westwhere | "Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?"

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"Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?"

WHO: Daenerys Targaryen and OTA!
WHEN: As nobles and merchants return to the Citadel
WHERE: Merchant Square, the gates Taravast, and Palace of the Doxe
WHAT: Arrival of the Mother of Dragons
WARNINGS:

I. Arrival to the Citadel

The welcome has been overwhelming, to say the least. A far better sight than Khal Jhaqo and his khalasar. Though when she had first come to in the Stairs of Sighs and was spotted by the band of minor nobles and merchants, it wasn't much of a different feeling than seeing the Dothraki. In both situations, it was simply Dany with Drogon, now it seemed, he was the size he had been in Astapor. There was no riding him now, instead he curled around her shoulders and neck. His serpentine body and black scales startling against the canyon and harsh sun.

She would have to reflect on the magic of it later and how someone had managed to change her child. The moment the men and women saw Drogon, they crowded around Daenerys eagerly. For the few daring to touch her dragon, she quickly pushed their hands away, sensing Drogon's agitation as his claws dug into her skin. She attempted to communicate with them, not recognizing their language. First in the Old Ghiscari/High Valyrian blend of the Meereenese. Next trying simple High Valyrian. When that didn't work, she hoped and prayed the Commmon Tongue would be understood, but that was much like the rest. The most she tried finding their language, the more the pressed in around her and stared at her with wonder. Finally, in desperation, she tried Dothraki, but that was a lost cause.

So here she was, tattered, burned and dirty, looking more like she crawled from the bowels of the Seven Hells, following a large group of people and relying on their gestures to understand them. It didn't help that as they reached the entrance to their city, others started to flock around her as well. She wasn't feeling nearly as regal or majestic as the people were treating her. The more they crowded in, the more agitated Drogon started to become. She kept her hand on him, but soon he was launching himself from her shoulders, taking to the sky and flying across the Citadel.

"Drogon!"

II. Merchant Square

It's becoming more and more obvious that something was being planned when Daenerys was ushered into the Merchant's Square. The man that repeatedly called himself "Rosso Capello" had stayed with her up until the square. Only then did the merchants take control of her. Some stood on crates or boxes, spouting lofty speeches and stories, that while Dany couldn't understand, recognized as some extoling of virtues. She wasn't exactly a glorious sight, but people still stared in awe at her. There was no real room to escape, and for better or worse, she was relying on the people that found her to take her somewhere safe.

She just didn't expect to become a side show at the same time, no different than the mummers and slave auctions in Essos.

Drogon returned, perching on one of the stalls and staring down with his red eyes, no different than the blood red of his horns and back plates. He was terrifying, but that seemed to please the people. They turned away from Dany towards her dragon, still not looking overly pleased with the attention.

'How long before he retaliates? I need something to hold him, to keep him in check.'

The whip she acquired in Daznak's Pit was gone now, but there were so many stalls and so much merchandise, there had to be a whip somewhere. She touched the shoulders of people, repeating the request again and again. "Please, I need a whip." Only to be met once again with the blank (but mesmerized) stares of the people.

"Please can someone understand me?" She shouted in common tongue.

III. Palace of the Doxe

By the end of it all, Dany is exhausted. There was a grim realization of what was happening when money exchanged hands and she was lead away by...some noble household. The way the merchants responded to them, it was someone influential and of high standing. There was no gold collar, at least. No brand on her face denoting what she was slated for (which thank the Gods didn't seem to be a pleasure house.) It was possible to escape all of this as she had helped the others in Astapor. True, there was no army, but there was Drogon.

Yet...the idea of more charred bones at her feet, chaos in the city and looks of anger made her feel sick to her stomach. Where was she supposed to go? What should she even do? This place was foreign to her and she was starting to realize it wasn't Essos. So, without much objection, she followed to the Palace of the Doxe.

Along the way, a sorceress named Karsa offered her a communication and translation device. It was such a relief that Dany started to cry in gratitude. At least she wouldn't be lost in both language and world. There was information, stories about others who were newcomers to the world, which cleared up how she got here. Knowing there were others also was a comfort, though she didn't ask if they were bought and sold as well. She'd find out soon enough.

Reaching the Palace, Dany took a seat on the marble floor, not responding to any further attempts to move her. They brought her here, but they couldn't make her budge. Not until she was ready and had some energy. There were others, people who appeared a bit out of place compared to the rest.

Hoping they might understand her now, she called over, "Are you a newcomer as well?"

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"That's a familiar feeling." Incredibly familiar. And a good point. Maybe he could steal or scrounge something to help with that. Until then--"Well, let's get moving." He set off, moving like he was going to knock down anybody who didn't clear out of the way. Which he might.

