Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

"But must he keep plying me with feasts and wine in the meantime? Why are the Pureborn taking so long?" Daenerys said as she fed Drogon a bit of meat. The tiny black dragon snapped it up eagerly, the charred piece of lamb swift to disappear into his gullet.

"These things take time, Khaleesi," said Jorah, frowning at Drogon and the other caged dragons. He was always careful around them, keeping his distance and leaning a hand on the pommel of his sword. Ever his armored protector, Jorah stood in such a way that the double doors to the finely decorated room were always in his sights. The arched windows let in the sound of peddlers and highborn children playing by the street beyond the low walls, and Daenerys smiled as she remembered their awe the other day when she finally took a few to look at her dragons. At a distance, of course.

She crossed her arms as she considered sitting on one of Xaro's lounges; the stylized Quartheen chairs were a welcome luxury after the harsh journey over the Red Wastes, but she was beginning to feel restless. Some mornings she awoke with a tight throat, as if she were being throttled in her sleep. "I'd feel better if Xaro had something else but empty promises each time he came back from the Hall," she said as she opened the lacquered ebony doors, going out for a walk.

Jhogo helped open the door for her with a lazy smile. Of her three bloodriders he was the one that hated dragon-guarding the most, bored out of his mind to be locked inside her room for the whole day.

Curious how plentiful luxury can feel stifling after weeks of thirst and hunger, she thought.

Jorah grunted noncommittally as he took her side, and they took the scenic route past the wing's gardens, filled with many-feathered birds and screeching monkeys; the latest in the Merchant Prince's long string of gifts. It was beginning to grow suspicious, all the more so after she learned about a particular Qarthi custom regarding weddings.

They went down an open set of stairs with ivory balustrades, each the shape of a different man or woman, sinuous curves holding the weight of the heavy railing as the stair formed a half circle over the patio. There was some sort of commotion near the gate, where a few of her dothraki and a group of Xaro's slaves were arguing with someone.

"What's the matter?" said Daenerys as she gestured at one of the slaves, his collar incrusted with sapphires and amethysts.

His bow almost took him to the floor, "Some men wish to sing for you, Mother of Dragons," he said as one of her bloodriders took out his arakh and spat a glob of spit.

"Sing for me?" she said, an abrupt smile growing on her lips. The semi circled stair held four ships made of marble, whose prows peaked out of the stonework and fed water to the pond by the base. There was a big wagon just a bit past the gate, by the left end of the patio, its sides painted in reds and blues and depicting all manner of fantastical beasts; from manticores to mountain lions to even dragons.

"Kahleesi wait," said Ser Jorah, but she waved him off as she reached the base of the stairs, looking curiously at the man wheedling and begging in low valyrian against an unimpressed Aggo and three of her dothraki, which now surrounded him.

Aggo turned to her with a start as she crossed half the distance, bowing his head, "Peacock's slaves let them through without your permission. Say the word and I will take this fly's head for you, blood of my blood," he rasped in Dothraki.

"Spare your blade for now, brave one," she told her bloodrider with a smile. "Where do you hail from, goodman?" she asked him in low valyrian, stopping some ten meters from the wagon as Ser Jorah placed a warding hand over her chest.

"From sun-bathed Myr, oh great Mother of Dragons! City of glass and marvelous culture!" he proclaimed as he stood atop his seat at the front of the tall-wheeled wagon, the horses neighing in thirst as they tried to inch closer to the fountain. One of her kahlassar held the reigns of both horses tight though, preventing them from moving. "My name is Master Faedyl," he said with a perfect Free City bow, gesturing at the back of his covered wooden wagon which now opened hatches from one side, revealing a great array of puppets and two women quickly preparing more, hanging them from long sticks which then jutted out of the wide hatch. "And this here is the marvelous Company of Truth, acclaimed performers from Pentos to Lys and beyond!" he said with a great theatrical flourish.

