Chapter 342: The Price (Part I)
"On the journey here, hitching a ride on the Ironborn's ships, not a day passed that I did not consult the flames regarding your situation, Your Grace." Although he knew nothing of the common tongue's idioms regarding 'stepping into a trap,' it did not prevent Moqorro from feeling a sense of triumph that the Prince Who Was Promised had walked right into his specialty. He stared into Daenerys's violet eyes with his pitch-black pupils. "You were lured and guided by visions to that land beside the Shadow. There, you suffered deception and mockery, and your power sustained a great loss... your only luck was that you encountered no physical danger. The inhabitants of Asshai possess the most eerie and potent talents and powers in the known world, but because of that, they fear the prophecies of the Lord of Light more than anyone. As the Prince Who Was Promised, no matter how much those sorcerers coveted your power, they could only trick you into offering it willingly; they would never dare to take it by force."
Everyone present was utterly bewildered, having no idea what Moqorro was talking about, let alone how to intervene. Daenerys's expression, however, shifted instantly, becoming strange to the extreme.
"Hah—" Littlefinger could no longer sit still. Even if the red priest's current viewpoint aligned with his own, he could not stand by and watch the Queen be swindled by a charlatan. "Pardon my bluntness, but those words could apply to ninety-nine out of a hundred people returning from a long journey. As long as one is willing to fill in the blanks, there are always stories along the way to validate such ambiguous claims."
Moqorro smiled. There were, naturally, clever men by the Queen's side.
As a red priest, he followed the same principles as his peers when interpreting divine oracles or prophecies for believers: obfuscation and inducing imagination. Interpreting too clearly not only diminished the Lord of Light's mystery in the hearts of followers but also made it significantly harder to backtrack or pivot if the interpretation proved noticeably skewed.
However, for the Prince Who Was Promised, he did not need to stick so rigidly to those rules. A higher principle was at play here: he had to earn Daenerys's absolute trust and guide her through difficulties and resistance, leading her back to where she belonged to fulfill the prophecy and defeat the Lord of Light's ancient enemy.
"The one who provided you with the art of dragon-riding made demands they had no right to make. For something that should have been yours, for a service you were entitled to, you paid a price you should not have paid." After slight deliberation, the red priest decided to speak more plainly. "To put it more bluntly in the Common Tongue: you were fleeced."
The price? What exactly did she give up to gain the art of dragon-riding?
Petyr glanced at Daenerys, his body giving an imperceptible jolt.
He suddenly remembered: when their young Queen unexpectedly flew east months ago, she hadn't taken a single coin with her. Aside from the dragons, the only thing of value she carried was herself. Yet now the black dragon had returned safely and appeared even larger and stronger... so, could it be...
Had Daenerys Stormborn, his legitimate sovereign and only hope of returning to Westeros, sold her body to obtain the art of dragon-riding?
Littlefinger's expression twisted slightly. Having spent years in the Red Keep of King's Landing, he knew all too well the destructive power dark history could have on the prestige and influence of a public figure like a monarch. Robert could be as lecherous as he pleased without regard for the Seven Kingdoms' opinion because his seat was rock-solid with the support of his father-in-law and brothers... but Daenerys was an entrepreneur seeking to seize the Iron Throne. More fatally, she was a Queen!
In this world, people's tolerance for the same act differed drastically between men and women.
A prince could wander through a thousand flowers and leave hearts broken everywhere, but a Queen could not!
With a strong sense of disappointment in her lack of foresight, Petyr Baelish immediately began considering the best PR strategy to suppress the news and minimize the impact. Meanwhile, Daenerys... took a deep breath and relaxed her body completely.
This was no wordplay intended to induce imagination; the black-skinned red priest truly had seen her experiences in the flames.
Yes, she had paid a price to obtain the art of dragon-riding. To put it colloquially, she had sold herself.
However, this selling herself was not what Petyr was currently imagining. Compared to the messy thoughts in Littlefinger's head, what Daenerys had actually done could be understood quite literally.