The question almost brought him up short, though. Did he look like someone who had a palace? Really? Apparently he should forget to shave more often. "No. I'm not a local. I'm a soldier, visiting the city." He couldn't say anything more on that subject in public.

"Welcome to Taravast. It just got invaded last week, so don't expect much to be functioning right now. The person in charge is the Doxe--but he's old, so there's some sort of election going on between two potential successors. So, everything's a steaming pile of war and politics right now."

As they moved, the merchants followed behind her, keeping a respectful distance. She at least had space and room to breathe. For now, she wouldn't worry about their presence. Not until they tried to seize her back or brought out their chains. They were no threat for now.

"I thought you might be a soldier." Before she even saw him, he was barking orders. He had authority, presence. Those talents belonged to those bred for the battlefield. Strangely, she was more at ease with that than she might have been with a ruler. "Do you know this place well? It's not one I recognize."

She nodded, gesturing back to the merchants behind her. "I got the sense they were fleeing something, likely refugees. What happened? Was this city attacked? Or was this a civil war?" She was fascinated already, her inner strategist coming to life after remaining dormant for several days. "An election? This must be a republic of some sort."

"I've only been here--how long has it been. Shit, it's been over three months." That was too damn long. He needed to get back in touch with Wrench and see if they could steal what they needed to light that stupid beacon. "I know more about the streets than the political stuff. If you want detailed information on that, we've got some people who can get you up to speed." He wasn't planning on waiting around for that to play out, though. Especially not after the past couple weeks.

"Three different attacks in quick succession. One froze over the southern districts, then two incursions by... weirdos with a menagerie, is the best way I can describe it at the moment." His vocabulary was not up to par right now. "We're still mopping up the things they left behind."

"If it's a republic, it's better than the last one I got stuck in." Honestly, with all the schooling they shoved into his brain, you'd think he'd have a solid definition of a republic in there somewhere. But no, he just had a pile of propaganda about a republic, and how wonderful and freedom-loving it was.

"The election's between two of the Doxe's family. Publicly, I can tell you that Vannozza is definitely the one to root for." Emphasis on publicly. Privately, he couldn't give a flying hutt's ass about it.

It didn't sound long, but she imagined it felt much different to live it. "I'll learn it in time." Being in this city, she'd eventually see how everything was run and get a sense of the rulers from the eyes of the people. "So long as they have me stay in this city." That worried her. That she might go from one set of hands to another, packed onto a ship or a cart and taken to other places. "If you know the streets, you must know how the populace is faring. There's no sickness or starvation here? It seems to be wealthy."

"Who attacked? Another city?" She could empathize with the situation, facing her own war at home. This wasn't her kingdom, and much like him, she didn't have to care about any of it. Her heart was still tugged at the displaced people and the sense of chaos that still lingered in the air. "Do you know if they have a place for the injured?" If this place was kind enough, there would be healers already at work.

"Vannozza? A woman?" There's a note of respect in her voice. "Why is she better?"

The kid was definitely thinking systematically about her situation, which was a positive sign. Looked like she'd be a good one to have around. "There's some low-rent districts, but nothing too awful. The city's a trading hub, so it's been well stocked up until now. No slavers either," he adds. It's a low bar to clear, but the Galactic Republic couldn't clear it, so he supposed it was notable.

"Some crazy magical lords. People keep calling them undead." Which he still didn't have a clear definition on. He could see why they were called that, though. Whatever disease most of them had, he didn't want it. "There's a healer's district, but it's a mess right now. The place is getting picked over. I'd help with that--" securing medical supplies was important, obviously, "--but I've been tracking down stragglers from the invading forces. If you hear anything making weird shrieking noises, get to safety. Don't know if they're still capturing people, but they're definitely eating them."

And he was not going to think any harder about that. He already had enough nightmares to wake him up at night.

"Yeah. That's a big deal?" Sounded like it, from her tone. Sure, she wasn't local either, but she wasn't a clone. Presumably she knew more about how non-clones worked than he did. "She's open to bolder action than her cousin. And right now, the city needs that." And apparently she was more likely to play ball with offworlders, though he hadn't gotten close enough to tell if that was sleenshit or not.

She's not certain about slavers, but she had learned to cautious since her first marriage. It might not be official slavery, but anyone being exchanged for coin was a slave. Whether or not the merchants intended that for her, she didn't know. It was worrying that they seemed to be speaking about her in glorious terms to the crowd. As though they were building her up for the market, but perhaps she was being paranoid? Suddenly arriving in a new world would do that.

"Undead?" Where had she heard that story before? There was the House of the Undying, where the Undying themselves were mages and seemed almost decrepit, close to death. It wouldn't be a good thing if there were similar people here, those who fed on magic to extend their life. Whatever this attack was, it warranted further inquiries. The undead. She was certain she read about this somewhere.

