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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,539Kudos:6,021Bookmarks:1,661Hits:467,442
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 56: Queen of Cities
Summary:
If you're curious about the hatchlings in the Aegon chapter;
Orange and blue- Aegon IV Targaryen's egg.
Silver and green- Maelor Targaryen's egg.
Purple and black- Maester Aemon's egg.
And mentioned this in a comment somewhere, but Ghidorah is around this big now, so he's bigger than S8 Drogon.
Notes:
🎃 Happy halloween! 🎃
Chapter Text
"Qarth is the greatest city that ever was or ever will be. It is the center of the world, the gate between north and south, the bridge between east and west, ancient beyond memory of man and so magnificent that Saathos the Wise put out his eyes after gazing upon Qarth for the first time, because he knew that all he saw thereafter should look squalid and ugly by comparison-"
"I already know of such a claim," Daenerys cut the man off, uncaring of her rudeness. "I was given such a speech the first time I visited Qarth. I care not for a repeat performance. I care not for the glorious history of your city. That is not what has drawn to me here. Instead I come on behalf of my own missive."
Though it had been a handful of years, she still acutely remembered Qarth's three great walls. The outer most one of thirty feet, carved from sandstone and adorned with all manner of animals from fish and elephants to snakes and wolves. The second wall of forty feet high, made from grey granite and showing the grotesqueness of war with heroes fighting and babies being butchered and pyres burning. And the inner most wall, fifty feet high and carved from glittering black marble and covered in countless figures bound in passion. The three great walls of Qarth were claimed to be one of nine wonders made by man.
The red sandstone wall loomed above her but she was well used to the Great Pyramid of Meereen towering above her. And she had seen how Qarth had looked when she circled it high upon Ghidorah's back, so insignificant and small like an ant mound from within the clouds. Even out to the east the Red Waste stretched off to the horizon but she would have wagered it would only take Ghidorah a few days, if that, to cross it fully when she could still easily remember the deathly trek she had taken at the beginning of her rebirth so long ago.
Their flight across the Gulf of Grief had been unhindered but there was her rage and grief, over failing to protect the eggs within Valyria. A part of her wanted to scream and beat at the ground until her nails peeled off and her throat was bleeding. It remained deep within her breast when they flew from that accursed peninsula, Daenerys all but blind to the great hail of stars high above her. Instead she felt bone-deep misery, the grief of a mother who had lost her children and knowing she had failed her remaining one.
Ghidorah had been ambient to the fate of the eggs; if he had been given fellow dragons, so be it. He seemed to enjoy the prospect of having underlings to shadow beneath his wings and demand their obedience but also neutral to their destruction. Loneliness had no meaning to him yet still Daenerys lamented. She could only hope Lernaea's words held true, that dragons could lay eggs upon their own. It was something she held on tightly to, even if the grief felt never ending and caused a deep pain in her chest when she dwelled upon it.
Then when they reached New Ghis, within the isles of Ghaen. It was in ruins, the last victim of Ghidorah's rampage when Daenerys had been struck down by the horn during Meereen's siege. Great golden harpies swallowed by sea and rubble, split walls and shattered towers.
And wyverns were everywhere.
Daenerys certainly knew of wyverns in her various readings, inhabitants of Sothoryos and the notorious jungles of the Green Hell. Their relentless presence upon the great southern land was one of the reasons it was so sparsely populated, the wyverns having quite the taste for human flesh. However as far as she was aware it was incredibly rare for them to ever venture beyond Sothoryos, much less in the numbers they were clustered upon New Ghis's ruin.
Sometimes mistaken for dragons wyverns were, but while she could see some similarities with the leathery bat-like wings, tails, long necks and clawed feet, to her there were stark differences between the wyverns and Ghidorah; most obvious being that Ghidorah's scales were thick and golden, shining like polished steel while the wyverns had muted hides that resembled crocodile scales. Wyverns also had sharp, pointed beaks like birds, and some would have coarse hairy manes collaring their necks or running down their backs. One, a tawny gold the size of a horse, was furry across all its body except for its head and feet, almost reminding her of a lions pelt.