Daenerys stifled a chuckle, looking at the paintings on the wagon. They did look a bit faded, and that along with the hungry look in the woman's eyes was enough to connect the dots. She'd certainly never heard of any 'Company of Truth' during Viserys' bumbling voyage from city to city, or during her stay in Illyrio's manse.

"You seem to be down on your luck, Master Faedyl," she told him, not without a bit of sympathy escaping her voice. She could understand the man all too well, and unlike her these low level performers didn't have a bunch of dragons they could show off for gifts and courtesies. The two woman at the back slumped a bit, their iron collars evident to the eye.

His smile seemed to lose a bit of its luster, "You've a sharp eye Kahleesi," he said as it turned into a grimace, "It is a sad day when the free daughters of Valyria spurn true artists in favor of animal shows." He said the last with true disdain, a twisting frown marring his features, "We've come east seeking the generosity of the Quarthi, but the esteemed Master Xaro's aide has just given us the latest in a long line of rejections."

"And you thought you'd perform for me instead?" she said, considering it despite herself, "I warn you I've not the money to spare for such a fine performance as the Company of Truth seems to offer."

A true statement in more than one way, she thought silently. They'd been selling as much as they could of all the gifts the Qarthi had been filling her with, but funds were still extremely short. They could buy maybe a couple of galleys, let alone the armada that would be needed to retake Westeros from the Usurper and his dogs.

The Myrishman deflated like a kicked puppy, "We're willing to take payment after the show, Mother of Dragons." He hesitated for a moment, "Perhaps in food as well."

Ser Jorah took her by the arm gently, "Kahleesi, Xaro would arrange for an entire festival in your honor if you but asked. Do not waste your time with the likes of these," he said as he gazed at the man in suspicion.

"Look at the hunger in his slave's eyes. We were just like them not two months ago," she whispered.

His eyes softened as they sometimes did when counseling her on matters close to the heart, like a caring father trying not to crack something cherished. "Remember the wine peddler. What if the very same slave drops a bit of poison into your cup when you're distracted, or the man draws a knife in the middle of the act."

It seemed impossible that the ailing Master Faedyl were capable of such a thing, holding his hands nervously as his eyes drifted to the other end of the patio where the free-walking birds of this palace wing trundled, eating dates left on the floor every day by the slaves. Her heart wobbled when she realized he was staring at the dates, not the birds.

So hungry he'd not waste a breath before joining the birds in on their meal. Daenerys had felt that kind of hunger before, a black knife twisting through the belly, crying in pain with every memory of food. In the end even imagination became a tool of torment, fooling the mind and the stomach both with empty promises.

She was about to walk the rest of the way for the wagon when Xaro's slaves by the entrance bowed, opening the gate and letting in none other than Pyrat Pree in a hurried stride. "Mother of Dragon!" he said with an urgent intonation, "I come with-" the black-robed man stuttered to a halt, as still as a statue.

Daenerys frowned, looking at the paralyzed Warlock. "Master Pree?"

He was staring at something up by the balustrade. She turned to the sight of a simple raven, looking down at the Warlock with an eerie stillness. "… Undying One?" she asked, returning her gaze to him.

"I… I bring-"

The raven cawed, interrupting the man as he returned his gaze up once more. He seemed to grow even paler, eyes fixed on the black bird as Jorah gripped his sword's pommel. Daenerys felt nervous as well, looking from the raven to the Warlock in confusion. She'd never seen him scared before.

He bowed to Daenerys. "It's been a true pleasure, Mother of Dragons," he said before walking away even faster than he'd come.

"Wait! Master Pree!" she said, but he was already out through the now closed gates, the slaves standing back with practiced precision once more as the two house guards replaced the bar.

She frowned, turning to look up. The bird was gone though, not a feather left in its passing.

"Have you ever seen him like that?" she asked Ser Jorah. Pyat Pree always walked with the stride of a man who knew everything about all there was to know, gazing down on you with black-pale eyes from his long, copper ringed neck. Always with an uncanny half-smile; never hurried, much less scared.