Dany nodded, not that concerned for her safety. "If I'm able to stay in the city, will you show me the healer's district? I have some experience with cities recovering from attack." Not the best experience. Her decisions of late seemed to make things worse, but still she wanted to help in someway.

"I would say it depends on the realm you are in." How many underestimated her for being a woman as well as being young? There seemed to be so few with actual power. "What does that mean, bolder action? Why is that needed here?" She was peppering him with questions and she would reflect and regret it later, but if she was stuck here, she wanted to know.

"Sure. Once you're patched up and we've ditched the parade." He glanced back at the merchants, eying them warily. They weren't getting too close, but there was still a lot he couldn't talk about with them around. Good thing it wasn't too much further to walk.

Sounded like everywhere had its stupid hang-ups and problems, then. "There's been incursions by these undead in other cities. Taravast has had it good for a long time, but they didn't prepare for this stuff. They should've, and now they've got catch-up to do."

She has thoughts about the way things seem to be so far, but hesitates to make a judgement on their abilities. Who was she, after all? A young girl new to this world. Still in uncertain circumstances. Given her decisions in Meereen, she might be no better than whomever had decided to not prepare their city.

It was frustrating. So much clearly needed to be done, but she had no way of knowing if it was being done.

The merchants were grumbling behind them, soft and low given their distance. How long before they objected? "How did you fare during the attacks? You weren't badly wounded, were you?" He seemed to be in good health. It spoke well of his luck and ability.

He grimaced slightly at the question. "Nothing worth worrying over. There was no damn way he was going to tell somebody he just met sure, I was fine apart from the bit where I got cocooned and turned into a flesh-eating monster, but that was more of a pain for other people, not me. "I'm back in one piece." His joints still ached, but Lily had gotten an a painkiller salve from somebody. Wen Qing? Was that the one?

There were a lot of people here he still didn't know very well.

Oh shit. Speaking of. "My name's Slick. What's yours?"

It wouldn't shock her if she did hear he was holding back on his experiences, but she wasn't going to pry beyond what he offered. He was standing, he was whole. Soldiers tended to brush aside anything grievous or serious, focusing on the existing threat and what might come next. "Luck was on your side." Or the Gods, sometimes both.

"Slick?" She wanted to be certain she had that right. Given he was her first contact in this city, his name was as precious as water.

What name should she give him though? Not knowing where she is, Targaryen might not be wise to say without some form of protection. Though, if any knew Targaryens, they might know her simply by the dragon still swooping around. This might mean a risk of some kind, but she would trust him. "I'm Daenerys of House Targaryen."

He kept his voice low when he responded. "Yeah. 's a clone name." He'd gotten to the point where he expected people not to know about them here. "We go in for more names that make sense. You pick your name, or your brothers pick it for you." He wasn't sure why the rest of the galaxy didn't do it that way. It'd cut down on a lot of confusion, and the name would actually tell you about a person.

Example number one: he had no idea what her name meant. "Daenerys, House Targaryen." He might be pronouncing it right. "Never heard of it. Not surprising, though--your language doesn't sound familiar either." They were almost to the gates of the damned palace. Then he could actually ask her some of the questions the locals couldn't be allowed to hear.

"A clone?" She's not familiar with that word. Either his translation hiccupped or this was a word from his land that she had no way of understanding. "Is it meant to be demeaning?" That was what happened to the Unsullied. Black Rat, Grey Worm, something meant to show them how low they were compared to men. Truly heinous.

"It is Valyrian and belonged to one of my ancestors." Two technically, but she enjoyed hearing of the Daenerys that had the Water Gardens of Dorne commissioned. "Valyria was an ancient continent that the Dragon Lord lived." It was gone now. "I speak the Common Tongue, but there are others I know. I don't expect you to understand them any better without your translator."

He'd figured he'd have to explain. Daenerys sounded like she was from one of the low-tech planets, from how she was talking about the world.

But it was important to explain this stuff, especially now that Skywalker was running around on this damned planet. "A clone's a person grown to look exactly like somebody else. The Galactic Republic made millions of us to be their slave army, so their citizens wouldn't have to fight. Put their Jedi monks in charge of us, to make sure we didn't start getting ideas." Didn't work on him, obviously.

As for the name? "No. Well--mostly no. I'm--I was the talker in my platoon. The guy with plans." Too many, for some people's liking. "And since the slavers didn't bother to give us names, that's what my brothers started calling me." Though they probably weren't calling him anything good now, if they were even still allowed to talk about him.

He shook off those thoughts. Can't do anything about it now. Just get the basic stuff sorted out.

...What were they talking about?

Oh, right. "Your Common Tongue doesn't sound familiar, and I'm the only one here who's keeping a list of this stuff. When you get the chance, we should make sure swap some basic vocabulary. You'll probably be getting a translator soon, but if you lose it, it's back to working on your own brainpower," he tapped the side of his head. "So we can get you set up with a bit of the local language, at least."

