#KHALEESI NEEDS TO BE TALL!!!

[galaxywarp]

Amazon is going to reimburse me for the cat items that were delivered to my old apartment by mistake and I was debating what to use the funds for because I actually have been able to get enough food and litter to last awhile and. It hit me.

Cat tree. I can finally get them a new cat tree.

I left their old one at the old apartment cuz it was beaten down and shredded from years of use and I meant to replace it when I moved here but I lost my job after moving in and couldn’t afford it anymore.

And I’ve felt bad for months because the cats loved their cat tower. they love to leap and climb and sleep on it. I never would have ditched the old one if I knew I wasn’t gonna be able to replace it.

I’ve had one on my “saved items” list for months. I picked it out forever ago.

It’s perfect. Those hammocks?? My cats LOVE hammocks. They’re going to absolutely LOVE this.

I wanted to still spend the money on the cats and I think this is perfect. This is so perfect. We can finally have a cat tower again omg. Omg I’m so excited im gonna cry lmfao omg

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Consider this quote that has launched a thousand ships...

“Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall.”

(Jon VI, ADWD)

This is one of those quotes that has a lot of hidden meanings, depending on the leans through which the reader interprets it.

I often see it used as shipping fodder - understandably so, given Jon's connection to both Arya and Daenerys. But I would argue that it really has a lot of symbolic significance to Jon, kings, and dragons.

For instance, Mel talking of men casting shadows upon the world and then immediately mentioning that Jon's own shadow looms large over one of the greatest wonders of the world reminds me of several quotes about Tyrion:

“Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are.” He favored Jon with a rueful grin. “Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs.” And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.

(Jon I, AGOT)

“Oh, I think that Lord Tyrion is quite a large man,” Maester Aemon said from the far end of the table. He spoke softly, yet the high officers of the Night’s Watch all fell quiet, the better to hear what the ancient had to say. “I think he is a giant come among us, here at the end of the world.”

(Tyrion III, AGOT)

Tyrion has often been likened to a small man who casts a giant-like shadow - often within the context of him wielding some sort of power/influence, as we can see with Vary's remarks. It's quite remarkable that Jon, a mere boy, is also equated with casting a giant-like shadow, especially within the context of him wielding innate magical power. I also find it difficult to ignore that Tyrion's shadow is said to stand as tall as a king, especially if we add the context of Jon comparing their heights earlier in that chapter.

We thus have shadows likened to kings. So where do the dragons come in?

“A trader from Qarth once told me that dragons came from the moon,” blond Doreah said as she warmed a towel over the fire. Jhiqui and Irri were of an age with Dany, Dothraki girls taken as slaves when Drogo destroyed their father’s khalasar. Doreah was older, almost twenty. Magister Illyrio had found her in a pleasure house in Lys. Silvery-wet hair tumbled across her eyes as Dany turned her head, curious. “The moon?” “He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi,” the Lysene girl said. “Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return.”

(Daenerys III, AGOT)

It's said that dragons are birthed from the moon. Daenerys' herself is presented as some sort of moon maid often in the text - which makes it all the more believable that she's the moon kissing Jon in Mel's quote.

But we must also consider Mel's quote within the larger context of the book in which it appears. For Jon, ADWD is full of symbolism regarding death, (re)birth, kings, Azor Ahai's legend, and dragons waking from stone.

Burning dead children had ceased to trouble Jon Snow; live ones were another matter. Two kings to wake the dragon. The father first and then the son, so both die kings. The words had been murmured by one of the queen’s men as Maester Aemon had cleaned his wounds. Jon had tried to dismiss them as his fever talking. Aemon had demurred. “There is power in a king’s blood,” the old maester had warned, “and better men than Stannis have done worse things than this.” The king can be harsh and unforgiving, aye, but a babe still on the breast? Only a monster would give a living child to the flames.

(Jon I, ADWD)

A repeated motif with the faith of R'hllor, especially as it pertains to Mel and her attempts to bring about Azor Ahai, is the idea of human sacrifice. Especially the sacrifice of king's blood. How curious that this line is repeated several times in the Wall plot? And how curious that we end the book with Jon's assassination.....

Throughout ADWD, Mel sees Jon in her visions, especially as she looks for Azor Ahai. Val later reminds him that there is some significance to what Mel sees

“His milk name. I had to call him something. See that he stays safe and warm. For his mother’s sake, and mine. And keep him away from the red woman. She knows who he is. She sees things in her fires.” Arya, he thought, hoping it was so. “Ashes and cinders.” “Kings and dragons.”

(Jon VIII, ADWD)

There irony here is that they're right. Mel sees Snow in her visions (though Jon is thinking of lowercase 's'). But only Val equates this to kings and dragons. We know that Jon is both.

“Pyp should learn to hold his tongue. I have heard the same from others. King’s blood, to wake a dragon. Where Melisandre thinks to find a sleeping dragon, no one is quite sure. It’s nonsense. Mance’s blood is no more royal than mine own. He has never worn a crown nor sat a throne. He’s a brigand, nothing more. There’s no power in brigand’s blood.”

(Sam I, AFFC)

There is a deep irony to this quote. We know that Jon is dead (or near death) by the end of ADWD. And if we consider R+L=J, then it seems that Melisandre has just found her sleeping dragon, whether she knows it or not. This could create a very interesting parallel to the Tragedy at Summerhall. which was intended to birth dragons but instead brought about a metaphorical dragon in Prince Rhaegar....who happens to be Jon's father, and who was initially thought to be Azor Ahai/TPTWP. Thus, there is an intended parallel of a Targaryen princeling mimicking dragons waking from stone with both Rhaegar and Jon.

Not only that but according to prophecy, Azor Ahai has been credited with having birthed dragons

“He is not dead. Stannis is the Lord’s chosen, destined to lead the fight against the dark. I have seen it in the flames, read of it in ancient prophecy. When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. Dragonstone is the place of smoke and salt.”

(Jon X, ADWD)

But we have what seems to be a different interpretation of prophecy that has Azor Ahai forging Lightbringer, and there is the mention of a moon....

“A hundred days and a hundred nights he labored on the third blade, and as it glowed white-hot in the sacred fires, he summoned his wife. ‘Nissa Nissa,’ he said to her, for that was her name, ‘bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.’ She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.

(Davos I, ACOK)

So all in all, we're told that dragons (allegedly) came from the moon, and that Azor Ahai's forging of Lightbringer caused a crack in the moon (which sounds very similar to the crack that brought forth dragons).

Side Note: Are these two different prophesies? Different interpretations of one prophecy? The second one talks of a very literal flaming sword, but did the crack in the moon also bring forth dragons? In that case, are there supposed to be two Lightbringers (a sword and dragons)?

When we consider all of these things, Jon is placed in a rather peculiar position. He could be the dragon being born from the moon....but what if he is the sun itself? (Or as close to the sun as he possible can be?)

Let's take a step back and consider again how Daenerys fits into all of this.

Dany pressed her heels into her silver and rode closer. “My lord,” she said softly. “Drogo. My sun-and-stars.”

(Daenerys VIII, AGOT)

Khal Drogo looked down at her. His face was a copper mask, yet under the long black mustache, drooping beneath the weight of its gold rings, she thought she glimpsed the shadow of a smile. “Is good name, Dan Ares wife, moon of my life,” he said.

(Daenerys V, AGOT)

As stated earlier, Daenerys has always been presented as a moon maid. In her interactions with Khal Drogo, he often called her the moon and she equated him with the sun; which makes for a very interesting comparison later on when Drogo's life is exchanged for dragons, and Dany kisses him sometime prior.

There aren't many similarities between Jon and Drogo, but Dany's House of the Undying visions place them both as her husbands.

Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness.… mother of dragons, bride of fire …

(Daenerys IV, ACOK)

Then we have the matter of Azor Ahai and his flaming sword, Lightbringer.

ADWD hints at the possibility that Jon will be the one (not Stannis) to successfully forge this legendary sword.

Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. 

(Jon XII, ADWD)

What's interesting about Lightbringer is that it's not just an ordinary flaming sword. There's more to say on the properties of Lightbringer but based on textual clues, we can assume that it must meet two conditions:

It must give off heat

It must be bright...as bright as the sun (Jon's ADWD dream indicates that his sword is giving off a light that encompasses the world around him: "his blade burned red in his fist...The world dissolved into a red mist."

Lightbringer being a stand in for the sun often comes up in relation to Stannis' false sword.

“Now he comes north humbled, with his tail between his legs. Why should I give him any aid? Answer me that.” Because he is your rightful king, Davos thought. Because he is a strong man and a just one, the only man who can restore the realm and defend it against the peril that gathers in the north. Because he has a magic sword that glows with the light of the sun. 

(Davos I, ADWD)

Stannis Baratheon drew Lightbringer. The sword glowed red and yellow and orange, alive with light. Jon had seen the show before … but not like this, never before like this. Lightbringer was the sun made steel.  [...] “Westeros has but one king,” said Stannis. His voice rang harsh, with none of Melisandre’s music. “With this sword I defend my subjects and destroy those who menace them. Bend the knee, and I promise you food, land, and justice. Kneel and live. Or go and die. The choice is yours.” He slipped Lightbringer into its scabbard, and the world darkened once again, as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. “Open the gates.”

(Jon III, ADWD)

This brings up a very interesting question for the reader to consider. If Jon is the one to successfully forge the true Lightbringer, then he becomes one who would wield the sun itself; which is undoubtedly going to be very important in the upcoming war for the dawn when all of Westeros will be covered by never ending darkness.

Jon himself is never directly linked to having the countenance of the sun, or being golden like the sun, but it must mean something if he is the one to harness the sun.

So going back to Mel's quote, it's a bit of a mental exercise to try and tease out what role Jon plays in this. The moon (which birthed dragons) has embraced him. But is Jon the dragon to be brought forth by the moon's actions? Is he the sun? Or maybe a hybrid of both?

[esther-dot]

HELPPPP, I KNEW THAT DAENERYS STANS HATED MIRRI MAZ DUUR, BUT AT LEAST, I THOUGHT THEY DIDN’T HATED HER FOR KILLING DROGO. GUESS I WAS WRONG.

https://www.tumblr.com/swordsandarms/716956244482637824/ultimately-mirri-was-selfish-outside-of-how-it?source=share

I talked before about how Drogo didn’t follow Mirri’s instructions, so I’m not sure she can be blamed for his death (link) and of course, the same thing applies with Rhaego:

And, if Mirri did intentionally set out to kill Drogo, I support that, just as I would support Dany if she had determined to kill him. The man is a rapist and a slaver, if his victims chose to take him out, I’d have no complaints!

I don’t think OP’s statements about Mirri take the facts of Rhaego or Drogo’s deaths into account, and I certainly disagree with the whitewashing of Drogo. If we go back and read the set-up, I would argue we’re being guided to sympathize with Mirri—not him. I think that view/the Dany view is being undercut:

Across the road, a girl no older than Dany was sobbingin a high thin voice as a rider shoved her over a pile of corpses, facedown, and thrust himself inside her. Other riders dismounted to take their turns. That was the sort of deliverance the Dothraki brought the Lamb Men.

I am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her face away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart and rode on toward the gate.

[…]

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

[…]

"I've told the khal he ought to make for Meereen," Ser Jorah said. "They'll pay a better price than he'd get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them."

[…]

"You heard my words," she said. "Stop them." She spoke to her khas in the harsh accents of Dothraki. "Jhogo, Quaro, you will aid Ser Jorah. I want no rape."

The warriors exchanged a baffled look.

Jorah Mormont spurred his horse closer. "Princess," he said, "you have a gentle heart, but you do not understand. This is how it has always been. Those men have shed blood for the khal. Now they claim their reward."

Across the road, the girl was still crying, her high singsong tongue strange to Dany's ears. The first man was done with her now, and a second had taken his place.

"She is a lamb girl," Quaro said in Dothraki. "She is nothing, Khaleesi. The riders do her honor. The Lamb Men lay with sheep, it is known."

"It is known," her handmaid Irri echoed.

"It is known," agreed Jhogo, astride the tall grey stallion that Drogo had given him. "If her wailing offends your ears, Khaleesi, Jhogo will bring you her tongue." He drew his arakh.

"I will not have her harmed," Dany said. "I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal Drogo will know the reason why."

"Ai, Khaleesi," Jhogo replied, kicking his horse. Quaro and the others followed his lead, the bells in their hair chiming.

"Go with them," she commanded Ser Jorah.

"As you command." The knight gave her a curious look. "You are your brother's sister, in truth."

"Viserys?" She did not understand.

"No," he answered. "Rhaegar." He galloped off.

