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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The city was a damned mess. He was a mess. Some of the canals were dry, which was the only reason why the ones still frozen solid weren't flooding right now. Some horrible naked lady on a horse had made organic droidekas. His skeleton got rearranged last week. He didn't even want to know what had happened to his brain in the midst of that mess.

He hadn't slept or shaved in a couple days, too busy hunting down straggler critters from the attack. He might not remember being one very well, but he'd learned enough to find and kill them.

Now, though? Now he needed a break. Fall back to the palace and pass out for a few hours.

But of course there was something blocking his way back. A dense crowd, gathered around a human. Or was that an Arkanian? They had silver hair, right?

Whatever the hells they were, they didn't look pleased to be there. Neither did their pet.

This was getting out of hand. He started pushing through the crowd, not bothering to be kind about it. He wished he had his helmet, the amplifier in it would be useful right now.

But he still had the sergeant voice. It was harsh, loud, precise, and expertly crafted to jolt every shiny little bugger in a fifty meter radius.

"Citizens! Step away from the white-haired woman!" That got their attention. "Give her space! And give her animal room to land, unless you want it to get those claws on you instead!"

He turned to the closest, fanciest-looking local. "Do you want that?" He didn't give the civvie a chance to respond beyond a stammer. "I said, Do you want that?"

He heard the beginning of a No, and cut them off again before they could follow it with a but. "Then everyone get back, now!"

It worked, at least for the moment. The local joined in the call, and that helped convince the rest to pull back.

Now he could finally talk to the person at the center of all this. "You alright? You don't look it."

He was going to regret talking like this later, but that was a problem for tomorrow's Slick. Today's Slick was exhausted and had no brain-to-mouth filter anymore.

In the midst of the crowd was a sudden barking of orders, much like a soldiers. For a moment, it sounded foreign to her ears, but perhaps that was because she was used to the different language for so many hours. Suddenly, the words started to fall into place in her mind, her heart rising to her throat. She nearly toppled, ready to embrace whoever the person was overjoyed to hear something similar to the Common Tongue.

Drogon gave a screech, but continued circling in the sky. At the very least, people moved away, granting her a bit of air and space. This wasn't a new experience for her, but it didn't make it easier to manage, especially after such a difficult arrival and journey. Even with her hair singed, it was still a noticeably white buzz. Apparently it was significant enough for others to notice, now referring to her by the name.

She touched her scalp, some of the burns having healed over. Still, whatever her state, whatever her exhaustion, she was thrilled to see this stranger. "I'm as well as I can be." Given...well, everything. "Can you understand me?"

"Yeah. Got a translator... thing taking care of that. It's magic, that's all I know." Was this another offworlder? She didn't seem to be speaking any of the local languages he'd heard so far, though it was always hard to tell. You had to concentrate to hear past the translation. Squint your ears.

That wasn't a phrase people said, but they should. Anyway, better to get her out of here before asking those sorts of questions.

"We've got some healers that can patch you up." He glanced toward the critter circling above, tracking its flight path. "Is that thing going to follow if you start moving, or are we waiting for it to come down?"

She looked back towards the merchants that had saved her. Despite granting space, they were still watching her intently. Astapor, Yunkai, and apparently here, men would always be possessive of their "property". Dany leaned closer to him, despite the others not being able to understand her. "I don't think these men will want to let me out of their sight." No one has collared her or treated her as a slave, but it's a distinct feeling she remembers. A certain look, certain behavior another would have. She would always remember.

Her lavender eyes followed Drogon's circling, waiting for him to disappear behind the buildings, but he seemed willing to stay close. "I don't know. I thought that I had him better trained, but he sometimes goes where he pleases." He had followed her in the Dothraki Sea, but that was land he knew and not a crowd of people swarming around him.

"It would be safer to get him somewhere else."

Stubbornness called to him above every fancy flourish of etiquette. Achilles appreciated anyone who knew their mind and when Daenerys refused to move, he started to hone in on her. He was dressed like a noble, all shiny and golden, his hair brushed until it gleamed like his helmet. But there was a sword at his waist and a lyre in his arms. Settling himself before the maiden, he plucked the strings of said lyre, humming a few notes.

Those notes were in perfect pitch and haunting in a way a normal bard couldn't manage. No matter how skilled.

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah, well, they're going to have to deal with it." Screw the politics of this city, they weren't going to stop him.

Although, actually--

"Good," he said, more loudly. "Then we can head for the Palace. Get you announced to the court after you're healed up," he glared at the local bigwigs in attendance. That'd keep them off for a bit.

"Or whatever the hells you want," he drops back down to a mutter. "If you're looking to make a run for it, I'll help."