"Never," said Jorah, eyes narrowed. "Something must have happened in the Hall of a Thousand Thrones. You should retire for the evening and send someone to find Master Xaro, Kahleesi."

Daenerys nodded reluctantly, letting herself be carried by Jorah's arm as they turned for the stairs. She had a bad feeling about this. Has Xaro betrayed me? Were the Civic Guard even now coming to take her dragons? The Spicer's Guild had already made it clear that no price was considered too high for her children.

"Wait! Kahleesi please!" said Master Faedyl, standing again from his seat at the front of the wagon, "Just one short show! It's all I ask!"

She'd all but forgotten about him, and she grimaced reluctantly as she stopped by the base of the staircase. "I'm sorry Maester Faedyl, I'll put in a good word with Master Xaro for you, I promise."

"Kahleesi I beg of you," said the man, his low valyrian growing strained, filled with drawn out 'e's and 'o's, "It will be better this way, for you and all of us!"

Daenerys frowned, Jorah's grip on her arm suddenly growing fierce. Master Faedyl blinked, thinning his lips before he thumped the wagon twice.

"Now!" shouted a voice in the common tongue as the sides of the tall wagon fell apart from top to bottom, revealing twin rows of kneeling crossbowmen as Ser Jorah spun in place and hugged her close.

He jolted, grunting in pain before taking off at a run up the stairs, carrying her along by the arm. "Run Kahleesi! Run!"

Searing hot adrenaline flooded her body, her breathing ragged as she ran up the stairs and almost tripped on her feet. Roars and screams rung out from below, and she gasped in shock when they reached the top of the balustrade and looked down at the patio.

Her fierce Aggo was on the ground choking on a bolt, and most of her Kahlassar had followed him down. Those who hadn't were being mobbed even now; dying with shrill screams as rugged-looking men jumped out of the wagon and slipped steel shortswords from every side. Another group took for the stairs, Xaro's slaves screaming in fright as the two house guards by the gate were shot at point-blank range by the two women still atop the wagon.

"Keep running Kahleesi!" roared Ser Jorah as he pulled her savagely, shouldering open the door to her room. He pushed her onwards as he turned to bar the door, and Daenerys took a corner and screamed as she found Jhogo by the wall, two bolts on his bloodied chest as four men in light leathers clustered around her dragons.

"Pocket! She's already here!" one shouted in the common tongue as he turned.

'Pocket' and another one rushed her almost at once, "Do'nt ya' move Targeryen!" he roared.

"Drogon! Dracarys!!!" she screamed. Her dragons let out short streams of fire, setting the two men closest to their cages ablaze, fire clawing up the fine Qartheen rugs. She stumbled back, her heart drowning her ears as the two men reached her with grime-covered hands, though one stuttered as he turned back in horror; his two companions burned even now, stumbling around the room and setting fire to the furniture as they collapsed.

"Get your hands off her!!!" roared Ser Jorah as he slammed his blade clean through the distracted man's chest, though Pocket took the opportunity to slip his shortsword through Jorah's armpit in turn. His valiant knight slammed a vambrace against the last assassin's face, sending him tumbling backwards as he held her close with the other hand.

They ran for the dragons as the assassin kept his distance, holding his nose in pain. Jorah gripped her arm painfully as his bloodied lips grew close. "Run," he whispered, "Take the dragons and keep running!" He took a second to cut the scaling rope attached to the end of an iron hook by the window, a sudden scream cut short by a muffled thump by the other side.

"You're coming with me!" she commanded, her voice shrilly as she opened the sizzling cages, her hands smoking as she bit her lips through the hideous pain.

Pocket was back, sidestepping left and right before lunging at Ser Jorah with a low guard. The knight barely managed to deflect the blow, striking his half-plate harmlessly. His own sword drew a long gash along Pocket's neck, almost decapitating him as blood bubbled like a fountain and the assassin gasped in surprise.