Dany heard Jhogo shout. The rapers laughed at him. One man shouted back. Jhogo's arakh flashed, and the man's head went tumbling from his shoulders. Laughter turned to curses as the horsemen reached for weapons, but by then Quaro and Aggo and Rakharo were there. She saw Aggo point across the road to where she sat upon her silver. The riders looked at her with cold black eyes. One spat. The others scattered to their mounts, muttering.

All the while the man atop the lamb girl continued to plunge in and out of her, so intent on his pleasure that he seemed unaware of what was going on around him. Ser Jorah dismounted and wrenched him off with a mailed hand. The Dothraki went sprawling in the mud, bounced up with a knife in hand, and died with Aggo's arrow through his throat. Mormont pulled the girl off the pile of corpses and wrapped her in his blood-spattered cloak. He led her across the road to Dany. "What do you want done with her?"

The girl was trembling, her eyes wide and vague. Her hair was matted with blood. "Doreah, see to her hurts. You do not have a rider's look, perhaps she will not fear you. The rest, with me." She urged the silver through the broken wooden gate.

It was worse inside the town. Many of the houses were afire, and the jaqqa rhan had been about their grisly work. Headless corpses filled the narrow, twisty lanes. They passed other women being raped. Each time Dany reined up, sent her khas to make an end to it, and claimed the victim as slave. One of them, a thick-bodied, flat-nosed woman of forty years, blessed Dany haltingly in the Common Tongue, but from the others she got only flat black stares. They were suspicious of her, she realized with sadness; afraid that she had saved them for some worse fate. (AGOT, Daenerys VII)

The author wants us to know how horrific this is. The author tells us how abused these women are. And then the author has a sly line about Dany which initially leads us to side with Dany, believe these women are unnecessarily worried about her intentions, but what eventually befalls Mirri?

"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. (AGOT, Daenerys X)

The fires swept over Mirri Maz Duur. Her song grew louder, shriller … than she gasped, again and again, and her song became a shuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony. (AGOT, Daenery X)

A malicious, painful death at Dany’s hand. I simply don’t think the point of any of those scenes is that Mirri is a baddie.

[leelahsrose]

HONEY. | LIL MEECH

Thank you all for the support on the last chapter! Even if it was just one note I still would of been happy! Enjoy chapter two 🫶🏾.

chapter two.

"𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡, 𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨." -Eli Sostre, circa 2021.

10:30 AM

Khaleesi woke up the following morning with bags under her eyes, she was exhausted. The night life had its disadvantages but, she loves going out with Kali and helping her. The atmosphere, the people, the feeling of adrenaline. She couldn't get enough of it, it was like going on an adventure. She rolls out of bed and squints her eyes, the sunlight shining through her room was beautiful but blinding. The plain top that she has on reaches down to the middle of her thigh, her ass fills out the bottom of the shirt nicely.

She yawns, the pink thongs that she wears shows for a brief moment. Her black hair was all over the place, strands of it sticking to the side of her cheek. Khaleesi's feet were now stuck to the floor as she realizes she couldn't move, not even an inch. Her eyes remain gazing at Kamari's through the mirror in front of her. The small smile on his face said more than she could say in this moment.

"How did you find me-," He gets up quickly and pushes her gently into the wall. His finger over his mouth as he shushes her, his calm demeanor told her that he was not here to play games. Leesi's eyes began to water, her bottom lip quivering as she looks down at the gun from last night still in his waistband. "Please don't-"

"Baby, there's no reason to cry. I'm not here to hurt you." He wipes her eyes and she gradually calms down, her eyes blinking away the rest of the tears. "I just wanna know why you didn't tell me who you were at first. I had to do my own searching cause me... I know everybody that needs to be known up in this city. You and your sister, y'all new." Khaleesi watches as he sits on her bed, his voice echoing around the tall walls.

"You out here living in the suburbs and shit, you must be important. Come to find out, a nigga ain't ever seen you," Kamari stands back up to walk over and push a piece of hair behind her ear, "because you with the enemies." His voice was filled with bass, it tingled her ears.

"I don't want anything to do with you, I wasn't trying to get you in trouble. I have nothing to do with what my brother does." He creases his eyebrows together and shakes his head. "What?" Khaleesi says softly, her eyes traveling down to the bold tattoo stretched across the front part of his neck.

"You thought I came here to kill you?" Kamari's cuban was right in front of her face, she then realizes that she's practically naked on her bottom half. Khaleesi's hands reach to pull her shirt down, he grabs them swiftly. "No reason to do that, I done seen it all anyways." His lips were lingering over her ear then move over to her cheek. She couldn't turn her head to look at him, the stare he was pinning on her was causing her legs to squeeze together. "Hm, you want me to take care of that?" Kamari's voice buzzes in her ear lowly, almost causing a moan to slip from her mouth.

Khaleesi straightens up and fixes her posture, she pushes him against the chest and he backs up while staring at her. "I want you to tell me what you're doing here."

"Khaleesi Taylor, that's your name. Kali Taylor, Alicia Taylor, and Q Taylor." Kamari sits in the chair on the side of the bed, he breathes out deeply, his nostrils flaring. "You made a mistake walking up to me that night. I should've never seen you." Khaleesi's chest goes up and down steadily, her fingers fiddling with each other. Her heart pounding in her head— like how a fist knocks on a door. His legs were open and his hands were resting on the arm rests. "Cause now I gotta pursue you." He brings his thumb up to his lips and nibbles on the tip of his finger. "Damn, baby."

"You have to leave or my brother, he's going to kill you." Khaleesi didn't want to say those words but, she had to. Q is their family and he protected them fiercely. Now he's saying he's going to pursue her, she couldn't let this happen. She was surprised that he even got in easily but, her brother was away which meant his guards came and go: making it easier for him to sneak in. "You don't know who-"

“I know who your brother is, do you know who I am?" Leesi stares into his eyes and hers soften, she recognizes this man. Last night had to fly by quick for her not to notice who he was. Kamari sits up and clasps his hands together, his eyes never leaving hers. "Leesi—"

"Mari." She hesitates, her eyes searching his face throughly—Khaleesi then rushes into his arms and wraps them around his neck. "I didn't even recognize you, how did you find us?" Mari was Kali and Q's old childhood best friend, he had moved back here to his hometown when they were younger. Mari and Leesi were attached to the hip when they were teenagers, he walked her to school almost everyday to engage in one of their conversations but he was mainly friends with Q.

He was slightly older than her and basically the same age as her brother. She couldn't understand why he was on the opposite side. Why were Q and him fighting? "I didn't, you came to me." His arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, she had never felt so secure. Her hands run down the unfamiliar tattoos on his forearms, the pad of her fingers graze his cuban wristlet. "After I moved away I had to make something for my own. I was tired of taking orders from other niggas. Your brother was one of them, hate to say it."

"He's bossy, I can't disagree." Khaleesi's eyes finally meet with Kamari's. "We can't." She tries to fix her hair but, it wasn't worth it, he had already been gaping at the mess she woke up as. "You changed so much." She attempts to switch the subject, the way he conducts himself was completely different then when they were teens.

"You not ready for me yet, I get it."

"No, I'm scared of what Q will do."

"He won't know." Khaleesi stands up from his lap and walks over to her closet, she grabs a pair of sweats and turns around while pulling them up her legs. Kamari returning back into her life was crazy, insane even. She believed she would never lay eyes on him again. Crazy how your life can change with one person, what was the universe up to? “He didn't know about us when we were younger."

"We kissed once and maybe dated for a while, we can't continue this, Mari. I know you want other girls."

“Wait a damn minute, where this coming from?"

"You've always had options and I know you still do. I'm just saying why would you want to sit here and risk your life like this?!" Khaleesi tilts her head towards him, waiting for his answer.

"I feel like we've been given a second chance right now. When I seen you last night... fuck another weak bitch if she ain't you." They had went through situations together when they were younger that caused them to be pushed together more closely. She's far from weak, Khaleesi took care of him when his parents couldn't even know about what him and her brother did in the streets.

"He's dangerous, worse than when we were young."

“Stop acting like I'm not." He sits forward, his sight not leaving Khaleesi. "I'm not finna argue with you about this, I want what I want." The sunlight hits her eyes gently, the light brown in her orbs was ethereal. He leans back once more, his fingers grazing the stubble on his chin. "When's the last time we had sex?" Leesi's eyes look up at him quickly, sure, they took each other's virginity: that was years ago. Kamari stands up and takes small steps towards her, he eventually is standing face-to-face with Khaleesi.

"You didn't even last." Kamari scoffs and places a soft kiss on her forehead, Khaleesi feels a shiver erupt all the way down to her feet. Her eyes closed for a second then open back up, his lips felt smooth like leather.

"That's because a nigga was young, no experience whatsoever."

"You telling me you got better?" He moves his hands up to either side of her head, his palms flat on the wall. Khaleesi angles her head down to the right, she traces her finger up Kamari's clothed chest then back down slowly. His eyes follow her finger then land back on her eyes.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." The way he spoke to her was aggressive-like but, gingerly. He had definitely gained experience and it was making Khaleesi nervous. Of course she had slept with men of her own but, he was different, her first love: first everything. "Lame ass niggas can't handle you, you too real for them. Just saying." His words were sharp, he meant everything that came from his lips. "Think about it." Khaleesi presses herself against the wall as Kamari turns around and walks toward the balcony.

"You're going to hurt yourself leaving that way."

"How you think I got in?" He grins, his stunning smile showing itself. And with that, he disappears over the banister. Khaleesi smooths down her hair, she breathes heavily. It was the only audible sound in the room, she blinks her eyes then glances at the door. Everyone's still sleep? Her mind wonders. She walks over and twists the knob, on the other side, Kali stands in the slither of space.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kali pushes herself in and slams the door behind her.

"I know you didn't let that nigga in?!"

"Bitch, he showed up here this morning, thanks to you!" Kali arches her lip then rolls her eyes, she takes the time to re-tie the strings of her bonnet. "It's Mari."

"I know, I heard him. What does he want with you?"

"He wants to finish what we had." Her sister furrows her eyebrows together and laughs. "I'm serious."

"Fuck no, Q is going to kill him and you." She moves close to Khaleesi and takes ahold of her wrist. "You need to get rid of him before Q gets back. Leesi, are you hearing me?" Khaleesi felt frustrated, she didn't know what she wanted to do. A do-over with Kamari sounds so good, so tempting but dangerous. Forbidden. He didn't care for danger. That was the problem.

"Okay. I understand."

[kaerinio]

@tsareviich approached her grace: Does Dany hold any negative feelings over the fact that Drogo bought her? Or are there more negative feelings for her brother for selling her in the first place?

in those initial days (from her presentation to drogo, their wedding, and the first few weeks with the khalasar), daenerys expresses negative feelings; not in the form of resentment, but rather pure fear and terror. she grew up expecting that, should she be married off, it would be a marriage of gain for her brother's position . . . but when she saw drogo, she feared him. he was tall and strong and brooding; there was something fierce in his eyes. his very presence overwhelmed her, and his reputation as the most powerful khal struck dread in her heart. over time, that fear dissipated, and she grew to love drogo, for, even though he bought her, he did provide her with an environment she has longed for since her expulsion from the house with the red door. as his wife, daenerys never wanted for safety, never wanted for love, and never wanted for freedom; he provided all of that for her, and with all these factors secure, she was content to be his khaleesi. even looking back on drogo and the circumstances surrounding their marriage, she holds no ill will toward him for buying her because his safety was a gateway for her to find herself:

“[ . . . ] my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise.” - asos, daenerys ii

in this reflection, dany reveals that if viserys was going to sell her to someone, she's glad it was drogo. he didn't treat her like other khals have been known to treat their khaleesis or as other lords are known to treat their ladies. he didn't stifle or diminish her. he even laughed and applauded her ferocity when she snapped at one of his bloodriders. and, he treated her with more respect than viserys did following the selling of their mother's crown.

but also, there is a contextual difference between transactions in the dothraki tradition and transactions in the westerosi and broader essosi traditions. the dothraki do not buy and sell; they give gifts. for drogo, daenerys was not a person that he bought, and she was not a slave that he made the promise of gifting an army for. in fact, if he perceived her in that way, he wouldn't have felt the need to promise viserys his khalasar. or the need to essentially show off what he could offer her by hosting them both in his nine-towered manse in pentos. she was his wife, who he traded his entire khalasar for and also for whom he chose the silver mare.

viserys was the one who established the context of selling by not only . . . literally selling daenerys as a glorified sex slave, but asserting it as such through his language, his actions, and his hand in presenting dany to drogo.

now, in terms of viserys . . . dany has a lot of complex feelings. not only did viserys sell her, but he had a history of multi-modal abuse. for years. and it led up all the way to dany being married to drogo, and, even then, he tried to harm her during the journey to vaes dothrak. each time following the marriage, dany, empowered by her position, defended herself (something she had never done while in viserys' care).

