Chapter 26: The Lord of White Cloud City
In truth, the nomadic horsemen's "everyone knows" is rooted in survival wisdom. Take now, for example, when Dany's handmaidens and bloodriders, fearing demons, try to persuade her to avoid a seemingly deadly abandoned city that could actually be their salvation.
When Jhiqui says, "When the gods leave, evil spirits come out to hunt at night," does it make sense?
For nomadic herders chasing grasslands and rivers, it does.
Why does a city die?
In this era, in this world, there are typically two reasons: plagues or wars.
Plagues, of course, are something to be avoided at all costs. And wars, leaving behind massacres and piles of corpses, often spark outbreaks of disease.
The nomads do not fear war, but the near-invincible plagues born of such corpses—what they call "evil spirits"—are their dread.
The primitive Dothraki have, over millennia, distilled their bloody experiences into a set of survival laws suited for this land.
"I have dragons. Any evil spirit will flee at the sight of them," Dany reassures her people.
When it comes to "freshly" abandoned cities, Dany doesn't need the "everyone knows" warning to keep her cautious. But this ruin, abandoned who knows how many years ago, poses no threat to them now, regardless of its past.
Without hesitation, Dany orders her riders scouting ahead for water to return. She redirects the khalasar toward the white city, sending twenty warriors ahead to search for food and water.
To ease her people's fears, she dispatches her black dragon to accompany them.
Yes, she will enter her dragon dream state to guide it.
The plan unfolds more smoothly than she expected. Within an hour, her black dragon, flying with the vanguard, reaches the white city.
It is a city as pure as the moonlight, as graceful as a maiden—a city of white walls and towers, gleaming under the hazy midday sky, so beautiful it seems like a mirage.
As they approach the city's outskirts, Dany instructs her black dragon to take flight from the bamboo basket on Aggo's back.
With one glance through the dragon's eyes, Dany sees a vibrant patch of greenery within the city.
As the view becomes clearer, she is so overjoyed that she loses focus and snaps out of her dragon dream state.
"There are orchards—fig trees, grapevines, even peach trees!" she exclaims, gripping Doreah's hand with excitement. "We're saved! We can settle there and farm until my dragons grow into giants. Hahaha!"
By afternoon, with the sun still hanging at a 45-degree angle, Dany can no longer contain her excitement and urges the khalasar to break camp and march.
"This time, don't hold back your strength. It's just a two- to three-hour journey. Aggo and the others have already prepared fresh fruits and sweet well water. Push on, everyone—hope is right ahead!" Dany can barely resist galloping off herself.
Five kilometers from the white city, her black dragon flies down to perch on her shoulder. The sky is bathed in the golden hues of a setting sun as Dany and her khalasar finally arrive at the white city's walls.
"To see such a grand structure on this desolate red plain is beyond belief," Ser Jorah marvels. "Even in Westeros, cities like this are rare."
"That may be your Westeros," Dany replies, her violet eyes sparkling like crescent moons. "But this is my White City."
Seeing her joy, Jorah lightheartedly adds, "Then, Princess, what shall you name your city?"
Tilting her head in thought, she giggles and declares, "White Cloud City!" Then, riding her silver horse, she quickly passes through the gates.
From afar, it had appeared to be a flawless white stone city, its three-meter-high walls shielding everything within. But upon entering, they find only ruins.
Crumbled walls and rubble stretch before them. Devil's grass grows between the cracks in the stone pavement, while vines crawl through the collapsed buildings.
At what should have been the center of the street, Dany notices a sour jujube tree, its trunk as thick as a leg, bearing sparse, shriveled fruits.
Perhaps it sprouted from a single seed decades ago?
"How long do you think this city has been abandoned?" she asks those around her.
"Judging by how well it's preserved, it must have been abandoned for 20 or 30 years," Jorah speculated uncertainly.
Dany shook her head. "Definitely longer than that."
She turned and called out to the old man plucking jujubes from a tree while perched on his saddle. "Afanti, come here."
"Yes, Khaleesi, your horseman is coming!"
The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed on the pale stone ground as Afanti rode up to Dany.
"How old are you? Have you heard anything about this city over the years?"
"Khaleesi, have some jujubes," Afanti offered eagerly, holding out seven or eight tiny green fruits, each barely the size of a fingertip.
"You eat them," Dany declined with a shake of her head.
Only then did Afanti stash the fruits carefully into the pouch on his horse's back. After a moment of thought, he replied, "Khaleesi, I don't know how old I am. On the Great Grass Sea, years often blend into endless seasons. I can't recall clearly, but I think I've seen winter snow about eight or nine times."
For the nomadic horsemen, who had never invented a calendar, tracking years was a challenge. Even in Westeros, noble families relied on maesters to send annual ravens to mark the passage of time.
