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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 49: Choose Your Fate
The morning sun over Qarth was blinding, a white fire that bleached the color from the stones and turned the harbor into a sheet of molten silver.
Joffrey stood at the railing of the Storm Dancer, watching the city wake.
Merchants were already setting up their stalls, sailors were shouting across the docks, and somewhere in the distance, a camel brayed its displeasure at the heat.
As he watched the city stir, his thoughts drifted to the dragon princess.
She was an interesting creature...soft in some ways, hard in others. Naive, but quick to learn. Proud, but not so proud that she could not see reason. She would make a useful ally, he thought. Given time.
Lord Varys emerged from his cabin, his soft robes rustling against the deck as he moved. The eunuch's face was pale, as it always was, but there were dark circles under his eyes that spoke of a sleepless night.
"Tough night?" Joffrey asked.
"I do not sleep well in foreign cities." Varys joined him at the railing, his hands folded before him. "Too many shadows. Too many unknowns." He paused. "And the events of yesterday did not encourage rest."
Joffrey smiled. "You worry too much. We killed the warlocks, and we rescued the princess and her dragons. It could not have gone better. You should be celebrating."
"I will leave the celebrations for later." Varys's voice was dry. "There is still much to do. Speaking of the princess, we are expected at Xaro's palace. A messenger came an hour ago."
Joffrey looked at him. "An hour ago? Why are you telling me this now?"
Varys shifted in place. "When I went to your chamber to inform you... I could tell that you were... busy... with Miss Saera. You made it very clear that I was not to disturb you in such situations."
"Ah...yes." A smirk appeared on Joffrey's face as he thought back to the pleasant surprise that had greeted him that morning. "Then let us not keep the dragon princess waiting any longer."
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The palace of Xaro Xhoan Daxos had once been the most beautiful building in Qarth, a masterpiece of marble and jade, of carved pillars and gilded domes, of fountains that sang and gardens that bloomed in the heart of the desert. Now it was a tomb.
The gates stood open and unguarded. The fountains had run dry. The gardens were trampled, their flowers crushed beneath heavy boots.
Joffrey walked through the courtyard, Varys at his side, and saw no servants, no guards, no signs of the merchant prince who had once ruled this place.
"This palace has seen better days," Varys murmured.
"Aye." Joffrey scanned his surroundings. "The damage to the garden is recent. I would wager the Dothraki did that. But this palace has been left in a state of disrepair for much longer. Did the merchant prince run out of servants to tend his property?"
"Or he ran out of money," Varys suggested.
They found Ser Jorah Mormont waiting for them at the entrance to the great hall. The knight's face was haggard, his eyes red-rimmed, and he carried himself like a man who had been up all night facing demons he could not name.
"The khaleesi is inside," he said, his voice rough. "She is waiting for you."
Joffrey studied him. "You look like death, Ser Jorah. Did the Khaleesi give you a rough time for all the spying?"
Jorah's jaw tightened. He glared at Joffrey with fury in his eyes, but he said nothing.
"Well, at least she did not kick you out. That means there is hope you can recover her trust." Joffrey stepped past him. "Count yourself fortunate."
Varys stepped forward. "What happened to Xaro and his servants? And the handmaiden?"
Jorah did not answer. He turned and walked into the hall, his boots echoing on the marble floor.
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The great hall had been stripped of its finery. The tapestries were gone, the golden statues were gone, and the cushions and carpets that had once covered the floor were gone. Only the bare stone remained, cold and grey, and at the far end of the hall, seated on a simple wooden chair, they found Daenerys Targaryen.
Her silver-gold hair had been brushed and braided, and she wore a gown of white linen. Her dragons were with her, Drogon perched on her shoulder, Rhaegal and Viserion curled at her feet, their golden eyes watching Joffrey as he approached.
"Prince Joffrey." Her voice was calm, measured. "Lord Varys. Thank you for coming."
Joffrey gestured at the empty hall. "Did your men clean the place up? There is not much left."
The expression on Daenerys's face did not change. "A small compensation for my suffering."
Varys stopped one step behind Joffrey. "Where are the servants? The guards? This place feels... empty."
Daenerys's lips curved into a smile that did not reach her eyes. "Xaro no longer has need of servants. Or guards. Or his palace, for that matter." She paused. "He is dead."
Joffrey raised an eyebrow. "And the handmaiden? The one who betrayed you?"
"Doreah is dead as well...or she will be soon." Daenerys's voice was flat. "I sealed them both in his vault. His great vault, the one he was so proud of, the one he said no one could ever break into." She gestured to the empty hall. "I had the doors sealed shut. They will rot in there."
Varys's face was unreadable. "A fitting punishment for betrayal."
"I thought so." Daenerys looked at Joffrey, her eyes searching his face. "You disapprove?"
Joffrey considered his words carefully. "Getting revenge is sometimes necessary and justified. But enjoying it too much..." He shook his head. "That can lead to a dangerous path. Cruelty has a way of becoming habit."
Daenerys's expression flickered...surprise, perhaps, or defensiveness. "You think I was cruel?"