when dany discovered that she was to be married, she just accepted it. it was her duty to aid her brother and king in any way as a faithful servant to his crown, but also as his sister and someone who just wanted to go home. when she realized that he was literally selling her, however . . . when she looked down at the gold collar being placed upon her and made the connection between drogo's slaves wearing gold collard, she despaired:

“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.” - agot, daenerys i

i think it's important to note that the collar is a gold torque with valyrian glyphs, which, to me, points toward both viserys and illyrio attempting to frame dany as a slave (more so viserys, who would directly benefit from dany's continued diminishment). later, we see dany beg viserys not to sell her. she begged him to call off the agreement and told him that they could find another way. rather than listening to her and comforting her, he threatened her with violence and essentially told her that he didn't care about what happened to her, about what fate could befall her as drogo's thing. all he cared about was getting what he paid for with her body. this, in dany's eyes, was the final betrayal, and the resentment began to eat at her core. not only was he selling her, but was discarding everything that was her: her humanity, her safety, her autonomy.

all her anger and sadness and feelings of betrayal continued to build when they were among the khalasar and viserys continually expressed his displeasure at “how long it's taking” for drogo to make good on their transaction. dany reminded him of the dothraki traditions surrounding transactions (which, his continued ignorance not only frustrated her, but she became more and more mortified as she began to understand that he sold her without even taking the time to understand the cultural context of the man he sold her to). but also, by insinuating that drogo essentially stole her, there is an assumption that she wasn't worth anything. on top of that, viserys attempted to harm her and spoke poorly of the dothraki, who welcomed her and cared for her as their khaleesi. she became more important than viserys, and he tried taking that anger out on daenerys, which, in turn, upset her because . . . none of that elevated status would have materialized if he hadn't sold her and if he had such disdain for drogo and the dothraki, why did he sell her in the first place and accompany them on their progression to vaes dothrak?

ultimately, daenerys' feelings of anger and resentment are saved for viserys. he is the one who sold her and who adhered to the context of selling her. additionally. a lot of her feelings here are associated with his prior treatment of her, his betrayal, and his total disregard for her. when it comes to drogo's involvement, she believes that he saw her as an actual gift, rather than a thing or a slave to be transacted upon. the promise of his khalasar to viserys' cause was one befit a bride as rare and beautiful as daenerys. when she discusses the fear of being sold, she is often discussing the uncertainty and terror she felt when she realized that her autonomy had been stolen and she had no control in the situation that her brother put her in. and being the fate-driven person that she is, daenerys comes to believe that it was, in some way, destined for her to marry drogo, as he provided her with the environment she needed to become a queen, to embark on her journey — — — and also to hatch the dragons.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Daenerys IX (Chapter 52)

Where is Vicky? I've waited long enough.

Jhiqui brought a soft towel to pat her dry. "Khaleesi, which tokar will you want today?" asked Irri.

"The yellow silk." The queen of the rabbits could not be seen without her floppy ears. The yellow silk was light and cool, and it would be blistering down in the pit. The red sands will burn the soles of those about to die. "And over it, the long red veils." The veils would keep the wind from blowing sand into her mouth. And the red will hide any blood spatters.

You have no idea.

+.+.+

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

It's LOCUSTS TIME!

Who poisoned the locusts? I apologize, we'll need Barry's POV to help solve this mystery. Today we'll only be covering the three major suspects.

Starting with SUSPECT #1: the Brazen Beasts (the Shavepate).

Within the first few paragraphs of the chapter we learn 1) the Brazen Beasts are guarding Daenerys instead of the Unsullied, 2) Some have doubtful loyalty.

We're off to a good start.

Ser Grandfather, Dany thought.

I would do anything for her to slip and say this out loud.

+.+.+

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

"How should Meereen ever come to trust the Brazen Beasts if I do not? There are good brave men beneath those masks. I put my life into their hands." 

3) They're unidentifiable.

The Shavepate was absent as well. The first thing Hizdahr had done upon being crowned was to remove him from command of the Brazen Beasts, replacing him with his own cousin, the plump and pasty Marghaz zo Loraq. It is for the best. The Green Grace says there is blood between Loraq and Kandaq, and the Shavepate never made a secret of his disdain for my lord husband. And Daario … - Daenerys VIII, ADWD

x

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. - Daenerys IV, ADWD

We don't know if the Shavepate is lurking under one of these masks.

I put my life into their hands.

Oop.

+.+.+

Dany smiled for him. "You fret too much, ser. I will have you beside me, what other protection do I need?"

Please oh please let him be there when she's murdered. I don't ask for much.

"Barristan the Bold, they call him. Twice he has saved me from assassins." - Daenerys III, ADWD

Three!!

+.+.+

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

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

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

"Will they come over to us, if need be?"

"She says they will. But for a price."

"Pay it." Meereen needed iron, not gold.

"The Tattered Prince will want more than coin, Your Grace. Meris says that he wants Pentos."

[...]

"Pentos belongs to the Pentoshi. And Magister Illyrio is in Pentos. He who arranged my marriage to Khal Drogo and gave me my dragon eggs. Who sent me you, and Belwas, and Groleo. I owe him much and more. I will not repay that debt by giving his city to some sellsword. No."

This must be here for a reason.

Let's see if she keeps this same energy when she learns about Illyrio and Aegon.

+.+.+

Ser Barristan inclined his head. "Your Grace is wise."

+.+.+

"Auspicious for you, perhaps. Less so for those who must die before the sun goes down."

"All men must die," said Hizdahr

Hehe.

+.+.+

When they caught sight of the palanquin emerging from the pyramid, a cheer went up from those nearest and spread across the plaza. How queer, the queen thought. They cheer me on the same plaza where I once impaled one hundred sixty-three Great Masters.

Daenerys rejecting a cheering crowd? Nothing will make this girl happy at this point.

+.+.+

A great drum led the royal procession to clear their way through the streets. Between each beat, a shavepate herald in a shirt of polished copper disks cried for the crowd to part. BOMM. "They come!" BOMM. "Make way!" BOMM. "The queen!" BOMM. "The king!" BOMM. 

The Red Wedding taught me to be wary of these noises.

+.+.+

Behind the drum marched Brazen Beasts four abreast. Some carried cudgels, others staves; all wore pleated skirts, leathern sandals, and patchwork cloaks sewn from squares of many colors to echo the many-colored bricks of Meereen. Their masks gleamed in the sun: boars and bulls, hawks and herons, lions and tigers and bears, fork-tongued serpents and hideous basilisks.

SUSPECT #1: the Brazen Beasts (the Shavepate) are name-dropped roughly 57 times at the start of this chapter. The author wants you to be aware of their presence.

+.+.+

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

You are also Dothraki in mind and spirit.

And did a whole lot less bitching at all the barbaric shit they did.

+.+.+

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

Dany turned. "Why are we stopped?"

Hizdahr stood. "The way is blocked."

A palanquin lay overturned athwart their way. 

Enter SUSPECT #2: House Pahl.

Why House Pahl?

There's a lot of bad blood between Daenerys and House Pahl.

It was true that there was blood between her and the House of Pahl. Oznak zo Pahl had been cut down by Strong Belwas in single combat. His father, commander of Meereen's city watch, had died defending the gates when Joso's Cock smashed them into splinters. Three uncles had been among the hundred sixty-three on the plaza. - Daenerys I, ADWD

It's now a house comprised of women who don't forgive or forget.

"You have no lack of enemies, Your Grace. You can see their pyramids from your terrace. Zhak, Hazkar, Ghazeen, Merreq, Loraq, all the old slaving families. Pahl. Pahl, most of all. A house of women now. Bitter old women with a taste for blood. Women do not forget. Women do not forgive." - Daenerys I, ADWD

Not the best situation to be abruptly stopped between a pyramid of theirs and Naqqan.

+.+.+

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

"—have been tamed," declared Hizdahr zo Loraq. 

Apparently Hizdahr knows the Common Tongue.

Or maybe the author is being ditzy again.

+.+.+

"Why should they seek to harm my queen when she has taken me for her king and consort? Now help that man, as my sweet queen has commanded." He took Dany by the hand and smiled.

I'm skipping ahead, but I have to make a point.

Introducing SUSPECT #3: Hizdahr zo Loraq.

I know what you're asking yourselves -

"Didn't she make him king? Didn't he get his fighting pits reopened? Didn't he successfully convince her to allow the slave trade to continue in Slaver's Bay? Didn't he get everything he wanted?"

Yes.

"What's his motive? Why would he want to kill Daenerys before they produce an heir?"

I don't know, ask the dumbfuck in white.

+.+.+

The Brazen Beasts did as they were bid. Dany watched them at their work. "Those bearers were slaves before I came. I made them free. Yet that palanquin is no lighter."

"True," said Hizdahr, "but those men are paid to bear its weight now. Before you came, that man who fell would have an overseer standing over him, stripping the skin off his back with a whip. Instead he is being given aid."

It was true. A Brazen Beast in a boar mask had offered the litter bearer a skin of water. "I suppose I must be thankful for small victories," the queen said.

How is that a small victory?

The Brazen Beasts are doing things!

+.+.+

"One step, then the next, and soon we shall be running. Together we shall make a new Meereen." 

Slly goose, why walk when you can fly?

+.+.+

Around them peddlers were selling dog sausages, roast onions, and unborn puppies on a stick, but Dany had no need of such. 

My Western brain is simply aghast at the cultural practices of these primitive uncivilized people.

The wedding feast began with a thin leek soup, followed by a salad of green beans, onions, and beets, river pike poached in almond milk, mounds of mashed turnips that were cold before they reached the table, jellied calves' brains, and a leche of stringy beef. - Catelyn VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Hizdahr had stocked their box with flagons of chilled wine and sweetwater, with figs, dates, melons, and pomegranates, with pecans and peppers and a big bowl of honeyed locusts. Strong Belwas bellowed, "Locusts!" as he seized the bowl and began to crunch them by the handful.

"Those are very tasty," advised Hizdahr. "You ought to try a few yourself, my love. They are rolled in spice before the honey, so they are sweet and hot at once."

"That explains the way Belwas is sweating," Dany said. "I believe I will content myself with figs and dates."

Boy, that doesn't look good for SUSPECT #3: Hizdahr zo Loraq.

Except, if he is trying to kill Daenerys, he's doing it in a way that would guarantee he's the prime suspect. Imagine how stupid it would have been if Olenna chose to hand Joffrey the glass of wine.

For the record, the locusts were already in their box when they arrived, Hizdahr was unbothered when she declined, and he will never mention the locusts again.

+.+.+

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. 

Random SUSPECT #2: House Pahl mention.

+.+.+

"Great Masters! My queen has come this day, to show her love for you, her people. By her grace and with her leave, I give you now your mortal art. Meereen! Let Queen Daenerys hear your love!"

Ten thousand throats roared out their thanks; then twenty thousand; then all. They did not call her name, which few of them could pronounce. "Mother!" they cried instead; in the old dead tongue of Ghis, the word was Mhysa! They stamped their feet and slapped their bellies and shouted, "Mhysa, Mhysa, Mhysa," until the whole pit seemed to tremble. Dany let the sound wash over her. I am not your mother, she might have shouted, back, I am the mother of your slaves, of every boy who ever died upon these sands whilst you gorged on honeyed locusts. Behind her, Reznak leaned in to whisper in her ear, "Magnificence, hear how they love you!"

No, she knew, they love their mortal art. 

Even "Mhysa, Mhysa, Mhysa" is not cheering up grumpy? Man oh man, these people are going to die a bad death.

+.+.+

Khrazz was Meereenese, of humble birth—a tall man with a brush of stiff red-black hair running down the center of his head. His foe was an ebon-skinned spearman from the Summer Isles whose thrusts kept Khrazz at bay for a time, but once he slipped inside the spear with his shortsword, only butchery remained. After it was done, Khrazz cut the heart from the black man, raised it above his head red and dripping, and took a bite from it.

"Khrazz believes the hearts of brave men make him stronger," said Hizdahr. Jhiqui murmured her approval. Dany had once eaten a stallion's heart to give strength to her unborn son … but that had not saved Rhaego when the maegi murdered him in her womb.

Ser Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty, yet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the darkness. He knew it too; the grey face, the hollow eyes, the limp. "The shadows have touched you too, Ser Jorah," she told him. The knight made no reply. Dany turned to the godswife. "You warned me that only death could pay for life. I thought you meant the horse."

"No," Mirri Maz Duur said. "That was a lie you told yourself. You knew the price."

Had she? Had she? If I look back I am lost. "The price was paid," Dany said. - Daenerys IX, AGOT

+.+.+

Three treasons shall you know. She was the first, Jorah was the second, Brown Ben Plumm the third. Was she done with betrayals?

