Drogo looked around at the splendor he had never seen before and said meaningfully, "Moon of my life, this place holds everything nobles and commoners dream of—luxury beyond compare—and now, all of it belongs to you."
As he finished speaking, he clearly felt his wife's delicate body tremble.
Daenerys lifted her head and gazed into her husband's eyes, as black and glossy as polished onyx. Her voice was firm. "The only palace I wish to enter is the Red Keep in King's Landing, my sun and stars. The great men of Qarth have left us ships and treasure—let's go to Westeros and reclaim everything that belongs to the Dragon King."
After the Doom of Valyria, the surviving Targaryens moved their seat to Dragonstone, a castle on an island in Blackwater Bay. Following Aegon's Conquest of the Seven Kingdoms, they ruled from King's Landing as monarchs of Westeros for nearly three hundred years.
House Targaryen's sigil was a red three-headed dragon breathing fire on a black field, representing Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys.
Just as the followers of the Lord of Light believe that "the prince that was promised" can be of either gender, so too are dragonriders—regardless of sex—called Dragon Kings.
Having learned this part of Targaryen history, Drogo found the title of "Dragon King" quite appealing. "Dragon King... it's a title filled with regal might. I've yet to become a dragonrider, but once the black dragon grows large enough to ride, I'll inscribe the name 'Dragon King' at the very top of the pyramid of power. Though, judging from Dany's words, it seems she includes herself as a Dragon King too, doesn't she?"
His wife was still waiting expectantly for a response. After a moment's thought, Drogo replied, "The glory of the Conqueror's path knows no end. The whole world shall lie beneath his feet!"
The Mother of Dragons smiled knowingly and said with satisfaction, "Whether day or night, my sun and stars is always great!"
Just then, Grey Worm and the bloodriders entered the grand hall one after another. As her husband had many matters to attend to, Daenerys did not wish to interrupt. She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and left.
"Your Grace."
"Khaleesi."
The Unsullied and braid-bearing warriors bowed and pounded their chests in salute.
Seeing their king frowning deep in thought atop the high throne, the four did not dare to disturb him. They stood quietly behind the steadily shrinking line of Qartheen noble corpses, waiting for the next command.
Drogo's gaze fell upon the black dragon trotting after his wife like a loyal shadow. He thought to himself: The black dragon was born of Daenerys—she is undoubtedly the true blood of the dragon. But the Undying Ones said I was fortunate and called me the Master of the Black Dragon. And the shadowbinder Quesry once hinted that I, too, might be a true dragon heir. Does this mean I could be the true master of the dragons? What does the Targaryen motto "Blood of the Dragon" really mean?
After some thought, Drogo concluded that being a true heir mattered less than being chosen by the black dragon. That was true kingship.
His fireproof body was forged through the blood of the dragon—it was intrinsically tied to the dragons themselves.
Legend says the Dragonlords of old Valyria used sorcery to tame their dragons. But by the time Aegon rode his across Westeros, magic had already faded. Drogo believed there must be other ways to turn dragons into weapons of war.
Perhaps that method lay in the hands of the mysterious Undying Ones.
But the journey to the House of the Undying could not be rushed, for it held many of the world's greatest secrets. Drogo would only visit once he was at peak strength—body and mind.
Before that, there was a debt to repay—a blood debt.
The Faceless Men's assassin, the so-called "Regretful One," had nearly taken Drogo's life. He had never let that go. Their stronghold had to be wiped out.
The Hall of a Thousand Thrones held more than just royals killed through sorcery—Drogo vividly recalled the pirate leader of the Tourmaline Brotherhood and a wealthy merchant from the Spice Guild among the dead.
And of course, all of Qarth's Thirteen, save for the escaped Xaro Xhoan Daxos.
Drogo didn't know the leader of the Faceless Men, so he ordered a few Qartheen officers to be brought in and intimidated them into identifying the corpses.
Soon, he confirmed the assassin leader wasn't among the dead. The captives described him as a short man from Lys, with blond hair and blue eyes.
Qarth was surrounded on three sides by sea. Its three gates were guarded by fleets, led primarily by the Golden Company. No one could escape by sea or air. As for diving underwater—even before reaching the blockade, a man would drown and float back up.
The land side, bordering the Red Waste, was guarded even more tightly by the Unsullied and the khalasar. No matter how cunning the assassin leader, he couldn't have escaped.
Drogo believed in settling debts. Only the death of the one behind the assassination attempt could satisfy him.
"Grey Worm, lead the troops to surround the assassin guild. Search every corner thoroughly. Don't leave a single hiding spot untouched. You must find the leader of the Faceless Men. If anyone resists—kill them all, regardless of age."
"Yes, Your Grace."
The bloodstained commander of the Unsullied, tireless and disciplined, bowed and departed.
Drogo felt confident entrusting this task to his calm, composed eunuch general.
He had inherited the intelligence network built by the Spider, and he didn't take it lightly. Varys' little birds were famously ruthless, often children trained to kill without hesitation.
As he idly stroked the cold armrest of his throne, Drogo asked, "Blood of my blood, how many days to clear out the noble vaults?"
Rakharo responded loudly, "Khal, the nobles of Qarth are extremely cunning. Their true vaults are hidden deep. At our current pace, it will take about two more days."
Drogo narrowed his wise eyes and said calmly, "I'll give you three extra days. When raiding the mansions and palaces of the highborn, dig deep—three feet into the earth if you must. Make sure none of their treasures remain hidden."
The noble homes of Qarth were tightly packed, and digging three feet down wouldn't be easy.
Yet the bloodriders showed no reluctance. In fact, they seemed excited.
The Dothraki way was to leave nothing behind—burn, loot, enslave. People became chattel. Valuables were hauled back to the Great Grass Sea. Even statues of city heroes weren't spared, claimed as trophies of conquest. Their greed knew no bounds.
Though Drogo and Daenerys had restrained their savagery, the khalasar had long been itching to bare their fangs. Now that Drogo had given them permission, they could hardly contain themselves.
Qarth's immense wealth meant it was home to many pampered, delicate beauties. The bloodriders had already set their eyes on more than a hundred of them.
Seeing their barely contained enthusiasm, Drogo felt both helpless and amused. He warned in a low voice, "You've followed me through countless battles. Treat this sweep as your reward. But don't go too far—if Khaleesi hears of it, not even I can save you."
"Yes, thank you, Khal!"
With greed gleaming in their eyes, the bloodriders rushed out of the hall.
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