#I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THE AUTHOR WOULD KILL OFF THE DRAGONS LIKE THAT

[random-anime-obsession]

Please check on your friends who are fans of Akatsuki No Yona 🙃 they are not okay right now

#akatsuki no yona #any #any spoilers #more spoilers in the next tags #DUDE NO #THIS CAN’T BE THE ACTUAL END FOR THE DRAGONS AFTER ALL THIS TIME #I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THE AUTHOR WOULD KILL OFF THE DRAGONS LIKE THAT #I CAN’T

[matcha-chai-latte]

“The one who wishes to live, and the one who pleads to die” , so beautiful yet so tragic at the same time. I’ve noticed this anti parallel between Soowon and Zeno a long time ago and I’m happy that the author brought it up.

Even though something huge and painful is definitely around the corner, coming in the nearest chapters, I still refuse to give up on hoping for the best. If the story ends tragically, the whole plot journey and Yona’s character will lose their point. From how I see it, the one way to finish this story, is to end the unending circle of suffering: curses, illnesses and deaths, also the gods living among people. This is why the Red Dragon aka Yona was reborn and that is why she receives precautionary visions. Yona herself pondered over the reason Hiryuu was reborn. To change the course of events. To change fate itself.

As much as it hurts, Yona will most likely end up killing Zeno. Be it of her free will or by means of defending Hak. It is so saddening that he never got and probably never will get a chance to live a normal life, but after 2000 years of suffering I doubt he would be able to sincerely enjoy life again. I hope he can at least die in peace.

It could be, that the ending of the eternal life of the Yellow Dragon will also eliminate the dragon powers from earth, which may lift the crimson illness from Hiryuu’s decedents.

At this point I just can’t believe that Soowon will die. As a person he changed and developed SUCH a great deal that killing him off after all that would be an unnecessary dramatic move (inhuman even). Loosing both of his parents, having to suffer a moral dilemma, removing the only two closest people he had left to save the country and avenge his father, suffering the consequences all alone, while knowing that he is bound to die a long, painful death because of the gods he hates and thus being unable to get married and have children. Then after 200 chapters he realized that despite everything he is still a simple human being with personal feelings and desires, that he loves Hak and Yona (which was obvious) and that he wants to live….and then in the end he dies? I can’t take it.

In the time skip in chapter 1 Yona was still referred to as “princess Yona”, so she didn’t become queen like Soowon wanted in the recent chapters, so maybe he really doesn’t die? (hope dies last).

In the worst scenario that can also mean someone usurped the throne (Soowon can still be alive at this point). If it happens, I would bet on Chagol. His death went suspiciously smooth. There is also the symbol of the Fenix that hints he can return from the “dead” (the Fenix Castle and the tattoo on Chagol’s bald head).

Something will definitely happen to Hak, but I don’t believe he will die either. If he dies, I expect him to return from the dead too, since we still know nothing of his origins (maybe he is also a godly creature of some kind)😅.

If our main trio stays alive, together they could gather strength and by working together, fight back and return the castle.

These are just my superficial thoughts, as I said previously things are so complex now that we can’t be sure about anything, we can only guess.

I believe in the author and wish her all the best❤️

#akatsuki no yona #yona of the dawn #yona #zeno ouryuu #soowon #hak

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Can I please get a Daemon and your daughter from "a princess is born" in which to her father's pride and her mother's utter despair, she claims a wild dragon? (just a Dad!Daemon with some fluffy and maybe kinda funny)

I hope this satisfies!

A dragon is not a slave

Pairing: Daemon x Fem. Reader (Summer Isles wifey) x Baela (their daughter.)

Summary: Baela, yours and Daemon’s child, has reached a point in her life where she can finally claim a dragon. However, it is not the type of dragon everyone would have expected her to claim.

Warnings: Aegon being a loathsome cad (bigly, I might add) | Drinking | Drunkenness

Themes: Some minor angst | Soft | Fluff

Author’s notes: I’ve used Gods of the freehold for deities in this story, not the Seven. Also, in this entire line of stories, Aemond never lost his eye to Lucerys, but there is constant conflict between him and his brother Aegon, and unlike their father and uncle, there is no love between them.

Word count: 4.2K words

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It began as all such tales begin.

With a stormy night and a story.

Viserys, king of all Westeros, visited Dragonstone, to spend time with his daughter, his brother, and their families.

The king was frail now, close to meeting his makers. Viserys had to be taken about in a special wheel chair, and the journey to Dragonstone tired him. Still, he insisted on it, as everyone believed he would not live for long and he wanted to spend time with his brother and daughter before Balerion claimed the king’s soul for his own.

It was after supper, and the children all asked their grandsire to talk to them about the dragons, and how they were finally moved to the Stepstones.

"It was the Maesters, you see," Viserys said, as the rest gathered around in a circle and listened. "They came up with the idea of the dragon pits, as the dragons would grow weak and stunted when denied unfettered freedom. They wanted to weaken our family, to rid Westeros of magic and--"

Joff cut his grandfather off with, "But why would they want to do that? Rid the realm of magic?"

"Because magic eludes them, refuses to heed their calls," said Daemon, on his brother’s behalf. "They envy our dragon riders and our dragon dreamers, they envy the Northerners for their green seers and wargs. They claim to seek magic, but they don’t respect it, and as such, magic always eludes their grasp."

You were content to sit next to Daemon on the sofa. "Is this why you moved the dragons to the Stepstones?"

"Yes, good sister," Viserys said, taking a careful sip of his drink, which contained herbs to relieve his pain. "After the last hatchling grew no bigger than a misshapen dog, I had my spies dig around and find out what the Maesters were upto. All the eggs and the remaining dragons were moved to the Stepstones, and now, the keepers tell me, they are all thriving."

"What about the wild dragons, uncle?" asked Baela. "Are they still here?"

"Still here and keeping to themselves, thank the Gods," said Viserys. "Well, sheep stealer and grey ghost no one would mind, but Cannibal…"

Rhaenyra had to stop Joff and Visenya from throwing grapes at each other. "He turned fifty, didn’t he?"

"And killed twelve would-be dragon riders during those fifty years," Viserys mumbled. "Twelve victims. Brave souls all of them, thinking they could subdue the beast. And your father," he turned to Baela, "Would have been thirteenth because of m--"

"My recklessness to prove myself to the others," Daemon cut him off quickly.

Viserys turned to him, his eyes glistening. "You shouldn’t have to do it," he said, still ashamed that his recklessness nearly ended his brother’s life.

Daemon held no malice or anger for what happened. It was a decision he’d gladly make again, for anyone he loved. "I want to. Let us leave it at that, eh?"

The rest looked at them both, thoroughly confused. You held your tongue, for it was not your tale to tell. No one besides you knew the truth of what happened, how Viserys went looking for Cannibal, how Daemon had to pull him out of the way before being burned himself. You promised to let Daemon take this secret to the grave, in order to protect his brother.

Baela came over to her father, making herself comfortable on the armrest next to him.  "But why won’t Cannibal yield, aba? They say he was born in the pits before flying off after trying to kill his first rider, so why won’t he accept one?"

Daemon brushed back his daughter’s hair. "Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor. And besides, sometimes a dragon will wait till they find a rider worthy of them. At least, that’s how some of the stories go."

"Which is why they must be treated with the utmost respect, yes?" Viserys looked into the eyes of everyone who had gathered. "Dragons are not lap dogs, is that understood?"

A grape flew in a perfect arc and hit Laenor neatly on the nose. "My boys are all grown men," he said, rolling his eyes when Joff looked at him and giggled. "And with families of their own, yet they still insist on acting like children."

"What are children for, papa, but to test their parents?" Jacaerys said with a mischievous grin.

"Gods save us," Laenor said as he stood up and clapped his hands. "Right. It’s late, and we all need to rest. Big day tomorrow."

You and Daemon looked at Baela and smiled. On the morrow, she would turn thirteen, and after that, she would be allowed to claim a dragon for her own.

…………

Baela opened her eyes long before the sun had risen.

She carefully dressed herself and tiptoed her way to the kitchens.

Baela looked around to make sure no one was up and about. The cooks and maids were rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and had all sat down to their breakfast. Their attention was elsewhere, and Baela took her chance.

She scurried over to the butcher’s larder, and carefully picked out a few cuts of meat that were kept aside for the dragons. Even dragons, despite their fearful nature, liked their treats, and their riders would often indulge them with the castoffs.

Baela chucked everything into a large bag before tiptoeing again, this time out of the fortress.

The island was shrouded in mist, and cold. So very cold. Baela, determined as ever, pulled her cloak tight and walked to the far side of the island, where the wild dragons nested. The Dragon Mound.

After listening to her uncle’s tales, Baela was curious to see if she could claim a wild dragon for herself, instead of waiting for years for a tame dragon to form a proper bond with her. She had to be careful, for while her father might tolerate such a scheme, her mother, on the other hand, would not.

She couldn’t blame you, as you had grown up on tales of the freehold and what happened when Valyrians tried to claim wild dragons that refused to yield. Still, she was determined to see this through. After all, she was your daughter as well as her father's. She would not let either side down by giving in so easily. Baela fought back her growing fear and exhaustion and pushed on. 

The hike was hard, and the climb down to the caves was just as hard. Baela took great care to avoid cutting herself and giving the game away. The bag grew heavy and started to smell. Baela still pressed on until she found a cave that had bones scattered all over the entrance.

They were all too charred and burned to be distinguished as human or beast. It could not be human, she decided, as the keepers would have warned the others if people started to go missing. This must be the cave of Sheep Steeler, or the shy Grey Ghost. Baela, relieved, set her bag down, upending it and emptying it of all contents. She then walked backward and turned away from the entrance.

At first, she heard nothing, felt nothing. The minutes passed, and the sun started to rise. Baela would have to leave soon, before her absence was noticed and someone came looking for her.

The seconds ticked away, and then there was a deep thump.

Then, another deep thump.

The air grew warmer, and she heard a deep huff. Baela gulped and kept perfectly still. She heard gravel crunching, of bones splintering and shattering. She heard another huff, a snarl, this time in her direction. She gulped again, but kept perfectly still, not wanting to startle the beast with sudden movements.

The air suddenly grew cool again, and when Baela turned, she saw that her offering of meat had been accepted. Gingerly, she tiptoed her way to the cave entrance. There was nothing there, but she was sure a dragon was deep within the cave, watching her while shrouded in darkness. Not wanting to test her luck, Baela picked up her bag and walked away again.

When she did, a pair of large eyes flew open from within the cave and gleamed wickedly in the darkness.

…………

The feast went ahead as planned.

The mood was somewhat dampened, of course, when Viserys’ children turned up. Sweet-natured Helaena was always welcomed, and her brothers—well, that was another prospect altogether.

Aemond was always angry with his brother, and Aegon reciprocated his brother’s feelings. The two of them could never be left alone for long before they started to tear chunks out of each other. Still, everyone tried to keep the brothers apart for this day, for Baela’s sake.

While Baela and her cousins tried to be nice to Aemond, Aegon was another prospect altogether, and the others made it a point to keep her and Visenya well away from him. For once, however, Aegon behaved, but everyone kept a watchful eye on him.

That night’s revelry went ahead without incident, although Aegon was determined to drink himself into a stupor. You leaned over to Daemon and whispered in the language of your people, "Do you think we should cut him off?"

And Daemon, who had become fluent in your people's language after learning it, replied, "You'll have an easier time bonding with Vermithor than any of us would in stopping the future king. Leave him be, darling. Perhaps if he drinks enough, he won’t be a bother to anyone."

You sighed but accepted your husband’s counsel. And Daemon was right. You’d have an easier time bonding with the Bronze Fury than getting Aegon to stop drinking.

Daemon and you both gave toasts in honour of your daughter’s thirteenth birthday. "To the next dragon rider!" Daemon said cheerfully, and the rest roared in approval.

Laenor looked up from his meal. "Have you decided yet on what dragon to claim?"

Baela kept her tone perfectly neutral. She wanted no one to find out she was trying to claim a wild dragon. "I haven’t yet, uncle." She turned to her food, her hands trembling when she remembered the long trek, the bones crunching, and the beast sniffing at her back. "To be honest, I cannot actually make up my mind."

Five healthy dragons have hatched, and two more were waiting for riders. "You have plenty of time, sweetheart," you said over your wine. "Take all the time you need to decide."

Baela speared a new potato and smiled like anything. She had already decided, but she was certain no one was going to like it once the truth came out. Aegon replied by burping loudly and falling back into his chair, his mouth half open in an ugly snore. "And the green will yield to the purple,” Helaena mumbled to no one in particular.

Aegon nearly fell out of his chair and had to be physically carried to bed, but at least he was out and not creating a scene. Everyone relaxed, and conversation flowed more freely.  

"I hear you are to wed, uncle?" Visenya addressed her uncle. "Who is the lucky woman?"

"A Baratheon," mumbled Aemond. "Her name is Alys."

You arched a brow. "This does not make you happy?"

"No, princess y/n," Aemond moderated his tone after catching his uncle's warning glare. "She is not what I would have chosen for a bride, but alas, everyone else insists. I must wed the lady before the moon is out."

"I hear Alys is very nice." Baela and Visenya had been debating what to have for dessert. Candied almonds or sugar plums? In the end, they settled on a little bit of both. "Like Helaena," added Visenya. "So she can’t be all that bad."

Aemond snorted. "I doubt it."

Baela exchanged a look with her cousin but chose not to respond. You leaned over to Daemon, switching to your native language again. "What was that all about?"

Daemon had already formed some suspicions over the years, and Alicent's insisting her second son marry and leave the nest served to strengthen them. "I’ll tell you when we're in bed."

You nodded and listened as Laenor changed the subject. The rest of the feast went on pleasantly for everyone.

…………

Baela woke up the next morning, as early as the day before, and got started on her new ritual.

She would sneak off into the kitchens, and then sneak out again with cast-off cuts of cooked meat. She would make the trek to the other side of the island, carefully making her way down to the caves, not stopping until she found the one she was looking for. Baela would take a few steps back and turn away from the cave, leaving the meat where it was the day before.

And like yesterday, she would hear one deep thump, then another. The air would grow warm. Something would sniff at the meat, then eat it. That same something would then sniff and snarl at her.

And so it went on, day after day after day, until Baela walked out of the kitchens one morning, certain that no one would notice, only to run into her father.

Daemon simply stood there, arms across his chest. "And what, pray tell, are you up to?"

"I…" Baela dropped the bag, embarrassed with herself for getting caught. "I’m off for a walk, aba."

"Hmmph." Daemon went over to her bag and opened it. His nose crinkled a little at the smell, and his eyes went wide when he recognized what the contents were. "Treats for dragons, yes?" He gave her a questioning look. "But you don't have a dragon, at least not yet. And all the unclaimed dragons are on the Stepstones. So, why would you need this meat?"

Baela gulped, tried to come up with an excuse. "I…. I…"

Daemon’s lips quirked up, his eyes lighting up with wicked humour. "Offerings to the old gods?"

"I… I..."

"You do know the Gods of Valyria demand live sacrifices, yes?"

Baela sputtered.

"Preferably unblemished sheep, or goat. Even chicken would do in a pinch." Daemon tried hard to look serious. "But I suppose day-old cooked beef would do."

Baela groaned in defeat.

"Sheep Steeler?"

She shook her head, but refused to raise it. Daemon curled a finger under his daughter’s chin and tilted it up. "Grey Ghost then?"

Baela managed a meek yes, much to her father’s relief. "Alright. I won’t tell your mother about this. But you must come to me if you want to go further than feeding Grey Ghost. Do you understand me?"

"I will." Baela threw her arms around her father in gratitude. "Thank you, aba."

Daemon chuckled, but waited till his daughter had walked far enough before following her. He kept out of sight, impressed by the paths his child took, how she carefully climbed down to the caves. He tried to peer over the stones, but the dragon, whatever it was, was hidden by surrounding boulders. Daemon wouldn’t budge until Baela picked up her bag to leave.

And one fine day, she heard no low snarl.

She would only hear the dragon take a deep sniff, and huff in her direction. She’d try talking to it, all while keeping her back to it. Baela swore it listened.

Once, she thought she heard what sounded like a gentle purr. She rushed back home, to talk to her father about it.

Daemon, having heard it himself after having followed her yet again, was wondering how long it would take for this to happen. "He likes you," he said, pleased as punch. If everything went according to plan, his child would be the first in their family’s entire history to claim a wild dragon. "Dragons only purr if they’re attached to one person, bonded to them, and if a wild dragon does that, then it means—"

"It means what?"

Daemon quickly stood up. "Sweetheart," he said as you stood there, eyes wide and mouth half open in surprise. "We…"

"Are talking about a wild dragon, yes?" you turned to your daughter, who in turn had looked away. "Really, bee? A wild dragon?" You turn on Daemon next. "How could you?"

Daemon tried to reason with you. "Sweetheart, we--"

"A wild dragon, husband!" you said in despair. "How can you even encourage such a thing?"

Daemon gestured for Baela to leave, and she did, wasting no time to quit the room.

"Sweetheart," Daemon guided you to a chair, urged you to sit. "Please, listen to me. Baela has been careful."

"I--" Daemon held up a hand to cut you off.

"Our daughter knows what she's doing," he said as he crouched in front of you, taking your hands in his. "I’ve been following her, and I think she may have successfully formed a bond with Grey Ghost. He’s purring. I’ve heard it. That’s a very good sign."

You still thought it was a very bad idea. "She’s our child," you sniffled as tears pooled around your eyes. "Our baby, and if anything happens to her, I…"

"Sweetheart, Baela, is tougher and smarter than the both of us." Daemon wiped your eyes, not wanting to show that he too was secretly worried. "She will be fine, I’m sure of it. No harm has come to her so far. She will be fine. Our daughter will be fine."

You managed a smile for him, your heart feeling like it was being squeezed the entire time.

And as for Baela, she went for a walk with her cousin to clear her head and to try and stamp out the guilt she was feeling, for going against your wishes to not bond with a wild dragon.

They had been talking of Visenya’s own plans for her sixteenth birthday, when Aegon came upon them near a cliff on the far side of the island, close to the Dragon Mound, and the caves beneath it. He was surly this morning, and bored. He looked at them as if they were fresh prey. And his feared uncle was nowhere in sight.

"Ladies," he crooned cloyingly sweet. "How are we this morning?"

"Fine, my prince," Baela mumbled as she and Visenya dipped to curtsy. "And how are you? Are you enjoying life on the island so far?"

Aegon was bored out of his wits, and he said so. Dragonstone was dreary, even though it was his seat as crown prince. The air was always cold and damp and salty, the company wanting. And there were no pleasure houses in sight. "Have either of you been? To a pleasure house, I mean?"

Visenya slipped her hand into her cousin’s, wondering if someone would hear if one of them screamed. "No, my prince," she said. "I’ve heard my brother’s talk, but that was from a time before they were wed."

"Yes," Aegon sneered. "Your mother raised three bores for sons. Perhaps I should take the both of you, when you next visit the Red Keep."

Baela stiffened. "That is not necessary, my prince. Besides," she swallowed, her eyes darting towards the fortress. "It would be most improper, for ladies to visit a pleasure house."

"Scandalous, yes?" Aegon sneered again, only this time in a way that made both girls very uncomfortable. "But you needn’t worry. I will take you. The both of you."

"You cannot."

"I am the crown prince! I can do what I like.!Now come. I could do with some company."

"Actually," both Baela and Visenya hesitated. They remembered the warnings, to not be alone around the crown prince. "We would stay here, my prince." Baela could feel fear burning a hole in her gut. She cursed herself, for not asking Jace or Luke to accompany them.

When Aegon took a step towards them, the girls took a step back. "Come with me," he hissed at them, his eyes blazing with fury. "That’s an order."

Visenya shook her head. "No, your grace."

"Come with me, you pathetic chits!" Aegon took another step toward them. "Now!"

Thump.

The cliff face shook, as if something big was scaling it. Aegon blanched. "What fuck is going on?"

Thump.

This time, they all jumped, and backed away from the edge of the cliff. There was a snarl, followed by something rumbling. The cliff face kept shaking, as whatever it was that snarled was making its way closer to them. The air warmed up like a warm summer day. It grew warmer and warmer, and the source of all of it made its presence known.

Gods be good, thought Baela, as she pulled her cousin back with her. It’s him.

A body that was as black as the darkest pits and green eyes that seemed to spit fire appeared before them. The beast opened its terrifying maw, its roar threatening to break the very earth they stood on. It unfurled its wings and roared again, making them shrink from it. Its hot breath felt like a furnace, and they huddled in fear, cowering before it. And then, the beast went silent and inched forward, sniffing at the air around them.

It snarled around Aegon, as if in warning. It then turned its head toward the girls, sniffing and sniffing. Visenya it ignored, and Baela?

She was rewarded with a soft huff, something that almost sounded like a purr. Visenya’s eyes went wide in awe. "He likes you," she whispered. "Cannibal actually likes you."

And he was the one she had been feeding all this time, not Grey Ghost. Oh, her mother was going to lose it, Baela was certain.

But there was nothing you or anyone could have done, at any rate. A bond had already been formed, and if the tales were true, a bond could never be broken, not until the dragon or rider died. "You must ride." Visenya pushed her cousin forward. "Do it. The first flight seals the bond."

Baela looked at her cousin like she had sprouted a thousand eyes all at once. "Do it," Visenya urged, when they heard raised voices. Others were rushing towards them. "Claim him, or you might never get another chance if he flies off again."

Baela took a deep breath and said the first command that came to mind. Cannibal had once heard commands in the pit, but will he heed them after so many decades of running wild? "Māzīs," she said, inching forward.

The dragon tilted his head, as if listening. This time, Baela put steel in her voice. Dragons could smell fear and disrespect and would never respond to either. "Māzīs," she said more firmly.

This time, the dragon inched his way towards her, lowering his head as if to show he was no threat. When voices grew louder, he turned to the keepers rushing towards him and roared, forcing them back.

"Lykirī," Baela said sharply, and Cannibal turned his attention back to her. "Dohaerās, Cannibal."

Cannibal looked at her, studying her. What he did next shocked everyone. He lowered a shoulder to the ground, painfully and uncomfortably low for him, but low enough so Baela could climb him easily. When she struggled to reach his neck, he rolled his shoulders to push her up. She had to hold on with a squeal. Baela then came up with the next command. "Sōvētēs."

He took one fast step after another, building momentum. Baela had to grab onto one of his neck horns for more support. The edge of the cliff neared, and when his wings unfurled, she closed her eyes, thinking that this was the end.

Only it was not.

Daemon reached the cliff edge, a smile tugging at his lips, his chest filling with pride as dragon and rider soared overhead. Cannibal circled the fortress once, then twice, then dipped to the harbour, causing terrified workers and sailors to duck in fright when his shadow loomed over their ships. He took off into the clouds next, and Baela was sorely tempted to let go, to see if she could touch one. The lack of a proper saddle and reins stopped her from doing it.

Her thighs ached and her palms bled from holding so tight. Still she endured, believing the price was worth it. When they came back to the cliffs, Baela had been both laughing and crying at the same time, so overawed was she by the experience. When Cannibal landed, he lowered his shoulder to the earth again, so she could get off. "You've ruined horses for me,” she mumbled as she tried to catch her breath. “Did you know that?"

The dragon’s chest rumbled, as if he understood.

Baela gulped when her father walked towards her, and she steeled herself for the inevitable scolding. Oh, Daemon was nothing but fiercely proud, but he still had to chide his daughter for giving him such a fright. And as for you?

You lectured your daughter thoroughly for her recklessness, but secretly, you were proud too. Of course, you wanted your daughter to stew a little before you finally admitted to it. Daemon told his brother, and Viserys broke out into the biggest smile he had ever seen. "So he has finally come back to us," Viserys was as proud as his brother. "And it took your daughter to make it happen."  

Translations:

Māzīs – Come

Lykirī :Calm

Dohaerās: Serve

Sōvētēs – Fly

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x daughter #Daemon #x reader #reader inserts #reader requests #daemon imagine #HOTD #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #writeblr #asks

[cousticks]

what do you think of oda's last words to dazai?

was it good or nah?

Oda's last words to Dazai are a lot to unpack. Calling them good or bad is kind of a reduction, especially when so much of BSD is based around those shades of grey between.

Also anon I am so sorry, this answer ended up almost 1500 words. Buckle up I guess.

Before I answer this, lets put Oda into context a bit.

At 14, he was a highly regarded private assassin. One of the most skilled in Yokohama. He's got that vacant hopeless look to him that the tweens involved in death get in the BSD universe, and really only holds to retribution for betrayal and not much else other than just doing his job. I'm not sure off the top of my head when he met Natsume and decided he wanted to become an author, but somewhere in there he had a moral shift and was given a goal. I'm not sure when he really started collecting orphans, but I know he got... Sakura, I believe, during the Dragon's Head Conflict when he was about 21. This would also be not long after he met Dazai.

Oda... isn't perfect at all. I went on about it a bit in my last Oda post, but he really didn't make it to the light like he wanted to. He went from acclaimed assassin to mafia grunt that refuses to kill. Which... is a more lateral shift than he'd probably like. He's still supporting an undoubtedly corrupt and murderous organization, even if he himself isn't the one pulling the trigger, so to speak, anymore. Imperfect. He's a little better than some in the mafia, but is he, really? He's still, y'know, in the mafia. I could say something poetic about flowers blooming at night but I really don't even want to go that far. He's caring for some orphans, he's humoring Dazai, he's running some errands for the Mafia, point set. You could say he spends his time trying to keep some of the kids in the mafia alive and show them some kindness so they don't end up jaded in the way he did. We see this with Dazai, we kind of see it in the Dragon's Head Rush scene when he runs off with Akutagawa slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He's doing something, but he's not getting them out. I think he knows that's a decision the kids have to make on their own.

To reference Oda in Beast for a second, he sends Beast!Akutagawa to discourage one of the kids from joining a gang by being realistic with the kid. Akutagawa never directly tells him not to join, but he does tell the kid how fruitless it would be. The kid ultimately made the choice for himself to not go through with joining. Oda orchestrated that, too.

So... I said Oda isn't perfect. He isn't. But he knows that decisions mean more when its not somebody telling you to do it, but a conclusion you come to on your own once the reality of the situation is laid out. And in a way, that's what he does with Dazai. He understands Dazai's hopelessness. He was there, too, we saw it in Untold Stories with a 14 year old Oda.

So... Oda. Dying at 23. He's young. 23 is young. That's like, first real job out of Uni young. But he's been through the ringer and started trying to claw his way to the light. His death is tragic because he never quite made it.

Dazai. 18. Even younger, can barely be considered an adult. He's in the despair trenches now. He's already miserable. He hasn't started really clawing towards the light yet, not really. He's still convinced here that getting further into the "dark side" is what's going to help him find a reason to live. At this point, Oda knows that isn't quite true, he's a little further along in the journey, he found his light in the orphan kids, in spicy curry, he already figured out the light is pretty mundane.

But again. Oda never made it out of the dark. Here's an exchange from before his last words, when Dazai first runs into the hall.

"You're such an idiot, Odasaku. The biggest idiot I know." "Yeah." "You didn't have to do this. You didn't have to die." "I know."

Oda knows there could have been another way out, for this. He chose his death. He saw his lights were gone and he decided that he should go with them. Dazai and Oda are more similar than Oda is given credit for. In a way, in the final battle with Gide... he gave up.

So. His last words to Dazai.

"Listen." Odasaku wrapped his blood-soaked hand around Dazai's. "You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be able to find a reason to live..." "Yeah, I said that. I did. But what difference does that--?" "You won't find it," Odasaku said in almost a whisper. Dazai stared at him. "You should know that. Whether you're on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity."

This is Oda setting up the reality for Dazai to make his own choice. Oda never really found the light. He's speaking more from his own point of view than what he really believes for Dazai. Dazai, especially during Dark Era, he doesn't really function off of hope. He has it, sure, though he'd never admit it, but that's not a guiding principle for him. But he is pretty feelings-driven for a "logical" character. He felt a little more alive back during that fight with Rimbaud, and decided yeah, he'll join the mafia, to try to recreate that. He doesn't recreate it, as we see in Stormbringer. So he starts messing around again. Whatever. Point being, Dazai is pretty emotion-seeking. He found a lot of those feelings around Oda, because Oda could understand his situation very well. There was an easy comradery in understanding. Oda is appealing to both Dazai's logic and his feelings here.

Also, sidenote, throwback to Dead Apple, and all of Shibusawa's ramblings about nobody ever defying <i>his</i> expectations, and Dazai responding with "you wouldn't be saying all this if you actually had friends." So Oda's words ended up false, later on, when Dazai made actual connections. But Oda didn't know that, he never made it that far.

"Be on the side that saves people," Odasaku replied. "If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right and wrong, but… saving others is something just a bit more wonderful." "How do you know?" "I know. Better than anyone else."

So, the last quote, Oda set up the reality. Here's where he lets Dazai make his own choice once he has all the information. Here's where he kind of contradicts himself. He never really says that it will fix Dazai, personally, to join the side of the light. But what Oda is saying is that the world itself would be a little better, possibly a world more suited to helping Dazai find his own light. A different world than the one Oda is leaving.

I've kind of said a lot, but I haven't really answered the original question. So my answer is Oda's words follow his pattern of offering a reality and letting someone make a choice based off it for themselves. He was giving Dazai the tools he needed to make his own decision. Oda was flawed, jaded, and dying at this moment. His words aren't perfect. But Dazai didn't want hope in that moment. That would have been too much for him, I think. There are people in this world that listen to happy songs when they're sad to cheer them up, and there are people that listen to sad songs when they're sad as its a form of catharsis to feel your own emotions resonated with. It helps make sense of them. Dazai is the second type, here. Despite being emotion-driven, he's not super emotionally aware. I think mixing those signals would have done more harm at this point. He didn't need hope, he didn't need told that the world is a magical fairytale place. He needed the catharsis of someone else seeing him, <i>understanding</i> him, and telling him to go be better anyway.

Yes, Oda's last words were kinda cruel, telling Dazai that nothing will ever help. The words of a dying man in grief can't be expected to be cheery. But I do think that if joining the light were presented in any other way it wouldn't have had the impact on Dazai that it did. I'm not saying his last words were great, but I'm saying they were right.

#bsd oda #bsd dazai #bsd dark era #placeholder oda tag #white hill road #asks? answered. hotel? trivago.

