Chapter 346: Enemies Everywhere

Daenerys had never found it so difficult to sleep.

She closed her eyes, trying to conjure memories of home—Dragonstone, King's Landing, and the other places Viserys had spoken of—places that surely must be kinder than here.

But her thoughts inevitably returned to Slaver's Bay.

She felt like a small boat trapped in a storm, tossed about helplessly, always on the verge of capsizing.

Time dragged unbearably.

She didn't know how long she had been lying there or how much longer it would take for dawn to arrive.

Finally, she donned a silk robe, slipped on her sandals, and stepped out onto the balcony.

The late-night breeze carried a slight chill. Leaning against the cold, hard brick railing, she gazed out at the city below.

Beneath the silver moonlight, countless rooftops stretched endlessly into the horizon.

How many hungry children cried beneath those roofs? How many furious nobles plotted rebellion? How many disgruntled commoners cursed her name?

The cold rooftops concealed everything from her sight.

She could kill all the Meereenese nobles, and the Sons of the Harpy would vanish. But what would that accomplish, beyond proving her to be mad and brutal?

Killing would not fill empty stomachs. Killing would not win her the people's love.

Now she understood what Caesar had meant with his words of caution. She also realized how naive she had been.

A surge of longing overwhelmed her, sudden and fierce.

She missed Caesar terribly. She missed his dark hair and eyes, his strong arms, his kisses flavored with sour cherry wine, and the calm confidence that seemed capable of solving any problem.

If only he were here...

Half-asleep, Daenerys rested her head on the balcony railing. In her dreams, she married Caesar. Together, they lived a simple, ordinary life in the Red Door house in Braavos...

A faint rustling sound woke her abruptly.

Daenerys sat upright, startled. "Missandei? Irri?"

She called out to her maids, but no one responded.

"They're asleep," came a woman's voice.

Daenerys turned to see a figure standing in the moonlight—a woman wearing a lacquered crimson mask.

She recognized her immediately: the shadowbinder from Qarth who had once given her a prophecy.

"Quaithe? Am I dreaming?"

"You are not dreaming," Quaithe replied, shaking her head.

Daenerys frowned. "Then how did you get in here? My guards didn't stop you?"

"I came by another path—one your guards cannot perceive."

"If I scream, they will come and arrest you."

"No," Quaithe said calmly, shaking her head again. "They will only tell you that no one else is here."

Daenerys hesitated. "Why are you here?"

"Listen to me, Daenerys Targaryen," Quaithe said, her tone grave. "The glass candles are burning. The Harpy's eyes are open. The kraken, the black dragon, the son of the sun, the double-headed eagle—they will all come. But they will bring ruin and disaster."

"The double-headed eagle—is that Caesar?" Daenerys asked, her voice tinged with hope. "Is he coming to Meereen?"

"Yes." Quaithe's form began to shimmer, her voice growing faint. "Destiny marches closer... but Daenerys... you remain blind to its course."

Daenerys's temper flared. "Are you here to scold me?"

"I am here... to guide you..."

Quaithe's voice grew fainter still, and Daenerys noticed the ruby bracelet on her wrist, a gift from Caesar, beginning to heat up.

The ruby symbolized luck and protection—she remembered him saying so.

"I remember what you told me in Qarth," Daenerys said. "To go north, I must go south. To reach the west, I must journey east. To move forward, I must go back. To find light, I must pass through shadow."

She paused, then demanded, "What does that mean? Speak plainly! I hate riddles."

"Mortals... cannot speak plainly... of fate..." Quaithe's voice was fragmented. "...Fate is no riddle... it is the puzzle itself..."

"If all you bring are cryptic words I cannot understand, what use are you to me?" Daenerys asked, frustration mounting. The ruby on her wrist grew hotter, almost burning her skin.

"You will understand..." Quaithe's face began to dissolve into the air. "Daenerys... remember the Undying... remember who you are..."

"I am the blood of the dragon," Daenerys declared. "And the Undying are frauds!"

"Remember who you are... Daenerys... the dragon queen..." Quaithe's voice faded into nothingness.

"Your Grace?" Missandei stood at the doorway, holding a lantern. "Who are you speaking to?"

Daenerys froze. Quaithe had vanished, as if she had never been there.

The ruby on her wrist was no longer warm.

Was it a hallucination?

Daenerys recalled Caesar's words about the madness in her family's bloodline. Ser Barristan had warned her of the Targaryen propensity for madness.

Am I losing my mind?

Daenerys felt as if she were teetering on the edge of insanity.

"I was praying," she said to Missandei. "Dawn is near—prepare my breakfast."