"I think you did what you had to do. I also think you took a certain satisfaction in it." Joffrey met her gaze. "I am not judging you, Princess. I have done worse things than locking a man in his own vault. But I have learned that the moment you start taking joy in the suffering of others, you lose something. Something that is hard to get back."
Daenerys was silent for a long moment. Then she nodded, slowly. "I will... remember that."
A young female servant approached with two wooden chairs, placing them near the princess's seat. Joffrey sat, and Varys followed suit.
Once he was settled, Joffrey glanced at Daenerys. "So. You have a few Dothraki following you, an old knight, and some stolen goods you can sell for coin. What are you planning to do now?"
Daenerys glanced at her dragons for a long moment, then at Varys, and lastly at Jorah. "I have been thinking about that. In my first week here, I had an encounter with a strange woman wearing a red mask. She called herself Quaithe."
Varys stiffened. "The shadowbinder. She approached us yesterday as well, in the market."
"You saw her too?" Daenerys sounded surprised. "What did she tell you?"
"Much the same as she told you, I imagine," Joffrey said. "Cryptic warnings and vague prophecies. But you brought her up for a reason. What did she say that you deemed important?"
Daenerys nodded. "She seemed to know a great deal about me. About what I want. She told me that if I wish to go west, I must first travel east." Her brow furrowed. "I do not understand what she meant. How can going east help me reach Westeros?"
Varys straightened his posture. "I believe she meant Asshai, Your Grace. The shadowbinders come from there, from the lands beyond the Jade Sea. It is a place of ancient magic, of secrets and mysteries. But it is also very dangerous."
"That is true, Khaleesi." Jorah stepped forward, his face grim. "Asshai is cursed. It is filled with warlocks, outlaws, pirates, and worse. You must not go there. We have enough coin to buy a ship and provisions for the journey. Let us return to Westeros."
"And what am I to do in Westeros without an army?" Daenerys's voice was sharp. "Walk to the Red Keep and ask the Lannisters to return my throne?" She looked at Varys. "Would any of the Westerosi houses even support my claim?"
Varys considered for a moment. "House Martell's desire for vengeance against the Lannisters may be enough to bring them to your side. They have not forgotten Elia and her children. House Tyrell supported your father and brother even after the war was over, though there are no assurances they would do so now. Renly Baratheon has grown close to them in recent years. There are a few minor houses in the Crownlands that have always remained loyal to the Targaryens...House Velaryon, House Celtigar."
"Two minor houses and a maybe on one major house." Daenerys's voice was bitter. "That is all?" She looked at Varys with something like betrayal in her eyes. "Illyrio always told my brother that most of the houses of Westeros were awaiting our return. That the women would weave dragon banners in secret, and the men would hold private councils. It was all a lie, was it not?"
Lord Varys looked troubled. "The truth is... the situation is unknown. Under King Robert's rule, any sign of sympathy toward your house meant death. We cannot know what the lords and ladies truly think unless we speak with them."
"So you suggest the same as Jorah?" Daenerys said. "Return to Westeros immediately and hope for the best? Hope that the first lord I choose to approach will not simply capture me and deliver me to the Lannisters?"
"Perhaps there is another option." Varys hesitated. "There is one Free City where you could purchase an army... if you have enough currency."
"Astapor," Ser Jorah muttered.
"Buy an army?" Joffrey laughed. It was not a kind sound. "You want to buy an army of slaves, Lord Varys? The Unsullied, I assume? Castration, training, and obedience forced with whips and hot irons?"
Varys glanced at him. "The Unsullied have a reputation as the finest soldiers in the world. They are extremely obedient to their ruler. They do not rape, plunder, or flee unless ordered to do so. In many ways, they are an ideal army."
"They are slaves." Daenerys's voice was cold as ice. "I will not buy slaves, Lord Varys."
"Khaleesi—" Jorah began.
"No." Her voice brooked no argument. "We will not go to Astapor. We will not buy Unsullied. We will find another way."
Joffrey nodded. "The girl is right. Conquering Westeros with an army of slaves will not earn her any favors. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms despise slavery. They would never bend the knee to a queen who bought her army with gold."
"Then perhaps you have a better suggestion, Prince Joffrey?" Varys's voice was dry.
"Of course." Joffrey leaned back in his chair. "We go to Asshai."
Daenerys looked at him with curiosity in her eyes. "That was the shadowbinder's suggestion. But what would I find there?"
Joffrey's eyes moved to her dragons. "Power."
"Power?"
Joffrey nodded. An idea had been forming in his mind since he had read the Valyrian book, since he had seen the experiments of Kaerion the alchemist, since he had touched the glass candle and felt the ancient magic stirring in the darkness. "Yes, the power of your ancestors is likely to have originated in Asshai."
Ser Jorah looked between them, his face troubled. "Khaleesi, this is madness. Asshai is cursed. Men who go there do not return. And even if they do, they are not the same."
"By my ancestors...you mean the Targaryens?" Daenerys asked, wondering if he was referring to Aegon the Conqueror.
"No." Joffrey shook his head. "I mean the first Valyrians. Have you never wondered who taught the Valyrians how to tame dragons in the first place?"
Daenerys went silent.
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