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Chapter 47: I Am So Sorry
🕑 Added 2025-09-08 09:13:29 +0000 UTCIn the days that followed, Daenerys lost herself in the cool, silent halls of the Temple of Memory. The thick, sheepskin-bound books told a story of the world grander than any she had ever imagined. She found a map, centered on Qarth, that laid out the entire known world. She found confirmation of her theories about the white cities, and a truth far more astonishing than she had guessed.
Before the Doom, a great Valyrian Road of fused black stone had stretched across the continent. And to connect it to the far eastern trade routes, the Dragonlords had undertaken a project of impossible scale: they had enslaved a million souls and dug a river, a man-made artery of water that flowed for nearly a thousand kilometers from the Lhazar, through the wasteland, sustaining a chain of oasis-cities. When Valyria fell, the magic that maintained the great road failed, and the river, no longer maintained by legions of slaves, slowly choked and died. The cities died with it.
And she learned the secret of the Pureborn. The ancient royal family of Qarth had been extinguished on the day the dragons came. The current royals were descended from the union of a Valyrian Dragonlord and the city’s sole surviving princess. They were, in their own way, kin.
She knew then what they must be thinking. They must both covet and fear her. She, another dragonlord, could become the ancestor of a new royal line, just as her predecessor had done centuries ago.
Armed with this knowledge, she began her performance.
"Great rulers of this ancient and immortal city," she pleaded, her voice breaking with emotion as she stood before the twenty-four silent figures on their high thrones. "I beg of you, lend me your fleet, that I may return to the homeland I miss with every breath I take. The people of Westeros will thank you for bringing them back their Queen."
She ended her speech with a final, heart-wrenching sob, burying her face in her hands. The onion she had tucked into her sleeve was a marvelous thing. The huge, silent hall was filled only with the sound of her echoing cries.
Finally, a man on the high platform began to weep in sympathy. It was Wendro, the recipient of seven hundred and seventy-seven of her gold coins.
"Daenerys," he said, dabbing at his eyes with a silken cloth. "Your words have touched me to my very soul." Dany looked up, her heart leaping with hope. Dozens of ships, she thought. At least a dozen. "But I am a man obsessed with music, not commerce. I have no ships to lend you."
Her heart sank. You bastard, she thought. You said you were as rich as a king.
Another of her bribed men, a poet known as 'Elegant Aegen,' began to cry as well. "Khaleesi," he wept, "your grace, your beauty, your tragic tale… it moves me to write an epic." He then began to recite, in a flowery Old Valyrian, a long and tedious poem in which a beautiful princess overcame all odds, married a handsome prince, and became a great queen. He had fulfilled her dream in verse.
The third man, Mathos, to whom she had given five hundred gold coins, said nothing at all. He simply stared at the ceiling. The other Pureborn remained as silent as the statues in their gardens.
The audience was over. Her one thousand gold pieces had bought her one sad compliment and a bad poem. Cursing the entire line of the Pureborn back to their first amphibious ancestor, she maintained her mournful facade, thanked them for their time, and politely asked to leave.
It was dusk by the time her dragons returned and she was able to depart. The spacious avenues, empty under the midday sun, were now choked with a river of people.
"Make way, you milk-men!" Jhogo shouted from his horse, cracking his whip in the air. "Make way for the Mother of Dragons!" His rough Valyrian only earned curious stares. The carriage could do nothing but inch forward through the crowd.
Xaro, who had been waiting for her, seemed completely unbothered. He lounged on cool silk cushions, pouring ruby-red wine into a pair of emerald-and-gold goblets. "My light of love," he said, handing her a glass, "I see the red in your eyes. They have rejected you."
She took the goblet and drained half of it in one swallow. "They never had any intention of helping me. They summoned me out of boredom, to stare at me and my dragons as they would a new beast for their menageries." She sighed, the anger giving way to a weary frustration. "Can I ask Jorah to get my money back from Mathos?"
Xaro laughed. "These Qartheen! No credibility. And yet, this is the greatest trading city in the world." He grew serious. "Do not even speak of retrieving a gift. If you do not wish for a 'Sorrowful Man' to slip into your palace one night and murder you in your sleep."
The Sorrowful Men. The famed assassins of Qarth. It was said they whispered "I am so sorry" before they killed you. Dany found their politeness entirely unimpressive.
"Oh, my love, do not be so sad," Xaro purred, draping an arm over the back of the couch. "You are not alone. There is a saying here—it is harder to get a coin from a Pureborn than it is to milk a stone cow. Forget them. Marry me. My ships can take you anywhere you wish. To Yi Ti, to the Jogosnai Plains to drink from a skull-cup…"
"I wish to sail to Westeros," she countered, a playful, dangerous glint in her eyes, "and drink the wine of vengeance from the Usurper's head. Why not come with me, my lord? I have heard there are White Walkers in the far north. A terrifying monster that can bring the eternal night. Far more interesting than a stone cow, don't you think?"
"Let the White Walkers come," the fat man said, wiping a tear from his eye. "An eternal night would be less cold than another rejection from you." He was weeping now, a true Qartheen. "I have told you, I am a man of peace! War is the death of trade! And that Iron Throne… it is a cold, hard, sharp thing. Are you not afraid its spikes will scratch your lovely posterior?"
BOOM!
A huge, unified shout erupted from the street outside. The sound was so powerful it seemed to shake the very foundations of the carriage. With a lurch and a crunch, their vehicle jolted to a violent stop.
"What was that?" Dany cried, grabbing the side of the carriage to steady herself.
