( ACT I; sleeping dragon. )
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chapter 15: thievery and suspicion.

AT mid-morning the day after Xaro's garden gathering, the Targaryen's arrived to the villa of the Spice King, a man they didn't know the true name of but still needed his assistance if they planned to get to Westeros with an army or ships. They'd arisen early, Vaegon eager to acquire the assurance they so desperately needed. Yet, his weariness of their host still hung in the midst of his anxious thoughts. The Spicr King's villa was similar to Xaro's, with plenty of expensive decorations of gold and gemstones which seemed to be the choice way to show off wealth in Qarth. Birds sang and the wind blew lazily, yet tension was still thick in the air.

They stood in a small courtyard, the sun shining down and birds singing as they waited at the basen of a stone stairway. Vaegon paced back and forth, his mind racing as Jorah and Daenerys watched, their expressions painted with the same concerned expression he had. He was still angry about Xaro's preposition to give Daenerys to him, so he'd chosen to stay well apart from their host.

"Must he make us wait all day," Vaegon muttered in annoyance as he absentmindedly rubbed his chin. Upon their arrival, he'd been optimistic. It didn't take long to wear away, for Vaegon was an impatient man. His other hand clenched and unclenched, a habit he often practiced when filled with agitation.

"This is the Spice King, Your Grace," Jorah pointed out from where he stood off to the side, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he often did. "He does not seem to be a man of proficiency."

"We can only hope our wait will gain us ships," Daenerys voiced in an effort to stay positive. She looked to Vaegon, who still paced angrily. "I'm sure he will be here soon, Vaegon. And once he is, we can negotiate the beginning of our conquest."

"Perhaps he will," Xaro shrugged from where he stood, muscular arms crossed. "Or perhaps he will make you wait as he does everyone else who comes for his aid."

Vaegon shot a silent glare toward their host, who didn't even seem to see it. Luckily, though, commotion at the top of the stairwell finally brought the Spice King to their presence as well as an entire entourage of tastefully dressed nobles following behind him. The merchants's followers peered down with hungry looks, as if they couldn't look at the Targaryen's close enough.

"The Begetter's of Dragons!" The Spice King exclaims welcomingly as he pauses halfway down the steps. He sweeps his gaze a crossed them all before continuing. "Welcome to my humble villa. Xaro tells me you have come to ask me of some assistance. What is it that may be?"

Vaegon, having found a place at the base of the steps, looks up to the Spice King with slitted eyes and a hand blocking them from the shine of the sun.

"We've come to ask for your assistance in acquiring ships for our return of Westeros," Vaegon states simply. "You are the only one we could come to. You have the most ships in Qarth."

"Indeed I do," the Spice King boasted with a gesture of his hand. "Ships which I use to transport my spices and carry out my trade. Tell me, were I to help you, what would you offer me as collateral? Surely you do not expect me to merely give them away."

"I—We don't have anything currently, my lord," Vaegon tries to reason. His mind raced as he tried thinking of the right words. He hadn't expected to produce collateral so suddenly. "But once I have the throne—,"

"How do you plan to acquire that throne without an army? Without any open supporters?" The Spice King ruthlessly pointed out, not bothering to spare any of Vaegon's hope all while holding an expression of prominent arrogance. "Please forgive me, Your Grace, but this is too risky of an investment to be placed on mere promises that you'll retake a throne your family failed to keep."

Vaegon's cheeks grew hot with anger. He was running out of ideas of how to bargain with this merchant and fear was beginning to make an appearance in his mind. If they didn't get ships, there was no sense in going after an army. They might as well miss the idea of returning to Westeros goodbye. The merchant's reasoning was sensible, Vaegon hated to admit, which made it harder to convince him to help them.

"My lord, I can assure you—,"

The Spice King interrupted him once again. "I cannot allow you to have my ships based on merely assurance that you'll repay me. It is simply a gamble I cannot take. I'm sorry, Your Grace, but you must find your help somewhere else."

With his words stuck on the tip of his tongue, the elder Targaryen watched as the merchant moved to return to the entourage of nobles at the top of the steps, ending his plea for ships suddenly and unceremoniously. Anger consumed him immediately, yet he tried to keep his composure.

"Mark my words, Spice King," Vaegon uttered lowly to himself as he watched the merchant and his entourage disappear. He was already conjuring a revenge plan for this merchant that had given them the hope they would be able to take back their family's throne. "Once my dragons have grown, I will lay waste to Qarth and return it to the dust from which it came."