They also did not grow anywhere near Ghidorah's current size; the largest wyvern, one with a stripey hide of white and green, was nearly thirty feet in length from tail tip to beak, which meant it was barely the same size as Ghidorah's main body, shoulders to hip. In near all cases, a single wing of Ghidorah's would be the same as both wingspans of a wyvern. Another small flock of wyverns, with spotted brown hides like deerskin, were no bigger than monkeys and reminded her of when Ghidorah had been a hatchling.
Their sharp, high calls did remind Daenerys of Ghidorah's own, but that was mostly where the similarities ended. Daenerys could tell, as Ghidorah glided over the ruins of New Ghis, that even if Ghidorah had blasted down many of the walls and buildings, the infestation of wyverns had been what reduced the city to ghosts and flesh-stripped bones like a flock of locust descending upon a field after a storm. Much like the other cities they had passed, jewels and precious metals were scattered about broken skeletons, amidst rotting clothing and torn silks. The port was clogged with sunken and battered ships, some strewn up against the beaches and wharfs but others with their masts only just peeking past the waves of the ocean. Only a few remained anchored in place, but Daenerys could see the stains and split wood and knew the crew were long dead.
While in New Ghis the wyverns did not bother them despite their supposed great lust for human flesh. Some, like the great striped green and white one, followed Ghidorah for some time as he flew over the city but none made any attempt to attack him. Even when Ghidorah landed in the middle of a great square, a shattered fountain in the center, the wyverns only watched and squawked. Daenerys had to loosen Ghidorah's saddle while there, dismounting and tugging at the thick leather straps around his midmost neck as the leather had gotten close to snapping. It was as if his body had glut upon the wild magic the breaking Citadel had spewed forth in its death throes, absorbing it through skin and scale to the point she had to loosen his saddle three more times before they crossed over the sea to the broad expanse of Ghiscar before the growth spurt had ended.
At least shaking free of Old Valyria had helped Daenerys focus. Her first sleep, at the sandy beach before they crossed back to the Essosi mainland, was over twelve hours long. Deep and dreamless. When she woke she still felt exhausted. Instead she kept thinking back to everything she had learned on that hellish peninsula, all the secrets and buried bones and monsters lurking underneath the surface.
The Heart was one of the greatest of the mementos, and one she had managed to keep safe. It would throb gently, a consistent heartbeat of warmth, and Daenerys had to wonder what the seed inside was. A weirwood tree, most likely, but she knew there were other strange flora out there and knew nothing of the Children of the Forest beyond vague stories. Even then Daenerys thought that the Child had been an Ifequevron, an Essosi breed of that particular people. Then again she did not know if the Children would even discriminate with such a thing, and either way the Heart was to be taken across the Wall where the last of the Children of the Forest of Westeros were. How she would find them, she did not know, but Daenerys felt that perhaps the Heart would know when the time came.
There was also the knowledge the Child had imparted, about the Great Other's involvement. Facing a god left her feeling nervous and uneasy; the Valyrian gods had been subdued in their presence when she had been within their shrines, but they had not been there. Even when she walked through Khal Drogo's pyre, she had not seen any idea of R'hllor. The notion the Others somehow had their god with them, in a physical captivity, made her deeply worried. Perhaps that was indeed the reason the Long Night near killed everything in the cold darkness. It was not just the Others themselves but a god they must fight.
Still, she hoped Kinvara and Quaithe might have more answers for her, or at least the enigmatic women would know where to look when she brought back news of her findings. And maybe they could help her wrestle any understanding from the visions she had witnessed, even if Lernaea had mentioned they were blood echoes. Memories through her family, memories of her own. Contorted and warped.
There were some other finds not as horrible, the printing press, pencils and spectacles, but they were small compared to the horrors. Even the story of the Lich King, the Hall of Heroes. Lernaea.
But New Ghis was dead and there was one less slaver city to cling doggedly to their ways and rebuke her. The wyverns seemed to be the only inhabitants left, so she urged Ghidorah across the sea separating Ghael from Ghiscar after loosening his saddle one more time.
