A Dream of a Red Door Ch. 03

"Describe it to me."

"What?"

"You heard me, describe it. I have an idea."

Tyrion breathed deeply, his brow furrowed and he gazed quizzically at Jon. "Your gra ..."

"Just, Jon," he interrupted him. "I bloody can't make her stop with the titles," he gestured at Brienne, "but you know better.

"Jon," Tyrion began again, "might I ask what you had in mind?"

"Drogon can fly faster than any ship can sail," Jon explained. I can cover more sea than a fleet, and when I find it, it'll be easier to catch."

Brienne and Tyrion exchanged a look.

"Your grace ..." Brienne started

"This isn't a debate," he snapped. "What does the ship look like?"

Tyrion gave him the description.

Jon nodded once, then looked down at Tyrion. "If this ends up being a waste of time, hopefully we find her on the road or hidden somewhere."

Tyrion stood up from the table and held up a hand as Jon turned to go.

"Jon, dragons have only one rider, you know this," Tyrion said. "That's why Daenerys always saddles Drogon first. I know you want to help your wife, and believe me, I know what it feels like when you're informed the woman you love has been taken by those who mean her harm, but I do not see how you are going to be of any help if you're in the stomach of a dragon."

Drogon's living fire called to him, singing a song in tune with the one in his own body.

"I'll be fine," Jon said.

. . . . . . . . .

Daenerys's head cleared slowly, fitfully, and it was only when she realized that she was slumped upright in some horribly uncomfortable manner that she finally opened her eyes.

A calloused, large brown hand roughly grabbed her face and yanked it upright so that she peering straight ahead. She immediately opened her mouth to scream a protest, then she saw a flash of steel and felt the curved edge of a blade press against her throat. Daenerys froze and held very still as the hand tightened. The man crouched closer so that his face was next to hers.

"Do not move and do not speak until the master addresses you," a sibilant voice hissed in her ear. "Blink if you understand."

Daenerys held her breath as the knife pressed hard enough, she was sure, to leave a red line on her pale skin, and she blinked in agreement. The blinking had the added effect of clearing her vision.

She had realized she was on a ship from the smell of the sea and the rocking of the floor, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she found herself to be in a cargo hold. The hand on her jaw and the knife at her throat was too tight to allow movement, but she directed her eyes upwards and could see the wooden latticework of the cargo hatch and the blue sky above. The wooden grid of the hatch allowed sunlight to stream into the hold. The walls sloped outwards and upwards on either side of the space, and thick ribbed beams lined the walls. The floor was dark wood and pitted and stained from undoubtedly countless voyages. The hold, curiously, was entirely empty of cargo, although she supposed she qualified.

While she could see no crates or boxes, a few opulent items of furniture were in her line of sight. A rack of wine bottles with tall goblets set atop was to her left and an enormous, richly upholstered settee with soft fabric dyed a lustrous blue was positioned in front of her and slightly to her right. A mirror of rippling silver-glass had been set on a dark wooden stand directly in front of her, giving her a clear view of herself. Obviously, her captors felt it important that she appreciate her condition. The entire arrangement made her feel as if she was on display, a bauble to be examined.

As she stared into the mirror, she decided that her sensation of being on display was apt.

She was slumped against a steel pillar at least six or seven inches thick and perhaps four feet tall, and the pain in her knees was immediately explained by the fact that she was awkwardly kneeling on a large, square plate that been poured from the same mold as the pole to form a smooth, solid piece of metal. At first, she thought the rippling appearance of the metal was because of the mirror, then her eyes widened when she realized that pillar and base were Valyrian steel.

This might be worth as much as King's Landing.

She had little time to marvel at the wealth in front of her because of the painful awkwardness of the way she had been bound. Three thick metal rings, which unlike the pillar and its base appeared to be forged of ordinary iron, were fitted through slotted holes in the pillar. They hung from the opposite side from where she knelt, and one ring was at the level of her ankles, one near her waist, and one positioned directly behind her neck. Her legs had been crossed behind the pole, and thick fetters bearing iron locks secured her ankles to the base of the pillar. Her arms had similarly been drawn behind the pillar, her wrists confined within manacles, and identical iron locks secured her wrists to the pillar ring that was level with her waist. Chains attached to the thick iron collar around her neck were connected to the upper ring of the pole via yet another lock, and the result was that her head was afforded no more than a few inches of movement in any direction. The restraints around her neck, wrists, and ankles were closely fitted and after only a few seconds of twisting her limbs she realized that she could never slide her limbs free.

