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ginnsbaker · 19 days

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (7/?)

Part summary: Six weeks later, Leigh decides to throw herself a birthday party.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.600+ | Warnings : None | Author's Note: Just a reminder that this doesn't strictly follow canon events. Borrowed some elements from the actual birthday episode, but it's going to go very differently for us :) Enjoy!

Six weeks later

“Hey! Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Leigh’s mom calls out from the kitchen as Leigh hurries down the stairs. She runs straight into Amy’s arms, a ball of energy, drawing bewildered looks from her mom and sister. Ever since Matt died, they are used to Leigh either being too quiet or too snarky. Today, of all days, they were expecting her to be something else much worse. But it seems they're mistaken as Leigh turns to Jules, yanks her in close, and kisses her hair.

Jules and Amy share a look. To say this as an interesting development would be an understatement. It's her birthday—her first one without Matt, who had been at the heart of her celebrations for the last decade. They hope Leigh finds some happiness, truly, but these past several months have taught them to temper their expectations.

They keep their silent exchange to themselves, watching as Leigh picks up a croissant and takes a heart bite out of it, her face lit up with the widest smile. “Happy birthday,” Jules grins, pushing a small envelope towards Leigh. “Got something for you.”

“Thank you!” Leigh exclaims. She eagerly opens the envelope to find a bunch of homemade coupons, each promising some sort of favor from Jules, good for the next year. They range from “Will listen to your rants for 30 minutes, no interruptions” to “I will restart the book club you tried to get me and mom to do and actually read the books this time.”

Laughing, Leigh flips through them. “These are brilliant, Jules. Might have to use one today,” she says, already thinking about which one she'll cash in first. Then, she pulls Jules in a bear hug, as if it’s the most exquisite present she’s ever gotten in her lifetime.

“You okay?” Leigh asks when she notices Amy staring at her.

Jules gives their mom a warning look as Amy struggles to come up with a response. “Nothing, I just… I didn’t think you’d be doing quite so well today. That’s all.”

“I didn’t either but we all make choices and I’m choosing to have a great birthday. So, let’s do this thing!” Leigh says in a manner that Jules feels too over the top. Amy starts laying out the plans for the evening and Leigh has a blank look by the time she finishes running them through it.

“I think I want a party,” Leigh announces. It’s met with astonishment, as if it’s the last thing her family’s expecting to hear.

“You do?” Amy.

“A party?” Jules.

Leigh isn’t perturbed by their reactions. “I do. I want a party,” she confirms. She delights at the dumb look on their faces as she reiterates, “Tonight. I want a big party.”

“You’re not having a big party.”

Danny calls her up the minute he gets her Facebook invite. He's partly furious about receiving the invite through Facebook, given that they’re “kind of seeing each other”, and partly incredulous because he couldn’t believe she’s making plans on her birthday without considering the fact that they are “kind of seeing each other”.

Leigh, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear as she flips through a recipe book on her kitchen counter, rolls her eyes so hard she worries they might stick that way.

“Well, yes, Danny, that's exactly what I'm doing,” she fires back matter-of-factly.

Danny's frustration simmers on the other end of the line. He had already made plans, not bothering to consult Leigh because he assumed that their day would be spent together—privately, just the two of them.

“You didn’t think I’d have something planned?” he asks, more hurt than angry.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because we’re dating, Leigh,” he says, appalled that he needs to remind her. Leigh takes a second, biting her lip. Maybe it was a bit inconsiderate that she didn’t consider Danny when she impulsively decided she wanted a big celebration. But that flicker of guilt is short lived.

After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she’s actually excited for something, the last time she thought, I deserve to be happy.

“Yeah, well, I can still do what I want, Danny,” she retorts.

“Now you’re acting like a child,” he snaps.

Leigh feels a flash of anger, then something else—determination. “Maybe so. Come to the party or not, I don’t care. I'm going to have fun, Danny, with or without you.”

“Fine. Just don’t—”

Leigh doesn’t let him finish. With a press of a button, the call ends, his words cut off mid-sentence. Too often, she’s been criticized for not always following through with her declarations, but it's a different game when she's out to prove something.

Drew steps carefully around a minefield of clothes and makeup scattered on the floor to get to Leigh. She's curled up over her laptop, one leg propped on the chair, chin on her knee, in a posture that makes Drew wince. “For a fitness instructor, you're not exactly a poster child for back health,” he says, announcing himself to his best friend.

Leigh's head snaps up at Drew's voice, but instead of annoyance, a smirk quickly spreads across her face. “Good thing I'm not a fitness instructor anymore, then,” she says. Then she turns her attention back to her laptop as if he’s not there. Drew moves to sit on the edge of her bed, flops down on it like a ragdoll and stares at the cobwebs on the corners of the ceiling.

“I know what you’ve been doing, Leigh,” he says.

Leigh is unphased, keeps typing. Then, as if she’s just heard his remark, mutters a distracted, “What have I been doing?”

“Avoiding. You've been avoiding writing about anything that's even remotely related to love or grief,” Drew says.

This time, Leigh stops typing. She sighs, a long, drawn-out exhale that seems to carry the weight of the world. “I’m busy, Drew. This gig is eating up all my time.”

After leaving the Beautiful Beast, she took on a part-time job as a remote project manager. With Matt gone, she's left to deal with the debts they racked up together. She loved her studio job, really did, and wasn't fazed by the slim paycheck because it helped her mom out. Being surrounded by family has been a huge support (despite her occasional squabbles with Jules), but she knows she'll need to move out on her own again at some point. Ultimately, the pressing need for financial stability has pushed her to seek out better-paying opportunities.

Drew straightens up, leaning in with his elbows on his knees. “Bullshit.”

Leigh looks over her shoulder at him with mild irritation. “What do you want me to say, Drew?”

“You're meeting your weekly quota on other topics,” he points out. “Makes me wonder if bringing you back to the advice column was…premature.”

It sounds like a threat, but coming from him, she understands it as an early warning in case the senior editor begins to notice the issue. Leigh smiles thinly, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why does it even matter which topics I choose to engage with? First off, I'm collaborating with other writers now; it's not entirely my show anymore. Secondly, I've been doing a good job—”

“A great job, actually.”

Leigh tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. “So, what's the problem?”

“They're expecting you to lead on those topics because you've lived through them. They're looking for more authenticity in the pieces,” Drew explains.

Leigh looks out the window, seemingly lost in thought, then shakes her head slightly. “What, you want me to write about how I started picking fights left and right after Matt died? Do you want me to detail my attempts at fixing his depression, as if it were as manageable as setting a broken bone?”

“You don’t have to delve into the most personal details.”

“It can’t be authentic if it’s not personal,” Leigh sneers.

“Just think about it, okay?” Drew presses, a little desperately.

Leigh chews on the inside of her cheek, mulling it over. There's a whole part of her story she hasn't even touched on with him—the string of one-night stands with Danny, the way she's snapped at anyone who dared to disagree with her in the past few weeks. She's been on edge, not really liking the person she's been, and the thought of putting that version of herself out there for everyone to see is nothing short of humiliating.

As a writer, she knows what to say, the same way a psychologist would know what to do even if they don’t need to have all sorts of human experience to help someone in every situation. But she also questions her right to preach behavior to others when she's far from having it all figured out herself. Regardless of her indecision, she knows Drew’s not going to drop it until she at least tells him she’ll consider.

“Fine,” she says, with a nod. “I'll sift through the inbox and tackle the ones I feel up to.”

“There you go, that's my girl,” Drew says, visibly relaxing. But then, a moment later, he feels a stab of guilt for showing up mostly because of work. It's been a while since they've hung out, their usual brunch dates falling through one after the other, and their daily chats have shriveled up to a few messages a week, with mostly just memes from Leigh that Drew hardly ever acknowledges. Eventually, Leigh just stopped sending them.

Drew fidgets, avoiding eye contact for a second before it dawns on him—he hasn't just been busy; he's been dodging Leigh on purpose ever since he popped the question to his partner. He was worried Leigh wouldn’t take the news well, considering the things she’s been going through. But if he’s being brutally honest with himself, a part of him just didn't want her grief to dampen his excitement. He was worried her sadness might dampen his spirits, and in a bid to preserve his own happiness, he’d left her out in the cold. He hadn't stopped to think that maybe he owed Leigh more than just her column.

“So, uh, how’s it going?” Drew asks cautiously.

“It’s going,” Leigh offers. Heartfelt talks aren't their thing, so Leigh decides to brush it off fast. “By the way, I'm throwing a birthday party for myself.” It comes out a bit more cheerfully than she feels.

“A party? That's great, Leigh!” Drew exclaims. “And hey, if you need help setting up or anything, just let me know.”

“Yeah,” she forces a smile, not as enthusiastic as she was about the idea at breakfast. “It's tonight, though. You're coming, right? And bring anyone fun you know.”

“Wow, OK,” Drew nods before his face morphs into a grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, is this where you're planning to hard launch your new relationship? At your party?”

Leigh’s eyes sharpen into slits. “You know about Danny?”

“Jules told me,” he says.

Rolling her eyes, Leigh retorts, “Let me guess, she told you so you'd join the haters club?”

“Nah,” Drew shrugs, his smile bright and sunny. “Danny's okay, I guess. If you're happy, I'm happy.”

She hasn’t been not happy lately. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it sure beats being on her own. So maybe she is—or at least, on her way.

“Thanks, Drew,” she murmurs thoughtfully.

Drew makes himself comfy, chin in hand, looking like he's all set for one of their marathon catch-ups. "So, how did you and Danny even start? Tell me everything."

Leigh's trunk is a one-can band, banging and clanging with every turn. Her groceries create a beat, something to fill in the lack of sound in her car. It’s how she drives these days—in utter silence. Before, she wouldn't even think of heading out without the perfect playlist, which often took her an extra five to fifteen minutes after settling into the driver's seat. But these days, as soon as the key is in the ignition, she twists it and takes off, not even waiting for the car to warm up.

Organizing a party by herself (with Jules' indispensable assistance, of course) and extending invites to her entire Facebook friends list has turned into quite the ruse. She's seasoned enough to temper her expectations—knowing well that not everyone who RSVP'd “yes” will show, and that some who didn't bother to RSVP might just surprise her by showing up. So, she's stocked up on as much food as her sedan can hold.

While Leigh's mind wanders to what snacks to whip up and what sauces to pair them with, she accidentally ends up on a lane that forces a left turn instead of going straight. This little misstep means she's got to take the scenic route home, which, by pure coincidence, takes her right past your clinic's street.

Her heartbeat quickens, though it shouldn't. There's no reason for it. She hasn't seen you in a month, not since the night she made a bold declaration on her bedroom door.

Leigh never planned on actually liking you as a person. Initially, her motive was purely to get a closer look, to dissect what it was about you that caught Matt's eye, what you possessed that she lacked. However, the answer to that mystery didn't remain elusive for long after spending a little time with you. You had this kindness about you, soft and easy, something Leigh’s always found just out of her reach. She prides herself on being decent enough but next to you, she feels a bit more like sandpaper to your silk.

Matt was like that too—gentle, easygoing. Leigh is well aware of her own rough edges, her sharp corners that don't quite align with Matt's smoother ones—and, by extension, yours. You and Matt had more in common than just interests; you both saw and reacted to the world in similar ways. Finding out that you and Matt were alike in important ways, in ways she wasn't, is something she's still learning to cope with.

As she nears your clinic, her eyes instinctively search it out, a habit she can't seem to break.

This time, her timing is impeccable; just as she glides by, you step outside with a puppy in your arms, licking your face all over. You catch sight of her car from a distance, and you couldn’t stop the surprise that flashes across your face. As she drives past, you give her a little wave, puppy still in tow. Leigh cracks a small smile, then throws on her aviators, maybe trying to hide a bit more than her eyes. She sneaks one last look in the rearview, catching you watching her car disappear down the street before you head back into the clinic.

As soon as she gets home and is safely out of the car, she opens her messages.

The last text you sent her says, “I'm sorry. I hope we can still be friends,” sent three days after the encounter in her bedroom. She didn't respond to it, and you didn't push any further or impose yourself on her.

She wishes she had at least reacted with a heart or sent a smiley face to your message. Maybe then, inviting you to her party tonight wouldn’t feel so awkward. Nevertheless, she manages to type out a quick invite and extends to you the courtesy of bringing a plus one, someone you believe would be good company.

Your response arrives within five seconds of her hitting send.

“Thank you, I'll be sure to drop by :)” - Y/N

Satisfied, Leigh sets her phone aside. Now, she can focus on making those Deviled eggs.

The dress she's pulled from Jules's closet is a bold choice: deep black with a plunging neckline and a hem that flirts with daring. It's sexy, but not quite Leigh's usual style—and that's exactly why she loves it. It clings to her in all the right places, promising a confidence that Leigh isn't entirely sure she feels. Her hair, which is normally pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, hangs loose and wavy. She tops off her outfit with a slick of red lipstick and layers of dark eyeliner.

With about an hour to spare before her guests are due to arrive, Leigh decides it's the perfect time to follow through on a promise she made to Drew. She logs into the shared inbox of the advice column she co-manages with two other writers at Basically News. Leigh scrolls through the submissions, Drew’s words playing on repeat in her head. He had a point. Maybe people don't always need the right answers—answers she hardly uses herself. Perhaps what they really need is someone to affirm what they're already feeling, to say it's okay to follow their gut, to be themselves.

She reads an interesting entry from one EspressoEyes:

“Do you think it's too much for me to give a puppy to this woman I like? I'm not even sure she likes me back (or like me in general 😣), but it's her birthday, and I feel like a puppy could be exactly what she needs at this moment.”

Leigh reads the message, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Personally, she muses, she'd welcome a puppy from just about anyone. But that's just her, especially with the rollercoaster of a year she's had—she's at a point where the gesture, no matter who it comes from, would be a welcome slice of joy.

Thinking it over, she starts replying, “A puppy is a big gesture—it can be an overwhelming gift for some. It might even be seen as too forward, especially in certain relationships.Yet, a gift is a gift. Sometimes, you need to just go for it, without apologies. If her feelings don't align, she'll let you know. She has to, because giving a puppy is essentially a love declaration, in case you hadn't realized. And who knows? She might feel the same about you. Just make sure she's actually up for the responsibility of a pet. They're for life, not just for birthdays.”

She signs off with her pen name—Gigi Herrel—a clever anagram of her name as it would have been had she taken Matt's last name in marriage: Leigh Greer. Though it never quite felt like her own. She only used it when she came back to Basically News in obeisance to his passing. Drew has granted her the autonomy to publish her responses without his oversight (“Just make sure your grammar is perfect,” he said), so Leigh doesn’t think twice before publishing her response.

Leigh moves on to browse through other submissions, this time, on those related to marriage and loss—the very subjects she promised Drew she would tackle. She’s been in those shoes, still feels like she's wearing them. With a deep breath, she clicks on one and dives right into it. Her first attempt at a response feels inadequate, prompting her to hit delete and start anew. This process repeats itself, one draft after another, until she has five versions sitting in front of her, none of which feel right. With a huff, she deletes them all.

Just then the doorbell rings, pulling her out of her advice-column vortex. Leigh glances around, momentarily disoriented. It takes her a moment to recall that there's a party happening downstairs, and she's meant to be enjoying herself.

She’s halfway down the stairs when Jules's eyes land on her. Leigh freezes, as if she’s been caught red-handed. “I…couldn’t find the coupon for borrowing your clothes.”

Jules just smirks and arches an eyebrow, taking in Leigh in her dress. “Oh please, as if I ever keep track. Besides, that was just gathering dust after my ‘slutty Halloween phase’ as you so lovingly called it.”

“Cool! Perfect!” Leigh says, ignoring the backhanded comment. Her focus immediately turns to the front door as another guest arrives. “Hey, Dad!” she calls out.

Leigh’s dad walks in with his partner, and she greets them with a warmth that's been rare these days. He hands her a large, beautifully wrapped box. Leigh grasps the gift with both hands, shaking it gently, much like a child on Christmas morning. She’s thanking them when an old friend from high school she hasn’t seen in forever walks through the door, a bottle of wine in hand. Her mom swoops in like a hawk, reminding everyone it's a dry party in support of Jules's sobriety, and the wine is swiftly traded for a mocktail.

For the next hour, the house fills up. Leigh finds herself out back, tending to snacks, when a small line of people forms to chat with her. They each ask if she’s doing okay, their condolences tucked neatly between cheerful birthday wishes. Leigh’s smiling, but it's so fake even she is not buying it, mentally blacklisting half of these people for next time.

Just when the parade of condolence callers is beginning to fray her patience, one of her actual favorite humans finally shows up, saving her mood from souring completely. Drew looks striking in a simple black polo shirt, so much so that it reminds Leigh of the time Matt got all jealous over him, until Leigh let him in on the secret that he plays for the other team.

He passes her a little envelope, his birthday offering—a gift card. Leigh’s barely expressed her thanks over the simple present when he jumps right into feedback on her latest advice column.

“Read your puppy counsel on my way here. It felt a bit... casual, don’t you think?”

Leigh smirks up at him, arms crossed, the gift card crinkling between her forearms. “Just say it's terrible advice if that's what you mean.”

Drew purses his lips before relenting. “Fine. It was terrible advice.”

“Expect more of that if I tackle the stuff I’ve been avoiding. Still think it’s a good idea?” Leigh says, nodding like it’s exactly what she wants to hear. Drew lets out a sigh, swiftly steering the conversation away before their playful banter escalates into a disagreement. With Leigh, he knows all too well that the edge of an argument is always closer than it seems.

“Anyway, happy birthday, again,” he says, trying to lighten the mood again. “Ryan's tied up with work stuff, totally wiped, but he did wish you a happy birthday.”

Leigh’s face hardens slightly at the mention of Ryan. She’s been harboring this nagging thought that Ryan dislikes her, a suspicion fueled by a criticism she once shared with Drew in confidence, suspecting Drew might have passed it along. Drew, seeing her expression change, doesn’t rush to correct her assumption.

“He hates me,” Leigh concludes before Drew can even get a word out.

“He doesn’t—”

“What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have kept it between us?” she demands, feeling betrayed.

“Because Ryan’s my person. I tell him everything. That’s how being in a marriage works,” he says, but the moment he sees Leigh's face fall, he wishes he could retract those words.

Leigh bristles, her voice rising, “I know how being married works!”

She's livid, because that should go without saying. How dare he imply that she no longer knows, now that she's only half of a whole—her best friend, of all people.

Drew exhales coolly, as if trying to douse the proverbial fire between them. “Why does it seem like we're always either fighting or about to fight?” he wonders aloud.

Leigh’s anger softens into something more reflective, and she sighs, the fight draining out of her. “I don’t mean to...” She trails off, searching for the right words. “It’s like I’m always ready for a battle. I don’t know why. It’s like I’m expecting it, waiting for it, at the end of every day.”

Drew lets the moment breathe, waiting for both of them to deflate completely before tacitly reaching out behind Leigh for a snack. “These are great, by the way,” he says between bites, acting like they hadn’t just been at each other's throats.

Leigh tries to match Drew’s candidness, but inside, she’s reeling. It bothers her, this pattern they’ve fallen into—her temper flaring up, followed by a quick brush-off, as if these outbursts are merely now a part of who she is. She hates that she’s become predictable in her volatility, that her explosions are met with a shrug and a wait-out-the-clock mentality from those around her. She’s tired of it, tired of being seen as a ticking time bomb, her anger and hurt dismissed as just Leigh being Leigh, waiting for the reset button to be hit so the countdown can start all over again.

But it's her birthday, and she's brought these people together on a Tuesday night for fun. She didn't gather everyone just to tell them, once and for all, that they need to stop acting as if her husband just died.

So, she goes with the flow, laughing when it's her cue, even though deep down, she feels more alone in the crowd than ever.

With the absence of alcohol, the party winds down by 11 PM. Guests begin trickling out as early as 10, and by the time Leigh is bidding farewell to the last attendee, she's already donned an apron, ready to take on the mountain of dishes left behind.

Which is to say, showing up right now pretty much means you've missed the whole party.

Pulling up in front of Leigh's house, the night already deep into its quiet hours, you’re running on the adrenaline of the day's emergencies. Two cases back-to-back at the clinic, one of them diving straight into surgery, left you no choice but to push everything else to the side. Suzie, who was meant to join you as your plus one, ends up stuck back at work, tending to a recovering St. Bernard, so it's just you and the sleeping puppy on your lap now. For her sacrifice, you promise to take her out to a nice lunch one of these days.

The puppy starts wagging its tail in its sleep, and you look down with a smile at the little dreamer. The decision to give Leigh the puppy wasn't made lightly. You've been turning the idea in your mind for a while now. Initially, you didn't even realize her birthday was coming up, and the invitation to her party caught you off guard, especially considering the somewhat unresolved way things were left between you two weeks ago. The timing of her birthday, your rocky history, it all made you second-guess whether a puppy was a good idea. In search of a voice outside your own head, you turned to a favorite advice column you often read in your spare time. To your surprise, your submission was picked up by one of the columnists, and the response you got wasn't just advice; it was the push you needed. You were lucky to be able to catch their answer, just before you got home to change for Leigh’s birthday party.

Trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach, you give yourself a quick once-over in the rearview mirror and apply a fresh swipe of nude-colored lipstick. With one last look, you carefully step out of the car, the sleeping puppy nestled securely in your arms. The moment you move, it stirs, burrowing deeper into your armpit, seeking refuge from the light of the street lamps.

Everything's too quiet as you walk up to Leigh's house. You anticipated some noise, music or chatter—anything to indicate the party was in full swing. But there are none. Could you have missed the party? Or worse, did Leigh get the date wrong on her invite? Hesitantly, you press the doorbell, instantly regretting it, thinking you might be waking up the whole house.

Just as you're about to bail, the door swings open and it's Jules.

“Y/N!” Jules nearly trips over herself getting to you, eyes wide when she spots the furball you’re holding.

“Hi Jules,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Is that a…” she squeaks out, already reaching for a cuddle before you've even nodded. Jules is all over the puppy, who seems just as happy to be the center of attention. After a while, she looks up, a bit more composed but still glowing.

“I didn’t know Leigh invited you. Too bad, you just missed the party. But you should definitely come in and say hi to Leigh,” she says. You want nothing more than to see Leigh again, even if only for a brief moment, just to accomplish what you came here for and perhaps wish her a happy birthday. But with the party over and you potentially being the only guest, it feels like walking into a situation you don’t think you’re prepared enough for.

Then, as the puppy licks Jules' face off, she pauses and looks at you funny. It clicks for her—no collar, no leash, just you and this puppy who appear no more than two months old.

“Oh my gosh, is this for Leigh?” Jules gasps.

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I-If she wants him.”

Jules looks at you, then at the puppy, her smile blinding. “Well, I want him. But if she doesn’t, I’ll be more than happy to be his mommy.”

You laugh at her enthusiasm. Still feeling skittish, you ask, “Do you think it’s an appropriate gift for Leigh?”

“You're a vet. It's kind of on-brand for you,” Jules quips.

You laugh again. “Really?” you ask, kind of hoping for a more solid reassurance.

Jules considers it for a second, before saying, “I can at least assure you it’s not unwanted.”

Good enough, you think. Jules hands you back the puppy and then says, “She’s in the kitchen. Look, she’s not exactly in a good mood, but I think you should go for it anyway.”

That’s two people egging you to go ahead with your surprise. It must be a sign from the universe. You make up your mind for the final time. “Thanks, Jules,” you say.