[sucker-for-shifters]

For Day 15 of GtWAC:

Authors, share a little lore, be it from your main story or an AU.

~~~

I have to limit myself, because if I rambled about all the lore that's in my head right now, we'd be here for a week straight.

From Beyond the Grave:

During Wynn's initial life, he served under Queen Aurora, who convinced her kingdom that they were being threatened by supernatural beings that wanted to kill them. Wynn initially became a knight to protect people, but under Queen Aurora's rule, he regularly ventured out to stop "threats to the kingdom". His blind faith in his Queen (not to mention her threats towards those who didn't believe her) made him turn a blind eye to what he and the others were doing, and he quickly rose up the ranks to become one of her more favored knights. However, when he was off on one of his last missions, he broke when he saw them slaughtering entire families, and seeing for himself that their "protection" was actually more like genocide. His spirit completely broke, but the Queen refused to let him leave, instead sending him out on one last mission: Killing the green dragon that inhabited a nearby forest. Reluctantly, Wynn goes, and he proceeds to let the dragon kill him in order to make up for his wrongdoings. It's currently unknown why he resurrected a century later, but he's making a better use of his "life" knowing that he can make amends. However, even in "life", he isn't alive again permanently, having to absorb the life energy from other living things in order to survive.

In the meantime, Cen has been alone for many years, being seen as a burden by the other fae due to being unable to fly or use magic without passing out. He doesn't specify exactly what he's suffering from aside from describing himself as "unusually weak", but he suffers from something akin to chronic fatigue, with his most prominent symptoms being his near-constant insomnia and low energy levels. He labels himself as a paperweight, but in reality, he's very capable when put in the right situation. When needed, he is able to use magic and/or fly for short periods of time, but he can't do it for long before he runs out of energy. More often than not, he lets his mind do most of the heavy lifting, having idly studied all sorts of subjects over the years.

Inquisitive Minds for the Supernatural Kind:

While many different Supernaturals live in Umbra/The Underground, there aren't actually many other brownies living there, especially ones like Gray. In fact, Gray is quite an outlier, both physically and socially. Due to being so small compared to other Supernaturals (avg. 5.5" compared to a human-sized Supernatural), brownies tend to live in the shadows, using already-established buildings as cover and scavenging for the things that they need, much like borrowers. However, brownies have a few tricks up their sleeve, including the ability to turn invisible on a dime and, in some variants, turn into animals to disguise themselves. While you'd think that you'd find them in more established societies/groups, brownies are mainly lone wolves. While it helps them remain hidden, it also leaves them open to the dangers that you'd normally expect, like getting trampled, attacked by an animal, or freezing to death.

Usually, brownies stand about 5.5" (males) and 5.0" (females) tall respectively, and generally have darker hair, skin, and eye colors. They also have short pointed ears, and generally have freckles or other types of similar skin markings. Their hair is usually a bit more unkempt, and usually ranges from a dark brunette to a black color, though there are lighter variations. More often than not, brownies are assertive and don't take any nonsense, fighting back fiercely when they've been wronged, looked down upon/discriminated against, or are otherwise in danger. Gray, however, is a solid inch taller than average (standing at 6.5", where a normal male brownie would only reach his collarbone), has sleek silver hair, green eyes, and fair skin. He's also very meek when he's first introduced, not to mention a big pushover/people-pleasing.

This isn't touched on in the introductory story itself, but a thing that I really wanted to work on for worldbuilding.

#g/t #giant/tiny #gtwac #writer appreciation #g/t writing #from beyond the grave #detective light novel #tw violence #cw violence #tw death #cw death #tw death mention #cw death mention #tw murder #cw murder #disability

[bamf-jaskier]

I’m reading a non-canon short story written by Andrzej Sapkowski about Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding called Something Ends, Something Begins and my heart is literally so full. Even Asaps has to get tired of having so much angst so this short story is a literal fluff-fest and I love it so much. 

So I thought I would share some of my favorite quotes from the story and if you all want to read it, here is the link. 

"One day she'll break her neck," growled Yennefer, watching Ciri galloping in the splashing water, bent, firm in the stirrups. "One day your crazy daughter will break her neck."

Geralt turned his head and without a word looked into the sorceress's violet eyes.

"All right, then," smiled Yennefer, without averting her eyes. "Sorry, our daughter."

She hugged him again, pressing herself against him firmly, bit him in the arm again, kissed him, and bit him once more. Geralt touched her hair with his lips and carefully pulled her gown over her shoulders.

I am literally...I swear, we finally get domestic Yenralt and it isn’t even in the canon universe. I am literally going to fight someone. This is so damn cute and the way Yennefer is like “our daughter” my goddamn heart. 

The list of the guests wasn't that long. The engaged couple compiled it together and charged Dandelion with sending the invitations. Soon it turned out that the troubadour lost the list before he could even read it. Because he was ashamed to confess, he used a cheap trick and invited whomever he could. Of course he knew Geralt and Yennefer well enough that he didn't miss anyone important, but it wouldn't have been him if he didn't enrich the list of the guests by an admirable number of quite random persons.

Why does it just make sense that Dandelion would fuck this up? It’s so in-character, putting him in charge of the guest list was the first mistake. 

No one invited the golden dragon Villentretenmerth, because no one knew how to invite him and where to look for him. To the general astonishment the dragon turned up, of course incognito, in the form of the knight Borch Three Jackdaws. Of course, where Dandelion was present, one could not speak of any incognito, but even so few believed when the poet pointed at the curly-haired knight and claimed it was a dragon.

The image of Dandelion just pointing at this dude and yelling “He’s a dragon!” is fucking hilarious, especially when you consider most people don’t know dragons can shapeshift. 

"Was it you who invited

Triss Merigold?

"No," the witcher shook his head and silently praised the fact that the mutation of his blood system didn't allow him to blush.

"Not me. I think it was Dandelion, even though all of them claim to have learned about the wedding from the magical crystals."

"I don't want Triss to be present on my wedding!"

"But why? She's your friend."

"Don't make a fool out of me, witcher! Everyone knows you slept with her!"

"That's not true."

Yennefer's violet eyes narrowed dangerously.

"It is true."

"Is not!"

"It is!"

"All right," he turned around angrily. "It is true. So?"

The sorceress was quiet for a moment, playing with the obsidian star on the black velvet ribbon around her neck.

"Nothing," she said at last. "I just wanted you to admit it. Never try to lie to me, Geralt. Ever."

I love the little bickering. Also, like, even though Triss and Yennefer are friends try valid of her to not want her at the wedding. She slept with Geralt!! Love how Geralt tries to deny it at first but gives up ten seconds later. Geralt really tried to pull the “just friends” card and Yennefer was having NONE of it. 

The doppler accused Villentretenmerth of racism, chauvinism and lack of knowledge on the discussion's topic. Therefore, the insulted Villentretenmerth changed for a moment into his natural dragon form, destroying several pieces of furniture and causing a general panic. When the situation calmed down, a fierce quarrel began, in which humans and non-humans accused each other of lack of open-mindedness and racial tolerance. 

A quite unexpected twist in the discussion came from the freckled Merle, the whore who didn't look like a whore. Merle announced that the whole debate was stupid and pointless and didn't concern true professionals, who don't dinstinguish between such things, which she was willing to prove on the spot (for an adequate reward, of course), even with the dragon Villentretenmerth in his natural form. 

In the silence that fell abruptly in that instant they heard the female medium proclaim that she's willing to do the same, and for free. Villentretenmerth quickly changed the topic and began discussing safer topics, such as economics, politics, hunting, fishing and gambling.

Everything about this sequence is perfect, absolutely prime. Dragons and Dopplers fighting, Merle saying she would fuck a dragon in dragon form. This has EVERYTHING. 

"I'll get going right after the feast," Ciri repeated. 

"I want... I want to feel the wind in my face on the back of a galloping horse again. I want to see the stars on the horizon again, I want to whistle Dandelion's ballads at night. I'm longing for a fight, the dance with a sword, I'm longing for the risk, for the delight victory brings me. And I'm longing for solitude. Do you understand me?"

"Of course," Geralt smiled sadly. "Of course I understand you, Ciri. You're my daughter, you're a witcher. You'll do what you must. But I must tell you one thing. One thing. You can't run away forever, even though you'll always try."

"I know," she replied and cuddled herself closer to him. "I still have hope that one day... If I wait, if I'm patient, then I, too, perhaps will live such a beautiful day like this... Such a nice day... Even though..."

"What, Ciri?"

"I've never been pretty. And with that scar..."

"Ciri," he cut her off. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world. Right after Yen, of course."

"Oh, Geralt..."

"If you don't believe me, ask Dandelion."

"Oh, Geralt."

Ciri telling Geralt she wants to travel and move on is just heartbreaking but it makes sense. She has more adventures to go on. Geralt’s story is ending. Hers is beginning. Also Ciri feeling insecure about her appearance and Geralt being a good dad and comforting her? Amazing. 

"I have unfinished business there," she hissed. "For Mistle. For my Mistle. Even though I avenged her, but for Mistle one death is not enough."

Bonhart, he thought. She killed him out of hatred. Oh, Ciri, Ciri. You're standing on the edge of an abyss, daughter. Not a thousand deaths would avenge your Mistle. Beware of hatred, Ciri, it consumes like cancer.

"Watch out for yourself," he whispered."I'd rather watch out for others," she smiled ominously. "It pays off more, it works better in the long run."

I will never see her again, he thought. If she leaves, I will never see her again.

"You will," she answered unexpectedly and smiled with a smile of a sorceress, not of a witcher. "You will, Geralt."

When Geralt asks what Ciri plans to do on her travels she literally says: I am going to avenge my dead girlfriend and murder some people. Which is not a healthy coping mechanism but damn if the idea of a gay revenge story doesn’t sound good to read. 

The priestesses Iola and Eurneid also sobbed, when Yennefer refused to put on the white wedding dress they had made for her. Not even Nenneke's mediation helped. Yennefer cursed, threw around hexes and dishes, while repeating that she looks like a fucking virgin in white. 

The enraged Nenneke began yelling, too, and told the sorceress that she behaved worse than three fucking virgins at once. Yennefer responded by conjuring a ball of lightning and demolishing the roof of the corner tower, which had its good side, too. The crash was so terrible that Caldemeyn's daughter got shock from it and her diarrhea stopped.

Once again, this scene has EVERYTHING. Yennefer getting so pissed it demolishes a tower. The shaking being so bad it stops diarrhea. Also, why does Asaps use diarrhea so often in his books? You know what, I don’t want to know. 

Triss Merigold and the witcher Eskel from Kaer Morhen, were seen again, sneaking, arms linked, into the garden summerhouse.

Is that...IMPLIED TRISSKEL?? OKAY THEN. All the Trisskel friends out there: They hooked up at Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding I don’t make the rules. 

"Yen..."

She looked breathtaking. Black wavy locks, curled up with a golden tiara, fell in a shining cascade over her shoulders and the high collar of a long white brocade dress with black-striped sleeves, pulled together on a bodice with countless drapes of lilac ribbons.

"Flowers, don't forget the flowers," warned Triss Merigold, all in dark blue, and handed a bouquet of white roses to the bride. "Oh, Yen, I'm so happy..."

"Triss, darling," sobbed Yennefer all of a sudden, upon which both sorceresses embraced and kissed the air around their ears and diamond earrings.

"Enough of those endearments," ordered Nenneke, smoothing the folds on her snow-white priestess dress. "We're going to the chapel. Iola, Eurneid, hold her dress, or she'll kill herself on the stairs.

Triss and Yennefer’s friendship is so sweet sometimes. Like, they would literally murder each other but they would also murder FOR each other too. 

Yennefer approached Geralt and with a hand in a white lace glove she straightened the collar of his black cloak, embroidered with silver. Geralt offered her an arm.

"Geralt," she whispered into his ear. "I still can't believe it."

"Yen," he answered her in a whisper. "I love you."

"I know."

I don’t know is Asaps is purposefully referencing Star Wars here but either way this had me tearing up. Geralt and Yennefer deserve a happy ending and even if it’s not officially canon the author wrote it so this is canon in my head. 

The wedding was splendid. Ladies and maidens cried collectively. Herwig was the master of ceremony, a former king, but still a king. Vesemir from Kaer Morhen and Nenneke stood in as parents of the betrothed couple, Triss Merigold and Eskel as witnesses. 

Okay but why is Asaps sneaking in the Trisskel? I want more of it and this pairing definitely intrigues me. Also Vesemir and Nenneke as their parents? That’s so damn sweet. I swear to fuck this entire short story is too damn cute and I want more of it. 

I cannot stress how much I love the energy Merle brings to the table. Saying she would straight up fuck a dragon. The power of it all. 

#I am OBSESSED #like this has EVERYTHING #and I mean EVERYTHING #the witcher #yenralt #asaps #andrzej sapkowski #The Witcher books #myposts #yennefer #geralt #triss #eskel #trisskel #ciri #wedding

[esther-dot]

Lyanna cried for her brother to take her away in her last time. She wanted to be burried along with her father and brother who are dead in fighting for her. The blue rose crown was became tragedy symbol for her. Her ideals about world are shattered just like Sansa. Yet this fandom claim that R+L=J is romantic. Her story was always related to stark not love interest of Rhaegar. She and Elia were victims of Rhaegar.

I don't know why the fandom acts like there's a huge discrepancy between

Lyanna wanting to escape a marriage, defying her father, and running away

Sansa wanting a marriage, defying her father, and choosing to stay

If the point is that women should be free to choose, fans should sympathize with both characters, especially when it seems like the author is making a comparison. Both Rhaegar and Joffrey ended up being the enemy of their family. The Targs and then Lannisters killed the Stark father/oldest son of their respective generation. Whatever the truth is about Lyanna (kidnapped or voluntarily running away), in the end, the man who made Lyanna weep with his song and the boy who Sansa thought stepped out of a song both became the villains in their story.

IMO, Rhaegar is the worst. His actions not only dammed Lyanna to death (he just had to impregnate a teen girl), but also resulted in the death of his wife and children. I don't see how Martin wrote about the brutal deaths of Aegon and Rhaenys, included this line:

"It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl's body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father's bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her." (ASOS, Tyrion VI)

and expected me to not hate the man. I'm perplexed that Martin has referred to Rhaegar as lovestruck, as if there is an element of whimsy here. Alone, removed from the context of Rhaegar being a married man and a father, I could see looking at R/L as a tragic love story, but this quote directly connects Rhaegar to what happened to his daughter, son, and wife, people he was meant to protect, and I can't help but loathe the man.

Not only can I not talk about him impartiality, I'm not sure how to connect all the information we have gotten about him. He doesn't sound like a man to run off for a passionate love affair. In contrast, he did totally change his interests and essentially become someone else when he believed it was necessary, so the prophecy driven version makes more sense to me. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I don't know how much sympathy Martin intended for us to have for him, but Lyanna and Elia are certainly his victims.

I like the idea that to the North/the Starks have a version of the truth that is the opposite of Dany's (who blames Elia for Rhaegar looking at Lyanna and refuses to even hear about R's failures and only wants to hear about his victories 👀) because it makes sense that people with totally different ideals would have incompatible views on a shared history. For the audience to have a more nuanced perspective than the injured party or the one who hero worships the guy makes sense, but again, even if he didn’t kidnap Lyanna, I still think his actions are unforgivable.

Also, there's a lot about Rhaegar in Dany's chapters, so perhaps the idea is that they're parallel characters and Lyanna is Rhaegar's Nissa Nissa (who he thinks he loves but kills for his greater good) and Drogo was Dany's. I used to think that was a mercy killing but rereading the "Forgive me for all I have done and all I must do" line makes me wonder. Especially because what both Rhaegar and Dany are after is a "child"—although Rhaegar's three heads of the dragon were human and Dany gets three literal dragons. I haven't really paid too much attention to that idea before so idk. It seems that they were both driven by their sense of destiny (Rhaegar’s more selfless than Dany’s) and regardless of their intent, that ends up being horrible for everyone else.

Whatever Martin is doing, I definitely agree that Sansa, Elia, Lyanna were all victims because their world gave them no power. Sansa was damned by staying against her father's will, Lyanna was damned by running from her father's, Elia was damned even though she did exactly as she was meant to. In the end, it didn't matter what choice they made, they all suffered.

#ask dot #<-- tag to filter if y'all don't want to read these!

[what-the--curtains]

There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.

Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! I’ve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 😂) I’m so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with you💕💕 as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!

Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.

Word count: 4.5 k

Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3 years later

The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.

The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. You’d stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when you’d stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and they’d asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.

The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. You’d resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadn’t killed before.

Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.

There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how he’d supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.

A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what you’d heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. You’d never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.

Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before he’d sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.

“Where's the money?” you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.

“Where the head?” he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.

“Head was…. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,” you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.

“ Very much so, ” he says taking it and turning it in his hands

“The money then,” you restate, tone flat.

“Well there's one more... proposition I had.” He states, hand resting down on your thigh.

“I'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,” you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.

“You can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,” he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.

“You stupid bitch,” he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.

“The money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,” you say, louder than intended.

Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time he’d seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.

You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.

“Bitch,” he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood “you better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.” He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.

“Clever,” you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didn’t care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an ‘appointment’ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.

Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. “The shadow tracker”. That’s what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom he’d sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.

“Payments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,” you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.

“How much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,” he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.

“Above the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,” you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.

“And what would be your wish, if you could have it?” he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.

“To be left alone,” you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.

“What's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? ” he returns, chuckling slightly.

“I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you…” you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.

“Lady Stark, I was hoping we’d meet face to face,” he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.

“Lady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, haven’t you heard?” you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if he’d recognized it.

“Propaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,” he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.

“I do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,” you mutter.

“I did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called “shadow tracker” however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.”

“Is that what they call me?” you remark “ So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?” you pose shaking your head.

“No, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.” He pauses.

“Which is?” you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.

“One they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.”

“I assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,” you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.

“The desert is no place for a wolf,” he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.

“I shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,” you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.

A week later

You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldn’t have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. You’re lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.

“Dirron, Brant, always a pleasure” you snarl

“No hard feelings Shadow, you’re taking out all the business” Brant responds.

“How much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.” you plead, but they shake their heads.

“I paid you more than your worth,” he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger you’d dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.

“This dagger belonged to Robb Stark.”

“Did it? I stole it from a client months ago,” you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.

“Told you I'd have you from behind,” the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.

“Of all the souvenirs to keep, this…” he starts, examining the blade before continuing “ is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,” he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.

“As I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,” you lie, taking it from him.

“No you didn’t,” he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.

“Yes I did,” you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.

“Shall we debate it over a drink?” he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.

“A prince slumming it with the poor?” you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.

“My enjoyment of life precludes class,” he says offering you his arm

“As you speak from your riches,” you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.

“We are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronounced” he assures you.

“Is it?” you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.

“What will it cost you?” you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.

“What?” he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.

“To let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.” you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.

“I do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,” he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle

“What? Have I said something amusing? “ you question, almost annoyed.

“Untrusting,” he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.

“I am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,” you explain taking a sip.

“You husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,” he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.

“I’ve never been married,” you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.”

“You're good,” he says, eyes giving you the once over.

“At what?”

“Lying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.” he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.

“So, you think I can’t fight,” you say, shaking your head with a laugh

“Your words,” he states.

“I did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,” you scold, sitting up.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently he’d touched a nerve.

“Didn’t you?” you query, tilting your head.

“No, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,” he explains.

“Hard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,” you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a ‘thank you for the drink’ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“That’s privileged information,” you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.

“Come back to the palace with me.” He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.

“I have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldn’t stray from him even in death,” you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.

“While I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldn’t be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.” he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.

“Are you suggesting I got my husband killed?” you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement

“You’re dirty, you’re tired, you’re injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.”

“And what do you expect in return?” you ask.

“I simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.”

Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.

“This is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my services” he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.

“I can bath myself, thank you though,” you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.

“Whatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yours” he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one you’d ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.

You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.

You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew you’d be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.

“Dramatic,” you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it ‘winter is coming’ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.

#oberyn martell x you #prince oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x y/n #game of thrones fanfiction #There Are No Wolves in the Desert #part 2 #pedro pascal characters

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 15

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: canon typical, discussion of injury

***

Sookie sat at the bar with a glass of whiskey and coke in front of her. That was as close as you got to consoling her over what she just saw. You didn’t want to make it better. In fact, you preferred her wanting to stay the hell away from Bill.

Eric stood behind you sipping at his own drink while he ran a finger up and down the back of your arm. You leaned into his chest savoring the contact. Finally, Bill emerged from the basement. Sookie refused to look at him even when he stood right beside her.

“I want to thank you for securing my release,” he said.

“Uh huh.” Sookie stood but still didn’t look at him. “Let’s go. I have to pack.”

“Pack?” His gaze darted from this blonde to the two of you. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Compton,” you answered for her. You glanced at Eric and gestured toward Sookie with a nod of your head. “I think I better go with. Just to make sure everything stays on track. I’ll pack when I get back.”

He nodded once and kissed your temple. “Be safe.”

You walked backward away from him with a little smirk. “Just driving to Bon Temps, Eric. Think I’ll be just fine.”

***

You sat in the back while Sookie drove and Bill sat in the passenger seat. They’d been arguing almost since the drive started. Fortunately, you were nearing the little town.

“You killed him, probably both of them, and you don’t even care,” Sookie said for the fourth time.

Apparently, Bill was as tired of hearing it as you were. “I am a vampire, Sookie. I needed to feed. If you insist on associating with vampires, you need to grow up. And if you wish to blame someone for the deaths, blame Eric. If he had fed me during my incarceration, I wouldn’t have been so ravenous.”

“You’re seriously not going to take any responsibility? You know why you were in that basement. You would still be there if not for her, so watch your tone,” you snapped.

Bill snarled at you. “Just because you and Eric are fornicating, does not mean you have any authority over me. So, you would be wise to watch your tone.”

The car slid to a sudden stop causing you to rock forward. You glanced to Sookie with a frown.

“Get out,” she said.

“Pardon?” the vampire asked.

“You heard me, Bill Compton. Get the fuck out of my car. First, you insult me and then you threatened my friend.”

“I am not getting out of the car, Sookie. Just drive.”

“Fine,” she said before throwing off the seatbelt. She got out of the car, taking the keys with her and slamming the door.

Bill groaned and started to open the door until you stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got this. I think you’ve done enough.” You followed after your friend without giving him a chance to respond. You were surprised to find she’d already put a good deal of distance between herself and the car. She apparently could get a move on when she was pissed. You jogged after her. “Sookie. Wait up.”

She slowed and turned to you with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Something was in the brush keeping pace with you but you didn’t even react. No sense in freaking out the telepath unless necessary. “Hey,” you said as you reached her.

“Hey,” she said as she turned to start walking again. You put a hand on her arm to stop her.

“Stay still.”

She looked at you in confusion until another burst of sound came from the trees around you. She jumped a little. “What was that?”

You hummed to let her knew you heard, but you were too busy listening to give her more of an answer. You needed to pinpoint the origin of that noise so you could get Sookie the hell out of here. Suddenly, a figure stepped into the path and caught your attention. What the fuck was that? It was a thin figure with a bull’s head and large clawed hands. You pulled Sookie behind you so you were between her and the beast.

The only weapon you had was your knife and you certainly didn’t want to face this thing with just that. As the beast hunched forward in a charging pose, you pushed Sookie down the path. “Run, Sookie.”

“What?”

“Just run!” You yelled as the beast launched itself toward you. Shit it was fast. You might be able to outrun it, but Sookie couldn’t and you were keeping yourself between the two of them. Your only hope at the moment was that your vampire felt your terror and was on his way to perform a daring rescue. Or something like that.

You didn’t look back—looking back only slowed you down. You just kept running and pushing Sookie forward when necessary. Then white-hot pain raked across your back as claws tore through your clothes to rend the flesh. Fuck. You collapsed to the ground and curled in on yourself. Oh god, that hurt.

Sookie screamed at a rather impressive decibel then yelled for Bill before kneeling next to you. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” you said on a groan. “Fuck.” The wounds burned and you really wanted to what the hell had attacked you because this wasn’t an ordinary injury.

“Bill, do something,” Sookie ordered.

You chuckled though it was masked in another moan of pain. Compton wasn’t going to do shit for you.

“Eric will be here shortly. He would not appreciate my interference. We should go.”

“I’m not leaving her here.” Sookie sounded disgusted at the mere thought and you were certain you didn’t have to worry about her returning to Bill any time soon.

“I should hate think you were refusing to render aid to my mate, Bill,” Eric’s smooth voice flowed over you. Despite the implied threat, he barely spared the other vampire a glance as he crouched by your head. He brushed hair away from your face and ran his gaze over your face to see how you were handling the injury.

“Something’s wrong,” you forced out through clenched teeth.

He bit into his wrist and held it out for you to drink. You took a long swallow before jerking away with a cough. Then you heaved as you vomited up the blood. The motion made your back burn in fresh pain.

“Fuck,” Eric muttered. “What attacked her?”

“I don’t know what it was. A man with a bull’s head. It just stood in the dark then charged at us,” Sookie explained, still sounding terrified.

“Clawed hands. The wound burns. Like acid,” you added.

Eric gathered you up in his arms. “Bill escort Sookie to her car, then walk home. Miss Stackhouse can finish the drive without you I believe.”

He undoubtedly argued, or would have if Eric had given him the chance, but you two were already on your way back to Fangtasia.

You passed out on the trip and were awoken by someone poking at your wound. You were laying on your stomach on something soft in the middle of the club. You hissed and turned your head to see a very short woman in scrubs. Eric stood nearby with his arms crossed over his chest as he observed. Once he realized you were awake, he was by your side in an instant, kneeling by your head.

One hand brushed your hair away from your face and he grasped your hand with the other. “All will be fine, mitt allt.” He shifted his attention to the doctor. “What is it?”

“We don’t have a lot of choices. She’s been poisoned.” She paused to examine something on her glove. “You hear of Komodo dragons? Their mouths are teeming with bacteria. They bite you then follow you around until you succumb to the toxins and you are helpless. Then it will devour you alive.”

“This wasn’t a Komodo dragon,” Eric responded in annoyance.

