Chapter 194: The Widow by the Water

"Maybe the Codex is good, maybe the Dragon Queen is a born sage, but Westeros also had Saint Baelor!"

Tyrion shrugged with a contemptuous tone, "Saint Baelor shut down all the brothels in King's Landing, preached that under the Seven Gods, everyone was equal, forced earls to wash the feet of lepers, and even promised that lords who used chastity belts to protect their daughters' purity would be exempt from taxes."

"What was the point? When he died, his policies died with him. Now, there are more prostitutes in King's Landing than in Lys, nobles can kill without consequence—half a dozen kings have already died—and if a noble lady in the Seven Kingdoms hasn't had moon tea, it must be because she's either too ugly or too stupid."

"Heh, Saint Baelor had no dragons, nor was he as smart as his descendants. The Dragon Queen is only sixteen now. If she lives to seventy, she could rule this world for fifty years!

Tsk tsk, in fifty years, the entire world will have adapted to her new rules."

The old scholar revealed a wistful expression and sighed, "I wonder what kind of world that would be."

"Maybe a hellish one," Tyrion sneered.

"As you said, we're already in hell. How much worse could it get?" the old scholar murmured.

"Who? Who is making seditious remarks?"

Suddenly, a rough, grating shout rang out.

With the clatter of armor, a dozen fierce-looking soldiers in tiger-striped robes pushed through the crowd and squeezed toward the wine table.

The officer leading them was a short, stocky middle-aged Valyrian with piercing blue eyes. He swept his gaze over Tyrion and barked, "Monster, was it you spreading the heretical lies of the Mother of Dragons?"

"A monster doesn't speak the words of men, so I wouldn't know what evil words of the Mother of Dragons you mean," Tyrion replied with a mischievous grin.

A weathered, brown-skinned man squeezed in from behind and pointed at the gray-haired scholar. "General Mos, it was him!

He kept praising that woman, saying she would create a wonderful new world. He even knows the Codex she wrote—he must be a spy from Slaver's Bay!"

"What law have I broken?" the gray-robed old man frowned.

"Two months ago, the Triarch Malakho declared that woman an enemy of Volantis. Are you one of her spies? No need to answer—you certainly look like one. Come with me."

Without giving the old scholar a chance to explain, the stocky General Mos waved his hand. Two soldiers stepped forward, grabbed the old man, and dragged him away.

"Bastards! You cowardly Volantene dogs! Do you even have laws? Any honor at all? You won't even let people speak the truth? If you're so afraid of Daenerys Targaryen, why not just surrender already?"

The old man kicked his legs wildly as he was lifted off the ground, his face turning red with rage as he cursed.

As the commotion escalated, a group of coachmen, stable hands, cooks, and servants burst into the courtyard, shouting. There were a hundred, maybe two hundred of them, some wielding wooden clubs, others holding cleavers, whips, or whatever they could find. Puffing out their chests, they stood in front of the tiger-clad soldiers, waving their weapons and loudly intimidating the dozen slave-soldiers.

The Tiger Cloaks were not to be outdone—they formed a tight circular formation, using the tiger-claw bracers on their wrists to deflect the incoming blows.

Tension peaked.

Just then, an elderly woman, supported by two young women, walked toward them.

"Mos, I guarantee you—if you take this foreign scholar away tonight, Malakho will lose the election in six days."

Her steps were shaky, yet in the chaotic scene, her voice was exceptionally clear and powerful.

"The Widow by the Water! It's the Widow by the Water!" someone gasped.

The sailors, foreign merchants, travelers, and mercenaries watching nearby mostly showed looks of recognition. Some ship captains even bowed in respect, stepping back to clear a path for her.

The old woman smiled and nodded at them in acknowledgment, moving like a queen.

But some of the local Volantenes looked at her coldly, unmoved. Daenerys even overheard a few Volantene merchants behind her muttering curses under their breath:

"Vagarro's whore—damn her!"

Curious, Daenerys leaned forward to get a better look.

The woman's back was hunched with age, forming an unsightly hump that nearly aligned with her head.

Her white hair was so sparse that, under the flickering torchlight, the pinkish skin of her scalp was visible.

A scar ran across her cheek—Daenerys suspected it once held a slave tattoo.

Despite her aged appearance, the old widow's eyes were dark and piercing, filled with deep wisdom and experience.

As she walked forward, the slaves and servants confronting the Tiger Cloaks instinctively stepped back to make way for her.

The stocky officer, now surrounded by his soldiers, suppressed his anger when he saw her. "Madam, what is the meaning of this?"

The old widow tapped her cane against the ground and spoke calmly, "This is the House of Merchants. This is the Eastern District. Release this guest and take your men away."

"But he—"

She raised a hand, cutting him off. "I know what he said. So what? The House of Merchants has hosted necromancers from shadowed Asshai—why not a scholar from the Sunset Lands?"

"You claim to be a maester? Where is your chain?" Mos turned to the disheveled gray-robed scholar.

The old man twisted his neck uncomfortably. "I am now but a traveler in search of truth."

"Everyone knows that woman's ties to Westeros. A maester spying for her makes perfect sense," Mos insisted.

The Widow by the Water stepped closer, lowered her voice, and growled, "You fool! Do you have any idea what damage your actions would cause to the House of Merchants? Do you know that its revenue supports at least a third of the old noble families?"