“Anytime.”

You tread lightly, making sure your footsteps don’t give you away as you approach the kitchen. Leigh is at the sink, doing the dishes, clad in a black dress that skims her thighs, her feet bare against the cool kitchen tiles. Her shoulders are slumped, her movements laconic, as if her body is there, but her mind is miles elsewhere. The expanse of skin revealed by her hair tied up in a high ponytail captivates you, holding you back from announcing your presence. You allow yourself a moment to take her in, thinking this might be the only chance you get to really look at her like this.

You’re about to say “Hi”, when Leigh whirls around, startling you both. Leigh, not expecting anyone to be there, loses her grip on the plate she's holding, and it smashes loudly against the floor.

“Jesus!” Leigh’s scream summons Jules and her mom into the kitchen. Meanwhile, you are trying to do damage control—holding the puppy with one hand and attempting to gather the ceramic shards with the other as Leigh continues to stare at you in shock.

Amy, wrapped in her robe, looks from the mess on the floor to you and then to Leigh. “What’s going on here?”

Jules is unfazed, simply watches the entire scene from a corner of the room, smirking.

Your cheeks flush with shame, and you find yourself grateful to be still seated on the floor, your back turned away from Leigh's family.

“I’m so—” you start, but Leigh cuts you off.

“Okay, everyone just...calm down," Leigh says. She kneels down beside you, her hands joining yours in cleaning up the broken pieces.

“I'm heading to bed,” Jules says and then winks at you. “Happy to see you, Y/N!”

Amy wraps her robe more snugly around herself, then with a small, puzzled shake of her head, says, “Well, good night everyone. And happy birthday again, sweetheart,” before she walks down the hall and out of sight. Leigh gets to her feet, a slight nod of appreciation directed your way as she holds open a trash bag for you to deposit the ceramic shards. That’s when the puppy finally catches her attention.

“And who's this little guy?” she asks, a smile starting to play at the corners of her mouth.

You clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. He’s yours if you want him. Don’t worry about refusing, there’s someone lined up to take him in case you’re not—”

But Leigh’s already gently taking the puppy from your arms, instantly cradling and bouncing him as though he’s a tiny human baby. It’s a sight both funny and utterly endearing, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, feeling your heart grow a size or two.

“Who wouldn't want him? He's perfect,” Leigh says, her eyes not leaving him as he nestles comfortably in her arms. Hearing those words, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. She doesn't find it odd; she's already falling for him.

“Happy birthday,” you tell her, and when she looks at you, her smile is so bright it could light up the whole night. Right there is everything you hoped for. All you really wanted was to see her happy.

“Thank you so much,” she murmurs, clutching the puppy tighter to her chest. Then, cocking her head to the side, she inquires, “What's his name?”

The grin on your lips can’t be helped, and you’re hoping she wouldn’t see just how much she’s having an effect on you. “I haven’t named him yet. He was always meant to be yours, Leigh,” you say.

Her smile just gets bigger as she gazes down at the little furball in her arms, and you think this is exactly how things were supposed to go down. It’s one of those rare moments where reality lines up perfectly with expectation.

“I think I’ll call him Logan.”

You and Leigh retire to the living room after she kindly offers to make you decaf. As you settle onto opposite ends of the couch, tucking your feet under you, Logan instinctively takes shelter in Leigh's lap, as if he already knows he belongs there.

“So…Why Logan?” you ask, after making a mental note of how Leigh makes her coffee: one cream, two sugars.

“Well,” Leigh says, her fingers gently stroking Logan’s deep chocolate fur, “he just looks like a little wolverine, doesn’t he? With that color and those defiant little eyes.”

The dots connect in a funny, unexpected sort of way. Leigh and comic books don't seem like the most likely pair.

“Ah, like the X-Men character. I didn’t know you were a comic book fan,” you say.

She laughs, a sound that’s light and free of any shadows. “Oh, I wasn’t. Not really. It was all Matt. He had this massive collection, and he was pretty obsessed. I guess some of it rubbed off on me after all.” The mention of Matt doesn’t bring clouds into her eyes like you expected. She talks about him like she’s looking at something distant but dear.

“Thought you were bailing on me tonight,” Leigh , almost casual but there’s this undercurrent, like she’s really saying she’s glad you didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I got stuck at the clinic longer than expected.” Leaving her waiting, especially today, was never part of the plan. Your work as a vet often means unpredictable hours, but you hadn't expected it to stretch so far into the evening.

“It’s okay, you didn’t miss much.”

Her casual dismissal makes you wonder, but not wanting to pry too much, you shift slightly, asking, “So, how did it go? Did you enjoy yourself at least?”

Leigh simply smiles and shrugs, an action that speaks volumes without giving much away. “This,” she nods down at Logan, “getting him from you, feels more like my birthday than anything else today.”

The conversation that follows is easy, skipping over the day-to-day stuff—nothing deep, but you're both there—really there—and it's nice. It feels like a fresh start, and you're deeply thankful for the second chance she's offering you. You promise yourself you won't mess it up this time.

But just as you’re both delving into more personal topics, someone rings the doorbell. Logan perks up, his head tilted, ears alert. Leigh gives you a look, as if saying she's not expecting anyone else to show up this late at night. She puts the puppy down on the floor and when she opens the door, it’s Danny, looking sorry for himself. He’s holding a bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. It seems as though he has the whole evening planned out in his head—apologize, crack open the wine, and maybe be invited to Leigh’s bedroom afterwards.

Danny’s eyes find you and his face falls a bit. He wasn’t expecting company, certainly not you. “Leigh, can we talk?” he asks, then looks pointedly at you. “Alone?”

Leigh looks torn for a moment, glancing your way as if she's not ready to let you out of her sight. She insists it'll just be a minute, but you can read the room. This is something they need to sort out without you playing third wheel.

“It’s all good, I'll head out,” you tell her though you're staring Danny down, making sure he knows it’s not because of him that you’re leaving. Leigh either misses the whole glare-off or decides to stay out of it. Logan tries to follow you as you make for the door. It’s hard leaving him behind, but you know he’ll be happy to have found his forever home. You kneel down, giving Logan a soft kiss on the head, promising him you’ll be back soon. And then you turn to Leigh, a question at the tip of your tongue but she already knows what you’re going to ask.

“You can see Logan anytime,” she says with a faint smile. “I might need your help with him sooner than you think.”

The moment you close the door behind you, Leigh's jaw sets in a firm line, bracing herself to confront Danny. Her main priority is to get Logan settled, so she decides that forgiving Danny might be the quickest way to send him on his way. But Danny’s focus now isn’t on apologies or making it up to her. He’s fixated on Logan, his brows knitting together in confusion and, curiously, a bit of annoyance.

“Who gave you that?” he asks Leigh as if he’s just referring to an inanimate object lying around the house. He sounds like he's almost accusing her of something, and Leigh's baffled.

“A friend gave him to me,” she says, nodding towards the door you've just walked out of. Danny's face twists up in an instant, like a storm cloud bursting. “A friend,” he repeats, and the way he says it, it’s clear he’s not just asking. He’s fuming with jealousy, and Leigh can’t wrap her head around why.

A gift is just a gift, right? Why would…

Oh.

Earlier, while she was reviewing submissions for the advice column, someone asked if giving a puppy as a birthday gift to someone they're interested in would be a good idea. She remembers how she happily encouraged them, telling them to go for it.

At this realization, Danny, the puppy, and everything else slide to the back burner. The only thing occupying her mind now is the deep, dark brown hue of your eyes, like rich espresso.

EspressoEyes. That's how the person behind the submission signed off. It's like a lightbulb moment, but softer—like waking up slow.

It's you.

Oh.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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oscconfessions · 2 months

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i really do love ii and bfb and tpot and hfjone dont get me wrong, but i honestly hate the fact that almost every show within the osc (or at least every big and popular one) follows the whole competition/game show format (i know hfjone wasnt all competition but STILL. a lot of it was). and the object shows that dont follow this format are usually super hard to watch (as in, quality like ii and bfdi season 1 (i couldnt make it through either SORRY)) and/or they are unfinished/wip or completely abandoned projects.

things like love of the s*n and. thats the only thing i can think of right now sorry. it seems very promising BUT THERES ONLY ONE EPISODE 😭 i cant really get invested in that.

it sucks cause the nightly manor seems like it shouldve been perfect at meeting my above requirements, but i just couldnt fixate that much on it. i think its just because the pacing was very strange imo, and because of that i had like no time to understand or connect with the characters. like its been a while since ive finished watching it and i’ve barely thought of it or the characters since then.

anyways if you guys know any good object shows that are complete or at least close to completion and arent strictly competition game shows pleaasee recommend , im lookin for something new to watch hdhd

#confession #/ii #/bfdi #/one #/tnm

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hikari-ni-naritai · 3 months

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2 6 9 11 12 14 25 28 29 30 32 38 43 45 48

2. What are you obsessed with right now?

endwalker legendary fish came out so that is at the forefront of my brain at all times.

6. Describe your dream home.

i have a bedroom and a couch to lay down on. perhaps in someone's lap. thats all i really want now that ive reached the advanced age of 30.

9. Do you watch porn?

strictly speaking no. i have a couple episodes of a hentai downloaded. but like i get off less than once a month. so decidedly nothing with any regularity.

11. If you could teleport anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?

my bed. its sooo far away (3 feet)

12. What’s one of your fantasies?

how are we defining fantasies here. when i die i go to a fantasy world and become a witch who lives forever. thats my ultimate fantasy.

14. How would you spend a million dollars?

id buy a nice house, pay off my car, use my income to pay for a cleaning service instead of house or car payments. probably invest some.

25. Describe your perfect Friday night.

i run a good dnd session and i do really well and everyone tells me at the end 'hey emily this was a really good session thank you for running it for us' and then i say no prob and then i go brush my teeth and take a nap.

28. Who is the funniest person you know?

kay's pretty funny i think. im pretty sure ive infected her with my humour in some way. she makes me laugh a lot.

29. What’s the most overrated movie?

every movie is overrated except for pmmm rebellion. oh wait its shrek 2. 'oaoah i love Musical Number so much i can forgive extended transmisogynistic joke sequences<3<3' fuck off

30. Tag someone you want to talk to but have been too shy to message.

if i could tag someone like that, i would be able to message them.......... plus if i did that then they would see it and be like 'oh i should talk to emily then since she wants to talk to me!' and then theyd message me and i would be at a conversational disadvantage because im a sniveling piece of shit begging for attention. i cant do that. there are people i would like to be friends with tho.

32. If you could live in a fictional world, what world would you pick?

im trying to think of which worlds offer paths to immortality...... ah, the Please Be Happy world. vampires exist there and its a relatively pleasant place.

38. Do you drink?

nah. my brother hasnt even picked up any fireball to make dragon cum with me.

43. What’s your guilty pleasure?

i dont feel guilty about any of my pleasures. but definitely watching really shitty isekai

45. What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?

mmmm. i havent been on many bad dates. outside of things that sucked bc we were in high school and her parents were there, the only one that comes to mind is one time after we had a fight, i took my gf at the time to the crab shack bc she loved crab and she and the waitress made fun of me for not being able to get the crab out of the shells :(

48. Describe your ideal partner.

man iunno. i am kinda not looking for romantic relationships for the foreseeable future.

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unwellcryptid · 2 months

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hi. im an artist who isnt really an artist so much as a guy who happens to draw.

i also have a myriad of illnesses and conditions that fuck with my ability to do that, or to enjoy it.

ive been having a very difficult time making anything i wanna make recently. i say recently, but it wasnt that recent honestly- back in, what, 2020 or 2021, i developed a repetitive strain injury in both my arms, afflicting the muscles responsible for closing my hands and the down motion- both things you kinda need to do when you draw.

i should clarify that i didnt develop this because i was drawing excessively- i cant say ive ever drawn excessively, i dont think im capable quite honestly- but because of how i held myself at all times all the time for basically my entire life.

the RSI (abbreviated for repetitive strain injury because thats A Lot To Type) is responsible for my chronic pain. i hear some people can recover totally from an RSI, but alas i am not one of them.

i started drawing in 2016, and i had decided very strictly to draw Something every single day due to instruction from the artists i learned from, and i had largely done that.

but part of my (attempted) recovery from my RSI was not being able to draw. i knew, before it even began, that if i stopped drawing for very long, i would have an extremely hard time picking it back up.

(this had happened before, in smaller ways. if i didn't draw for a week or two, drawing was a major struggle and i enjoyed it way less, so i didnt draw as much. i almost had to force myself to draw just so i could build a pattern to enjoy it again. the RSI recovery was worse, i wouldnt be able to do anything for months, even if i wanted to.)

and as i predicted, when i stopped drawing for that long, i found it nearly impossible to pick drawing back up. this struggle has continued to this day- ive never been able to draw every day anymore- not helped by the fact the RSI never went away, so drawing can be physically painful if im not careful- but it isnt ONLY the RSI messing me up.

i realized i formed a very strained relationship to creating drawings itself.

its kind of hard to talk about, because i feel totally alone in having this problem. every artist ive ever known or even heard of has all said the same thing, that making art is part of who they are. theyve been doing it naturally, even if they havent been drawing since childhood, its still an easy and simple thing for them to do. most talk about how art got them through depressive episodes and bad parts of life, or how it helps them work through their emotions, or how its part of them recovering energy after a long day.

its none of those to me. drawing has always been a strain, a second step i take in my creativity that i work very, very hard to do. it takes energy, it causes pain, and usually it didnt help me with my emotions. that was never the point of me drawing.

i suspect the reasons why im struggling with art are complex and varied and i feel like its almost impossible to talk about with artists. they never get it, especially not professionals, especially not healthy ones.

so i guess i made a tumblr blog about it. because i wanna talk about it, and the best i can do is make my own space for it.

im not gunna post art here, but the plan is to post about art, and about how i'm handling it, about why i'm feeling this way, and how i'm doing with it day-to-day. i think that might help

#chronic pain #i dont. really wanna post this in too many tags. i kinda dont wanna be seen too much

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simplysurviving89 · 8 months

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My interests

So, since noone asked, im going to list my current interests:

thunderstorms have been a lifelong interest of mine, i dont know much about them but i just love what they are, when i was young and a thunderstorm came over i would grab a blanket and sit outside on the front steps of the house to watch it, i love the atmosphere, the subtle wind and the change in clouds, the way everything gets darker before it passes again, i love the way you know a thunderstorm is coming before it actually appears, and i love the rain that follows it, its refreshing. Even now, at 33, when a thunderstorm is coming i find myself running round the house looking for the direction, to get the best view.

Space things - again if you ask i know very little, but i love space things, planets, stars, moons, galaxies, the possibilities of what else is out there, how little we have actually discovered. I love photos of space stuff, its mesmerising.

asian dramas/music - this has been an interest of mine since i was a teenager, back in 2005 i would sit in my room until the early hours, watching japanese dramas on fishy streaming websites, sometimes with questionable subtitles. I lost sight of this interest while i was living my life and growing/raising my family, i picked it back up in 2020/2021, japanese, chinese, thai, korean dramas and music, its like an escape from reality for me, i can dive into the storylines, forget my own problems for a while, i can destress and live in the fantasies the dramas present.

Anime - again as a teenager i loved anime, 90s animes like sailor moon, inuyasha, pokemon etc, like asian dramas i also lost sight of these while i was (i suppose trying to live normally?) working towards a career, building a family, i picked this back up again and am working on making my watchlist longer. (but i also find anything with multiple seasons and hundreds of episodes puts me off, i lack attention span to get through them all!)

books - ive always loved reading, multiple genres, multiple styles, ive gone from real life stories to romantic comedies, fantasy and magic, to full on harem style, then i went on to mangas, manhwas, webtoons etc, if i can read it, pictures or not, i will. Im currently obsessed with grandmaster of demonic cultivation (chinese novel), i have the books and have started collecting the manga/manhwa (however they call it) version. The chokehold those characters have on me is unreal.

BL's - now this one is a hidden hobby of mine, only a select few people know just how deep i am into this, most people IRL dont know i watch at all because im worried what people will think. Now if your unfamiliar with the term it stands for boys love, mainly series, though i read mangas too, theyre another way of escaping reality, the storylines can differ from typical hetero series, for most of them i can switch my brain off and just enjoy, i dont have to think about anything. For those questioning my motives, no i dont fetishize them, i watch an equal amount of hetero shows too, and i watch GL's, im not strictly into one genre, if a storyline catches my attention ill watch it.

Most of my interests center around escaping reality, books, tv etc.

#neurodivergent #autism #am i autistic?#neurodiversity #undiagnosed autistic #mental health #special interest #books and reading #asian drama #anime and manga #space stuff #danmei

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smokeybrandreviews · 1 year

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Stuffed

It’s been a while since I've done something like this but, considering this year has been gangbusters for anime, i needed to go ahead give my nod towards that ex excellence. Anime in 2022 is an embarrassment of riches and every season had at least one killer app. Obviously, there are some that mean more to me than others but, overall, these are the ten (or so) which left me wanting more. Now, before we get into the actual list, i need to recognize both BLEACH: Thousand-Year Blood War and Overlord IV. Both of these shows are continuations of long established franchises. Both of these shows are, arguably, the best of said franchises. Both of these shows are on my all-time list and o shill hard for them. Both of these shows would sit comfortably at the top of this list but i refuse to put them on here. They are absolutely serving on that top spot, don’t misunderstand, but it feels like a cheat to place something so established, something I'm on the record to shill so hard for, when here are brand new franchises getting their clout out there. BLEACH and Overlord are masterclasses in how to adapt anime and deserve to share the top spot on my list. They do. Go watch them because they are pure excellence. That aside, let’s get into my top ten of the year!

10. Skeleton Knight in Another World

This is the first Overlord clone to make this list. Obviously, it’s here because it IS an Overlord clone and i love Ainz so very, very, much. I think i made that exceptionally clear above. That said, Skeleton Knight pales in comparison to not only Overlord, but it’s derivative cousins who will make an appearance further down on this list. Disclaimers and criticism aside, i had a lot of fun with this show. The manga is much more fun, mostly because i enjoy the art, but this adaption is rather faithful, giving the anime a very familiar energy. If I'm being honest, Skeleton Knight is the weakest entry on this list and there are probably more deserving shows out there, but i just think Skeleton Knight in Another World is neat.

9. Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury

I genuinely enjoy Gundam but i can’t say I'm a hardcore fan. I can best be described as interested but not enthusiastic. I've enjoyed certain entries more than others, Unicorn and Iron-Blooded Orphans come to mind, but, for me, it’s Gundam Wing. I have never enjoyed a Gundam narrative as much as W, until i saw Mercury. Now, when i say that out loud, i know how ridiculous that sounds. With of Mercury has very little in common with Wing yet, i adore this show. I can’t say it’s the strongest of the franchise, it definitely isn’t, but i loved my time with this world. Also, Aerial has a pretty dope design.

8. Lycoris Recoil

I’ve been a fan of the “Schoolgirl Hitgirl” sub-genre for years. My chick got me into with Gunslinger Girl way back when. Recoil wasn’t initially on radar but i picked it up midway through it’s run after dropping another show. I was happy with that decision because, holy sh*t, this show is awesome Never mind the high production values and the absolutely enchanting characters, Recoil is basically John Wick in a sailor outfit and i am here for all of that. I’m not just talking action, but the world building, too. There is just SO much content here, so many avenues to explore, and it just happens to be focus on two of the cutest protagonists this season. Come for the clandestine assassin wetwork, stay for the charming ass personal interactions between Chisato and Takina.

7. Spy x Family

I slept on the Forger family until the last two episodes and had to binge the entire series at once. I’m glad i did because this show is AMAZING! It has a throwback feel to it, kind of a Lupin III-esque vibe, but does it’s own thing with it. On paper, this narrative comes across as some of the most chaotic, out of place, shenanigans ever conceived and yet, everything works. It all fits. I adored every second of this show and feel bad i waited so long to partake, strictly because of my own stubbornness. I ate when shows are over-hyped and Spy x Family definitely was. Its absolutely deserving but people talk about this show like it’s Naruto or Demon Slayer or Attack on Titan; All of which are aggressively disappointing, Not Spy x Family. That sh*t lived up to the hype and more.

6. Uncle From Another World

This one was a real treat. It’s an absolute send-up of the Isekai genre and a complete breath of fresh air. As a kid who grew up in the Nineties, i remember fondly the old timey Console Wars. I, too, was a Sega shill so seeing Uncle have his many, many, meltdowns about the absolute sate of the company, was hilarious. I mean, the fantasy stuff was dope, too, don’t get me wrong (Sui is best girl) but the strength of this show, for me, is the out-of-place naivety of Uncle. Dude doesn’t fit in in either world and that sh*t makes for top tier comedy. It’s a little rough to watch at time, can’t even deny that, but the writing is more than strong enough to overcome those sus ass production values.

5. Chainsaw Man

Chainsaw Man at number five? Blasphemy! It’s the most expensive anime, ever! It’s based on top tier kino! Muh Makima! Listen, i enjoyed Chainsaw Man. I thought the adaption was fine. I don’t hate Mappa for their weirdly floaty, computer generated-to-rotoscoping, animation style. That’s fine. Chainsaw Man, to me, was kind of a disappointment. It’s solid as f*ck if you are kind of a casual, but for a guy like me who has consuming anime and manga for probably thirty-five years, this ain’t special. It’s odd because i thought this adaption was going to f*ck up the fandom like Onepunch Man did all those years ago, but nope. That sucks because Fujimoto’s manga is f*cking exceptional. There’s so much heart there and i think that’s what is missing from the anime and there is no Pochita to take it’s place. Power is dope, though. As long as you watch the Japanese version. Power in the dub is horrible.

4. The Eminence in Shadow

I like Overlord. I like Albedo. Shadow is basically Overlord if Ainz made all of his Floor Guardians Albedo. That’s it. That’s the show. This is the second Overlord clone to make this list, which is wild to me. I never expected that The Nazarick Chronicles would become a sub-genre of Isekai but here we are. That said, Shadow is f*cking excellent. It might be derivative of Overlord in tone and scope but it is definitely it’s own thing. The world on display here definitely gives Ainz’s New World a run for it’s money in terms of depth and i am here for all of that. Plus, the MC, Shadow, is one of the most complete, overpowered, protagonists in the genre. I love this chunibyo so much. Also, the production values. Like, holy sh*t, does this show LOOK great! That whole “I Am Atomic” scene lives rent free in my head!

3a. Call of the Night

Yo, if you’d have tole me that another adaption of Kotoyama’s work would f*ck around and make it into the top five of my year end list, I'd have called you a liar. I couldn’t stand Dagashi Kashi but i saw potential in dude’s work. When Yofukashi no Uta released, i understood the hype. I was hooked by the time chapter one closed, couldn’t wait to see the adaption whenever it released, and absolutely did not disappoint. Call of the Night is a very solid narrative, shepherded by amazing character work, bu it’s the overall style of presentation that does it for me. This thing uses color like nothing I've seen in anime for years! I am so sincere when i say that this show is an absolute feast for the eyes. Also, that soundtrack is easily the best of the season. I mean, it’s tied with Edgerunners in that regard but it’s definitely up there. f*ck it, it’s tied with Edgerunners, period. I like this show that much!