Asshai was a city steeped in magic. Warlocks, alchemists, moonsingers, necromancers, pyromancers, and bloodmages practiced their spells and incantations freely, performing eerie rituals and terrifying sorceries... it was as if all the supernatural beings, objects, and events of the world were gathered there. Daenerys had flown across countless mountains and rivers to get there, only to find the people unlike any she had encountered: though they gathered curiously to point at the Drogon she rode, they showed not a trace of panic or fear. Rather than seeing a dragon, they behaved more like commoners catching sight of a fine horse they couldn't afford to ride.
This completely abnormal normal behavior made Daenerys realize quickly: this place, teeming with strange people and where dragons caused no sensation, might truly hold the dragon-riding techniques she sought.
Finding it was easier than expected. No mystery-solving, exploration, or adventure was required—the art of dragon-riding was kept on a shelf like a commodity in a shop-like establishment, available to anyone who could pay the price!
The item was there, but how to obtain it became the great problem. Its price exceeded the capacity of Meereen's treasury, and besides, she hadn't brought the treasury with her. Her intuition told her that trying to pull a stunt like buying the Unsullied in Astapor would be both illogical and impossible here.
Thus, there was only the matter of negotiating the price.
The owner firmly refused the proposal of goods now, payment later, and directly demanded the dragon she had flown in on. Without the art of dragon-riding, Daenerys had three dragons she could not use; by trading the black dragon for the art, she could control the remaining two and even receive a complete set of dragon-breeding techniques to continue producing more.
It was not an outrageous demand, but it was a condition a mother could never accept. Daenerys refused just as firmly and left, camping in the wilds around Asshai while pondering a solution. Then, the mysterious figure who had appeared in her visions and made her determined to come here appeared before her without warning.
Drogon spread his wings and flew off to find his lunch, while the suddenly appearing Quaithe stood by the black-water river. She wore the floor-length hooded robe from their last meeting, the red lacquer mask beneath the hood as angular as ever, reflecting the dim sunlight of Asshai.
"I thought I would never see you again." Daenerys didn't know if this was a hallucination or a dream, but having met her before, she decided to get straight to business. "To reach the west, you must go east; to go forward, you must go back; to touch the light, you must pass beneath the shadow. It seems I did not misinterpret: you wanted me to come to Asshai, and I have come."
"You have shown wisdom, Daenerys Targaryen. I am pleased."
"There are enough flatterers in the court of Meereen!" Daenerys snapped, loathing Quaithe's mystical tone. "I have found what I want, but I cannot afford it. You said you would show me the way, so help me."
"Reason tells you that an untrained dragon will turn your kingdom to ruins; experience tells you that you must never trade a dragon for it. To follow the guidance of reason while learning the lessons of experience—that is wisdom. Do not mistake sincere praise for flattery." The masked woman's hand emerged from beneath her robe, slender fingers clutching a rolled book of strange material. "As for what you seek, it is here."
Daenerys had no time to bicker with the mysterious woman—her pupils dilated instantly. What Quaithe held in her hand was the very Compendium of Dragon-Riding she had seen earlier in the city of Asshai.
"You want it." Quaithe held up the book, then slowly crouched down and placed it on a boulder by her feet. "The truth is, without it, you cannot reclaim your kingdom... but unfortunately, without a mentor, you will never understand its contents."
"I am tired of riddles and obscure advice!" Daenerys brushed aside a lock of silver hair, suppressing the urge to run over and grab the book. "If you are my friend, then help me master the art of dragon-riding!"
"I can help you, but it requires a price."
"What is the price?"
"You will know soon enough."
"I don't want 'soon,' I want now, immediately, this instant!" Daenerys raised her voice. "In the name of the Queen, I command you..."
"Rest well. If you are curious, flip through this book first. After you have previewed it, we shall attempt to master it." The mysterious woman vanished as suddenly as she had appeared. By the boulder near the black-water river, there was no hooded robe, no red lacquer mask, no Quaithe—only a book lying solitary upon the stone.
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