The Pureborn of Qarth were not a single king and queen, but a collective of the direct descendants of the city's ancient monarchs. To be granted an audience was the highest of honors, and according to Xaro, it came with a strict dress code.
"You must wear the traditional gown of a Qartheen lady," he insisted, his eyes flicking over her Dothraki leathers with ill-concealed disgust. That meant a gown that left one breast entirely exposed.
"I have no wish to disrespect the Pureborn," she said, her voice a cool counterpoint to his fussing. "But as their guest, would it not be more disrespectful to dress as one of their own women? It would suggest I am trying to confuse my identity with theirs." She did not add that she had no intention of exposing herself to a crowd of leering old men, no matter how ancient their bloodline. In all her travels, she had never seen a visitor adopt the dress of their host. It was the act of a beggar, not a guest.
She saw the truth in his eyes. For all his fawning, he still saw her as a barbarian. A Dothraki girl playing at being a queen. The original Daenerys, desperate for aid, would have submitted. But even in her story, the Pureborn had offered nothing in return for her humiliation.
"The Pureborn will not receive a woman in a Dothraki leather vest," Xaro said, his tone final.
"The Dothraki have more than vests," she replied smoothly. "We have our own robes of state." She turned to Irri. "Bring me the red silk."
From one of her chests, Irri produced a long robe of brilliant, peony-red Kojalese silk, a gown Dany had designed herself and commissioned from a Qartheen tailor. It was wrapped in gold thread, with a high collar, short sleeves, and a single slit that ran up the side to her mid-thigh. An embroidered white rose adorned the neckline and hem.
When she emerged wearing it, Xaro's jaw went slack. His round, porcine eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets. "Is that… truly a Dothraki gown?" he stammered.
"It is," her handmaidens said, their voices full of a fierce, newfound pride.
Dany turned in a slow circle. "Well?"
"It is… magnificent," he finally managed, his eyes drinking in the details. "Simple, yet impossibly alluring. Both dignified and sensual. It… it elevates the Dothraki people, Khaleesi. You have raised their entire level of civilization!"
That afternoon, she wore the red silk robe, a silver gorget set with a large amethyst at her throat, and the blue leather slippers of invitation. Surrounded by her bloodriders and Ser Jorah, she took a carriage to the Palace of a Thousand Thrones. Beauty had its place, but such a gown was utterly impractical for a woman of the horse.
The amethyst was a gift from Xaro. "The Pureborn have a reputation for giving poisoned wine to those they see as a threat," he had warned her. "This enchanted stone will protect you." Dany was skeptical of its magic, but it was beautiful.
To her surprise, the Pureborn had forbidden her from bringing the dragons into the audience hall. Xaro had sneered at their cowardice. "They are like silkworms huddled in a warm room," he'd said. "Terrified of anything that might upset their delicate world." Or perhaps, Dany had thought, they are terrified because of something a merchant with ulterior motives once did to them.
But the Pureborn still demanded to see the dragons. A plump, ancient eunuch led her party not to the main hall, but to a martial arts arena to one side. On a high balcony, a group of figures stood watching.
"Mother of Dragons," the old eunuch said, his eyes smiling, "you may unshackle your children and allow them to soar freely within the palace grounds."
Dany sighed. People under the eaves must do things that displease them. She unfastened the chains from the three dragons' necks. They treat us like pets, she sent to Dahei through their bond. Fly with your brothers, but fly far from this place. Hide from them until I call you back.
Hiss. Dahei leaped into the air, but as he pushed off, his leg seemed to give way, and he stumbled, tumbling onto the cobblestones.
"Hah! Dahei, you have grown fat on the riches of Qarth!" she laughed, a loud, heartless sound. It was true. With an unlimited supply of fresh meat, the dragons had grown plump and sleek. After a few clumsy running steps, the three of them launched themselves into the air, circled the square a few times, and then climbed high into the sky, disappearing as tiny specks. The old eunuch looked deeply disappointed.
They were led back to the main hall and made to wait. Finally, a set of hardwood doors wider than a city gate, studded with golden nails, swung open with a heavy, groaning sound. A fat, pale man in colorful, loose-fitting silk trousers emerged, gave them an indifferent glance, and spoke to Dany in the Qartheen dialect of Old Valyrian. "The Pureborn are waiting. You will enter alone."
Dany nodded to Jorah and her bloodriders and followed the man into the Hall of a Thousand Thrones. It was a vast, cavernous space. At the far end, on a high stone dais reached by a wide flight of marble steps, sat the twenty-four Pureborn of Qarth. They lounged on immense, gilded wooden chairs, each carved in a different fantastical style and inlaid with amber, jade, and emeralds. They were a strange collection of men and women, some ancient and frail, others young and muscular. Most looked utterly bored.
"I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms," she announced, her voice echoing in the great hall. She gave a flawless curtsy. "I am honored to be summoned by the glorious and ancient Pureborn of Qarth."
A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Finally, a middle-aged man on the left spoke. "Mother of Dragons, your robe is… eye-catching." It was Wendro, one of the three men she had bribed. The other two remained silent, as did the rest of the Pureborn. They were watching her as one might watch a puppet show, with a detached, silent curiosity.
She quickly realized the purpose of her visit. They wanted to see the dragon-tamer, the wild girl from the wasteland, and judge her. So, she would give them a performance. Following a script she had carefully prepared, she began to speak, her voice full of the breathless, naive wonder of a young girl lost in a fantasy. She spoke of her divine right to the throne, of how the people of Westeros were secretly sewing dragon banners, ready to rise up at her return, of how the great lords of the Free Cities all supported her cause. She spun a beautiful, compelling tale of her longing for her homeland, her unshakeable optimism, and her faith in the good and noble people of the Seven Kingdoms.
PLS SUPPORT ME AND THROW POWERSTONES .