3b. Cyberpunk: Edgerunners

This one surprised me. I didn’t expect one of the most beautiful, one of the most grounded and emotionally resonate, anime of the year to come out of f*cking Trigger. I did not believe they had the maturity to write something so goddamn tragic and do the entire Cyberpunk franchise justice like Edgerunners. I thought their animation style and use of color would clash with the rather drab and neon tinted dystopia from the game. Wrong again. Edgerunners is one of the best anime I've ever seen in my entire life. It’s and incredibly and emotionally debilitating watch. I felt every emotion on the spectrum witnessing these character struggle against the overwhelming content that is Night City. Edgerunners is so f*cking food, man, and the only reason it’s not number one on this list is because is because i genuinely love the top two more. That’s it. On the merits, alone, it’s hard not to say Cyberpunk: Edgerunners isn’t the best anime of the year.

2. My Dress-Up Darling

In a year where Chainsawman, Spy x Family, and Sabikui Bisco get released, how does a slice of life, romcom, snatch up that number two spot? Because it f*cking deserved it! My Dress-Up Darling is f*cking brilliant and you’re crazy if you think any other anime stands a chance against this thing. If I'm being honest, bias aside, this one should take the top spot based strictly off the character work. The core relationship between Gojo and Marin is everything but all of the character presented are strong as f*ck. They feel real. Those interactions feel organic. Everything about My Dress-Up Darling is quality as f*ck and really tugs at the heart strings. If you’ve ever crushed on a person back in high school, this sh*t rings true. The ONLY reason this isn’t my number one is because of how much i love the Reincarnated as a Sword narrative, overall. That said, Marin Kitagawa is best girl of the season, fight me!

1. Reincarnated as a Sword

I loved this show, man. It deserves all of the shine it’s gotten to date. Admittedly, i was a fan long before the adaption was announced. I gushed about the manga months ago, you can search that up in this blog by punching in Murder Mittens, so my adoration for Fran’s misadventures was already at a fever pitch. When her show dropped and still felt faithful to the narrative on the page, i was hooked. Reincarnated as a Sword has no right to be as good as it is. The character work is strong as f*ck. The world-building is rich and very deep. The systems developed in order to explain the abilities of these fantastical characters, are detailed and make sense. Reincarnated as a Sword is a goddamn masterpiece and deserves all of the shine it’s got thus far. Read the light novel. Read the manga. Watch the anime. Buy the merch. Fran and Sensei deserves all of that.

Honorable Mentions: In the Land of Leadale, Princess Connect! Re:Dive, Sabikui Bisco, Life with an Ordinary Guy Who Reincarnated into a Total Fantasy Knockout, The Executioner and Her Way of Life, Black Summoner, Trapped in a Dating Sim: The World of Otome Games Is Tough for Mobs, I'm Quitting Heroing, Love After World Domination, Summer Time Rendering, Harem in the Labyrinth of Another World (yes, even though i dropped it, sh*t is still worth a watch. Even with all of the uncomfortable and problematic sex.), Danmachi IV, Fuuto Pi, Mob Psycho 100 III, Urusei Yatsura, Bastard!! -Heavy Metal, Dark Fantasy-

#manga

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smokeybrand · 1 year

Text

Stuffed

10. Skeleton Knight in Another World

9. Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury

8. Lycoris Recoil

7. Spy x Family

6. Uncle From Another World

5. Chainsaw Man

4. The Eminence in Shadow

3a. Call of the Night

3b. Cyberpunk: Edgerunners

2. My Dress-Up Darling

1. Reincarnated as a Sword

0 notes

vulpiximisa · 2 years

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heroine runs the show

From the beginning the premise is super generic and cliched, but i got into it because i really like girls with thick eyebrows lol I was rooting for Hiyori since before the show started so thats why i stuck around for so long. (also zakki and ucchi but going into anime for seiyuu is a rookie mistake)

Anyway, the only difference from this being a Sold To One Direction fanfic is that its one girl and Two guys, or, iunno, not one on one. I was WAITING for a subplot where at least one of them fall for her, but it never came and they were all strictly platonic. (but if it did become a romance then it had to be an ot3 because i dont make the rules) im not counting the times where hiyori would accidentally get dokis from them because that shit Happens For Real but doesnt have to mean anything

Hiyori best girl and i dont regret ever rooting for her. Im glad her one time make over wasnt permanent because that would take away from her entire personality. Love that shes a sports junky but also modest and does her best. love her, best girl.

Kinda wish they had an episode with hiyori getting a one one one with the guys because they never really separate the LipxLip. I honestly dont even remember their names, i just call them Ucchi and Zakki. I get its because theyre supposed to be a cohesive unit despite their actual personalities but i never really got to know the guys too much because theyre either always together or always picking on hiyori the same, so they might as well have been one person. Iunno

Ucchi being the Older Brother for once HAS ME WEAK. IM HHHHHHHHHHH cuz normally he would have been the younger brother acting tsundere and Yuujiro calling his bro adorable IM FFFFFFFFFFFF

I love the friendship with the girls, Juri is queen (ive been super weak for gyaru charas lately) and when I got to ep 11 I was as devastated as hiyori. Would i have seen the plot twist coming? I had some suspicions when the pictures were close shots of the group but I never thought it would have been Chizuru being Chuutan and The One Girl that they showed off several times. Hiyori had no need to apologize or feel bad because Chizuru had been the one hiding it the whole time. Maybe yeah she could feel bad about her job being confidential but she literally did nothing wrong.

Also we got to see girls shouting and talking shit and punching each other so the show would already deserve a 10/10

I know the side characters are probably characters from HoneyWorks other music videos (the track senpai and her childhood friend, aizo’s bro and his tsundere girlfriend, i recognize the blond twins from several videos.) Love Hiroyi and Mona friendship too. Hiyori is an idol magnet by accident lol. Would have liked to see more of Juri and her BF because Im also weak for megane/gyaru type ships but it wasnt ever necessary.

Hayami Saori (Chizuru) sounds a Lot like Chico when she sings so its very HoneyWorks like but i think thats just a coincidence.

In the end, i still think idols/idol concept/culture is major cringe and its not something i would ever really be into but i enjoyed the show all in all for the characters and relationships and growth

#pixi watches anime #re heroine run the show

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wexhappyxfew · 3 years

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i literally choked on my pizza when i saw your writing and analyzing questions post, I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!! first of all, what sort of process do you go through when creating characters? what kind of things do you take into consideration when creating them? i’m fascinated because creating characters is far from easy, especially when you’re creating someone like agent mortem! i’m always interested to know what the writer’s thought process was when creating a new character!

okay, so secondly, i wouldn’t say i’m having trouble with keeping all my planning organised and ‘precise’ in a way, but it’s really not easy 😅 i was wondering what kind of processes you go through when planning, whether you have like a specific structure or a set of steps to follow, or if you just kind of roll with it? at the moment when i plan it’s okay and it makes sense, but it’s literally just 4 or 5 pages of really chunky paragraphs which makes it really difficult to pick out the events again when i come to needing the plan to help me. i don’t really know if you do anything different, but if there is any way you know of that i could keep it more organised and easy to follow, that would be great :)

i’ll keep the last ones a little shorter because this ask is already looking veryyy long — what have you enjoyed writing about natia, what struggles have you faced and what have you learned? and basically the same with agent mortem if that’s possible :) i have asked a LOT of questions in this, so don’t feel like you have to answer them all because it will probably take quite a while 😅 anyway, thank you for putting up with my endless questions, and i hope you have a good day <33

ROSE AH HELLO MY FRIEND!!!! <333 sorry ive just gotten to this omg! it’s been sitting here for a little while but i’ve just had so much going on right now and wanted to make sure when i answered that my *full attention* was put on this! (because i’ve been very excited to answer this ESPECIALLY as i see agent mortem questions poking up on here and that just makes me even more hype!!! :D enjoy! <3

Ooooo this is a cool question! I’ve been asked it before but I feel with different characters and such, it always seems to fluctuate for me at least? In the sense, it’s almost never the same process for me in the developmental stages of a character haha! Sometimes I get characteristics first hand, or sometimes a certain scene pops up that just makes the character click and I can build from there, or sometimes, it’s just a last name or a first name that I work with and suddenly have an idea for!

For example, since we’re on the general topic of Landslide, I’ll talk about some things I did when creating specifically Natia. The “Natia” who is currently portrayed in the fic, was not always really like that. Natia initially was not a SOE Agent/Polish Resistance Fighter and instead a Dutch Resistance Member who would meet with Easy in Episode 4. I always sort of knew Natia, in whatever form she was, would meet Easy in Episode 4, but I wasn’t sure how, so the building in the first 17 chapters was the toughest part to come.

I did heavily feel the Polish were underrepresented in terms of the situation of the war along with everything that happened in the Warsaw Uprising and so I felt it was important to see if I could do something with that and that’s really where Natia came into play!

Natia means “hope” essentially and something I really like doing with her character is to parallel or juxtapose different ideas together, to continue on this sort of theme of her being a quite ominous and ambiguous character — you get the general sense of what her morals are, but in certain points it’s questionable. Morally-ambiguous characters have always been fascinating to me, especially female morally-ambiguous characters and so creating Natia in that respect I felt would be interesting to see what I could do!

Something major that I’ve slowly began to take into consideration with characters more and more, is the sort of general theme I want to be present with them — what’s that goal i that they are moving towards in the end and what’s the them surrounding it? For Natia it’s a multitude of things; family, revenge, being silenced, numb, grief, mentor vs protégé, lone wolf etc….the list could truly go on! And with these basic sort of ideas and themes, I can then move on from there and expand.

Why did she want REVENGE? Because the enemy killed her FAMILY, which is extremely important to her, and she wants to feel some sort of REDEMPTION for them.

Why was she BEING SILENCED? Because of the *past* conflict of the HARMFUL MENTOR VS SILENCED PROTÉGÉ situation that occurred between Agent Mortem and herself, where she allowed herself to be silenced by someone who abused the SUDDEN POWER he never had before in his life, ultimately leading to her continued issues of TRUST that she would meet throughout.

Why is she NUMB? Because at a fairly young age she experienced heavy and intense GRIEF that struck unforgivably at a time where it seemed things were safe. To rip something from a character, especially the main character, like FAMILY which is extremely important, you pull at the heart strings and it makes that character move forward on a quest for that in a way, ultimately by the end of the fic. (Basically you up they are least get a semblance of that lost thing, found again by the end)

Why is she a LONE WOLF? Because of the MENTOR VS PROTÉGÉ situation yet again, where she was taught to rely strictly on herself and no one else and so when TRUST and COMPANIONSHIP and TEAMWORK were introduced to her character, she didn’t know how to cope because she had been so desensitized to the ways of Agent Mortem that working back in the morals of family and friends was a challenge in its own respect.

It’s sort of a like a ripple effect if you think about it and that’s what helps me eventually move forward and develop the character arc I want to take place. She’s this way because of this — sort of like cause and effect. It’s really helped me out with major scenes or plot holes that have risen throughout the fic!

AGREED! Writing in general is not an easy feat and now including mind you ORIGINAL CHARACTERS, you’re literally, essentially, creating human beings from scratch and giving them characteristics, a backstory, trauma if you wish, friends and family, people they love, people they hate, morals, standards EVERYTHING! ITS INSANE! AH AND AGENT MORTEM! I’m so very glad that you brought him up, because his creation definitely stemmed directly from the want to experiment with the relationship of failed mentor vs protégé, entirely. I wanted a foil to Natia that was not directly with her all the time. Mortem plays such a MASSIVE role in her story and yet any interactions between the two are either from her mind or from memories and that’s just such a fun way to play around with their dynamic! (I just finished the creation of his backstory and character arc I want him to take and it’s only made me even more excited for what’s to ultimately come for him as well as Natia!)

A song that HEAVILY represents their dynamic is Ghost by Marvin Brooks (2WEI) and I’ll explain why. Even though Mortem is not always inherently *with* Natia, he still is a huge factor of her life, and still heavily controlling many aspects of her life such as recurring memories, reactions, and how she is also conditioned to react to certain things as well. He is essentially a “ghost” who is “haunting” Natia and I feel that’s an interesting take on their connection because they’re two people who clearly had a power struggle and a difference of opinions of multiple things and that just makes it so incredibly interesting to write!

song:

OOOOOO good question!!! So many people have such different ways of approaching story writing and planning and drafting and writing and editing and it’s honestly amazing!! I will say, I’m not an excessive planner or even a real great planner with writing, I never really have, and even as I’ve developed my writing and learned that “it’s okay to slow down”, or “it’s okay to take time for different portions to provide a deeper focus”, I still have not been someone to plan out every bit of my writing.

Reason being is I enjoy seeing where I can take the story in that time and place. Maybe if I’m doing a quick little writing segment and suddenly this idea just appears and hits me, I work it into the fic and it takes it a whole new direction and I end up not being super upset about it because it just…it works! And of course, this is not how other people operate and I have every respect for people who plan and have every detail laid out and figured out and just��.completely and utterly planned to the dot. Lile kudos to people who genuinely get the planning all cleaned up before even writing, truly.

I just finalized Agent Mortem’s backstory and where I want his character arc to go and I’ve had him as a character since August of last year LOL! But ya know sometimes, I sit and I think back and go, maybe I wasn’t ready at that time to develop him completely yet because I, the writer, didn’t understand him enough to and I had to write more of him to be able to get a grasp of who he was and his character (and just about everything else!) and that’s okay!!! :)

Going with this idea I just stated above — the 4 or 5 pages of info — KEEP IT MY FRIEND!!! I swear, half the reason ideas even come to me is simply because I just write a big info dump that has all my little ideas somewhere inside and will ALWAYS be there. I recommend maybe taking a day though - away from focusing on writing or editing - and just picking that apart. (That’s what I did the other day and it helped me out MAJORLY! and it was worth it in the end!) Maybe keep the original 4-5 pages and then copy and paste the same thing in another doc so you always have the original!

And then just go through and split ideas apart! If you start reading and see it moving into another realm of headspace of ideas, just press enter and separate the two — you didn’t delete it, it’s still there and still intact! It’s just easier to look at now because instead of two, jumbled and completely different ideas, you now have two paragraphs and portions of text that relate to their own respective idea. It definitely makes it an easier pill to swallow when trying to get yourself organized!!

This really helped me when I was in my beginning stages of figuring out Landslide ESPECIALLY the first 17ish chapter where Natia was not in contact with Easy yet. I’ve explained it before but those chapters are there because we are seeing her final days with the resistance in Warsaw and how she ultimately ends up with Easy PLUS we see who she is as a character by herself and how she is not merely an extension off of Easy, but her own character, her own person. She has her own story and her own morals and ways of going about her life that don’t even relate to Easy. Their paths just happened to cross!! :)

By getting those first 17ish chapters planned, not extreme planning though I will admit, half the scenes were very much thought up on the spot for example like Natia driving to Munich in disguise or the introduction of Zdzich — two very important scenes that show us something about Natia. (1) She’s willing to go to extreme lengths for the people she loves to ensure that in the end they are safe, even if it means sacrificing herself and (2) she has trouble realizing that there are people out there that genuinely care for her, a connection to her ultimate, unruly and upsetting past. And the best part about it is THESE WEREN’T EVEN PLANNED! So sometimes, just let the story take the reigns and your mind and just guide you through it. Sometimes it is for the best :)

If you have your basic ideas and concepts and themes for how you want your fic to eventually go, the scenes for me most of the time just appear I guess when they should. Sometimes even in the times I'm not writing, I sit theorizing and questioning and thinking and developing ideas in my mind and it's a real good exercise, so when you get back to writing, you already know where you want the fic leading in the end!

MAN I LOVE THIS QUESTION. Anytime I can provide some meta or give some insight to Natia who is just one of the best characters I’ve gotten the pleasure of working with, I’ll gladly answer!

The thing I enjoy writing about Natia the most I feel, and I’ll probably always say this, is her complexity — as a writer, her character orders a healthy challenge for me that I gladly have accepted! You don’t know everything about her as a reader and as you read each chapter, that’s how you slowly uncover and discover what she hid about herself to protect herself. There’s so many different aspects of her that I could discuss truly!! (There has been so many parts that I’ve scrapped because I read through and just think “Man this doesn’t seem like Natia!”. She’s tricky sometimes to stake down exactly how she would react because of her past and her trauma and how long she’s been in war, but I just LOVE it!)

Many different aspects of her character though, come from her past and that’s what makes her interesting. I’ve really enjoyed working with the ideology of “Chekov’s Gun”, a writing device that can be used, with how I will mentioned something and it almost might seem out of the blue, yet later it all just makes sense?! When the flashback is revealed or a small portion of her past is finally allowing *light* in. It's a device I've used with Natia that has just really helped to develop her story at the pace I want it to be revealed! :D

For example, the OCEAN is mentioned many times. I make constant reference to the WAVES, the RECESSION of them from time to time, the comparison of the OCEAN both ABOVE and BELOW surface — all of that sorta stuff! For her character, it seems a bit out of place. She’s COLD. She’s NUMB. She’s BROKEN. What does an open body of water consuming at least 70% of the Earth have to do with an OC based in Warsaw, Poland?

This is where the importance of her PAST will play it’s role, as it has a major INFLUENCE on her and her CHARACTER and her MORALS. One of the main reasons the OCEAN is inherently connected to Natia is because of her PAST and one of those main reasons is AGENT MORTEM and her TRAINING, especially WATER training. I can’t comment further on this though as readers have only touched the tip of the iceberg for the use of the OCEAN and it’s IMPORTANCE so far in this fic! (Ask me again about it once this fic is finished up for the most part, unless….by Part 4 readers understand why!)

Natia just remains a character who constantly is developing and changing inside my head - where I want her path to ultimately end up leading by the end of the fic, where I want both her mental head space vs emotional head space should be and etc. So many portions of this fic are dealt specifically on her internal monologue and how she calculates and problem solves from that portion of her sort of *engagement* within the conflict. There never seems to be a dull moment when writing her!

Another thing I really have enjoyed about writing Natia is her clashing personality traits that make her interesting to write in both different scenarios and reactions. She's stubborn yet humble. She's numb and cold but internally extremely caring and giving and filled with these bottled up emotions. She's mentally strong yet she's been through so much and let the war take so much. She never complains about what she's doing, but she's lost nearly everyone she loves. She's a fighter in this war and refuses to back down from a battle she know she can wage, but the second she is pulled from the aspect of war, things crash and burn around her. Just even these few combating sort of things, really show her character and what, through writing, has slowly developed! They always lay around in the back of my mind and it's one of the main things I remind myself when I write Natia all the tme.

I think one of the most important things I've learned from both writing and creating a character like Natia is that (1) it's okay to ask for help, about anything, literally anything. You don't have to confine everything to yourself and build up this immense pressure to do what you must to continue moving forward. It's okay to have people there to help you and support you. (2) It's okay to be strong alone and even if you seem to be the only one on the current path you're are on, it does not mean you are wrong. it can still lead to the right destination in the end!

Oooo okay! AGENT MORTEM!! I am totally down to chat about some things I've loved to write with him with and some challenges I've discovered, but as far as what I've learned from him, I will be holding off and could answer that when the entire fic is both completed and then updated on platforms....just because ;) don't want to give away any spoilers haha! <3

Something I've enjoyed about writing and crafting Agent Mortem is letting him remain as mysterious and secretive as he is for so long. Initially, I can't even begin to recall what his character would be like even a year ago, but seeing where he has developed now, I'm really happy with where he is. He's mysterious, he's shadowed, he seems like a figure in the background, a past mentor who is half deranged and lost his mind with a background with so substance. It makes for such a fascinating way to begin to reveal his past! (something I've began to insert into part 4 of Landslide and man I'm just so HYPE!)

I feel I'm excited simply because he's finally getting the time and moment he deserves to finally explain and show himself as to what has occurred. There's so many fractured and disconnected parts of what is currently going on with Natia and her connection to both Agent Mortem and then Death is tossed in the mix and it seems this big complicated mess of 'how' Agent Mortem got to be this way, 'why' he does a thing such as this, just different and varying aspects such as that. it makes for those big final reveals to all be even more worth it!

He has been quite the challenge though I will admit. There's so many perspectives he could quite possibly be viewed from and his *character* + morals/values could be pulled in a various amount of ways as well. Making sure he accurately comes across the way I want him to both appear and come across to the reader and to myself has definitely been tricky. He's not as easy as suspected, you know, not just a 'dude who had a bad day and went insane in the end', there's a whole multitude of levels and reasons and a deep, heavy and traumatizing background starting from his birth really (which is a whole other story). Managing and balancing that all in one has definitely been something I've had to keep on top of and monitor but I feel has really been worth the challenge in the end. Because at the end of the day, I'm someone looking to constantly challenge myself.

And a good challenge, whether it be writing or academics or a workout, is healthy and GOOD! That's what Landslide in a whole has really shown me, to challenge yourself daily to see where you can push yourself and your imagination and creativity, just to see where you can even go!! it's exciting and refreshing!

Thank you so much for this wonderful ask Rose! I appreciate it more than ANYTHING as you well know, and I know it's taken me *quite* some time to answer, but I've been working on it for weeks now and finally got it out because it was ready! I really wanted to take my time with it and develop it to its full potential in the end and I feel I have (without giving away any spoilers haha!) As always, please know if you have any further questions regarding Natia Filipska, Agent Mortem, Death (along with other characters of Landslide), writing, the process (my own included), tips for writing/planning, or just anything else in general, I will always be happy to help in anyway I can! You're always welcome, anyone always is!!! <3333 Thank you again, I had so much fun doing this more than anything! :D

#writing #writing tips #band of brothers #bob fic #band of brothers fic #also hello landslide day tmr and it’s a good one hehe :d #natia filipska #agent mortem #death (character)#basic aid on characters + writing/planning #plus gathering thoughts #thank you again for this rose! i had so much fun! <3333

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 3 years

Text

The Critique of Manners Part IV

~Or~

A Very Amused Review of Emma (1972)

One doesn’t really know where to begin with this one. I’ve watched a few of these 70’s/80’s period drama adaptations, but I’ve never written a review for one. I think the tricky thing is it doesn’t feel fair to judge them against more recent adaptations because the approach and quality are so very different to modern television making.

But people do. I’m sure it’s different for people who grew up watching these, who are just used to them and their objectively terrible, stagey quality and can look past that particular weakness on the sheer power of nostalgia.

So I’m going to try and find a middle-ground here where I ignore the stagey and obviously dated aspects and judge it primarily on its value as an adaptation – is it faithful to the book?

Let’s dive in.

Cast & Characterization

Normally I would start with Emma and Knightley but this time I’m gonna switch it up a bit and do them last because… well we’ll get there in a bit.

Let’s start instead with Mr. Woodhouse. I have to say, I kind of like this take. The 1996-7 and 2009 adaptations all kind of went for the same type of older man: a bit stout, or in Michael Gambon’s case… however you would describe Michael Gambon. With Donald Eccles, however, this version goes for a rather more frail looking Mr. Woodhouse; in fact to compare him to any recent Mr. Woodhouse, I suppose he comes closest to Bill Nighy (although the general characterization is of course very different.) He’s a ridiculous but lovable soul who seems always, of course, worried about his own health and comfort, but in his own selfish way, concerned for his friends and family as well. My only complaint is that maybe they over-utilized him.

I thought the casting of a plump Mrs. Weston (Ellen Dryden) was an interesting choice, and definitely different from other versions. Her acting was actually really good too.