The end result was pitilessly effective. The manner in which her neck and wrists had been locked prevented her from rising, and with her legs pulled backwards on either side of the pole and her ankles crossed she couldn't effectively move to the side, either.

I'm really stuck.

A light perfume wafted from her skin, and Daenerys was shocked to realize that she recognized it. She'd purchased it in a small shop in Qarth and had favored it in the weeks after she had first taken the Dothraki out of their sea. In fact, she had mourned when she'd used the last of it, as she'd never found its like again. The fragrance smelled of honeyed fruits and exotic spices, and despite the fear that was rising in her, she found the nostalgia of the aroma pleasant.

Someone, she couldn't imagine who, had styled her hair in a manner which she'd once loved, but which had proven too time-consuming for Westerosi handmaids. Complicated braids on either side of her brow swept like a crown to meet at the back of her head, and two silver-gold locks flowed forward over her shoulders, while the rest of her hair hung down her back. Whoever had done the brushing had continued until each of the strands gleamed.

Amazingly, she recognized the dress she was wearing as well. It was made of light blue fabric that had golden threads woven throughout, and wrapped around her waist was a wide, delicate, decorative golden girdle that hugged the cloth against her skin. Shoulder straps crafted of the same thin golden strands as the girdle held the dress aloft. This version of the dress wasn't quite a perfect match for the one she remembered, though, as it hugged her curves far more closely, the hem reached only to her knees, and like most women, she was very aware of the extent of decolletage an outfit revealed. The cut of this dress left little to the imagination.

Whoever had applied the light rouge to her cheeks and the dyed wax to her lips had not only known exactly how she once applied those items but judging by the faint taste of plum in the lip wax, which stores she had purchased them from. The final effect, she had to admit, was striking. At the moment, however, she was more concerned with the fact that she was trapped in a cargo hold with a knife at her throat than her kidnappers' oddly tasteful wardrobe and styling choices.

In the mirror, she examined the man who crouched next to her with the threatening blade. He was bare-chested, barefoot, and wore stained sailor's pants. He had a dusky brown keffiyeh wrapped around the lower half of his face, and his eyes were sunken, dark, and feral.

In front of her were two people. Facing her was a stocky, tall, dark-skinned man in a gleaming red and gold robe that reached to his ankles and was belted with a sash of the same material. She recognized him immediately, and her eyes widened in shock, as it was a face that she had been sure she would never see again. She would have gasped, but the knife's pressure was so unrelenting she feared cutting herself if she took a deep breath. Kneeling in front of the man was a thin brown-haired woman with creamy skin. The complicated braid of the woman's hair clung to her head and neck. For a moment, Daenerys couldn't understand what the woman was doing, as her hands and heads seemed to be bobbing back forth in a steady rhythm, then she realized what was happening. A wave of nausea washed over her, and it was all she could do, knife or no knife, to try to turn away.

That kneeling woman is pleasuring him with her mouth.

Daenerys was quite familiar with this particular act of pleasure, but she'd never actually seen another woman perform it. She wished she could turn away, but as if the man with the knife had read her thoughts, he tightened his grip still further and forced her to look. The woman worked slowly and gracefully, and Daenerys wondered if her efforts seemed as similarly skilled.

I suppose I could ask Jon, if I ever see him again.

The woman's pace quickened, the large man closed his eyes and shuddered for a time, then he smiled and affectionately patted the woman on the head. The woman slowly closed the man's pants and rewound his wide sash around his waist, then she hung her head, put her hands on her knees, and remained kneeling.

"Hello, my little queen," Xaro Xhoan Daxos said with a broad smile. The dark-skinned Summer Islander appeared much as he had when Daenerys had locked him within his own vault, though perhaps a sprinkle of dull gray could now be seen in his closely cropped hair and beard. "You may have forgotten about me, but I have not forgotten about you." His smile intensified. "You cannot imagine how heightened my anticipation became as I waited for you to wake. I assure you that I have been dreaming of this moment for a very long time." Xaro waved a hand at the man with the knife. "Leave us," he commanded.

