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Chapter 39: Qarth
🕑 Added 2025-09-08 08:58:00 +0000 UTC"I have been told," Daenerys said, her voice careful, "that only those who keep the Old Gods of the North can be skinchangers. Does Asshai have weirwood trees?"
"Daenerys," Quaithe asked, her own voice flat and unreadable behind the mask, "do you know what the Old Gods truly are?"
Dany glanced at Jorah. "A great tree with a face?"
"That is a heart tree," Jorah corrected gently. "The Old Gods are the nameless spirits of every rock and river and tree."
"It is a faith of animism," Quaithe elaborated. "A skinchanger is a believer who awakens the spirit of nature within them, allowing their own spirit to merge with that of an animal. The man I met told me he came from beyond your great Wall in the Sunset Lands."
"A wildling?" Jorah exclaimed. "How could a wildling travel to Asshai, a world away?"
"The people you call wildlings are not without intelligence," Quaithe said, her masked face turned toward Dany. "They have the desire to seek wisdom. But your world despises their gifts. He came to Asshai because it is a sanctuary for all who practice the mystic arts."
Then, a voice spoke softly, directly in Dany’s mind, though Quaithe’s mask never moved. The Westeros of the Andals will not tolerate you, Daenerys. Nor your dragons.
Dany flinched, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked at the others; no one had reacted. The message had been for her alone. A profound and chilling fear took root in her heart. For the rest of the journey, she was jumpy and anxious, afraid to be alone with the shadowbinder. She made her maids take turns sleeping at the foot of her bed, a human shield against a magic she could not comprehend. But Quaithe never spoke to her again.
Finally, as the spires of Qarth appeared on the horizon, Dany could bear the silence no longer. She approached the masked woman. "Maga Quaithe, do you know the spells of Old Valyria?" she asked, her voice a sad whisper. "I am afraid. I do not wish to be harmed by an evil witch again."
"I do not know the spells of your ancestors," Quaithe replied. "But if you wish to learn, you should come to Asshai. It is said that the descendants of the Valyrian bloodwitches are still active there."
"It is too far," Dany said, shaking her head and repeating her now-familiar refrain. "I must go to Westeros. I must be a queen."
The next day at noon, they saw it. Qarth, the city Xaro had called a paradise.
Dong—
A deep, clear gong sounded from the sandstone city walls. A herald’s voice, magically amplified, boomed across the plain. "Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, approaches!"
Before she could even ask Xaro what was happening, a long, mournful blast from a horn answered the call. On top of the ten-meter-high walls, a line of powerful, dark-skinned men appeared, their bare chests gleaming with oil as they raised strange, twisted bronze horns to their lips.
A moment later, the city gates opened, and a troop of camel cavalry trotted out. The camels were draped in colorful blankets, their saddles inlaid with glittering rubies. The riders were clad in shimmering red-copper scale mail, their faces hidden behind long-snouted helms decorated with brass teeth and black feathers. They formed two long, perfect lines, creating a ceremonial avenue leading to the city.
"Hah! Hah! Hah!" they shouted in unison, raising their bronze-tipped spears.
Dany rode her camel between Xaro and Pyat Pree, down the corridor of saluting warriors. The outer walls were carved with a breathtaking menagerie of animals: crawling snakes, soaring kites, sinuous fish, and howling wolves. As they neared the gate, a group of children ran out, laughing as they tossed handfuls of bright, colorful flower petals over her. They wore nothing but golden sandals and the intricate, painted designs that covered their bodies from head to toe.
They passed through the first gate into a wide causeway. The second wall, twelve meters of grey granite, was carved not with beasts, but with harrowing scenes of war: cities being sacked, men being butchered, and great fires consuming the dead. As the iron-banded gates before them swung open, a roar of sound, a human flood of cheers and shouts, washed over her. The street was lined with dream-like buildings of rose-colored stone and violet towers. From every balcony, fair-skinned men in silk skirts and women in flowing tokars that left one breast exposed threw down rose petals and waved silk scarves. The bell in the city tower began to ring, a joyous, clanging sound that felt strangely ominous.
The third and final wall was fifteen meters of polished black marble, carved with a dizzying array of erotic scenes, a testament to the city's decadent heart. The gate, ribbed with gold, opened like the mouth of some great beast into the inner city. Here, the cheering stopped. The streets were quiet, lined with towering, fantastical spires and beautiful fountains.
"Qarth is the greatest city that ever was or will be," Xaro said, his voice swelling with pride. "The center of the world. The bridge between east and west. All other cities are but ugly shadows in her light."
"It is truly the pearl of the world," Dany complimented, though she privately noted the many statues of ancient heroes lining the colonnades and thought how fine they would look on the Godsway in Vaes Dothrak.
They came to a halt in a grand plaza before a massive, open-air market. "My peerless beauty," Xaro said with a dramatic flourish, "whatever you desire, you have only to ask, and it is yours."
"The whole of Qarth will be hers," the warlock Pyat Pree cried, his voice a sharp hiss. "She needs no trinkets! Come with me, Khaleesi, to the House of the Undying! There you will drink of wisdom and truth!"
"Hah! What can your House of Dust offer her?" Xaro scoffed. "The Thirteen will give her a crown of black jade and fire opal!"
Dany smiled, a picture of girlish delight. She politely declined the warlock. "Master Warlock, you know my heart’s desire. Though this city is a paradise, I yearn for my home, the Red Keep in King's Landing. That is my true palace." And do not think for a moment I have forgotten how to be a conqueror, she thought, a cold fire burning behind her eyes. One day, a hundred thousand Dothraki may ride through these beautiful streets.
Pyat Pree’s blue lips turned upwards in what might have been a smile, as if he found her naivete amusing. You will come to me in the end, his eyes seemed to say. "Khaleesi, you have a wisdom beyond your years," he said. "Please, accept this gift, and we will speak again another day." He handed her a small, alabaster jar. "You expressed a desire for mystic power. This ointment will help you see the spirits of the air." He then bowed and rode away.
"You have made the wisest choice, Your Grace," Xaro whispered as the warlock departed. "There is a saying in Qarth: from the House of the Warlocks, expect only bones and lies."
And what do they say of the House of the Merchants? she wondered. It is a city of crows, and they are all the same color.