That's a great deal of information coming at her all at once and said with such a confidence, she isn't able to follow all of the words. She does land on the one that matters more and that is 'slave'. 'Slave army'. She understood that and knew the harm that could cause.

Wasn't "clone" as well something she could associate back to the Unsullied? The slavers had tried to unify them, force them until they were all one and the same. Body, strength, everything. As though they had no identities belonging solely to them, as if that could be forgotten. She could empathize with him and his brethren.

"That is the tendency of slavers. They prefer to dehumanize someone, either through torture or degradation. The men who serve in my army, before they were freed, they were always given the names of parasites or vermin."

She nodded, "I would be grateful. I learned several over the years. It's possible that there's similarities between what I know and this one." She hoped.

"'Your army'?" That made him raise an eyebrow. Not that it was unheard of for somebody looking that young to be put in charge of troops--the Jedi did that often enough. But she implied they'd been slaves before. The idea that they were free now and joined an army en masse was suspicious.

"How'd you end up with one of those?"

"They believe in my cause," it was a simple statement, but one she was certain in. "They chose to follow me and trust in my protection and care." Something she was very mindful for. "I know that I am only a young girl, but I'm also both a queen and a commander. Never underestimate me."

She was blood of the dragon. The blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel. She would not fear battle or ruling.

"I don't underestimate you." It took him a few more silent moments to string the words together in his head. The emotion was strong around this stuff. Possibly stronger than he was right now. "But a few weeks ago, one of those Jedi slavers showed up here. And according to him, he had no idea we'd been brainwashed into believing in his cause."

And he still wasn't sure if he believed it. Whether he was betraying his brothers by not focusing on killing Skywalker before he could escape and do more damage. "So what I care about is this: Did anybody get the chance to leave?"

He was equating her with a slaver. The revulsion and anger on her face should be enough of an answer, but she tells him all the same: "My soldiers, my people were paid. They were free to leave as they chose. When I freed them from the Masters of Astapor, I gave them the opportunity to leave, they instead swore to follow me."

She scoffed, "They were my equals. My people are my children and I would do anything to protect them and see them happy. To even be associated with the Masters, the Slavers, you insult me deeply."

Maybe if he wasn't so exhausted, he'd figure out a better way to say this, but he couldn't.

"Great. I don't know you or them. Maybe they knew they had a choice. I didn't have one, when I swore an oath to defend the Republic." He still didn't understand why they even bothered with that. Was it to make them feel guilty if they tried to escape? Because that failed. "I didn't even think to question it when I said it. I'd been raised to fight, all I know how to do is fight, I was going to die fighting. That was it."

He might be ten and a half, but seeing somebody that looked like a cadet calling people her children was just... he didn't know how to handle that. "I'm glad you've got the good sense to be insulted by it. You should be. Just make sure you back it up."

He sighs, glaring up at the palace gates as they approach. "The Jedi told us they were fighting slavery too." Skywalker had tried that line on him. "I worry about this stuff because it all happened to me."

"They knew. They have their freedom." She's insistent on that. It pains her to hear of his experiences and reminds her there are so many more forms of chains in the world, hers, this one and others. It's disconcerting and takes her back to that feeling of helplessness and that she hadn't managed to do any good, as she had hoped and wished. Everything fell apart in her hands and the problem was greater than she imagined.

It still didn't cool the offense he caused.

"So were they. After, they formed loves, lived lives. They could do more than fight. Chains, metaphorical ones, when they are struck, there is a difference and they knew it. I'm a queen, not a slaver."

She gave him a soft smile, feeling the heat in her cheeks ease. "So do I. I was sold by my brother in exchange for an army. I would never subject anyone to that."

A big part of him still wanted to find something wrong with that. Still wanted to be mad. But she was describing more of a life than the clones got. Whether it was equal to a normal citizen, he didn't know, but... "...Alright."

He'd drop it.

And a fat lot of good the Republic had done for all of this. This wouldn't happen so often if they'd cared. "You know why I had to ask, then." That was as close as he could come to an apology at the moment.

"...And your brother sounds like absolute stinking Hutt slime."

There's no apology, but she doesn't really expect one from him. She understood his outrage and wouldn't want to force an apology from someone that was still bearing the scars of captivity. It was his freedom to apologize or not, she wouldn't force the matter. No one ever died from a bit of harsh words.

"I know," she answered, touching her neck as though the gold collar would still be there.

Viserys. There was a conflicted expression on her face, still pained by the memory of him and the guilt she felt for his death. "I was all he had left to bargain with." Not that it made it any better, and it was no excuse in her mind, but she understood his thinking to some extent.

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"Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?"

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