Hey, I Ruin Stories! Chapter 36

Chapter 36: Swaying the Masses


[Late Evening — Wyker’s Bar, Qarth]


“Those damned foreigners.”


Amidst the whispers of the quiet bar, the loud crash of a cup breaking against a wall and staining it brown echoed.


“They took our food, our wealth, and now they even want our people!”


“Quiet, Donavan. If the guards or any of the Thirteen’s men hear you, you’ll be forced into hard labor.”


The man scoffed.


“Damn you, damn the guards, and damn the Thirteen.” He was drunk, spit flying from his mouth with every word. “They sold my daughter to some noble, they say.”


His fists slammed on the table, anger and sadness mingling in his voice.


“They think I’m stupid. They think I don’t know that my daughter was sold to some damned whorehouse!” Like most in Qarth, Donavan was a lower-middle-class citizen, working hard shifts for minimum wage to make life easier and more luxurious for the nobles and merchants. “My wife slaves away in those fat pigs’ houses, and I have to work in the fields and the mines. What hard labor are you talking about, Thoron? The only thing left for me to give these damned scoundrels is my life, which they will take one day or another.”


In most places, any man would be jailed for disrespecting the royals and nobles. But in Qarth, one of the richest and most luxurious free cities in all of Essos, that wasn't the case.


“Consider the beer on the house, Donavan.” The bar owner sighed, offering to cover his order with a sad smile. “Life is tough; the life of a Qartheen is tougher. Live it while you can, for your wife depends on you.”


Donavan, frustrated, clutched the jug of beer.


“I pray to the old and the new, the gods and the spirits... may these spawns of the cursed rot in hell.”


“They’ll certainly be selling most of our men to the new tourists, because tourists in this city are never just tourists; they’re people looking to buy human slaves.”


Everyone was frustrated, but none could raise a voice in public.


This bar was their safe haven, away from the hold of the Thirteen and their scouts.


They considered the bar too lowly, too dirty to even step foot in. Seizing this opportunity, the bar owner turned it into a refuge for those frustrated with the Thirteen.


And not a single person unknown to the owner could enter.


“How many will be sold?” one man asked another. “Last time they sold men as workers for a field, but it turned out the workers were sold off as lab rats for some king’s torture chamber.”


Everyone present showed a look of sorrow, expressing great pain for their fallen companions.


“A free city, they say, but we have anything but freedom.”


For them, the only freedom they had was political freedom, and that was only for the rich and powerful at the top. The Thirteen, the governing body, ensured there was no single ruler and they were not under the rule of a greater kingdom either—hence the name, free city.


Yet they were no more free than the slaves of a royal. The general public of Qarth was mostly lowborns and slaves, born to be used and discarded by the powerful under the commands of the Thirteen.


But what could they do?


If they revolted, they would be taken in by another corrupt group. No matter what they did or whom they brought to power, they would always be no more than slaves.


“Ragan!”


While the men lamented over their tragic stories, an older man rushed inside, huffing and drenched in sweat.


“There is a commotion outside!”


The bar owner breathed out in disinterest. “There is a commotion every hour. No need to get worked up over it. Take a seat and have a beer, I’ve freshly brewed a new batch.”


“No, Ragan, you don’t understand.” The man huffed, pushing his palms against his knees. “It’s about the Thirteen!”


Donavan shook his head and closed his eyes. “It’s always about the Thirteen.”


But the bar owner, Ragan, let the man continue.


“What do you mean?”


“The Thirteen, they... they are being paraded outside, in chains, by the tourists who came not long ago!”


Everyone stood, wide-eyed, looking at one another.


“Is that true?”


“Yes!”


And that was all the affirmation everyone needed to rush out and see the situation with their own eyes.


Which, to their absolute pleasure, turned out to be true.


…

…


[Moments Later — Center of Qarth]


{Daenerys Targaryen]


Darius Safar


He... he is brutal.


“Ahhhh!”


“You can look away if you wish, Khaleesi.”


No, I couldn't.


“I have seen worse, Ser Jorah.”


I had. I had seen my soldiers being brutally hunted and killed. I had seen my husband poisoned, and I had seen my brother’s face melted off.


But this cruelty, especially the lack of emotion on the man's face while doing it, made me uncomfortable.


It was as if he was used to doing such things.


“Forg— Ahhh!”


Torturing others, destroying their lives with no remorse.


Even when the ones being tortured deserved it, Darius still made the scene difficult to watch.


“We let this one keep his eyes and tongue.”


“Y-You demon!”


This comment made Darius snicker. “As if you haven't been called that when you sold off your people for your own gains. But it doesn't matter. What matters is you losing your tongue and your eyes if you do not shut up.”


The man immediately went quiet, fear prominent in his eyes.


“That warlock is dead, so it is only twelve now.” He looked around, counting heads. “Never mind, another died having his tongue pulled out. So it is eleven.”