Scouting the broad plains of Ghiscar meant she was able to clean up the wayward bands of slavers who had escaped her grasp during the siege of Meereen. The destruction of New Ghis meant there was no nests left for the vermin to hide and within the span of two days they had slaughtered dozens of roving groups who had been terrorizing the various villages scattered about the broad expanse of Ghiscar. Each time she would stop and greet the villagers when she plucked the buzzards off their backs, to ensure their safety and to offer reassurances. The first time she had stopped at a village, a small fishing town of only a few hundred people, she had been shocked when one of the leaders had told her of the date.
Daenerys had thought she had only been in Valyria for a handful of days, perhaps a week at the very most from the beginning of her journey from Meereen. From what the man told Daenerys of the current date, she had been there for nearly a month.
She still did not understand it, but was even more convinced Old Valyria was the closest thing to a living hell upon the world. Only luck had meant she had escaped its clutches and Daenerys knew if she ever returned the gods would never let her leave. Once had been enough, and Daenerys would never again provoke Valyria. The twisted animals and great cats made of shadow, the mountains of bones in the mines and that demon in the pit, the shackled Child and its endless well of hatred, the mocking shade and the visions of family she would never have. The dead city, the wandering ghosts, the great serpent in the sky, the draconic man and flesh eating horses. Lernaea and her clawed hands, obsidian horns and too sharp smile. Her devote belief in that all shall be a dragons slaves for they were the apex of everything. Blessed by the god of creation and destruction itself.
Aethaer and its fellows were ones she did think of, when they flew over the lands of Ghiscar. Passing over ruined idols of harpies, felled by dragons once again. The white flame and the red priests naming her as the bride of fire, how she never feared flames after that night of Khal Drogo's pyre. The many draconic gods, from Tyraxes and Syrax to Vhagar and Vermithor. The great luxury of the chambers holding their statues, with Aethaer's inhuman form watching over it all with a head of white fire.
She had to wonder, if it was a cruel fate the dragons of the Dance had been named for the Valyrian gods; perhaps that was another reason their fury had been so great, so unyielding for generations. For having dragons, their greatest gifts to mankind, slaughtering each other while named for the gods they should have honoured. Akin to a spit in the face, a petty strike at a venerated parent.
Truthfully she had expected some vile dream or stricken illness to assail her, after she failed to save the hatchlings in the Citadel. She expected some sense of condemnation as she had felt either indifference or warmth when approaching the Valyrian god's effigies so knew there was still enough left of an age lost. Instead there had only been her own grief and remorse, freezing her belly and making her feel ill and lethargic. Yet still, when they had stopped for the night and Daenerys lit herself a paltry fire, she begged forgiveness from the flames for her failure as a mother, as a dragon. There was no response, no reaction from the flames. Even when she placed her hand in the flickering light it did not rebuke her, letting her flesh pass through the dancing red and gold flames as it always had done. She wondered if that was a sign the Valyrian gods had not cursed her for her grievous mistake, knowing that was indeed what it is and not a malicious act.
Ghidorah did not care for it and ignored her roiling emotions. Somehow Daenerys found that comforting, knowing that he truly did not care for any of it but was keeping his indifference to himself rather than pushing it through their bond or being inpatient with her grief.
She had bathed herself in the sea during their rest before heading towards Port Yhos, shedding off her armour and firewyrm skin, scrubbing at her bare skin with sand as Ghidorah swept great waves across his scales and hide within the shallows. When she checked the small pocket mirror after bathing Daenerys came to the conclusion the scars from the shade were to be permanent. Red, glistening slightly as if wet, but no longer causing her pain or discomfort with no sign of infection. Daenerys found herself not bothered by the idea of being scarred. If that was her one bodily memento from Valyria then she would accept it gladly and with pride. Ghidorah's own wounds had long fully healed, those inflicted by the feathered serpent, and Daenerys found herself studying the unblemished scales as she lashed the saddle straps back to his neck once they left the sea. It was if nothing had ever happened. Nothing at all.