I wasn’t quite so pleased with the characterization of Mr. Weston, on the other hand. I have huge issues with this script vis-à-vis the men, but Mr. Weston and Knightley in particular. The problem with Mr. Weston is how he’s written as just verging on uncouth at some points. There are way too many rustic contractions here: “Ain’t I looking well too, Miss Emma?!’ “’Ark at that eh? The sly young rogue!” “Oh I think it looks tolerably gay and festive, don’t it?” and then just throwing himself back on the grass and chortling when Emma makes her fateful Box Hill faux pas? Like, what the hell? I’m not saying he shouldn’t use a few casual contractions (“How d’you do?” for example) but he seems almost like a positive country bumpkin and I don’t think it’s appropriate; he doesn’t talk like that in the book and I’m just all-around not here for it.

Constance Chapman, a well-respected character actress of the time was cast as Miss Bates, while Molly Sugden, of Are You Being Served? fame was WASTED in the bit-part of Mrs. Goddard. If you ask me, they should have swapped this casting, since I think Sugden, an outstanding comedienne, could have done so much more with the Miss Bates role than the usual wittery-old-lady style chattering Chapman delivered.

Mr. Elton was played by Timothy Peters (Right) and was, eh, adequate. They did slime him up a bit by having him over-eagerly offer to fix Emma’s bootlace, which she points out isn’t entirely appropriate for a man to do, especially the vicar and it’s pretty funny; but other than that, he has all the appearance of being a pleasant young man, as Mr. Elton should – becoming less pleasant as the story progresses.

One John Alkin (left) played Mr. Robert Martin, and he, too, was adequate. There’s not much of him and, since Mr. Martin wasn’t one of those characters this version decided to approach more three-dimensionally, there’s not much to say about him.

Frank Churchill is… OMG IT’S PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER!

Ahem. Yes, Robert East (BETTER KNOWN AS PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER) plays a very agreeable (and smarmy, but not too smarmy) Frank. I think honestly this is as good as this part could get in the 70’s, although at 29 he was a little too old for the part.

John and Isabella, in an interesting (?) casting choice, were played by brother and sister duo, Yves and Belinda Tighe. I actually really liked Yves’s John Knightley (he’s actually one of the more handsome John’s, in a 70’s kind of way; for note-taking purposes I have nicknamed him “Not-Harrison-Ford”), but his sister as Isabella seemed kind of old and had just a really annoying voice. Also she doesn’t look at all like Doran Godwin, and Emma and Isabella are supposed to look somewhat alike.

The real casting stand out for me in this version is Fiona Walker as Mrs. Elton, although she too was a little old for her role, I’ve said before that there are no bad Mrs. Eltons (only bad accents) and she just absolutely nailed the insufferable chatter to a definitive standard (until the recent adaptations – 2009 onward).

I did however, get the feeling in this version that they kind of wrote in a through-line where Mrs. Elton is putting the moves on Mr. Knightley (to the point where they actually wrote out Mr. Elton from scenes he should be in) which was one of those unnecessary deviations which made me raise an eyebrow and also was just… weird.

Now my question is – why do all of the young women in this series kind of look like evil dolls?

Debbie Bowen, from a strictly book accuracy perspective is one of the most accurate Harriet Smiths I’ve seen – in fact we don’t get another this accurate (to my way of thinking) until Louise Dylan in 2009, who fits roughly the same model (fair and shapely). Its Bowen’s acting I don’t like, but I know that in the 70’s, this kind of simpering acting for this kind of character was just unavoidable. It was the style at the time, so I’m cutting her a break critically; but the performance just doesn’t cut it for me.

This Jane Fairfax (played by Ania Marson) is not my favorite interpretation of this character. At first I thought she was going to be alright, but in her first scene she bursts out and actually shouts in frustration at her chattering aunt (which she has some basis for, I’ll admit, since Miss Bates, in her muddle-headed way, could very well have unwittingly spilled the beans about Jane and Frank) but this is far more feeling than we should even have a hint of from Jane at this point. The whole reason Emma doesn’t like Jane (other than the fact that Emma is an attention whore and Jane steals her thunder by being so admired and accomplished) is because she’s timid and demure and reserved.

But the biggest problem I have with this Jane is that she can’t even fucking sing. I know they write it away as her having a sore throat (Which I think is a pull from a different part of the book?) but this was just egregiously bad to me. This is the only time in the series they show Jane singing so it’s never actually established that Jane really is more accomplished than Emma (although they don’t show Emma herself singing or even playing at all either.) Could the actresses just not sing well so they decided to write around it? You could have dubbed it; you had that technology in the 70’s!

OK. Now it’s time to talk about Doran Godwin. I’ve never seen her in anything else so I don’t know if it’s just that she can’t act, but I have no idea what she was going for with this portrayal of Emma, and this is something so consistent and unique to her that I, for once, can’t justify blaming it solely on the director because you can’t direct crazy-eyes. They just happen; and they happen A LOT in this series.

I’ve struggled to find the words to sufficiently describe my feeling about Doran Godwin’s facial expressions and her acting in this adaptation. In my ribbon rating notes I think I describe her as a “witchy automaton”? I stand by it. Every time she talks to someone her eyes go very wide and she sort of looks like she’s trying to hypnotize everyone in Highbury. The effect is just absolutely inhuman. I never thought I’d ever see anyone with more patently crazed Crazy-Eyes than Timothy “Crazy-Eyes” Dalton – but man, Doran “Hypno-Witch” Godwin just stole the prize. Perhaps she escaped from the set of a Doctor Who? telling of the story where Miss Woodhouse has been replaced by an android.

You have scenes such as this in episode 2 , where Harriet is trying to get Emma to acknowledge Mr. Elton calling after them as they walk past the vicarage, and Emma ignores her by mechanically continuing to talk, looking straight ahead with laser focus. Of course, Emma is intentionally ignoring Harriet because she wants Mr. Elton to follow them, but that wasn’t quite apparent to me until the end of her ramble – which I had assumed she was forced to complete due to some directive in her programming. I have more to say on her characterization, but we’ll get to that in a dedicated section of the review.

John Carson might actually be one of the better Knightley’s, but I’m sorry – at 45 he was just too old. This is something you can play around with in other characters (Mr. Weston and Miss Bates after all, have no stated ages in the book) but not only do we know how old Mr. Knightley is in the book, they state in the show that Emma is 21 (Doran Godwin was actually 28) and that Mr. Knightley is sixteen years older than her – 37 or 38 – and John Carson is CLEARLY no 38. This obviously-over-forty appearance does have an effect on how I view his banter with Emma, and it’s more avuncular than the older-brother feel that Mr. Knightley and Emma should have.

Whether by direction or actor’s choice, Carson’s Mr. Knightley speaks in a way that just doesn’t feel period to me. He has a very sort of 20th Century, stock British, hearty-good-fellow manner, that dates this adaptation pretty badly and feels old-fashioned (but not in a Regency/Georgian way) even in the 70’s.

Sets & Surroundings

Normally at this point in the review I would talk about the British manor houses and estates used and how they measure up to the book descriptions but the publicly funded BBC ran on a much tighter budget in the 70’s (apparent in the production values and number of obviously bad takes that they just decided to leave in, in everything they made) and as such they couldn’t afford to film in and rent out large estates quite as much, so this has the trademark 70’s/80’s BBC sound-stage quality of all of their other productions of the period. That said, this production actually has some of the better sets I’ve seen and that’s saying something, for being made in the 70’s. The walls didn’t actually shake when doors were closed, and it didn’t feel as stagey as some other Austen serials of the time. (This doesn’t improve the very “on-cue” acting in the series, but I have to give credit where it’s due.) I believe they may used a real manor house for the exterior of Hartfield (and not a landscape pastel) and maybe some of the interiors too? I can’t say for sure, and I would love to tell you what house and where it is but I can’t find any credits on it. I’ll just say that I think it’s very suitable and leave it at that.

Costumes

Much like today, the BBC almost exclusively used, re-used and rented costumes for their period productions. Almost every costume in this series was also used in the 70’s and 80’s BBC productions of Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Pride and Prejudice (P&P being the overwhelming common denominator – almost every one of Emma’s evening dresses and pelisses was seen, primarily on Caroline Bingley.) Some of the shawls have been picked out in BBC Austens as recently as 2008.

For being made in the 70’s the costumes in this production are really kind of nice. They don’t date themselves too badly. The ones that do feel 70’s retro, in fact, were mostly styles borrowed from period accurate fashions that just happened to coincide with contemporary 70’s tastes, and which aren’t often used in Regency costumes today because, well they don’t coincide with our modern tastes. For the most part, they look well-made (although some of them do have that stiff, dingy polyester look to them and there are definitely some plastic pearls here and there).

I’m quite pleased with the silhouettes which don’t suffer from Square Bust/Boob Droop syndrome the way the 1980 P&P does. All of the assets seem to be lifted and shifted in the right places.

Daywear

I like Emma’s blue day dress the best of all her day-wear looks. It’s a rich color and has pleated cups (Also on her white day dress) which is a style I really love.

Emma wears the gauzy… let’s be kind and say ivory instead of “Yellowish” ruff during the day A LOT (Emma Pic 2). It’s a popular look on Jane Fairfax too (Jane Pic 2) and I just… I don’t like it. Not that it’s not period appropriate (because it unfortunately is) it just makes them look like Dr. Seuss characters to me, especially worn with short sleeves which is something these dramas do a lot and I hate it. It just makes the person in question look very awkwardly disproportionate to me, especially because. if they had long sleeves to go with it (which would be more correct from a historical authenticity standpoint) it would even it out so much better. Compare Jane and Emma to see what I mean. The single layer ruffle (Emma Pic 1) is much more agreeable to me. (I wanna point out that Jane wears the same green dress without any partlet or undersleeves for strawberry picking at Donwell, which is blatant Eveningwear-For-Daywear™ and looked really out of place since everyone else was wearing day-appropriate attire).

Emma’s wider, cuffed, long sleeves and Mrs. Elton’s puffy segmented Renaissance sleeves are exactly what I mean about period accurate styles that suit the 70’s in a way that they just don’t jive today. Even Harriet gets some.

Mrs. Elton Orange ™ is another crayon color Crayola should consider I think.

Harriet gets stuck with a lot of brown outer wear but her day clothes are otherwise pretty nice. I especially like the ivory and blue number (Bottom right) and her white day dress with blue accents (Top right) which I think is the nicest thing she wears in this whole series.

Evening Wear

Emma’s evening wear confines itself pretty exclusively to cool purples and blues except for her white ball gown. I find this interesting because other versions tend to dress Emma in warmer colors and pinks (As I’m very partial to purples and blues, I love all of them). I can’t say it’s inconsistent with Emma’s cold characterization in this version. Mrs. Weston’s evening gowns are uniformly amazing. I especially love her blue party dress, which is my favorite in the series.

Both of Harriet’s party dresses are characteristically pretty and girlish. The pink is a bit fussy for me but I love the blue one (which has a lot more detail but I couldn’t get a full length shot of it.)

I’m pleased that Jane is given a bit of a break from the Jane Fairfax Blue ™ trope with her evening wear. She has one light blue evening gown and gets a few green numbers, most notable being her mint ball gown. Her beige party dress is absolutely tragic though.

Mrs. Elton’s evening color seems to be chartreuse (Which I think was also the case in the ITV version? ITV fans back me up.) Her black overlay/spiky number is iconic of the Austen Bad Girl, but her ball gown is a bit disappointing in its simplicity to me.

I would love to have seen a full length shot of Isabella’s black and purple number because I have a suspicion THAT would have been my favorite but I just can’t make out enough detail on it.

Zig-zag patterns on the skirt are a huge theme in this version, which is so of the period. Mrs. Cole (shout out to another future Are You Being Served? familiar, Hilda Fenemore) looks straight out of a fashion plate in her dark green party dress, which has (drumroll please…) a padded hem!

Outerwear

This version has SO MANY PELISSES AND REDINGOTES. Are they all nice? No. No they are not; I particularly hate Emma’s fugly salmon number that she wears for Strawberry picking/Box Hill. Mostly because she looks SO over-dressed compared to everyone else who’s wearing loose fitting light clothes (except Jane, who’s wearing an evening dress). Just looking at her makes me hot. I’m also NOT a huge fan of her pink winter cloak. The one trimmed with… faux ermine? One can only assume. It looks awfully tacky.

That russet pelisse tho! This is one of my all-time favorites. It’s SO. PRETTY and so detailed (See this number on Jane in P&P ’80). I think her gray fur-trimmed pelisse is pretty fabulous too, but I do not like the hat she wears with it. The brim is kind of a funky shape to me.

I know I’ve criticized brown before, but I do like it in moderation and this version is astonishingly brown-free for being made in the 70’s, so I really like her red/brown velvet spencer, especially with the cream dress and gloves, and her hat has some amazing decoration.

Jane and Mrs. Weston are the only other characters who get pelisses/redingotes. I’m not a fan of Mrs. Weston’s fuchsia number, and while I like Jane’s, it does put itself solidly in the Jane Fairfax Blue™ category.

Harriet gets pretty much only one form of outer-wear, her brown school cloak (a different brown school cloak from the one in the ‘97 version, in case you were wondering) and while it’s pretty dull, it’s hardly unexpected. Here it is paired with her rather ugly blue bonnet, with yellow ribbon. The bonnet features heavily in this episode.

To be honest for the most part I totally forgot about the…

because a lot of it is very standard. No dandy standouts here, but overall it’s pretty okay and I’m really pleased to say that there are no bib-cravats. That’s not usually so much a problem in Regency Era stuff (Since ruffles were going out at around this time), but you can really distinctly see that the ruffles (where ruffles there are – usually on older men which is good) are part of the shirt and distinctly separate from the cravat. Also there are LOTS of high collars and they’re not comically high to the point where they get wrinkled, like they were in Emma. (2020), so points for that also. These are the screencaps I gathered going back over it for posterity.

Mr. Knightley doesn’t really get a lot of cool outfits. His best is his purple velvet evening jacket which somehow manages to not look ostentatious (but is his only dress jacket), and his gold-topped Prussian boots (which you should just be able to see bottom right.) The worst though… I’m sorry, (looks up costumer’s name) Joan Ellacott – do you really expect me to feel the weight of Emma’s cock-ups when Mr. Knightley is rebuking her in such a cartoonishly proportioned top hat? It’s like being scolded by the Mad Hatter. All of the men’s hats are pretty flared in this series too, and I’m not totally sure but, I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that flared top hats are not right for this period?

I think Mr. Weston only has one day outfit (which, in keeping with his characterization is pretty farmer-chic) and one evening outfit. Frank’s dark green day-jacket is a pretty standard look on him and I don’t think we get a fresh look until his fabulous blue jacket/yellow waistcoat combo that he wears for Strawberry Picking/Box Hill. I believe his evening jacket is also dark green but it was tough to tell. Again I think he has only one set of evening-wear. I would expect Frank to have more, since he’s such a dandy.

Mr. John Knightley doesn’t have much to write home about in terms of evening kit, but DAYUM, his blue traveling coat is DOOOOOPE.

Let’s Talk Script

This adaptation was directed by John Glenister and Dramatized by Denis Constanduros.

Now I’ve seen a lot of positive reviews for this on IMDB calling it the… let’s see here… “The best Emma I’ve ever seen” and “The most true to the novel”… *Takes off spectacles and sighs heavily* I’m afraid I have to disagree. Several people also really love Doran Godwin’s Emma (We’ve already gone over why I don’t, and I have also seen reviews that name her and her lack of charisma as the main sticking point preventing them from really enjoying it, so I’m not alone). I’ve also heard it described as “sensitively handled” “Intimate” and “The most faithful to the spirit of Austen” and so forth, and again maybe it’s that prejudice against the stagey production and… no there’s definitely some other reason I have a problem with this version.

Let me make this clear – I don’t totally hate it, and I’m not here to shame the people who really love this version. Once again – if this version gives you what you want from the story I think that’s great for you. I, myself, like it pretty well and I think it’s one of the better early BBC Austen serials. It’s certainly not boring; but I do want to go over some of the changes that were made and choices in the script.

Some of them aren’t really that egregious, but they’re annoying in that I think they didn’t need to be made and don’t really add anything. Characters being added to scenes where they didn’t need to be and written out of scenes where their presence was missed. Like writing Mr. Elton out of Box Hill (And really the whole second half of the series, to facilitate Mrs. Elton flirting with Knightley), and adding Miss Bates into the after-dinner scene, I think at the Randalls Christmas party? I’m sure this was done for expediency but you have six episodes. It’s not as though you’re strapped for time.

Particularly praised, as far as I’ve seen, is the scene at Christmas when Knightley and Emma make up after their argument over Harriet. It takes place in the nursery, which I suppose isn’t an unreasonable place for Emma to be fawning over her niece (in the dramatization she seems to have been feeding the baby, where in the book she is playing with her). The book doesn’t specify where the scene takes place, although I assumed it to be a downstairs room, and I’m not sure that it’s entirely appropriate for Emma and a man (even one connected to her family through marriage) to be alone in an upstairs room together with the door closed and no more chaperone than a baby. But in spite of this, perhaps inappropriate, level of privacy, the scene feels less intimate to me than the book, where in the course of the conversation, where Mr. Knightley takes the baby from Emma “in the manner of perfect amity” and holds her himself and it is very adorable and sweet. In the dramatization, Knightley sort of just stands next to Emma’s chair and leans down a bit. After this conversation in the book, John comes into the room to talk to George, while in the show Emma puts the baby in the cradle and they leave the room to go downstairs.

But there are more outstanding changes that just feel wrong to me. When confronting Emma about her meddling in Harriet’s response to Mr. Martin’s proposal, Constanduros changes “What is the foolish girl about?” to “What is the stupid girl about?” it’s not that big a change, but it makes Mr. Knightley sound unnecessarily mean.

I’ve already mentioned the, er, additions regarding Mr. Weston’s dialogue and Mrs. Elton, and Jane shouting at Miss Bates; but by far the biggest, worst additions were made with Emma. The worst, I think, is the handling of this scene in Episode 4 when Harriet is feeling heartsick following Mr. Elton’s marriage.

And for those of you who don’t wanna follow the link, here’s a transcription:

Emma: Now Harriet! Your allowing yourself to become so upset over Mr. Elton’s marriage is the strongest possible reproach you could make to me!

Harriet: Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes it is! You could not more constantly remind me of the mistake I made, which is most hurtful!

Harriet: Oh Miss Woodhouse, it was not intended to be!

Emma: I have not said “think and talk less of Mr. Elton” for my sake, Harriet, because it is for yours I wish it. My being hurt is a very… secondary consideration, but please, please Harriet, do learn to exert a little more self-discipline in this matter.

Harriet: {Looks down} Yes, Miss Woodhouse.

Emma: We are all creatures of feeling; we all suffer disappointments, it is how we learn to suffer them that forms our character. If you continue in this way, Harriet, I shall think you wanting in true friendship for me!

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse! You, who are the best friend I’ve ever had? Oh what a horrid, horrid wretch I’ve been!”

Emma: Oh now Harriet – (She’s gonna console her now, right?)

Harriet: Oh yes, I have, I have!

Emma: Harriet, control yourself! (ha ha bitch, u thought) Now, you will tie your bonnet, and you are coming with me to call on Mr. And Mrs. Elton at the Vicarage…

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes you are! And I’m sure you will find it far less distressing than you think.

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse, must I?

Emma: Yes, Harriet; but you may borrow my lace ruff if you wish.

Harriet: Oh may I, Miss Woodhouse? Oh, thank you!

(Look how evil she looks! She looks like she’s planning on baking Harriet into a pie!)

While this scene is in the book and much of the dialogue is also from the book, it’s the lines that were added that stick out to me. Emma does tell Harriet that her allowing herself to become upset over the Eltons is a reproach on Emma more than anything else and reminds her miserably of the “Mistake [Emma] fell into” but from this point, the script takes a left turn from the firm but kind appeal to Harriet to move on for both her happiness and Emma’s own comfort, to a far more manipulative strain.

Even after Harriet apologizes, she goes from simply appealing to Harriet to let herself move on, to basically telling her that she’s a bad friend. She treats Harriet like she’s unreasonable for feeling this way, where in the book Emma is very understanding and feels that “she could not do too much for her; that Harriet had every right to all her ingenuity and patience…” and only after Harriet goes all afternoon with Emma soothing her and no improvement in her spirits does Emma take any kind of reproachful tack whatsoever.

In this scene, Emma says that her own happiness is a secondary consideration (this is stressed much more in the book) but from the way she says it, it seems more like she just wants Harriet to shut up about it rather than actually meaning it. (This is a very prominent example of Emma’s not seeming to really like Harriet at all in this version, only tolerating her presence.)

AND THEN she does something which Emma in the book most certainly did NOT do and forces Harriet to come with her to visit the Eltons, as if to put her on the spot and test how good a little friend she will be. I can’t express how disgusted I am by the changes and interpretation here. This is the culmination of the general through-line of Emma’s manipulative characterization being taken to an extreme. She looms over Harriet sounding, by turns, like a school marm and a saccharine nanny. She’s like a (very) low budget version of Tilda Swinton as the White Witch in The Chronicles of Narnia.

My question about all of these changes is simply: Why? They don’t improve the story or the characters. They’re not big, but a lot of them just strike me as weird and unnecessary, but I guess there’s no accounting for artistic license.

Final Thoughts

So is it a faithful adaptation? I often find this a more complex question to answer for myself than one would think, since inflection and line delivery and even, at some points, intention behind what the characters say tends to be up to the interpretation of the person reading the book.

Is the dialogue faithful? Other than the many changes I’ve mentioned (and the numerous cuts and edits I didn’t – and besides no screenplay can be 100% faithful), for the most part yes.

Are the characters accurate to description / faithful in their portrayal – again this tends to be subjective and opinions vary. In my opinion, Emma is not. I’ve mentioned that Knightley is too old, and Emma not only seems more intentionally manipulative than I believe she’s meant to be, and also just does not seem 21. She acts and looks like a much older woman, especially when preaching at Harriet) but she’s also very gawky, and Emma is supposed to look very healthy and glowing.

So my book accuracy rating meets in the middle at a 4.5. It’s NOT the most faithful adaptation I’ve seen, nor is it the most fun or the most intimate, but it’s not totally a travesty either and there are good things in it, even with a robot witch playing the main lead.

Ribbon Rating: Tolerable (43 Ribbons )

Tone: 4

Casting: 5 (Witchy automaton Doran Goodwin plays opposite avuncular good-fellow John Carson. Fiona Walker stands out as Mrs. Elton.)

Acting: 5 (Doran Goodwin is by turns crazed and mechanical with some momentary touches of what might be actual emotion. Raymond Adamson way over-acts Mr. Weston as a hobbeldy-hoi, verging on uncouth.)

Scripting: 4

Pacing: 4

Cinematography: 4 (A bump up from the usual 1 or 2 for TV dramas of the time. Surprisingly less stagey than expected.)

Sets and Settings: 5

Costumes: 7 (Very clearly of the 70’s but drawing on perfectly accurate styles that jived well with contemporary taste)

Music: 1 (Plinky, poorly played piano music. Only used for intro and outro I think? Jane Fairfax can neither play nor sing.)

Book Accuracy: 5 (They changed a lot of small details. Lines are changed unnecessarily (Calling Harriet “Stupid” rather than “Foolish” – Why?) Mrs. Elton seems to have a thing for Knightley? People present when they shouldn’t be, others absent when they should be present, again without any apparent reason.)