Furiously, he left his place at the base of the steps to exit through the way which they came. Daenerys and Ser Jorah share a glance of concern but nevertheless they trail after the angry Targaryen, Xaro following behind.

♜

DAENERYS was stricken with utter devastation when she entered her room at the Villa to find her loyal servant Irri lying lifeless on the floor, her dark eyes filled with nothingness. She stands motionless as her heart pounds in her chest. The Princess dropped to her knees as tears began to fill her eyes while she pulls her companion into her arms, the cause of her death evident in the marks of strangulation apparent on her bruised throat. Daenerys hadn't seen Doreah, so she assumed the same fate of her other servant.

"NO!" She hears Vaegon bellow in rage from another part of the villa. "THEY'RE GONE!"

Daenerys takes a few moments to say her goodbye's to her companion before gently allowing her limp body to return to the floor. She makes sure to close Irri's eyes, causing her to appear sleeping peacefully despite the fact that her body was already beginning to grow cold and void of liveliness. Daenerys scrambles to her feet as she darts toward the direction of crashing sounds coming from somewhere else in the villa, more than likely at the hand of Vaegon.

Soon enough, she finds him in the common room with Jorah and Xaro, the knights' sword in his hand as he demolishes a small end table near the sofa. He chops relentlessly, causing Daenerys to flinch every time as wood splinters fly through the air. She looks to Jorah, who can only offer her a grimace. She purses her lips as she redirects her attention toward her furious brother.

"They're gone?" She asks softly, nearly afraid his anger might be redirected toward her. "The dragons?"

"All three of them," Vaegon uttered with one final chop before turning toward her. His violet eyes were filled with a haze of rage, his lips a taunt line. He shoves the blade into Jorah's hand, who takes it obediently. "They've been swept away without a trace. Not only that, but many of our guards are slain as well."

He paces, his hands clenching as he breaths quickly. Daenerys watches with a pit of fear filling her chest. She couldn't even begin to wonder where their children might be. Not while processing the death of her kind servant.

"I assure you, my guards are already conducting a search," Xaro spoke from where he stood a few paces away. "We will find them. Already my word could be viewed as worthless to the public and I cannot stand such a thing. I've failed to protect you."

"How strange," Vaegon laughed madly as the hacking continued. "The guards you assume will find my children were unable to protect them in the first place? It's amazing how that works." He hacks a little more brutally than before. "I'd love to question the said guards that still remain. I'm sure my technique of gathering the truth would get me just the information I need."

Glancing to Xaro, Daenerys sees a look of embarrassment on the face of their host, who goes to defend himself against Vaegon's harsh accusation of the complacency of the merchant's guards.

"Your Grace, these thieves must have been of the most elite skill," he vouched. "My guards run a specific route throughout my villa that I'm sure was somehow assimilated by an individual from inside."

The hacking of the now decimated end table halted. As he straightened his back, Vaegon swapped the blade into his other hand as he stepped away from the rubble to stand just a few feet from Xaro.

"You will find my dragons," Vaegon commanded as he stopped, his body ridged. "Otherwise, we will have much more pressing matters to resolve." He held an expression of suspicion, Daenerys noticed, yet she was unsure why. Moments later, he turned heel to disappear from the room, leaving his wreckage to be dealt with by some unlucky servant.

"Is there no evidence?" Daenerys murmured, crestfallen. "Surely there was a witness? They couldn't have fled quietly with three squealing dragons."

"I'm not sure, Your Grace," Xaro consoled while wandering closer to her side. "But I am making every effort possible to find them. I have failed to protect you and I beg your forgiveness."

Daenerys shook her head. "No need. We will find them. I know it."

Xaro nods before departing, leaving her and Jorah alone in the room. She lets out a heavy before sitting on the edge of the sofa, the rubble of the table not far from her feet.

"Send me to investigate," Jorah suggested. "I'm sure I could find something."

Daenerys wasn't sure of anything at the moment. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget about the day, but her servant was still lying dead on her floor. She would need to be prepared and buried soon, but she didn't have the heart to carry it out herself. She would have to have some of the Dothraki come in soon.

"Yes, that would be wise," she agrees tiredly. "Return once you've found something."

"Of course, Your Grace," the knight dips his head in acknowledgement before leaving Daenerys alone in the room.

She cups her cheeks, wondering just how they would find their lost children. Misfortune had a twisted way of dealing with the Targaryen's, yet she was slowly growing used to it.