The stop at Port Yhos was quite uneventful. Despite it being controlled by Qarth, she faced no hostile response even if there was a great deal of wariness in the port city when they landed. While it had the same type of beauty as Qarth, with bronze arches, white marbled fountains, and colourful trees with shimmering bark lining the streets with even more colourful birds fluttering across the branches, it still stunk of fish and salt. She brought a meal in one of their taverns near the outer ring of the town, a place where lively music played and cats prowled between the tables, and Daenerys ignored the stares even if she could see a coil of Ghidorah's serpentine necks from where he was settled outside. The workers and customers were confused and wary but left her be despite the curious stares. Daenerys had to wonder how many would leave swift to set off messages to Qarth. She did not care if her intentions were know upon her arrival to that city, let them fear her coming.
After all she could not make Essos free of slavery if she left Qarth unscathed. Rich, lavish, well fortified and in control of the Jade Gates. Its cause of great wealth as it controlled the gateway of commerce and culture of the east and west, south and north. None could pass from the Summer Sea to the Jade Sea without the leave of Qarth and it had the prestige to show it. And Daenerys so easily remembered the names Missandei had brought to her after the siege of Meereen. Qartheen had been amongst those of the slaver alliance acting against her.
Time would tell if she had to hold true to her promise in burning down the Hall of a Thousand Thrones. She still remembered the Pureborn's indifference towards her. Lifeless and dull-eyed, milk men indeed.
The next morning they set off, this time making their way to Qarkash. The last city between them and Qarth, and much like the other was also a port city. Ships of various banners flocked to the reaching docks, seagulls squawking as Ghidorah flew overhead with easy sweeps of his great leathery wings.
To the north of Qarkash the Red Waste was red swathe cut across the horizon. The heat and cold never bothered Ghidorah and Daenerys felt the firewyrm skin was doing quite a marvelous job of preventing her from falling ill from heatstroke. Even if she could need a squire of sort, or Missandei's steady hands, as she could not tighten the Valyrian armour properly on her own so some parts felt almost loose and shifting when she donned it after awakening. Still, it held well enough and she knew the glistening black armour was its own message. As was the diadem of dragon's breath fire opals, entwined within delicate black bones. Even if she still felt the dust of broken shells were staining her fingers while wearing it, feeling the burning blood against her face.
It was not even noon when they had reached Qarth, the wind kind and sun hot.
A lavish tent had been erected outside Qarth's walls after Ghidorah's persistent circling over the city, a gaudy thing of painted silks inlaid with glittering jewels, gem encrusted poles with silken banners that shimmered prettily in the rich sunlight. Inside were several gaudy seats upon finely woven rugs, including a plush lounge chair with golden stitching across the fabric and the wooden feet carved in the shape of claws. Several vases filled with vibrant flowers were artfully arranged around the tent, the sweet smell helping fend off the arid stench of the Red Waste beyond Qarth. Daenerys had no idea why they bothered to drag out an ornate marble fountain, placing it in one of the corners adjacent to a pale green statue. It seemed very unnecessary to her.
Daenerys refused any offer of refreshment, having seated herself in the single chair facing the several others. Ghidorah had shoved his head through the back of the tent, with it being large enough his horns did not brush the ceiling. His other two heads were eyeing the walls of Qarth and the various soldiers and nobles watching them. A handful of guards were within the tent, yet hung back from the emissaries. The envoys were dressed in the fabulous wealth of Qarth, just as she remembered. Dressed in linen, samite and well groomed tiger fur, with beaded skirts and shining golden necklaces, earrings dripping with jewels and gem-encrusted rings adorning their pale fingers. The lone woman envoy was dressed in the traditional Qartheen gown of pale green that left one breast bare with her long nose crusted with opals, with a delicate chain of golden looping from one nostril to her ear. There were none with blue-tinted lips.
Daenerys had been direct when she sat down with the envoys of Qarth, her tone blunt and unyielding with her quest. Meereen still needed her, and she was without tolerance for the slavers, especially after such a tense journey through Old Valyria. Even ones garbed in such wealth and manners as the ones before her she knew they were the same. Though of course, as expected, they would not yield without a fight. Disappointing.
It was why she had been very unsurprised when one of the envoys had decided to try a history lesson, lecturing about Qarth's history as if she remotely cared instead of focusing upon the true reason she was visiting the city. The Qartheen always enjoyed their games, she remembered how frustrating it was when she first visited the city with their empty words and fake tears.