This man, Darius Safar, had no remorse for them. Neither did I, but I just couldn't do what he did. Ripping out their tongues and eyes with his fingers and still keeping an impassive face.


“You will keep your tongue, after all. You need to answer the questions of the public—” he paused and looked at me. “What was his name?”


“Xaro Xhoan Daxos,” Ser Jorah answered on my behalf.


“Too long of a name with absolutely no achievement.” He appeared to be disgusted. “Anyhow, Xaro.” He grabbed his face, squeezing it hard while the man could not even resist with his hands and legs tied. “All you will do is answer the public. And remember, if you lie…”


He pointed his index finger at the man to the right of Xaro, causing the mute and blind man to groan in pain and squirm on the ground.


And when I tried to understand what made him groan, a very pungent stench spread around us.


The smell of rotting flesh.


The man that squirmed around had his skin melt—rot into a gooey brownish-yellow substance. His screams, dulled by the lack of a tongue, became incomprehensible noises, and his body jolted around.


Until... until it didn't.


In moments, his body had rotted away, as if eaten by maggots, his skin melting and falling off his bones.


It was a horrifying sight. Even the blood riders, Dothraki, and Ser Jorah averted their eyes from the scene.


It was too much, even for them.


But not for me.


I watched the scene unfold right in front of my eyes, horrified yet deeply immersed in the horror committed through magic.


“Unfortunately, it will be only ten men on display, since it looks like I killed another.”


Xaro was shivering in his grasp, aware that one stupid word would have him end up like his companion.


“So, Xaro.” Darius smiled, “You will do as I say and support the Khaleesi, agree to everything I say, and nod when I ask you to—even in front of your servants.”


He released the man from his grasp, making him breathe heavily.


“Is that understood?”


“Y-Yes,” came the reply of the strongest—former strongest—man of Qarth.


“Perfect.” He grinned. “Now then, Khaleesi, it is time you speak up in public.”


His words brought me back to my senses, causing me to nod.


“Yes.”


Yes, all of this was for me.


I could not back off now.


No matter what.


…

…


[Nighttime — Middle of Qarth]]


Every man, woman, and child had gathered in the middle of the night, a time when most slept, to witness a scene they never would have guessed was possible.


“Mother, I am sleepy,” one girl tugged on her mother's skirt, but the woman was deaf and blind to everything except the scene unfolding before her eyes.


“This… this is happening, isn't it?”


Most men were the same, unable to believe what they were seeing but praying to their gods that it was true.


Each man and woman had their ears wide open, focused on what the people standing next to their leaders, their tormentors, had to say.


And to their happiness, they did not have to wait.


The wait they had endured for decades was finally coming to an end.


“I believe you are all shaken by what you are seeing.”


Everyone was astonished. The voice of the man who stood on the ground multiple feet away from them rang in their ears. But it wasn't loud; it wasn't a shout—it was a pleasant voice that felt like it came from close by.


“Be not afraid,” he said. “It is magic that makes my voice audible without having to shout.”


Everyone looked at one another, a little worried at the mention of magic.


“Fear is unnecessary. I am here not to scare you, but to give you what you have been dreaming of for the last few decades.”


He walked around ten men, each with their heads hidden—covered with black cloth.


“Something that every one of you has been dreaming of, striving for, yet never had a chance to achieve.”


He moved around the men, walking over their feet as they knelt on the ground with their legs extended.


“We have been here just for days, time incomparable to what you had to live through.”


True.


They agreed. They had been living in this hell for years and had endured pain that could never be explained or understood.


“You live your days wondering if you will be sold off, separated from your family, see a member of your family being sold off, or die working while worrying about all of these.”


His voice rang clear in everyone's ears, causing their heads to lower, frustrated at the truth.


“You live in a free city, yet you lack the very fundamentals of freedom. You are estranged from it, trapped in a world of slavery.”


They were silent, as they had been all their lives.


“We have been here for days, and in those days we have seen more injustice, more slavery, more pain and suffering than we have seen in our lives.”


This made the people look up at the man.


“I can promise you that the outside world isn't as painful, as trapped as the one you live in.”


It wasn't?


They felt shocked. All their lives, they had believed that the outside world was the same as theirs, maybe worse.


All their lives, they had been taught that the life they had would be the same anywhere they went.


But now a man was saying that it was all a lie? That there was freedom outside the four walls they lived in?


“We punished them for the crimes they committed against us, crimes that would never go unpunished in our realms.” The man’s voice gave hope to the people. “But this punishment is for the crimes they committed within a measly few days. Imagine what punishment they would receive for the decades they had been torturing you.”


“Burn them…” a man spoke under his breath, but could not say it out loud.


And so did many others.


“But it is not our place, nor our right, to punish these scums for what they did to you for decades.”


“No…” Some felt pain as they believed the man would not punish the corrupt further. The pain the common men felt for decades would go unpunished.