The knife was drawn from her throat and the keffiyeh-adorned sailor vanished from the mirror. Daenerys heard the sound of footfalls rising above her and assumed behind her must be a set of stairs.

With the knife gone, Daenerys pulled herself upright into a slightly more comfortable kneeling position. As she did so, she realized how closely the manacles at neck, wrist, and ankles were bound behind the pole positioned at her back. No matter how she contorted or twisted, she was stuck staring at herself in the mirror. The fact that she'd been dressed so beautifully was the final outrage. She twisted in the manacles a few times, confirmed they were too close-fitting to slip free, then tried to relax and save her strength.

"I have not forgotten you," Daenerys said with a sneer. "You are the lying thief who invited me into his home and then tried to rob me." She glanced down at his crotch. "If you think I am some shrinking maiden to be impressed by your buying a whore to pleasure you, you are mistaken." She laughed a few times. "I've long wondered if the tales of the prodigious manhoods of the Summer Islanders were true but judging by the size of your pathetic little worm, I see that the stories are false."

Xaro laughed long and deeply. "You are as brave as you ever were, little queen. I can still remember you, wearing dirty rags, surrounded by peasants and misfits, and still you stood tall in your little horse girl outfit and threatened the greatest city that ever was and ever will be." He gestured towards her. "Even now, your fire still burns."

Him taunting her while she was twisted and manacled on her knees to a pillar was almost too much to bear, but she knew that if she began hopelessly struggling against the chains it would just amuse him further. As her blood boiled, it was all she could do to stop from screaming obscenities.

"Have you no questions for me?" he taunted her. "I assume you must wonder how I escaped the trap you considered oh-so-clever."

"Mostly I'm wondering how long before I watch you die screaming," Daenerys retorted. "I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, do you really think that I will not be found?"

"I know you will not be found, little queen," he chortled. "And we will see if you are so brave by this time next week, when your knees have turned to bags of glass that are in agony every second. I think then you will beg me to let you service each member of my crew in the most unwomanly of ways if I will only give you a glass of water to drink."

I will see you dead, I swear it.

"I'm sure you know best how the sailors of this ship like to fuck," she said flippantly, "so if it's all the same, I'll just let you keep doing the job."

That one seemed to sting, as he narrowed his eyes in anger. "I will use your mouth first, of course, and you cannot imagine how I long to see the haughty and proud Daenerys Stormborn swallow every drop of my seed."

"You try that, and you'll feel the teeth of the dragon," she promised him.

He laughed again for a moment, then shook his head. "Despite your courage and your fire and your dragons, you are a fool, little queen." Xaro glanced at a nail, then rubbed it on the red and gold robe. "For example, you had the wealth of nations in front of you, and you were too blind to see it."

Daenerys couldn't help herself, she pulled at the wrist restraints. As she expected, Xaro smiled at the sight. She immediately ceased struggling.

"Have you noticed the metal beneath and below you," he asked as he gestured. "Does it not appear known to you?"

"Mostly I've noticed the treacherous filth standing in front of me," she retorted

Xaro did not react to the insult and carried on, "Visitors to my house, I would show them my vault, rave of the Valyrian stone, and then they would see the richness and wonders on display. What none of them ever saw, including yourself, is that my baubles were dross, and my vault was empty, because the true treasure was hidden in plain sight." He gestured towards the pillar and platform. "Can you guess of what I speak?"

"The door to the vault," she spat out reluctantly. In truth, she had come to suspect it some years ago.

Xaro's flashed her a broad smile. "Very good, little queen. A single Valyrian steel sword will buy a castle in your lands of barbarians, and there was enough Valyrian steel in that door to craft fifty blades, maybe more. Every dollar of profit, every successful trade, were used to hide a fortune where no one would think to look." Now his smile turned triumphant. "Did you really think I would be so foolish as to not have another way into my treasure room? Why do you think I walked in with barely a protest? You came to me stinking of horses and clad in rags, and then you lock me in my own vault and think you have outwitted me? Me, who came from nothing? I let you loot my worthless trinkets, I found the hidden way out of my vault, and then I allowed others to appear to manage my affairs until you departed from Essos." He snorted. "You did not even think to send anyone to ensure I was truly dead. You are reckless, and now you are mine."