So she decided to remind them of the topic at hand, saying, "My demands were quite clear in the letter sent."
"You were here as a guest last time you visited this grand city of ours," the same envoy was speaking, one with his hair greased into spikes dusted with gold. "And-"
"And your people stole my dragon despite being under the protection of Xaro Xhoan Daxos and his hospitality, I do indeed remember," Daenerys said. Ghidorah snorted out a breath, the hot air making the wayward strands of her hair billow around her face as the envoys flinched. He was entirely encircling the tent with his glittering golden length.
The man shifted, straightened up upon his chair as the beads of his skirt clicked and clack against each other as he ignored her to instead say, "You killed the Thirteen last time you visited."
"I did no such thing, point your accusations towards the Undying and Pyat Pree. They are the ones who wielded an enchanted blade the spilled the blood of the Thirteen."
"All the more harder to do, considering the House of the Undying was engulfed in fire and collapsed just before you left."
"Which I am sure your city has indeed grieved for the warlocks whom you held in such high esteem."
Daenerys was no fool; she had little doubt the Ancient Guild of Spicers, the Tourmaline Brotherhood and the Pureborn had all leapt at the chance to wrestle more control and power away from the Thirteen merchant princes while they were recovering from their losses. Qartheen could don a perfectly polite mask and tears but were violent and savage as any other slaver city.
"Regardless," and now the woman spoke. "There is no need for further violence, Queen of Dragons. We are a civilized people. Qarth has no quarrel with you, we may yet peacefully live with one another."
"I am no fool, I know there were Qartheen vessels at the siege of Meereen. Your flowery and false protestations do not amuse me when you're so eager to drive a dagger into my back and drag my children back into chains."
"This era is wild and quick paced," the woman insisted, "Many have been afraid and acted most rash as a result. Things that had been set in stone were up heaved and there were indeed ungracious acts. But now they are dead and Qarth is fully accepting of your place as queen of Meereen. Let us move forward with peace."
There were murmurs and nods from the other envoys even if Daenerys could feel Ghidorah's irritation. He just wanted to kill them all for not obeying right away but Daenerys was not about to violate the sanctity of messengers even if she felt much the same.
Daenerys kept her face blank, "My intention has not wavered; I will rid Essos of slavery. Where ever it may try to hide, even behind three grand walls."
"Slavery is part of the sea of trade that spanned the world. You may cloud the water of your Dragon's Bay, but it will continue as any sea will," one of the men said, one with skin paler than milk and a orange-and-black tigers pelt thrown over one bare shoulder. "And such as the sea storms we may curse the rain when it falls upon our heads, yet without it we should starve. The world needs rain and slaves. You make a face, but it is true. Consider Qarth. In art, music, magic, trade, all that makes us more than beasts, Qarth sits above the rest of mankind as you sit at the summit of this pyramid or even upon your dragon's back but below, in place of bricks, the magnificence that is the Queen of Cities rests upon the backs of slaves. Ask yourself, if all men must grub in the dirt for food, how shall any man lift his eyes to contemplate the stars? If each of us must break his back to build a hovel, who shall raise the temples to glorify the gods? For some men to be great, others must be enslaved. It is the way of the world, the way of Qarth. You may seek changes for Meereen yet in the greatest city there ever was or will be slavery shall continue. If their appearance offends you so, if you ever visit we may ban them indoors so they do not cause offense to the silver queen."
"Then if that is your stance, Qarth with become the greatest city thus far to fall to myself and my child, and then it will never be anything else," Daenerys said even as Ghidorah shifted with a great rattle of scales behind her. "This is not a negotiation- I am telling you my demands which I made plain in my message and there are two options given to the city of Qarth. Yield now and free your slaves, and you may keep your lives and homes. Yield now, and your sons will live to rule after you. Or you may refuse. Refuse, and die. Just as Yunkai, Astapor, Mantarys, Tolos, Elyria and New Ghis have done so."