But his next words brought looks of hope again.


“It is not our place to punish them. It never was,” he said, walking closer. “It is your job.”


This made everyone silent.


They did not know how to punish the men who had controlled them for so long. They were scared and hesitant.


But one man wasn't.


“Will we be punished? Will our families be harmed for going against them?”


The voice was of Donavan, a man whose daughter was recently sold off by Xaro as a whore. A man who had suffered under the Thirteen just like them.


“Absolutely not,” the man next to the Thirteen, who had been reduced to ten, spoke. “It is your right, and on behalf of the Khaleesi, the Mother of Dragons and the Future Queen of Westeros, the True Heir to the Iron Throne, the one with the blood of the Dragons, the Last Targaryen—we promise to give you the freedom that you deserve.”


This made everyone whisper around.


“The Khaleesi? Wife of the Khal?”


“She is. Targaryen? One of the lost Valyrian families?”


“The Heir of Westeros?”


However, this sparked another question.


“Do we have to follow her from now on? Do we have to live as slaves for her?”


This question only got a smile as a response from the man. It was the girl next to him who took charge to explain.


“No.” Came her simple answer. “You are citizens of Qarth, you are free people, you serve under no one.”


That was what they were supposed to be. Until the Thirteen made new laws, new rules, and turned them into slaves.


“I will leave this place the moment the first ray of light falls on the ground. After that, you are free to rule,” she said. “This is your land, your law, and your life. Do not let another dictate it.”


This made them all feel strongly.


“Then… what about after all this?”


She gave everyone a comforting smile. “You, the masses, create your rules, establish a new king if you so wish. And most importantly, you are free to leave, explore the world, and see the freedom the world gives you.”


The man who spoke previously walked behind her. “And on behalf of her, the future Queen of Westeros, I would like to invite all of you to Westeros, to live and settle there if you so wish.”


This surprised everyone.


The man in front of them was casually inviting them to immigrate to another continent, something that was unheard of.


“And there you shall be under the protection of the Mother of Dragons, with freedom, health, and wealth that you don't even dream of.”


But even so, everyone was a little suspicious.


Were they trying to use them? Were the people above trying to sacrifice them later?


“How can we trust your words?” one brave man asked, and everyone nodded.


“The answer is simple,” the man smiled. “It is because that is the truth of the outside world. A truth that the Thirteen hid and contorted to prevent you from exploring the outside world.”


Yet most found it difficult to believe.


“How about I prove it to you?” he said, drawing everyone's attention once again. “How about I make your very own Xaro Xhoan Daxos confess in front of you?”


Silence, absolute silence, spread as the man said that.


“Very well then.” And in that instance, the man pulled off the black cloth from one of the men—one whom they knew very well. “Tell everyone, Xaro. Tell them the truth.”


Everyone was stunned to see the proud and strong Xaro Xhoan Daxos, the most powerful of the Council of Thirteen, on his knees, chained and beaten up.


“Tell them whether what I said is true or a lie. Tell them that none in Westeros sells humans as slaves, tell them that people have freedom there, wealth and food there, and the right to live on their own accord.”


Xaro looked at the public, the ones he controlled just one daybreak prior.


“Y-Yes,” he said, aware that saying no would lead to a painful death.


But the moment he said that, the crowd broke into a screeching chaos.


“YOU SCOUNDREL! YOU SOLD MY DAUGHTER AS A WHORE!”


Not one, multiple cries.


“YOU RAPED MY MOTHER AND KILLED HER!”


“YOU TOOK MY SON AWAY FROM ME!”


The public was ready to beat him to death, and Xaro knew that it would be the most painful death a man could experience.


“I know what you all feel, trust me, I can understand it as I too have seen such horrors in other specific lands of Essos—yet never in Westeros.”


The crowd was still furious, but they tried to calm down to avoid disrespecting the heroes who had given them freedom.


“And they will pay for what they did to you,” he said, “starting with Xaro!”


“Wait, you pr—”


But before Xaro could finish, his head was blown off his body by the sword of the knight next to the girl.


This made the crowd jerk and widen their eyes, but in their hearts, it was the greatest sight they had seen.


“I apologize for taking his life, for you should have been the ones to judge.” The man who had been speaking previously showed a pained expression. “But he committed a great sin against us, and for that, he had to die by our hands.”


He walked forward, “And so did three more of them. But not the rest! The rest are yours to judge and punish!”


The crowd erupted in roars upon hearing this.


“From tonight, every one of you is free! Free from the grasp of the Thirteen!”


The people cheered, cried, and chanted for the heroes who had freed them.


“And now, I leave the rest of the Thirteen to your hands.”


In that instance, the crowd rushed towards the men who were masked, beyond happy that they were finally able to judge the sinners for their crimes.


They had won against injustice after decades of suffering


They finally obtained freedom.


Victory.


Yet…


In truth, it was not them who had won —but the man who spoke before them.