#jane austen emma #jane austen #regency #period drama #costume drama #emma 1972

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codylabs · 4 years

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My Top 10 Ships

I’m not a very romantic sort of guy, I’m not real forgiving to departures from canon, I get easily annoyed at inconsistencies, and I don’t watch much television and movies, so in order for me to ship something, it has to be a GOOD ship. I default toward rejecting ships, so to impress ME, it must be built on logic, and evidence, it’s gotta be something I can suspend my disbelief far enough to accept. And it’s gotta have story behind it, something deep, some hefty emotional weight; if it doesn’t tickle this man’s cold reptilian heart with strong beats and excellent writing, it goes straight to the trash. I absoLUTELY will not stand for any of these weird little cute, pretty, pandering, trashy crack ships that everybody seems to be clumsily throwing characters into. Most ships are trash ships. They are not good ships.

You think your ship is good? You like your ship?

You ship it?

No you don’t.

Get out of here.

You will listen to me. I will tell you. Look at me. I’m the Captain now.

Here are the 10 good ships.

10. The Rocinante, The Expanse

A resoundingly excellent ship. Unlike most ships you see out there, this thing was actually designed with realistic space combat in mind. It’s got 6 computer-controlled gatling turrets covering every angle, it accelerates in whatever direction it’s pointing, its bridge is right in the center to put as much armor as possible between enemies and crew, overall a much better-designed vehicle than most everything you see about.

That being said, I didn’t have much connection to this ship. Its crew weren’t really interesting, the aesthetic was kinda bleak, and I basically stopped watching after the phazon showed up. And the Rocinante itself has pretty poor redundancy. Enemy bullets can literally just pass through it (as is realistic for a ship this size) so how about multiple main engines huh? Absolutely tragic oversight. And its interior looks too much like an Apple product. How are you supposed to work on it? Where are the wires and pipes??? The handholds?????

9. Ares IV M.A.V., The Martian

Almost more of a symbol than a ship. A symbol of freedom, of escape. A beautiful symbol. This is what Mark Watney spends the whole movie trying to reach, with an entire world backing him up, and an entire world trying to stop him. It’s the goal of the movie, and it just looks so beautiful when he finally reaches it and sees it sitting there in the middle of the desert, ass down, nose up; a tall, proud symbol. This ship has a special significance for me because the author of the original book really did his research on the scientific requirements and details of a Mars Ascent Vehicle, and it was actually inspired by the E.R.V. in another book, ‘A Case For Mars’, which I read when I was younger. “Makes its own methane-oxygen fuel on-site by using nuclear power to break down CO2 in the atmosphere and combining it with stored hydrogen, don’t you know.” I say as I adjust my spectacles and puff my pipe.

The M.A.V. in the movie does have a few issues, such as hallway and rooms running straight up through where the fuel tanks ought to be (instead of a lift/ladder on the exterior) and a rugged, industrial aesthetic that looks too heavy and cumbersome for a ship of its type. (And you’re seriously telling me he couldn’t have used the capsule’s RCS to literally bypass the movie’s entire climax? WHY NOT? The book never mentioned him having to drain the monopropellant!!!) But I’ll let that slide. Great movie.

8. Biggest Boy, The Greatship

(I don’t know the ship name so I had to make up a name. You know what, I think it’s actually just called the Greatship.)

So it’s a starship the size of Jupiter, empty, unmanned, perfectly mysterious, that comes gliding into the galaxy a couple million years into humanity’s future. Where did it come from? Who made it and how? Good questions. It’s powered by matter-antimatter annihilation reactions from within planet-sized internal tanks, and its engines use hydrogen and fusion exhaust as reaction mass, and its hull is made of hyperfiber, a super-strong fictional material with a 4-dimensional lattice structure, able to weather impacts by spreading them out over various dimensions where the impact occurred in a different place.

I hope that after the first few entries, you didn’t get the impression that I am somehow against futuristic, far-out, impossible technologies. Quite the opposite! I love me some hyperdrive and anti-gravity and A.I. and stuff. However! Ships must be well-designed for the technology available, and must take no creative liberties except those explicitly allowed by the difference in the setting. The laws of physics don’t disappear when the magic crystals come out, the magic crystals are merely a different tool to combat them. Engineering will always exist, should start with the tools and work outward, form follows function. Star Wars ships, for instance, are trash because they don’t mount their repulsorlift arrays consistently, they’re not aerodynamic, and their engines aren’t aligned around their center of masses.

So I like the Great Ship. Although the story is pretty far-fetched, and a lot of crazy, out-there scifi events transpire deep in the ship’s depths, the book always strictly kept its own rules in mind, and never broke those rules, no matter how outlandishly crazy things got. Thanks for comprehending something so incomprehensible, Robert Reed. You inspired me miles in my own work.

7. The Ghost, The Sea Wolf

The story may be fiction, but the Ghost was as real as ghosts can be.

Jack London did his research. No, not research, he LIVED this. The Ghost is a seal-hunting schooner much like one that he served aboard during his rollercoaster of a life, and he captured every detail of its operation, of its requirements, of its mechanics, and of the incredible toll it took on the people that lived such a life. The boat is made to feel as oppressive and claustrophobic as a prison, as if it were an extension of the monster that commanded it, directly in contrast to the expansive beauty of the sea around them. My goodness, what a beautiful book. What a moving, interesting, challenging book, with such a story! This book is one of the climaxes of fiction, and one of the inspirations for Shifting Sands, if I remember correctly. I would recommend this book to anybody. Beautiful.

6. Ferbnessa, Phineas and Ferb

Okay, so I hope we can all agree that Vanessa is nothing but bad news. But that being said, Ferb knows exactly the relationship he wants, and by golly, he goes for it. Most male characters would stutter or get nervous or lose confidence around their crush, especially if that crush is about a hundred miles out of their league or if they already had another boyfriend, but Ferb? No. Not my man Ferb. He’s slighly too much of a legend to fall for such childish pitfalls. He doesn’t posture, he doesn’t creep or flirt or try to sabotage the other men in her life, he doesn’t even speak a word, he just maintains his blank expression, cranks his own already-inhuman levels of confidence and competence up through the roof to borderline olympian levels, and continues being himself. These rare moments of Ferbly passion are some of the few open windows we get into the grandiose machinations of his mysterious mind, and he uses it to bring out the best in Vanessa as well. And in the future episode, set years down the line, wouldn’t you know it, they’re a pair.

All joking aside though, this whole ship is basically comedy. It’s a super small part of the show, it’s only in like 5 episodes, it’s a running gag, it’s hilarious. It’s great. And it fits right into the tone and the feel of the show, because P&F’s entire world really is a comedy about going for it and living your dreams. So this is just the best thing ever. It’s been about a decade since then, and I still burst out laughing at how much of a pristine picture of ideal masculinity Ferb is. Become like Ferb, boys, and you will become men.

Legendary.

Eat your heart out, Dipper.

3. Shunk, Voltron

(I don’t know the ship name so I had to make up a name)

Huge props to the voltron team for making a female alien character (even a romantic interest) with NO BOOBS. Do you have ANY idea how sick and tired I am of artists throwing a big ol’ pair of balonkadongs onto lobsters and snakes when almost everything in the real world besides folks and cows have either 0 or 8+ of them? Everything’s gotta be traditionally sexy and recognizably-feminine and GREAT now you just canonized all the porn! Disgusteg

but now look at Shay. She’s a rock person. She’s got silicon-based biology, she probably weighs 500 lbs and bleeds sand. She’s got enormous hands and weird knees and no nose and lumps everywhere, AND YET STILL the show plays all the tropes 100% straight with her being a fair young maiden and a sweet princess. And it works because Hunk is just this great guy who’s exactly as sweet and caring, and he’s not the most attractive of the Paladins either, so he probably lives his life looking past appearances. He doesn’t care that she’s an alien rock, he cares about her as a person, and she obviously worships him right back. Even though Shay is shown in season 1 and then never again until season 7, Hunk still avoids alternative romantic entanglements, citing ‘a rock I know’, and it just adds to his persona as this infinitely loyal teddy bear. I tip my hat to this, the single ship I know that’s 0% sexy and 100% wholesome.

And Hunk is the best Paladin. He’s just the greatest. I revere him. I salute him as he walks past. This man among men. Look at this guy. I don’t even care about any of the other ships in Voltron (I mean, the Castle of Lions is okay, but it’s outriggers are kinda spindly) but Hunk and Shay deserve each other.

4. Wendip, Gravity Falls

So Dipper’s 12/13, and Wendy’s 15. That’s a pretty giant age difference. Maybe you fans have fooled yourselves into thinking it’s not, but it is. She knows it. He knows it. His sister knows it. Your mom knows it. So halfway through the show, when he finally got around to confessing his feelings to her, she told him no. Sure they’re still friends, sure they like each other, and sure they have a lot of chemistry and they still have a movie night every Friday, but at the end of the day, he’s a smelly little midget who has to go back to California at the end of the Summer, and she’s a older girl with approximately zero romantic feelings for him. So the notion that it could work out is pretty obvious to everyone, and especially to him, pretty much hopeless. And he really did handle it all pretty poorly and immaturely too, he objectified her and stalked her and simped up a storm and sabotaged her boyfriend, so perhaps he deserved what he got. Perhaps it’s better this way.

And yet.

And yet Wendy never really got a happy ending in the show. And Dipper never got a conclusive romance either. So after everything, it’s easy to think about it how he thinks about it, by wondering how things could have been, if everything were just so slightly different, if she’d said yes or if they united again. She wishes she could be younger, he wishes he could be older. She’s more dominant, he’s more recessive. She has a lot of serious issues in her life, and could really seriously use a driven, heroic, intelligent friend to help her out, give her purpose, and steer her right. And Lord knows he could use somebody with street smarts and actual muscles to have his back now and again. They complement each other perfectly. They make up for each others’ weaknesses. They’re everything they ever wanted from another, and if you do the math, their children would be actual literal supersoldiers.

Or at least that’s the way a lot of people see it. There’s been immeasurable mountains of fanfiction and fanart from people who are just so sad that in a show full of happy endings and dreams coming true and old regrets being resolved and children growing up, that one ending would never be happy, one dream would never come to pass, one regret would stick with you forever, one child would never grow up. Maybe if you extrapolate out the story they’d end up together? Or maybe they’d find other, better partners? Maybe romance isn’t all that important in the grand scheme of things, and this is the best ending there could have been? Perhaps, perhaps not. But in any case, there’s a lot of very rich storytelling potential for the untold journey before them, and for the paths that could have been.

Stop drawing fetish art of Wendy, you insufferable heathen actual donkeys.

3. Kataang, Avatar: The Last Airbender

Now HERE’S a serious relationship. Not just a romantic ship, (though it is that,) not just some cutesy, funny thing or some ship-war fodder, (though it is cute and funny and did spawn a ship-war,) not just a matter of certainty and destiny, (though it is certain and was destined,) this is a real, TANGIBLE relationship, that these characters built together over a solid year of on-screen adventuring and fighting. They’ve helped each other through trauma, they’ve been there for each other in their darkest moments, they learned martial-arts together, they’ve fought back-to back against grown men, they’ve worked front-to-front sawing through steel girders, they’ve saved each other’s lives, he once ACTUALLY DIED and she brought him BACK. They end up respecting each other, and valuing each other in the intimate way that only true friends do.

And they’re shown working through all their imperfections and mistakes too. Aang sometimes oversteps boundaries and says stupid stuff because he’s a kid, and Katara sometimes scolds him and controls him because she’s motherly and orderly, they get jealous of each other, but none of those things drive them apart, and they deal with them, and they conquer them, and they keep a very legitimate and multi-faceted friendship going, and that’s the key to it all. The fact that this friendship becomes romance is just proof that it was a friendship of quality.

I think people tend to overlook or forget this ship because the last few episodes of the show found them in a pretty dark place, needing to deal with matters of life and death and justice in very different ways, and unlike all their other issues, we don’t really get to see them reconciling these differences before the story ends, which kind of leaves a sour taste between them. And Katara goes on a couple missions with Zuko around the same time, so now half of all people want Zutara, when in actuality, Zutara is a trash ship, which is a true science fact.

2. Serenity, Firefly

Only reason this ship isn’t #1 is because it isn’t constructed using a proper aerospace philosophy; it’s made of bulky machinery and steel beams and chunky plates, it looks more like an ocean vessel from the inside, and is WAY too big for its 6-12 person crew and light cargo capacity. Plus it doesn’t have any room for fuel and its got no wheels on its landing legs and no downward-facing windows and its reactor is just too dang SMOL and its engines are attached too flimsily. This all wouldn’t be too much of an issue if they were going for a far-future aesthetic, but if you’re trying to do something grounded and semi-contemporary, you need to lose some weight girl, I’m sorry.

But by gosh does it make up for it in heart. The entire inside of this ship was mapped out and made on set, with so many homely little decorations and touches to make every room feel like the person who inhabits it, sterile professional blue for the doc’s medbay, warm happy red for Kaylee’s engine room, all-serious-business-but-also-plastic-dinos for Wash’s cockpit... It hit me hard when this baby it crashed in the movie, and it felt almost real when River pretended to mind-meld with it. This ship has more soul in one buffer panel than most shows have in the entire cast, enough to make it seem like its own character, even in a show crowded with charming characters. I love this ship intimately, even if I would have built it differently.

1. Colonial Vessel 46.18′\, Gravity Falls

(I don’t know the ship name so I had to make up a name)

You didn’t think I’d leave out this one, did you? After all the fanfiction I’ve written? This is basically my ship at this point. Anyway, enough about me; the vessel beneath Crash Site Omega really is the quintessential alien ship; its perfectly cliche flying-saucer design taps into all the audience’s pre-existing fanciful notions and imaginings and disbelief-suspension, meanwhile its presentation isn’t cliche or fanciful in the slightest.

There’s not much to say about it from a technical standpoint, besides personal musings: it would need anti-gravity to stay airborne without thrusters, it would need a FTL drive to cross the distances it did, its drones would need to be made of some kind of semi-liquid to move like they do... But these sort of out-of-the-box, never-before-seen, world-expanding brain-knocks are exactly what makes this ship special. It’s an alien ship, built with technology unknown to people, forged from materials that people don’t possess, and inhabited by beings we will never meet. For all we know, this ship could be perfectly sound from an engineering standpoint, and no engineer in the audience could claim to prove it otherwise, because unlike something like the T.A.R.D.I.S., they never try and fail to explain it away with science buzzwords or canonize its details or show off some fancy glowy reactor. This ancient husk is left as a yawning pit in reason, and that’s beautiful.

Moreover, this ship is an amazingly powerful narrative tool, and a mind-blowing surprise to drop in as a setpiece during the show’s final episodes. This ship embodies everything that made the show’s mysteries special: the evidence presented so early and so consistently, the creativity in creature design, action, and worldbuilding, the yawning depths of unknowable lore, and most of all the burning, unquenched desire to know more... The imprint this ship made in the cliffs over the town has been hanging over the characters’ heads the entire series, and its hull was below their feet from day one, so when they finally revealed it, and explored it, it felt invigorating. Rewarding. This ship, and the glorious feelings and thoughts it represents, have inspired to no end, and haven’t ended yet.

Honorable mentions:

Westley and Buttercup, The Princess Bride

Ooooh man I tell you what, it was really hard trimming this down to 10 for the list, and this one just barely didn’t make the cut, and that mainly because I have a sweet spot for animation and for warrior women, and this sweetness ain’t animated, and this damsel is as distressed as they get. And they don’t have a whole lot of chemistry? I don’t know how to measure that, but I feel like there was a lot of friendship stated that was never shown? Is it sacrilege to say that about True Love? I guess I’ve never exactly had True Love, so what do I know?

The entire plot centers around his devotion to her, and her love for him, and the lengths they go to for one another. He studies fencing and wrestling and wits and tactics for years on a pirate ship as he tried to return to her, and she refused the advances and the offers of an actual prince for as long as she could, even though she thought him dead, and was ready to kill herself when she knew him to be alive and not to be hers. And just such excellent action and characters and humor and story in the entire book surrounding it. Possibly an even better movie, somehow. Happy happy happy happy. They don’t make movies like this no more, why is that? Sad.

Endurance, Interstellar

Actually a pretty realistic design, all considering. They nailed the aesthetic, and the cinematography, and the feel.

It does lose points though, firstly because the shuttlecraft require a booster stage to make it into orbit when leaving Earth, but for the rest of the movie, whenever they’re landing on planets with similar gravity and atmosphere, they can just fly away like it’s no big deal, which is a big inconsistency, both with real life, and more importantly with itself. And how did an under-equipped and struggling space program put this thing in orbit in the first place, anyway? And why don’t their ships land on their asses like proper rockets? And why not tell the crew members the full plan before leaving? See, it’s little things like that, little inconsistencies made for the sake of fitting with story beats and simplifying it for the audience’s sake, that sours this ship for me. I don’t mind creative liberties, but actual plot holes? This thing has a few plot holes, and plot holes are absolutely yucky. So although most of this ship is very yummy, the yucky parts make it all yucky.

Yucky.

Plus its heavy cargo shuttles are about the least-aerodynamic things imaginable, and that’s also yucky, and there’s porcelain tiles in the stasis bay, like what?

Couldashouldawoulda been yummy.

The Hermes, The Martian

This ship. This friggin’ ship.

A beautiful ship. A well-conceived ship. A mathematically sound and engineered ship. It had so many many good ideas behind it. So much math went into calculating its thrust and orbital dynamics for this movie, so much work went into making it fit a contemporary space aesthetic, the panels, the heat sinks, the tanks, so much PRESENTATION I could KISS IT HMWA, but taken as a whole, engineering-wise, the whole ship falls flat on its face, because it just doesn’t fit together. It doesn’t make sense. Look at all those countless modules along its length. What do they do? They don’t do anything! It’s a quarter mile long, and it’s built for only 6 people? It’s meant to carry a lander? Where does the lander dock? Why are the useful airlocks so far off the center of gravity? Why does it have a cockpit? Why is the forward airlock so looooong? Why is the entire ship so loooooong? Why is the ring spinning so slowly? It’s not hard math to figure out how fast it needs to spin! You’re telling me you did ORBITAL DYNAMICS but not the SINGLE physics 101 equation needed to figure out how fast the ring needs to spin??

Btw, let’s talk about that rotating section in the middle! Think about the rotating section! That rotating section means that the front and the back of the ship aren’t actually connected! There’s just a pair of ring-shaped slip-slidey bearings bridging the ship’s middle, slip-slidey bearings that electricity, computer signals, and water and air pipes can’t cross. Why did they design it that way?? In the book the entire ship spun, which makes so much more sense! Why does it have solar panels when it has a reactor canonically capable of 40 times their output? Why are the fuel tanks so small? Why is it always facing prograde even when canonically burning retrograde? Why? WHY? BLRRRRGGGGGRGGGRGGG

In Conclusion, Ships Are Neat

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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Dany’s intelligence, thoughtfulness and overall line of reasoning for taking decisions

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and smart) or aspects of hers that are usually overstated (e.g. that she's ambitious and prophecy-driven). Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take. (and that's not even considering the double standards and the contradictions with what had been shown from show!Dany up until then, but that's obviously out of the scope of these lists)

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend (or even simply explore different facets of) Dany's character in metas or conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find in her chapters, which is no guarantee that the effort was perfectly executed, but I did my best.

Also, people could interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages if they ever attempted to make one, so I'm not saying that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books and use asearchoficeandfire). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully referenced, sometimes not.

I listed the passages back to front because I felt doing so highlighted Dany's evolution better.

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

To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

Adaptational Badass: Thanks to her being four years older in the show, it is she and not her advisers who come up with the battle plans in Seasons 3 and 4, plus her army does not seem to be on the verge of starving when they reach Meereen; showing her talent for logistics and conquering. (TVTropes)

Daenerys is super uncompromising about slavery, which is great, but her moral absolutism undermines her own goals. After conquering Yunkai and Astapor, and freeing their slaves, she peaces out to her next project. Since she never bothers to establish any kind of tenable power structure, they collapse and return to slavery, or similar, as soon as she is gone. (Wisecrack)

Daenerys [...] has exactly one strategy, and it’s called, “Yell A Lot and Burn Stuff.” That’s not always a bad strategy. The good ol “yell and burn” has gotten Daenerys out of being kidnapped, snagged her 8,000 Unsullied soldiers, saved Meereen from warships, and earned her the loyalty of the Dothraki not once, but twice. (Wisecrack)

Take the Unsullied. They aren’t exactly sellswords when they’re first introduced; they’re slaves. They aren’t fighting for loyalty or religion. However, by freeing them, Daenerys has transformed them from unwilling mercenaries to dedicated soldiers who are now devoted to her cause. So far, they’ve been her best fighters and their leader, Grey Worm, is one of her most trusted advisors. So, while freeing the Unsullied could be just another shining symbol of Daenerys's wokeness, it's also strategic. It’s likely no accident that she leaves the mercenaries in Meereen when she ships off to Westeros with the troops that now very much believe in her. (Wisecrack)

Dany doesn't come up with the battle plans in the books? Dany doesn't establish any kind of tenable power structure (it can be argued that she didn't do enough, but to say she didn't bother is plain wrong)? Dany only wants soldiers devoted to her cause (we even saw that she found treachery convenient in ADWD Dany VIII; besides, that would be dumb because she'd lose lots of men if she acted on that strictly and she's consistenly characterized as someone who listens to several perspectives, which is the opposite of desiring full devotion ... but I digress)? Dany's only strategy is to "Yell A Lot and Burn Stuff"?

I would argue these claims certainly cannot be made after reading the books (some can't even after watching the show's first 71 episodes, but it can be all over the place), so take a look at these passages.

NOTE: to decide which passages to include, I considered parameters such as social intelligence (she can usually read people well and act on that information, which we see from when she executes her plan against the masters in ASOS Dany III to when she notices that Daario didn't know that Quentyn's party was made of knights; there are exceptions, such as in Mirri's case), political awareness (like when she chooses to wear Qartheen gowns in ASOS Dany III and ADWD Dany III to appease Xaro and the masters or when she chooses Strong Belwas instead of the other men to fight against Oznak zo Pahl in ASOS Dany V or when she ponders if marrying Hizdahr will make her lose the Shavepate's support or when she asks Barristan to release Pretty Meris so she can try to obtain the support of Gylo Rhegan and the Tattered Prince for Dany's side because she's distrustful of the Yunkish in ADWD Dany VIII), battle plans (like when she concocts a plan to conquer Yunkai when her opponents least expect it in ASOS Dany IV) or clever associations (like when, even far away from Meereen, she remembers Belwas's physical reaction to the locusts and realizes, by herself, that they were poisoned, and then becomes suspicious of Hizdahr, who offered them to her and later screamed in favor of Drogon's death (she might be wrong in the latter, but she has a good reason to think so) in ADWD Dany X or when she realizes that "they cheer me on the same plaza where I once impaled one hundred sixty-three Great Masters" in ADWD Dany IX or in AGOT Dany I, in which she noticed that using a golden collar made her look like both a princess and one of Khal Drogo's slaves). Magical intuition would also fit, but I made a separate list for that one.

I must note, though, that the point of gathering these passages is not to find moments where Dany necessarily gets things right, but rather, to show that Dany almost always has a set of reasons for making the decisions she does. Even when she makes mistakes (and while her mistakes may have bigger negative effects than most of other characters', it must also be remembered that she makes bigger gambles than most), it can't be said that she was reckless, but rather that she lacked information or experience.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

Two days ago, climbing on a spire of rock, she had spied water to the south, a slender thread that glittered briefly as the sun was going down. A stream, Dany decided. Small, but it would lead her to a larger stream, and that stream would flow into some little river, and all the rivers in this part of the world were vassals of the Skahazadhan. Once she found the Skahazadhan she need only follow it downstream to Slaver’s Bay.