How is Brown Ben Plumm your treason for love? God, what a dumb person.

+.+.+

"Ah," said Hizdahr, pleased. "Now comes the Spotted Cat. See how he moves, my queen. A poem on two feet."

The foe Hizdahr had found for the walking poem was as tall as Goghor and as broad as Belwas, but slow. They were fighting six feet from Dany's box when the Spotted Cat hamstrung him. As the man stumbled to his knees, the Cat put a foot on his back and a hand around his head and opened his throat from ear to ear. The red sands drank his blood, the wind his final words. The crowd screamed its approval.

Some of these fights appear to be foreshadowing future events. It's possible the Spotted Cat might be hinting at someone.

If Arya is slitting someone's throat, it's not Walder Frey's.

+.+.+

"Bad fighting, good dying," said Strong Belwas. "Strong Belwas hates it when they scream." He had finished all the honeyed locusts. He gave a belch and took a swig of wine.

Daenerys loves it when they scream.

Because he drank wine, a ton of people question whether it was the locusts or the wine that poisoned him.

Why does it matter? We don't have to overthink this.

+.+.+

"This one shows much promise, my sweet," Hizdahr said of a Lysene youth with long blond hair that fluttered in the wind … but his foe grabbed a handful of that hair, pulled the boy off-balance, and gutted him. In death he looked even younger than he had with blade in hand. "A boy," said Dany. "He was only a boy."

"Six-and-ten," Hizdahr insisted. "A man grown, who freely chose to risk his life for gold and glory. No children die today in Daznak's, as my gentle queen in her wisdom has decreed."

That's considered fAegon evidence.

Aurane did not resemble Prince Rhaegar as much as she had thought. He has the hair, but so do half the whores in Lys, if the tales are true. Rhaegar was a man. This is a sly boy, no more. Useful in his way, though. - Cersei VIII, ADWD

x

He was a lithe and well-made youth, with a lanky build and a shock of dark blue hair. The dwarf put his age at fifteen, sixteen, or near enough to make no matter. - Tyrion III, ADWD

+.+.+

"A boy," said Dany. "He was only a boy."

"Six-and-ten," Hizdahr insisted.

"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." - Daenerys III, ASOS

Shut up, Daenerys.

+.+.+

Another small victory. Perhaps I cannot make my people good, she told herself, but I should at least try to make them a little less bad. 

Do you ever remember her thinking about the Dothraki this way? I don't.

+.+.+

It had been the custom to sentence criminals to the pits; that practice she agreed might resume, but only for certain crimes. "Murderers and rapers may be forced to fight, and all those who persist in slaving, but not thieves or debtors."

It's okay when we're doing Justice™.

+.+.+

Beasts were still allowed, though. Dany watched an elephant make short work of a pack of six red wolves.

The number six is a little troubling. Hopefully nothing.

+.+.+

Next a bull was set against a bear in a bloody battle that left both animals torn and dying. "The flesh is not wasted," said Hizdahr. "The butchers use the carcasses to make a healthful stew for the hungry. Any man who presents himself at the Gates of Fate may have a bowl."

"A good law," Dany said. You have so few of them. "We must make certain that this tradition is continued."

Has the novelty worn off?

+.+.+

After the beast fights came a mock battle, pitting six men on foot against six horsemen, the former armed with shields and longswords, the latter with Dothraki arakhs. The mock knights were clad in mail hauberks, whilst the mock Dothraki wore no armor. At first the riders seemed to have the advantage, riding down two of their foes and slashing the ear from a third, but then the surviving knights began to attack the horses, and one by one the riders were unmounted and slain, to Jhiqui's great disgust. "That was no true khalasar," she said.

Bwahahahaha.

First the snow, and now this? I'm starting to think these Dothraki might struggle in Westeros!

The man was no knight, but his courage had earned him that much courtesy. Khrazz did not know how to fight a man in armor. Ser Barristan could see it in his eyes: doubt, confusion, the beginnings of fear. The pit fighter came on again, screaming this time, as if sound could slay his foe where steel could not. The arakh slashed low, high, low again. - The Kingbreaker, ADWD

(Shoutout to @redwolf17 for helping me find the quote!)

+.+.+

The battle was followed by the day's first folly, a tilt between a pair of jousting dwarfs, presented by one of the Yunkish lords that Hizdahr had invited to the games. One rode a hound, the other a sow. Their wooden armor had been freshly painted, so one bore the stag of the usurper Robert Baratheon, the other the golden lion of House Lannister. That was for her sake, plainly. Their antics soon had Belwas snorting laughter, though Dany's smile was faint and forced. When the dwarf in red tumbled from the saddle and began to chase his sow across the sands, whilst the dwarf on the dog galloped after him, whapping at his buttocks with a wooden sword, she said, "This is sweet and silly, but …"

"Be patient, my sweet," said Hizdahr. "They are about to loose the lions."

Daenerys gave him a quizzical look. "Lions?"

"Three of them. The dwarfs will not expect them."

She frowned. "The dwarfs have wooden swords. Wooden armor. How do you expect them to fight lions?"

"Badly," said Hizdahr, "though perhaps they will surprise us. More like they will shriek and run about and try to climb out of the pit. That is what makes this a folly."

Dany was not pleased. "I forbid it."

"Gentle queen. You do not want to disappoint your people."

"You swore to me that the fighters would be grown men who had freely consented to risk their lives for gold and honor. These dwarfs did not consent to battle lions with wooden swords. You will stop it. Now."

The king's mouth tightened. For a heartbeat Dany thought she saw a flash of anger in those placid eyes. "As you command." Hizdahr beckoned to his pitmaster. "No lions," he said when the man trotted over, whip in hand.

And just like that, Hizdahr becomes a sadist.

That must mean someone is going to brutally kill him.

+.+.+

The dwarfs were herded off, pig and dog and all, as the spectators hissed their disapproval and pelted them with stones and rotten fruit.

Why must Penny be there? I'm not allowed to have one happy moment.

+.+.+

The boar was a huge beast, with tusks as long as a man's forearm and small eyes that swam with rage. She wondered whether the boar that had killed Robert Baratheon had looked as fierce. A terrible creature and a terrible death. For a heartbeat she felt almost sorry for the Usurper.

"Barsena is very quick," Reznak said. "She will dance with the boar, Magnificence, and slice him when he passes near her. He will be awash in blood before he falls, you shall see."

It began just as he said. The boar charged, Barsena spun aside, her blade flashed silver in the sun. "She needs a spear," Ser Barristan said, as Barsena vaulted over the beast's second charge. "That is no way to fight a boar." He sounded like someone's fussy old grandsire, just as Daario was always saying.

Sure, now you're a boar expert.

He sounded like someone's fussy old grandsire, just as Daario was always saying.

How do people read this and not see Cersei?

+.+.+

Shouting, she edged closer to the boar, tossing her knife from hand to hand. When the beast backed away, she cursed and slashed at his snout, trying to provoke him … and succeeding. This time her leap came an instant too late, and a tusk ripped her left leg open from knee to crotch.

A moan went up from thirty thousand throats. Clutching at her torn leg, Barsena dropped her knife and tried to hobble off, but before she had gone two feet the boar was on her once again. 

+.+.+

"Fighting pigs is brave, but it is not brave to scream so loud. It hurts Strong Belwas in the ears." The eunuch rubbed his swollen stomach, crisscrossed with old white scars. "It makes Strong Belwas sick in his belly too."

See what happens when you talk shit?

That's why I always have ipecac on hand.

+.+.+

The boar buried his snout in Barsena's belly and began rooting out her entrails. The smell was more than the queen could stand. The heat, the flies, the shouts from the crowd … I cannot breathe. She lifted her veil and let it flutter away. She took her tokar off as well. The pearls rattled softly against one another as she unwound the silk.

"Khaleesi?" Irri asked. "What are you doing?"

"Taking off my floppy ears."

There goes the pearly tokar. Forever.

Guys, I think she might be done with Meereen.

(Is she half naked? Lol.)

+.+.+

"Belaquo will win," Irri declared. "It is known."

"It is not known," Jhiqui said. "Belaquo will die."

"One will die, or the other will," said Dany. "And the one who lives will die some other day. This was a mistake."

"Strong Belwas ate too many locusts." There was a queasy look on Belwas's broad brown face. "Strong Belwas needs milk."

Hizdahr ignored the eunuch. 

SUSPECT #3: Hizdahr zo Loraq doesn't appear to know what's happening to Strong Belwas. Kind of strange when you're the one who poisoned the locusts.

The Dothraki girls loving the entertainment is a nice touch.

+.+.+

"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." 

Look at how pouty she is over fake love.

+.+.+

A shadow rippled across his face.

The tumult and the shouting died. Ten thousand voices stilled. Every eye turned skyward. A warm wind brushed Dany's cheeks, and above the beating of her heart she heard the sound of wings. Two spearmen dashed for shelter. The pitmaster froze where he stood. The boar went snuffling back to Barsena. Strong Belwas gave a moan, stumbled from his seat, and fell to his knees.

+.+.+

Above them all the dragon turned, dark against the sun. His scales were black, his eyes and horns and spinal plates blood red. Ever the largest of her three, in the wild Drogon had grown larger still. His wings stretched twenty feet from tip to tip, black as jet. He flapped them once as he swept back above the sands, and the sound was like a clap of thunder. The boar raised his head, snorting … and flame engulfed him, black fire shot with red. Dany felt the wash of heat thirty feet away. The beast's dying scream sounded almost human. Drogon landed on the carcass and sank his claws into the smoking flesh. As he began to feed, he made no distinction between Barsena and the boar.

Won't be the last time we hear that sound.

Thunder!

+.+.+

"Oh, gods," moaned Reznak, "he's eating her!" The seneschal covered his mouth. Strong Belwas was retching noisily. A queer look passed across Hizdahr zo Loraq's long, pale face—part fear, part lust, part rapture. He licked his lips.

Will someone get Belwas some ginger ale?

I don't think she's projecting.

"Hot and sweet and poisoned. With mine own ears I heard you commanding the men in the pit to kill Drogon. Shouting at them."

Hizdahr licked his lips. "The beast devoured Barsena's flesh. Dragons prey on men. It was killing, burning …" - The Kingbreaker, ADWD

Hizdahr has suddenly transformed into a weirdo who fetishizes all violence.

+.+.+

Dany could see the Pahls streaming up the steps, clutching their tokars and tripping over the fringes in their haste to be away. Others followed. Some ran, shoving at one another. More stayed in their seats.

There goes SUSPECT #2: House Pahl. No other family mentioned.

Do I think the author is purposely misleading the reader? Yes.

+.+.+

One man took it on himself to be a hero.

He was one of the spearmen sent out to drive the boar back to his pen. Perhaps he was drunk, or mad. Perhaps he had loved Barsena Blackhair from afar or had heard some whisper of the girl Hazzea. Perhaps he was just some common man who wanted bards to sing of him. He darted forward, his boar spear in his hands. Red sand kicked up beneath his heels, and shouts rang out from the seats. Drogon raised his head, blood dripping from his teeth.

Say her name.

I know it's similar, but I don't believe the Jaime charging Drogon scene was real. It was too stupid.

+.+.+

The hero leapt onto his back and drove the iron spearpoint down at the base of the dragon's long scaled neck.

Dany and Drogon screamed as one.

Sansa couldn't help but smile a little. The kennelmaster once told her that an animal takes after its master. - Sansa I, AGOT

+.+.+

The hero leaned into his spear, using his weight to twist the point in deeper. Drogon arched upward with a hiss of pain. His tail lashed sideways. She watched his head crane around at the end of that long serpentine neck, saw his black wings unfold. The dragonslayer lost his footing and went tumbling to the sand. He was trying to struggle back to his feet when the dragon's teeth closed hard around his forearm. "No" was all the man had time to shout. Drogon wrenched his arm from his shoulder and tossed it aside as a dog might toss a rodent in a rat pit.

NOT A RAT PIT.

She called him a dragonslayer, I love it.

+.+.+

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

Ser Barristan held her tightly. "Look away, Your Grace."

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

It's reverse Cinderella. Drizella lost her shoe while running towards her Prince Charming. Shoutout to @agentrouka-blog for the laugh!

All the Strong Belwas stuff happening in the background is so funny.

+.+.+

The hero was jerking on the sand, the bright blood pouring from the ragged stump of his shoulder. His spear remained in Drogon's back, wobbling as the dragon beat his wings. Smoke rose from the wound. As the other spears closed in, the dragon spat fire, bathing two men in black flame.

His flames are black? I didn't know that.

I'm not suggesting he's Black Flame from the Quaithe warning.

