Crowns and Cruel Intentions || Game of Thrones

27| 𝔰𝔞𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔞

qarth, essos

— SAERYA DID ENJOY THE GARDENS, TRUTHFULLY. She spent a fair bit of time admiring them with Xaro as they walked, occasionally striking up conversation before returning to the corridors around the courtyard where servants in gold masks were lighting lanterns and candelabras as the sky began to darken with dusk. They had indeed been as stunning as he'd promised, though she was careful to remember that there was more to this little stroll than flowers and casual conversation.

"So, tell me," he said eventually. "How long has your sister's manservant been in love with you?"

She blinked, caught entirely off guard. Of all the things he could have asked her, she never would have thought of that one. Is he? She dismissed the thought quickly. No way. He couldn't be. There was probably a small voice of protest in the back of her mind, but she squashed it so fast, she didn't even have time to notice it. "He's not a manservant and he's not in love with me." uncertainty tinted the edges of her chuckle. "He is our friend and trusted advisor."

"Unlikely." Xaro replied simply. "I can almost always tell what a man wants."

She raised a brow. "And what about what a woman wants?" she wasn't sure where the sudden stroke of boldness came from, but she enjoyed it.

He smiled. "Much more complicated. You, for example... what do you want?"

She paused. What did she want? No one had ever asked her that before. She'd been betrothed to her brother with no options and no escape for as long as she could remember. After he was gone, she would have followed Saelyra's footsteps wherever they led, off the edge of the earth, if that was where her sister wanted to go. She'd never considered the possibility of walking her own path, never even had the time what with assassination attempts, the Red Waste and only a few days to settle into Qarth without the constant risk of death. She chose the simple answer – or as simple as she could get, at least. "To help my sister claim the Iron Throne. To take back our home and our legacy."

"Why?"

Again, she was left grasping for an answer. Because I just love living under constant threat. Instead of buying a Pentoshi palace by the sea where I could raise my dragons and live my life in peace and calm without losing anyone else, I want to risk what little I have left for a bunch of westerners who either don't know I'm alive, or were part of the plot to have me and my family murdered. "Because I believe in my sister. And I believe the world needs her."

He was quiet for a second. "But what about you?"

"... Everywhere I have lived, there has been death and misery. But the Targaryens ruled over peace and prosperity in Westeros for centuries. I want to know what freedom and peace feel like for once... and I want revenge." She said honestly. "For my sister."

"Ah." He nodded with a small knowing smile. "A warrior of justice, then. And your sister would be the noble conqueror queen?"

"I've learned that no one gets what they want by asking nicely." her voice had gained a slight edge. "If we want them to see us, we need to make them see us. You should know, shouldn't you? At the gates you called yourself a savage from the Summer Isles. You didn't rise to become the richest man in Qarth ruling among the most powerful men in Qarth by asking nicely."

He shook his head. "No. I come from nothing. I hit the docks like a piece of cargo. Except someone normally cares what happens to cargo."

"So you wanted more than you had and took it. You're a conqueror too... only a less ambitious one."

He chuckled at that, offering her his hand. "Come. I will show you my ambition." taking his hand, she let him lead her down into darker corridors that lay below his home, and they continued along until they reached a vault door so large it towered over the both of them. Releasing her hand, he took the sword from his belt and swung it at the door. The surface repelled it easily, the blade screeching and letting off sparks at the collision. But the door remained unscathed. Not even the smallest surface-level mark remained as evidence of the blow. "The door on the vault is made of Valyrian Stone." he told her. He struck again, yielding the same result again. "The hardest steel does not make a mark. I offered the greatest locksmiths in Qarth their weight in gold if they could break into it. I made the same offer to the greatest thieves. They all went home empty-handed. The only thing that can open this door is this key." He lifted a circular piece of gold that hung around his neck, embedded around the edges with emeralds. When Saerya looked into the centre, she thought that perhaps it was missing a piece, but no, it must have been the low torchlight playing tricks on her eyes.