“No. But the toxin is similar, only much more effective. I don’t think I’ve seen it before but it’s hard to tell without further testing and we don’t have that kind of time.” She pulled a blue bottle from her bag and looked at Eric. “You need to leave so I can remove her clothing.”

You squeezed his hand. You didn’t want him leaving you alone.

“She is my mate. I will stay.”

The woman’s gaze shifted to you and you gave a small nod.

She sighed. “Very well. You can help then.” They stripped your shirt, Eric doing his best to jostle you as little as possible. It still hurt like a bitch. “Hold her down.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. Your fears were validated when the doctor opened that blue bottle and poured it across the wounds on your back. Whatever was in that vial hurt far worse than the wound itself. You clenched your teeth against the pain before finally giving up and releasing a scream that left your throat raw. Just as the pain began to subside, the bitch of a doctor dug one of her fingers into the wound and dragged it the length. “Fucking fuck. Son of a bitch.”

You weren’t certain how long the torment went on. It could have been hours or minutes that simply felt like hours. Finally, she finished. You were exhausted and still hurt, but apparently you weren’t dying any longer. “You can give her your blood now. Her body should accept it. I’ll expect payment by the end of the week.”

Eric gave her a nod then bit into his wrist before offering it to you. You drank long and deep. When you finished, you remained still as you waited for the healing to kick in. Eric sat beside you, holding one of your hands in his own. Once the pain had mostly subsided, you opened an eye to peer at him. “A couple more decent injuries and I’ll have more of your blood in me than my own.”

He gave you a look that said you weren’t nearly as funny as you thought you were. “I sent Pam and Chow into the woods. They found nothing but a scent they couldn’t recognize.”

You huffed. “That’s helpful. Is it healed yet?”

“Nearly. Let me get you something to wear.” He released your hand and you closed your eyes as you waited for him to come back. You heard him sit but kept your eyes shut. “Do you recall the last time your father drank from you?”

You furrowed your brow. What an odd question. But it had been months at this point now that you thought about it. “Three months. Maybe four. Why?”

“Because he felt your panic almost as soon as I did. Not only have I drunk from you far more recently, but as you’ve said, you’ve had quite a bit of my blood. It should have diluted your connection with him.”

He was right but you had no answers for him so you simply shrugged.

He hummed then stood. “Come, mitt allt, let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

You called your father as Eric drove you home. You were dressed in an oversized t-shirt from the bar and your panties. Everything else had probably been burnt by now.

“Y/N,” he answered. Oh, he was pissed.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Don’t you daddy me. What the fuck is going on over there? You quit working for me because you were tired of all this shit but here you are nearly dying for free. Is it worth it?” His tone was one you rarely heard directed at you and you didn’t like it. It immediately had you on the defensive.

“So are you pissed I was hurt or pissed I don’t work for you anymore? I’m having trouble telling.” Eric’s hand found your thigh and gave it a little squeeze. You laced your fingers together with his and held his hand.

“Don’t start that shit with me, Y/N Y/M/N. This is twice you’ve nearly died in as many days. I have every right to be furious. At least if you were still working for me, I’d know exactly where you were and what you were up against. I could send the entirety of the resources at my disposal to assist you.” He paused and sighed. You could picture him pacing his office as he spoke to you. “I want you to come home.”

Eric’s hold on your hand tightened.

“Eric is my mate. I am home.”

You heard something break on his side of the line. “You haven’t completed the ceremony yet. It’s not too late to back out.”

“I accepted his claim. That is enough and you know it. What is this? I thought you liked him?” You took your hand back to rake it through your hair.

“That was before he proved himself utterly incapable of protecting you,” your father snapped.

You swore you could almost feel the irritation and paid radiating off Eric. You took a breath to calm yourself before responding to Roman. “Eric doesn’t have to protect me because he has faith in me to protect myself. And when things went bad, he was there to pick me up and take care of me. How many times exactly did I nearly die running errands for the Authority? I lost count but I’m sure you have a tally somewhere. I don’t want to talk to you for a few days. Please don’t call me.” With that you hung up.

You were nearly home before Eric spoke. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. You?”

He chuckled. “He is not my father.”

You thought about saying he wasn’t yours either, but that would be a lie and you knew it. Biology be damned, Roman Zimojic was your father in every way that mattered. You simply sighed and turned to look at the window.  

#eric northman x reader #eric northman fanfiction #true blood fanfiction #impossible #series

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (18) || atz

You and Wooyoung are sitting in the rigging, staring out to sea.

The Treasure has left Tortuga for a few days now, sailing in the open sea for the town of Nassau. From what Wooyoung has told you, Nassau, Seonghwa’s hometown, used to be a port thriving with pirate activity… until one day, the Royal Navy decided retake the town from the pirates. Pirate ships were burnt to the ground, the crews hung at the gallows and anyone associated with them brought in for questioning.

It is during that purge that Seonghwa’s parents were killed.

Seonghwa has finally left the confines of the galley, escorted to the sickbay to sleep and rest. Yunho is keeping a vigil beside Seonghwa, while you’ve taken over his cooking duties and Yunho’s lookout role. You may not be as well suited to the job as the two of them are, but it’s the most you can do for being to blame for Seonghwa’s condition.

If only you had known what to do.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut.

If only you hadn’t let the herbs be stolen.

You know it’s stupid, but the thoughts won’t stop echoing in your head.

If only you hadn’t gone out to celebrate your name.

You chew your lips.

If only you hadn’t come to this ship.

Guilt tears at you from the inside like the teeth of a piranha. The pain is all too acute, all to real.

“Hey.”

You’re jerked back from your thoughts by Wooyoung, who’s grinning at you. Somehow, the head gunner has pushed past the air of gloom surrounding the ship, managing to keep a broad smile on his face despite the weight on everyone’s shoulders. How he’s doing it, you don’t know, but part of you resents how easily he can seem to forget that Seonghwa is still in the sickbay, struggling to block out the voices of his dead family from his ears while all of you are absolutely powerless to help.

Even now, Seonghwa’s still refusing the sleeping incense, but Yeosang has given given him back the steak plushie, which he hugs to sleep every night. Jongho helps by singing his hyung to sleep. San mixes relaxing teas for him. Captain and Mingi studying the overlay of Nassau, trying to find the most inconspicuous way they can enter the town without garnering the attention of the authorities.

It’s only you and Wooyoung who can do nothing. And the guilt you feel is swallowing you whole.

Wooyoung suddenly leans forward, shackles clanging as he uses his fingers to turn your mouth up in smile. “I’m sure captain and Mingi will think of something. We’ll help Seonghwa-hyung and everything will be fine soon. Don’t be sad.”

Anger rushes forth.

“Don’t be sad?” You snap, smacking his hand away. Wooyoung looks visibly wounded, pain flashing across his face as his hand falls to his side, but you’re too caught up in your fury to notice. “Seonghwa-hyung is in this state and you have the gall to smile and act happy?”

Something in Wooyoung’s normally bright viridescent eyes darkens suddenly as he silently watches you rant.

“I hate how you’re still so happy go lucky! It’s like you don’t understand what it’s like to lose someone even though you’ve had family like Jongho-hyung and Yunho-hyung!” You continue raving, not seeing the way Wooyoung’s fingers clench so tight around the ropes his knuckles turn bloodless. “ I’m the only one who has no family, alright? I’m not like all of you, I don’t know what it’s like, but you’ve had family before, so shouldn’t you try to be more understanding?”

Silence falls between the two of you as you finish. Then you realise that you’ve just literally just thrown everything, your hurt, your pain, your guilt onto Wooyoung, who must be suffering too somewhere deep down inside. To your horror, his head hangs low so that you can’t see his expression, but from the way his shoulders are curled in on themselves, you must have wounded him deeply. Regret and guilt fills you.

You can’t seem to do anything right.

“Wooyoung-hyung, I’m sorry-”

“What else am I supposed to do, then?” Wooyoung breathes, turning to meet your eyes head on. You desperately want to look away, but his gaze is unbreakable as steel. There’s something utterly frigid about them, almost terrifying, like a dragon rearing its head. “Cry? Complain? Feel pity for myself? Curl up in a ball and hide until all the problems disappear?”

That’s exactly what you want to do right now under the weight of his of his intense stare, pinning you down.

“Hyung, I didn’t mean it-”

“You did.” Wooyoung cuts you off fiercely, his green eyes burning. “You meant every word of it and I don’t blame you. But I want you to know that I don’t intend on moping around because that’s not going to help anything. So get those stupid thoughts about it being your fault out of your head because none of them are true and smile because you need to believe things can get better.”

The resolve in his voice is unshakable, and you curl in on yourself to avoid Wooyoung’s stare, shame burning on your cheeks. All this while, you’ve only been thinking about yourself and your guilt, forgetting that you also affect the members of the crew and that moping around hasn’t helped at all.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper quietly under your breath, but Wooyoung hears you anyway and his smile returns once more.

“I forgive you.” He beams at you gently, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your head rests against his shoulder, seeking comfort. “I understand.”

You wipe the tears from your eyes as you swallow down your emotions. Right. Smile. Be positive. Staying negative isn’t going to help anything.

Then Wooyoung frowns as he looks down onto the main deck. “Yeosang is coming over. I wonder what he needs.”

“Wooyoungie! Is Chin Hae up there with you?” The navigator stops in front of the main mast, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks up. Wooyoung nods. “Yeah! Do you need him?”

“Can you tell him to come down? I have something to discuss with him.”

You frown, a little confused as Wooyoung glances at you in surprise. Then he leans forward to pinch your cheeks into a smile again, mirroring his own. “Go on. Don’t forget to smile.”

You manage a real smile for the first time in days.

“Thanks, Wooyoung-hyung.” You say as you climb over the side of the crow’s nest, making your way down and dropping lightly to the main deck. Yunho would be so proud if he saw you doing that. “What do you need, Yeosang-hyung?”

“San spoke to me earlier about your encounter with a fortune teller.” Yeosang explains to you as the two of you make your way across the main deck. Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s talking about. “Since Hongjoong-hyung is steering and Mingi is sleeping in the main hold, the captain’s quarters are empty and I thought that I could take this time to research on what the fortune teller said with you.”

Your heart leaps into your chest with ecstasy at what this could mean, but then you pause a little.

“Should we be doing this now? With everything that’s going on?”

Yeosang stops in the middle of pushing open the door to the captain’s cabin to look at you seriously. You’ve never realised how big and clear his eyes are, completely genuine and free of any trace of ill will. “It’s not like we can do anything now. What we can do is keep our spirits up and be strong for Seonghwa-hyung until we reach Nassau. And you’ve been looking down lately, so I thought I could try to cheer you up by clearing some of your questions.”

Warmth blooms in you at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Yeosang-hyung.”

The navigator smiles happily at you, almost radiant. “No problem. It’s my honour you’d trust me with such an important piece of information.” He opens the door and ushers you in.

You’ve never been in the captain’s cabin without the captain being present, so the room is unnaturally quiet and still. Yeosang, however, seems to know the room like it’s the back of his own hand, moving towards one of the shelves at the far end of the room while you hover awkwardly at the door.

“Please sit.” He indicates to the bed as he pulls out a scrap of parchment. You recognise it as the one Seonghwa had written your prophecy on the other time when you were discussing your visit to the fortune teller. Yeosang brings the paper over to you.

“So, what part haven’t you figured out?” He asks seriously, as he reaches in his pocket for a small wooden case, producing a pair of thin, gold rimmed eyeglasses and placing them on his nose delicately. You look over the words.

“The sea witch and the jar of clay.” You answer honestly.

Yeosang nods and moves over to his array of books. The walls are covered in them, from texts to maps to travel rutters to books of varying languages. There are even some tied up in stacks and placed neatly on the floor, all of them well kept and not a speck of dust on them.

He pulls out a few books, putting them in his arms as he mumbles to himself, eyes flitting among the shelves. Then he returns to you, setting the books on the table with a huff. “Let me look through these for a moment.”

You study him intently as he flips through the books faster than you can blink, fingers flying along the pages. The title on some of the books read ‘Legends of the Sea’, ‘Mythical Folk’ and such.

“The sea witch is a powerful entity who was once human with a bond to both the land and sea. She holds immense power, drawing upon the sea to cast spells. In return for a high price, she grants both magical and non magical folk alike what they desire.” Yeosang reads aloud, meticulously focusing on every detail. “Only people in great desperation can find the sea witch, as her lair lies hidden in a magical realm of the sea in which mortals cannot find. The entrance is rumoured to be off the coast of several uninhabited islands in the Atlantic, guarded by the sirens and fierce tidal straits rip through the waters, smashing any ship that dares pass through.”

“That’s… good to know.” You swallow uncomfortably. The only one who probably knows exactly who you are, and she’s probably out of reach. You’re unwilling to put the crew in danger because of your own problems.

“Those who have made a deal with the sea witch tend to have a token on which the deal was sealed.” Yeosang continues, glancing at the necklace hanging from your neck. “The price is often exorbitantly high, and is rarely something of material worth. It often is something of immense value to the person making the deal.”

Your memories.

You had given up your memories.

“In popular folk stories, she was responsible for taking the voice of a mermaid who’d fallen in love with a prince of the land in return for her legs. She also gives out pieces of ropes with three knots. Pulling the first knot could yield a gentle, southeasterly wind, while pulling two could generate a strong northerly wind, but the third knot would unleash a hurricane.” Yeosang looks slightly interested. “Hongjoong-hyung has one of these, but he’s used the first knot already.”

“Really?” You gape. This sea witch can’t be mere legend now.

The navigator nods as he picks up another book. “We were being chased by the Royal Navy, but he used the wind to blow the ships away. That’s when hyung really started to believe in myths a little.”

He opens a book called ‘Symbolism Through Ages’. “Jars of clay, jars of clay… Jars of clay refer to humans. In many books such as the Holy Bible, humans were described to be jars of clay, having mortal bodies while holding precious souls of great value in them.”

A jewel resting in a jar of clay.

Yeosang’s eyebrows pinch together as he continues reading. “This is a interesting explanation, but not rather helpful as it’s quite metaphorical. You said that the fortune teller asked you who’d made you?”

“Yeah…” You shiver a little at the words. “Then she told me the sea witch was my mistress.”

Yeosang frowns thoughtfully, and you can literally hear the gears in his mind turning. He picks up another book, flipping through it absentmindedly as he glances through it. “Made… Clay… Vessel… Humans… Sea Witch… Bargain...”

Then he stops.

All at once, his eyes fly wide open, pupils dilating in realization, mouth going slack, face ashen. The expression on his face can only be described in pure, unadulterated shock, and he stops breathing for a second as if air has trapped itself in his lungs.

Your heart skips a beat in excitement.

“Did you find something?” You begin to ask excitedly, but Yeosang barely seems to hear you, staring in horror at the page, then at you.

Unease begins to crawl up your skin, but you force it to the side and ask. “Yeosang-hyung… what is it?”

That seems to snap Yeosang out of his daze and he desperately tries to smooth his face in a neutral expression, but he can’t quite hide the terror in his eyes. “It’s nothing. I just thought of something, but it’s no big deal.”

The way his voice is trembling tells you it is anything but.

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and barely restrained anger. “Yeosang-hyung, what are you hiding from me?”

“It’s nothing.” The navigator insists, slamming the book shut. You get a mere glimpse of the cover. Prome-, but then Yeosang’s hand slides over the title and you can’t see it any longer. “It’s nothing at all, so just let it go, please.”

Usually, you’d let anything he says go, but this is different.

“Then let me see it.” You hold your hand out to take the book, but Yeosang wrenches it from your grasp before you can even hold it, eyes flaring in panic.

“Don’t touch it!” Yeosang shouts furiously, clutching the book to his chest. Rage fills you, what may be an answer to your identity is right there, but Yeosang won’t give it to you. You storm over to him, ready to rip the book from his hands if you need to.

“What are you doing?” You snarl at him, almost animalistic as you reach to tear your only clue from him, but Yeosang shakes his head, arms folding around the book.

“You can’t see it!” He screams at you, tears streaming down his cheeks and you feel red hot anger thrumming in your veins, purring to life like an awakening monster. Icy calm washes over you, in complete contrast to the fury burning in your heart. How dare he cry as if he’s the one losing anything from this?

Yeosang must see the shift in your eyes as your expression settles into one of dark determination, because his knees start knocking uncontrollably and his eyes dilate with pure, undiluted and primal fear.

“Give the book to me, Yeosang.”

In this moment, Yeosang makes a decision.

His fingers fumble with the latch behind him. Before you can realise what he’s doing, he’s opened the pothole, turned away from you and tossed the book into the ocean.

You feel like your last hope has been crushed into shards and scattered to the wind. Broken fury and grief screams within you like two clashing hurricanes, tearing you apart and ripping through you. Your eyes land on Yeosang, who looks stunned by what he’s just done.

You finally manage to find words in your rage to convey to him what exactly you’re feeling now.

“I hate you.” You spit with every bit of loathing you can muster, and with that, you whirl around and dash out of the cabin, the door slamming shut behind you.

Yeosang doesn’t say anything. Instead, he merely slides to the ground on his knees, body curled into a ball, wishing he could beg for your forgiveness.

And his fist pressed against his mouth to stifle the sobs pouring from his chest.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez wooyoung #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

[potatowitch]

Hawke as Companion

Template by @little-lightning-lavellan

Is your OC a Companion in the Dragon Age series? What would it be like for a player to select them to join their party for quests (or romance them, perhaps? 👀)

I did originally plan on doing this for my Inquisitor but, as always, I've got Hawke brainrot instead, and I figured writing some companion interactions would be so much more interesting with her as a companion than my Lavellan. This got .... very long.

You have selected RIAN to join your party!

Race: HUMAN

Gender: FEMALE

Class: MAGE

Specialization: BLOOD MAGE

BACKGROUND

Marian Elaine Hawke, known also as “Rian”, “Chuckles”, “Champion of Kirkwall” and “Hawke, NO” was born in 9:06 Dragon to Malcolm and Leandra Hawke. Despite having to keep her father's magic a secret, she was never led to believe that magic was anything but a gift. Therefore, she spent much of her younger years experimenting to see if she could produce magic, eventually managing at age 9 to light the fireplace with a tiny fireball.

Growing up, she was attached to Malcolm at the hip - the two of them shared not only their magic but their senses of humor and general chaotic energy.

After the Hawke family fled Lothering during the Blight, Hawke joined Athenril’s smugglers to pay off her entry into Kirkwall. As soon as she met Varric at the start of Act 1, they became inseparable best friends - Hawke often cites Varric as her soulmate and the platonic love of her life. During the Deep Roads expedition, Carver became infected with the Blight, and with the help of Anders, Hawke was able to lead him to the Grey Wardens so he could join their ranks.

Over the years, she developed close relationships with most of her companions except for Aveline and Sebastian. Her friendship with Merrill eventually developed into a committed romance, and Hawke started to practice blood magic after recognising that Merrill could do so without being "evil". The two of them eventually also developed feelings for Isabela, and as such she joined their romance as well.

By Act 3, Hawke had become a staunch supporter of mage rights, a dedicated member of the Underground, and wholeheartedly supported Anders’ choice to destroy Kirkwall’s Chantry.

Following the destruction of the Chantry, Hawke and her friends fled Kirkwall, splitting up despite Hawke desperately wanting them to remain together. Isabela and Merrill chose to remain with Hawke, and the three of them traveled across the Free Marches, occasionally running into Anders and assisting him in rescuing mages from rebelling Circles. Eventually, Isabela managed to acquire a new crew, and her partners were more than happy to sail with her as she established herself once again as the Queen of the Eastern Seas.

INQUISITION

Depending on the player’s choices in Here Lies The Abyss, Hawke can be convinced to stay and help the Inquisition further instead of accompanying the remaining Wardens to Weisshaupt, becoming a full companion. She will move to sit with Varric by the fire in the main hall. Hawke will also be present in Varric’s companion cutscene where he invites the Inquisitor to play Wicked Grace.

Upon first being recruited to the Inquisition, Hawke’s specialisation is not available - when automatically leveled, she will put points primarily into the Inferno and Storm trees. Her unique specialisation, Blood Mage, only becomes available if the Inquisitor has allied with the mages at Redcliffe. At that point, Hawke will initiate a conversation with the Inquisitor about their opinions on blood magic, and if the Inquisitor states that they have no problem with it, her specialisation will open. Otherwise, she will refuse to admit her use of blood magic to the Inquisitor.

At this point, Hawke will also speak more openly about her support of Anders. She will eventually admit that they are still in contact, though she won't tell the Inquisitor anything that could give them an idea of Anders’ whereabouts.

Her specialisation is not open to the Inquisitor, however Hawke can offer to teach a mage Inquisitor "a neat trick", which will give the player the choice to replace their current Focus ability with Hawke's.

BLOOD MAGE

Upon unlocking Hawke's specialisation, she will gain a large increase to her Constitution but her mana bar will become considerably shorter, and conventional healing effects will only operate at 25% efficiency. If she is out of mana, she will automatically revert to using her health pool to power her spells instead.

Her spell tree is very similar to the Dragon Age 2 Blood Mage tree, however it does not include the Blood Slave ability - it is instead replaced with Blood Bomb, which is a variant of Walking Bomb. Instead of applying a damage over time curse to a target, Hawke channels a spell that corrupts the targets' blood from the inside until the target dies - at which point they explode, doing damage to nearby enemies. This spell continually consumes Hawke's mana and health while it is being channeled.

Her Focus ability is Major Sacrifice, a variant of the Knight-Enchanter's Resurgence. Instead of healing the party to full health and providing an ongoing healing aura, Major Sacrifice will instead heal the party to full health but take 25% of Hawke's current health, and will provide an aura of ongoing damage to nearby enemies, converting their health into health for the party.

VARRIC'S PERSONAL QUEST IN VALAMMAR

If the Inquisitor brings Hawke to Valammar, she will be suspiciously quiet throughout the quest - though she will pipe up to complain about the Darkspawn. Following the reveal that Bianca shared the location of the thaig, Hawke will be furious and will argue with her.

Upon returning to Skyhold and speaking to Varric, the cutscene will begin in the middle of a conversation between him and Hawke.

HAWKE: You deserve better, you know. VARRIC: Yeah, you've said that before. HAWKE: It bears repeating. As many times as it takes to get it through your thick head. You deserve so much better. VARRIC: *sigh* Thanks, Chuckles.

APPROVAL AND ROMANCE

Hawke is not romanceable, though she welcomes playful flirting from a female Inquisitor. She will eventually initiate a conversation where she makes sure the Inquisitor isn't expecting the flirting to go anywhere further, as she is already in a relationship.

RIAN APPROVES OF: Supporting mage freedom, open-mindedness with magic and spirits, sarcasm, humor, stealing from nobility, pranking nobility, loyalty to your friends, being nice to Varric, terrible puns.

RIAN DISAPPROVES OF: Chantry rhetoric, the Circles, Templars, Tranquility, authority, betraying your friends, ignorance, pomposity, being mean to Varric.

Hawke will not leave the Inquisition, even if her approval is at Hostile. When questioned about this, she will say:

HAWKE: Did you miss the part where Corypheus is my responsibility? I’m going to fix my fuck-up, Inquisitor. If I have to put up with you while I do it, then, well … I’ve always said the Maker has a sick sense of humor.

TRESPASSER

Following Corypheus' defeat, Hawke leaves the Inquisition to rejoin Merrill and Isabela.

Once Trespasser is started, Hawke can be found accompanying Varric and Bran to the Winter Palace.

During exploration of the Eluvians, if both Hawke and Varric are in the party, they will briefly discuss how excited Merrill would be by all this, and Hawke will say "You'd better be writing all this down, Varric."

She will approve of redeeming Solas, though she won't disapprove if the Inquisitor decides they would rather kill him.

High Approval

If Varric has chosen to give the Inquisitor an estate in Kirkwall, Hawke will pipe up during the conversation saying she's excited to be neighbors, offering to give the Inquisitor the key to her wine cellar - though she will complain that Varric has never given her control of the harbor, to which Bran will mutter "thank the Maker".

Regardless of the Inquisition's fate, Hawke will return to her lovers, occasionally keeping in touch with the Inquisitor via letters.

Low Approval

If the Inquisitor has low approval with Hawke, they will be informed that she left as soon as the Inquisitor stepped back out of the Eluvian following the final confrontation with Solas. The epilogue slides will state that her whereabouts are, once again, unknown.

COMBAT COMMENTS

Killing an enemy

And stay down!

One more for me. We’re keeping score, right?

Have at you!

How’s my hair looking? (COMBAT ENDS)

I wonder what’s in their pockets. (COMBAT ENDS)

Oh, ew. I’m not cleaning that up. (COMBAT ENDS)

Low Health

This is going badly!

Little help, maybe?

Why are none of you healers?

This hurts! This really hurts!

Low Health (Companions)

INQUISITOR: You good over there, boss?

VARRIC: Varric, that blood better not be yours!

COLE: Help the kid!

CASSANDRA: They’re swarming the Seeker!

BLACKWALL: Hang on, Beardy!

IRON BULL: Bull’s in trouble!

Fallen Companions

INQUISITOR: Shit! Trevelyan/Lavellan/Adaar/Cadash is down!

VARRIC: Don’t you dare leave me now, Varric!

COLE: Cole! No!

CASSANDRA: Seeker is down! How did they manage that?

SOLAS: Come on, Solas!

DORIAN: Help Dorian!

SERA: Awful quiet, isn’t it? Oh shit, Sera!

LOCATION COMMENTS

(first time seeing a High Dragon) *laughing* "Oh, this will be fun!" IF VARRIC IS IN THE PARTY: "Hawke, the last time you fought one of these you nearly died." "Yeah, but I didn't die. That's the important thing."

(approaching a campsite) "Well ... I've slept in worse places."

(when collecting a Shard) "Let me guess. We have to collect a stupid amount of these for a really stupid reason, and they're all going to be in really stupid, hard to reach places. *sighs* I love adventuring."

HINTERLANDS

"Have we been here before? Feels like we've been here before."

(upon unlocking the cabin in Redcliffe with the Tranquil skulls) "That's ... fucking Maker. Tranquil have always made me uncomfortable but ... they were still people. They were still... shit, I need a second."

FALLOW MIRE

"Eugh, that smell! Worse than my dog when he's eaten cheese, and that's saying something."

(upon killing Widris) "Something, something, crazy mages ... "

"Oh, walking corpses. That's nice."

STORM COAST

(upon seeing the dragon vs giant fight) *laughing* "Oh, that's brilliant!"

"Not to sound like Varric, but why are there so many bloody hills around here? My legs hurt."

EXALTED PLAINS

"Maker, I hate Orlais."

(finding Valorin's corpse) *sighs* "Might sound a little hypocritical coming from me, but ... blood magic is not for the careless."

(seeing the ruined bridge, if Varric is in the party) "Hey Varric - " "Don't you dare, Hawke." "C'mon, please?" "You are not tossing me!" "Spoilsport."

EMERALD GRAVES

"I've always thought it was beautiful how the Dalish bury their dead under a tree sprout. Like ... I don't know, maybe death doesn't have to be the end."

HISSING WASTES

"There's sand in ... places. So many places."

"Have I said I hate sand? Because I hate sand."

EMPRISE DU LION

(seeing Red Lyrium) "Maybe don't touch that. It'll do all kinds of weird shit to you."

"I'm fucking freezing. When can we go home?"

(seeing Red Lyrium giants) "What the fuck?"

(Elfsblood River rift - near the lady with titsicles) *giggles*

SHRINE OF DUMAT

"I'm getting the weirdest sense of deja vu." IF VARRIC IS IN THE PARTY: "You're not the only one."

DEEP ROADS (THE DESCENT)

"Why do I always end up back in the Deep Roads? Am I cursed?"

COMPANION COMMENTS

VARRIC: "I was worried about what would happen if I brought her here, but ... it's nice to have Hawke around again."

CASSANDRA: "I have to admit, I do admire the Champion. A woman who built herself up from nothing to defeat the Arishok ... there's a certain romance to Varric's stories about her."

SOLAS: "I've been informed that Varric also calls Hawke "Chuckles". I ... don't see how we are similar."

DORIAN: "Hawke? Oh, I like her. She's not as daft as she acts."

BLACKWALL: "The other night, I found her getting teary-eyed in the tavern over how much she misses her dog. Don't quite know what to make of that, really."

VIVIENNE: "She is a powerful mage, I'll give her that, but she's also a naive fool. No wonder Kirkwall fell to pieces around her."

IRON BULL: "She's fun. Got a lot going on in that head she doesn't talk about, though."

COLE: "Fleeing, fighting, falling. Failed father, failed mother, failed Beth and Carver too. Fire and freedom, and she knows it's right but it still feels wrong. Old wounds that never healed, sometimes she can still taste the blood in her mouth. You chose to save her. She wishes you chose differently."

SERA: "Thought she'd be scary, but she makes me laugh. Hasn't let owning a mansion get to her head, either, and have you seen those arms? She's strong."

CULLEN: "I'd ... rather not talk about her, if you don't mind. We've a less than friendly history."

JOSEPHINE: "Lady Hawke is charming, certainly, but I cannot imagine her being popular amongst her neighbours in Hightown. She throws the very concept of decorum bodily out of the window."

LELIANA: "I knew her when she lived in Lothering. She didn't seem to like the Chantry much, but she was always sweet, and her jokes made me laugh. It's a little odd to see the woman she's grown into."

TRIVIA

Malcolm also made sure he trained Hawke in using a sword. She's not very good at it, preferring instead to use her staff as a melee weapon if an enemy gets too close.

She has a mean right hook.

Her and Varric have matching tattoos on their left buttcheeks.

Despite being Ferelden and adoring her own mabari, Hawke has a preference for cats.

She's awful at singing. She sings a lot anyway.

#oc as companion #who goes to weisshaupt instead of hawke? i don't know and i don't care #rian

[asunshinepuff]

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter eleven! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @ladynightmare913 ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

Just a small reminder that the next chapter will be posted on Luna’s blog!

The included lore for this tale has been written under the guise of Fantastic Nautical Creatures by Newt Scamander. As always it will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose, while still having my own twist.

Here’s the link to the previous chapter, and if you’ve missed any chapters here’s the link to the masterlist of this story.

This chapter features two very important songs, but I won’t be linking them here. The key words are melodious and mermaid. If you want the ambiance and the most from your reading, trust me, click the links when you come across them. 🧜🏻‍♀️

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Chapter 11: Stop Trying to Rescue Me!

The Dragon’s Pearl had been sailing for nearly three weeks now, Remus for once was a lot quieter than usual Sirius had to note. It was almost unnerving, it was as if he had turned into a completely different person. Sirius often found himself blinking, because he swore that Remus’ eyes glowed amber at times. But no one ever mentioned anything, so he decided to keep his observations to himself.

Remus gave Sirius a list, a bloody long list, of chores for Sirius to do that would last him four days.

“Your wrist,” Remus ordered.

Sirius stared at him skeptically, “What?”

Remus slowly blinked, as if it pained him to be in the idiotic presence that is Sirius Black. Instead of dignifying the pirate with an answer, he simply grabbed the pirate's left wrist, firmly clasping his hand and gripping his forearm with the other.

Sirius tried to free himself of his hold but to no avail. Rather, it seemed Remus was much stronger than he appears.

Dúi hǎi, well the gold snakelet part of him, slithered over from Remus' hand, and onto Sirius' arm, coiling around his wrist and becoming inanimate once more. Its emerald eyes gleaming at Sirius.

Sirius wanted to die right then and there.

If he wasn’t a prisoner on the ship before, he most certainly was one now. Remus only glared at the pirate, as if telling him, stop being dramatic.

“Behave.” That was all Remus said as he pointed to the snakelet before he walked below deck.

And that was the last Sirius saw of Remus in two days.

Two days of pure hell.

Sirius had, rather reluctantly, done his chores, but only because every time he attempted to forgo his tasks, the snakelet would animate to life and hiss at the pirate in warning. Captain Hua would smirk in amusement. First Mate Scamander nearly fell overboard as he laughed.