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? She wondered if Hizdahr was still king. His crown had come from her, could he hold it in her absence? He wanted Drogon dead. I heard him. “Kill it,” he screamed, “kill the beast,” and the look upon his face was lustful. And Strong Belwas had been on his knees, heaving and shuddering. Poison. It had to be poison. The honeyed locusts. Hizdahr urged them on me, but Belwas ate them all. She had made Hizdahr her king, taken him into her bed, opened the fighting pits for him, he had no reason to want her dead. Yet who else could it have been? Reznak, her perfumed seneschal? The Yunkai’i? The Sons of the Harpy?

She would have slept beside the water if she dared, but there were animals who came down to the stream to drink at night. She had seen their tracks. Dany would make a poor meal for a wolf or lion, but even a poor meal was better than none.

She fumbled in the water, found a stone the size of her fist, pulled it from the mud. It was a poor weapon but better than an empty hand.

In a dozen heartbeats they were past the Dothraki, as he galloped far below. To the right and left, Dany glimpsed places where the grass was burned and ashen. Drogon has come this way before, she realized. Like a chain of grey islands, the marks of his hunting dotted the green grass sea.

ADWD Daenerys IX

“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.

How queer, the queen thought. They cheer me on the same plaza where I once impaled one hundred sixty-three Great Masters.

Across the pit the Graces sat in flowing robes of many colors, clustered around the austere figure of Galazza Galare, who alone amongst them wore the green. The Great Masters of Meereen occupied the red and orange benches. The women were veiled, and the men had brushed and lacquered their hair into horns and hands and spikes. Hizdahr’s kin of the ancient line of Loraq seemed to favor tokars of purple and indigo and lilac, whilst those of Pahl were striped in pink and white. The envoys from Yunkai were all in yellow and filled the box beside the king’s, each of them with his slaves and servants. Meereenese of lesser birth crowded the upper tiers, more distant from the carnage. The black and purple benches, highest and most distant from the sand, were crowded with freedmen and other common folk. The sellswords had been placed up there as well, Daenerys saw, their captains seated right amongst the common soldiers. She spied Brown Ben’s weathered face and Bloodbeard’s fiery red whiskers and long braids.

Barsena’s blade was running red, but the boar soon stopped. He is smarter than a bull, Dany realized. He will not charge again.

“Magnificence, the people of Meereen have come to celebrate our union. You heard them cheering you. Do not cast away their love.”

“It was my floppy ears they cheered, not me. Take me from this abbatoir, husband.”

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“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.”

[...] “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.”

[...] “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.”

[...] [“]Set Pretty Meris free. At once.”

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.

Martell’s square face was flushed and ruddy. Too much wine, the queen concluded, though he was doing his best to conceal that.

“The dragon has three heads,” Dany said when they were on the final flight. “My marriage need not be the end of all your hopes. I know why you are here.”

“For you,” said Quentyn, all awkward gallantry.

“No,” said Dany. “For fire and blood.”

“You … you mean to ride them?”

“One of them. All I know of dragons is what my brother told me when I was a girl, and some I read in books, but it is said that even Aegon the Conqueror never dared mount Vhagar or Meraxes, nor did his sisters ride Balerion the Black Dread. Dragons live longer than men, some for hundreds of years, so Balerion had other riders after Aegon died … but no rider ever flew two dragons.”

He does not belong here. He should never have come. “You ought to return there. My court is no safe place for you, I fear. You have more enemies than you know. You made Daario look a fool, and he is not a man to forget such a slight.”

“I have my knights. My sworn shields.”

“Two knights. Daario has five hundred Stormcrows. And you would do well to beware of my lord husband too. He seems a mild and pleasant man, I know, but do not be deceived. Hizdahr’s crown derives from mine, and he commands the allegiance of some of the most fearsome fighters in the world. If one of them should think to win his favor by disposing of a rival …”

“I am a prince of Dorne, Your Grace. I will not run from slaves and sell swords.”

Then you truly are a fool, Prince Frog.

ADWD Daenerys VII

It was close to sunset before Daario Naharis appeared with his new Stormcrows, the Westerosi who had come over to him from the Windblown. Dany found herself glancing at them as yet another petitioner droned on and on. These are my people. I am their rightful queen. They seemed a scruffy bunch, but that was only to be expected of sellswords. The youngest could not have been more than a year older than her; the oldest must have seen sixty namedays. A few sported signs of wealth: gold arm rings, silken tunics, silverstudded sword belts. Plunder. For the most part, their clothes were plainly made and showed signs of hard wear.

“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.

“Three liars,” Daario said darkly. “They deceived me.”

“And bought you too, I do not doubt.” He did not trouble to deny it.

ADWD Daenerys VI

“Irri, bring the green tokar, the silk one fringed with Myrish lace.”

“That one is being repaired, Khaleesi. The lace was torn. The blue tokar has been cleaned.”

“Blue, then. They will be just as pleased.”

She was only half-wrong. The priestess and the seneschal were happy to see her garbed in a tokar, a proper Meereenese lady for once, but what they really wanted was to strip her bare.

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.”

Skahaz was convinced that somewhere in Meereen the Sons of the Harpy had a highborn overlord, a secret general commanding an army of shadows. Dany did not share his belief. The Brazen Beasts had taken dozens of the Harpy’s Sons, and those who had survived their capture had yielded names when questioned sharply … too many names, it seemed to her. It would have been pleasant to think that all the deaths were the work of a single enemy who might be caught and killed, but Dany suspected that the truth was otherwise. My enemies are legion. “Hizdahr zo Loraq is a persuasive man with many friends. And he is wealthy. Perhaps he has bought this peace for us with gold, or convinced the other highborn that our marriage is in their best interests.”

“It is good that you have come,” she told the Astapori. “You will be safe in Meereen.”

The cobbler thanked her for that, and the old brickmaker kissed her foot, but the weaver looked at her with eyes as hard as slate. She knows I lie, the queen thought. She knows I cannot keep them safe. Astapor is burning, and Meereen is next.

“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.”

[...] “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.

“I need Hizdahr zo Loraq.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

If I wed Hizdahr, will that turn Skahaz against me? She trusted Skahaz more than she trusted Hizdahr, but the Shavepate would be a disaster as a king. He was too quick to anger, too slow to forgive. She saw no gain in wedding a man as hated as herself. Hizdahr was well respected, so far as she could see.

“You know why you are here. The Green Grace seems to feel that if I take you for my husband, all my woes will vanish.”

“I would never make so bold a claim. Men are born to strive and suffer. Our woes only vanish when we die. I can be of help to you, however. I have gold and friends and influence, and the blood of Old Ghis flows in my veins. Though I have never wed, I have two natural children, a boy and a girl, so I can give you heirs. I can reconcile the city to your rule and put an end to this nightly slaughter in the streets.”

“Can you?” Dany studied his eyes. “Why should the Sons of the Harpy lay down their knives for you? Are you one of them?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you were?”

He laughed. “No.”

The Shavepate will not be happy with me, but Reznak mo Reznak will dance for joy. Dany did not know which of those concerned her more. She needed Skahaz and the Brazen Beasts, and she had come to mistrust all of Reznak’s counsel. Beware the perfumed seneschal. Has Reznak made common cause with Hizdahr and the Green Grace and set some trap to snare me?

“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.”

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.

“... a dozen of the Long Lances decided they would sooner be Stormcrows than corpses, so we came out three ahead. I told them they would live longer fighting with your dragons than against them, and they saw the wisdom in my words.”

That made her wary. “They might be spying for Yunkai.”

ADWD Daenerys III

Reznak mo Reznak’s mouth was open, and his lips glistened wetly as he watched. Hizdahr zo Loraq was saying something to the man beside him, yet all the time his eyes were on the dancing girls. The Shavepate’s ugly, oily face was as stern as ever, but he missed nothing.

It was harder to know what her honored guest was dreaming.

In his honor Daenerys had donned a Qartheen gown, a sheer confection of violet samite cut so as to leave her left breast bare. Her silver-gold hair brushed lightly over her shoulder, falling almost to her nipple. Half the men in the hall had stolen glances at her, but not Xaro. It was the same in Qarth. She could not sway the merchant prince that way. Sway him I must, however.

“I am glad you came to me. It is good to see your face again, my friend.” I will not trust you, but I need you. I need your Thirteen, I need your ships, I need your trade.

In Qarth, you had three bloodriders who never left your side. Wherever have they gone?”

“Aggo, Jhoqo, and Rakharo still serve me.” He is playing games with me. Dany could play as well.

Dany knew him too well to be moved. Qartheen men could weep at will. “Oh, stop that.” She took a cherry from the bowl on the table and threw it at his nose. “I may be a young girl, but I am not so foolish as to wed a man who finds a fruit platter more enticing than my breast. I saw which dancers you were watching.”

“[...] A ditch, to bring water from the river to the fields. We mean to plant beans. The beanfields must have water.”

“[...] Meereen needs beans more than it needs rare spices, and beans require water.”

“...The ships are yours, sweet queen. Thirteen galleys, and men to pull the oars.”

Thirteen. To be sure. Xaro was one of the Thirteen. No doubt he had convinced each of his fellow members to give up one ship. She knew the merchant prince too well to think that he would sacrifice thirteen of his own ships. “I must consider this. May I inspect these ships?”

“You have grown suspicious, Daenerys.”

Always. “I have grown wise, Xaro.”

“for young and strong as you now seem, you shall not live so long. Not here.”

He offers the honeycomb with one hand and shows the whip with the other. “The Yunkai’i are not so fearsome as all that.”

“Some other night.” His mouth was sad, but his eyes seemed more relieved than disappointed.

“A map? It is beautiful.” It covered half the floor. The seas were blue, the lands were green, the mountains black and brown. Cities were shown as stars in gold or silver thread. There is no Smoking Sea, she realized. Valyria is not yet an island.

“...Take these ships and sail away, or you will surely die screaming. You cannot know how many enemies you have made.”

I know one stands before me now, weeping mummer’s tears. The realization made her sad.

The next morning Xaro’s galleas was gone, but the “gift” that he had brought her remained behind in Slaver’s Bay. Long red streamers flew from the masts of the thirteen Qartheen galleys, writhing in the wind. And when Daenerys descended to hold court, a messenger from the ships awaited her. He spoke no word but laid at her feet a black satin pillow, upon which rested a single bloodstained glove.

“What is this?” Skahaz demanded. “A bloody glove …”

“… means war,” said the queen.

ADWD Daenerys II

“I will have no more Unsullied slaughtered. Grey Worm, pull your men back to their barracks. Henceforth let them guard my walls and gates and person. From this day, it shall be for Meereenese to keep the peace in Meereen. Skahaz, make me a new watch, made up in equal parts of shavepates and freedmen.”

“As you command. How many men?”

“As many as you require.”

Reznak mo Reznak gasped. “Magnificence, where is the coin to come from to pay wages for so many men?”

“From the pyramids. Call it a blood tax. I will have a hundred pieces of gold from every pyramid for each freedman that the Harpy’s Sons have slain.”

That brought a smile to the Shavepate’s face. “It will be done,” he said, “but Your Radiance should know that the Great Masters of Zhak and Merreq are making preparations to quit their pyramids and leave the city.”

Daenerys was sick unto death of Zhak and Merreq; she was sick of all the Mereenese, great and small alike. “Let them go, but see that they take no more than the clothes upon their backs. Make certain that all their gold remains here with us. Their stores of food as well.”

Her name had been Hazzea. She was four years old. Unless her father lied. He might have lied. No one had seen the dragon but him. His proof was burned bones, but burned bones proved nothing. He might have killed the little girl himself, and burned her afterward. He would not have been the first father to dispose of an unwanted girl child, the Shavepate claimed. The Sons of the Harpy might have done it, and made it look like dragon’s work to make the city hate me. Dany wanted to believe that … but if that was so, why had Hazzea’s father waited until the audience hall was almost empty to come forward? If his purpose had been to inflame the Meereenese against her, he would have told his tale when the hall was full of ears to hear.

ADWD Daenerys I

“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.” Dothraki fought from horseback. Mounted men were of more use in open fields and hills than in the narrow streets and alleys of the city.

Dany had dispatched her tiny khalasar to subdue the hinterlands, under the command of her three bloodriders, whilst Brown Ben Plumm took his Second Sons south to guard against Yunkish incursions.

The most crucial task of all she had entrusted to Daario Naharis, glib-tongued Daario with his gold tooth and trident beard, smiling his wicked smile through purple whiskers. Beyond the eastern hills was a range of rounded sandstone mountains, the Khyzai Pass, and Lhazar. If Daario could convince the Lhazarene to reopen the overland trade routes, grains could be brought down the river or over the hills at need … but the Lamb Men had no reason to love Meereen. “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.”

Dragons are fire made flesh. She had read that in one of the books Ser Jorah had given her as a wedding gift.

By shaving, Skahaz had put old Meereen behind him to accept the new, and his kin had done the same after his example. Others followed, though whether from fear, fashion, or ambition, Dany could not say; shavepates, they were called.

I need this man, Dany reminded herself. Hizdahr was a wealthy merchant with many friends in Meereen, and more across the seas. He had visited Volantis, Lys, and Qarth, had kin in Tolos and Elyria, and was even said to wield some influence in New Ghis, where the Yunkai’i were trying to stir up enmity against Dany and her rule.

And he was rich. Famously and fabulously rich ...

And like to grow richer, if I grant his petition. When Dany had closed the city’s fighting pits, the value of pit shares had plummeted. Hizdahr zo Loraq had grabbed them up with both hands, and now owned most of the fighting pits in Meereen.

The nobleman had wings of wiry red-black hair sprouting from his temples. They made him look as if his head were about to take flight. His long face was made even longer by a beard bound with rings of gold. His purple tokar was fringed with amethysts and pearls.

“If Your Majesty will hear my arguments ...”

“I have. Five times. Have you brought new arguments?”

“Old arguments,” Hizdahr admitted, “new words. Lovely words, and courteous, more apt to move a queen.”

“It is your cause I find wanting, not your courtesies. I have heard your arguments so often I could plead your case myself. Shall I?” Dany leaned forward. “The fighting pits have been a part of Meereen since the city was founded. The combats are profoundly religious in nature, a blood sacrifice to the gods of Ghis. The mortal art of Ghis is not mere butchery but a display of courage, skill, and strength most pleasing to your gods. Victorious fighters are pampered and acclaimed, and the slain are honored and remembered. By reopening the pits I would show the people of Meereen that I respect their ways and customs. The pits are far-famed across the world. They draw trade to Meereen, and fill the city’s coffers with coin from the ends of the earth. All men share a taste for blood, a taste the pits help slake. In that way they make Meereen more tranquil. For criminals condemned to die upon the sands, the pits represent a judgment by battle, a last chance for a man to prove his innocence.” She leaned back again, with a toss of her head. “There. How have I done?”

“Your Radiance has stated the case much better than I could have hoped to do myself. I see that you are eloquent as well as beautiful. I am quite persuaded.”

She had to laugh. “Ah, but I am not.”

“Your Magnificence,” whispered Reznak mo Reznak in her ear, “it is customary for the city to claim one-tenth of all the profits from the fighting pits, after expenses, as a tax. That coin might be put to many noble uses.”

“It might … though if we were to reopen the pits, we should take our tenth before expenses. I am only a young girl and know little of such matters, but I dwelt with Xaro Xhoan Daxos long enough to learn that much. Hizdahr, if you could marshal armies as you marshal arguments, you could conquer the world … but my answer is still no. For the sixth time.”

She nibbled whilst she listened, and sipped from a cup of watered wine. The figs were fine, the olives even finer, but the wine left a tart metallic aftertaste in her mouth. The small pale yellow grapes native to these regions produced a notably inferior vintage. We shall have no trade in wine. Besides, the Great Masters had burned the best arbors along with the olive trees.

“Three-and-twenty.” Dany sighed. “My dragons have developed a prodigious taste for mutton since we began to pay the shepherds for their kills. Have these claims been proven?”

“Some men have brought burnt bones.”

“Men make fires. Men cook mutton. Burnt bones prove nothing. Brown Ben says there are red wolves in the hills outside the city, and jackals and wild dogs. Must we pay good silver for every lamb that goes astray between Yunkai and the Skahazadhan?”

“No, Magnificence.” Reznak bowed. “Shall I send these rascals away, or will you want them scourged?”

Daenerys shifted on the bench. “No man should ever fear to come to me.” Some claims were false, she did not doubt, but more were genuine. 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. Drogon especially ranged far afield and could easily devour a sheep a day. “Pay them for the value of their animals,” she told Reznak, “but henceforth claimants must present themselves at the Temple of the Graces and swear a holy oath before the gods of Ghis.”

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

No one was calling her Daenerys the Conqueror yet, but perhaps they would. Aegon the Conqueror had won Westeros with three dragons, but she had taken Meereen with sewer rats and a wooden cock, in less than a day. Poor Groleo. He still grieved for his ship, she knew. If a war galley could ram another ship, why not a gate? That had been her thought when she commanded the captains to drive their ships ashore. Their masts had become her battering rams, and swarms of freedmen had torn their hulls apart to build mantlets, turtles, catapults, and ladders. The sellwords had given each ram a bawdy name, and it had been the mainmast of Meraxes—formerly Joso’s Prank—that had broken the eastern gate. Joso’s Cock, they called it. The fighting had raged bitter and bloody for most of a day and well into the night before the wood began to splinter and Meraxes’ iron figurehead, a laughing jester’s face, came crashing through.

Dany had wanted to lead the attack herself, but to a man her captains said that would be madness, and her captains never agreed on anything. Instead she remained in the rear, sitting atop her silver in a long shirt of mail. She heard the city fall from half a league away, though, when the defenders’ shouts of defiance changed to cries of fear. Her dragons had roared as one in that moment, filling the night with flame. The slaves are rising, she knew at once. My sewer rats have gnawed off their chains.

When the last resistance had been crushed by the Unsullied and the sack had run its course, Dany entered her city. The dead were heaped so high before the broken gate that it took her freedmen near an hour to make a path for her silver. Joso’s Cock and the great wooden turtle that had protected it, covered with horsehides, lay abandoned within. She rode past burned buildings and broken windows, through brick streets where the gutters were choked with the stiff and swollen dead. Cheering slaves lifted bloodstained hands to her as she went by, and called her “Mother.”

Meereen had been sacked savagely, as new-fallen cities always were, but Dany was determined that should end now that the city was hers. She had decreed that murderers were to be hanged, that looters were to lose a hand, and rapists their manhood. Eight killers swung from the walls, and the Unsullied had filled a bushel basket with bloody hands and soft red worms, but Meereen was calm again. But for how long?

“It shall be done as you command, glorious queen,” said Daario. “My Stormcrows will collect your tenth.” If the Stormcrows saw to the collections at least half the gold would somehow go astray, Dany knew. But the Second Sons were just as bad, and the Unsullied were as unlettered as they were incorruptible. “Records must be kept,” she said. “Seek among the freedmen for men who can read, write, and do sums.”

While Joso’s Cock and the other rams were battering the city gates and her archers were firing flights of flaming arrows over the walls, Dany had sent two hundred men along the river under cover of darkness to fire the hulks in the harbor. But that was only to hide their true purpose. As the flaming ships drew the eyes of the defenders on the walls, a few half- mad swimmers found the sewer mouths and pried loose a rusted iron grating. Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, Strong Belwas, and twenty brave fools slipped beneath the brown water and up the brick tunnel, a mixed force of sellswords, Unsullied, and freedmen. Dany had told them to choose only men who had no families ... and preferably no sense of smell.

“You are trembling, Khaleesi,” the girl said as she knelt to lace up Dany’s sandals.

“I’m cold,” Dany lied. “Bring me the book I was reading last night.” She wanted to lose herself in the words, in other times and other places. The fat leather-bound volume was full of songs and stories from the Seven Kingdoms. Children’s stories, if truth be told; too simple and fanciful to be true history. All the heroes were tall and handsome, and you could tell the traitors by their shifty eyes. Yet she loved them all the same. Last night she had been reading of the three princesses in the red tower, locked away by the king for the crime of being beautiful.

ASOS Daenerys V

Her bloodriders were in such a fever to go meet him that they almost came to blows. “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.

Meereen posed dangers far more serious than one pink-and-white hero shouting insults, and she could not let herself be distracted. Her host numbered more than eighty thousand after Yunkai, but fewer than a quarter of them were soldiers. The rest ... well, Ser Jorah called them mouths with feet, and soon they would be starving.

They watched Oznak zo Pahl dismount his white charger, undo his robes, pull out his manhood, and direct a stream of urine in the general direction of the olive grove where Dany’s gold pavilion stood among the burnt trees. He was still pissing when Daario Naharis rode up, arakh in hand. “Shall I cut that off for you and stuff it down his mouth, Your Grace?” His tooth shone gold amidst the blue of his forked beard.

“It’s his city I want, not his meager manhood.” She was growing angry, however. If I ignore this any longer, my own people will think me weak. Yet who could she send? She needed Daario as much as she did her bloodriders. Without the flamboyant Tyroshi, she had no hold on the Stormcrows, many of whom had been followers of Prendahl na Ghezn and Sallor the Bald.

High on the walls of Meereen, the jeers had grown louder, and now hundreds of the defenders were taking their lead from the hero and pissing down through the ramparts to show their contempt for the besiegers. They are pissing on slaves, to show how little they fear us, she thought. They would never dare such a thing if it were a Dothraki khalasar outside their gates.

“This challenge must be met,” Arstan said again.

“It will be.” Dany said, as the hero tucked his penis away again. “Tell Strong Belwas I have need of him.”

[...] “Why that one, Khaleesi?” Rakharo demanded of her. “He is fat and stupid.”

“Strong Belwas was a slave here in the fighting pits. If this highborn Oznak should fall to such the Great Masters will be shamed, while if he wins ... well, it is a poor victory for one so noble, one that Meereen can take no pride in.” And unlike Ser Jorah, Daario, Brown Ben, and her three bloodriders, the eunuch did not lead troops, plan battles, or give her counsel. He does nothing but eat and boast and bellow at Arstan. Belwas was the man she could most easily spare. And it was time she learned what sort of protector Magister Illyrio had sent her.

“We should have given him chainmail,” Dany said, suddenly anxious.

“Mail would only slow him,” said Ser Jorah. “They wear no armor in the fighting pits. It’s blood the crowds come to see.”

Oznak zo Pahl charged a third time, and now Dany could see plainly that he was riding past Belwas, the way a Westerosi knight might ride at an opponent in a tilt, rather than at him, like a Dothraki riding down a foe.

“Given time, we might be able to mine beneath a tower and make a breach, but what do we eat while we’re digging? Our stores are all but exhausted.”

“No weakness in the landward walls?” said Dany. Meereen stood on a jut of sand and stone where the slow brown Skahazadhan flowed into Slaver’s Bay. The city’s north wall ran along the riverbank, its west along the bay shore. “Does that mean we might attack from the river or the sea?”

“With three ships? We’ll want to have Captain Groleo take a good look at the wall along the river, but unless it’s crumbling that’s just a wetter way to die.”

“What if we were to build siege towers? My brother Viserys told tales of such, I know they can be made.”

“From wood, Your Grace,” Ser Jorah said. “The slavers have burnt every tree within twenty leagues of here.[”]

“These sewers do not sound promising.” Grey Worm would lead his Unsullied down the sewers if she commanded it, she knew; her bloodriders would do no less. But none of them was suited to the task. The Dothraki were horsemen, and the strength of the Unsullied was their discipline on the battlefield. Can I send men to die in the dark on such a slender hope?