"Yes, Your Grace. I'll see to it at once."

A sumptuous breakfast was laid out, but Daenerys had little appetite. She forced herself to eat a little.

Ser Jorah Mormont arrived with news: a group of mercenaries from Yunkai had come to pledge allegiance to the Dragon Queen.

"Bring them in," Daenerys said, summoning her strength.

The mercenaries were ushered into the garden.

There were about ten of them, all from Westeros. Their familiar faces and accents brought a rare sense of comfort to Daenerys.

"To all who fight for me, I offer my blessing," Daenerys said with a smile, accepting their allegiance.

The group bowed and left, save for two Dornishmen who lingered behind.

"What is it?" Daenerys asked.

"Your Grace," said a short, dark-haired youth, his voice tinged with nervousness. "I must beg your forgiveness, for we have deceived you."

"What deception?" Daenerys asked.

"We did not come here of our own accord. The Tattered Prince sent us from the Windblown to infiltrate your army."

"He sent you as spies?" Daenerys narrowed her eyes.

"We don't know. He said someone would contact us later," said Quentyn Martell. "And we concealed our identities."

He bent down and pulled a scroll from his boot.

Ser Jorah took it, then handed it to Daenerys.

"What is this? A letter?" Daenerys unfolded the parchment.

Her eyes widened at the signature at the bottom: Ser Willem Darry.

She read the document carefully—once, then again.

"What does it say, Your Grace?" Jorah asked.

"It's a secret pact," Daenerys said, her tone heavy. "When I was a child in Braavos, Ser Willem Darry signed it on behalf of my brother and me, while Prince Oberyn Martell signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness.

"It promised an alliance through marriage—my brother Viserys was to wed Prince Doran's daughter, Arianne Martell. In return, Dorne would support our cause to reclaim the Iron Throne."

"But Viserys is dead," Jorah pointed out.

"Yes," Daenerys said with a sigh. "If my brother had known he had a bride waiting for him, perhaps he wouldn't have been driven mad by the pressures and mockery..."

Quentyn knelt. "Though my uncle Viserys has passed, my father still honors that pact."

"Your father?"

"Yes," Quentyn said earnestly. "I am Prince Doran's eldest son, Quentyn Martell of Dorne. Your most loyal servant. If you will allow it, I will take my sister's place and marry you to fulfill this agreement."

Jorah snorted. "Dorne is in chaos, and Doran Martell is dead. What power do you have to support the queen's cause?"

Quentyn flushed but struggled to respond.

"Enough, Jorah," Daenerys said sharply. "Dorne remained loyal to House Targaryen after Robert's Rebellion. For that, I am grateful."

Quentyn's face lit up. "Then you accept my proposal?"

Daenerys hesitated. Rejecting him outright might alienate an important ally. "I will consider it."

Quentyn's smile faltered as he heard the doubt in her voice. He opened his mouth to speak, but footsteps interrupted him.

Daenerys turned to see Daario Naharis, the captain of the Stormcrows, stride in, bloodied but grinning.

"Daario, what happened to you?"

"This isn't my blood, Your Grace," Daario said with a laugh. "It's Yunkai'i blood. I wanted to bring you their heads as a gift, but there were too many for me to carry."

Ser Jorah curled his lips in disapproval, as if he had seen through the nature of this boastful sellsword:

"How brave of you. Are the Yunkai'i already outside Meereen?"

"Almost. I met them thirty miles south of the city. The hills were full of Yunkai'i soldiers and six hired mercenaries. Not only that, they were backed up by three new Ghis legions, ten fully armed elephants, and a legion of Thoros.

In addition, the captives say that Qarth and Volantis will soon send troops to Meereen, and there's also The Dothraki from the north."

As Daario spoke, drops of bright red blood continued to drip onto the marble floor.

When he finished speaking, the whole audience fell silent.

Daenerys forced herself to calm down, but her hands still shook uncontrollably:

"Why do we have so many enemies?"

"Because slaves are the cornerstone that supports the operation in this part of the civilized world." The Green Grace, who had been silent all this time, suddenly said leisurely, "And you, Your Grace, have shaken this cornerstone."

Daenerys wanted to retort, but found no words to argue.

Just then, another Unsullied walked in quickly.

"Any other bad news?" Daenerys asked somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"Your Grace." The Unsullied bowed and saluted, "His Grace Caesar rode his white dragon and landed on the top of the Great Pyramid."

Finally, some good news! Daenerys felt her heart beating wildly, and she stood up suddenly:

"Quick! Take me to see him!"

(End of Chapter)