+.+.+

The Meereenese were screaming, cursing, howling. Dany could hear someone pounding after her. "Drogon," she screamed. "Drogon."

His head turned. Smoke rose between his teeth. His blood was smoking too, where it dripped upon the ground. He beat his wings again, sending up a choking storm of scarlet sand. Dany stumbled into the hot red cloud, coughing. He snapped.

"No" was all that she had time to say. No, not me, don't you know me? The black teeth closed inches from her face. He meant to tear my head off. The sand was in her eyes. She stumbled over the pitmaster's corpse and fell on her backside.

Lady would never.

+.+.+

Drogon roared. The sound filled the pit. A furnace wind engulfed her. The dragon's long scaled neck stretched toward her. When his mouth opened, she could see bits of broken bone and charred flesh between his black teeth. His eyes were molten. I am looking into hell, but I dare not look away. She had never been so certain of anything. If I run from him, he will burn me and devour me.

Ghost would never.

+.+.+

In Westeros the septons spoke of seven hells and seven heavens, but the Seven Kingdoms and their gods were far away. If she died here, Dany wondered, would the horse god of the Dothraki part the grass and claim her for his starry khalasar, so she might ride the nightlands beside her sun-and-stars? Or would the angry gods of Ghis send their harpies to seize her soul and drag her down to torment? Drogon roared full in her face, his breath hot enough to blister skin.

Of course she hopes for a Dothraki heaven.

+.+.+

Off to her right Dany heard Barristan Selmy shouting, "Me! Try me. Over here. Me!"

You have one job, demon.

+.+.+

In the smoldering red pits of Drogon's eyes, Dany saw her own reflection. How small she looked, how weak and frail and scared. I cannot let him see my fear. She scrabbled in the sand, pushing against the pitmaster's corpse, and her fingers brushed against the handle of his whip. Touching it made her feel braver. The leather was warm, alive. Drogon roared again, the sound so loud that she almost dropped the whip. His teeth snapped at her.

Summer would never.

The whip kills me every time.

+.+.+

Dany hit him. "No," she screamed, swinging the lash with all the strength that she had in her. The dragon jerked his head back. "No," she screamed again. "NO!" The barbs raked along his snout. Drogon rose, his wings covering her in shadow. Dany swung the lash at his scaled belly, back and forth until her arm began to ache. His long serpentine neck bent like an archer's bow. With a hisssssss, he spat black fire down at her. Dany darted underneath the flames, swinging the whip and shouting, "No, no, no. Get DOWN!" His answering roar was full of fear and fury, full of pain. His wings beat once, twice …

… and folded. The dragon gave one last hiss and stretched out flat upon his belly. Black blood was flowing from the wound where the spear had pierced him, smoking where it dripped onto the scorched sands. He is fire made flesh, she thought, and so am I.

I'm going to have to stop there, because Drogon's about as well trained as Nymeria.

+.+.+

Daenerys Targaryen vaulted onto the dragon's back, seized the spear, and ripped it out. The point was half-melted, the iron red-hot, glowing. She flung it aside. Drogon twisted under her, his muscles rippling as he gathered his strength. The air was thick with sand. Dany could not see, she could not breathe, she could not think. The black wings cracked like thunder, and suddenly the scarlet sands were falling away beneath her.

Thunder!

Why am I not getting a description of Barry's charred body? These god damn Targaryens and their dragons can't do anything right.

+.+.+

The lash was still in her hand. She flicked it against Drogon's neck and cried, "Higher!" Her other hand clutched at his scales, her fingers scrabbling for purchase. Drogon's wide black wings beat the air. Dany could feel the heat of him between her thighs. Her heart felt as if it were about to burst. Yes, she thought, yes, now, now, do it, do it, take me, take me, FLY!

Look, they're consummating the marriage.

This is so much funnier when you realize she removed clothing.

Final thoughts:

Don't you love how the show turned the Second Coming of Satan chapter into a scene where baby boy Drogon gets to heroically save his mommy from the evil ambushing Sons of the Harpy?

Great stuff, guys.

-> return to menu <-

[the-iceni-bitch]

I need to know how long and thick the Chris characters 🍆🍆🍆are 😮‍💨

I think this may be my favorite ask I’ve ever gotten 😂

Ok, I’m just gonna warn y’all, I’m a bit of a size queen so all the boys are big.

Ninja and Puppy AU

Puppy: Ransom has got the prettiest fucking cock. Eight and a half inches long, two inches thick, nicely groomed hair and good, round symmetrical balls that just add to the whole look.

Ari: Almost nine inches, two and a half inches thick, gorgeous. A little hairier than puppy but keeps everything well trimmed and uses oil to keep it nice and soft.

Andy: eight inches, little more than two inches thick. Hair as perfectly manicured as his beard.

Steve: ten inches, almost as thick as his wrist. Really fucking cocky about it.

Jake: eight and a quarter, slightly less than two inches thick, shy about it. Manscapes but not excessively.

——————————————————————

Dilf Steve: Steve’s dick is intimidating. I’d say a good 9 inches long and two and a half inches in diameter, so he’s literally splitting you in half. And it’s pretty, pink and shiny and the piercing is just icing on the damn cake.

Bobby: Bobby has a beer can of a cock, a fucking tall boy. Eight inches long and so fucking thick, it’s a wonder you can breathe at all when he’s fucking your throat

Jake (from Jake and Khaleesi): it’s eight and a half inches of pretty pink perfection, not super thick but enough that he gives a good stretch every time.

Any other specific ones you guys wanna know about? I’m always down for some dick talk.

[galaxywarp]

I had started to forget how much I actually really genuinely love having lots of cats so long as im keeping up with my chores so that everyone has clean space to spread out and relax.

Bonnie, Clyde and Lulu are waiting for our next round of laser pointer to start. Lulu in particular loves to run up and down the length of the apartment at top speed chasing it

Khaleesi is sleeping on the couch. Lucky is in my bedroom

In the afternoon, Lulu loves to watch the sunlight through the windows dance along the walls. So I set up her favorite stuff in that corner

Khaleesi loves to be tall and needs time away from everyone else to decompress so I made her a bedroom out of the cupboard over the fridge

Lucky found out he likes the gaming chair

And I put the kitty fountain in the bathtub so several times a day they go in there and splash around then come back to me with wet chilly paws to snuggle

I love watching them just. Live in my house with me. I love watching them interact. Bonnie and Clyde still fall asleep holding each other. Lulu monitors any other cat that comes to the water dish because she’s so protective of it. Clyde is trying to figure out how to play with Lucky because he’s excited about having a new brother but still a little timid.

They’re my babies. I love them.

[welovediaaxx]

| purely physical |

05

masterlist

after their shopping spree, y/n, suki and katara made their way back home. y/n quickly put on some makeup and got dressed in the outfit katara picked out for her. she brushed out her hair in a hurry, grabbed her keys and made her way into her car to pick up toph on her way to zuko and sokka’s apartment. y/n had a special bond with toph, she always felt like she could tell her everything without being judged. toph, although she would never admit i,t liked y/n the best out of their whole friend group.

their friendship goes all the way back to their high school days. she remembers when toph just transferred over to their school, everybody underestimated the small blind girl. they treated her like a fragile child. even the teachers tippy-toed around her, but not y/n. she treated her like a normal, capable human being. toph really appreciated that. y/n introduced her to the rest of the group and the rest is history.

y/n slowly pulled into toph’s building and honked 3 times as she waited for her to walk to the car. as always, toph was waiting for her on a bench near the front door. she quickly got in her car and immediately connected her phone to the aux. they drove for about 10 minutes to zuko and sokka’s place in comfortable silence.

after countless flights of stairs, they finally made their way to the front door where they could hear faint music from the inside. toph knocked on the door. they heard sokka yell “come in!” from the inside. 

when they walked in they were immediately engulfed in hugs by an unfamiliar figure. “ty lee?” y/n exclaimed to her friend “i didn’t know you were coming!”

“of course we came, it’s not an actual party without us” said a second voice. she turned around and looked at azula who was holding a red solo cup, sitting on the couch next to katara, mai and sokka. 

“oh zuzu, you’re here too!” said y/n. she could hear a few snickers in the background probably coming from sokka, but she focused her view on azula.

“i told you to stop calling me that,” azula said as she rolled her eyes. y/n smiled and hugged her. “it’s good to see you” said azula

y/n smiled at her and made her way to say hi to everybody else. (and give some special attention to aang’s fluffy dog, appa).

she noticed a certain boy missing from the bunch but she didn’t think much of it. y/n made her way to the kitchen to get a drink, after filling her cup, she plopped on the couch next to sokka.

 “hey, i need to talk to you in private” sokka said “oh, okay.let’s go to the balcony then” y/n responded as they both got up and started walking towards the balcony.

they were a few steps away as y/n’s body collided with a tall figure. she looked up and realized it was zuko who she spilt her whole drink on.

 “zuko! i’m so sorry i-i wasn’t looking where i was goi-“ y/n started “it’s fine y/n, you can make it up to me by helping me pick out a shirt,” zuko said. y/n glanced at sokka and sent him an apologetic look, sokka nodded and quickly told her he’d wait for her outside.

“god zuko i’m so so sorry” y/n apologized for the 100th time as zuko started looking for a shirt in his drawers. “y/n it’s just a shirt calm down” zuko said with a grin on his face “stop laughing at me you jerk i’m just sor-“ y/n was interrupted by zuko’s abs as he started taking off his shirt. she was speechless to say the least.

although she wanted more than anything to look away, she couldn’t. this was a different feeling for her, she never looked at zuko like this before. they’ve been best friends since childhood she couldn’t have possibly have feelings for him, could she? “you should probably stop staring at me, it’s not a good look on you” zuko snickered.

y/n could feel her cheeks turning bright red. “oh shut up i wasn’t staring at you, i was-uh looking out the window” y/n said as she tried to look at anything but his toned muscles. “oh yeah, nice save,” zuko said as he put his shirt back on.

y/n made her way to the loveseat under his window in an attempt to hide her flustered face. “i need to talk to you about something,” zuko said as he sat next to her and looked out the window “

what’s up zuzu?” y/n responded. she couldn’t stop herself from looking at his beautiful face. the moonlight enlightened his face perfectly. “we’ve been friends forever, and i appreciate this friendship a lot, i appreciate you so much. you were there for me through everything, through thick and thin. i don’t know how i would have dealt with my teenage years if you weren’t there for me. i probably wouldn’t have met any of our friends if it wasn’t for you. azula and i would still hate each other if it wasn’t for you. i guess what i’m trying to say is that… i love you y/n. always have, always will. i know you probably don’t feel the same way and you see me as just a friend but i really have to get this off my chest”

y/n sat there, wide eyed still processing every word he just said to her. she never thought about zuko in a romantic way but she didn’t mind this. after months of being fuck buddies with a guy she knew she could never have in a romantic way she liked this kind of attention from zuko. she liked the feeling of being loved, being needed. without thinking, she crashed her lips into zuko’s and he immediately kissed back. the kisses were desperate and passionate. zuko was a good kisser, y/n had to admit. they pulled away after a minute, both of them out of breath.

zuko just stood there, admiring the features of the beautiful girl sitting in front of him. “so- uh … does this mean you feel the same way about me?”

“y-yeah. it does mean that. i think it’s kind of obvious, but i want to take things slow, i hope you don’t mind” she said. “no, of course not. i’m just so glad you feel the same way - you have no idea how happy this makes me feel” zuko said with the biggest grin on his face. “come on we should probably make our way to the living room, we don’t want everyone getting too suspicious,” y/n said. they got up and walked to the rest of the group hand in hand.

 what they didn’t see or hear was the fact sokka saw everything. he saw them kissing, zuko expressing his love for the girl he loves. he didn’t blame him, she was perfect in his eyes, he couldn’t understand how anybody wouldn’t want her. something that y/n didn’t know is that while kissing zuko, she was the one that broke a piece of sokka’s heart.

 an: y/n do be having issues tho. i rly didn’t want to glorify the reader like i see in a lot of these fics. she obviously isn’t perfect and I don’t want her to be. anyways ty for reading this and supporting me 😊

me writing the little azula part: “are we about to kiss rn”

 taglist: @justab-eautifulmess @royahllty @khaleesi-of-assassins @zuko-and-sokkas-simp @cosmicqueenieb @emogril @sonotvic @astralsaf

[lastxdragon]

CS: Something wicked RP

PRIVATE ROLEPLAY: DO NOT REBLOG IF YOU ARE NOT MY PARTNER.