Mos's expression darkened. He glanced at the brown-skinned man, then gritted his teeth and waved a hand. "Let him go. We're leaving."

"But General—"

The brown-skinned man tried to protest, but the old widow's sharp eyes flashed.

"Captain Heraz," she snapped, "I know you are Ghiscari and once served three years in the Second Sons. But this is Volantis.

Allowing you to stage your ridiculous performances in the House of Merchants is already the extent of my patience.

If you dare damage the House of Merchants' reputation, I can't guarantee that any Ghiscari will leave this port alive."

"You—!" The brown-skinned man pointed a trembling finger at her, his face contorted with rage. "When that woman comes with her army, let's see if your House of Merchants is still full of honored guests!"

"I'm merely a minor shareholder in the Merchant's House. Even if it shuts down tomorrow, it wouldn't affect this old woman in the slightest."

After the Tiger Cloak soldiers left, the elderly woman softly comforted the gray-robed scholar for a few moments and even promised to waive his lodging fees.

She then glanced at Tyrion before, supported by two maids, heading toward the shadowy northeast corner.

"She seems quite famous, quite prestigious?" Tyrion voiced the question on Dany's mind.

"Still up for another game?" asked Graybeard Tery.

"Tomorrow. First, answer my question."

"I don't know her real name either. Everyone calls her the Widow by the Water. Did you notice the scar on her face?"

"A slave?"

"A bed slave. The tear-drop tattoo on her face was forcibly removed. In her youth, she trained in Yunkai and mastered the seven arts of the Spring Moan. Even the Triarch of Volantis was infatuated with her."

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"Tsk, you'd never guess," Tyrion muttered under his breath.

"She has great-grandchildren," Tery rolled his eyes and continued in a hushed voice, "The Triarch, Vagarro, fell in love with her, granted her freedom, and even married her."

"Wow, true love—must be true love!" Dany exclaimed.

"Shh! Keep your voice down," Captain Tery nervously glanced toward the corner, then lowered his voice and cursed, "It started as a fairy tale but didn't have a happy ending.

Can you imagine how the Black Walls nobles reacted?

Within a few years, Vagarro was consumed by grief and passed away. The Widow took over his business but was forced to sell his ancestral home, which had been passed down for a thousand years—because freedmen are not allowed to live within the Black Walls."

"But you said she has great-grandchildren—did she have a son with another man?" Dany asked curiously.

The gray-bearded captain sighed, "The Black Walls nobles don't allow a bed slave's son to inherit a noble surname. You have to understand—Vagarro had brothers, relatives, and, well… Eventually, she settled in the Merchant's House as a shareholder.

Anyone in trouble need only bring a gift and seek help at the Merchant's House. She usually grants an audience and offers assistance depending on the situation.

Over the decades, countless sailors, captains, merchants, sorcerers, monks, and foreign travelers have benefited from her kindness."

Tyrion pondered this, exchanged a glance with his companions, and asked, "If I need her help, is there anything I should be cautious about?"

"Respect. She demands respect. And one more thing—never, ever call her 'Vagarro's whore' in her presence."

Dany pointed at a group of merchants engaged in lively discussion in the hall and tattled, "I just heard those Volantene moneylenders say it."

"I don't care about that." The gray-bearded man shrugged and walked away.

Tyrion exchanged a look with Dany, then pulled the square-faced middle-aged man along as they left.

In the shadowy corner, Dany found Barristan and asked, "See any familiar faces?"

"There are a few merchants from King's Landing selling goods in the front hall. I approached to ask around, and guess what? They say Tyrion first poisoned his nephew, King Joffrey, at the wedding feast, then killed his own father."

The White Knight shook his head in disbelief, emphasizing, "King Joffrey is dead. Duke Tywin is dead. Tywin Lannister was shot in the groin by his own son and died on the privy. Gods, what a mess—regicide, patricide… Has the Imp gone mad?"

The Lion's stone chamber, dung, food, and death.

Dany had already known all this.

The greatest mastermind of the mid-game of Game of Thrones, the legendary hero who ended the War of the Five Kings, dying miserably in a latrine—it was indeed pathetic.

But she didn't care about that.

"Tyrion escaped alone?"

"Varys, the Spider, was involved too. He might be nearby, but I haven't seen him. Should I follow the Imp while you rest upstairs?" Barristan asked.

"No rush. Look over there."

Following Dany's gaze, they saw a group of figures near the courtyard's rockery cave entrance: a masked Shadowbinder, three fire mages, a blue-lipped warlock from Qarth, and a middle-aged moon singer—four men and two women, all carrying bundles and whispering suspiciously.

"What are they up to?" Dany asked curiously.

"No idea."

"You follow Tyrion. I'll check it out."

"But those people are....."

"Trash!"

Dany cut him off, patted the Valyrian steel dagger at her waist, and declared proudly, "Before me, they're all trash!"

The White Knight hesitated for only a moment. Considering that his queen had already bested several demigods, it probably wouldn't be an issue. He nodded in agreement.

Dany pulled up her hood and crossed the corridor. She hurried toward the group before they could slip into the rock cave and called out, "Hey, fire mages, where are you all headed?"

(End of chapter)

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