And Sirius suspected that if he even so much as stepped one foot off the ship, the snakelet would not hesitate to bite him. But after the last two incidents, the first being bitten by a metallic sword snake, and the second being a head attached to a mermaid, Sirius wasn’t so tempted to jump into the open ocean. Especially since he felt his hair on the nape of his neck stand on end, as if someone was watching him from beneath the waves.

Sirius had searched for the unusually quiet second mate of the ship, but to no avail. He did try to talk to Regulus, but the terrible head refused to let the pirate see the boy because Regulus didn’t want to see him. So, Sirius spent an unusual amount of time in the ship library. Sleeping.

And Sirius was in the library asleep when he awoke in the middle of the night to someone shaking him awake. And whispering his name. Sirius nearly fell off the chair.

“James?! What are you doing here?!” Sirius whispered loudly, rising to his feet.

“Rescuing you! What’s it look like!” The unruly-haired pirate grinned. “Now let’s go before someone catches us.”

“Wait James-” Sirius tried, but James was already dragging him out of the library, and onto the deck. There Sirius could see his ship, the Star Weaver, and Lily, Frank, Alice, Peter, Marlene, and Dorcas all waving them over.

James jumped onto the railing, grabbing a rope, Sirius dug his heels onto the deck.

“James, stop! I can’t leave the ship!”

“And why the bloody hell not?” James glanced around in the unexpected delay, an unceremonious splash silenced them.

They held their breath, staring at where they heard the source of the splash. After a few seconds, Sirius turned back to James and whispered.

“Because the second I take so much as a step off of this ship, I will die.” In emphasis, Sirius held up his left wrist, to show the very much awake and angry-looking snakelet that hissed at James.

James stared at it with very wide eyes and gulped. Sirius moved the snakelet down. “Do you want me to die, James?!”

“Just take it off!”

“I can’t! It’s enchanted! It’s alive or something!” Sirius winced, the snakelet coiling around his wrist tighter as it tried to strike James in the eye.

“What?!” James looked at the Snakelet. Terror on his face.

“Aww, you listened in class!” A familiar male voice interjects, “I’m so touched.”

Quinn stood at the deck, leaning against the base wall below the stern of the ship. He pushed off the wall nonchalantly, as he slowly walked towards the two pirates. “And the award for idiotic pirate of the year goes to…” Placing a hand upon the hilt of his sword, he leans forward, grinning madly. “None other than James Potter.”

Ropes snatched up the pirates one by one from the Star Weaver and tied them all up on the beam of the mast in the center of the ship.

“Congratulations. There is no prize.” Opal chuckles as she hops down from the cargo nets, pretending to wipe the dust from her hands.

All of the pirates glared at Captain Hua and First Mate Scamander. Sirius was spared from being tied up. Peter glared, or at least, he attempted to look like he was glaring, he mostly looked sick to his stomach.

“How come he doesn’t get tied up?”

“Because your Captain wasn’t actively trying to escape. This time.” Captain Hua answered smoothly.

Sirius’ crew could say what they wanted about the White Sea Serpent, but after spending nearly two weeks on The Dragon’s Pearl, Sirius knew the Captain was more than fair. And Sirius most definitely had been behaving.

Sirius almost preened at that. Someone like Captain Hua, The White Sea Serpent, acknowledged Sirius as a fellow Captain, even if it was to an inexperienced crew. Sirius hated it. He loathed it, because it was a feeling he wished he would feel if his own family acknowledged him, bothered to even look at him. He buried the feeling.

“How kind of you to join us, I don’t believe we had the chance to meet.” Captain Hua looked down to James and the rest of the crew.

“Though I suppose now isn’t the best time to exchange pleasantries.” Quinn commented, “A shame really.”

Lily, a bright red-haired young lady with bright green eyes glared silently at the older men. “If you’re going to kill us just get on with it.”

“Sweetie, you’d already be dead if we planned to kill you.” Opal cannot help but roll her eyes.

“Not to mention our Captain doesn’t kill children,” Quin added, looking over the young pirates. The pirate seethed in silent rage at the term. “When was the last time you even had a proper meal? And not just biscuits. You’re skinnier than a gull.”

“We are not children!” James retorted.

“Oh? You’re not?” Opal tilts her head. “How old are you?”

“17 summers.”

“Oh forgive me, 17 summers, practically grown men and women then,” Quinn responded sarcastically.

“If you are grown, then I see no reason as to why the captain shouldn’t kill you. After all, you trespassed onto his ship twice, and the first was a warning.” Opal crossed her arms.

Captain Hua remained as stoic as ever, simply watching the young pirates realize that they threw away the small mercy bestowed on them. Sirius couldn’t help but grimace.

The whispers of a singular melodious voice broke the eerie silence which had fallen upon the deck at the realization. Growing ever more vociferous in each passing second, the song reached the deck and the sailors who stood upon it. One by one, more voices began to accompany the harmony. Until there was no escape from the source. The deep blue waves seemed to carry the ship forward at the whims of the melody, as if being willed on command.

It was hypnotic, powerful— heavenly even, and yet something seemed entirely wrong.

Quinn doubled over, his hands clutching his head, an agonizing wail of pain fell from his lips.

“Quinn!” Opal quickly reached for him.

Sirius, James, Frank, and every man’s eyes on the ship, became cloudy as if in a daze. Opal looked across the deck, the women were unaffected by the sound. Opal’s eyes widened. She knew what this was. Captain Hua looked to the greek woman before they both ran off in different directions. Captain Hua went for his men, Opal released Lily, Alice, Marlene, and Dorcas.

“What are you-” Lily began to ask, but Opal interrupted her.

“Tie Sirius and everyone else up!” Opal ordered, rushing back to Quinn’s side, his wails grew louder each second he heard the song.

Captain Hua would stop each one of his men who attempted to fall overboard, knocking them unconscious.

“Why isn’t he being tied up?!” Alice shouted over the song.

“He’s unaffected! Just stop them if they try to remove the ropes.”

“Then what about him?!” Marlene, a blonde-haired young lady with bright green eyes, motioned to Quinn.

“He’s resisting it! To him, the song is a horrible screeching in his head, but to the others, it’s heavenly!” Opal yelled as she wrapped her arms around Quinn’s torso, keeping him from falling overboard as he tried to escape the noise.

The sound of snapping wood caught everyone’s attention, turning to look at the ship the pirates sailed on. The Sea Weaver was sinking. Fast.

“No!” Lily shouted, rushing to the railing. Captain Hua grabbed her by her waist. “Leave it! It’s beyond repair, there is nothing you can do!”

Lily tried to push the Captain off, “No! We can fight them off!”

“Those Sirens will kill you before you ever make it across.”

Lily only screamed in frustration, Min-Jun let her drop to the deck, rushing to the railing as he saw a clawed hand reach up. The Captain of the Dragon’s Pearl struck the climbing siren down. Opal, once certain that the wailing man wasn’t in danger of falling, began to do the same. Alice, Marlene, and Dorcas followed her lead.

Again, and again, and again the sirens climbed up the ship, and there was only so much rope to hold the sailors from their watery deaths.

“There’s too many! We have to abandon ship!” Dorcas, a young lady with chin-length dark hair and bright blue eyes, shouted.

“We’d sooner die out in open water!” Lily answered as she slashed another siren down, not without receiving a scratch on her forearm.

“Do they ever stop singing?!” Opal looked to Min-Jun, who was fighting off multiple sirens at once.

“No!” Min-Jun kicked one siren right in its face, pushing it back into the water, he looked back to Opal as she shielded Quinn. “They will only continue to sing louder until they start their feeding frenzy.”

“Feeding Frenzy?!” Alice screeched.

“Oh, how wonderful.” Opal sneered as she stabbed another siren, with pleasure.

“We just need to hold them off a little longer!” Min-Jun gritted out.

“For what?! For them to eat us alive!?” Alice yelled out.

The singing only grew louder until a new melody broke through the haunting melodious song and hissing with a single voice. Min-Jun visibly relaxed. “For that.”

A distance away, were two mers. One was a female with a white tail with faint blue spots, the other a male with an amber tail which complimented his glowing amber eyes. And they were quickly rushing to the ship.

“Oh great! More of them!” Lily sneered, looking back to the siren in front of her.

“Those aren’t sirens!” Opal smiled in relief.

“They’re mermaids.” Captain Hua finished.

“What’s the difference?!” Marlene demanded, grunting as her blade slashed another siren.

The female mermaid stopped a distance away from the ship.

“Watch.” Min-Jun stopped fighting the sea creatures off.

Opal knocked one last siren back into the sea, before she stopped fighting the rest off.

The mermaid floated on the surface of the water, and began to sing. The sirens’ song came to an abrupt halt, then hissed in the direction of the singing mermaid. Some sirens began to clutch their webbed ears, diving back into the water.

“They’re retreating,” Lily watched in awe, “But why?”

“A Siren’s voice is beautiful, yes, it puts men into a hypnotic trance. Their songs are used for hunting, and have malintent for those who are misfortunate enough to fall victim to it. A mermaid’s voice has different purposes for different things. And a single mermaid’s song is far more complex and superior than a whole pod of sirens singing.” The Captain explained.

The mermaid continued to sing, scaring off the few remaining sirens, then swam to the ship.

Opal caught Quinn before he could collapse, whispering for a moment in concern before helping him to the infirmary, his ears had traces of blood. Sirius was one of the first to break free of the siren’s spell.

Min-Jun left the young pirates to mourn their sunken ship. Sirius didn’t seem too sad to see it go. James, on the other hand, wasn’t taking it well.

“Now how are we going to get off this bloody ship?” James lamented.

Sirius sighed. “If you find a way, just go without me,” he holds up his wrist, “I’d really like to not have another near-death experience thank you.”

“I’m actually surprised you didn’t die,” Remus said from behind the pirates. His arms were crossed. “I was hoping you would.”

“And here I thought you’d actually prefer me alive to get your bracelet off of me.” Sirius held out his left hand. “Please, get it off.”

“Now what made you think that?” Remus tilted his head, then lowered his arms as he walked over to the pirate. “But, since you actually behaved, I’ll take him back.”

“You’re supposed to pry information off of me aren’t you? I’m no use to you as a corpse.” Sirius retorted. “Where have you been anyway?”

Remus decided not to answer, frankly not in the mood to argue.

He reached out and took hold of the pirate's left wrist once again, clasping his hand and gripping his forearm with the other. Dúi hǎi, slithered over from Sirius’ wrist hand, and back onto Remus’ hand. Coiling and becoming inanimate once more. Its emerald eyes gleaming in what might have been the equivalent of happiness.

“Funny, I didn't think you particularly cared.” Remus comments with a small smile, “I’ve been busy.”

James, Lily, Alice, Frank, Marlene, and Dorcas all stared at the moving snake.

“WHAT IS THAT THING?!” They shouted.

“It’s a Spirit Sword.” Sirius and Remus both said in exasperation.

.

Links:

Previous Chapter: Dúi Hai and Shou

Masterlist: Secrets of the Darkened Seas

Moodboards: SOTDS, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Quinn Sandoval

Fantastic Nautical Creatures: Entry 1

Tag List: (Let me know if you wish to be added!)

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#cw pain mention #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #wolfstar #enemies to lovers #love at first swordfight #quinn scamander #min-jun hua #opal teresi #brielle #lily evans #james potter #alice longbottom #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #regulus black #tadase #dúi hai #shou #asunshinepuff ocs #ladynightmare ocs #our ocs #pirate and mermaid au #siren attack #hypnotic song #secrets of the darkened seas

[highladyluck]

Mat/Tuon meta: Will He/Won’t He (Stage A Military Coup)

Back on my Mat/Tuon meta horse! This is about why Tuon is absolutely convinced Mat won't mount a military coup against her, and under what circumstances he just might, actually. Obviously, ‘ware series spoilers. The personal/political dynamic Mat and Tuon have at the end of the series continues to fascinate me. Tuon is well aware that Mat’s prince-consort position, Prince of the Ravens, is a position that could lead a military coup against her leadership; she knows all about the power struggle that imperialist, expansionist government leaders face with respect to their armies and the generals that lead the armies. She also knows at this point that Mat specifically has the skillset to pull that kind of thing off; he has demonstrated political skill even if he's not used to Seanchan customs (she noted that the way he diffused tension in the hell boded well for his ability to handle Seanchan court politics), he quickly inspires personal trust and loyalty in his troops regardless of what troops he's actually leading (see: when he meets back up with the Band in the Altaran wilderness, plus how quickly her own armies took to him), and of course he is brilliant at tactics and strategy (see: the entire series starting at book 4). She is also *certain* that he won't actually use that power against her. He has shown her personal loyalty on numerous other occasions, and Tuon's entire brand and survival strategy is generating personal loyalty due to her power (or potential power), skills, and personal integrity. She knows what personal loyalty looks like and she knows how it works. She's a little appalled at herself for not being afraid of Mat staging a coup, and she even thinks that it's probably not good for her or the empire to *not* be constantly threatened by her top military commander, because she's been conditioned to believe that external threats keep her sharp and focused- but she absolutely does trust him not to be a threat to her. Which is wild!!! You have to understand how wild this is!

Tuon previously only trusted her personal safety to people she thoroughly controls- Selucia, Karede, her damane. She does have a kind of control over Mat, but it's not based on anything she's done or her position, it's based on his personality and choices, and I don't think she thinks she controls him. (I think she believes she has authority over him, and that's at least somewhat true, but that's much different from the total control she has over enslaved people, or even the political control she has over the Blood.) She does also trust people she doesn't entirely control- the people who are almost her peers- but notably she doesn't trust them not to hurt her. She trusts that they'll act in ways benefiting their own self-interest or the interest of the empire, which could mean they might hurt her.

Mat, on the other hand, she trusts not to hurt her except accidentally, by making choices that have implications for her standing. (That's what all the manners lessons are about, she's trying to protect him so he doesn't leave her exposed.) Again, THIS IS WILD. Tuon’s an autocratic empress raised under the threat of assassination from birth, she has MAJOR trust and control issues, and here is someone she does not fully control but whom she implicitly trusts not to physically or even intentionally harm her. Do you think she's ever had that experience in her life before? I can't see how she would have. I think there's room to explore this in a way that would be therapeutic for Tuon, but it's also an extremely tempting vulnerability to exploit narratively. Either way, it's fascinating. So what's Mat's motivation not to harm Tuon, and how much of it does Tuon know? It's both a character thing and a situational thing, and I think Tuon knows about some of it, but not all of it, and she also has some major blind spots about what Mat is capable of. Mat won't intentionally harm her for a couple of general character reasons: he's in love with her, which she knows about and is like 'weird flex, but ok'; I don't know if she really knows how to parse it tbh. Also, because he won't kill a woman, which she knows about and is like 'this dumbassery is going to get my himbo straight-up murdered; however, it's kinda cute'. Also, because he has a saving-people-especially-women-thing, which she may or may not know about; I forget whether it came up in any of her surreal chats with Mat's childhood friends, but even if it did she may not know enough to give it proper context in his motivations, or understand how truly generalized it is. He's also promised to protect her from harm in the past, and while that may have been a time-/situation-limited thing, she's seen that he keeps his promises, assuming he gave the promise in earnest. So while he hasn't necessarily made such a promise recently, she knows that he keeps his word and that's something she values as a mark of integrity and a reason to trust someone. The other reasons she trusts him are more down to circumstances: the Last Battle had him temporarily siding with the Seanchan against their common enemy, the Dark One. I think Tuon's aware that he's not fully committed to the Empire yet, but possibly she doesn't realize the extent to which he is ambivalent, or she thinks it's the kind of thing they can compromise on, like the uniform design, rather than a fundamental disconnect in goals. Or she thinks that once he understands what his responsibilities are, he'll absorb himself into the role the way she has, which is... uh... rather optimistic of her, but we all have our blind spots. Finally, I don't think Mat's fully realized that a military coup (which would likely look like a situation where he spares Tuon's life but gets her off the throne) is an option for him. Or, it's occurred to him, but the circumstance has not yet come up that would justify him taking that path. And I do *not* think Tuon has considered this! She might think he knows that the Prince of Ravens is traditionally a threat to the Empress, but I don't recall that she's actually said that to him. And I don't think she sees a difference between her not being Empress and her being dead- she's conflated 'being in power' with 'staying alive' literally her entire life, and she probably thinks any situation where she's not Empress but still alive, if it's even possible, would be so shameful/painful it would be better to be dead. So it wouldn't occur to her that one outcome of a coup would be to replace her as government head but still keep her alive. And Mat hasn't yet faced a situation where he might have major ethical issues with not just the structure of the army but also the goals of it. (Even his iconic ‘I am accidentally leading an army despite really not wanting to lead an army, because I can’t let these dumbasses get killed’ move was ethically consistent, since he was just trying to run away/save people.) And, as I will never shut up about, he’s done literal war crimes to achieve his goals before- he didn’t stop to give aid after he ambushed the Seanchan in the Altaran forest, even though Teslyn specifically says this is against Randland military convention. And given Mat’s early canonical history of being railroaded into leading military campaigns, I don’t think Mat’s going to balk at leading the Seanchan army just because he doesn’t like the Seanchan empire, though it will matter what specifically he’s asked to do with it and why. I think Mat's way more likely to be willing to lead the reunification of Seanchan than to deal with local Westlands slave uprisings or rebellion. You're going to hit his moral breaking point a lot sooner if there's domestic civil crises. An actual slave revolt or rebellion would get hit with military force, and Mat says as much to Beslan so he's well aware that he'd be, if not in charge, certainly culpable for the Seanchan government response to it. (They might try to prevent it from happening at all with Seekers; but Seekers are mostly focused on the Blood, I think, so I think it's possible that if there's minimal Blood involvement they might not know about it in time to nip it in the bud.) So if you wanted to force Mat to have a crisis of conscience that's one situation you could set up, and I think it's even somewhat likely. Post-TG Seanchan-Westland politics are going to be a Cold War, and many entities in the Westlands would be happy to lend plausibly deniable support to an organic citizen and/or slave uprising! The other thing is, Mat needs to be constantly occupied and he does like using his skills; if he gets an 'acceptable' target for military force he probably will go for it. So if the forces in Seanchan unified under a rando warlord, he'd probably be ok leading the Westlands Seanchan troops there, reasoning that Tuon is probably a better or at least more influenceable ruler than that other guy. (Might be complicated if it was a female unifier, but probably not that much.) He would not be keen on enslaving the free Westlands- not that that’s going to happen as long as the Dragon’s Peace is going on- but a ‘peacekeeping mission in a foreign land’? ...idk, I can see him going for it, especially if he doesn't have enough political capital yet to back up an outright refusal. Mat was conflicted about using the damane he captured in the Last Battle, but he did use her. She was a prisoner of war from the enemy side, which probably eased his conscience a little re: personally owning her, but I don't see anywhere in the text that he had issues commanding Seanchan sul'dam and damane in a less personal way. The Last Battle was an unusual situation, but we've also seen Mat willing to ally or at least put up with plenty of people he dislikes- on personal and ideological grounds- to achieve a goal (see: rescuing Joline) or just figure out his options (see: all that card-playing with nobles in the Stone of Tear while he had emotions about Rand. XD)

So if you wanted to force Mat to have a moral crisis while fighting in Seanchan, you'd make the people he's fighting in Seanchan be people he sympathizes with more than he sympathizes with imperial Seanchan; let's say it's a coalition of rebels who want a different, more equal society. Mat's got gilt by association (thank you for that amazing phrase, Terry Pratchett) and he's not pleased about it, and unlike Tuon, he can envision a situation where she's still alive but not Empress. So I think that'd be another situation that would force him to have a crisis of conscience and start planning a coup or at least using his considerable power for leverage. The key in both cases is that it's not just Mat randomly deciding to take a stand for freedom; frankly, I don't think he would, unless he thought it was the best way to 'rescue' Tuon, and even then he would wait or maneuver until the tactical/strategic landscape was as much in his favor as possible, which is where the external circumstances weakening the Empire come in.

#mat/tuon #wheel of time #wheel of time meta #seanchan #mat cauthon #tuon paendrag #problematic fave tuon #wheel of time spoilers #post-canon #sorry I know no one wants to read more about coups this week

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany and Barristan’s relationship

This is a list of all the passages from the books featuring key moments in Dany and Barristan’s relationship (including Barristan's chapters).

In my opinion, this is a relationship that deserves more appreciation than it gets. There are multiple reasons why it doesn't: most of us (myself included) wish we had gotten Missandei's POV instead of Barristan's; most of us (myself included) were more eager to see Dany and Tyrion finally intersect and interact with each other than to enjoy Dany and Barristan's dynamic; D&D chose to focus on show!Jorah's relationship with show!Dany, to the detriment of show!Barristan; Dany/Barristan doesn't leave room for shipping like Dany/Jon or Dany/Jorah or Dany/Daario or Dany/Drogo; certain asoiaf meta writers overfocus on the possibility that Barristan might betray Dany for Aegon (which I don't find likely) or harshly criticize Barristan (since his character development is inherently tied to Dany's actions, criticizing him is a convenient way to criticize Dany herself).

Still, Barristan is meant to be a foil to Jorah in that the former does what the latter was unwilling (or incapable) of doing: he respects Dany's authority and personal boundaries, he thinks that slavery is immoral, he always calls Dany by her rightful title, he praises Dany for her own sake (instead of relating her accomplishments back to a man), he admires Dany for caring about her people, he knows her well enough to realize that she's in love with Daario, he thinks of what she would do when she's away from Meereen before making his decisions and so on.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

She still clung to the hope that someone would come after her. Ser Barristan might come seeking her; he was the first of her Queensguard, sworn to defend her life with his own.

~

And she wondered how much the Yunkai’i knew about what her captain meant to her. She had asked Ser Barristan that question the afternoon the hostages went forth. “They will have heard the talk,” he had replied. “Naharis may even have boasted of Your Grace’s ... of your great ... regard ... for him. If you will forgive my saying so, modesty is not one of the captain’s virtues. He takes great pride in his ... his swordsmanship.”

He boasts of bedding me, you mean.

~

As the world darkened, Dany settled in and closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. The night was cold, the ground hard, her belly empty. She found herself thinking of Meereen, of Daario, her love, and Hizdahr, her husband, of Irri and Jhiqui and sweet Missandei, Ser Barristan and Reznak and Skahaz Shavepate. Do they fear me dead? I flew off on a dragon’s back. Will they think he ate me?

ADWD The Queen's Hand

He stood beside the parapets of the highest step of the Great Pyramid, searching the sky as he did every morning, knowing that the dawn must come and hoping that his queen would come with it. She will not have abandoned us, she would never leave her people, he was telling himself, when he heard the prince’s death rattle coming from the queen’s apartments.

~

At his command, Quentyn Martell had been laid out in the queen’s own bed. He had been a knight, and a prince of Dorne besides. It seemed only kind to let him die in the bed he had crossed half a world to reach. The bedding was ruined—sheets, covers, pillows, mattress, all reeked of blood and smoke, but Ser Barristan thought Daenerys would forgive him.

~

He should have stayed in Dorne. He should have stayed a frog. Not all men are meant to dance with dragons. As he covered the boy once more, he found himself wondering whether there would be anyone to cover his queen, or whether her own corpse would lie un-mourned amongst the tall grasses of the Dothraki sea, staring blindly at the sky until her flesh fell from her bones.

“No,” he said aloud. “Daenerys is not dead. She was riding that dragon. I saw it with mine own two eyes.” He had said the same a hundred times before … but every day that passed made it harder to believe. Her hair was afire. I saw that too. She was burning … and if I did not see her fall, hundreds swear they did.

~

“They await the Hand’s pleasure below.”

I am no Hand, a part of him wanted to cry out. I am only a simple knight, the queen’s protector. I never wanted this. But with the queen gone and the king in chains, someone had to rule, and Ser Barristan did not trust the Shavepate.

~

“The black beast came once, why not again? This time with our queen.”

Or without her. Should Drogon return to Meereen without Daenerys mounted on his back, the city would erupt in blood and flame, of that Ser Barristan had no doubt. The very men sitting at this table would soon be at dagger points with one another. A young girl she might be, but Daenerys Targaryen was the only thing that held them all together.

“Her Grace will return when she returns,” said Ser Barristan.

~

Though he had assumed the title of Hand, Ser Barristan would not presume to hold court in the queen’s absence, nor would he permit Skahaz mo Kandaq to do such. Hizdahr’s grotesque dragon thrones had been removed at Ser Barristan’s command, but he had not brought back the simple pillowed bench the queen had favored. Instead a large round table had been set up in the center of the hall, with tall chairs all around it where men might sit and talk as peers.

~

“You had best guard that tongue, ser.” Ser Barristan did not like this Gerris Drinkwater, nor would he allow him to vilify Daenerys. “Prince Quentyn’s death was his own doing, and yours.”

~

“He offered her his heart,” Ser Gerris said again. “She needed swords, not hearts.”

“He would have given her the spears of Dorne as well.”

“Would that he had.” No one had wanted Daenerys to look with favor on the Dornish prince more than Barristan Selmy.

~

“...Duty brought Prince Quentyn here. Duty, honor, thirst for glory … never love. Quentyn was here for dragons, not Daenerys.”

~

The Dornishmen, Hizdahr, Reznak, the attack … was he doing the right things? Was he doing what Daenerys would have wanted? I was not made for this. Other Kingsguard had served as Hand before him. Not many, but a few. He had read of them in the White Book. Now he found himself wondering whether they had felt as lost and confused as he did.

~

Galazza Galare was attended by four Pink Graces. An aura of wisdom and dignity seemed to surround her that Ser Barristan could not help but admire. This is a strong woman, and she has been a faithful friend to Daenerys.

~

“If you truly think me wise, heed me now. Release the noble Hizdahr and restore him to his throne.”

“Only the queen can do that.”

~

“...Even your own young queen, fair Daenerys who called herself the Mother of Dragons … we saw her burning, that day in the pit … even she was not safe from the dragon’s wroth.”

“Her Grace is not … she …”

“… is dead. May the gods grant her sweet sleep.” Tears glistened behind her veils. “Let her dragons die as well.”

ADWD The Kingbreaker

“One guardsman amongst forty. All waiting for the empty tabard on the throne to speak the command so we might cut down Bloodbeard and the rest. Do you think the Yunkai’i would ever have dared present Daenerys with the head of her hostage?” 

No, thought Selmy. “Hizdahr seemed distraught.”

“Sham. His own kin of Loraq were returned unharmed. You saw. The Yunkai’i played us a mummer’s farce, with noble Hizdahr as chief mummer. The issue was never Yurkhaz zo Yunzak. The other slavers would gladly have trampled that old fool themselves. This was to give Hizdahr a pretext to kill the dragons.”

Ser Barristan chewed on that. “Would he dare?”

“He dared to kill his queen. Why not her pets? If we do not act, Hizdahr will hesitate for a time, to give proof of his reluctance and allow the Wise Masters the chance to rid him of the Stormcrow and the bloodrider. Then he will act. They want the dragons dead before the Volantene fleet arrives.”

Aye, they would. It all fit. That did not mean Barristan Selmy liked it any better. “That will not happen.” His queen was the Mother of Dragons; he would not allow her children to come to harm.    

~

“Daario might piss on us if we were burning. Elsewise do not look to him for help. Let the Stormcrows choose another captain, one who knows his place. If the queen does not return, the world will be one sellsword short. Who will grieve?”

“And when she does return?”

“She will weep and tear her hair and curse the Yunkai’i. Not us. No blood on our hands. You can comfort her. Tell her some tale of the old days, she likes those. Poor Daario, her brave captain … she will never forget him, no … but better for all of us if he is dead, yes? Better for Daenerys too.”

Better for Daenerys, and for Westeros. Daenerys Targaryen loved her captain, but that was the girl in her, not the queen. Prince Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna, and thousands died for it. Daemon Blackfyre loved the first Daenerys, and rose in rebellion when denied her. Bittersteel and Bloodraven both loved Shiera Seastar, and the Seven Kingdoms bled. The Prince of Dragonflies loved Jenny of Oldstones so much he cast aside a crown, and Westeros paid the bride price in corpses. All three of the sons of the fifth Aegon had wed for love, in defiance of their father’s wishes. And because that unlikely monarch had himself followed his heart when he chose his queen, he allowed his sons to have their way, making bitter enemies where he might have had fast friends. Treason and turmoil followed, as night follows day, ending at Summerhall in sorcery, fire, and grief.

Her love for Daario is poison. A slower poison than the locusts, but in the end as deadly. “There is still Jhogo,” Ser Barristan said. “Him, and Hero. Both precious to Her Grace.”

“We have hostages as well,” Skahaz Shavepate reminded him. “If the slavers kill one of ours, we kill one of theirs.”

For a moment Ser Barristan did not know whom he meant. Then it came to him. “The queen’s cupbearers?”

“Hostages,” insisted Skahaz mo Kandaq. “Grazdar and Qezza are the blood of the Green Grace. Mezzara is of Merreq, Kezmya is Pahl, Azzak Ghazeen. Bhakaz is Loraq, Hizdahr’s own kin. All are sons and daughters of the pyramids. Zhak, Quazzar, Uhlez, Hazkar, Dhazak, Yherizan, all children of Great Masters.”

“Innocent girls and sweet-faced boys.” Ser Barristan had come to know them all during the time they served the queen, Grazhar with his dreams of glory, shy Mezzara, lazy Miklaz, vain, pretty Kezmya, Qezza with her big soft eyes and angel’s voice, Dhazzar the dancer, and the rest. “Children.”

“Children of the Harpy. Only blood can pay for blood.”

“So said the Yunkishman who brought us Groleo’s head.”

“He was not wrong.”

“I will not permit it.”

“What use are hostages if they may not be touched?”

“Mayhaps we might offer three of the children for Daario, Hero, and Jhogo,” Ser Barristan allowed. “Her Grace—”

“—is not here. It is for you and me to do what must be done. You know that I am right.”

“Prince Rhaegar had two children,” Ser Barristan told him. “Rhaenys was a little girl, Aegon a babe in arms. When Tywin Lannister took King’s Landing, his men killed both of them. He served the bloody bodies up in crimson cloaks, a gift for the new king.” And what did Robert say when he saw them? Did he smile? Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded on the Trident, so he had been spared the sight of Lord Tywin’s gift, but oft he wondered. If I had seen him smile over the red ruins of Rhaegar’s children, no army on this earth could have stopped me from killing him. “I will not suffer the murder of children. Accept that, or I’ll have no part of this.”

~

Rhaegar had chosen Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Barristan Selmy would have made a different choice. Not the queen, who was not present. Nor Elia of Dorne, though she was good and gentle; had she been chosen, much war and woe might have been avoided. His choice would have been a young maiden not long at court, one of Elia’s companions … though compared to Ashara Dayne, the Dornish princess was a kitchen drab.

Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara’s smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. Daenerys has the same eyes. Sometimes when the queen looked at him, he felt as if he were looking at Ashara’s daughter …

ADWD The Discarded Knight

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony, smooth and simple, covered with the cushions that Ser Barristan had found to make her more comfortable. King Hizdahr had replaced the bench with two imposing thrones of gilded wood, their tall backs carved into the shape of dragons. The king seated himself in the right-hand throne with a golden crown upon his head and a jeweled sceptre in one pale hand. The second throne remained vacant.

The important throne, thought Ser Barristan. No dragon chair can replace a dragon no matter how elaborately it’s carved.

~

“Is it true?” a freedwoman shouted. “Is our mother dead?”

“No, no, no,” Reznak screeched. “Queen Daenerys will return to Meereen in her own time in all her might and majesty. Until such time, His Worship King Hizdahr shall—”

“He is no king of mine,” a freedman yelled.

Men began to shove at one another. “The queen is not dead,” the seneschal proclaimed. “Her bloodriders have been dispatched across the Skahazadhan to find Her Grace and return her to her loving lord and loyal subjects. Each has ten picked riders, and each man has three swift horses, so they may travel fast and far. Queen Daenerys shall be found.”