“Where shall we go, Your Grace?”

“To hell, to serve King Robert.” Dany felt hot tears on her cheeks. [...] “You go ...” [...] “You go ... go ...” Where?

And then she knew.

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany reined in her mare and looked across the fields, to where the Yunkish host lay athwart her path. Whitebeard had been teaching her how best to count the numbers of a foe. "Five thousand," she said after a moment.

Dany considered. The slaver host seemed small compared to her own numbers, but the sellswords were ahorse. She’d ridden too long with Dothraki not to have a healthy respect for what mounted warriors could do to foot. The Unsullied could withstand their charge, but my freedmen will be slaughtered. “The slavers like to talk,” she said. “Send word that I will hear them this evening in my tent. And invite the captains of the sellsword companies to call on me as well. But not together. The Stormcrows at midday, the Second Sons two hours later.”

“As you wish,” Ser Jorah said. “But if they do not come—”

“They’ll come. They will be curious to see the dragons and hear what I might have to say, and the clever ones will see it for a chance to gauge my strength.” She wheeled her silver mare about. “I’ll await them in my pavilion.”

“You took Astapor by treachery, but Yunkai shall not fall so easily.”

“Five hundred of your Stormcrows against ten thousand of my Unsullied,” said Dany. “I am only a young girl and do not understand the ways of war, yet these odds seem poor to me.”

“The Stormcrows do not stand alone,” said Prendahl.

“Stormcrows do not stand at all. They fly, at the first sign of thunder. Perhaps you should be flying now. I have heard that sellswords are notoriously unfaithful. What will it avail you to be staunch, when the Second Sons change sides?”

“That will not happen,” Prendahl insisted, unmoved. “And if it did, it would not matter. The Second Sons are nothing. We fight beside the stalwart men of Yunkai.”

“You fight beside bed-boys armed with spears.” When she turned her head, the twin bells in her braid rang softly. “Once battle is joined, do not think to ask for quarter. Join me now, however, and you shall keep the gold the Yunkai’i paid you and claim a share of the plunder besides, with greater rewards later when I come into my kingdom. Fight for the Wise Masters, and your wages will be death. Do you imagine that Yunkai will open its gates when my Unsullied are butchering you beneath the walls?”

“Woman, you bray like an ass, and make no more sense.”

“Woman?” She chuckled. “Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.” Dany met his stare. “I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, khaleesi to Drogo’s riders, and queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.”

“What say you take those clothes off and come sit on my lap? If you please me, I might bring the Second Sons over to your side.”

“If you bring the Second Sons over to my side, I might not have you gelded.”

The big man laughed. “Little girl, another woman once tried to geld me with her teeth. She has no teeth now, but my sword is as long and thick as ever. Shall I take it out and show you?”

“No need. After my eunuchs cut it off, I can examine it at my leisure.” Dany took a sip of wine. “It is true that I am only a young girl, and do not know the ways of war. Explain to me how you propose to defeat ten thousand Unsullied with your five hundred. Innocent as I am, these odds seem poor to me.”

“The Second Sons have faced worse odds and won.”

“The Second Sons have faced worse odds and run. At Qohor, when the Three Thousand made their stand. Or do you deny it?”

“That was many and more years ago, before the Second Sons were led by the Titan’s Bastard.”

“So it is from you they get their courage?” Dany turned to Ser Jorah. “When the battle is joined, kill this one first.”

Dany seated herself on a mound of cushions to await them, her dragons all about her. When they were assembled, she said, “An hour past midnight should be time enough.”

“Yes, Khaleesi,” said Rakharo. “Time for what?”

“To mount our attack.”

Ser Jorah Mormont scowled. “You told the sellswords—”

“—that I wanted their answers on the morrow. I made no promises about tonight. The Stormcrows will be arguing about my offer. The Second Sons will be drunk on the wine I gave Mero. And the Yunkai’i believe they have three days. We will take them under cover of this darkness.”

“They will have scouts watching for us.”

“And in the dark, they will see hundreds of campfires burning,” said Dany. “If they see anything at all.”

“Khaleesi,” said Jhogo, “I will deal with these scouts. They are no riders, only slavers on horses.”

“Just so,” she agreed. “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.”

“A spy?” That frightened her. If they’d caught one, how many others might have gotten away?

Dany was dubious. If this Tyroshi had come to spy, this declaration might be no more than a desperate plot to save his head.

“Keep this one here under guard until the battle’s fought and won.”

She considered a moment, then shook her head. “If he can give us the Stormcrows, surprise is certain.”

“And if he betrays you, surprise is lost.”

Dany looked down at the sellsword again. He gave her such a smile that she flushed and turned away. “He won’t.”

“How can you know that?”

She pointed to the lumps of blackened flesh the dragons were consuming, bite by bloody bite. “I would call that proof of his sincerity. Daario Naharis, have your Stormcrows ready to strike the Yunkish rear when my attack begins. Can you get back safely?”

“If they stop me, I will say I have been scouting, and saw nothing.” The Tyroshi rose to his feet, bowed, and swept out.

The exile knight went to one knee before Dany and said, “Your Grace, I bring you victory. The Stormcrows turned their cloaks, the slaves broke, and the Second Sons were too drunk to fight, just as you said. Two hundred dead, Yunkai’i for the most part. Their slaves threw down their spears and ran, and their sellswords yielded. We have several thousand captives.”

“Our own losses?”

“A dozen. If that many.”

Only then did she allow herself to smile.

ASOS Daenerys III

She had chosen a Qartheen gown today. The deep violet silk brought out the purple of her eyes. The cut of it bared her left breast. While the Good Masters of Astapor conferred among themselves in low voices, Dany sipped tart persimmon wine from a tall silver flute. She could not quite make out all that they were saying, but she could hear the greed.

Each of the eight brokers was attended by two or three body slaves ... though one Grazdan, the eldest, had six. So as not to seem a beggar, Dany had brought her own attendants; Irri and Jhiqui in their sandsilk trousers and painted vests, old Whitebeard and mighty Belwas, her bloodriders. Ser Jorah stood behind her sweltering in his green surcoat with the black bear of Mormont embroidered upon it. The smell of his sweat was an earthy answer to the sweet perfumes that drenched the Astapori.

Dany let them argue, sipping the tart persimmon wine and trying to keep her face blank and ignorant. I will have them all, no matter the price, she told herself. The city had a hundred slave traders, but the eight before her were the greatest. When selling bed slaves, fieldhands, scribes, craftsmen, and tutors, these men were rivals, but their ancestors had allied one with the other for the purpose of making and selling the Unsullied. Brick and blood built Astapor, and brick and blood her people.

“Tell them I await their answer.”

She knew the answer, though; she could see it in the glitter of their eyes and the smiles they tried so hard to hide. Astapor had thousands of eunuchs, and even more slave boys waiting to be cut, but there were only three living dragons in all the great wide world. And the Ghiscari lust for dragons. How could they not? Five times had Old Ghis contended with Valyria when the world was young, and five times gone down to bleak defeat. For the Freehold had dragons, and the Empire had none.

Dany turned away from him, to the slave girl standing meekly beside her litter. “Do you have a name, or must you draw a new one every day from some barrel?”

“That is only for Unsullied,” the girl said. Then she realized the question had been asked in High Valyrian. Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“If I did resell them, how would I know they could not be used against me?” Dany asked pointedly. “Would they do that? Fight against me, even do me harm?”

“If their master commanded. They do not question, Your Grace. All the questions have been culled from them. They obey.” She looked troubled. “When you are ... when you are done with them ... your Grace might command them to fall upon their swords.”

“And even that, they would do?” 

“Yes.” Missandei’s voice had grown soft. “Your Grace.”

Dany squeezed her hand. “You would sooner I did not ask it of them, though. Why is that? Why do you care?”

“This one does not ... I ... Your Grace ... ” 

“Tell me.” 

The girl lowered her eyes. “Three of them were my brothers once, Your Grace.”

Then I hope your brothers are as brave and clever as you.

The rest of her people followed: Groleo and the other captains and their crews, and the eighty-three Dothraki who remained to her of the hundred thousand who had once ridden in Drogo’s khalasar. She put the oldest and weakest on the inside of the column, with the nursing women and those with child, and the little girls, and the boys too young to braid their hair. The rest—her warriors, such as they were—rode outside and moved their dismal herd along, the hundred-odd gaunt horses that had survived both red waste and black salt sea.

I ought to have a banner sewn, she thought as she led her tattered band up along Astapor’s meandering river. She closed her eyes to imagine how it would look: all flowing black silk, and on it the red three-headed dragon of Targaryen, breathing golden flames. A banner such as Rhaegar might have borne.

At first glimpse, Dany thought their skin was striped like the zorses of the Jogos Nhai.

Dany handed the slaver the end of Drogon’s chain. In return he presented her with the whip. The handle was black dragonbone, elaborately carved and inlaid with gold. Nine long thin leather lashes trailed from it, each one tipped by a gilded claw. The gold pommel was a woman’s head, with pointed ivory teeth. “The harpy’s fingers,” Kraznys named the scourge.

Dany turned the whip in her hand. Such a light thing, to bear such weight. “Is it done, then? Do they belong to me?”

“It is done,” he agreed, giving the chain a sharp pull to bring Drogon down from the litter.

Dany mounted her silver. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She felt desperately afraid. Was this what my brother would have done? She wondered if Prince Rhaegar had been this anxious when he saw the Usurper’s host formed up across the Trident with all their banners floating on the wind.

She stood in her stirrups and raised the harpy’s fingers above her head for all the Unsullied to see. “IT IS DONE!” she cried at the top of her lungs. “YOU ARE MINE!” She gave the mare her heels and galloped along the first rank, holding the fingers high. “YOU ARE THE DRAGON’S NOW! YOU’RE BOUGHT AND PAID FOR! IT IS DONE! IT IS DONE!”

She glimpsed old Grazdan turn his grey head sharply. He hears me speak Valyrian. The other slavers were not listening. They crowded around Kraznys and the dragon, shouting advice. Though the Astapori yanked and tugged, Drogon would not budge off the litter. Smoke rose grey from his open jaws, and his long neck curled and straightened as he snapped at the slaver’s face.

It is time to cross the Trident, Dany thought, as she wheeled and rode her silver back. Her bloodriders moved in close around her. “You are in difficulty,” she observed.

“He will not come,” Kraznys said.

“There is a reason. A dragon is no slave.” And Dany swept the lash down as hard as she could across the slaver’s face. Kraznys screamed and staggered back, the blood running red down his cheeks into his perfumed beard. The harpy’s fingers had torn his features half to pieces with one slash, but she did not pause to contemplate the ruin. “Drogon,” she sang out loudly, sweetly, all her fear forgotten. “Dracarys.”

The black dragon spread his wings and roared.

A lance of swirling dark flame took Kraznys full in the face. His eyes melted and ran down his cheeks, and the oil in his hair and beard burst so fiercely into fire that for an instant the slaver wore a burning crown twice as tall as his head. The sudden stench of charred meat overwhelmed even his perfume, and his wail seemed to drown all other sound.

Then the Plaza of Punishment blew apart into blood and chaos. The Good Masters were shrieking, stumbling, shoving one another aside and tripping over the fringes of their tokars in their haste. Drogon flew almost lazily at Kraznys, black wings beating. As he gave the slaver another taste of fire, Irri and Jhiqui unchained Viserion and Rhaegal, and suddenly there were three dragons in the air. When Dany turned to look, a third of Astapor’s proud demon-horned warriors were fighting to stay atop their terrified mounts, and another third were fleeing in a bright blaze of shiny copper. One man kept his saddle long enough to draw a sword, but Jhogo’s whip coiled about his neck and cut off his shout. Another lost a hand to Rakharo’s arakh and rode off reeling and spurting blood. Aggo sat calmly notching arrows to his bowstring and sending them at tokars. Silver, gold, or plain, he cared nothing for the fringe. Strong Belwas had his arakh out as well, and he spun it as he charged.

“Spears!” Dany heard one Astapori shout. It was Grazdan, old Grazdan in his tokar heavy with pearls. “Unsullied! Defend us, stop them, defend your masters! Spears! Swords!”

When Rakharo put an arrow through his mouth, the slaves holding his sedan chair broke and ran, dumping him unceremoniously on the ground. The old man crawled to the first rank of eunuchs, his blood pooling on the bricks. The Unsullied did not so much as look down to watch him die. Rank on rank on rank, they stood.

And did not move. The gods have heard my prayer.

“Unsullied!” Dany galloped before them, her silver-gold braid flying behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. “Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see.” She raised the harpy’s fingers in the air ... and then she flung the scourge aside. “Freedom!” she sang out. “Dracarys! Dracarys!”

“Dracarys!” they shouted back, the sweetest word she’d ever heard. “Dracarys! Dracarys!” And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire.

ASOS Daenerys II

The harpy of Ghis, Dany thought. Old Ghis had fallen five thousand years ago, if she remembered true; its legions shattered by the might of young Valyria, its brick walls pulled down, its streets and buildings turned to ash and cinder by dragonflame, its very fields sown with salt, sulfur, and skulls. The gods of Ghis were dead, and so too its people; these Astapori were mongrels, Ser Jorah said. Even the Ghiscari tongue was largely forgotten; the slave cities spoke the High Valyrian of their conquerors, or what they had made of it.

Yet the symbol of the Old Empire still endured here, though this bronze monster had a heavy chain dangling from her talons, an open manacle at either end. The harpy of Ghis had a thunderbolt in her claws. This is the harpy of Astapor.

“They might be adequate to my needs,” Dany answered. It had been Ser Jorah’s suggestion that she speak only Dothraki and the Common Tongue while in Astapor. My bear is more clever than he looks.

The girls followed close behind with the silk awning, to keep her in the shade, but the thousand men before her enjoyed no such protection. More than half had the copper skins and almond eyes of Dothraki and Lhazerene, but she saw men of the Free Cities in the ranks as well, along with pale Qartheen, ebon-faced Summer Islanders, and others whose origins she could not guess. And some had skins of the same amber hue as Kraznys mo Nakloz, and the bristly red-black hair that marked the ancient folk of Ghis, who named themselves the harpy’s sons.

“The Good Master has said that these eunuchs cannot be tempted with coin or flesh,” Dany told the girl, “but if some enemy of mine should offer them freedom for betraying me ...”

“They would kill him out of hand and bring her his head, tell her that,” the slaver answered. “Other slaves may steal and hoard up silver in hopes of buying freedom, but an Unsullied would not take it if the little mare offered it as a gift. They have no life outside their duty. They are soldiers, and that is all.”

“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.

An old city, this, she reflected, but not so populous as it was in its glory, nor near so crowded as Qarth or Pentos or Lys.

Her litter came to a sudden halt at the cross street, to allow a coffle of slaves to shuffle across her path, urged along by the crack of an overseer’s lash. These were no Unsullied, Dany noted, but a more common sort of men, with pale brown skins and black hair. There were women among them, but no children. All were naked.

“You speak of sacking cities. Answer me this, ser—why have the Dothraki never sacked this city?” She pointed. “Look at the walls. You can see where they’ve begun to crumble. There, and there. Do you see any guards on those towers? I don’t. Are they hiding, ser? I saw these sons of the harpy today, all their proud highborn warriors. They dressed in linen skirts, and the fiercest thing about them was their hair. Even a modest khalasar could crack this Astapor like a nut and spill out the rotted meat inside. So tell me, why is that ugly harpy not sitting beside the godsway in Vaes Dothrak among the other stolen gods?”

“You have a dragon’s eye, Khaleesi, that’s plain to see.”

“I wanted an answer, not a compliment.”

“There are two reasons. Astapor’s brave defenders are so much chaff, it’s true. Old names and fat purses who dress up as Ghiscari scourges to pretend they still rule a vast empire. Every one is a high officer. On feastdays they fight mock wars in the pits to demonstrate what brilliant commanders they are, but it’s the eunuchs who do the dying. All the same, any enemy wanting to sack Astapor would have to know that they’d be facing Unsullied. The slavers would turn out the whole garrison in the city’s defense. The Dothraki have not ridden against Unsullied since they left their braids at the gates of Qohor.”

“And the second reason?” Dany asked.

“Who would attack Astapor?” Ser Jorah asked. “Meereen and Yunkai are rivals but not enemies, the Doom destroyed Valyria, the folk of the eastern hinterlands are all Ghiscari, and beyond the hills lies Lhazar. The Lamb Men, as your Dothraki call them, a notably unwarlike people.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but north of the slave cities is the Dothraki sea, and two dozen mighty khals who like nothing more than sacking cities and carrying off their people into slavery.”

“Carrying them off where? What good are slaves once you’ve killed the slavers? Valyria is no more, Qarth lies beyond the red waste, and the Nine Free Cities are thousands of leagues to the west. And you may be sure the sons of the harpy give lavishly to every passing khal, just as the magisters do in Pentos and Norvos and Myr. They know that if they feast the horselords and give them gifts, they will soon ride on. It’s cheaper than fighting, and a deal more certain.”

ASOS Daenerys I

“His Grace was ... often pleasant.”

“Often?” Dany smiled. “But not always?” 

[“] 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.”

“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. Strong Belwas was an ex-slave, bred and trained in the fighting pits of Meereen. Magister Illyrio had sent him to guard her, or so Belwas claimed, and it was true that she needed guarding. The Usurper on his Iron Throne had offered land and lordship to any man who killed her. One attempt had been made already, with a cup of poisoned wine. The closer she came to Westeros, the more likely another attack became. Back in Qarth, the warlock Pyat Pree had sent a Sorrowful Man after her to avenge the Undying she’d burned in their House of Dust. Warlocks never forgot a wrong, it was said, and the Sorrowful Men never failed to kill. Most of the Dothraki would be against her as well. Khal Drogo’s kos led khalasars of their own now, and none of them would hesitate to attack her own little band on sight, to slay and slave her people and drag Dany herself back to Vaes Dothrak to take her proper place among the withered crones of the dosh khaleen. She hoped that Xaro Xhoan Daxos was not an enemy, but the Qartheen merchant had coveted her dragons. And there was Quaithe of the Shadow, that strange woman in the red lacquer mask with all her cryptic counsel. Was she an enemy too, or only a dangerous friend? Dany could not say.

Ser Jorah saved me from the poisoner, and Arstan Whitebeard from the manticore. Perhaps Strong Belwas will save me from the next. He was huge enough, with arms like small trees and a great curved arakh so sharp he might have shaved with it, in the unlikely event of hair sprouting on those smooth brown cheeks. Yet he was childlike as well. As a protector, he leaves much to be desired. Thankfully, I have Ser Jorah and my bloodriders. And my dragons, never forget.

She took a chunk of salt pork out of the bowl in her lap and held it up for her dragons to see. All three of them eyed it hungrily. Rhaegal spread green wings and stirred the air, and Viserion’s neck swayed back and forth like a long pale snake’s as he followed the movement of her hand. “Drogon,” Dany said softly, “dracarys.” And she tossed the pork in the air.

Drogon moved quicker than a striking cobra. Flame roared from his mouth, orange and scarlet and black, searing the meat before it began to fall. As his sharp black teeth snapped shut around it, Rhaegal’s head darted close, as if to steal the prize from his brother’s jaws, but Drogon swallowed and screamed, and the smaller green dragon could only hiss in frustration.

“Stop that, Rhaegal,” Dany said in annoyance, giving his head a swat.

“You had the last one. I’ll have no greedy dragons.” She smiled at Ser Jorah. “I won’t need to char their meat over a brazier any longer.”

“So I see. Dracarys?”

All three dragons turned their heads at the sound of that word, and Viserion let loose with a blast of pale gold flame that made Ser Jorah take a hasty step backward. Dany giggled. “Be careful with that word, ser, or they’re like to singe your beard off. It means ‘dragonfire’ in High Valyrian. I wanted to choose a command that no one was like to utter by chance.”

“It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. Every man I take into my service is a risk, I understand that, but how am I to win the Seven Kingdoms without such risks? Am I to conquer Westeros with one exile knight and three Dothraki bloodriders?”

“What is there for me in Slaver’s Bay?”

“An army,” said Ser Jorah. “If Strong Belwas is so much to your liking you can buy hundreds more like him out of the fighting pits of Meereen ... but it is Astapor I’d set my sails for. In Astapor you can buy Unsullied.”

[...] “That is what you will find in Astapor, Your Grace. Put ashore there, and continue on to Pentos overland. It will take longer, yes ... but when you break bread with Magister Illyrio, you will have a thousand swords behind you, not just four.”

There is wisdom in this, yes, Dany thought, but ... “How am I to buy a thousand slave soldiers? All I have of value is the crown the Tourmaline Brotherhood gave me.”

“Dragons will be as great a wonder in Astapor as they were in Qarth. It may be that the slavers will shower you with gifts, as the Qartheen did. If not ... these ships carry more than your Dothraki and their horses. They took on trade goods at Qarth, I’ve been through the holds and seen for myself. Bolts of silk and bales of tiger skin, amber and jade carvings, saffron, myrrh ... slaves are cheap, Your Grace. Tiger skins are costly.”

“Those are Illyrio’s tiger skins,” she objected.

“And Illyrio is a friend to House Targaryen.”

“All the more reason not to steal his goods.”

“What use are wealthy friends if they will not put their wealth at your disposal, my queen? If Magister Illyrio would deny you, he is only Xaro Xhoan Daxos with four chins. And if he is sincere in his devotion to your cause, he will not begrudge you three shiploads of trade goods. What better use for his tiger skins than to buy you the beginnings of an army?”

That’s true. Dany felt a rising excitement. “There will be dangers on such a long march ...”

“There are dangers at sea as well. Corsairs and pirates hunt the southern route, and north of Valyria the Smoking Sea is demon- haunted. The next storm could sink or scatter us, a kraken could pull us under ... or we might find ourselves becalmed again, and die of thirst as we wait for the wind to rise. A march will have different dangers, my queen, but none greater.”

“What if Captain Groleo refuses to change course, though? And Arstan, Strong Belwas, what will they do?”

Ser Jorah stood. “Perhaps it’s time you found that out.”

“Yes,” she decided. “I’ll do it!”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

Pale men in dusty linen skirts stood beneath arched doorways to watch them pass. They know who I am, and they do not love me. Dany could tell from the way they looked at her.

“...Give me a son, my sweet song of joy!”

Give you a dragon, you mean. “I will not wed you, Xaro.”

His face had grown cold at that. “Then go.”

“But where?”

“Somewhere far from here.”

Perhaps she had lingered in Qarth too long, seduced by its comforts and its beauties. It was a city that always promised more than it would give you, it seemed to her, and her welcome here had turned sour since the House of the Undying had collapsed in a great gout of smoke and flame. Overnight the Qartheen had come to remember that dragons were dangerous. No longer did they vie with each other to give her gifts. Instead the Tourmaline Brotherhood had called openly for her expulsion, and the Ancient Guild of Spicers for her death. It was all Xaro could do to keep the Thirteen from joining them.

Xaro Xhoan Daxos would be no help to her, she knew that now. For all his professions of devotion, he was playing his own game, not unlike Pyat Pree. The night he asked her to leave, Dany had begged one last favor of him. “An army, is it?” Xaro asked. “A kettle of gold? A galley, perhaps?”

Dany blushed. She hated begging. “A ship, yes.”

