~~~~~~~~~~
Essos, Fjord of Xandar
9th Moon of 58 AC
~~~~~~~~~~
Mara returned to the pier, where her ship remained tied to the dock. A group of five soldiers was already waiting there, wearing the same full suits of armor as the men who had pointed their crossbows at Mara's guards earlier.
One of them stepped toward Mara and, in a deep voice speaking the Common Tongue with a heavy, harsh accent, informed her: "Your ship will be inspected to ensure it carries no contraband." Without giving her time to respond, he simply handed her a slip of written parchment.
Slaves, Wildfire, diseased persons, poisons, expired food... and several other items, though she couldn't finish reading the list because the armored soldiers, bypassing the gangway entirely, boarded the ship by leaping straight from the pier and landing heavily onto the deck.
It was a miracle the deck's timber didn't splinter under the impact of their landing. But beyond that, how in the seven hells had they jumped so high—especially burdened by such massive, heavy armor?
Seeing them barge onto the ship, I forgot my decorum and ran as fast as my legs could carry me. Upon arriving, a barrage of questions was not long in coming, delivered by Xandarian soldiers who were rather blunt—a brusqueness that those who traveled frequently to Xandar didn't mind, already accustomed to their disdain for anything non-Xandarian.
The crew of the vessel Mara had arrived on, however, were mercenaries hired by Magister Groleo—men of fragile pride and quick tempers. This became glaringly obvious when one of them spat directly onto the metallic boots of a soldier and stepped forward.
"You know nothing! You are standing before Princess Mara, aboard a ship belonging to Magister Groleo of Pentos! Show some respect... Aarrgh!" The poor fool couldn't finish his tirade before the soldier whose boot had received the spit lunged forward with astonishing speed, striking the man's throat with the back of his hand and leaving him choking and gasping on the deck.
"Does anyone else feel like shouting?" the soldier commented into the sudden silence, wiping his boot on the clothes of the man still groaning on the floor.
"I am the captain of this ship," said Rómulo, the captain, taking a step forward and looking down at the man on the deck with a grim expression, "and we are here to transport Princess Mara Martell of Dorne."
Mara took it as her cue, stepping forward with a calm, confident stride until she stood merely four yards from the soldier, who stared at her intently for a few seconds.
"Princess or not, you must pass through customs control. In fact, what brings you to Xandar that warrants assigning you a guide, so you don't wander into unnecessary trouble?"
"I come seeking an audience with King Caspian. I was already told I must head to the Chancery," Mara answered.
This seemed to satisfy the soldier, who nodded and turned to one of his comrades. "Fetch a carriage." The other soldier nodded and, just as he had boarded, left the ship by leaping over the starboard railing and disappearing onto the pier below.
"The carriage will take you to a hotel... an inn, or whatever you call it in your lands. A guide will ride with you in the carriage and lead you to the Chancery. That guide will be your boundary—do not cross it."
Her three servants and four guards followed her to the carriage; no more than that could fit inside. The Xandarian soldiers on the pier seemed visibly annoyed upon hearing that she intended to bring multiple guards along, seemingly taking it as an insult toward their Minister of Defense—what in Westeros would be known as the Master of Laws.
A Lyseni woman named Fabiane was driving the carriage, pulled by four magnificent steeds. According to the woman, in a realm ruled by a Khal, one would never see a horse in poor condition, as they were practically sacred to everyone in Xandar—"the center of the world," as its citizens called it.
And that title was well-suited to describe Xandar. From what Mara knew, hundreds of thousands of merchants from all over the world had begun pouring into Xandar to sell their goods: spices, jewels, novelties, musical instruments from Yi Ti, silks from Myr, and even Arbor wine.
Likewise, thanks to the city's booming trade, these merchants accumulated heaps of gold coins, bought clocks, colored candles, coal, timber, pelts, cheap yet high-quality clothing, diamonds, and emeralds, before returning home to resell those goods at a profit.
The security provided by the civil guard guaranteed that every transaction took place strictly according to the law—free from scams, theft, or any risk to life. There was so much safety and trust among Xandarians toward their neighbors that, according to Fabiane herself, some even slept with their doors unlocked. They feared neither thieves nor intruders.
Yet, even beneath this paradise of blessing and opportunity, malicious individuals were never entirely absent. Yesterday, in fact, an alarming piece of news had broken out when a foreigner, apparently from Tyrosh, attempted to kidnap a child. Fabiane handed her a parchment folded like a strange book—it was called a *newspaper*—where Mara read yesterday's report of the attempted abduction.
The article detailed how a watermelon vendor abandoned his stall and charged alongside all the nearby pedestrians, shopkeepers, buyers, and market visitors against the foreigner. There was even a printed illustration on the paper depicting the scene: everyone wielded swords, knives, hammers, and clubs with the sole purpose of killing the kidnapper.
The beating they gave him was astonishing; they fell upon him like a pack of hounds tearing into a piece of meat, and the civil guard only intervened when the man was on the verge of death. Mara thought that would be his end—a drawn-out death, but death nonetheless. Instead, she read that the "witches"—whatever that meant—used something called a *healing potion* to restore the battered man. It was said they intervened just before he died not because they cared that he was beaten unrecognizable by the mob, but because they needed him alive to be tried and sentenced. In the end, the man was condemned to lifelong forced labor in the mines of Qohor—a place rumored to be the forge powering all of Xandar.
Xandar was a harmonious place, but to a trained eye, it was quite the opposite: no foreign titles were valid there, no high offices from other cities held any weight, and even less so if someone thought it a good idea to speak ill of the king, or utter anything the Xandarians might interpret as an insult toward him.