A tall Ghiscari in a brocade robe spoke next, in a voice as sonorous as it was cold. King Hizdahr shifted on his dragon throne, his face stony as he did his best to appear concerned but unperturbed. Once again his seneschal gave answer.

Ser Barristan let Reznak’s oily words wash over him. His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing, especially useful when the speaker was intent on proving that words were truly wind. Back at the rear of the hall, he spied the Dornish princeling and his two companions. They should not have come. Martell does not realize his danger. Daenerys was his only friend at this court, and she is gone. He wondered how much they understood of what was being said. Even he could not always make sense of the mongrel Ghiscari tongue the slavers spoke, especially when they were speaking fast.

Prince Quentyn was listening intently, at least. That one is his father’s son. Short and stocky, plain-faced, he seemed a decent lad, sober, sensible, dutiful … but not the sort to make a young girl’s heart beat faster. And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent. Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. She wants fire, and Dorne sent her mud.

~

Martell was dancing in a vipers’ nest, and he did not even see the snakes. His continued presence, even after Daenerys had given herself to another before the eyes of gods and men, would provoke any husband, and Quentyn no longer had the queen to shield him from Hizdahr’s wroth. Although …

The thought hit him like a slap across the face. Quentyn had grown up amongst the courts of Dorne. Plots and poisons were no strangers to him. Nor was Prince Lewyn his only uncle. He is kin to the Red Viper. Daenerys had taken another for her consort, but if Hizdahr died, she would be free to wed again. Could the Shavepate have been wrong? Who can say that the locusts were meant for Daenerys? It was the king’s own box. What if he was meant to be the victim all along? Hizdahr’s death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war. Daenerys might have had no better choice than Quentyn and his marriage pact.

~

Ser Barristan watched them, thoughtful. What would Daenerys want? he asked himself. He thought he knew.

~

“This Ghiscari lordling is no fit consort for the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“That is not for you to judge.” Ser Barristan paused, wondering if he had said too much already. No. Tell him the rest of it. “That day at Daznak’s Pit, some of the food in the royal box was poisoned. It was only chance that Strong Belwas ate it all. The Blue Graces say that only his size and freakish strength have saved him, but it was a near thing. He may yet die.”

The shock was plain on Prince Quentyn’s face. “Poison … meant for Daenerys?”

“Her or Hizdahr. Perhaps both. The box was his, though. His Grace made all the arrangements. If the poison was his doing … well, he will need a scapegoat. Who better than a rival from a distant land who has no friends at this court? Who better than a suitor the queen spurned?”

Quentyn Martell went pale. “Me? I would never … you cannot think I had any part in any …”

That was the truth, or he is a master mummer. “Others might,” said Ser Barristan. “The Red Viper was your uncle. And you have good reason to want King Hizdahr dead.”

“So do others,” suggested Gerris Drinkwater. “Naharis, for one. The queen’s …”

“… paramour,” Ser Barristan finished, before the Dornish knight could say anything that might besmirch the queen’s honor.

ADWD The Queensguard

You were the queen’s man,” said Reznak mo Reznak. “The king desires his own men about him when he holds court.”

I am the queen’s man still. Today, tomorrow, always, until my last breath, or hers. Barristan Selmy refused to believe that Daenerys Targaryen was dead.

Perhaps that was why he was being put aside. One by one, Hizdahr removes us all.

~

Despite all the queen had done, the sickness had spread, both within the city walls and without. Meereen’s markets were closed, its streets empty. King Hizdahr had allowed the fighting pits to remain open, but the crowds were sparse. The Meereenese had even begun to shun the Temple of the Graces, reportedly.

The slavers will find some way to blame Daenerys for that as well, Ser Barristan thought bitterly. He could almost hear them whispering—Great Masters, Sons of the Harpy, Yunkai’i, all telling one another that his queen was dead. Half of the city believed it, though as yet they did not have the courage to say such words aloud. But soon, I think.

~

Not for the first time, Selmy wondered at the strange fates that had brought him here. He was a knight of Westeros, a man of the stormlands and the Dornish marches; his place was in the Seven Kingdoms, not here upon the sweltering shores of Slaver’s Bay. I came to bring Daenerys home. Yet he had lost her, just as he had lost her father and her brother. Even Robert. I failed him too.

Perhaps Hizdahr was wiser than he knew. Ten years ago I would have sensed what Daenerys meant to do. Ten years ago I would have been quick enough to stop her. Instead he had stood befuddled as she leapt into the pit, shouting her name, then running uselessly after her across the scarlet sands. I am become old and slow. Small wonder Naharis mocked him as Ser Grandfather. Would Daario have moved more quickly if he had been beside the queen that day? Selmy thought he knew the answer to that, though it was not one he liked.

He had dreamed of it again last night: Belwas on his knees retching up bile and blood, Hizdahr urging on the dragonslayers, men and women fleeing in terror, fighting on the steps, climbing over one another, screaming and shouting. And Daenerys …

Her hair was aflame. She had the whip in her hand and she was shouting, then she was on the dragon’s back, flying. The sand that Drogon stirred as he took wing had stung Ser Barristan’s eyes, but through a veil of tears he had watched the beast fly from the pit, his great black wings slapping at the shoulders of the bronze warriors at the gates.

The rest he learned later. Beyond the gates had been a solid press of people. Maddened by the smell of dragon, horses below reared in terror, lashing out with iron-shod hooves. Food stalls and palanquins alike were overturned, men knocked down and trampled. Spears were thrown, cross-bows were fired. Some struck home. The dragon twisted violently in the air, wounds smoking, the girl clinging to his back. Then he loosed the fire.

It had taken the rest of the day and most of the night for the Brazen Beasts to gather up the corpses. The final count was two hundred fourteen slain, three times as many burned or wounded. Drogon was gone from the city by then, last seen high over the Skahazadhan, flying north. Of Daenerys Targaryen, no trace had been found. Some swore they saw her fall. Others insisted that the dragon had carried her off to devour her. They are wrong.

Ser Barristan knew no more of dragons than the tales every child hears, but he knew Targaryens. Daenerys had been riding that dragon, as Aegon had once ridden Balerion of old.

“She might be flying home,” he told himself, aloud. “No,” murmured a soft voice behind him. “She would not do that, ser. She would not go home without us.”

Ser Barristan turned. “Missandei. Child. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. This one is sorry if she has disturbed you.”

~

It was his failures that haunted him at night, though. Jaehaerys, Aerys, Robert. Three dead kings. Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them. Princess Elia and the children. Aegon just a babe, Rhaenys with her kitten. Dead, every one, yet he still lived, who had sworn to protect them. And now Daenerys, his bright shining child queen. She is not dead. I will not believe it.

Afternoon brought Ser Barristan a brief respite from his doubts. He spent it in the training hall on the pyramid’s third level, working with his boys, teaching them the art of sword and shield, horse and lance … and chivalry, the code that made a knight more than any pit fighter. Daenerys would need protectors her own age about her after he was gone, and Ser Barristan was determined to give her such.

The lads he was instructing ranged in age from eight to twenty. He had started with more than sixty of them, but the training had proved too rigorous for many. Less than half that number now remained, but some showed great promise. With no king to guard, I will have more time to train them now, he realized as he walked from pair to pair, watching them go at one another with blunted swords and spears with rounded heads. Brave boys. Baseborn, aye, but some will make good knights, and they love the queen. If not for her, all of them would have ended in the pits. King Hizdahr has his pit fighters, but Daenerys will have knights.

~

If the queen had commanded me to protect Hizdahr, I would have had no choice but to obey. But Daenerys Targaryen had never established a proper Queensguard even for herself nor issued any commands in respect to her consort. The world was simpler when I had a lord commander to decide such matters, Selmy reflected. Now I am the lord commander, and it is hard to know which path is right.

~

“I have the poisoner.”

“Who?”

“Hizdahr’s confectioner. His name would mean nothing to you. The man was just a cats paw. The Sons of the Harpy took his daughter and swore she would be returned unharmed once the queen was dead. Belwas and the dragon saved Daenerys. No one saved the girl. She was returned to her father in the black of night, in nine pieces. One for every year she lived.”

“Why?” Doubts gnawed at him. “The Sons had stopped their killing. Hizdahr’s peace—”

“—is a sham. Not at first, no. The Yunkai’i were afraid of our queen, of her Unsullied, of her dragons. This land has known dragons before. Yurkhaz zo Yunzak had read his histories, he knew. Hizdahr as well. Why not a peace? Daenerys wanted it, they could see that. Wanted it too much. She should have marched to Astapor.” Skahaz moved closer. “That was before. The pit changed all. Daenerys gone, Yurkhaz dead. In place of one old lion, a pack of jackals. Bloodbeard … that one has no taste for peace. And there is more. Worse. Volantis has launched its fleet against us.”

“Volantis.” Selmy’s sword hand tingled. We made a peace with Yunkai. Not with Volantis. “You are certain?”

“Certain. The Wise Masters know. So do their friends. The Harpy, Reznak, Hizdahr. This king will open the city gates to the Volantenes when they arrive. All those Daenerys freed will be enslaved again. Even some who were never slaves will be fitted for chains. You may end your days in a fighting pit, old man. Khrazz will eat your heart.”

His head was pounding. “Daenerys must be told.”

“Find her first.” Skahaz grasped his forearm. His fingers felt like iron. “We cannot wait for her.

~

“Daenerys signed that peace,” Ser Barristan said. “It is not for us to break it without her leave.”

“And if she is dead?” demanded Skahaz. “What then, ser? I say she would want us to protect her city. Her children.”

Her children were the freedmen. Mhysa, they called her, all those whose chains she broke. “Mother.” The Shavepate was not wrong. Daenerys would want her children protected. “What of Hizdahr? He is still her consort. Her king. Her husband.”

“Her poisoner.”

Is he? “Where is your proof?”

“The crown he wears is proof enough. The throne he sits. Open your eyes, old man. That is all he needed from Daenerys, all he ever wanted. Once he had it, why share the rule?”

Why indeed? It had been so hot down in the pit. He could still see the air shimmering above the scarlet sands, smell the blood spilling from the men who’d died for their amusement. And he could still hear Hizdahr, urging his queen to try the honeyed locusts.

ADWD Daenerys IX

At the base of the Great Pyramid, Ser Barristan awaited them beside an ornate open palanquin, surrounded by Brazen Beasts. Ser Grandfather, Dany thought. Despite his age, he looked tall and handsome in the armor that she’d given him. “I would be happier if you had Unsullied guards about you today, Your Grace,” the old knight said, as Hizdahr went to greet his cousin. “Half of these Brazen Beasts are untried freedmen.” And the other half are Meereenese of doubtful loyalty, he left unsaid. Selmy mistrusted all the Meereenese, even shavepates.

“And untried they shall remain unless we try them.”

“A mask can hide many things, Your Grace. Is the man behind the owl mask the same owl who guarded you yesterday and the day before? How can we know?”

“How should Meereen ever come to trust the Brazen Beasts if I do not? There are good brave men beneath those masks. I put my life into their hands.” Dany smiled for him. “You fret too much, ser. I will have you beside me, what other protection do I need?”

“I am one old man, Your Grace.”

“Strong Belwas will be with me as well.”

“As you say.” Ser Barristan lowered his voice. “Your Grace. We set the woman Meris free, as you commanded. Before she went, she asked to speak with you. I met with her instead. She claims this Tattered Prince meant to bring the Windblown over to your cause from the beginning. That he sent her here to treat with you secretly, but the Dornishmen unmasked them and betrayed them before she could make her own approach.”

Treachery on treachery, the queen thought wearily. Is there no end to it? “How much of this do you believe, ser?”

“Little and less, Your Grace, but those were her words.”

“Will they come over to us, if need be?”

“She says they will. But for a price.”

“Pay it.” Meereen needed iron, not gold.

“The Tattered Prince will want more than coin, Your Grace. Meris says that he wants Pentos.” “Pentos?” Her eyes narrowed. “How can I give him Pentos? It is half a world away.”

“He would be willing to wait, the woman Meris suggested. Until we march for Westeros.”

And if I never march for Westeros? “Pentos belongs to the Pentoshi. And Magister Illyrio is in Pentos. He who arranged my marriage to Khal Drogo and gave me my dragon eggs. Who sent me you, and Belwas, and Groleo. I owe him much and more. I will not repay that debt by giving his city to some sellsword. No.”

Ser Barristan inclined his head. “Your Grace is wise.”

~

Ser Barristan Selmy rode at Dany’s side, his armor flashing in the sun. A long cloak flowed from his shoulders, bleached as white as bone. On his left arm was a large white shield. A little farther back was Quentyn Martell, the Dornish prince, with his two companions.

The column crept slowly down the long brick street. BOMM. “They come!” BOMM. “Our queen. Our king.” BOMM. “Make way.”

Dany could hear her handmaids arguing behind her, debating who was going to win the day’s final match. Jhiqui favored the gigantic Goghor, who looked more bull than man, even to the bronze ring in his nose. Irri insisted that Belaquo Bonebreaker’s flail would prove the giant’s undoing. My handmaids are Dothraki, she told herself. Death rides with every khalasar. The day she wed Khal Drogo, the arakhs had flashed at her wedding feast, and men had died whilst others drank and mated. Life and death went hand in hand amongst the horselords, and a sprinkling of blood was thought to bless a marriage. Her new marriage would soon be drenched in blood. How blessed it would be.

BOMM, BOMM, BOMM, BOMM, BOMM, BOMM, came the drumbeats, faster than before, suddenly angry and impatient. Ser Barristan drew his sword as the column ground to an abrupt halt between the pink-and-white pyramid of Pahl and the green-and-black of Naqqan.

Dany turned. “Why are we stopped?”

Hizdahr stood. “The way is blocked.”

A palanquin lay overturned athwart their way. One of its bearers had collapsed to the bricks, overcome by heat. “Help that man,” Dany commanded. “Get him off the street before he’s stepped on and give him food and water. He looks as though he has not eaten in a fortnight.”

Ser Barristan glanced uneasily to left and right. Ghiscari faces were visible on the terraces, looking down with cool and unsympathetic eyes. “Your Grace, I do not like this halt. This may be some trap. The Sons of the Harpy—”

“—have been tamed,” declared Hizdahr zo Loraq.

~

“She needs a spear,” Ser Barristan said, as Barsena vaulted over the beast’s second charge. “That is no way to fight a boar.” He sounded like someone’s fussy old grandsire, just as Daario was always saying.

~

“Khaleesi?” Irri asked. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my floppy ears.” A dozen men with boar spears came trotting out onto the sand to drive the boar away from the corpse and back to his pen. The pitmaster was with them, a long barbed whip in his hand. As he snapped it at the boar, the queen rose. “Ser Barristan, will you see me safely back to my garden?”

~

“Kill it,” Hizdahr zo Loraq shouted to the other spearmen. “Kill the beast!”

Ser Barristan held her tightly. “Look away, Your Grace.”

“Let me go!” Dany twisted from his grasp. The world seemed to slow as she cleared the parapet. When she landed in the pit she lost a sandal. Running, she could feel the sand between her toes, hot and rough. Ser Barristan was calling after her. Strong Belwas was still vomiting. She ran faster.

~

Drogon roared full in her face, his breath hot enough to blister skin. Off to her right Dany heard Barristan Selmy shouting, “Me! Try me. Over here. Me!”

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“Ser Barristan?” she said softly.

The white knight appeared at once. “Your Grace.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough. He was not wrong. Never trust a sellsword.”

Or a queen, thought Dany. “Is there some man in the Second Sons who might be persuaded to … remove … Brown Ben?”

“As Daario Naharis once removed the other captains of the Stormcrows?” The old knight looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps. I would not know, Your Grace.”

No, she thought, you are too honest and too honorable. “If not, the Yunkai’i employ three other companies.”

“Rogues and cutthroats, scum of a hundred battlefields,” Ser Barristan warned, “with captains full as treacherous as Plumm.”

“I am only a young girl and know little of such things, but it seems to me that we want them to be treacherous. Once, you’ll recall, I convinced the Second Sons and Stormcrows to join us.”

“If Your Grace wishes a privy word with Gylo Rhegan or the Tattered Prince, I could bring them up to your apartments.”

“This is not the time. Too many eyes, too many ears. Their absence would be noted even if you could separate them discreetly from the Yunkai’i. We must find some quieter way of reaching out to them … not tonight, but soon.”

“As you command. Though I fear this is not a task for which I am well suited. In King’s Landing work of this sort was left to Lord Littlefinger or the Spider. We old knights are simple men, only good for fighting.” He patted his sword hilt.

“Our prisoners,” suggested Dany. “The Westerosi who came over from the Windblown with the three Dornishmen. We still have them in cells, do we not? Use them.”

“Free them, you mean? Is that wise? They were sent here to worm their way into your trust, so they might betray Your Grace at the first chance.”

“Then they failed. I do not trust them. I will never trust them.” If truth be told, Dany was forgetting how to trust. “We can still use them. One was a woman. Meris. Send her back, as a … a gesture of my regard. If their captain is a clever man, he will understand.”

“The woman is the worst of all.”

“All the better.” Dany considered a moment. “We should sound out the Long Lances too. And the Company of the Cat.”

“Bloodbeard.” Ser Barristan’s frown deepened. “If it please Your Grace, we want no part of him. Your Grace is too young to remember the Ninepenny Kings, but this Bloodbeard is cut from the same savage cloth. There is no honor in him, only hunger … for gold, for glory, for blood.”

“You know more of such men than me, ser.” If Bloodbeard might be truly the most dishonorable and greedy of the sellswords, he might be the easiest to sway, but she was loath to go against Ser Barristan’s counsel in such matters. “Do as you think best. But do it soon. If Hizdahr’s peace should break, I want to be ready. I do not trust the slavers.” I do not trust my husband. “They will turn on us at the first sign of weakness.”

“The Yunkai’i grow weaker as well. The bloody flux has taken hold amongst the Tolosi, it is said, and spread across the river to the third Ghiscari legion.”

The pale mare. Daenerys sighed. Quaithe warned me of the pale mare’s coming. She told me of the Dornish prince as well, the sun’s son. She told me much and more, but all in riddles. “I cannot rely on plague to save me from my enemies. Set Pretty Meris free. At once.”

“As you command. Though … Your Grace, if I may be so bold, there is another road …”

“The Dornish road?” Dany sighed. The three Dornishmen had been at the feast, as befit Prince Quentyn’s rank, though Reznak had taken care to seat them as far as possible from her husband. Hizdahr did not seem to be of a jealous nature, but no man would be pleased by the presence of a rival suitor near his new bride. “The boy seems pleasant and well spoken, but …”

“House Martell is ancient and noble, and has been a leal friend to House Targaryen for more than a century, Your Grace. I had the honor of serving with Prince Quentyn’s great-uncle in your father’s seven. Prince Lewyn was as valiant a brother-in-arms as any man could wish for. Quentyn Martell is of the same blood, if it please Your Grace.”

“It would please me if he had turned up with these fifty thousand swords he speaks of. Instead he brings two knights and a parchment. Will a parchment shield my people from the Yunkai’i? If he had come with a fleet …”

“Sunspear has never been a sea power, Your Grace.”

“No.” Dany knew enough of Westerosi history to know that. Nymeria had landed ten thousand ships upon Dorne’s sandy shores, but when she wed her Dornish prince she had burned them all and turned her back upon the sea forever. “Dorne is too far away. To please this prince, I would need to abandon all my people. You should send him home.”

“Dornishmen are notoriously stubborn, Your Grace. Prince Quentyn’s forebears fought your own for the better part of two hundred years. He will not go without you.”

Then he will die here, Daenerys thought, unless there is more to him than I can see. “Is he still within?”

“Drinking with his knights.”

“Bring him to me. It is time he met my children.”

A flicker of doubt passed across the long, solemn face of Barristan Selmy. “As you command.”

Her king was laughing with Yurkhaz zo Yunzak and the other Yunkish lords. Dany did not think that he would miss her, but just in case she instructed her handmaids to tell him that she was answering a call of nature, should he inquire after her.

Ser Barristan was waiting by the steps with the Dornish prince.

~

Even here in her own pyramid, on this happy night of peace and celebration, Ser Barristan insisted on keeping guards about her everywhere she went. The small company made the long descent in silence, stopping thrice to refresh themselves along the way.

~

One of the elephants trumpeted at them from his stall. An answering roar from below made her flush with sudden heat. Prince Quentyn looked up in alarm. “The dragons know when she is near,” Ser Barristan told him.

[...] “Remain outside,” Dany told Ser Barristan, as the Unsullied were opening the huge iron doors. “Prince Quentyn will protect me.” She drew the Dornish prince inside with her, to stand above the pit.

~

“Ser Barristan will have summoned a pair of sedan chairs to carry us back up to the banquet, but the climb can still be wearisome.”

ADWD Daenerys VII

Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, but he had been dead so long that Daenerys had almost forgotten how it felt to love and be loved. Daario had helped her to remember. I was dead and he brought me back to life. I was asleep and he woke me. My brave captain. Even so, of late he grew too bold. On the day that he returned from his latest sortie, he had tossed the head of a Yunkish lord at her feet and kissed her in the hall for all the world to see, until Barristan Selmy pulled the two of them apart. Ser Grandfather had been so wroth that Dany feared blood might be shed. “We cannot wed, my love. You know why.”

~

“As you wish. Bring your frog to court tomorrow. The others too. The Westerosi.” It would be nice to hear the Common Tongue from someone besides Ser Barristan.

~

“If it please Your Grace, we are all three knights.”

Dany glanced at Daario and saw anger flash across his face. He did not know. “I have need of knights,” she said.

Ser Barristan’s suspicions had awakened. “Knighthood is easily claimed this far from Westeros. Are you prepared to defend that boast with sword or lance?”

“If need be,” said Gerrold, “though I will not claim that any of us is the equal of Barristan the Bold. Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but we have come before you under false names.”

“I knew someone else who did that once,” said Dany, “a man called Arstan Whitebeard. Tell me your true names, then.”

~

“This is your gift? A scrap of writing?” Daario snatched the parchment out of the Dornishman’s hands and unrolled it, squinting at the seals and signatures. “Very pretty, all the gold and ribbons, but I do not read your Westerosi scratchings.”

“Bring it to the queen,” Ser Barristan commanded. “Now.”

Dany could feel the anger in the hall. “I am only a young girl, and young girls must have their gifts,” she said lightly. “Daario, please, you must not tease me. Give it here.”

The parchment was written in the Common Tongue. The queen unrolled it slowly, studying the seals and signatures. When she saw the name Ser Willem Darry, her heart beat a little faster. She read it over once, and then again.

“May we know what it says, Your Grace?” asked Ser Barristan.

“It is a secret pact,” Dany said, “made in Braavos when I was just a little girl. Ser Willem Darry signed for us, the man who spirited my brother and myself away from Dragonstone before the Usurper’s men could take us. Prince Oberyn Martell signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness.” She handed the parchment to Ser Barristan, so he might read it for himself.

~

Daario and Ser Barristan followed her up the steps to her apartments. “This changes everything,” the old knight said.

“This changes nothing,” Dany said, as Irri removed her crown. “What good are three men?”

“Three knights,” said Selmy.

“Three liars,” Daario said darkly. “They deceived me.”

“And bought you too, I do not doubt.” He did not trouble to deny it. Dany unrolled the parchment and examined it again. Braavos. This was done in Braavos, while we were living in the house with the red door. Why did that make her feel so strange?

She found herself remembering her nightmare. Sometimes there is truth in dreams. Could Hizdahr zo Loraq be working for the warlocks, was that what the dream had meant? Could the dream have been a sending? Were the gods telling her to put Hizdahr aside and wed this Dornish prince instead? Something tickled at her memory. “Ser Barristan, what are the arms of House Martell?”

“A sun in splendor, transfixed by a spear.”

The sun’s son. A shiver went through her. “Shadows and whispers.” What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun’s son. There was a lion in it too, and a dragon. Or am I the dragon? “Beware the perfumed seneschal.” That she remembered. “Dreams and prophecies. Why must they always be in riddles? I hate this. Oh, leave me, ser. Tomorrow is my wedding day.”

~

She found Strong Belwas eating grapes, as Barristan Selmy watched a stableboy cinch the girth on his dapple grey.

~

Ser Barristan helped her up onto her sedan chair. Quentyn rejoined his fellow Dornishmen. Strong Belwas bellowed for the gates to be opened, and Daenerys Targaryen was carried forth into the sun. Selmy fell in beside her on his dapple grey.

“Tell me,” Dany said, as the procession turned toward the Temple of the Graces, “if my father and my mother had been free to follow their own hearts, whom would they have wed?”

“It was long ago. Your Grace would not know them.”

“You know, though. Tell me.”

The old knight inclined his head. “The queen your mother was always mindful of her duty.” He was handsome in his gold-and-silver armor, his white cloak streaming from his shoulders, but he sounded like a man in pain, as if every word were a stone he had to pass. “As a girl, though … she was once smitten with a young knight from the stormlands who wore her favor at a tourney and named her queen of love and beauty. A brief thing.”

“What happened to this knight?”

“He put away his lance the day your lady mother wed your father. Afterward he became most pious, and was heard to say that only the Maiden could replace Queen Rhaella in his heart. His passion was impossible, of course. A landed knight is no fit consort for a princess of royal blood.”

And Daario Naharis is only a sellsword, not fit to buckle on the golden spurs of even a landed knight. “And my father? Was there some woman he loved better than his queen?”

Ser Barristan shifted in the saddle. “Not … not loved. Mayhaps wanted is a better word, but … it was only kitchen gossip, the whispers of washerwomen and stableboys …”

“I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest.”

“As you command.” The white knight chose his words with care. “Prince Aerys … as a youth, he was taken with a certain lady of Casterly Rock, a cousin of Tywin Lannister. When she and Tywin wed, your father drank too much wine at the wedding feast and was heard to say that it was a great pity that the lord’s right to the first night had been abolished. A drunken jape, no more, but Tywin Lannister was not a man to forget such words, or the … the liberties your father took during the bedding.” His face reddened. “I have said too much, Your Grace. I—”

“Gracious queen, well met!”

ADWD Daenerys VI

Ser Barristan wrinkled up his nose, and said, “Your Grace should not be here, breathing these black humors.”

“I am the blood of the dragon,” Dany reminded him. “Have you ever seen a dragon with the flux?” Viserys had oft claimed that Targaryens were untroubled by the pestilences that afflicted common men, and so far as she could tell, it was true. She could remember being cold and hungry and afraid, but never sick.

“Even so,” the old knight said, “I would feel better if Your Grace would return to the city.” The many-colored brick walls of Meereen were half a mile back. “The bloody flux has been the bane of every army since the Dawn Age. Let us distribute the food, Your Grace.”

“On the morrow. I am here now. I want to see.” She put her heels into her silver. The others trotted after her. Jhogo rode before her, Aggo and Rakharo just behind, long Dothraki whips in hand to keep away the sick and dying. Ser Barristan was at her right, mounted on a dapple grey.

~

Yesterday a wagon had been overturned and two of her soldiers killed, so today the queen had determined that she would bring the food herself. Every one of her advisors had argued fervently against it, from Reznak and the Shavepate to Ser Barristan, but Daenerys would not be moved. “I will not turn away from them,” she said stubbornly. “A queen must know the sufferings of her people.”

~

“Too many dead,” Aggo said. “They should be burned.”

“Who will burn them?” asked Ser Barristan. “The bloody flux is everywhere. A hundred die each night.”

“It is not good to touch the dead,” said Jhogo.

“This is known,” Aggo and Rakharo said, together.

“That may be so,” said Dany, “but this thing must be done, all the same.” She thought a moment. “The Unsullied have no fear of corpses. I shall speak to Grey Worm.”

“Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan, “the Unsullied are your best fighters. We dare not loose this plague amongst them. Let the Astapori bury their own dead.”

“They are too feeble,” said Symon Stripeback.

Dany said, “More food might make them stronger.”

Symon shook his head. “Food should not be wasted on the dying, Your Worship. We do not have enough to feed the living.”

He was not wrong, she knew, but that did not make the words any easier to hear. “This is far enough,” the queen decided. “We’ll feed them here.” She raised a hand. Behind her the wagons bumped to a halt, and her riders spread out around them, to keep the Astapori from rushing at the food. No sooner had they stopped than the press began to thicken around them, as more and more of the afflicted came limping and shambling toward the wagons. The riders cut them off. “Wait your turn,” they shouted. “No pushing. Back. Stay back. Bread for everyone. Wait your turn.”

Dany could only sit and watch. “Ser,” she said to Barristan Selmy, “is there no more we can do? You have provisions.”

“Provisions for Your Grace’s soldiers. We may well need to withstand a long siege. The Stormcrows and the Second Sons can harry the Yunkishmen, but they cannot hope to turn them. If Your Grace would allow me to assemble an army …”

“If there must be a battle, I would sooner fight it from behind the walls of Meereen. Let the Yunkai’i try and storm my battlements.” The queen surveyed the scene around her. “If we were to share our food equally …”

“… the Astapori would eat through their portion in days, and we would have that much less for the siege.”

Dany gazed across the camp, to the many-colored brick walls of Meereen. The air was thick with flies and cries. “The gods have sent this pestilence to humble me. So many dead … I will not have them eating corpses.” She beckoned Aggo closer. “Ride to the gates and bring me Grey Worm and fifty of his Unsullied.”

“Khaleesi. The blood of your blood obeys.” Aggo touched his horse with his heels and galloped off.

Ser Barristan watched with ill-concealed apprehension. “You should not linger here overlong, Your Grace. The Astapori are being fed, as you commanded. There’s no more we can do for the poor wretches. We should repair back to the city.”

“Go if you wish, ser. I will not detain you. I will not detain any of you.” Dany vaulted down from the horse. “I cannot heal them, but I can show them that their Mother cares.”

~

“To celebrate your nuptials, it would be most fitting if you would allow the fighting pits to open once again. It would be your wedding gift to Hizdahr and to your loving people, a sign that you had embraced the ancient ways and customs of Meereen.”

“And most pleasing to the gods as well,” the Green Grace added in her soft and kindly voice.

A bride price paid in blood. Daenerys was weary of fighting this battle. Even Ser Barristan did not think she could win. “No ruler can make a people good,” Selmy had told her. “Baelor the Blessed prayed and fasted and built the Seven as splendid a temple as any gods could wish for, yet he could not put an end to war and want.” A queen must listen to her people, Dany reminded herself.

~

The queen was framing her response when she heard a step behind her. The food, she thought. Her cooks had promised her to serve the noble Hizdahr’s favorite meal, dog in honey, stuffed with prunes and peppers. But when she turned to look, it was Ser Barristan standing there, freshly bathed and clad in white, his longsword at his side. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing, “I am sorry to disturb you, but I thought that you would want to know at once. The Stormcrows have returned to the city, with word of the foe. The Yunkishmen are on the march, just as we had feared.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed the noble face of Hizdahr zo Loraq. “The queen is at her supper. These sellswords can wait.”

Ser Barristan ignored him. “I asked Lord Daario to make his report to me, as Your Grace had commanded. He laughed and said that he would write it out in his own blood if Your Grace would send your little scribe to show him how to make the letters.”

“Blood?” said Dany, horrified. “Is that a jape? No. No, don’t tell me, I must see him for myself.” She was a young girl, and alone, and young girls can change their minds. “Convene my captains and commanders. Hizdahr, I know you will forgive me.”

“Meereen must come first.” Hizdahr smiled genially. “We will have other nights. A thousand nights.”

“Ser Barristan will show you out.”

~

“You’re hurt,” she gasped.

“This?” Daario touched his temple. “A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile.” He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. “This blood is not mine. One of my serjeants said we should go over to the Yunkai’i, so I reached down his throat and pulled his heart out. I meant to bring it to you as a gift for my silver queen, but four of the Cats cut me off and came snarling and spitting after me. One almost caught me, so I threw the heart into his face.”

“Very gallant,” said Ser Barristan, in a tone that suggested it was anything but, “but do you have tidings for Her Grace?”

“Hard tidings, Ser Grandfather. Astapor is gone, and the slavers are coming north in strength.”

~

Ser Barristan frowned at Daario. “Captain, you made mention of four free companies. We know of only three. The Windblown, the Long Lances, and the Company of the Cat.”

“Ser Grandfather knows how to count. The Second Sons have gone over to the Yunkai’i.” Daario turned his head and spat. “That’s for Brown Ben Plumm. When next I see his ugly face I will open him from throat to groin and rip out his black heart.”

