frustration but finally spat: "Very well! Then the responsibility is yours, whatever comes of it."
With a flourish, Xaro bowed and made a sweeping gesture. "My lady, welcome to Qarth."
The massive gates creaked open, and Daenerys Targaryen entered the Free City known as the Gateway of the World.
In an instant, a cacophony of voices, laughter, and cries filled her ears. Just a single wall divided her starving followers from the wealth of Qarth, yet it was the difference between hell and paradise.
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