In this world of ice and fire, seasons did not follow a fixed pattern. For instance, Dany herself had only seen snow when she was very young. Like many in her generation, she was a child of the long summer.
"When was the last winter? What season is it now?" she asked, turning to the most learned person in her retinue.
It was a bit awkward—among Dany's followers, the burly Bear Island lord had somehow become the de facto source of wisdom.
Jorah Mormont scratched at his sunburned scalp, thinking hard before responding. "Back when I was still Lord of Bear Island, I recall the maester mentioning that this summer was unusually long. That was about six years ago. So, by my reckoning, it's still summer, and has been for ten years now."
He glanced at the sweltering, reddish sky and could not deny that it remained summer.
"You need a maester," he sighed, offering the obvious advice.
"If a maester ever joins me, it won't be long before every noble desk in Westeros has a detailed report on me and my dragons," Dany murmured with quiet skepticism.
"It's not so bad. Maesters swear loyalty to their patrons…" Jorah mumbled, though without much conviction.
At that moment, Afanti, sensing Dany's questioning gaze, seemed startled before responding, "In my memory, the Red Wastes have always been a forbidden place."
"Khaleesi, look!" Amid their conversation, as the group moved toward the palace at the city's center, Aggo suddenly called out in surprise. Pointing to an empty marble pedestal, he exclaimed, "The god of the White City has been taken by the horsemen. A khalasar must have been here, perhaps a khal who looted this city."
"Hmm." The old Afanti urged his horse closer, circling the pedestal twice before remarking in wonder, "If the horsemen came here, when could that have been?"
"How can you tell?" Dany asked, puzzled.
"Khaleesi, have you noticed?" Afanti gestured with his horsewhip toward the surrounding streets. "This is the intersection of six streets, the very heart of the city. A marble pedestal like this should have held the deity worshiped by the people of the White City."
Dany nodded, agreeing with his reasoning. "And then?"
"Have you forgotten? Only the Dothraki have a tradition of seizing the gods of other peoples," Jorah interjected.
At his reminder, a memory surfaced in Dany's mind: after destroying cities, the Dothraki often stole the statues of their gods or heroes.
The Dothraki holy city, from the Horse Gate to the great central thoroughfare of Vaes Dothrak, was called the Avenue of the Gods—a road lined with the stolen deities of countless conquered peoples.
On both sides of the road stood countless statues—some made of stone, others of bronze, iron, or wood, and even a few crafted from Valyrian steel.
There were statues of gods, kings, and heroes, as well as those of the dark gods and demons from the Shadow Lands.
"It seems the history of this place is far older than we thought—at least a hundred years," Dany said. "For a Dothraki horde to have reached this city, the rivers must not have dried up yet. A few hundred horsemen could never have taken such a stronghold on their own."
As she spoke, Dany and her khalasar passed through the streets and arrived at the ruins of the palace at the city's center.
The horsemen refused to live in the stone houses, believing them haunted by ghosts. Resigned, Dany had them set up tents along the palace's tall walls.
The walls provided shade, shielding them from the scorching sun.
Once everything was settled, the khalasar gathered in the square before the palace. Warriors sent ahead had collected a variety of fruits—figs, grapes, peaches, and apples.
Though the fruits were small, poorly developed, and tasted bland, her people greedily reached out to grab them, pushing and shoving as they stuffed the fruits into their mouths, chewing with satisfied smacks.
"The city walls are white, the towers are white, the buildings lining the streets are white, even the palace is the same monotonous white. There are white skeletons scattered across the streets. Everywhere you look, it's a pale, desolate white. We should call this the City of Bones," Jorah said, running a hand over his hairy arm and speaking in an uneasy tone.
The city bore traces of fire everywhere, though the blackened marks of its destruction had faded with time.
At night, under the blood-red glow of the comet in the sky, the eerie howling of the wind echoed through the deserted streets, heightening the unsettling atmosphere.
Dany's two Dothraki handmaidens were already on edge, and Jorah's words made them tremble with fear.
"Khaleesi, we can't stay here!" Irri whimpered, her voice quivering. "This is a place of evil spirits. Can't you hear them? They're cursing us from the corners!"
"City of Bones? Nonsense!" Dany shot Jorah a sharp look before declaring firmly, "This is White Cloud City. I am its queen. This is my land."
"Ssss-grarrr!" As if in response to her words, Drogon opened his mouth and let out a bright-red jet of dragonfire, 30 centimeters long and as thick as a thumb.
The dragonfire crackled, accompanied by a burst of black smoke, creating an intimidating spectacle.
The two handmaidens fell silent.
(End of Chapter)
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