He's familiar in a way, both beautiful and luxurious. His fine clothes, lyre and gleaming hair stood in contrast to what Dany had seen and experienced this day. Next to him, set against the marble pillars and floor, she could imagine herself back in Qarth. There hadn't been many she had met that seemed to have stepped out of her world, though she doubted he had.

"Perhaps not," she answered with a bemused smile. "Though you seem to be well treated." He was largely left alone, as far as she could see. His clothes were very fine and he was well fed. If he was a slave, then the owner of this palace was very kind to those they bought and sold. "I ask only because you seem different from the rest."

Beyond looks and mannerism, he was still set apart from the merchants and nobles. His calm was slightly unsettling after such a trying day. "The Sorceress Karsa said there were others brought here as well."

His gesture made her smile. That overwhelming sensation hadn't disappeared. Drops of kindness were rain in the desert. However small it might seem to him, it was ocean for her. "Running wouldn't do very much good." She had already flown off on her dragon before coming here and that had left her lost and vulnerable. That was a world she knew. Here? What was beyond that canyon? "I have no food or water and this place is unknown to me. It would be like running blind, don't you agree?"

The palace caught her notice, as well as the reaction it gave those merchants. Some of the people were murmuring with interest, others were still consumed by the sight of Drogon. "The palace? Is it yours?" He didn't seem like a prince, more of a soldier than anything.

"What is this place called? This city?"

Westeros was not his world, unfortunately, but there were similarities between the East, Greece and Troy. He might be able to set the Mother of Dragons at ease for a moment or two, though was that his intention? It was difficult to tell with Achilles. He danced on the fringes, untouched by blade or blemish, unafraid of hardship or toil.

"I treat myself." which wasn't entirely fair considering his circumstances had been blessed since his arrival, "I am a purveyor of wine. Who could resist seeking my wares?" but his hard gaze said he was more than that. Much, much more.

A prince. A warrior. A general. A demigod.

While he spoke, his fingers continued to move over the strings, mindless and yet beautiful.

"I am Achilles." he inclined his golden head, "Have you eaten?"

There was that moment of relief, but the more he spoke, the longer she spent in his company, the more unsettled she became. It was difficult to pinpoint what it was. There were glimmers of something close to home. Some magic, some air of Essos...or was it Valyrian? Had he purple eyes, she might believe him one of her own. A dragon lord. Though there was no dragon present, save for hers, and no magic that she could see, save for his musical abilities.

"Merchants are granted rooms in this palace?" It certainly is a mark of respect for him. "Your stock must be sweeter than honeyed wine." The offer is met with one of hesitation. She longed for something to eat, something to drink, but it was difficult to know who to trust. Too many poisoning attempts had her wary.

"I'm sure they meant to feed me," likely to drag her to the kitchens or something of that nature. "I'd rather stay here." It might be her only free choice. "My dragon can always bring something, if need be. Unless they decide to cage him."

"Your -"

Dragon. That did it. If only he had purple eyes then perhaps his eccentricities might make sense to her. Alas, Achilles had green and his eccentricities were all thanks to his goddess mother. When you have to dive into the sea on mother's day, well, you're bound to be a bit strange.

"Foreigners are granted rooms. You have your own if you care to leave the floor." he spoke quickly and placed his lyre on his back. Rising onto his feet, he left her.

Without word. Without explanation.

Only to return with a platter of food and yes, some of his wine too. He set it all before her and started to eat too. See? It wasn't poisoned.

"What is your dragon's name?"

"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."

Granted rooms? "For even those that were sold to this household?" Before he answered, he disappeared. It was strange, but not completely unexpected. The platter of food wasn't a surprise either, though his wine was a welcome one. Seeing him eat, she picked at the food as well, letting out a sigh of relief. An entire day traveling and being pulled to and fro in the city. She was famished. She downed nearly half the cup of wine.

"The floor suits me for now." Which was likely her girlish petulance, but it was her choice...and more than that, her feet didn't feel capable of supporting her weight anymore. They were screaming from all of her earlier exertions. "I've fared far worse." It was cooling as well, easing the parts of her skin that had been burned both by Drogon and the sun.

"Drogon," he wasn't far but seemed more interested in exploring as far as others would let him. She caught a glimpse of his black scales every now and then. "Though, he is smaller than he was yesterday."

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."

"Yes, especially them. We're here to serve." Achilles reassured her once he was seated across from her again. As if he hadn't disappeared in the middle of their conversation. Truth be told, if he didn't like her, he wouldn't have bothered to see her fed. Her resilience and her bravery called to him and he liked rewarding those traits when he could.