Xaro’s eyes had glittered as brightly as the jewels in his nose. “I am a trader, Khaleesi. So perhaps we should speak no more of giving, but rather of trade. For one of your dragons, you shall have ten of the finest ships in my fleet. You need only say that one sweet word.”

“No,” she said.

“Alas,” Xaro sobbed, “that was not the word I meant.”

“Would you ask a mother to sell one of her children?”

“Whyever not? They can always make more. Mothers sell their children every day.”

“Not the Mother of Dragons.”

“Not even for twenty ships?”

“Not for a hundred.”

His mouth curled downward. “I do not have a hundred. But you have three dragons. Grant me one, for all my kindnesses. You will still have two and thirty ships as well.”

Thirty ships would be enough to land a small army on the shore of Westeros. But I do not have a small army. “How many ships do you own, Xaro?”

“Eighty-three, if one does not count my pleasure barge.” “And your colleagues in the Thirteen?” “Among us all, perhaps a thousand.” “And the Spicers and the Tourmaline Brotherhood?” “Their trifling fleets are of no account.”

“Even so,” she said, “tell me.”

“Twelve or thirteen hundred for the Spicers. No more than eight hundred for the Brotherhood.”

“And the Asshai’i, the Braavosi, the Summer Islanders, the Ibbenese, and all the other peoples who sail the great salt sea, how many ships do they have? All together?”

“Many and more,” he said irritably. “What does this matter?”

“I am trying to set a price on one of the three living dragons in the world.” Dany smiled at him sweetly. “It seems to me that one-third of all the ships in the world would be fair.”

Xaro’s tears ran down his cheeks on either side of his jewel-encrusted nose. “Did I not warn you not to enter the Palace of Dust? This is the very thing I feared. The whispers of the warlocks have made you as mad as Mallarawan’s wife. A third of all the ships in the world? Pah. Pah, I say. Pah.”

Dany had not seen him since. His seneschal brought her messages, each cooler than the last. She must quit his house. He was done feeding her and her people. He demanded the return of his gifts, which she had accepted in bad faith. Her only consolation was that at least she’d had the great good sense not to marry him.

Dany would get no help from the Thirteen, the Tourmaline Brotherhood, or the Ancient Guild of Spicers.

The Usurper offered a lordship to the man who kills me, and these two are far from home. Or could they be creatures of the warlocks, meant to take me unawares?

“A most excellent brass, great lady,” the merchant exclaimed. “Bright as the sun! And for the Mother of Dragons, only thirty honors.”

The platter was worth no more than three. “Where are my guards?” Dany declared. “This man is trying to rob me!”

“Thirty? Did I say thirty? Such a fool I am. The price is twenty honors.”

“All the brass in this booth is not worth twenty honors,” Dany told him as she studied the reflections.

“Ten, Khaleesi, because you are so lovely. Use it for a looking glass. Only brass this fine could capture such beauty.”

“It might serve to carry nightsoil. If you threw it away, I might pick it up, so long as I did not need to stoop. But pay for it?” Dany shoved the platter back into his hands. “Worms have crawled up your nose and eaten your wits.”

“Eight honors,” he cried. “My wives will beat me and call me fool, but I am a helpless child in your hands. Come, eight, that is less than it is worth.”

“What do I need with dull brass when Xaro Xhoan Daxos feeds me off plates of gold?”

The brass merchant came hopping after them. “Five honors, for five it is yours, it was meant for you.”

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.

“Four! I know you want it!” He danced in front of them, scampering backward as he thrust the platter at their faces.

“Two honors! Two! Two!” The merchant was panting heavily from the effort of running backward.

“Pay him before he kills himself,” Dany told Ser Jorah, wondering what she was going to do with a huge brass platter.

“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.”

“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.

ACOK Daenerys III

She was garbed after the Qartheen fashion. Xaro had warned her that the Enthroned would never listen to a Dothraki, so she had taken care to go before them in flowing green samite with one breast bared, silvered sandals on her feet, with a belt of black-and-white pearls about her waist. For all the help they offered, I could have gone naked. Perhaps I should have. She drank deep.

Descendants of the ancient kings and queens of Qarth, the Pureborn commanded the Civic Guard and the fleet of ornate galleys that ruled the straits between the seas. Daenerys Targaryen had wanted that fleet, or part of it, and some of their soldiers as well. She made the traditional sacrifice in the Temple of Memory, offered the traditional bribe to the Keeper of the Long List, sent the traditional persimmon to the Opener of the Door, and finally received the traditional blue silk slippers summoning her to the Hall of a Thousand Thrones.

“Come with me to the Arbor, Xaro, and you’ll have the finest vintages you ever tasted. But we’ll need to go in a warship, not a pleasure barge.”

“I have no warships. War is bad for trade. Many times I have told you, Xaro Xhoan Daxos is a man of peace.”

Xaro Xhoan Daxos is a man of gold, she thought, and gold will buy me all the ships and swords I need. “I have not asked you to take up a sword, only to lend me your ships.”

He smiled modestly. “Of trading ships I have a few, that is so. Who can say how many? One may be sinking even now, in some stormy corner of the Summer Sea. On the morrow, another will fall afoul of corsairs. The next day, one of my captains may look at the wealth in his hold and think, All this should belong to me. Such are the perils of trade. Why, the longer we talk, the fewer ships I am likely to have. I grow poorer by the instant.”

“Give me ships, and I will make you rich again.”

“Marry me, bright light, and sail the ship of my heart. I cannot sleep at night for thinking of your beauty.”

Dany smiled. Xaro’s flowery protestations of passion amused her, but his manner was at odds with his words. While Ser Jorah had scarcely been able to keep his eyes from her bare breast when he’d helped her into the palanquin, Xaro hardly deigned to notice it, even in these close confines. And she had seen the beautiful boys who surrounded the merchant prince, flitting through his palace halls in wisps of silk. “You speak sweetly, Xaro, but under your words I hear another no.”

“The Milk Men shun him. Khaleesi, do you see the girl in the felt hat? There, behind the fat priest. She is a—”

“—cutpurse,” finished Dany. She was no pampered lady, blind to such things. She had seen cutpurses aplenty in the streets of the Free Cities, during the years she’d spent with her brother, running from the Usurper’s hired knives.

Dany looked uneasily at where the ladder had stood. Even the smoke was gone now, and the crowd was breaking up, each man going about his business. In a moment more than a few would find their purses flat and empty.

ACOK Daenerys II

“Qarth is the greatest city that ever was or ever will be,” Pyat Pree had told her, back amongst the bones of Vaes Tolorro. [...]

Dany took the warlock’s words well salted, but the magnificence of the great city was not to be denied.

“I do not understand her.” Pyat and Xaro had showered Dany with promises from the moment they first glimpsed her dragons, declaring themselves her loyal servants in all things, but from Quaithe she had gotten only the rare cryptic word. And it disturbed her that she had never seen the woman’s face. Remember Mirri Maz Duur, she told herself. Remember treachery. She turned to her bloodriders. “We will keep our own watch so long as we are here. See that no one enters this wing of the palace without my leave, and take care that the dragons are always well guarded.”

“It shall be done, Khaleesi,” Aggo said.

“We have seen only the parts of Qarth that Pyat Pree wished us to see,” she went on. “Rakharo, go forth and look on the rest, and tell me what you find. Take good men with you—and women, to go places where men are forbidden.”

“As you say, I do, blood of my blood,” said Rakharo.

“Ser Jorah, find the docks and see what manner of ships lay at anchor. It has been half a year since I last heard tidings from the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps the gods will have blown some good captain here from Westeros with a ship to carry us home.”

The knight frowned. “That would be no kindness. The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise.” Mormont hooked his thumbs through his swordbelt. “My place is here at your side.”

“Jhogo can guard me as well. You have more languages than my bloodriders, and the Dothraki mistrust the sea and those who sail her. Only you can serve me in this. Go among the ships and speak to the crews, learn where they are from and where they are bound and what manner of men command them.”

“Khaleesi,” the knight said when they were alone, “I should not speak so freely of your plans, if I were you. This man will spread the tale wherever he goes now.”

“Let him,” she said. “Let the whole world know my purpose. The Usurper is dead, what does it matter?”

“Not every sailor’s tale is true,” Ser Jorah cautioned, “and even if Robert be truly dead, his son rules in his place. This changes nothing, truly.”

“This changes everything.” Dany rose abruptly. Screeching, her dragons uncoiled and spread their wings. Drogon flapped and clawed up to the lintel over the archway. The others skittered across the floor, wingtips scrabbling on the marble. “Before, the Seven Kingdoms were like my Drogo’s khalasar, a hundred thousand made as one by his strength. Now they fly to pieces, even as the khalasar did after my khal lay dead.”

“The high lords have always fought. Tell me who’s won and I’ll tell you what it means. Khaleesi, the Seven Kingdoms are not going to fall into your hands like so many ripe peaches. You will need a fleet, gold, armies, alliances—”

“All this I know.” She took his hands in hers and looked up into his dark suspicious eyes.

Sometimes he thinks of me as a child he must protect, and sometimes as a woman he would like to bed, but does he ever truly see me as his queen? “I am not the frightened girl you met in Pentos. I have counted only fifteen name days, true ... but I am as old as the crones in the dosh khaleen and as young as my dragons, Jorah. I have borne a child, burned a khal, and crossed the red waste and the Dothraki sea. Mine is the blood of the dragon.”

“As was your brother’s,” he said stubbornly.

“I am not Viserys.”

“No,” he admitted. “There is more of Rhaegar in you, I think, but even Rhaegar could be slain. Robert proved that on the Trident, with no more than a warhammer. Even dragons can die.”

“Dragons die.” She stood on her toes to kiss him lightly on an unshaven cheek. “But so do dragonslayers.”

ACOK Daenerys I

She dare not turn north onto the vast ocean of grass they called the Dothraki sea. The first khalasar they met would swallow up her ragged band, slaying the warriors and slaving the rest. The lands of the Lamb Men south of the river were likewise closed to them. They were too few to defend themselves even against that unwarlike folk, and the Lhazareen had small reason to love them. She might have struck downriver for the ports at Meereen and Yunkai and Astapor, but Rakharo warned her that Pono’s khalasar had ridden that way, driving thousands of captives before them to sell in the flesh marts that festered like open sores on the shores of Slaver’s Bay.

“Ghosts,” Irri muttered. “Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place.”

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important.

“...Nothing mattered but our love, I told myself. We fled to Lys, where I sold my ship for gold to keep us.”

His voice was thick with grief, and Dany was reluctant to press him any further, yet she had to know how it ended. “Did she die there?” she asked him gently.

“What shall we seek, Khaleesi?” asked Jhogo.

“Whatever there is,” Dany answered. “Seek for other cities, living and dead. Seek for caravans and people. Seek for rivers and lakes and the great salt sea. Find how far this waste extends before us, and what lies on the other side. When I leave this place, I do not mean to strike out blind again. I will know where I am bound, and how best to get there.”

Dany gave him charge of a dozen of her strongest men, and set them to pulling up the plaza to get to the earth beneath. If devilgrass could grow between the paving stones, other grasses would grow when the stones were gone. They had wells enough, no lack of water. Given seed, they could make the plaza bloom.

Dany thanked him and told him to see to the repair of the gates. If enemies had crossed the waste to destroy these cities in ancient days, they might well come again. “If so, we must be ready,” she declared.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys X

“I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur,” she said, “for the lessons you have taught me.”

“You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked her clothing.

“I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you told me. Only death can pay for life.” Mirri Maz Duur opened her mouth, but made no reply. As she stepped away, Dany saw that the contempt was gone from the maegi’s flat black eyes; in its place was something that might have been fear. Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and look for the first star.

When a horselord dies, his horse is slain with him, so he might ride proud into the night lands. The bodies are burned beneath the open sky, and the khal rises on his fiery steed to take his place among the stars. The more fiercely the man burned in life, the brighter his star will shine in the darkness.

Jhogo spied it first. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in the east. The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail. She could not have asked for a stronger sign.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. The godswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.

[...] Now, she thought, now, and for an instant she glimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. He smiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.

She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass began to shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showered with ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at her feet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled the world, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.

Only death can pay for life.

And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirled around her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children.

The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away ... yet she was unhurt.

The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.

Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.

And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

AGOT Daenerys IX

“The khal lives,” Irri answered quietly ... yet Dany saw a darkness in her eyes when she said the words, and no sooner had she spoken than she rushed away to fetch water.

My son is dead, she thought as Jhiqui left the tent. She had known somehow. She had known since she woke the first time to Jhiqui’s tears. No, she had known before she woke. Her dream came back to her, sudden and vivid, and she remembered the tall man with the copper skin and long silver-gold braid, bursting into flame.

She should weep, she knew, yet her eyes were dry as ash. She had wept in her dream, and the tears had turned to steam on her cheeks. All the grief has been burned out of me, she told herself. She felt sad, and yet ... she could feel Rhaego receding from her, as if he had never been.

“Princess, are you well? Should you be up, weak as you are?”

“Weak? I am strong, Jorah.” To please him, she reclined on a pile of cushions. “Tell me how my child died.”

“He never lived, my princess. The women say ...” He faltered, and Dany saw how the flesh hung loose on him, and the way he limped when he moved.

“Tell me. Tell me what the women say.” [...]

“They say the child was ...”

[...] “Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous.

AGOT Daenerys VIII

“We have ridden far enough today. We will camp here.”

“Here?” Haggo looked around them. The land was brown and sere, inhospitable. “This is no camping ground.”

“It is not for a woman to bid us halt,” said Qotho, “not even a khaleesi.”

“We camp here,” Dany repeated. “Haggo, tell them Khal Drogo commanded the halt. If any ask why, say to them that my time is near and I could not continue. Cohollo, bring up the slaves, they must put up the khal’s tent at once. Qotho—”

Irri wanted to leave the tent flaps open to let in the breeze, but Dany forbade it. She would not have any see Drogo this way, in delirium and weakness. When her khas came up, she posted them outside at guard. “Admit no one without my leave,” she told Jhogo. “No one.”

“Khaleesi,” Jhiqui said, “he fell from his horse.”

Trembling, her eyes full of sudden tears, Dany turned away from them. He fell from his horse! It was so, she had seen it, and the bloodriders, and no doubt her handmaids and the men of her khas as well. And how many more? They could not keep it secret, and Dany knew what that meant. A khal who could not ride could not rule, and Drogo had fallen from his horse.

Mirri Maz Duur had no use for the carcass. “Burn it,” Dany told them. It was what they did, she knew. When a man died, his mount was killed and placed beneath him on the funeral pyre, to carry him to the night lands. The men of her khas dragged the carcass from the tent.

“Take her to the maegi.”

No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see? Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.

[...] No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! she screamed. The dancers!

Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

AGOT Daenerys VII

They were suspicious of her, she realized with sadness; afraid that she had saved them for some worse fate.

“Why should you want to help my khal?” 

“All men are one flock, or so we are taught,” replied Mirri Maz Duur.

Drogo put a huge hand on her shoulder. She took some of his weight as they walked toward the great mud temple. The three bloodriders followed. Dany commanded Ser Jorah and the warriors of her khas to guard the entrance and make certain no one set the building afire while they were still inside.

AGOT Daenerys VI

Drogo would take his bloodriders and ride in search of hrakkar, the great white lion of the plains. If they returned triumphant, her lord husband’s joy would be fierce, and he might be willing to hear her out.

“I would still like to taste that summerwine you spoke of.”

The man bounded to his feet. “That? Dornish swill. It is not worthy of a princess. I have a dry red from the Arbor, crisp and delectable. Please, let me give you a cask.”

Khal Drogo’s visits to the Free Cities had given him a taste for good wine, and Dany knew that such a noble vintage would please him.

“You taste it first.”

“Me?” The man laughed. “I am not worthy of this vintage, my lord. And it’s a poor wine merchant who drinks up his own wares.” His smile was amiable, yet she could see the sheen of sweat on his brow.

“You will drink,” Dany said, cold as ice.

AGOT Daenerys V

Her handmaids had helped her ready herself for the ceremony. Despite the tender mother’s stomach that had afflicted her these past two moons, Dany had dined on bowls of half-clotted blood to accustom herself to the taste, and Irri made her chew strips of dried horseflesh until her jaws were aching. She had starved herself for a day and a night before the ceremony in the hopes that hunger would help her keep down the raw meat.

“Khalakka dothrae mr’anha!” she proclaimed in her best Dothraki. A prince rides inside me! She had practiced the phrase for days with her handmaid Jhiqui.

Khal Drogo laid his hand on Dany’s arm. She could feel the tension in his fingers. Even a khal as mighty as Drogo could know fear when the dosh khaleen peered into smoke of the future. At her back, her handmaids fluttered anxiously.

The Dothraki eyed the sword as he passed; Dany heard curses and threats and angry muttering rising all around her, like a tide.

There were five thousand men in the hall, but only a handful who knew the Common Tongue. Yet even if his words were incomprehensible, you had only to look at him to know that he was drunk.

Her brother drew his sword.

[...] Dany gave a wordless cry of terror. She knew what a drawn sword meant here, even if her brother did not.

AGOT Daenerys IV

Viserys was less impressed. “The trash of dead cities,” he sneered. He was careful to speak in the Common Tongue, which few Dothraki could understand, yet even so Dany found herself glancing back at the men of her khas, to make certain he had not been overheard. He went on blithely. “All these savages know how to do is steal the things better men have built ... and kill.” He laughed. “They do know how to kill. Otherwise I’d have no use for them at all.”

“They are my people now,” Dany said. “You should not call them savages, brother.”

“The dragon speaks as he likes,” Viserys said ... in the Common Tongue.

“The princess must be presented to the dosh khaleen ...”

“The crones, yes,” her brother interrupted, “and there’s to be some mummer’s show of a prophecy for the whelp in her belly, you told me. What is that to me? I’m tired of eating horsemeat and I’m sick of the stink of these savages.” He sniffed at the wide, floppy sleeve of his tunic, where it was his custom to keep a sachet. It could not have helped much. The tunic was filthy. All the silk and heavy wools that Viserys had worn out of Pentos were stained by hard travel and rotted from sweat.

AGOT Daenerys III

The khal had commanded the handmaid Irri to teach Dany to ride in the Dothraki fashion, but it was the filly who was her real teacher. The horse seemed to know her moods, as if they shared a single mind. With every passing day, Dany felt surer in her seat. The Dothraki were a hard and unsentimental people, and it was not their custom to name their animals, so Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved anything so much.

“Take his horse,” Dany commanded Ser Jorah. Viserys gaped at her. He could not believe what he was hearing; nor could Dany quite believe what she was saying. Yet the words came. “Let my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.” Among the Dothraki, the man who does not ride was no man at all, the lowest of the low, without honor or pride. “Let everyone see him as he is.”

Dany rode along quietly for a time, working his words like a puzzle box. It went against everything that Viserys had ever told her to think that the people could care so little whether a true king or a usurper reigned over them. Yet the more she thought on Jorah’s words, the more they rang of truth.

[...] “My brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms,” Dany said. She had known that for a long time, she realized. She had known it all her life. Only she had never let herself say the words, even in a whisper, but now she said them for Jorah Mormont and all the world to hear.

Ser Jorah gave her a measuring look. “You think not.”

“He could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one,” Dany said. “He has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The Dothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.”

Soon there would be laughter, when the men of her khas told the story of what had happened in the grasses today. By the time Viserys came limping back among them, every man, woman, and child in the camp would know him for a walker. There were no secrets in the khalasar.

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” she asked as Irri scrubbed her back and Jhiqui sluiced sand from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai and the islands of the Jade Sea. Perhaps some were still living there, in realms strange and wild.

“Dragons are gone, Khaleesi,” Irri said.

“Dead,” agreed Jhiqui. “Long and long ago.”

Viserys had told her that the last Targaryen dragons had died no more than a century and a half ago, during the reign of Aegon III, who was called the Dragonbane. That did not seem so long ago to Dany. “Everywhere?” she said, disappointed. “Even in the east?” Magic had died in the west when the Doom fell on Valyria and the Lands of the Long Summer, and neither spell-forged steel nor stormsingers nor dragons could hold it back, but Dany had always heard that the east was different. It was said that manticores prowled the islands of the Jade Sea, that basilisks infested the jungles of Yi Ti, that spellsingers, warlocks, and aeromancers practiced their arts openly in Asshai, while shadowbinders and bloodmages worked terrible sorceries in the black of night. Why shouldn’t there be dragons too?

They were on the far side of the Dothraki sea when Jhiqui brushed the soft swell of Dany’s stomach with her fingers and said, “Khaleesi, you are with child.”

“I know,” Dany told her.

AGOT Daenerys II

There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her brother, though she did not dare say it aloud.

Her brother Viserys gifted her with three handmaids. Dany knew they had cost him nothing; Illyrio no doubt had provided the girls.

~ “I shall treasure them always.” Dany had heard tales of such eggs, but she had never seen one, nor thought to see one. It was a truly magnificent gift, though she knew that Illyrio could afford to be lavish. He had collected a fortune in horses and slaves for his part in selling her to Khal Drogo.

A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.

The silver horse leapt the flames as if she had wings.

AGOT Daenerys I

Her brother held the gown up for her inspection. “This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric.”

Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. “Is it really mine?”

“A gift from the Magister Illyrio,” Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. “The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess.”

A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known. “Why does he give us so much?” she asked. “What does he want from us?” For nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister’s house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos.

“Illyrio is no fool,” Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale lilac eyes. “The magister knows that I will not forget my friends when I come into my throne.”

Dany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and other, less savory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and even beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside the Jade Sea. It was also said that he’d never had a friend he wouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price. Dany listened to the talk in the streets, and she heard these things, but she knew better than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it “waking the dragon.”

Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs.

“Now you look all a princess,” the girl said breathlessly when they were done. Dany glanced at her image in the silvered looking glass that Illyrio had so thoughtfully provided. A princess, she thought, but she remembered what the girl had said, how Khal Drogo was so rich even his slaves wore golden collars. She felt a sudden chill, and gooseflesh pimpled her bare arms.

Dany could smell the stench of Illyrio’s pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.

Her brother, sprawled out on his pillows beside her, never noticed. His mind was away across the narrow sea. “We won’t need his whole khalasar,” Viserys said. His fingers toyed with the hilt of his borrowed blade, though Dany knew he had never used a sword in earnest. “Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers. The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?”

“They are your people, and they love you well,” Magister Illyrio said amiably. “In holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of your return from across the water.” He gave a massive shrug. “Or so my agents tell me.”

Dany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the narrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio’s sweet words as she mistrusted everything about Illyrio. Her brother was nodding eagerly, however. “I shall kill the Usurper myself,” he promised, who had never killed anyone, “as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And Lannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father.”

“That would be most fitting,” Magister Illyrio said. Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing around his full lips, but her brother did not notice. Nodding, he pushed back a curtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the Trident once again.

Dany noticed that her brother’s hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his borrowed sword. He looked almost as frightened as she felt.

Magister Illyrio’s words were honey. “Many important men will be at the feast tonight. Such men have enemies. The khal must protect his guests, yourself chief among them, Your Grace. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head.”

“Oh, yes,” Viserys said darkly. “He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives follow us everywhere. I am the last dragon, and he will not sleep easy while I live.”

The palanquin slowed and stopped. The curtains were thrown back, and a slave offered a hand to help Daenerys out. His collar, she noted, was ordinary bronze.

#daenerys targaryen #a dance with dragons #a storm of swords #a clash of kings #a game of thrones #dany passages

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