( ACT I; sleeping dragon. )
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chapter 16: betrayal.

JORAH'S heart sunk once he'd found Vaegon and Daenerys in the presence of the Thirteen. The nobles alone were enough to draw worry unto him. From the moment they'd met the deposable nobles in their silken garbs and gold, the knight knew they were nothing but trouble for them. Despite the schorching sun and the insatiable feeling of hunger present in their bellies, Jorah had grown weary from merely their first appearance.

Yet, when faced with starvation, what could they do but beg for help while in the Garden of Bones? It almost seemed as if they were indebted for the mere fact of being saved from the merciless desert. They all knew they were stuck between a rock and hard place when it came to surviving the Waste.

Unable to find any clues of where Daenerys and Vaegon's dragons were, he'd been forced to reluctantly return with empty hands. Upon finding the Targaryen's in the presence of the nobles, he feared what would become of a bargain struck with those they barely knew, but nevertheless, his king was there in search of the dragons that had been so swiftly swept away from under them. Understandably, Vaegon would do whatever it took to find his children. The knight knew he could never be swayed so easily, nor had he ever.

"You know where they are," Vaegon uttered lowly, his rage boiling just beneath the surface. It was a marvel, Jorah knew, that he wasn't already flipping tables. Particulary because it was the dragons that had brought them there.

"I know nothing of your dragons," the Spice King retorted in his defense from where he sat, yet to Jorah it seemed the merchant was telling the truth. "What use do I have of them? Even if I were cunning enough to take them, I know you would have my head yourself."

"Indeed I would," Vaegon agreed in venom. "And if I they are not returned to me soon, I might anyways."

"Do not listen to my brothers threats," Daenerys interjects in an attempt to prevent any further hostility. "He only means to find our dragons and that is all. They are all that we have left."

"Don't show kindness toward these cravens!" Vaegon protests to her. "They've clearly taken them to add to their fortune!"

"My King only needs your help," Jorah spoke up, drawing attention to him. He has little hope the nobles will offer any help but the least he could do was speak on behalf of the enraged Vaegon.

"I understand that," the Spice King tells them. "Yet I cannot help if I know nothing of the whereabouts of your dragons. It is simply out of my hands!"

"Then please," Jorah pleaded. "Help us find them. We have run through our resources."

What would they do if they never found the dragons? Jorah thought on the possibility with much dispair, knowing that all efforts to return the Targaryen's to the Iron Throne would never happen. Without dragons, let alone any supporters, they would be in the same position they were in when in the care of Magister Illyrio.

"I can arrange a search party with my guards," the Spice King offered. "But there's is not much more beyond that I can do."

Amid the discussions between the Thirteen and the furious Vaegon, Jorah directs his attention toward Xaro. Strangely, he stands as still as a statue, seemingly making an effort to keep his line of site away from them. The knight felt a sense of suspicion peak into his thoughts.

He is acting strange, the knight thought to himself. He must know something.

"I know where your dragons are," the warlock Pyat Pree suddenly admits which causes the room to fall silent. A smirk is apparent on his indigo stained lips. "I took them."

"You?!" The Spice King exclaims in genuine shock.

They are all frozen in place at the confession of Pyat Pree, but the situation only turns worse. Jorah looks to Vaegon, who seems close to vaulting over the table to attack the warlock himself.

The warlock raises his hands in up, his stained lips curling into a smirk.

"Henceforth, Xaro Xhoan Daxos shall be crowned the King of Qarth," the warlock proclaims.

In a sudden and gruesome display of his magic, Pyat Pree clones himself throughout the room, all positioned behind one of the Thirteen. Knives are conjured, where the throats of the twelve other members of the Thirteen are quickly disbatched with a blade to the throat. Blood spatters and they gurgle in despair, flailing.

As the scene unfolds and the lifeless and bloodied bodies of the Thirteen begin to drop, Vaegon bursts with his rage.

"YOU betrayed us!" Vaegon snarled, pointing at the cruelly motionless Xaro a crossed the room. Just as he lunges forward to vault over the table, Jorah manages to snag his arm before he can complete it.