"And what, pray tell, do you means to enforce such a ludicrous demand?" the envoy said, malice flashing in his onyx-black eyes. "We are well informed, Queen of Dragons, that your Unsullied have remained in Meereen. That your armies of sellswords and poorly trained freedmen have stayed within the Harpy's city and are not marching anywhere."
"I have my son with me."
"A single dragon may cause countless deaths as an monstrous remnant of Valyria, yet it is only a single beast against the greatest city there ever will be," another of the envoys said. Ghidorah scoffed, his twin tails thumping the ground.
"He is more than enough to bring Qarth to heel," Daenerys said, arching a pale brow. "I only needed him with me when I broke the slaver alliance of eighty thousand enemies of mine when they laid siege to my city. I can do such a thing again if need be, if you refuse to see reason."
Ghidorah let out a deep rumbling noise akin to a laugh, his lip curling back briefly to show fangs even as tiny golden sparks darted across his gums. The envoys all tensed as he shifted in place, causing the ground to tremble slightly as the ornate incense lamp danging from the ceiling swung.
Daenerys did not so much as blink as she continued, "I was given much the same voice when I approached Yunkai, with refusal and arrogance. So too did they claim Yunkai was the queen of cities, ancient and glorious. That their walls were strong, nobles proud and fierce, common folk without fear. That it was thick with the blood of ancient Ghis, whose empire was old when Valyria was yet a squalling child. And see how such a claim ended? Yunkai is burnt ruins, and I scorched New Ghis and sent their city back to the dirt where the slavers belong. And I will do the same with Qarth. I will hold true to my oath that I will raze the Hall of a Thousand Thrones if you refuse to obey my demands. That is my stipulation, end your slaving or die like the rest."
She had learnt her lesson well. Any leeway granted to slavers would only have them dig in like ticks, searching for any and all creases and folds to hide within until they found the perfect opportunity to re-emerge and bite. To draw blood until they were fat and sated. But their kind never would be.
"Perhaps..." one of the men seated in one of the back most chairs began, the golden hoops through his ears glittering in the sunlight, "There may be a negotiation for release? If Meereen would offer monetary compensation for the slaves freed, to compensate the money and labour lost, then we may speak upon those matters."
"As obscenely rich as Meereen is, you know that is a far too expensive demand," Daenerys said. And it would simply be rewarding the masters regardless, and they would stray right back into their ways the moment the gold slipped from her hands just as Yunkai had done.
"There could still be-" one of the men who had yet remained quiet began, only to be silenced by a vicious glare from the man next to him.
"You have no soldiers, you have no army," the one from before was speaking again, his own patience gone as the other envoys fell silent. "Go back to Meereen, Lady Daenerys, and be grateful with your bay where you may act as you see fit. There is no need for you here and no need for you to spill blood. Seek your freedmen back in Slaver's Bay and leave us be. Perhaps in time, it can even be negotiated for trade but there is no room for your demands when you are without force nor gold to demand it in the first place."
"Very well," Daenerys's tone was vicious, as unyielding and cold as the sea itself as Ghidorah's low growl sounded around them like distant thunder. "When the sun sets, so shall Qarth be a fire even those far to the Jade Sea may witness."
Then the top of the tent was torn away as Ghiodrah shrugged up his midmost head, horns catching and tearing the silk free of its gilded poles. There were startled squawks from the envoys as they stumbled away but Daenerys ignored them to walk through the twisting coils of Ghidorah's necks and swiftly climbing up onto his saddle. No sooner had she sat, did he take off into the sky with a great downward sweep of his wings, a huge plume of dust and sand rising.
That night, Qarth burned. Just as Daenerys promised.
Daenerys waited, until the shadowed moon was high within the clouds. They stayed well away from Qarth until the attack, resting out within the Red Waste in case any assassin or Sorrowful Man was fool enough to try. It seemed such a life time ago she had crossed it with her paltry khalasar, Ghidorah small enough to fit in her arms like a newborn babe. Now he was so great she could not sit astride of his neck, his shoulder when he was resting on all fours easily five men stacked high with a maw capable of swallowing a sheep whole.