Furthermore, Fabiane mentioned various points of interest, one of which was the Pink Zone. Knowing Mara was from Dorne, Fabiane suggested she might find interest in the pleasure theaters located in that district—theaters where the plays featured explicit sexual acts. She even shared that today's performance depicted a forbidden love affair among a group of friends who were enamored with one or more members of their circle, but due to lies, mockery, and grudges, could not be together. Between dramatic scenes, actors engaged in live sexual encounters on stage, whether between men and women or between people of the same sex.
In Xandar, everyone's sexuality was accepted, and the desire to enjoy one's body and human intimacy was looked upon favorably. It was simply about enjoyment and pleasure, since in Xandar, anyone who failed their duty to the realm was branded a traitor—a duty that consisted of providing offspring for the kingdom, bearing more children to strengthen its future.
At first, this surprised Mara, as it was the crown itself that encouraged married families to have many children, even paying them incentives to do so. Xandarians viewed this as a direct method of serving the realm, meaning same-sex relationships were seen merely as fleeting pleasures, nothing serious. Two women or two men could not produce children, after all. Despite accepting such relationships, they were treated as nothing more than passing trysts, because procreation was the most paramount unwritten law of all.
Xandar was quite similar to Dorne in that regard, with a broad level of freedom granted to everyone, except that in Dorne, bastards were accepted; whereas here in Xandar, if an unmarried woman became pregnant, the father was required to marry her before she gave birth. Bastards were severely looked down upon by the Dosh Khaleen, Xandar's religious leaders based out of Vaes Dothrak.
Fabiane brought the carriage to a stop in front of a tall, grand building resembling a palace, with pale brown walls and a blue roof, informing her that this was her hotel. Several well-dressed staff members emerged from within, unloaded their belongings, and gestured for Mara's companions to follow them inside. Mara did not step down from the carriage, nor did the two guards accompanying her; Fabiane had advised that it was best to head to the Chancery that very day, as the sooner she went, the sooner she would be granted her audience with the king.
The carriage rolled smoothly over the polished flagstones of the Xandarian avenues. Inside, Mara gazed out the window alongside her guards, whose tense faces betrayed their deep mistrust of every corner of this city.
"There is no need to grip the pommels of your swords as if we were going to be ambushed at every turn," Mara murmured, adjusting the XND-8842 identification token pinned to her chest. "If these people wanted us dead, they would have disposed of us at customs without breaking a sweat."
"With all due respect, Princess, this place smells like a damn trap," one of the guards replied, eyeing the armored patrols riding past on formidable steeds with deep apprehension.
The carriage turned onto a wide, tree-lined avenue flanking the edge of the water, where the estuary breeze brought the gentle lapping of the great canal's waves. Fabiane brought the horses to a halt before a monumental entrance.
"We have arrived, Princess," Fabiane announced from the driver's seat in her melodic, accented Lyseni voice. "The Central Chancery of Xandar. From here on, your guards' steel stays outside, or they won't let you take three steps."
Mara stepped out of the carriage and paused to take in the breathtaking spectacle rising before her. The Chancery was a dazzling architectural colossus built in a classical, imperial style that dominated the entire waterfront. The building was constructed from pale, polished stone, crowned by majestic greenish-gold domes topped with delicate ornamental spires. An endless row of arches, ornate columns, and arched windows swept across its facade, giving it the appearance of a palace born from a dream.
Flanking the walkway leading to the main entrance, rows of dark, lush cypress trees were aligned with mathematical precision. All along the path, patrols of the Xandarian Guard in spotless armor and closed steel visors stood watch at the massive iron-and-gold gate marking the threshold. Behind the complex, the deep blue water coming from the fjord and the barges gliding gently past completed a picture of unmatched grandeur.
"Stay near the carriage with Fabiane," Mara instructed her two guards. "I will enter alone."
She crossed through the gates after presenting her identification tag to the sentries, who merely gave a curt nod before granting her passage. After walking the several yards separating the gold-and-iron gate from the heavy bronze doors of the Chancery, the bustle of the city outside vanished in an instant, replaced by a reverent, solemn echo.
Mara found herself standing in the center of a monumental, breathtaking hall.
The ceiling soared into a high circular dome illuminated by large upper windows that allowed rays of golden sunlight to filter through the clouds. The floor, a sheet of perfectly polished marble reflecting shadows like a dark mirror of water, was encircled by a colossal colonnade. But what truly crushed the spirit of any visitor was not merely the scale of the hall, but what stood at its very heart.
Monumental statues of pale stone, standing over fifteen meters tall, rose atop rectangular pedestals carved with golden inscriptions. They depicted prominent figures and members of Xandar's High Council. At the center, the imposing figure of a man in a long coat with a serene yet stern gaze dominated the room, flanked by the statue of a noblewoman of aristocratic posture and other dignitaries sculpted with painstaking detail.
Behind the sculptures, cascading from the high ceiling almost to the floor, hung massive, translucent golden banners with giant lettering honoring the vision, sacrifice, and foundation of Xandar's new order.
Around the bases of the statues, dozens of officials, foreign envoys, and scribes in dark tunics walked in small groups, conversing in low murmurs that failed to disturb the hall's near-sacred atmosphere.
Mara took a few steps across the marble floor, feeling tiny beneath the stone gaze of those who guided King Caspian's empire.
(Image)
"It's breathtaking, isn't it?" a calm voice echoed behind her.
Mara turned around slowly, maintaining her Dornish composure, ready to assert her name in the very heart of Xandar's power.