@forcechoosen​

╣❦╠ ƈօռզʊɛʀɨռɢ ֆȶօʀʍ ❧

After arriving on Dragonstone and retaking her ancestral home, Daenerys had wasted no time in besieging King’s Landing, both on land and by sea. Her Dothraki had taken the King’s Road and supplies were diverted to the smallfolk of the Crownlands while Tyrion had urged Dany to make alliances with any of the remaining Great Houses. She accepted envoys from the Tyrells and the Martells, but Daenerys was not interested in a marriage. She accepted their support and gave assurances that their concerns would be addressed once the Iron Throne had been taken. Representatives of many villages arrived, begging for protection from the Lordings appointed by Cersei, and Daenerys directed the Dothraki to make patrols.

Despite Tyrion’s concerns, in the end, Daenerys hadn’t needed to bring her dragons to bear against the Red Keep. The royal army had opened the gates and presented Cersei’s corpse. King’s Landing was secured and Dany had been crowned in the throne room later that afternoon - a circlet of rubies in honor of Aegon the Conqueror. The Counsel was dismissed and a new one selected from tradespeople and both Lordings and Ladies, though the Maesters protested. She would have to deal with them, but for now, they were ignored. Each night, Daenerys returned to Dragonstone with her dragons and that’s where she was this evening as a sea storm raged outside.

She had taken dinner in her chambers at the top of the castle and was reading by the massive fireplace when a knock came at her door. Jhogo opened it at her call and entered. “A man requests an audience with you, Khaleesi,” he told her, clearly distrustful. Daenerys set her book aside and rose, nodding. Jhogo stood aside and a tall, dark haired man with fathomless dark eyes entered the room. Behind her, the fire flared before returning to normal and a chill ran down her spine. “Welcome to Dragonstone, good sir,” Dany greeted him, nodding to Jhogo to leave. Beyond the balcony, the wind howled as the rain lashed the castle. “It is lucky that you were able to land in this storm.”

[a-libra-writes]

Queens - Daenerys x Dragon Owner!Reader

this was a request! finally got it finished whoop whoop. I took a lot of liberties, sorry about that~ 😅

Summary: Daenerys meets a strange woman who has far more in common with her than most.

Daenerys thought she would feel something. She thought she’d hear something, at least. Instead, there was a yawning opening of a cave, completely silent and dark. Just stepping in a few paces, she could feel the temperature drop in spite of the broad daylight outside. 

The sound of Jorah’s armor was close to her. She could hear the knight’s worry without even looking at him. “Khaleesi, we can’t be sure it isn’t a trap.”

It would be the boldest trap she’d ever heard of. While word was beginning to spread about the Mother of Dragons and her three children, each story more exaggerated than the next, it was odd that this particular rumor was kept so quiet until now. She could scarcely believe it, but here she was, wishing it was true.

People said all sorts of absolutes - There are no more dragons, there is no magic, there is no khalasar led by a khaleesi - yet, hadn’t she seen the contrary? The more Daenerys heard absolutes, the less she believed them.

So here she stood, at the entrance of the supposed location of another dragon, and the person who hatched it. A bold rumor, but weren’t the things they said about her even bolder?

It wouldn’t take long to investigate, and Daenerys tried to hide the anticipation pulling at her. She insisted on going herself, throwing some excuse out, in lieu of sending her bloodriders or Jorah. She left the safety of Qarth for just a day to see this for herself. 

Daenerys walked into the coldness, her strongest child on her shoulder. Drogon’s lack of fear gave her courage. If anything, he smelled the damp cave air in curiosity. Would he smell the dragon first? 

The cave floor was mostly solid beneath her feet, with a few patches of spongy spots here and there. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and several feet behind her, Ser Jorah was holding a torch. Dark as it was, the light reflected slightly off small piles of bones. Daenerys stopped at one of them and looked at it carefully. Drogon hopped off her shoulder to do his own investigation. The bones were charred black, and brittle. The small dragon happily took one in his mouth and gnawed at it, snapping it into fragments.

“Goat and sheep, it seems,” Jorah said, nudging one of the bigger bones with his foot. “The way it’s broken up, it wasn’t consumed by humans.”

“Nor scorched by them.” The bones still carried the faint and familiar smell of fire. It encouraged her rather than frightened her. “Let’s press on.”

They came to a narrow passageway that opened to a large cavern. Here there were small, makeshift torches and a little burning brazier on the floor. Daenerys squinted her eyes to make out the shapes in the shadows. There were bundles of blankets neatly laid about, some bowls and urns, even a small chest that gleamed with some kind of metal. 

She was studying so carefully that Drogo’s sudden movement startled her. The dragonling returned to her shoulder, pressing his talons into her shoulder almost too tightly. His small growl, mighty as he thought it was, only echoed slightly off the wall.

She saw what he was upset with. A form emerged from the shadows, a tall set of wings rising up from shoulder blades. Daenerys steeled herself until the form entered the light, looking more like a woman and less like a monster.

The wings sat at her shoulders, then the dragon’s head rose. Its golden scales glinted in the limited light, yet Daenerys could still see the red of its eyes. Her breath caught as she stared at it, a beautiful creature nearly the size of a dog, perched on the woman’s shoulders. Daenerys forgot about Drogon’s smaller talons pressing into her own skin.

The woman regarded her just the same. “How did you find me, khaleesi?”

The woman spoke with an accent Daenerys couldn’t place. She used the tongue of Valyria, although it was awkward in her pretty mouth. “You know who I am?”

“Most do. You do not hide.” 

“As you are?” Daenerys couldn’t believe the rumor was true. She had so many questions, but it was all coming in a jumble. “Why are you here in a place like this? Why aren’t you … For so long, the world thought dragons were gone.”

The woman said nothing at first. While she looked down, her dragon had yet to stop staring directly at Daenerys. “Magic could never be truly gone. People just don’t look hard enough.”

Drogon chirped at the gold dragon, whose response was a deeper and louder chirp. Daenerys watched it in awe, wondering if this is what others felt when they saw her’s. She marvelled at the little things, of course, but in front of her was what they would be, and they were still growing.

“You should go,” The woman said. Her voice had become hard. “You should leave here, khaleesi, and leave Qarth.”

How had she known? Daenerys thought, but a different question got to her lips. “Will you not come with me?”

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“The world believes dragons are dead. When mine are grown, I plan to take back what is mine - the throne my family was killed for. If you came with me -”

“No.” The woman said swiftly. “I know all about your ambitions, khaleesi. I won’t be a part of them.”

“They aren’t mere ambitions.” Daenerys felt her anger rising, and she understood what this woman was saying. “And what do you plan to do with that dragon? Hide away in this cave? What happens when he becomes older?”

The woman cast her eyes down again. She said, “That is not something to concern yourself with.”

Daenerys caught how she touched her dragon’s golden muzzle, and as the shadows danced, she noticed deep marks in the woman’s shoulders, the old stains on her dress. The khaleesi now realized it was dried blood, and the marks patterned into her shoulder and arms were scars.

Daenerys wouldn’t be dismissed so easily, but the woman was turning away from her. Even her golden dragon seemed to share her disinterest, and both the khaleesi and her dragon were left watching them disappear into the darkness. Daenerys realized there was more to the cave than she initially thought.

She stepped forward, but Jorah said, “We shouldn’t.”

The woman disappeared into the blackness of the cave, and only the meager little room and its low burning torches were left. Drogon restlessly flew from Daenerys’ shoulder and away from her, toward the mouth of the cave, where the open sky was awaiting him. 

“Khaleesi, we’ve spotted it.”

The chair scratching across the floor echoed through the grand chamber, but Daenerys paid it no heed. She was close on Grey Worm’s tail as he added, “Quickly.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice. Daenerys nearly ran ahead of him as she came to the wide balcony of the grand pyramid. Against the brilliant blue sky, she saw it. Its scales glittered far more beautifully than any jewels that had been laid at her feet. Under the sun, it was radiant, just like her own. She couldn’t mistake that gold color.

It was as large as a small house now. If she were someone with poorer eyesight, or someone more ignorant, she could mistake the dragon for Viserion. However, her youngest mostly had scales of cream, and was not nearly so big. Not even Drogon was this size. 

“How long has it been here?” She asked impatiently.

“Only minutes. It came from the clouds.” Grey Worm said. “The people think it is your’s, khaleesi.”

That was for the better. It had been so many moons since she’d met that woman in the cave. Her eyes still haunted Daenerys, but more than that, her calm posture as her dragon dug its claws into her skin. Daenerys visited that cave several times before she left Qarth. Hadn’t the woman warned her about it? But where was she? Why did she hide herself, and her dragon, and for how long? 

She hated these unanswered questions. For a moment, Daenerys thought they’d never be answered -- what if that woman had died, and now her dragon roamed free?

No. The way she could control it, as young as it was … She must be here in Meereen.

“Have the streets searched.” Daenerys said. “I’ll have a description given to the Unsullied, even a picture painted, if that’s what they need. She must be here.”

The gold dragon had become a fleck in the sky, gone quickly as it came. Daenerys wondered if her own children had seen it, but they didn’t fly overhead. This was the time they spent hunting, anyway. They’d become more independent, and wouldn’t be back for hours. 

It was startling to see the woman in the brightness of her throne room, and not the darkness of the cave. Daenerys had replayed those quick moments over and over so much, she thought she’d memorized the woman’s face, but now she realized how much she missed to the shadows. 

The woman was far younger and prettier than she’d initially thought, and the light in her eyes made her look far less apprehensive. Her hair was done simply but neatly, and while she had a proper dress that was clean and well-fitted, it was just as simple. Her only fine accessory was a stylized broach that held the front of her dress together. Daenerys couldn’t make out the shape from where she sat.

“Khaleesi.” The woman gave a polite bow, not looking confident in the gesture. 

“There is no need to bow to me.” Daenerys decided as she said it. “Nor should we act so formal here. Will you speak to me in private?”

The woman hesitated a moment before nodding in agreement. She followed Daenerys to a more cozy and private meeting chambers, where all were called out, even Missandei. A young serving girl gave them a large pitcher of water and poured two cups before exiting.

Daenerys was buzzing with too much curiosity. She got straight to the point. “I’d like to have your name.”

“Y/N,” The woman said. 

She said it far more easily than Daenerys expected, given how … restrained she was in their first meeting. She hadn’t expected that name, either, but it fit. 

“Y/N.” Daenerys tested it out for herself. She looked at the broach and finally made out its shape: A circle of teeth carved like a dragon’s encircling some deep green rock. Perhaps it was an unpolished emerald. 

Y/N looked almost lost without the darkness to hide inside, but she still looked Daenerys in the eyes. “I told you to leave Qarth, and then you came to Meereen … With some roads in between.”

“You’ve been keeping track of me?”

“I don’t need to. All of Essos speaks of you now.” Y/N glanced aside, toward the window.

Daenerys followed her gaze, and she saw the faint glittering of the dragon’s wings in the sun. It must have been coming back. 

“Yet they don’t speak of you. There’s a fourth dragon in the world, and this is only the third time I’ve seen it.” Daenerys turned back to Y/N. “You can’t tell me you’ve spent all this time hiding in that cave. Where have you been? Where has your dragon been?”

“The same places as me,” Y/N said, a little twinkle of humor in her eyes. “Well, just higher up, I suppose.”

A silence passed between them, one that wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it wasn’t strained, either. Daenerys looked at the woman, she was closer than she’d even been before. She looked tired. With this closeness, Dany could see the partially faded scars running up her shoulders and around her arms. 

Y/N noticed her staring. “I can’t control it anymore.”

“... What do you mean? Has it tried to hurt you?”

“No, because I pick my battles. It’s grown too large and strong to keep close.” Y/N sighed and pushed her cup away from her. She’d hardly had any water. “This is why I came to see you, khaleesi. I was hoping to slip away from it, but it followed me all the same. I hope that hasn’t brought trouble.”

“It hasn’t. Why would it?”

Y/N’s eyes were lovely with the sun falling on them like this, especially as she tilted her head and let some of her hair brush across her scarred shoulders. Her eyes were much older than the rest of her. She’d been carrying this burden for years, and Daenerys had a feeling she’d only seen a small part of it. 

“One dragon is difficult enough, but you have three of them. It won’t be long before you lose your hold on them, khaleesi.”

“They’re my children,” Daenerys said firmly. “I’ve taught them and trained them since their birth. I know how to control them.”

“You know how to control children. Dangerous children, who will only become more powerful. One human can’t hope to --”

“I’m not one human,” Daenerys’ note isn’t harsh, but it is harder than what she used before. She squares her shoulders and sits upright, a proper Queen all respects. “I’m Daenerys Targaryen, and my ancestors rode dragons to conquer Westeros. I intend to do the same.”

Y/N was not subdued by this. Daenerys should’ve found the obstinate look in her eyes a challenge, a slight, but it was good to see something other than fatigue on the girl’s face and body. She merely nodded. “As you say, khaleesi.”