She had noticed the new addition of gold-gilded Scorpions to Qarth's walls when they had circled overhead upon their arrival but even with the three walls lit with great watchfires and torches, the barbed arrows were useless against Ghidorah. His breath had extremely long reach, able to far outpace the arrows. Especially when they flew out to the sea, Ghidorah teasing clouds and heat from his wings, with the ocean below easily matching it with its own storm and when they launched their attack it was with a sea storm at their back in the night.
And so within the first few minutes of their assault the triple walls of Qarth, cited as one of the nine wonders made by man, blew open in great bellows of lightning and thunder. The walls collapsed in heaves, the delicate carvings within the sandstone, granite and black marble exploding outwards against Ghidorah's breath. The Scorpions burst into flares of splinters and kindling, the arrows useless in the dark night sky and churning cloud over as a fine rain fell upon the city. The civic guard upon the walls died, their limbs blackening in the lightening or even exploding from their bodies in a gory mass.
Once there had been several holes punctured into the great three walls which had stood for centuries and withstood the Century of Blood, Ghidorah veered inwards to the screaming city.
Daenerys chose targets she recognized from her previous visit rather than blasting the city at random,; the Temple of Memory collapsed, the great golden dome splintering and shattering as Ghidorah hovered in place and vomited down lances of lightning that lit up the sky and sent thunder roaring through the streets and rattled windows. The Garden of Gehane burnt, lightning scorching the trees and exotic plants, igniting bark and wood until the entire district was ablaze despite the salty rain of above. She wanted the city to be subdued and had no reason to target the smallfolk, those without the power of the nobles and slavers. A marble bathing pool, a scrying tower, and warlock's maze all fell to Ghidorah. Several great boats moored to the immense port were sent to the sea's embrace.
Countless birds fled during the attack, fleeing from their roosts within the latticework ceilings of the streets when Ghidorah flew back over the city. Ghidorah ignored them, even when a few flew so close Daenerys could nearly make out their glittering marble-like eyes. Down below she could see people running and screaming, ducking into buildings or fleeing down the streets. Occasionally she could hear the soft ping of an arrow bouncing off Ghidorah's scaled belly but none were able to penetrate his flesh.
But she also noted how some of the buildings they flew over had Targaryen colours hastily thrown across them; silken banners of black and red, curling ribbons of the same hue streaming from the open windows of slim towers or coal-dark dyes and streaks of bloody red hastily hurled across pale stone and silver statues and already running in the rain. Daenerys remembered the demands she had sent to Qarth, what seemed almost a lifetime ago, yet it seemed some Qartheen had paid heed to her missive and had been prepared. Ghidorah left the buildings unmolested, leaving the black and red banners flapping with the gust of his wing strokes.
Once dozens of buildings had been targeted, rain hailing down upon the city even as the sea slapped angrily at the ports with boats rocking and churning, the Hall of a Thousand thrones was destroyed. Great beams of lightning tore down the walls, shattered the ancient thrones within, exploded the colourful windows and bent and warped the intricate walls and frames within. Each pass would have more of the building collapse, even as screams and shouts echoed out below.
When it was over, fires burning but being subdued by the persistent rain, Daenerys was within the ruins of a Hall of a Thousand Thrones when she accepted Qarth's surrender.
Only five of a glorious chairs remained; the rest were shattered, blown apart by dragonsbreath or buried beneath the rubble. The one Daenerys sat upon was immense, fantastically carved, bright with glittering gold work, and studded with hunks of ruby, emerald, amber, onyx, lapis, and slithers of jade. Ghidorah hunkered directly behind her, great scales necks guarding her as all three of his heads remained alert and watchful. His breath flickered her hair, still caught beneath the dragonbone diadem of Valyria.
Despite the late hour any Qartheen of note came to her, accepting her demands with the consequence of Qarth being returned to the dirt if they disobeyed.
The leaders of the Tourmaline Brotherhood all went to Daenerys first, picking their way through the wreckage of the hall, jewels and wood being kicked aside before they bowed at her feet and kissing the tips of her fingers as they swore to free their slaves and abide by her demands. Then came the Thirteen merchant princes, who had replaced the ones slain by the warlocks. They too offered gifts, offered their obedience. Then came the Ancient Guild of Spicers. One after the other, all swore and promised so prettily.