"Pocket!!!" roared one of the 'slave' girls by the other end of the corridor, her shortsword just as bloodied as the ones of her comrades as half a dozen more assassins reached the room from where she'd come.

Ser Jorah's hands trembled as he clutched her, squeezing her even tighter than the dragons now perched on her back and shoulders. "I love you Daenerys," he said, kissing her stunned lips. She tasted his blood before he pushed her onwards, turning to the rest of the assassins with a menacing growl as he took two steps forward. They recoiled on instinct, Ser Jorah swinging his blade from side to side as he roared again.

Three crossbow bolts jutted out of his back, a long trickle of blood even now smearing the floor, a trickle that ran from here to the doors and the patio.

Black smoke filled the room's ceiling, and she stumbled to the back door for the servant's corridor as her knight jumped at the assassins. Their blades slipped in and out of his flesh like stabbing water, and Jorah gasped in ragged breaths as he took another one down with him.

Daenerys ran down the servant's corridor, moaning with each breath as stunted tears leapt from her eyes. Her dragons hissed in near panic as they scuttled over her back and shoulders, pockmarking her skin with their claws as they turned and snarled at every shadow and she took turns blindly, reaching the last door as she broke into daylight.

There was a woman kneeling over a slave's body, jerking out her shortsword. The palace's stables surrounded her, hay stacked high for the many horses which would have to be tended to during one of Xaro's frequent banquets and feasts, his guests always bringing their finest steeds to the gatherings.

"There she is!" said the other assassin by the woman's side as he took out a dagger, and Daenerys screamed without air. Her dragons let out thin, concentrated torrents of flame which took them both in the chest, spraying fire on a wide cone in front of her.

She passed by their screaming forms, the hay erupting into flames which were soon reaching for the skies. She could scarcely see past the sobs now wracking her, but she somehow reached her silver horse, mounting it as it whinnied in fright.

"Go silver! Go!" she managed, galloping out of the burning stables and past the wide opened servant's gate, Xaro's house guards sprawled on the ground with crossbow bolts on their chests. The fires spread across the street as she galloped as fast as she could, her dragons clutched in the midst of frenzy as they screeched in her ear.

She screamed in heart clenching fear as the raven cawed right by her side, her dragons smearing the bakery by the side of the road in streams of fire, but the raven flew away unharmed. It circled above her as it cawed once more. "Dracarys!" she screamed each time it got too close, galloping down the streets amongst stunned slaves and panicked merchants, her dragon's streams of fire not enough to reach the circling vulture. They did set a trail of fire by her sides, silver's main growing singed as market stalls erupted into flames and the children there screamed in agony, crisped fruit sliding out of their tiny hands.

The raven followed her everywhere, cawing again and again, and she soon found out why. She took another blind turn as the tall plumes of smoke crept up from the city and into the sky, and she lowered her gaze to find a group of mounted Westerosi by the other end, a man taking aim with a crossbow as he shouted.

"Glyra! Orders?!"

"Kill her!" said the woman.

Daenerys gasped as the bolt took her in the shoulder, her dragons bellowing fire in fright as silver almost buckled her out of the saddle. One of the streams caught the raven, its death-caw sending shivers down her spine as it fell on the thatched roof of the house by her side, setting it afire as well.

Daenerys kept galloping, her mind a stream of incoherent images and sounds as the city bells tolled and the fires raged out of control. She galloped past the wide-open city gates as people ran from the budding inferno as fast as they could, gripped by panic and ice-cold fear.

Her shoulder burned, her ragged breaths keeping her conscious as silver galloped. Daenerys swayed atop the saddle as she blinked, the Red Wastes welcoming her back as she left Qarth behind.

No, not again, she thought, but she couldn't stop silver, she could barely hang on as it made for the red sands, the sky black with the smoke of burning Qarth.

-: PD :-