~

“Please,” Dany said, but only Missandei seemed to hear. The queen got to her feet. “Be quiet! I have heard enough.”

“Your Grace.” Ser Barristan went to one knee. “We are yours to command. What would you have us do?”

“Continue as we planned. Gather food, as much as you can.”

ADWD Daenerys V

Ser Barristan remained. “Our stores are ample for the moment,” he reminded her, “and Your Grace has planted beans and grapes and wheat. Your Dothraki have harried the slavers from the hills and struck the shackles from their slaves. They are planting too, and will be bringing their crops to Meereen to market. And you will have the friendship of Lhazar.”

Daario won that for me, for all that it is worth. “The Lamb Men. Would that lambs had teeth.”

“That would make the wolves more cautious, no doubt.”

That made her laugh. “How fare your orphans, ser?”

The old knight smiled. “Well, Your Grace. It is good of you to ask.” The boys were his pride. “Four or five have the makings of knights. Perhaps as many as a dozen.”

“One would be enough if he were as true as you.” The day might come soon when she would have need of every knight. “Will they joust for me? I should like that.” Viserys had told her stories of the tourneys he had witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms, but Dany had never seen a joust herself.

“They are not ready, Your Grace. When they are, they will be pleased to demonstrate their prowess.”

“I hope that day comes quickly.” She would have kissed her good knight on the cheek, but just then Missandei appeared beneath the arched doorway.

~

Afterward, Ser Barristan told her that her brother Rhaegar would have been proud of her. Dany remembered the words Ser Jorah had spoken at Astapor: Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.

~

She turned to Ser Barristan. “Send riders into the hills to find my bloodriders. Recall Brown Ben and the Second Sons as well.”

“And the Stormcrows, Your Grace?”

Daario. “Yes. Yes.” [...]

When Ser Barristan told her that her captain desired words with her, she thought for a moment that it was Daario, and her heart leapt. But the captain that he spoke of was Brown Ben Plumm.

~

“These are not apples, Ben,” said Dany. “These are men and women, sick and hungry and afraid.” My children. “I should have gone to Astapor.”

“Your Grace could not have saved them,” said Ser Barristan. “You warned King Cleon against this war with Yunkai. The man was a fool, and his hands were red with blood.”

And are my hands any cleaner?

~

Daenerys looked at the faces of the men around her. The Shavepate, scowling. Ser Barristan, with his lined face and sad blue eyes. Reznak mo Reznak, pale, sweating. Brown Ben, white-haired, grizzled, tough as old leather. Grey Worm, smooth-cheeked, stolid, expressionless. Daario should be here, and my bloodriders, she thought. If there is to be a battle, the blood of my blood should be with me. She missed Ser Jorah Mormont too. He lied to me, informed on me, but he loved me too, and he always gave good counsel.

~

“I defeated the Yunkai’i before. I will defeat them again. Where, though? How?”

“You mean to take the field?” The Shavepate’s voice was thick with disbelief. “That would be folly. Our walls are taller and thicker than the walls of Astapor, and our defenders are more valiant. The Yunkai’i will not take this city easily.”

Ser Barristan disagreed. “I do not think we should allow them to invest us. Theirs is a patchwork host at best. These slavers are no soldiers. If we take them unawares …”

“Small chance of that,” the Shavepate said. “The Yunkai’i have many friends inside the city. They will know.”

“How large an army can we muster?” Dany asked.

“Not large enough, begging your royal pardon,” said Brown Ben Plumm. “What does Naharis have to say? If we’re going to make a fight o’ this, we need his Stormcrows.”

“Daario is still in the field.”

~

“Ben, I will need your Second Sons to scout our enemies. Where they are, how fast they are advancing, how many men they have, and how they are disposed.”

“We’ll need provisions. Fresh horses too.”

“Of course. Ser Barristan will see to it.”

~

“What of these Astapori?”

My children. “They are coming here for help. For succor and protection. We cannot turn our backs on them.”

Ser Barristan frowned. “Your Grace, I have known the bloody flux to destroy whole armies when left to spread unchecked. The seneschal is right. We cannot have the Astapori in Meereen.”

Dany looked at him helplessly. It was good that dragons did not cry.

~

When Daenerys finally turned away, Ser Barristan stood near her, wrapped in his white cloak against the chill of evening. “Can we make a fight of this?” she asked him.

“Men can always fight, Your Grace. Ask rather if we can win. Dying is easy, but victory comes hard. Your freedmen are half-trained and unblooded. Your sellswords once served your foes, and once a man turns his cloak he will not scruple to turn it again. You have two dragons who cannot be controlled, and a third that may be lost to you. Beyond these walls your only friends are the Lhazarene, who have no taste for war.”

“My walls are strong, though.”

“No stronger than when we sat outside them. And the Sons of the Harpy are inside the walls with us. So are the Great Masters, both those you did not kill and the sons of those you did.”

“I know.” The queen sighed. “What do you counsel, ser?”

“Battle,” said Ser Barristan. “Meereen is overcrowded and full of hungry mouths, and you have too many enemies within. We cannot long withstand a siege, I fear. Let me meet the foe as he comes north, on ground of my own choosing.”

“Meet the foe,” she echoed, “with the freedmen you’ve called half-trained and unblooded.”

“We were all unblooded once, Your Grace. The Unsullied will help stiffen them. If I had five hundred knights …”

“Or five. And if I give you the Unsullied, I will have no one but the Brazen Beasts to hold Meereen.” When Ser Barristan did not dispute her, Dany closed her eyes. Gods, she prayed, you took Khal Drogo, who was my sun-and-stars. You took our valiant son before he drew a breath. You have had your blood of me. Help me now, I pray you. Give me the wisdom to see the path ahead and the strength to do what I must to keep my children safe.

The gods did not respond.

When she opened her eyes again, Daenerys said, “I cannot fight two enemies, one within and one without. If I am to hold Meereen, I must have the city behind me. The whole city. I need … I need …” She could not say it.

“Your Grace?” Ser Barristan prompted, gently.

A queen belongs not to herself but to her people.

ADWD Daenerys IV

“They are very sweet, the both of them,” Dany assured her. “Qezza sings for me sometimes. She has a lovely voice. And Ser Barristan has been instructing Grazhar and the other boys in the ways of western chivalry.”

~

“Your Grace need only ask him. The noble Hizdahr awaits below. Send down to him if that is your pleasure.”

You presume too much, priestess, the queen thought, but she swallowed her anger and made herself smile. “Why not?” She sent for Ser Barristan and told the old knight to bring Hizdahr to her. “It is a long climb. Have the Unsullied help him up.”

~

No sooner had Hizdahr zo Loraq taken his leave of her than Ser Barristan appeared behind her in his long white cloak. Years of service in the Kingsguard had taught the white knight how to remain unobtrusive when she was entertaining, but he was never far. He knows, she saw at once, and he disapproves. The lines around his mouth had deepened. “So,” she said to him, “it seems that I may wed again. Are you happy for me, ser?”

“If that is your command, Your Grace.”

“Hizdahr is not the husband you would have chosen for me.”

“It is not my place to choose your husband.”

“It is not,” she agreed, “but it is important to me that you should understand. My people are bleeding. Dying. A queen belongs not to herself, but to the realm. Marriage or carnage, those are my choices. A wedding or a war.”

“Your Grace, may I speak frankly?”

“Always.”

“There is a third choice.”

“Westeros?”

He nodded. “I am sworn to serve Your Grace, and to keep you safe from harm wherever you may go. My place is by your side, whether here or in King’s Landing … but your place is back in Westeros, upon the Iron Throne that was your father’s. The Seven Kingdoms will never accept Hizdahr zo Loraq as king.”

“No more than Meereen will accept Daenerys Targaryen as queen. The Green Grace has the right of that. I need a king beside me, a king of old Ghiscari blood. Elsewise they will always see me as the uncouth barbarian who smashed through their gates, impaled their kin on spikes, and stole their wealth.”

“In Westeros you will be the lost child who returns to gladden her father’s heart. Your people will cheer when you ride by, and all good men will love you.”

“Westeros is far away.”

“Lingering here will never bring it any closer. The sooner we take our leave of this place—”

“I know. I do.” Dany did not know how to make him see. She wanted Westeros as much as he did, but first she must heal Meereen. “Ninety days is a long time. Hizdahr may fail. And if he does, the trying buys me time. Time to make alliances, to strengthen my defenses, to—”

“And if he does not fail? What will Your Grace do then?”

“Her duty.” The word felt cold upon her tongue. “You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?”

The old knight hesitated. “Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her.”

Fond, thought Dany. The word spoke volumes. I could become fond of Hizdahr zo Loraq, in time. Perhaps.

Ser Barristan went on. “I saw your father and your mother wed as well. Forgive me, but there was no fondness there, and the realm paid dearly for that, my queen.”

“Why did they wed if they did not love each other?”

“Your grandsire commanded it. A woods witch had told him that the prince was promised would be born of their line.”

“A woods witch?” Dany was astonished.

“She came to court with Jenny of Oldstones. A stunted thing, grotesque to look upon. A dwarf, most people said, though dear to Lady Jenny, who always claimed that she was one of the children of the forest.”

“What became of her?”

“Summerhall.” The word was fraught with doom.

Dany sighed. “Leave me now. I am very weary.”

“As you command.” Ser Barristan bowed and turned to go. But at the door, he stopped. “Forgive me. Your Grace has a visitor. Shall I tell him to return upon the morrow?”

“Who is it?”

“Naharis. The Stormcrows have returned to the city.”

Daario. Her heart gave a flutter in her chest. “How long has … when did he …?” She could not seem to get the words out.

Ser Barristan seemed to understand. “Your Grace was with the priestess when he arrived. I knew you would not want to be disturbed. The captain’s news can wait until the morrow.”

“No.” How could I ever hope to sleep, knowing that my captain so close? “Send him up at once. And … I will have no more need of you this evening. I shall be safe with Daario. Oh, and send Irri and Jhiqui, if you would be so good. And Missandei.” I need to change, to make myself beautiful.

~

When he was gone, Daenerys called Ser Barristan back. “I want the Stormcrows back in the field.”

“Your Grace? They have only now returned …”

“I want them gone. Let them scout the Yunkish hinterlands and give protection to any caravans coming over the Khyzai Pass. Henceforth Daario shall make his reports to you. Give him every honor that is due him and see that his men are well paid, but on no account admit him to my presence.”

“As you say, Your Grace.”

ADWD Daenerys III

“Your hinterlands are not precious to me. Your person is. Should any ill befall you, this world would lose its savor.”

“My lord is good to care so much, but I am well protected.” Dany gestured toward where Barristan Selmy stood with one hand resting on his sword hilt. “Barristan the Bold, they call him. Twice he has saved me from assassins.”

Xaro gave Selmy a cursory inspection. “Barristan the Old, did you say? Your bear knight was younger, and devoted to you.”

“I do not wish to speak of Jorah Mormont.”

~

“Oh most beautiful of women,” Xaro said, as they began to climb, “there are footsteps behind us. We are followed.”

“My old knight does not frighten you, surely? Ser Barristan is sworn to keep my secrets.”

~

She turned her back upon the night, to where Barristan Selmy stood silent in the shadows. “My brother once told me a Westerosi riddle. Who listens to everything yet hears nothing?”

“A knight of the Kingsguard.” Selmy’s voice was solemn.

“You heard Xaro make his offer?”

“I did, Your Grace.” The old knight took pains not to look at her bare breast as he spoke to her.

Ser Jorah would not turn his eyes away. He loved me as a woman, where Ser Barristan loves me only as his queen. Mormont had been an informer, reporting to her enemies in Westeros, yet he had given her good counsel too. “What do you think of it? Of him?”

“Of him, little and less. These ships, though … Your Grace, with these ships we might be home before year’s end.”

Dany had never known a home. In Braavos, there had been a house with a red door, but that was all. “Beware of Qartheen bearing gifts, especially merchants of the Thirteen. There is some trap here. Perhaps these ships are rotten, or …”

“If they were so unseaworthy, they could not have crossed the sea from Qarth,” Ser Barristan pointed out, “but Your Grace was wise to insist upon inspection. I will take Admiral Groleo to the galleys at first light with his captains and two score of his sailors. We can crawl over every inch of those ships.”

It was good counsel. “Yes, make it so.” Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city? Meereen was never your city, her brother’s voice seemed to whisper. Your cities are across the sea. Your Seven Kingdoms, where your enemies await you. You were born to serve them blood and fire.

Ser Barristan cleared his throat and said, “This warlock that the merchant spoke of …”

“Pyat Pree.” She tried to recall his face, but all she could see were his lips. The wine of the warlocks had turned them blue. Shade-of-the-evening, it was called. “If a warlock’s spell could kill me, I would be dead by now. I left their palace all in ashes.” Drogon saved me when they would have drained my life from me. Drogon burned them all.

“As you say, Your Grace. Still. I will be watchful.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “I know you will. Come, walk me back down to the feast.”

~

Late that afternoon Admiral Groleo and Ser Barristan returned from their inspection of the galleys. Dany assembled her council to hear them.

[...] The ships are sound, then?” she said, hoping.

“Sound enough, Your Grace. They are old ships, aye, but most are well maintained. The hull of the Pureborn Princess is worm-eaten. I’d not want to take her beyond the sight of land. The Narraqqa could stand a new rudder and lines, and the Banded Lizard has some cracked oars, but they will serve. The rowers are slaves, but if we offer them an honest oarsman’s wage, most will stay with us. Rowing’s all they know. Those who leave can be replaced from my own crews. It is a long hard voyage to Westeros, but these ships are sound enough to get us there, I’d judge.”

~

“Those left behind in Meereen would envy them their easy deaths,” moaned Reznak. “They will make slaves of us, or throw us in the pits. All will be as it was, or worse.”

“Where is your courage?” Ser Barristan lashed out. “Her Grace freed you from your chains. It is for you to sharpen your swords and defend your own freedom when she leaves.”

“Brave words, from one who means to sail into the sunset,” Symon Stripeback snarled back. “Will you look back at our dying?”

“Your Grace—”

“Magnificence—”

“Your Worship—”

“Enough.” Dany slapped the table. “No one will be left to die. You are all my people.” Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. “I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait.”

Groleo was aghast. “We must accept these ships. If we refuse this gift …”

Ser Barristan went to one knee before her. “My queen, your realm has need of you. You are not wanted here, but in Westeros men will flock to your banners by the thousands, great lords and noble knights. ‘She is come,’ they will shout to one another, in glad voices. ‘Prince Rhaegar’s sister has come home at last.’”

“If they love me so much, they will wait for me.” Dany stood.

~

She received the merchant prince alone, seated on her bench of polished ebony, on the cushions Ser Barristan had brought her.

ADWD Daenerys II

“It has been so long,” she had said to Ser Barristan, just yesterday. “What if Daario has betrayed me and gone over to my enemies?” Three treasons will you know. “What if he met another woman, some princess of the Lhazarene?”

The old knight neither liked nor trusted Daario, she knew. Even so, he had answered gallantly. “There is no woman more lovely than Your Grace. Only a blind man could believe otherwise, and Daario Naharis was not blind.”

No, she thought. His eyes are a deep blue, almost purple, and his gold tooth gleams when he smiles for me.

Ser Barristan was sure he would return, though. Dany could only pray that he was right.

~

A shadow. A memory. No one. She was the blood of the dragon, but Ser Barristan had warned her that in that blood there was a taint. Could I be going mad? They had called her father mad, once.

~

In the purple hall, Dany found her ebon bench piled high about with satin pillows. The sight brought a wan smile to her lips. Ser Barristan’s work, she knew. The old knight was a good man, but sometimes very literal. It was only a jape, ser, she thought, but she sat on one of the pillows just the same.

~

“Your barber has served you well, Hizdahr. I hope you have come to show me his work and not to plague me further about the fighting pits.”

He made a deep obeisance. “Your Grace, I fear I must.”

Dany grimaced. Even her own people would give no rest about the matter. Reznak mo Reznak stressed the coin to be made through taxes. The Green Grace said that reopening the pits would please the gods. The Shavepate felt it would win her support against the Sons of the Harpy. “Let them fight,” grunted Strong Belwas, who had once been a champion in the pits. Ser Barristan suggested a tourney instead; his orphans could ride at rings and fight a mêlée with blunted weapons, he said, a suggestion Dany knew was as hopeless as it was well-intentioned. It was blood the Meereenese yearned to see, not skill.

~

Ser Barristan escorted her back up to her chambers. “Tell me a tale, ser,” Dany said as they climbed. “Some tale of valor with a happy ending.” She felt in need of happy endings. “Tell me how you escaped from the Usurper.”

“Your Grace. There is no valor in running for your life.”

Dany seated herself on a cushion, crossed her legs, and gazed up at him. “Please. It was the Young Usurper who dismissed you from the Kingsguard …”

“Joffrey, aye. They gave my age for a reason, though the truth was elsewise. The boy wanted a white cloak for his dog Sandor Clegane and his mother wanted the Kingslayer to be her lord commander. When they told me, I … I took off my cloak as they commanded, threw my sword at Joffrey’s feet, and spoke unwisely.”

“What did you say?”

“The truth … but truth was never welcome at that court. I walked from the throne room with my head high, though I did not know where I was going. I had no home but White Sword Tower. My cousins would find a place for me at Harvest Hall, I knew, but I had no wish to bring Joffrey’s displeasure down upon them. I was gathering my things when it came to me that I had brought this on myself by taking Robert’s pardon. He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me.”

“My brother Viserys.”

“Such was my intent. When I reached the stables the gold cloaks tried to seize me. Joffrey had offered me a tower to die in, but I had spurned his gift, so now he meant to offer me a dungeon. The commander of the City Watch himself confronted me, emboldened by my empty scabbard, but he had only three men with him and I still had my knife. I slashed one man’s face open when he laid his hands upon me, and rode through the others. As I spurred for the gates I heard Janos Slynt shouting for them to go after me. Once outside the Red Keep, the streets were congested, else I might have gotten away clean. Instead they caught me at the River Gate. The gold cloaks who had pursued me from the castle shouted for those at the gate to stop me, so they crossed their spears to bar my way.”

“And you without your sword? How did you get past them?”

“A true knight is worth ten guardsmen. The men at the gate were taken by surprise. I rode one down, wrenched away his spear, and drove it through the throat of my closest pursuer. The other broke off once I was through the gate, so I spurred my horse to a gallop and rode hellbent along the river until the city was lost to sight behind me. That night I traded my horse for a handful of pennies and some rags, and the next morning I joined the stream of smallfolk making their way to King’s Landing. I’d gone out the Mud Gate, so I returned through the Gate of the Gods, with dirt on my face, stubble on my cheeks, and no weapon but a wooden staff. In roughspun clothes and mud-caked boots, I was just one more old man fleeing the war. The gold cloaks took a stag from me and waved me through. King’s Landing was crowded with smallfolk who’d come seeking refuge from the fighting. I lost myself amongst them. I had a little silver, but I needed that to pay my passage across the narrow sea, so I slept in septs and alleys and took my meals in pot shops. I let my beard grow out and cloaked myself in age. The day Lord Stark lost his head, I was there, watching. Afterward I went into the Great Sept and thanked the seven gods that Joffrey had stripped me of my cloak.”

“Stark was a traitor who met a traitor’s end.”

“Your Grace,” said Selmy, “Eddard Stark played a part in your father’s fall, but he bore you no ill will. When the eunuch Varys told us that you were with child, Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand.”

“Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?”

“Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace.”

“Lannister or Stark, what difference? Viserys used to call them the Usurper’s dogs. If a child is set upon by a pack of hounds, does it matter which one tears out his throat? All the dogs are just as guilty. The guilt …” The word caught in her throat. Hazzea, she thought, and suddenly she heard herself say, “I have to see the pit,” in a voice as small as a child’s whisper. “Take me down, ser, if you would.”

A flicker of disapproval crossed the old man’s face, but it was not his way to question his queen. “As you command.”

The servants’ steps were the quickest way down—not grand, but steep and straight and narrow, hidden in the walls. Ser Barristan brought a lantern, lest she fall. Bricks of twenty different colors pressed close around them, fading to grey and black beyond the lantern light. Thrice they passed Unsullied guards, standing as if they had been carved from stone. The only sound was the soft scruff of their feet upon the steps.

At ground level the Great Pyramid of Meereen was a hushed place, full of dust and shadows. Its outer walls were thirty feet thick. Within them, sounds echoed off arches of many-colored bricks, and amongst the stables, stalls, and storerooms. They passed beneath three massive arches, down a torchlit ramp into the vaults beneath the pyramid, past cisterns, dungeons, and torture chambers where slaves had been scourged and skinned and burned with red-hot irons. Finally they came to a pair of huge iron doors with rusted hinges, guarded by Unsullied.

At her command, one produced an iron key. The door opened, hinges shrieking. Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the hot heart of darkness and stopped at the lip of a deep pit. Forty feet below, her dragons raised their heads. Four eyes burned through the shadows—two of molten gold and two of bronze.

Ser Barristan took her by the arm. “No closer.”

“You think they would harm me?”

“I do not know, Your Grace, but I would sooner not risk your person to learn the answer.”

When Rhaegal roared, a gout of yellow flame turned darkness into day for half a heartbeat. The fire licked along the walls, and Dany felt the heat upon her face, like the blast from an oven. Across the pit, Viserion’s wings unfolded, stirring the stale air. He tried to fly to her, but the chains snapped taut as he rose and slammed him down onto his belly. Links as big as a man’s fist bound his feet to the floor. The iron collar about his neck was fastened to the wall behind him. Rhaegal wore matching chains. In the light of Selmy’s lantern, his scales gleamed like jade. Smoke rose from between his teeth. Bones were scattered on the floor at his feet, cracked and scorched and splintered. The air was uncomfortably hot and smelled of sulfur and charred meat.

“They are larger.” Dany’s voice echoed off the scorched stone walls. A drop of sweat trickled down her brow and fell onto her breast. “Is it true that dragons never stop growing?”

“If they have food enough, and space to grow. Chained up in here, though …”

The Great Masters had used the pit as a prison. It was large enough to hold five hundred men … and more than ample for two dragons. For how long, though? What will happen when they grow too large for the pit? Will they turn on one another with flame and claw? Will they grow wan and weak, with withered flanks and shrunken wings? Will their fires go out before the end?

What sort of mother lets her children rot in darkness?

ADWD Daenerys I

“Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan Selmy, the lord commander of her Queensguard, “there is no need for you to see this.”

“He died for me.”

~

Ser Barristan Selmy remained behind. His hair was white, and there were crow’s-feet at the corners of his pale blue eyes. Yet his back was still unbent, and the years had not yet robbed him of his skill at arms. “Your Grace,” he said, “I fear your eunuchs are ill suited for the tasks you set them.”

Dany settled on her bench and wrapped her pelt about her shoulders once again. “The Unsullied are my finest warriors.”

“Soldiers, not warriors, if it please Your Grace. They were made for the battlefield, to stand shoulder to shoulder behind their shields with their spears thrust out before them. Their training teaches them to obey, fearlessly, perfectly, without thought or hesitation … not to unravel secrets or ask questions.”

“Would knights serve me any better?” Selmy was training knights for her, teaching the sons of slaves to fight with lance and longsword in the Westerosi fashion … but what good would lances do against cowards who killed from the shadows?

“Not in this,” the old man admitted. “And Your Grace has no knights, save me. It will be years before the boys are ready.”

“Then who, if not Unsullied? Dothraki would be even worse. [...] When the Stormcrows return from Lhazar, perhaps I can use them in the streets,” she told Ser Barristan, “but until then I have only the Unsullied.” Dany rose. “You must excuse me, ser. The petitioners will soon be at my gates. I must don my floppy ears and become their queen again. Summon Reznak and the Shavepate, I’ll see them when I’m dressed.”

“As Your Grace commands.” Selmy bowed.

~

There were times when Dany wondered if that razor might not be better saved for Reznak’s throat. He was a useful man, but she liked him little and trusted him less. The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?

~

“Ser Barristan,” she called, “I know what quality a king needs most.”

“Courage, Your Grace?”

“Cheeks like iron,” she teased. “All I do is sit.”

“Your Grace takes too much on herself. You should allow your councillors to shoulder more of your burdens.”

“I have too many councillors and too few cushions.”

~

Her dragons had grown too large to be content with rats and cats and dogs. The more they eat, the larger they will grow, Ser Barristan had warned her, and the larger they grow, the more they’ll eat.

~

No. Dany shivered. No, no, oh no. “Are you deaf, fool?” Reznak mo Reznak demanded of the man. “Did you not hear my pronouncement? See my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid for your sheep.”

“Reznak,” Ser Barristan said quietly, “hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheep bones.”

No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Dany shifted uncomfortably on the ebony bench. She dreaded what must come next, yet she knew she had put it off too long already. Yunkai and Astapor, threats of war, marriage proposals, the march west looming over all ... I need my knights. I need their swords, and I need their counsel. Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she’d swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly. I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears. “Tell Belwas to bring my knights,” Dany commanded, before she could change her mind. “My good knights.”

Strong Belwas was puffing from the climb when he marched them through the doors, one meaty hand wrapped tight around each man’s arm. Ser Barristan walked with his head held high, but Ser Jorah stared at the marble floor as he approached. The one is proud, the other guilty. The old man had shaved off his white beard. He looked ten years younger without it. But her balding bear looked older than he had. They halted before the bench.

~

“Ser Barristan saved me from the Titan’s Bastard, and from the Sorrowful Man in Qarth. [...] So many people wanted her dead, sometimes she lost count. “And yet you lied, deceived me, betrayed me.” She turned to Ser Barristan. “You protected my father for many years, fought beside my brother on the Trident, but you abandoned Viserys in his exile and bent your knee to the Usurper instead. Why? And tell it true.”

“Some truths are hard to hear. Robert was a ... a good knight ... chivalrous,
brave ... he spared my life, and the lives of many others ... Prince Viserys was only a boy, it would have been years before he was fit to rule, and ... forgive me, my queen, but you asked for truth ... even as a child, your brother Viserys oft seemed to be his father’s son, in ways that Rhaegar never did.”

“His father’s son?” Dany frowned. “What does that mean?”

The old knight did not blink. “Your father is called ‘the Mad King’ in Westeros. Has no one ever told you?”

“Viserys did.” The Mad King. “The Usurper called him that, the Usurper and his dogs.” The Mad King. “It was a lie.”

“Why ask for truth,” Ser Barristan said softly, “if you close your ears to it?” He hesitated, then continued. “I told you before that I used a false name so the Lannisters would not know that I’d joined you. That was less than half of it, Your Grace. The truth is, I wanted to watch you for a time before pledging you my sword. To make certain that you were not ...”

“... my father’s daughter?” If she was not her father’s daughter, who was she?

“... mad,” he finished. “But I see no taint in you.”


“Taint?” Dany bristled.

“I am no maester to quote history at you, Your Grace. Swords have been my life, not books. But every child knows that the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness. Your father was not the first. King Jaehaerys once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Jaehaerys. This old man knew my grandfather. The thought gave her pause. Most of what she knew of Westeros had come from her brother, and the rest from Ser Jorah. Ser Barristan would have forgotten more than the two of them had ever known. This man can tell me what I came from. “So I am a coin in the hands of some god, is that what you are saying, ser?”

“No,” Ser Barristan replied. “You are the trueborn heir of Westeros. To the end of my days I shall remain your faithful knight, should you find me worthy to bear a sword again. If not, I am content to serve Strong Belwas as his squire.”

“What if I decide you’re only worthy to be my fool?” Dany asked scornfully. “Or perhaps my cook?”

“I would be honored, Your Grace,” Selmy said with quiet dignity. “I can bake apples and boil beef as well as any man, and I’ve roasted many a duck over a campfire. I hope you like them greasy, with charred skin and bloody bones.”

That made her smile. “I’d have to be mad to eat such fare. Ben Plumm, come give Ser Barristan your longsword.”

But Whitebeard would not take it. “I flung my sword at Joffrey’s feet and have not touched one since. Only from the hand of my queen will I accept a sword again.”

“As you wish.” Dany took the sword from Brown Ben and offered it hilt first. The old man took it reverently. “Now kneel,” she told him, “and swear it to my service.”

He went to one knee and lay the blade before her as he said the words. Dany scarcely heard them. He was the easy one, she thought. The other will be harder.

~

“Your Grace?”

She turned to find Ser Barristan behind her. “What more would you have of me, ser? I spared you, I took you into my service, now give me some peace.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. It was only ... now that you know who I am ...” The old man hesitated. “A knight of the Kingsguard is in the king’s presence day and night. For that reason, our vows require us to protect his secrets as we would his life. But your father’s secrets by rights belong to you now, along with his throne, and ... I thought perhaps you might have questions for me.”

Questions? She had a hundred questions, a thousand, ten thousand. Why couldn’t she think of one? “Was my father truly mad?” she blurted out. Why do I ask that? “Viserys said this talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper’s ...”

“Viserys was a child, and the queen sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise ... but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until ...”

Dany stopped him. “Do I want to hear this now?”

Ser Barristan considered a moment. “Perhaps not. Not now.”

“Not now,” she agreed. “One day. One day you must tell me all. The good and the bad. There is some good to be said of my father, surely?”

“There is, Your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother ... and Rhaegar. Him most of all.”

“I wish I could have known him.” Her voice was wistful.

“I wish he could have known you,” the old knight said. “When you are ready, I will tell you all.”

Dany kissed him on the cheek and sent him on his way.

~

“Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver’s Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on.”

“There is nothing to stay for,” said Brown Ben Plumm.

“Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves,” said Daario Naharis.

“You have brought freedom as well,” Missandei pointed out.

“Freedom to starve?” asked Dany sharply. “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?” Am I mad? Do I have the taint?

“A dragon,” Ser Barristan said with certainty. “Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace.”

“But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?” He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. “My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again.” She turned back to look at their faces. “I will not march.”

“What will you do then, Khaleesi?” asked Rakharo.

“Stay,” she said. “Rule. And be a queen.”

ASOS Daenerys V

“Blood of my blood,” Dany told them, “your place is here by me. This man is a buzzing fly, no more. Ignore him, he will soon be gone.” Aggo, Jhogo, and Rakharo were brave warriors, but they were young, and too valuable to risk. They kept her khalasar together, and were her best scouts too.

“That was wisely done,” Ser Jorah said as they watched from the front of her pavilion. “Let the fool ride back and forth and shout until his horse goes lame. He does us no harm.”

“He does,” Arstan Whitebeard insisted. “Wars are not won with swords and spears alone, ser. Two hosts of equal strength may come together, but one will break and run whilst the other stands. This hero builds courage in the hearts of his own men and plants the seeds of doubt in ours.”

~

“This challenge must be met,” Arstan said again.

“It will be.” Dany said, as the hero tucked his penis away again.

~

“Missandei,” she called, “have my silver saddled. Your own mount as well.”

The little scribe bowed. “As Your Grace commands. Shall I summon your bloodriders to guard you?”

“We’ll take Arstan. I do not mean to leave the camps.” She had no enemies among her children. And the old squire would not talk too much as Belwas would, or look at her like Daario.

~

“There’s the treacherous sow,” he said. “I knew you’d come to get your feet kissed one day.” His head was bald as a melon, his nose red and peeling, but she knew that voice and those pale green eyes. “I’m going to start by cutting off your teats.” Dany was dimly aware of Missandei shouting for help. A freedman edged forward, but only a step. One quick slash, and he was on his knees, blood running down his face. Mero wiped his sword on his breeches. “Who’s next?”

“I am.” Arstan Whitebeard leapt from his horse and stood over her, the salt wind riffling through his snowy hair, both hands on his tall hardwood staff.

“Grandfather,” Mero said, “run off before I break your stick in two and bugger you with —”