She made it plain she would tolerate no more insubordination or attacks upon her people, nor the reintroduction of slavery. Daenerys made it quite clear she would kill them all if they chose to renege upon their oaths to her, as well as promising to destroy the Jade Gates, the cause for Qarth's great wealth, if provoked. She also informed them that once she returned to Meereen, she would be sending ships of her own including one of her freemen company, sailing back to Qarth to overlook the removal of slavery. She would of course be accompanying her people back to Qarth, and told the crowd of nobles within the shattered remains of the Hall that if she finds they had refused to fully accept her change then she would give them all trials as she did the Masters of Meereen.
By the time she was finished, the rain had stopped and the sky was somewhat brightening but Daenerys felt no tiredness. Perhaps it was the brutality of it, but the burning of Qarth had successfully taken her mind from the Citadel and her failure within. She knew Qarth would not simply change so swiftly but she hoped her threats would be enough to force it to start. If not, more trials would begin, but she would need to wait until she could bring enough of her own back through the seas to enforce her decisions. It would take some time but a show of strength could be a wondrous motivation.
Left in the ruins of the Hall of a Thousand Thrones somehow she was not surprised when Quaithe approached her. Quaithe's lacquer red mask appeared as a smear of blood in the shadows of a wall of rubble, before the maegi stepped forward with the blackness clinging to her like a living thing until she stood before the throne Daenerys sat upon. Shattered obsidian was at her feet, remnant of one of the broken thrones, and there were hints of red in the shards from the shadowbinder's mask.
"Daenerys," as always, the woman's voice was calm and soft.
"Quaithe. I presume you are not here in the flesh," Daenerys said. Even without asking she knew it to be true; Ghidorah could not see, hear, nor smell the woman.
"No, if anyone else were to witness this, it would be as if you were speaking to air. But Qarth was my home for many years and I know all its shadows. Just as I knew when you appeared near, especially when the other binders whispered of such things to me. The darkness knows many secrets for any who care to listen," Quaithe said. "But I am glad you have returned from Old Valyria, despite the diversion. You were gone for quite some time. I presume you found things of note?"
"Yes," Daenerys said, thinking of the Heart and the angry Child. "But lost some as well. However I escaped the accursed land and have spent some days scouring the land for any roving slavers who may remain."
"I will alert the others and inform them of your survival as well as your impending arrival."
"Good, however I will need to hold Qarth and you can pass along my orders. Inform Missandei to prepare vessels to take one of my freedmen companies to Qarth- the Stalwart Shields, Mothers Men, or Free Brothers it matters not, but I will need people to enforce my rule over Qarth and ensure their compliance. Also ask her to rouse an assorted number of scribes, learned men, freed slaves, and others to accompany them. Five hundred or so, more if she thinks so, to help the freed slaves here to govern. I will remain here and keep the city in compliance, awaiting their arrival."
Quaithe inclined her head, the shadows rippling around her. The shards of obsidian around her feet seemed to gleam. "Of course."
And then she was gone, as if she had never stood there at all. The obsidian lost its shine, now looking nothing more than lumps of coal.
Daenerys stared at the empty darkness where the woman had been, marveling at the magic. She really did need to question Quaithe further about her powers, even thinking back to her strange vision of Aegon and the hallucinations of the mines. She did not know if any of it was connected, but Valyria was a place of magic as was her blood. But Quaithe's ability to shift from shadows half a county away was deeply intriguing and not to mention highly convenient.
Shaking that off Daenerys leaned backwards in her throne, an elbow resting on the arm of the chair and propping her chin onto of a gauntlet-clad fit as she settled. Ghidorah yawned, jaw stretching open to show fangs longer than her fingers even as the sunlight began to creep across the city and she could hear approaching voices. She would have to be vigilant while waiting for her people to arrive, she doubted the Qartheen would all abide by her demands despite their promises. Liars, slavers were, and assassins and poisoned wine was notorious in Qarth. It would be a tiring wait.
Still, Daenerys had survived Old Valyria and its monsters and demons. She would survive Qarth, just as she had done so before.
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