Five days later, a sobbing farmer dropped a burnt bundle at Daenerys’ feet. Swathes of cattle and sheep had been burnt and eaten whole before, but this was the first time she saw a little charred body. Her dragons didn’t even eat it all.

Y/N said nothing as the father’s body shook with anguish. She sighed deeply when he left, and that was all Daenerys needed to understand.

At Daenerys’ request, Y/N stayed in a guest room. She almost seemed as though she’d refuse the request, and was more or less pushed in and ordered to rest. Her first day, she bathed herself quickly and slept for nearly twelve hours. Then she ate bits of the dinner that was brought to her, and went right to sleeping again.

Once she emerged from the chamber with a new dress, a proper meal and more sleep than she’d had in months, Y/N was radiant. The sun of Meereen seemed to favor her, as everything from her hair to skin shone when she walked the gardens of the Great Pyramid. She was most at peace here, a rare moment when her expression wasn’t cloudy and troubled. Y/N was loveliest like that.

Daenerys felt silly for watching her enjoy the gardens instead of talking to her. Y/N bowed her head as Dany came into her view. “Good morning, khaleesi.”

Daenerys had a sudden wish to hear her name from those lips, not her titles. She pushed the distracting thoughts aside. “I wanted to talk to you. Could I sit here?”

“Of course.” Y/N gave Daenerys room on the stone bench she was resting on. Her new dress was technically a single bolt of soft cloth wrapped around her body and secured in place with a pretty metal belt and fixings on her shoulders. They were a gilded gold, like her dragon’s scales. When Daenerys gifted it to the woman, she feigned that it was something she did for all guests. Privately, Daenerys hoped she liked it. Y/N wore it often, so she must have. That was a pleasant thought.

Y/N tilted her head in curiosity. That’s when Daenerys realized she hadn’t said anything further. “I’ve been thinking about the boy, the one … that was brought to me, and what you said to me. You didn’t want me to chain the dragons.”

“I still don’t,” Y/N’s smile fell just slightly. That disappointed Dany more than she thought it would. “Did something happen? Are you considering it again?”

“No,” Daenerys said quickly. “I was just thinking. You seemed to have experience with this. … I don’t know much about you. I wanted to learn more.”

Y/N’s smile may have left, but the blush on her cheeks was even better. Daenerys hadn’t expected it, nor did she expect the girl’s eyes to flutter down in modesty. 

Daenerys took Y/N’s hand in her own, and the warmth of it was kinder than the sunlight hitting her cheek. The gesture had surprised Y/N - she looked up with those pretty eyes, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, her cheeks looked even more pink. 

“I want to learn more about you,” Daernerys said, careful with her words in case any more would spill out. “You know about me, after all.”

The smile was back in full force, and it’s sweetness was almost too much. “I said I heard the rumors, khaleesi. If you wish to know me, then I’d like to know you better, too.” 

“It’s a deal.”

She squeezed the slightly calloused hand in her own, comforted by the way Y/N squeezed back. 

She woke up feeling cold. Daenerys didn’t open her eyes, but she sleepily reached forward to confirm her suspicions. As luxurious as a feathered bed with silken covers was to Y/N, it was still other. Sometimes she struggled to settle in comfortably, especially when she was already kept up with her restlessness.

Daenerys sat up and rubbed her shoulders. A lazy night breeze drifted into the room, and she blinked through her sleepiness as she saw the outline of Y/N sitting at the open window. She’d thrown a robe on and curled herself up on the ledge, looking down at the still streets of Meereen.

“I’d think you’d be looking at the stars,” Daenerys said once she was at Y/N’s side. It was nearly a full moon, and a silvery light was washing over the two of them, like it was made just for them. Daenerys hadn’t had such silly thoughts for some time, but Y/N tended to bring them out in her. 

Y/N opened her arms and Daenerys comfortably rested against her, still tired. She patted the khaleesi’s long, curling hair, almost the same color of the moon itself. “I am very familiar with the stars. It’s the city that’s new to me.” 

Daenerys closed her eyes and took in Y/N’s scent, fresh from the bath they took hours ago, but the soap was giving away to her own natural scent and warmth. Her skin was smooth now, from months of enjoying the soaps and oils, and her face stopped looking so drawn and weary. She smiled more than ever, laughed even, but there were still nights like these. Y/N had spotted her dragon with Drogon that morning, and since then, she’d be withdrawn.

“They only grow stronger,” Y/N said. Her hand was running down Daenerys’ back now, and Dany shivered pleasantly. “I’m glad they’re fond of each other.”

Daenerys hummed her agreement. It just seemed right, their dragons joining together as a family. It made Daenerys feel like her bond with Y/N was stronger than most, something more binding than a marriage. A bonding of dragons, emphasizing the bond of their hearts.

In the few daydreams she allowed, she thought of this being stronger than any marriage, something more than a queen to stay at her side. They’d be the new Visenya and Rhaenys for Westeros, but without a king. They didn’t need one. 

Daenerys didn’t tell these fancies to Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

It was hard to stay tired with such things running through her head. Daenerys sat up and gave a proper kiss to her lover, whose lips she was already missing. The smile was back, so Daenerys kissed her neck. 

Y/N was ticklish, but she didn’t attempt to move Dany away. She just reclined further into the the cushioned window sill, and Dany gladly rested against her. She brushed her hands across Y/N’s shoulder and arm, across scars that were visible even in the moonlight. 

There were other marks besides those, ones that Y/N hid for years. Dany suspected she was the only person who had seen them. Burns and bites, covered by silken and linen dresses, proof that Y/N’s dragon had become too much for the cave they stayed in for too long.

I don’t begrudge my dragon for it, Y/N had said. I was the one trying to keep a bird in a mountain.

Those were the same words she used when the child’s body was dropped at Daenerys’ feet, more or less. She gently touched Dany’s arm. Khaleesi, please don’t. Don’t keep them somewhere without their sky, without the fresh air. 

All three of her dragons had come to be fond of Y/N, as well as they could be, because she understood. She may have only raised one, but she seemed to just know the other three. Rhaegal was especially fond of her, Viserion preferred her dragon, and Drogon was surprisingly steady around both. 

Daenerys sighed in contentment and nuzzled against Y/N’s neck, planting a few kisses there before she settled in. 

Y/N’s voice was full of sweet amusement. “Love, I cannot carry you back if you fall asleep.”

“You shouldn’t have moved.”

Her response was a chuckle and a kiss to her brow. Sleep was beginning to take Daenerys, aided by the complete comfort and affection she was bundled in. She was well and truly asleep when Y/N began stroking her hair again.

The wind whipped harshly above them as a set of powerful wings flew above their heads. Y/N’s hair was tied back, but several strands still escaped from her braid as Rhaegal took flight. She watched him rejoin his brother in the cloudless sky. 

Daenerys was at her side, waiting for her. She didn’t have to ask anything. It had been a long time coming, but Y/N was ready. She’d made her peace with it, and she’d walk forward with no fear or regrets. 

She straightened the leather gauntlet at her hand, meant for keeping her hand protected from the harsh scales of her dragon. It had been a trial for the both of them, but they were stronger for it. Y/N looked toward the sky, spotting the dear creature. She knew it was looking down at her, always aware of where its rider was.

“They can smell the sea air, too,” Y/N said. “It’s gotten them worked up. They’re ready.” 

“So are we.” Daenerys said. It wasn’t overconfidence or blind bravery in her words, only the truth. They’d been ready for the better of a year, and now it was finally time to realize what she’d been waiting a lifetime for. 

“What did you say their names were? The conqueror queens you descend from,” Y/N said, remembering as she spoke. “Visenya and Rhaenys. That was it.”

“We’re greater than conquerors, closer than sisters.” Daenerys took both of Y/N’s hands in her own, facing her with eyes full of power and adoration. An intensity that was unique to a Mother of Dragons, one that Y/N was very familiar with. “We are queens.”

Y/N had heard the word before, but now it held such great power. A new world, a new kingdom across the sea, just waiting for them. They would be kind and just, yielding to no man, constrained by no chains. 

Queens and liberators, not conquers and butchers. Y/N could see it in those violet eyes, the ones that always held the world, yet still had room for love and compassion. The ones that belonged to her, just as she belonged to them.

[queenaryastark]

Daenerys + Compassion and Grief for Viserys

When it comes to her brother, Dany has the patience and generosity of a saint. Through most of her life, this man took his anger out on her through physical and sexual abuse. He also sells her in exchange for an army and eventually threatens to murder her unborn baby by cutting him out of her. Yet, she continued to worry about, give compassion to, and honor him. 

In AGOT, Dany’s new position within the khalasar and her dragon dream give her the ability and strength to push back when Viserys tries to abuse her again. As punishment for his assault on her, she strips him of his ability to ride. Almost immediately, she starts worrying about him.

Viserys gaped at him, and sat down in the dirt. He kept his silence, but he would not move, and his eyes were full of poison as they rode away. Soon he was lost in the tall grass. When they could not see him anymore, Dany grew afraid. “Will he find his way back?” she asked Ser Jorah as they rode. – Dany III, AGOT

Not only does she feel sympathy for him, she also works to get his riding privileges back and does what she can to spare his feelings while he’s unknowingly being mocked by the Dothraki.

Dany followed on her silver, escorted by Ser Jorah Mormont and her brother Viserys, mounted once more. After the day in the grass when she had left him to walk back to the khalasar, the Dothraki had laughingly called him Khal Rhae Mhar, the Sorefoot King. Khal Drogo had offered him a place in a cart the next day, and Viserys had accepted. In his stubborn ignorance, he had not even known he was being mocked; the carts were for eunuchs, cripples, women giving birth, the very young and the very old. That won him yet another name: Khal Rhaggat, the Cart King. Her brother had thought it was the khal’s way of apologizing for the wrong Dany had done him. She had begged Ser Jorah not to tell him the truth, lest he be shamed. The knight had replied that the king could well do with a bit of shame … yet he had done as she bid. It had taken much pleading, and all the pillow tricks Doreah had taught her, before Dany had been able to make Drogo relent and allow Viserys to rejoin them at the head of the column. – Dany IV, AGOT

In the same moment that Dany found out that her dragon eggs were incredibly valuable, she also decides to give them to Viserys if he wants them. Just to drive this home, she was willing to give eggs that she loved, that she drew strength from, and that were worth a massive fortune to the man who abused her all her life.

For a moment Dany was so shocked she had no words. “My eggs … but they’re mine, Magister Illyrio gave them to me, a bride gift, why would Viserys want … they’re only stones …”

“The same could be said of rubies and diamonds and fire opals, Princess … and dragon’s eggs are rarer by far. Those traders he’s been drinking with would sell their own manhoods for even one of those stones, and with all three Viserys could buy as many sellswords as he might need."

Dany had not known, had not even suspected. "Then … he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother … and my true king.” – Dany V, AGOT

When Viserys makes a drunken scene that could only result in his death, Dany also tries to offer him the eggs again and tries to sooth him until he threatens to murder her baby. This is the moment that’s pointed to as “proof” of her downward spiral into evil. Apparently, the fact that she stopped trying to save Viserys once he threatened her baby (and would have killed her too if he had been successful in cutting the baby out), is nothing short of villainy. 

If Dany had never spared any compassion or regret or grief for Viserys after that moment, she could have been completely forgiven. He abused her for years and was trying to kill her and her baby. Feeling nothing for or even celebrating his death would have been natural. 

That’s not what Dany does though. Even as he is about to die for threatening her, readers are told of the grief and sadness she will feel afterward at his loss.

Viserys smiled and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that tore at her afterward … the way he smiled. “That was all I wanted,” he said. “What was promised.” – Dany V, AGOT

Afterward, Dany grieves for Viserys to the point where Irri points out the change in her.

“You have not laughed since your brother the Khal Rhaggat was crowned by Drogo,” said Irri. “It is good to see, Khaleesi.” – Dany VI, AGOT

When Dany names her dragons, who she considers to be her children, she even honors Viserys by naming one after him. 

“The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.“ – Dany I, ACOK

Honoring the man who abused her by naming one of her children after him is not a sign of coldness or a lack of grief. Naming a child after someone is a sign of respect, despite the fact that her brother deserves no respect from her at all. She’s even able to look past the fact that he abused her to think of a better side of him and miss him.

Viserys had been stupid and vicious, she had come to realize, yet sometimes she missed him all the same. Not the cruel weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who had sometimes let her creep into his bed, the boy who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms, and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his crown. – Dany I, ASOS

Long story short, Dany honored, respected, grieved for, and gave more compassion to Viserys than he deserved, which shows what a good person she is and can’t possibly be used to vilify her.

[haileygarciasunshine]

Baby Driving Baby

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Requested: yes!🖤

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1,168

“Dean!” Sam yelled in annoyance, “I’m your brother, when are you going to let me drive the Impala?”