The old man feinted with one end of the staff, pulled it back, and whipped the other end about faster than Dany would have believed. The Titan’s Bastard staggered back into the surf, spitting blood and broken teeth from the ruin of his mouth. Whitebeard put Dany behind him. Mero slashed at his face. The old man jerked back, cat-quick. The staff thumped Mero’s ribs, sending him reeling. Arstan splashed sideways, parried a looping cut, danced away from a second, checked a third mid-swing. The moves were so fast she could hardly follow. Missandei was pulling Dany to her feet when she heard a crack. She thought Arstan’s staff had snapped until she saw the jagged bone jutting from Mero’s calf. As he fell, the Titan’s Bastard twisted and lunged, sending his point straight at the old man’s chest. Whitebeard swept the blade aside almost contemptuously and smashed the other end of his staff against the big man’s temple. Mero went sprawling, blood bubbling from his mouth as the waves washed over him. A moment later the freedmen washed over him too, knives and stones and angry fists rising and falling in a frenzy.

Dany turned away, sickened. She was more frightened now than when it had been happening. He would have killed me.

“Your Grace.” Arstan knelt. “I am an old man, and shamed. He should never have gotten close enough to seize you. I was lax. I did not know him without his beard and hair.”

“No more than I did.” Dany took a deep breath to stop her shaking. Enemies everywhere. “Take me back to my tent. Please.”

~

“You might have warned me that the Titan’s Bastard had escaped.”

He frowned. “I saw no need to frighten you, Your Grace. I have offered a reward for his head—”

“Pay it to Whitebeard. Mero has been with us all the way from Yunkai. He shaved his beard off and lost himself amongst the freedmen, waiting for a chance for vengeance. Arstan killed him.”

Ser Jorah gave the old man a long look. “A squire with a stick slew Mero of Braavos, is that the way of it?”

“A stick,” Dany confirmed, “but no longer a squire. Ser Jorah, it’s my wish that Arstan be knighted.”

“No.”


The loud refusal was surprise enough. Stranger still, it came from both men at once.

Ser Jorah drew his sword. “The Titan’s Bastard was a nasty piece of work. And good at killing. Who are you, old man?”

“A better knight than you, ser,” Arstan said coldly.

Knight? Dany was confused. “You said you were a squire.”

“I was, Your Grace.” He dropped to one knee. “I squired for Lord Swann in my youth, and at Magister Illyrio’s behest I have served Strong Belwas as well. But during the years between, I was a knight in Westeros. I have told you no lies, my queen. Yet there are truths I have withheld, and for that and all my other sins I can only beg your forgiveness.”

“What truths have you withheld?” Dany did not like this. “You will tell me. Now.”

He bowed his head. “At Qarth, when you asked my name, I said I was called Arstan. That much was true. Many men had called me by that name while Belwas and I were making our way east to find you. But it is not my true name.”

She was more confused than angry. He has played me false, just as Jorah warned me, yet he saved my life just now.

Ser Jorah flushed red. “Mero shaved his beard, but you grew one, didn’t you? No wonder you looked so bloody familiar ...”

“You know him?” Dany asked the exile knight, lost.

“I saw him perhaps a dozen times ... from afar most often, standing with his brothers or riding in some tourney. But every man in the Seven Kingdoms knew Barristan the Bold.” He laid the point of his sword against the old man’s neck. “Khaleesi, before you kneels Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who betrayed your House to serve the Usurper Robert Baratheon.”

The old knight did not so much as blink. “The crow calls the raven black, and you speak of betrayal.”

“Why are you here?” Dany demanded of him. “If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?” He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood
aside ... “I want the whole truth now, on your honor as a knight. Are you the Usurper’s man, or mine?”

“Yours, if you will have me.” Ser Barristan had tears in his eyes. “I took Robert’s pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King’s Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, it shames me to admit. But when he took the cloak that the White Bull had draped about my shoulders, and sent men to kill me that selfsame day, it was as though he’d ripped a caul off my eyes. That was when I knew I must find my true king, and die in his service—”

“I can grant that wish,” Ser Jorah said darkly.

“Quiet,” said Dany. “I’ll hear him out.”

“It may be that I must die a traitor’s death,” Ser Barristan said. “If so, I should not die alone. Before I took Robert’s pardon I fought against him on the Trident. You were on the other side of that battle, Mormont, were you not?” He did not wait for an answer. “Your Grace, I am sorry I misled you. It was the only way to keep the Lannisters from learning that I had joined you. You are watched, as your brother was. Lord Varys reported every move Viserys made, for years. Whilst I sat on the small council, I heard a hundred such reports. And since the day you wed Khal Drogo, there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises.”

He cannot mean ... “You are mistaken.” Dany looked at Jorah Mormont. “Tell him he’s mistaken. There’s no informer. Ser Jorah, tell him. We crossed the Dothraki sea together, and the red waste ...” Her heart fluttered like a bird in a trap. “Tell him, Jorah. Tell him how he got it wrong.”

“The Others take you, Selmy.” Ser Jorah flung his longsword to the carpet. “Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home! Her dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame. I should say the word and burn the two of them. Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe? “Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you two? Get out, before my dragons roast you both. What does roast liar smell like? As foul as Brown Ben’s sewers? Go!”

Ser Barristan rose stiff and slow. For the first time, he looked his age. “Where shall we go, Your Grace?”

“To hell, to serve King Robert.” Dany felt hot tears on her cheeks. Drogon screamed, lashing his tail back and forth. “The Others can have you both.” Go, go away forever, both of you, the next time I see your faces I’ll have your traitors’ heads off. She could not say the words, though. They betrayed me. But they saved me. But they lied. “You go ...” My bear, my fierce strong bear, what will I do without him? And the old man, my brother’s friend. “You go ... go ...” Where?

And then she knew.

ASOS Daenerys IV

But when Mero was gone, Arstan Whitebeard said, “That one has an evil reputation, even in Westeros. Do not be misled by his manner, Your Grace. He will drink three toasts to your health tonight, and rape you on the morrow.”

“The old man’s right for once,” Ser Jorah said. “The Second Sons are an old company, and not without valor, but under Mero they’ve turned near as bad as the Brave Companions. The man is as dangerous to his employers as to his foes. That’s why you find him out here. None of the Free Cities will hire him any longer.”

“It is not his reputation that I want, it’s his five hundred horse.”

~

“I think we should attack from three sides. Grey Worm, your Unsullied shall strike at them from right and left, while my kos lead my horse in wedge for a thrust through their center. Slave soldiers will never stand before mounted Dothraki.” She smiled. “To be sure, I am only a young girl and know little of war. What do you think, my lords?”

“I think you are Rhaegar Targaryen’s sister,” Ser Jorah said with a rueful half smile.

“Aye,” said Arstan Whitebeard, “and a queen as well.”

~

“Daenerys, I am thrice your age,” Ser Jorah said. “I have seen how false men are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Even his beard wears false colors.”

That angered her. “Whilst you have an honest beard, is that what you are telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust?”

He stiffened. “I did not say that.”

“You say it every day. Pyat Pree’s a liar, Xaro’s a schemer, Belwas a braggart, Arstan an assassin ... do you think I’m still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words?”

~

She felt very lonely all of a sudden. Mirri Maz Duur had promised that she would never bear a living child. House Targaryen will end with me. That made her sad. “You must be my children,” she told the dragons, “my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead.”

~

A stillness settled over her camp when midnight came and went. Dany remained in her pavilion with her maids, while Arstan Whitebeard and Strong Belwas kept the guard. The waiting is the hardest part. To sit in her tent with idle hands while her battle was being fought without her made Dany feel half a child again.

The hours crept by on turtle feet. Even after Jhiqui rubbed the knots from her shoulders, Dany was too restless for sleep. Missandei offered to sing her a lullaby of the Peaceful People, but Dany shook her head. “Bring me Arstan,” she said.

When the old man came, she was curled up inside her hrakkar pelt, whose musty smell still reminded her of Drogo. “I cannot sleep when men are dying for me, Whitebeard,” she said. “Tell me more of my brother Rhaegar, if you would. I liked the tale you told me on the ship, of how he decided that he must be a warrior.”

“Your Grace is kind to say so.”


“Viserys said that our brother won many tourneys.”

Arstan bowed his white head respectfully. “It is not meet for me to deny His Grace’s words ...”

“But?” said Dany sharply. “Tell me. I command it.”

“Prince Rhaegar’s prowess was unquestioned, but he seldom entered the lists. He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.”

“He won some tourneys, surely,” said Dany, disappointed.

“When he was young, His Grace rode brilliantly in a tourney at Storm’s End, defeating Lord Steffon Baratheon, Lord Jason Mallister, the Red Viper of Dorne, and a mystery knight who proved to be the infamous Simon Toyne, chief of the kingswood outlaws. He broke twelve lances against Ser Arthur Dayne that day.”

“Was he the champion, then?”

“No, Your Grace. That honor went to another knight of the Kingsguard, who unhorsed Prince Rhaegar in the final tilt.”

Dany did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. “But what tourneys did my brother win?”

“Your Grace.” The old man hesitated. “He won the greatest tourney of them all.”

“Which was that?” Dany demanded.

“The tourney Lord Whent staged at Harrenhal beside the Gods Eye, in the year of the false spring. A notable event. Besides the jousting, there was a mêlée in the old style fought between seven teams of knights, as well as archery and axe-throwing, a horse race, a tournament of singers, a mummer show, and many feasts and frolics. Lord Whent was as open handed as he was rich. The lavish purses he proclaimed drew hundreds of challengers. Even your royal father came to Harrenhal, when he had not left the Red Keep for long years. The greatest lords and mightiest champions of the Seven Kingdoms rode in that tourney, and the Prince of Dragonstone bested them all.”

“But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!” said Dany. “Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?”

“It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother’s heart, Your Grace. The Princess Elia was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate.”

Dany pulled the lion pelt tighter about her shoulders. “Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late.” She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. “If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl.”

“Perhaps so, Your Grace.” Whitebeard paused a moment. “But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

“Not sour, no, but ... there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense ...” The old man hesitated again.

“Say it,” she urged. “A sense ...?”

“... of doom. He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.”

Viserys had spoken of Rhaegar’s birth only once. Perhaps the tale saddened him too much. “It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him, was it not?”

“Yes. And yet Summerhall was the place the prince loved best. He would go there from time to time, with only his harp for company. Even the knights of the Kingsguard did not attend him there. He liked to sleep in the ruined hall, beneath the moon and stars, and whenever he came back he would bring a song. When you heard him play his high harp with the silver strings and sing of twilights and tears and the death of kings, you could not but feel that he was singing of himself and those he loved.”

“What of the Usurper? Did he play sad songs as well?”

Arstan chuckled. “Robert? Robert liked songs that made him laugh, the bawdier the better. He only sang when he was drunk, and then it was like to be ‘A Cask of Ale’ or ‘Fifty-Four Tuns’ or ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair.’ Robert was much—”

ASOS Daenerys III

“Give me all,” she said, “and you may have a dragon.”

There was the sound of indrawn breath from Jhiqui beside her. Kraznys smiled at his fellows. “Did I not tell you? Anything, she would give us.”

Whitebeard stared in shocked disbelief. His hand trembled where it grasped the staff. “No.” He went to one knee before her. “Your Grace, I beg you, win your throne with dragons, not slaves. You must not do this thing—”

“You must not presume to instruct me. Ser Jorah, remove Whitebeard from my presence.”

Mormont seized the old man roughly by an elbow, yanked him back to his feet, and marched him out onto the terrace.

“Tell the Good Masters I regret this interruption,” said Dany to the slave girl.

~

Arstan Whitebeard held his tongue as well, when Dany swept by him on the terrace. He followed her down the steps in silence, but she could hear his hardwood staff tap tapping on the red bricks as they went. She did not blame him for his fury. It was a wretched thing she did. The Mother of Dragons has sold her strongest child. Even the thought made her ill.

Yet down in the Plaza of Pride, standing on the hot red bricks between the slavers’ pyramid and the barracks of the eunuchs, Dany turned on the old man. “Whitebeard,” she said, “I want your counsel, and you should never fear to speak your mind with
me ... when we are alone. But never question me in front of strangers. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said unhappily.


“I am not a child,” she told him. “I am a queen.”

“Yet even queens can err. The Astapori have cheated you, Your Grace. A dragon is worth more than any army. Aegon proved that three hundred years ago, upon the Field of Fire.”

“I know what Aegon proved. I mean to prove a few things of my own.”

ASOS Daenerys II

“Tell her that these have been standing here for a day and a night, with no food nor water. Tell her that they will stand until they drop if I should command it, and when nine hundred and ninety-nine have collapsed to die upon the bricks, the last will stand there still, and never move until his own death claims him. Such is their courage. Tell her that.”

“I call that madness, not courage,” said Arstan Whitebeard, when the solemn little scribe was done. He tapped the end of his hardwood staff against the bricks, tap tap, as if to tell his displeasure. The old man had not wanted to sail to Astapor; nor did he favor buying this slave army. A queen should hear all sides before reaching a decision. That was why Dany had brought him with her to the Plaza of Pride, not to keep her safe. [...]

“Inform the savages that we call this obedience. Others may be stronger or quicker or larger than the Unsullied. Some few may even equal their skill with sword and spear and shield. But nowhere between the seas will you ever find any more obedient.”

“Sheep are obedient,” said Arstan when the words had been translated. He had some Valyrian as well, though not so much as Dany, but like her he was feigning ignorance.

~

“A eunuch who is cut young will never have the brute strength of one of your Westerosi knights, this is true,” said Kraznys mo Nakloz when the question was put to him. “A bull is strong as well, but bulls die every day in the fighting pits. A girl of nine killed one not three days past in Jothiel’s Pit. The Unsullied have something better than strength, tell her. They have discipline. We fight in the fashion of the Old Empire, yes. They are the lockstep legions of Old Ghis come again, absolutely obedient, absolutely loyal, and utterly without fear.”

Dany listened patiently to the translation.
“Even the bravest men fear death and maiming,” Arstan said when the girl was done.

~

“Tell her all their names are such,” Kraznys commanded the girl. “It reminds them that by themselves they are vermin. The name disks are thrown in an empty cask at duty’s end, and each dawn plucked up again at random.”

“More madness,” said Arstan, when he heard. “How can any man possibly remember a new name every day?”

~

Arstan Whitebeard tapped the end of his staff on the bricks as he listened to that. Tap tap tap. Slow and steady. Tap tap tap. Dany saw him turn his eyes away, as if he could not bear to look at Kraznys any longer.

~

She looked at Arstan. “You have lived long in the world, Whitebeard. Now that you have seen them, what do you say?”

“I say no, Your Grace,” the old man answered at once.


“Why?” she asked. “Speak freely.” Dany thought she knew what he would say, but she wanted the slave girl to hear, so Kraznys mo Nakloz might hear later.

“My queen,” said Arstan, “there have been no slaves in the Seven Kingdoms for thousands of years. The old gods and the new alike hold slavery to be an abomination. Evil. If you should land in Westeros at the head of a slave army, many good men will oppose you for no other reason than that. You will do great harm to your cause, and to the honor of your House.”

“Yet I must have some army,” Dany said. “The boy Joffrey will not give me the Iron Throne for asking politely.”

“When the day comes that you raise your banners, half of Westeros will be with you,” Whitebeard promised. “Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

“And my father?” Dany said.

The old man hesitated before saying, “King Aerys is also remembered. He gave the realm many years of peace. Your Grace, you have no need of slaves. Magister Illyrio can keep you safe while your dragons grow, and send secret envoys across the narrow sea on your behalf, to sound out the high lords for your cause.”

“Those same high lords who abandoned my father to the Kingslayer and bent the knee to Robert the Usurper?”

“Even those who bent their knees may yearn in their hearts for the return of the dragons.”

“May,” said Dany. That was such a slippery word, may. In any language.

~

Tap tap tap, Dany heard. Arstan Whitebeard’s face was still, but his staff beat out his rage. Tap tap tap.

~

Dany climbed into her litter frowning, and beckoned Arstan to climb in beside her. A man as old as him should not be walking in such heat.

~

“Bricks and blood built Astapor,” Whitebeard murmured at her side, “and bricks and blood her people.”

“What is that?” Dany asked him, curious.

“An old rhyme a maester taught me, when I was a boy. I never knew how true it was. The bricks of Astapor are red with the blood of the slaves who make them.”

“I can well believe that,” said Dany.

“Then leave this place before your heart turns to brick as well. Sail this very night, on the evening tide.”

Would that I could, thought Dany. “When I leave Astapor it must be with an army, Ser Jorah says.”

“Ser Jorah was a slaver himself, Your Grace,” the old man reminded her. “There are sellswords in Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh you can hire. A man who kills for coin has no honor, but at least they are no slaves. Find your army there, I beg you.”

“My brother visited Pentos, Myr, Braavos, near all the Free Cities. The magisters and archons fed him wine and promises, but his soul was starved to death. A man cannot sup from the beggar’s bowl all his life and stay a man. I had my taste in Qarth, that was enough. I will not come to Pentos bowl in hand.”

“Better to come a beggar than a slaver,” Arstan said.

“There speaks one who has been neither.” Dany’s nostrils flared. “Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and
I ... my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “Your Grace, I did not mean to give offense.”

“Only lies offend me, never honest counsel.” Dany patted Arstan’s spotted hand to reassure him. “I have a dragon’s temper, that’s all. You must not let it frighten you.”

“I shall try and remember.” Whitebeard smiled.

He has a good face, and great strength to him, Dany thought. She could not understand why Ser Jorah mistrusted the old man so. Could he be jealous that I have found another man to talk to?

~

“Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

ASOS Daenerys I

The squire Whitebeard, standing by the figurehead with one lean hand curled about his tall hardwood staff, turned toward them and said, “Balerion the Black Dread was two hundred years old when he died during the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. He was so large he could swallow an aurochs whole. A dragon never stops growing, Your Grace, so long as he has food and freedom.” His name was Arstan, but Strong Belwas had named him Whitebeard for his pale whiskers, and most everyone called him that now. He was taller than Ser Jorah, though not so muscular; his eyes were a pale blue, his long beard as white as snow and as fine as silk.

“Freedom?” asked Dany, curious. “What do you mean?”

“In King’s Landing, your ancestors raised an immense domed castle for their dragons. The Dragonpit, it is called. It still stands atop the Hill of Rhaenys, though all in ruins now. That was where the royal dragons dwelt in days of yore, and a cavernous dwelling it was, with iron doors so wide that thirty knights could ride through them abreast. Yet even so, it was noted that none of the pit dragons ever reached the size of their ancestors. The maesters say it was because of the walls around them, and the great dome above their heads.”

“If walls could keep us small, peasants would all be tiny and kings as large as giants,” said Ser Jorah. “I’ve seen huge men born in hovels, and dwarfs who dwelt in castles.”

“Men are men,” Whitebeard replied. “Dragons are dragons.”

Ser Jorah snorted his disdain. “How profound.” The exile knight had no love for the old man, he’d made that plain from the first. “What do you know of dragons, anyway?”

“Little enough, that’s true. Yet I served for a time in King’s Landing in the days when King Aerys sat the Iron Throne, and walked beneath the dragonskulls that looked down from the walls of his throne room.”

“Viserys talked of those skulls,” said Dany. “The Usurper took them down and hid them away. He could not bear them looking down on him upon his stolen throne.” She beckoned Whitebeard closer. “Did you ever meet my royal father?” King Aerys II had died before his daughter was born.

“I had that great honor, Your Grace.”

“Did you find him good and gentle?”

Whitebeard did his best to hide his feelings, but they were there, plain on his face. “His Grace was ... often pleasant.”

“Often?” Dany smiled. “But not always?”


“He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies.”


“A wise man never makes an enemy of a king,” said Dany. “Did you know my brother Rhaegar as well?”


“It was said that no man ever knew Prince Rhaegar, truly. I had the privilege of seeing him in tourney, though, and often heard him play his harp with its silver strings.”

Ser Jorah snorted. “Along with a thousand others at some harvest feast. Next you’ll claim you squired for him.”

“I make no such claim, ser. Myles Mooton was Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and Richard Lonmouth after him. When they won their spurs, he knighted them himself, and they remained his close companions. Young Lord Connington was dear to the prince as well, but his oldest friend was Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning!” said Dany, delighted. “Viserys used to talk about his wondrous white blade. He said Ser Arthur was the only knight in the realm who was our brother’s peer.”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “It is not my place to question the words of Prince Viserys.”

“King,” Dany corrected. “He was a king, though he never reigned. Viserys, the Third of His Name. But what do you mean?” His answer had not been one that she’d expected. “Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

“Your Grace,” said Whitebeard, “the Prince of Dragonstone was a most puissant warrior, but ...”

“Go on,” she urged. “You may speak freely to me.”

“As you command.” The old man leaned upon his hardwood staff, his brow furrowed. “A warrior without peer ... those are fine words, Your Grace, but words win no battles.”

“Swords win battles,” Ser Jorah said bluntly. “And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one.”


“He did, ser, but ... I have seen a hundred tournaments and more wars than I would wish, and however strong or fast or skilled a knight may be, there are others who can match him. A man will win one tourney, and fall quickly in the next. A slick spot in the grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before. A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory.” He glanced at Ser Jorah. “Or a lady’s favor knotted round an arm.”

Mormont’s face darkened. “Be careful what you say, old man.”

Arstan had seen Ser Jorah fight at Lannisport, Dany knew, in the tourney Mormont had won with a lady’s favor knotted round his arm. He had won the lady too; Lynesse of House Hightower, his second wife, highborn and beautiful ... but she had ruined him, and abandoned him, and the memory of her was bitter to him now. “Be gentle, my knight.” She put a hand on Jorah’s arm. “Arstan had no wish to give offense, I’m certain.”

“As you say, Khaleesi.” Ser Jorah’s voice was grudging.

Dany turned back to the squire. “I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded. There is a tale told of him ... but doubtless Ser Jorah knows it as well.”

“I would hear it from you.”

“As you wish,” said Whitebeard. “As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father’s knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’”

“And he was!” said Dany, delighted.

“He was indeed.” Whitebeard bowed. “My pardons, Your Grace. We speak of warriors, and I see that Strong Belwas has arisen. I must attend him.”

Dany glanced aft. The eunuch was climbing through the hold amidships, nimble for all his size. Belwas was squat but broad, a good fifteen stone of fat and muscle, his great brown gut crisscrossed by faded white scars. He wore baggy pants, a yellow silk bellyband, and an absurdly tiny leather vest dotted with iron studs. “Strong Belwas is hungry!” he roared at everyone and no one in particular. “Strong Belwas will eat now!” Turning, he spied Arstan on the forecastle. “Whitebeard! You will bring food for Strong Belwas!”

“You may go,” Dany told the squire. He bowed again, and moved off to tend the needs of the man he served.

Ser Jorah watched with a frown on his blunt honest face. Mormont was big and burly, strong of jaw and thick of shoulder. Not a handsome man by any means, but as true a friend as Dany had ever known. “You would be wise to take that old man’s words well salted,” he told her when Whitebeard was out of earshot.

“A queen must listen to all,” she reminded him. “The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal. One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found.” She had read that in a book.

“Hear my voice then, Your Grace,” the exile said. “This Arstan Whitebeard is playing you false. He is too old to be a squire, and too well spoken to be serving that oaf of a eunuch.”

That does seem queer, Dany had to admit.

[...] Ser Jorah saved me from the poisoner, and Arstan Whitebeard from the manticore. Perhaps Strong Belwas will save me from the next.

~

“Sit, good ser, and tell me what is troubling you.”

“Three things.” Ser Jorah sat. “Strong Belwas. This Arstan Whitebeard. And Illyrio Mopatis, who sent them.”

Again? Dany pulled the coverlet higher and tugged one end over her shoulder. “And why is that?”

“The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times,” the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other.

“Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.” Dany was not like to forget. “Mirri Maz Duur was the first.”

“Which means two traitors yet remain ... and now these two appear. I find that troubling, yes. Never forget, Robert offered a lordship to the man who slays you.”

Dany leaned forward and yanked Viserion’s tail, to pull him off his green brother. Her blanket fell away from her chest as she moved. She grabbed it hastily and covered herself again. “The Usurper is dead,” she said.

“But his son rules in his place.” Ser Jorah lifted his gaze, and his dark eyes met her own. “A dutiful son pays his father’s debts. Even blood debts.”

“This boy Joffrey might want me dead ... if he recalls that I’m alive. What has that to do with Belwas and Arstan Whitebeard? The old man does not even wear a sword. You’ve seen that.”

“Aye. And I have seen how deftly he handles that staff of his. Recall how he killed that manticore in Qarth? It might as easily have been your throat he crushed.”

“Might have been, but was not,” she pointed out. “It was a stinging manticore meant to slay me. He saved my life.”

“Khaleesi, has it occurred to you that Whitebeard and Belwas might have been in league with the assassin? It might all have been a ploy to win your trust.”

Her sudden laughter made Drogon hiss, and sent Viserion flapping to his perch above the porthole. “The ploy worked well.”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

“I see a fat brown man and an older man with a staff. Which is it?”

“Both of them,” Ser Jorah said. “They have been following us since we left Quicksilver.”

~

The other man wore a traveler’s cloak of undyed wool, the hood thrown back. Long white hair fell to his shoulders, and a silky white beard covered the lower half of his face. He leaned his weight on a hardwood staff as tall as he was. Only fools would stare so openly if they meant me harm. All the same, it might be prudent to head back toward Jhogo and Aggo. “The old man does not wear a sword,” she said to Jorah in the Common Tongue as she drew him away.

~

A Qartheen stepped into her path. “Mother of Dragons, for you.” He knelt and thrust a jewel box into her face.

Dany took it almost by reflex. The box was carved wood, its mother-of-pearl lid inlaid with jasper and chalcedony. “You are too generous.” She opened it. Within was a glittering green scarab carved from onyx and emerald. Beautiful, she thought. This will help pay for our passage. As she reached inside the box, the man said, “I am so sorry,” but she hardly heard.

The scarab unfolded with a hiss.

Dany caught a glimpse of a malign black face, almost human, and an arched tail dripping venom ... and then the box flew from her hand in pieces, turning end over end. Sudden pain twisted her fingers. As she cried out and clutched her hand, the brass merchant let out a shriek, a woman screamed, and suddenly the Qartheen were shouting and pushing each other aside. Ser Jorah slammed past her, and Dany stumbled to one knee. She heard the hiss again. The old man drove the butt of his staff into the ground, Aggo came riding through an eggseller’s stall and vaulted from his saddle, Jhogo’s whip cracked overhead, Ser Jorah slammed the eunuch over the head with the brass platter, sailors and whores and merchants were fleeing or shouting or both ...

“Your Grace, a thousand pardons.” The old man knelt. “It’s dead. Did I break your hand?”

She closed her fingers, wincing. “I don’t think so.”

“I had to knock it away,” he started, but her bloodriders were on him before he could finish.

Aggo kicked his staff away and Jhogo seized him round the shoulders, forced him to his knees, and pressed a dagger to his throat. “Khaleesi, we saw him strike you. Would you see the color of his blood?”

“Release him.” Dany climbed to her feet. “Look at the bottom of his staff, blood of my blood.” Ser Jorah had been shoved off his feet by the eunuch. She ran between them as arakh and longsword both came flashing from their sheaths. “Put down your steel! Stop it!”

“Your Grace?” Mormont lowered his sword only an inch. “These men attacked you.”

“They were defending me.” Dany snapped her hand to shake the sting from her fingers. “It was the other one, the Qartheen.” When she looked around he was gone. “He was a Sorrowful Man. There was a manticore in that jewel box he gave me. This man knocked it out of my hand.” The brass merchant was still rolling on the ground. She went to him and helped him to his feet. “Were you stung?”

“No, good lady,” he said, shaking, “or else I would be dead. But it touched me, aieeee, when it fell from the box it landed on my arm.” He had soiled himself, she saw, and no wonder.

She gave him a silver for his trouble and sent him on his way before she turned back to the old man with the white beard. “Who is it that I owe my life to?”

“You owe me nothing, Your Grace. I am called Arstan, though Belwas named me Whitebeard on the voyage here.” Though Jhogo had released him the old man remained on one knee. Aggo picked up his staff, turned it over, cursed softly in Dothraki, scraped the remains of the manticore off on a stone, and handed it back.

“And who is Belwas?” she asked.

The huge brown eunuch swaggered forward, sheathing his arakh. “I am Belwas. Strong Belwas they name me in the fighting pits of Meereen. Never did I lose.” He slapped his belly, covered with scars. “I let each man cut me once, before I kill him. Count the cuts and you will know how many Strong Belwas has slain.”

Dany had no need to count his scars; there were many, she could see at a glance. “And why are you here, Strong Belwas?”

“From Meereen I am sold to Qohor, and then to Pentos and the fat man with sweet stink in his hair. He it was who send Strong Belwas back across the sea, and old Whitebeard to serve him.”

The fat man with sweet stink in his hair ... “Illyrio?” she said. “You were sent by Magister Illyrio?”

“We were, Your Grace,” old Whitebeard replied. “The Magister begs your kind indulgence for sending us in his stead, but he cannot sit a horse as he did in his youth, and sea travel upsets his digestion.” Earlier he had spoken in the Valyrian of the Free Cities, but now he changed to the Common Tongue. “I regret if we caused you alarm. If truth be told, we were not certain, we expected someone more ... more ...”

“Regal?” Dany laughed. She had no dragon with her, and her raiment was hardly queenly. “You speak the Common Tongue well, Arstan. Are you of Westeros?”

“I am. I was born on the Dornish Marches, Your Grace. As a boy I squired for a knight of Lord Swann’s household.” He held the tall staff upright beside him like a lance in need of a banner. “Now I squire for Belwas.”

“A bit old for such, aren’t you?” Ser Jorah had shouldered his way to her side, holding the brass platter awkwardly under his arm. Belwas’s hard head had left it badly bent.

“Not too old to serve my liege, Lord Mormont.”

“You know me as well?”

“I saw you fight a time or two. At Lannisport where you near unhorsed the Kingslayer. And on Pyke, there as well. You do not recall, Lord Mormont?”

Ser Jorah frowned. “Your face seems familiar, but there were hundreds at Lannisport and thousands on Pyke. And I am no lord. Bear Island was taken from me. I am but a knight.”

“A knight of my Queensguard.” Dany took his arm. “And my true friend and good counselor.” She studied Arstan’s face. He had a great dignity to him, a quiet strength she liked. “Rise, Arstan Whitebeard. Be welcome, Strong Belwas. Ser Jorah you know. Ko Aggo and Ko Jhogo are blood of my blood. They crossed the red waste with me, and saw my dragons born. [...] Now tell me, what would Magister Illyrio have of me, that he would send you all the way from Pentos?”

“He would have dragons,” said Belwas gruffly, “and the girl who makes them. He would have you.”

“Belwas has the truth of us, Your Grace,” said Arstan. “We were told to find you and bring you back to Pentos. The Seven Kingdoms have need of you. Robert the Usurper is dead, and the realm bleeds. When we set sail from Pentos there were four kings in the land, and no justice to be had.”

Joy bloomed in her heart, but Dany kept it from her face. “I have three dragons,” she said, “and more than a hundred in my khalasar, with all their goods and horses.”

“It is no matter,” boomed Belwas. “We take all. The fat man hires three ships for his little silverhair queen.”

“It is so, Your Grace,” Arstan Whitebeard said. “The great cog Saduleon is berthed at the end of the quay, and the galleys Summer Sun and Joso’s Prank are anchored beyond the breakwater.”

Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. “I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names.”

“As you wish,” said Arstan. “What names would you prefer?”

“Vhagar,” Daenerys told him. “Meraxes. And Balerion. Paint the names on their hulls in golden letters three feet high, Arstan. I want every man who sees them to know the dragons are returned.”