"Your feet are all blisters." he concluded. He had never suffered that himself, but Patroclus had. She would need to wash them and use olive oil to encourage the skin to re-knit.

Achilles glanced over in time to see the dark scales too and he smiled, broadly. Drogon was welcome! More than welcome.

"That would be the magic. But he's here. Can he breathe fire?"

"They are well used to travel and harsh conditions." Not of late, save for the Dothraki Sea, but she could remember the Red Waste. Meereen had spoiled her. The beautiful oil, the warm pools she could bathe in, and perfume to comb into her hair. She touched her fuzz, once again badly singed. "You're observant." Not many men would care for such details, merchants or nobles.

"You tell me." She leaned her head towards him to see the burn marks before lifting her hands to see the same. "The secrets of training dragons has been lost, so I had to cow him on my own." Now that he was smaller, he might be more pliant than before. No less of a threat, but somewhat obedient. Gods, she hoped that was true.

"I worried that he might attack the crowds that brought me here. The last he was surrounded by others, he was nearly killed. He's lived on his own for months." And he could be aggressive, only outmatched by Rhaegal at times. "I have two others, but they must still be back in my city."

Leaning in closer, he takes in her poor feet, setting his lips into a terse line. Ladies shouldn't be treated so roughly, especially ones that shine like diamonds or stars.

"I'll get you to your rooms." he promises, drawing his lyre back into his hands. There is comfort in those strings and he finds himself performing the first song he ever learned. Sans words, of course.

"I'm glad he has fire." Achilles nods at her scars, taking them as signs of battles well-fought, "Why was it lost?"

What a stupid thing to lose! Humans are like that, aren't they. He blows out a sigh and smiles, sharply.

"He has grown feral."

That could be problematic. Or fun.

"Will he make a fuss if I look after you?"

"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.

She's unused to this level of concern from a stranger. There had been the quarrel she had regarding her second marriage, that she must wash the feet of her husband. It had been an insult to his pride that she retorted he must wash hers as well. Having Achilles tenderly care for her, she has to wonder again who he is and where he comes from. Men were not so normally caring.

"Thank you." It may mean leaving the floor, but he isn't commanding her, he isn't directing her. He means to look after her. For that, she could surrender her little defiance for the comfort he seemed certain she would receive."

"It was lost because dragons were thought to be gone from the world. I don't know the ancestors of my House had it written somewhere and it was destroyed when they were overthrown. Or it might have been taught? I'm the last of my line and all of this I must learn on my own. I brought my dragons into this world, I must be responsible for them."

And if they were monsters, she was as well. They were one and the same.

"No, not unless he senses some sort of threat from you."

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?"

What's wrong with washing feet? Achilles would do far more for those he cares about and not think twice about it. He was a prince and he could act like his fellow princes, yet he had never seen a good reason why. If he wasn't true to himself, wasn't that a waste? There was only one of him.

"I don't have the paste Patroclus would use." and that was a pity. Those blisters would heal overnight with that.

"Soak tonight and no wandering empty halls." he teased her, growing solemn as she explained what had become of her House. That too was bound to happen to all human Houses.

"Just so. If you brought them into the world, you are their mother and their guide. Feral or not, they will continue to look to you." Achilles was guilty of that too. He had yet to find a pool of water deep enough to search for his mother, but once he did, he would.

"If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead and he would be out for my blood."

Some might think him a bit of a monster too. Killing was an art-form for him and he never seemed to carry the guilt of his actions.

"You would add paste to my feet?" She doesn't know whether to laugh or tear up. The pain had been manageable. While they might be blistered and hurting, it was no worse than the Red Waste. She could ignore it until she found a small tub or bucket to soak them in. It was more that she worried for the treatment she'd receive rather than the state she was in. If she was to sleep in the kitchens or elsewhere, that would take priority over her own sores and burns.

She grinned, shaking her head. "No wandering," though she couldn't promise. If Drogon got loose or if she became overly curious with her surroundings, she might slip out during the night. So long as she wasn't locked in, she would take her small freedoms where she could.

"I call myself their mother." Drogon finally returned to her, curling around her neck and shoulders with his serpentine body. There was nothing here that seemed to upset him, which was reassuring. Or perhaps he wanted to be lazy for a moment. She was grateful for his presence, as it always eased her mind. "Much like children, they have their own temperaments. If they want to act as they will, it takes a great deal to stop them."

She wasn't rattled by that. Looking at him, that was something she suspected. His sword wasn't simply for show, but there was something in his calm demeanor that didn't fit a poet or bard.

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."

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

Citadel!

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III. Palace of the Doxe

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