"I should have beheaded you."

He nodded. "You should have, but you foolishly did not, and here you are." He pointed to her restrained image in the mirror.

Daenerys found it enraging beyond all measure that she had been dressed and decorated

simply to be stuck on display in the cargo hold of a ship. She wanted to smash the mirror

and kill Xaro with her bare hands. Forcing herself to stay calm so he wouldn't have the pleasure of watching her struggle was a torment in and of itself.

"You have enjoyed the Iron Throne for a time, but this is your new throne," he explained as he stepped closer and gestured at the pillar she was locked to. "When we arrive in Qarth, Daenerys Stormborn, Breaker of Chains, you will find yourself chained exactly as you are now. I will then secure a wicker cage over your head so that you can see the city, but they cannot see you, and I will mount you on my golden wagon and let you scream to your heart's content while I parade you through the streets to my palace." His eyes glittered in the dark as he leaned down slightly to look at her. "That will be the last time you ever see the sky, little queen, for I have a special room prepared in my home, just for you. It is exactly the same size as the vault you intended for me to die in. That room is secret, buried deep where no one who does not know the workings of my home will ever find it, and you will spend the rest of your life in that room. You will be fed, and watered, and I and anyone I favor will use your body however we see fit. No one will ever find you. A beauty such as you should not be flying dragons and setting cities on fire, you should be a ringed pleasure slave, pierced at the nose, the lips between your legs, and your nipples, and that is what you will be."

Daenerys heart was racing in her chest, and she could feel a desperate urgency rise at the miserable fate just described for her. Nevertheless, she raised her head defiantly. "Why not just throw me over the side and be done with it?"

"That type of primitive revenge is fit for barbarians of your country," he explained with a rueful snort, "but not the citizens of Qarth. No, our vengeance runs deeper. You were prideful and arrogant, and I have decided that a proper fate is for you to be a slave that honored guests shall use as they see fit. Men will beg to visit the home of Xaro Xhoan Daxos for the guest gift of fucking the former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

He reached out to pat her on the head and she twisted away from his hand.

"I will allow you to retain that bit of dignity," Xaro said as he withdrew his arm. "If only to make breaking you over long hours in the years to come all the sweeter."

"I will kill you, or myself, before any of that happens," she promised him.

"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "I thought you might say as much. If I suspect you will try to end your own life, I will take your hands."

Daenerys tried to fight the shackles again. They did not budge, of course, but a wild hysteria was beginning to rise. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to relax.

Do not give him the satisfaction.

"I see the thought frightens you," he continued. "If you force me to take your hands, I will fit you with golden gloves that reach to your elbows, and I will fill the fingers of the gloves with sand so that your beauty remains unmarred. For some, this would enhance the pleasure of taking you."

"Free me, or my armies will come for you and Qarth," she promised him. "The king, my husband, if you know of him, you know he will never stop looking. All the might of our country will come for me."

"Your king is dead," he informed her.

He's lying. He has to be.

"I don't believe you." A current of fear began to grow and her stomach twisted inside.

He shrugged. "It is no matter what you believe. The Sorrowful Men are expensive, yes, but I paid for the best. The man I hired has never failed, and they say he will die before he will abandon a job. Aegon Targaryen ... or Jon Snow ... you Westerosi have so many useless names and titles ... is dead, and your dragon is not here. You are alone."

"I don't think so," she said stridently, and the fact that her voice was rising in pitch bothered her immensely. "You're lying. Even if you are not, my husband has already died once and come back. For me, he will again."

Xaro actually appeared worried for the briefest of moments, then the expression vanished. "I have heard such stories," he admitted. "You clearly believe them, so maybe they are true. In any event, we will kill him again and again, as many times as needed. Or, perhaps, he may enjoy ruling on his own, free of your mad whims. Maybe he will find another woman." Xaro shrugged. "You are beautiful, my little queen, but there are far less prickly morsels to be had." He snorted. "Besides, how would he find you? Your king may have forged the Seven Kingdoms back together for your cause, but he is a warrior, not a Qartheen stone mason. Even should he take Qarth, you will sit in your room and die the slow death you intended for me."