#daenerys targaryen #barristan selmy #dany relationships #dany passages #a dance with dragons #a storm of swords #a clash of kings

[fatesdeepdive]

Entry 8: Rinkah’s Burning Loins

My Castle

After fully dedicating ourselves to Hoshido, the game finally really begins. We’re given access to a customizable castle in the Astral Plane where our army waits between battles. We can talk to our units, giving them minor stat boosts or new weapons. Right off the bat, we have a farm and spring to give us resources, rooms for Corrin and Lilith, and a Hall of Records.

In Lilith’s spring, we can feed her to make her level up. Different foods affect her stats in different ways. Note that, although Lilith now has stats, she isn’t usable in battle. Other players can invade our Castle through spotpass, which I’ll discuss in a later entry, and Lilith is only usable in those battles.

Lilith

Lilith is a weird squirrel dragon thing that floats around clutching a random ball. She used to be our stable girl and is now our pet. I think she has a crush on Corrin. Her design is unique and cute, I like it. Gameplay wise, she can only use a modified Physic staff. I don’t dislike her personality, but she feels like a throwaway character added at the last minute. She raises a ton of questions that I doubt will ever be answered.

In the Hall of Records, we can see descriptions of all the units we’ll ever recruit, rewatch cutscenes, read unreadable poems, and play around with a relationship tester. The relationship tester is randomized, by the way, which kinda makes it pointless. That said, it told me that Corrin expects betrayal from Rinkah, while Rinkah’s loins are set afire by Corrin. This is now canon, I have decided.

In Corrin’s room, we can change their hairstyle and invite an ally over to chill. I chose Kaze. He complimented Corrin’s piano skills, which she apparently has, then stared at us, blushing, while thanking us for saving him from Garon.

So, let’s talk about the elephant in the room. In the Japanese version you get to rub units while in close up mode. Like Pokemon Amie except...with people. This was removed in the English version. A lot of Fire Emblem fans were pissed, crying about censorship because Nintendo of America had the gall to remove the minigame where you rub Camila’s tiddies while she moans. And I’m going to say a hot take right now: they made the right call. That stuff was weird and indulgent. It was the living embodiment of the fanservice focussed design that plagues modern Fire Emblem games. Good riddance.

Inviting allies to Corrin’s cool sex treehouse boosts our support levels. I suppose it's time I mentioned that. In Fire Emblem games, units form bonds from fighting next to each other, unlocking short conversations that flesh them out as characters. Units also fight together better when they have high supports. Now, here’s the fun thing about supports:

There are more than 600 supports in this game. Not support conversations, support lines, each of which is made up of three or four conversations. And, because God has cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished, I’m going to read all of them.

Admittedly, I’m not going to unlock all of them. S-Rank conversations result in marriages and each unit only gets one. It’d take a few dozen playthroughs to get all of Corrin’s S-Rank conversations and I don’t hate myself that much, so I’m reading the transcripts from the wiki. I think I’m going to do four supports per Entry; that’ll leave me with a few extra by the time we reach the end, but I’ll just do a support grab bag entry or something.

Before we do supports, let’s finish up improving the castle. I built a weapon shop and a statue of Corrin that boosts her max speed. We are limited on the number of buildings we can build, but that isn’t a big deal yet because the only other option was to build a stave shop.

Support: Corrin/Rinkah

C: Corrin attempts to discuss battle tactics with Rinkah, but Rinkah blows her off and tells her to stop trying to be friends. Rinkah does acknowledge that Corrin’s authority and that Corrin saved her life, but tells the princess leave her alone.

B: Corrin pesters Rinkah until she explains why she’s so aloof. Rinkah explains that, the Flame Tribe keeps a great flame burning in the center of the village to honor the God of Fire. In the past, outsiders have extinguished the fire. One such instance was followed by a volcanic eruption that decimated the tribe. As a rule, the people of the Flame Tribe are wary of outsiders. Rinkah also explains that she’s working for Hoshido because her father commanded her to, much to her chagrin.

A: Rinkah explains that she would have preferred to die an honorable warrior’s death than be captured and resents Corrin for sparing her. Corrin says that she’s glad Rinkah is still alive, because it means Rinkah and her can be friends. Corrin also says that, despite the chaos of war, she believes in fate and its ability to bring people together. Corrin encourages Rinkah to use this opportunity to learn more about the outside world and bring that knowledge home with her. Rinkah begrudgingly agrees.

This is how the conversation will end on my playthrough, but if Corrin has a penis, you can get an S-Rank proposal conversation. I’ll be listing all of these off along with the normal conversations.

S: Rinkah comes to Corrin, blushing, and tells him that he has been a constant reminder of her shame and regret over being captured. But, over time, these feelings were replaced with love. Love that she hated, because Corrin is an outsider. Corrin says that he’s loved Rinkah since the day they met and only told her to be friendly to other people as an excuse to spend time with her. Rinkah states that, from now on, she will remember her capture as the happiest day of her life and the two get married.

Review: I really like this support line. It expands Rinkah’s backstory and culture, ties it into Corrin’s own isolation and belief in fate, and deals with the tumultuous meeting they had in Chapter 2. The confession comes out of nowhere, admittedly, but I do like Rinkah grappling with her mixed feelings of hate and love. Solid support.

Support: Corrin/Jakob

C: Corrin comes to Jakob to ask for a favor. Jakob interrupts her by humorously listing off the things he would do for Corrin. Things like slay dragons for her, which is actually kinda offensive now that I think about it. Corrin begs Jakob to allow her to be independent and Jakob refuses. Corrin explains that she’s his boss and he tells her that servitude is his reason for living. Jakob explains that, when he started working for Corrin, he was incompetent, and her kindness towards him made him indebted to her. The two compromise on the agreement that Jakob will teach Corrin how to make tea. After Corrin leaves, Jakob mumbles to himself that things might get apocalyptic.

B: Corrin repeatedly tries and fails to make a decent cup of tea. Both of them get some funny lines in, with Corrin telling Jakob that she can’t hear him because she’s ignoring him and Jakob saying that, saying that they’ll run out of leaves before Corrin makes decent tea. They meaning the nation in this case. Corrin eventually makes a passable cup, after Jakob secretly adds in sugar.

A: Jakob admits to Corrin that he messed with her tea and she laughs it off, admitting that she knew all along. She apologizes for being stubborn and accepts that she still needs Jakob’s help sometimes. Jakob says that he falls apart without Corrin. Corrin says that the two of them are alike in that way and Jakob literally faints from joy.

S: Jakob is acting more distant than normal. When Corrin asks him about this, he admits that he’s fallen for her and resigns from his duties as butler, because it is improper for him to have feelings for his mistress. Corrin begs him to say because she needs him and admits that she loves him too. The two of them get embarrassed and Corrin fires Jakob, giving him the new job of husband.

Review: This was a hilarious support that really made me appreciate Jakob’s snarky yet loyal personality. He is the perfect butler. The conflict of Corrin wanting to be independent and Jakob wanting to take care of her is a good dynamic that made me appreciate the relationship between these two characters. I do like them more as a platonic couple than a romantic one, but Jakob quitting his job because falling in love with Corrin is improper is a nice character moment.

Support: Corrin/Kaze

C: A villager gives Kaze a bunch of radishes because he’s super hot. And I mean, he is. Kaze apparently doesn’t realize that he’s hot until Corrin explains it to him. Kaze mentions that he dislikes the attention because he isn’t a good person before running off.

B: Corrin asks Kaze to follow her around so she can figure out what’s bothering him. Kaze says no, so Corrin annoys him until he agrees to hang out with him. Then he runs away again.

A: Kaze admits to Corrin that it was his fault that Garon kidnapped her, because when he was a child, he noticed the Nohrian soldiers that killed Sumeragi were in the city but said nothing about it. I don’t know how that makes Corrin’s kidnapping his fault, you’d expect there to be soldiers guarding a king. And the fact that Kaze was there means that there were also Hoshido soldiers, which means there was no reason to be suspicious of the Nohrians. Also, Kaze was a teenager at the oldest, so he should probably get some leeway. Whatever. Kaze apologizes to Corrin and Corrin, in turn, apologizes for making him live with guilt for fifteen years. Corrin also points out that Kaze led her home, meaning that they’re even now. Kaze compares Corrin to Mikoto because of her kindness and pledges to serve Corrin as her loyal retainer.

S: Corrin and Kaze joke around about Corrin’s kidnapping. It’s cute. Corrin mentions that, now that she’s spent so much time offscreen with Kaze, she likes him even more. Kaze blurts out that he loves Corrin, despite being her bodyguard, and the two propose.

Review: I found this chain a bit lacking, to be honest. The first two conversations were filler and the origin for Kaze’s guilt complex is kinda dumb. Kaze’s relationship with Corrin defines him as a character. He is so guilt ridden over her kidnapping that he would betray his country and his family to protect her. Later parts of the game hinge on this relationship. But, three of their four conversations are dull. I do like Kaze’s guilt complex as a concept, and think becoming Corrin’s retainer alongside Jakob and/or Felicia and a way to repent, but it isn’t enough to save this support line.

Support: Kaze/Rinkah

C: Kaze gets a bunch of candy for being hot and shares it with Rinkah, who secretly loves candy.

B: Kaze continues to give Rinkah candy.

A: Kaze continues to give Rinkah candy.

S: Kaze reveals that he’s been giving Rinkah candy because he’s in love with her.

Review: This one was a big let down. The fact that Kaze and Rinkah are introduced together made me think it would be about their capture, but no. It’s just Kaze giving Rinkah candy for four conversations straight. And it’s cute fluff, but it’s nothing more than that. There is something interesting below the surface with Rinkah hiding her love of candy to protect her image, but it’s never really explored.

So, off to a mixed start with the support conversations.

Birthright Chapter 7: A Vow Upheld

Team Corrin heads to a Hoshidan fort where Sakura is tending to wounded soldiers. We are introduced to Sakura’s retainers, Subaki and Hana. Suddenly, the fort is attacked by Nohrian forces. Corrin and Azura point out the ridiculousness of them attacking immediately after they arrived. Sakura freaks out because the fort is being used as a hospital and has no military value. So apparently Nohr is now being evil just to be evil.

Subaki and Hana agree to help Corrin defend the fort and argue over who’s more important to Sakura, much to her annoyance. Subaki and Hana give me a good opportunity to discuss a few interesting things about classes in this game. First off, unlike in most Fire Emblem games, classes are NOT gender-specific, as demonstrated by Subaki being the first male Pegasus Knight in the series. Secondly, the classic Fire Emblem classes were divided between the two nations. Nohr got Mercenaries, Hoshido got Myrmidons. Nohr got Wyvern Riders, Hoshido got Pegasus Knights. Etc. I really like this, it gives the two countries different feels in combat both aesthetically and mechanically. Finally, a lot of Hoshidan classes were renamed to be more Eastern, shown by Hana being a Samurai instead of a Myrmidon, or by Sakura being a Shrine Maiden instead of a Cleric.

Subaki

Subaki is a Sky Knight, this game’s equivalent of a Pegasus Knight. He can fly over terrain and has good speed and resistance, but is decimated by arrows. His personal skill buffs his hit and avoid when he has full health. Design wise, I like how ridiculously smug he looks. Personality wise, he seems over-competitive yet fiercely loyal to Sakura.

Hana

Hana is a Samurai with high speed and skill. Her personal skill damaged nearby enemies when she scores a kill. Her design is fine, if a little bland. Personality wise, she seems over-competitive yet fiercely loyal to Sakura.

Starting with this chapter, we have a prep menu, where we can choose which units to use and rearrange them on the map. We can bring our whole team in with us, so it’s a little pointless, but it's nice. Worth noting that you can have units start in pair up via this menu, unlike in Awakening where you had to pair them up after the battle started.

At the start of the battle, the chapter’s boss, a Cavalier named Silas, shouts out to Corrin that he’s her childhood best friend. She does not remember him even slightly. Okie dokie.

This map is decent. It’s a bit short, but it features a lot of good bottlenecks. The Dragon Veins can be used to open heal tiles, which is a bit pointless because you have two healers. When Silas and Corrin fight, he reiterates that they used to be friends. Corrin says that she can’t remember her past. And that confuses me, because I was under the impression that she got amnesia when she was taken to Nohr, which would have been before she met Silas. Unless he’s lying.

After the battle, Corrin refuses to kill Silas. She interrogates him about why he was so hesitant to attack them and he explains that, when they were children, he helped Corrin sneak out of the walls to have a picnic. The guards tried to execute Silas for this, but Corrin stopped them, because apparently guards listen to small children. Because of this, Silas feels he owes a debt to Corrin.

Question. Why was this random child allowed to play with the super secret hostage princess? Whatever.

Corrin eventually recovers a vague memory of Silas and asks him to join the gang. She explains that Garon is crazy and evil and that’s enough to make him swap sides. Silas is now officially the most sane character in the game. I mean, he should have probably realized this stuff before being sent to destroy a hospital for shits and giggles, but still.

Also, Silas mentions that Corrin’s favorite food is surf and turf. Perhaps this symbolizes how Corrin is stuck between both kingdoms? Or maybe it’s a random throwaway line. You be the judge!

At the end of the chapter, Saizo and a new character named Orochi show up, wounded, and report that Takumi and Ryoma have gone missing. Uh oh.

Team Corrin decide to help search for the missing princes. Sakura decides to come along, despite Corrin and Kaze’s objections. Silas also decides to come along and Saizo points out that he totally could be a spy or traitor. He’s a dick, but he is infinitely smarter than Kaze.

#fire emblem fates #fire emblem birthright #fe14 #fire emblem #hoshido #nohr #corrin fe #kaze fe #corrin x kaze #corrin x rinkah #rinkah fe #rinkah x kaze #silas fe #jakob fe #corrin x jakob #hana fe #subaki fe

[missnmikaelson-main]

A Year to Eternity? Chapter 9

Previously on A Year to Eternity…

‘It’s 2:48 in the morning’… ‘I stole something… it glowed from my backpack’…

‘There is nothing else, Elijah’… ‘Are you seeing this’…

~oOo~

“You found it like this when you locked up?” Alaric leaned over the display, mindful of his hand placement to avoid the glass shards. “None of the wards were breached?”

“Who could have pulled this off?” Dorian tipped the lantern. Light caught on various surfaces, showing the jagged breaks in the case.

“Technically one of the twins could have,” he muttered. “Do you remember when Josie let the kids out of detention? Wendy, Diego and Jade.”

“I remember the aftermath, but I didn’t know Josie let them out.” Dorian whispered. “You think one of your daughters did this?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Why would they?”

Hope silently squeezed Landon’s hand as she came to terms with her half backed plan to replace the knife and clean up the mess coming to a screeching halt.

“They could have siphoned away the wards,” Dorian rubbed the back of his neck. “Someone else could have broken the case.”

“But why that knife and who?”

“Whoever did it has to still be on campus. The gates only opened twice today when you and Caroline left and came back.”

Landon shifted. His invisible knee caught a book. He watched it fall in slow motion, scrambling even slower to catch it.

The thud echoed in the dark.

Two beams of light hit them in the face; they shut their eyes against the blinding yellow.

“Who’s there?” Alaric called. “Show yourself now and I might go easy on detention.”

“I think we’re caught,” Landon whispered. He let go of her hand to black the light.

“Landon?” Dorian lowered his flashlight.

He glanced down, realizing he was visible. Hope popped into existence beside him.

“I told you not to let go of my hand,” she hissed.

“Hope?” Alaric turned his light away. He released a sigh and shook his head. “What is it with teenagers? You have a single room and you’re sneaking into the library.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t give them ideas, Ric,” Dorian smirked. “Don’t want her dad killing you.”

~oOo~

“There’s got to be a hundred books here,” she breathed, surveying the display with wonder.

Her fingers implored her to trace the spines of each book in the glass case; she found her will powerless to stop the action. Some fit in the palm of her hand, those were ones that would have fit in the pocket of her snuggest jeans. Others were thicker than her thigh and the height of her torso. For every book written in English there were a dozen more in languages she had never heard of.

Bits of spine crumbled under her touch, leaving a fine dust of gold and silver on her skin.

She picked a tiny volume and gently turned the thin pages, spying the fine lines of her fingerprint through the paper. The outline of her finger through the translucent pages made the already indecipherable language impossible.

“Impressed?” Kol smirked, pulling book after book free.

“No,” she denied, plopping down with one of the English books. “Two hundred and I’d be impressed, but one hundred and I’m just ‘meh’,” she held a hand flat over the floor, tipping it from side to side while miming a bored expression.

Kol sauntered over and rearranged the throw pillows to join her on the crimson fainting couch.

“This isn’t my entire collection, love. There are several dozen more littering as many homes across the world.”

“And you just left them there?” She shifted, pressing her thigh closer to his warm leg.

“I didn’t have much choice in the matter when my father caught up to us,” he shrugged, watching her flip pages from the corner of his eye. “It’s one of the reasons I spent so many centuries on my own.”

She balanced the book on her knees and tipped her head up, tracing the curve of his brow with her eyes.

“You went back.”

“Nik and Elijah could have rotted away at the bottom of the deepest ocean for all I cared, but I never could refuse Rebekah and would inevitably return when she called. Had Nik ever bothered taking the dagger out of Finn I suspect he would have done the same.”

“Finn?” Her eyes widened, voice rising in pitch. “The same Finn who colluded with Esther to kill all of you? That Finn?”

“You knew him after he spent an unknown number of centuries dagger and aware of it,” he tilted his head, fingers absently drawing patterns on the page. “He woke up angry and he stayed angry. I have often wondered how history would have altered if he had lived that millennium with us.”

“If you start asking what if you’ll never stop,” she warned, covering his hand with hers, “and eternity is a long time to torture yourself with those types of questions. I don’t think I could handle that hanging over my head.”

She turned her focus back to the thick lines of ink. At first glance she had taken the words for English.

“I can’t read this?”

“It’s Old English.” Kol chuckled, lifting the leather volume. “This is the account of a twelfth century witch who was, quite frankly, mad.”

“You’re calling someone crazy,” she laughed, tilting her head to the side. “What makes her ‘mad’?”

“Well,” he flipped pages and traced a faded line of ink, “she writes, quite earnestly I might add, about the scourge of the sky.”

“What’s that supposed to be?” She bit down her grin.

“When I was growing up they were referred to in the saga’s as Ormr, lohikäärme, or dreki…”

“I have no doubt you could give me a list of names from every country,” she snorted, cutting him off, “probably in languages that haven’t been spoken in centuries, but what would I call it?”

He laughed softly.

“You would call it a dragon.”

~oOo~

The shape swooped low, circling the lake. A leathery wing trailed through the water. It moved closer, sharpening the impossible image, landing surprisingly light on the dock.

Scales covered every inch of the massive body from horned head to spiked tail and across both wings.

“Niklaus,” Elijah watched the beast.

Beneath the throat came the distinct glow of fire, spreading up to illuminate the eyes. The great mouth yawned open, sending flames towards them in a slow motion spiral.

He felt the lick of heat a second before the adrenaline coursed through his veins.

He dove out of the path; Klaus sprang in the opposite direction.

He hit the ground hard. The flames unfurled inches above his shoulder and collided with the house. The fire burned through the siding. Wood crackled and warped. The flames spread faster than his panic and in any other situation he might have found that impressive, but a single thought occupied his mind.

He raced into the house.

Acrid smoke filled his lungs.

~oOo~

“Dragons?” Bonnie couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mmhmm,” Kol’s eyes sparkled as he flipped through the pages. “She wrote of entire villages destroyed in fire and a beast nearly impossible to kill unless stabbed in the soft spot.”

“Well,” she shook her head, “assuming you’re not pulling my leg then she’s crazy.”

“I would never pull your leg.”

Bonnie laughed and inclined her head towards the book.

“Why’d you keep it?”

“Because, despite her psychotic leanings, she created several powerful spells,” he hummed. “I’ve also made a habit of collecting the odd.”

“Odd?” Bonnie quirked an eyebrow. One hand waved in the general direction of the stocked shelf. “How many more of those deal with the far-fetched?”

“All of them,” he tilted his head. “Between every useful spell is a fantastic account about a creature of myth. Some are written like this one where the author truly believed what they wrote, and others read as a recounting of tales passed along; although those are few. I have references to kitsune and oni, griffons and unicorns, dryads, naiads, centaurs…”

“A never-ending list?”

“At least one per grimoire,” Kol nodded, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Some have more. One day I might compile that information. I have nothing but time.”

“Is that your eternity project?” She teased, excited over the prospect of such a book.

“No, that would be soaking up all of the knowledge in the world. Is that too high a goal?”

~oOo~

“Elena,” he burst into the bedroom.

Serena screamed; the sound resided somewhere between terror and pain. Elena cradled her looking dazed and panicked.

Caroline spun to face him and immediately raised her shirt to her mouth as the smoke drifted in.

Klaus shoved his shoulders, pushing him further into the room so he could slam the door.

“What’s going on?” Elena coughed. Serena wiggled in her arms, sweat drenched her pyjamas.

“Why is the house on fire?” Caroline moved to the door. Klaus’ hands held her back. “Klaus?”

“The stairs are out of the question.”

“What does that mean?” Elena moved, given Elijah space to open her window.

“It means they’re gone.”

Caroline ran at vampire speed, slamming drawers and flinging open the closet. By the time Elijah broke the glass and hopped onto the sloped roof she had a large duffle slung over her shoulder.

“Give her here.”

Elena passed her baby to Elijah without hesitation. Then she climbed onto the roof. Caroline followed a moment later with Klaus.

The arms that scooped her up were definitely masculine.

She locked her hands around Klaus’ neck, shutting her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the ground coming.

“The school’s closer.”

Elena nodded in what she thought was Elijah’s direction, but the sudden silence told her he was already gone with Serena.

“Hold tight, love.”

She tucked her head in and swallowed the urge to be sick as the world sped by in a blur that she refused to watch. When he stopped, the horrific sound of home burning was gone.

Klaus set her lightly on the entry floor.

Caroline’s eyes darted between them, unsure who to question first. She decided on him.

“What just happened?”

“A dragon set Elena’s house on fire…”

“A what?” Caroline’s voice rose in pitch.

“Where’s Elijah?” Elena spun, uninterested at the moment. She shouted his name.

Klaus caught the reply. “He’s in the kitchen.”

Elena ran with the pair on her heels.

“Dragon?” Caroline gripped his arm. “Did we step into Game of Thrones?”

“I know how it sounds, but…” Klaus trailed off when he stepped into the kitchen and found his daughter, Landon, Alaric and the librarian crowded around Elijah with varying degrees of wonder on their faces. Elena’s sharp elbows proved to be the only thing capable of parting the assembly. “Why is everyone watching the baby have a bath? Why is she having a bath?”

Hope looked up first, but no sound left her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Elijah murmur, pressed close to Elena’s ear. “I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” her voice sounded thick with tears. She dipped and pressed a lingering kiss to her baby’s head. “She’s okay.” Her hands took over the hold.

“The marks are fading.”

Klaus circled the island as Caroline dropped the bag.

Elijah pulled the tap free and shifted to a gentle stream of water that he let trickle over the baby’s belly; the girl grunted and blinked, glowing blue eyes focused solely on her mother’s face.

“Her eyes,” Klaus breathed. His hand curled around Hope’s elbow.

“Her feet,” Hope blinked, nodding to the sink.

“Can you all back up?” Elena snapped. Her throat burned from the brief smoke inhalation. “She’s my baby, not a circus sideshow.”

Caroline stepped in when the others moved back and peered around Elijah’s side. She delicately cleared her throat.

“Elena…” Serena squealed, “… please don’t take this in the ‘gawking at a circus freak’ way, but have you noticed her neck?”

She ground her teeth. “What are you talking about?”

Caroline took the tap from Elijah and carefully directed the water so it hit skin, but avoided the ears. She understood if they hadn’t noticed; the hands and eyes were distracting, but in the folds of her neck three fine blue lines glowed, seeming to split the skin.

“She’s something else,” Elijah pressed a hand to Elena’s back, grateful when she made no mention of how he trembled. “It appears you stand corrected brother.”

“I stood corrected at the dragon,” Klaus grumbled.

“Dragon?” Landon gaped, looking to a shocked Hope. “There are dragons?”

~oOo~

“You do have nothing but time,” Bonnie glanced towards the shelf, shifting on the cushions. “I have a question.”

“Okay,” he turned giving her his full attention.

“This had bugged me for years since I first heard the term,” her fingers danced over the plump cushion near his elbow. “Why do they call it a fainting couch?”

“There were used when doctor’s made house calls, treating hysteria,” he wiggled his eyebrows, a playful smirk on his lips. “The couch provided maximum comfort during procedures.”

She flushed, vividly recalling the film she had watched years before with her friends.

“You’re making that up,” she rolled her eyes.

“I am not,” he gasped, manoeuvring her so she sat comfortably in the corner. He grinned when she bent her knee for balance. “The poor ‘disease’ required weekly manual massage that would last for hours,” he breathed against the shell of her ear, eliciting a shiver. The heady scent of desire permeated the air and drew him closer.

He couldn’t resist a taste and allowed his tongue to trace her ear. He nipped with blunt teeth, mindful of her earring.

She gasped, bringing her hand to his sleeve.

“Th-that doesn’t explain ‘fainting’,” her nails dug into his bicep.

He pulled back and met her eyes, blown wide with the lust he could smell.

“The procedure, lasting for hours as it often did, could leave women feeling faint for a time.” He ran a finger over her hip in the lightest pressure that sent goosebumps spiralling across her skin. “Shall I demonstrate?”

“Will it take hours?” She bit her bottom lip.

“I should think not,” he popped the button on her jeans and pulled the zipper, slipping his fingers beneath the edge of bright white lace. “I have far more skill than those charlatans.”

Her head fell back with a moan, coaxed forth by the dexterous fingers massage. He took advantage of her exposed throat to lay kiss after open-mouthed kiss on her skin. His free hand slid under her shirt and up until his thumb made contact with her hard nipple.

“D-doctors did this?” She strained, attempting to roll her hips.

“Heavens no,” he nipped her bottom lip. “Anything beyond clitoral massage would have been highly improper.”

He pushed two fingers inside.

“Then this doesn’t count as a demonstration,” she moaned. He swallowed most of the sound with a kiss, muffling the whimper brought out by the pressure of his palm. Her muscles trembled, pulled taut to the edge of release fast by the shallow thrust of his fingers.

“I never claimed to be proper,” he chuckled, nose skimming her throat. “My, my; you are close little witch. Has it been so long since someone touched you?”

She might have been mortified by her whimper if not for the cresting pleasure. Her walls fluttered, spasming around his fingers. When he told her to come she was surprised at her body’s ability to obey, and for a long moment she slumped, only vaguely aware of the slick release coating her underwear.

She watched through lidded eyes as he cleaned first one finger then the other with his tongue.

“Divine,” he hummed, “truly, darling. I would love a second taste if you don’t mind.”

His fingers skimmed the inch of exposed skin between jeans and top.

She should have been satisfied, satiated, but her body craved more of him, so she lifted her hips’ the material dragged over her legs before being discarded on the floor with her shoes.

He knelt between her legs, but she stopped him with one hand on his collar.

“If I’m losing clothes then so are you,” she tugged.

Kol chuckled, but leaned back to pull off his shirt.

“As you wish.”

~oOo~

The Boarding School kitchen had long since descended into the chaos that only half a dozen overlapping voices and a screaming baby could achieve.

Klaus had leapt off the topic of dragons and fire in favour of grilling his teenage daughter on her reasons for being out in the middle of the night.

Caroline seemed torn between the tragedy at her best friend’s house, her wandering students and the vandalism in the library. She fired question after question before anyone could finish with an answer. Not that anyone would have heard anyway.

Hope kept trying to explain what had happened with interjections from Landon.

Dorian examined the dagger and talked about something that drowned under the other voices.

Alaric’s attention split down the middle somewhere between dragons and babies with glowing eyes.

Elena bounced on the balls of her feet. She longed to scream at them all to shut up, but Serena hated the noise, and she refused to add to it. She felt her adrenaline die; with its departure her heart faltered.

“My house is on fire,” she breathed.

“Yes,” Elijah nodded, reaching a hand to brush sweat damp hair behind her ear.

“A dragon set my house on fire,” she cradled Serena’s head. Tears shimmered in her eyes when she thought of the last of her family heirlooms. All of her pictures had been in the lake house; insurance would let her rebuild without touching on her savings, but it wouldn’t replace her memories. At least every picture of Serena had been backed up.

Everyone’s arguing voices faded as Elijah folded both of them into the circle of his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and took a shaking breath. A faint aroma of smoke clung to him, but the overwhelming feeling of security dwarfed the reminder.

“I used to be so much better at this.” Serena quieted in her arms. “Compartmentalizing.”

“You don’t need to,” his hand smoothed through her hair as he kissed the top of her head.

With a jolt she realized that the other voices had not just faded they had disappeared. When she turned her head, she found everyone watching them.

“Are we done shouting?” She straightened up and swiped at her eyes. Her fingers smoothed wide circles over Serena’s purple sweater.

Before anybody could answer her, a roar sounded from outside.

Elijah stiffened.

Klaus grabbed Hope and Landon when they made for the window behind Caroline and Alaric who pushed in next to Dorian.

Elena wasn’t sure what to make of the sight. The dragon, something she thought she would never see nor say, shrank; it’s wings and body folded in until all that remained was a woman with dark skin peeking out beneath a soot stained gown.

She appeared, for all intents and purposes, human. But then again, so did everyone in the room.

Her eyes smouldered with live fire, wrecking her camouflage.

It/She kept a fixed gaze on the dagger in Dorian’s hand as the sun rose behind her back. It’s/Her mouth gaped.

Hope pulled free and ran towards the pantry. She returned seconds later with a box of salt and a tin of tea. She muttered a spell as she drew a circle around the tea; a wall of fire spread high three feet beyond the window.

From upstairs came the distant sound of screaming. Downstairs cried echoed. 

“Ric, sound off for a lockdown and be ready to evacuate. Nobody leaves the school except through the tunnels.” Caroline rocked back on her heels, jumping into the roll of problem solving headmistress. The bark of orders reminded Elena of the Miss Mystic Falls float and Matt’s crushed arm. “Hope, how long will that spell last?”

“Twenty minutes… if we’re lucky.” Her eyes flickered to the crude protection spell.

“Twenty minutes,” she muttered, eyes flickering between the Original brothers. “Either of you know how to slay a dragon?”

“Until a few hours ago we were unaware of their existence,” Klaus shook his head.

“Naturally,” she sighed. “Ric, go, take Hope and Landon. Dorian hit the books and if you haven’t found anything in fifteen minutes evacuate. Elena, take the baby and get the hell out of here.” Her voice grew sharp when nobody appeared to listen, barking in a tone that left no room for argument.

“Move!” Caroline grabbed Klaus’ sleeve when everyone else hurried to listen. A sharp look kept Elijah in the room. “Do either of you have any ideas?”

“I’d offer to rip out the beast’s heart, but I don’t think I’ll get close enough.” Klaus looked out the window where said beast was shifting again.

“A death curse might do the trick,” Elijah frowned. He felt overcome with the sudden sense that his heart resided outside his body and was racing rapidly along the hall.

“We don’t keep black magic on campus, and even if we had it there’s not a witch strong enough to use one without Bonnie.” Caroline shook her head.

At the library door Alaric parted ways with Elena after asking if she remembered the way; he left her with the teens and moved to the office.

Elena adjusted her hold. Her eyes snapped to Hope as she moved for the stairs.

“That’s not the right way,” she cocked an eyebrow.

“I have an idea,” Hope called back, taking off at the same moment Alaric came over the loud-speaker. “I won’t be long.”

Landon shrugged apologetically and followed before Elena could stop either of them.

~oOo~

@elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @naughtynecromancer @ethanjwillis @cry-btch@geekofmanyfandoms@morsmornte@xanderling@bellemorte180@iw1shiknew@blndbandt@petrova-banz @bulldozed88@njeancastro316

#elejah #klaroline #kennett #Elena gilbert #Elijah mikaelson #Caroline forbes #Klaus mikaelson #bonnie bennett #kol mikaelson #hope mikaelson #Alaric saltzman #dorian williams #Landon kirby #ayte