"Your Grace, we must go!" Jorah urged quickly, his heart racing.

"These cravens deserve justice!" Vaegon snarled.

Jorah pulled on Vaegon with all the strength he could muster, who continued making an effort to reach Xaro as Kovarro ushered Daenerys.

"If you wish to see your dragons again," Pyat Pree smirked evily as they fled. "Visit us at the House of the Undying. We eagerly await your visit."

♜

"WE have to go, now!" Vaegon exclaimed almost frantically to Jorah and Daenerys. They stood in a street in the middle Qarth.
"For all we know, they could be half way a crossed the continent in a merchant cart! Even worse, they could be on ship bound for who knows where!"

Daenerys watched her brother frantically pace, his worry drawing the attention of on lookers watching as they passed by. She herself was heart broken at the disappearance of their dragons and if Vaegon was losing himself, the situation was much more dire than she'd realized. If he ever was lost, Daenerys knew they were close to doom.

"Your Grace, we must think about this carefully," Jorah tells Vaegon, trying his best to calm the pacing king. "If we go to the House of the Undying now, you don't know if you'll be prepared to take on whatever those warlocks have planned. We must think this through."

At first it seems as if Vaegon isn't listening, all while carrying on with his frantic pacing. He runs his hand through his silver hair,, gripping it in dispair. Daenerys and Jorah watch with concerned looks until the silver-haired man begins to slow. He pinches the bridge of his nose before slowing and turning to them.

"Y-you are right," Vaegon admits after letting loose a heavy sigh. His breath still comes in shallow bursts. "We might think this through. There's no telling what precautions they've set forth."

"We will find them," the knight assures Vaegon. Daenerys hopes with all that she I'd that be is right, but given the circumstances, she is still grief stricken.

"We should gather our things from Xaro's villa and find shelter elsewhere," Daenerys suggests. She makes her way over to Vaegon, looking up to him in an effort to grasp his full attention. "Right?"

He doesn't look to her, instead training his eyes on the ground. Daenerys grips his arms in order to force a reaction out of him.

"Yes," He mutters, seemingly still blinded by rage or perhaps grief. "Yes, let's go."

♜

FINDING shelter in an inn, Vaegon is no less distraught than he had been earlier. His mind races, heart fluttering every time he dwelled on their current predicament. Jorah had made an effort to console Vaegon, but not much helped. After speaking with some locals and learning the location of the House of the Undying, there was nothing left but to rest.

The king lied on his back in the flimsy straw bed they'd been given, his lilac eyes staring at the ceiling. The quaintess of the inn reminded him of the years he, Daenerys, and Viserys had roamed Essos after their Targaryen supporters had either died and left their service. They'd seen too many moons of dirtyness, fear, and hunger yet somehow they're seemingly placed right where they had started. Without the dragons, he reluctantly came to terms with, they were nothing.

A feeling of bitterness washed over his anxiety. He was meant to be a king, someone stable and with a steady hand. Yet, there they were, taking refuge in an inn while the only source of their power outside of a family name that hardly held sway anymore was somewhere a crossed the city in the grasp of power hungry warlocks.

At his side, Daenerys slept peacefully despite the harrowing events of the day and he felt a twinge of envy towards her ability to slumber. Her gentle, slumbering features and her beauty still offered him a distraction.

Leaning toward her, he plants a soft kiss on her forehead before turning to his opposite side in an effort to sleep. Surprisingly, it doesn't take nearly as long as he expected. Sadly, though, his dreams offered no true rest.

The cries of their young dragons intrusively filled his head, fleeting visions of all that he feared making an unwelcome appearance. He heard his mother's final words, the gods rest her soul, and Rhaegar as well. He saw Dragonstone the stormy night Daenerys was born and the raging waves that crashed against its rocky cliffs. He saw their mothers crown, sold away for a few pieces of gold to prevent them from starving in the streets.

The visions flashed a crossed his mind causing him to recall many things he wished he could forget. Many times had stressful situations brought on a bout of fever dreams that ravaged him throughout the night.

The only thought that raced through his mind, forcing him to toss and through out the night, was a simple but saddening question: why did everything he'd ever loved have to be taken away?