“Hm.. Let me see....Never. The last time I let you have the Baby, you had a what did you call it? iPod Dock?” Deans voice was laced with frustration, “No cool man.”

“That was one time!”

“One time, too many.”

“Boys! Can we please, not argue during lunch. Thanks.” You said interrupting both Winchester, before they could keep the argument going.

“Geez Sweetheart. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today or...”

“Why do you always assume I woke up crabby?”

Both men exchanged a knowing glance, before Dean started again, “Uh, well, because most of the time you?”

“Dean, stop,” Sam hissed.

“Oh?”

“Uh... Yeah, I mean, we’re kinda chained to you anyway..”

“Chained to me?” You asked in confusion.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, “Now is not the time!”

“Oh, so you feel like that too, Sam?”

Silence fell over the kitchen. The tension in the air was getting impossibly, thicker, than before.

You wouldn’t admit it, but you had feelings for Dean, and hearing your best friend, say that they felt, “Chained” to you hurt more than anything.  

Getting up from the table, you furiously, made your escape towards your room. Once you got to your room, you locked your door after, you were inside. Something, you don’t normally do. 

Hours passed by like minutes, when you heard a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N? I uh... I know you’re mad at Sam and Dean...But can you and I still talk and hangout?” A nervous voice sounded through the door.

Getting up from you previous spot on your bed, you paused your move. Opening the door you were met with a puppy face, from Jack. 

“Of course, Jack!” Stepping aside, you allowed the tall man to enter into your room. 

Resuming the movie, you and Jack watched your shared favorite movie. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. 

A week had gone by, and you still haven’t given in to talking to either Winchester. Although, they did try their hardest it still didn’t work.

“Hey, Y/N! Did you watch last nights Game of Thrones Episode? Cause I did....Without you....Remember that time you were pissed at me for watching Game of Thrones without you... Well what do ya say?”

You didn’t hesitate in continuing about with the task at hand. 

Sighing in frustration, Sam left you alone. 

Then it was Dean’s turn.

“What’re you guys watching?”

Jack responded excitedly, “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them! Y/N, said it’s a prequel to the Harry Potter Movies! Right, Y/N?” 

Both men turned to you in expectation of an answer. They were greeted with nothing but silence.

“Well, Harry Potter is for Nerds. Isn’t that right Y/N?”

Turning towards Dean, you just gave him a glare. 

Sighing in defeat, he retreated from the movie room.

It wasn’t until later that night, that Sam cracked first. The clock read 11:30pm, and you were still awake. Picking up the book that was on your night stand, it was from one of your favorite authors. Stephen King. Reading, ‘Doctor Sleep’, there was a soft yet firm knock on the door, before it flew open, revealing Sam Winchester himself.

“I’m sorry for barging in, I saw your light on and knew you were awake.”

There was an awkward silence that overtook the conversation before Sam tried again.

“I miss my best friend. I miss you, Y/N. We aren’t chained to you. I was frustrated and annoyed and I ended up saying something I didn’t mean at all. I miss bickering with you, and talking about Game of Thrones. Dean tried, but it’s not the same. He doesn’t get the Khaleesi should be with Jon Snow.” Sam let out a frustrated groan, “I mean he... He’s trying, but he doesn’t get as much as you do...” He sighed.

Before you let him finish you, threw yourself at Sam, giving him a bone crushing hug.

“I’m sorry too. I really missed you too Sam.”

“It’s good to hear your voice again, Y/N/N.”

“I’m going to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning!”

“Good night, Sam.”

“Good night, Y/N/N.”

Once he was gone, you picked up where you left off, in your ‘Doctor Sleep,’ book. Before you could fully, fall asleep, your bedroom door creaked open.

“Sweetheart? You still awake?”

Dean’s husky deep voice sounded in your bedroom. Making his way over to you, he took the bookmark from your hand, placed it in your book, and turned off the light.

Before he could get far, your tiny hand in comparison to his, wrapped about his fingers catching him before he left.

“Stay?”

“Always, Sweetheart.” 

He made his way to the opposite side of your bed, snuggling into the blankets, before laying on his side, to face you. Neither one of you wanting, to be the first to break the silence, but knowing it had to be done. Dean was the first to speak.

“Sweetheart, I’m, Uhm.....”

“I know. Me too.”

He slightly nodded, if you would’ve blinked, you would’ve missed the motion. 

Comfortable silence, fell upon you. 

“Y/N/N?”

A tired hum was the response he got. 

“I...uhm.... I like you...” He voice was breathy, almost as if he had ran a marathon prior to his midnight confession, “It’s...a.... It’s okay if you don’t-”

Cutting him off you placed a chaste kiss on his lips. The kiss, was the only confirmation he needed of your mutually shared feelings.

“Good night, Sweetheart.”

“Good night, Dean.”

He pulled you towards him, so that he would be able to cuddle you from behind. His face nuzzling the place between your shoulder and neck. It was as if, he was the missing piece to your puzzle. His morning stubble, lightly brushing against your neck, in a comfortable way.

The next night, Dean had something planned for the both of you. Jumping in the Impala, at a little after five. Dean was adamant that it was a surprise, not telling you where you were going. 

On the way there, he pulled Baby over on the side of a desert road, and got out. 

“Dean? What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to teach you how to drive Baby!”

“Is this the surprise?”

“No, sweetheart.”

It took ten minutes for him to convince you to drive Baby.

“Okay, so left is the break, right is the gas petal, here is the gear stick....”

Dean let you drive all the way to the surprise location. It was a secluded area, atop a hill. When you both reached the top, there was a picnic basket filled with food, and a blanket spread out for you both to sit on. By the time you looked at your surroundings, it was time for the sun to set. 

He had planned a picnic to watch the sun set with you. For someone who claims, to despise ‘Chick Flick Moments,’ the man sure knows how to make them. Before it was time to leave, you tried to take a couple pictures of him off guard (See pic above), but they didn’t turn out in your favor.

[middleofnowhere92]

Until the Sun Rises in the West and Sets in the East (Chapter 3)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Azula/Sokka (Avatar) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Game of Thrones References, Game of Thrones-esque, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse

Read below the cut or on AO3

The khalasar had broken camp the morning after her wedding, moving east towards Vaes Eveth. By the third day, Azula thought she was going to die. Saddle sores opened on her bottom, hideous and bloody. Her thighs were chafed raw, her hands blistered from the reigns, the muscles of her legs and back so wracked with pain she could scarcely sit. By the time dusk fell, her handmaids would need to help her down from her mount.

Khal Sokka ignored her when they rode, as he had ignored her for most of their wedding, and spent his evenings drinking with his warriors and bloodriders, racing wolves. Azula had no place in these parts of his life. She was left to sup alone, or with General Zhao and her brother, and afterwards cry herself to sleep. Yet every night, sometime before dawn, Sokka would come to her bed. He always slept pressed against her back, for which Azula was grateful. That way her Lord Husband could not see the tears that wet her face and she could use the pillow to muffle any further sobs that poured out of her. He would snore softly with Azula beside him, her body bruised and sore, hurting too much for sleep.

Day followed day, and night followed night, until Azula knew she could not endure a moment longer. One night she decided she would kill herself rather than go on.

Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Father was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood, her blood, Azula sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.

And the next day, strangely she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the spirits had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. “Khaleesi,” Ming Hua said, “What is wrong? Are you sick?”

“I was,” she answered, standing over the dragon’s eggs that Uncle had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shell. Black and scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers… or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously.

From that hour onward, each day was easier than the one before it. Her legs grew stronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened, supple as leather.

The Khal had commanded the handmaid June to teach Azula to ride in the way of the Tribe, but it was her wolf who was her real teacher. The wolf seemed to know her moods, as if they shared a single mind. With every passing day, Azula felt surer in her seat. The Water Tribe were a hard and unsentimental people, and it was not their custom to name their animals, but Azula still thought of her as Nymeria, the warrior queen Azula had been told tales of as a child. She had never loved anything as much as she loved her wolf.

As the riding became less an ordeal, Azula began to notice the beauties of the land around her. She rode at the head of the khalasar with Sokka and his bloodriders, so she came to each scene fresh and unspoiled. Behind them, the great horde might tear the land and muddy the rivers, but the lands ahead of them were always white and pure.

They crossed rolling hills, past small villages where the people watched anxiously. They forded three wide placid rivers and a fourth that was swift and narrow and treacherous, camped beside a high blue waterfall, skirted the tumbled ruins of a vast dead city where spirits were said to moan among blackened marble columns. They raced down paths a thousand years old and straight as an arrow.

Her agony became a fading memory. She still ached after a long day’s ride, yet somehow the pain had a sweetness to it now, and each morning she came willingly to her saddle, eager to know what wonders awaited her in the lands ahead.

“The Water Tribe Sea,” General Zhao said as he reigned to a halt beside Azula on the top of the ridge.

Beneath them, the icy tundra stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. It was a sea, she thought. Past here, there were no hills, no mountains, no trees nor cities nor roads, only the endless snow, the white mounds rippling like waves when the winds blew.

Azula heard the sounds of voices and turned to look behind her. She and Zhao had outdistanced the rest of their party, and now the others were climbing the ridge below them. Her handmaid June and the young warriors of her khas were fluid as centaurs, but Zuko still struggled with the short stirrups and the flat saddle atop his wolf. Her brother was miserable out here. He ought never have come. Uncle had urged him to wait in the port, but Zuko would have none of it. He would stay with Sokka until the debt had been paid, until he had the crown he had been promised. “And if he tries to cheat me, he will learn to his sorrow what it means to wake the dragon,” Zuko had vowed , laying hands on his broadswords. Uncle had blinked at that and wished him good fortune.

Azula realized that she did not want to listen to any of her brother’s complaints right now. The day was too perfect. The sky was a deep blue, and high above them a hunting sea vulture circled. The snow swayed and sighed with each breath of the wind, the air was cool over her face and Azula felt at peace. She would not let Zuko spoil it.

“Wait here,” Azula told General Zhao. “Tell them all to stay. Tell them I command it.”

The older man smiled. General Zhao was not a handsome man. He had a neck and shoulders like a bull, and coarse black hair covered his arms and chest so thickly, that there was barely any left for his head. Yet his smiles gave Azula comfort. “You are learning to talk like a queen Azula.”

“Not a queen,” said Azula. “A khaleesi.” She turned her wolf and rode down the ridge alone. The descent was steep, but Azula rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of it was a song inside of her. All her life Zuko had told her she was a princess, but not until she rode her wolf had Azula Sozin ever felt like one.

At the bottom of the ridge, the tall snow rose around her. Azula slowed her wolf and rode out onto the plain, losing herself in the white, blessedly alone. In the khalasar, she was never alone. Khal Sokka came to her only as the sun was about to rise, but her handmaids fed her and bathed her and slept by the door of her tent, Sokka’s bloodriders and the men of her khas were never far, and her brother was an unwelcome shadow, day and night. Azula could hear him on the top of the ridge, his voice shrill with anger as he shouted at General Zhao. She rode on, submerging herself in the Water Tribe Sea.

The white swallowed her up. Many of the tribespeople wore light blue and white furs, their brown skin contrasted with the environment around them. One of the first days that they had begun their journey, Ming-Hua had presented Azula with a dark blue parka, dress and leggings trimmed with fur. Sokka too wore light colors like his people, so Azula inquired about the difference of her furs. Ming-Hua had given a small smile and said, “The Khal fears he will lose you in the snow, with your light skin. Says you need dark colors so he can find you.” That was the first indication Azula had that the fearsome warrior she had married might have some sense of humor.

The air was rich with the scent of fresh snow, mixed with the smell of damp wolf fur and the scented oil in Azula’s hair. They were smells of the Tribe. They seemed to belong here. Azula breathed it all in, laughing. She had the sudden urge to feel the snow beneath her, to curl her toes in the thickness of it. Swinging down from her saddle, she let Nymeria rest while she pulled off her high boots.

Zuko came upon her as sudden as a summer storm, his wolf rearing beneath him as he reigned up too hard. “You dare!” he screamed at her. “You give commands to me? To me?” He vaulted off his wolf, stumbling as he landed. His face was flushed as he struggled back to his feet. He grabbed her, shook her. “Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!”

Azula didn’t need to look. She was barefoot, with braided hair, wearing Tribe furs her husband had gifted to her. She looked as though she belonged here. Zuko was soiled and stained in silks and ringmail.

He was still screaming, “You do not command the dragon. Do you understand? I am the Lord of the Four Kingdoms, I will not hear orders from some peasant or his slut, do you hear me?” His fingers dug into her flesh painfully. “Do you hear me?”

Azula shoved him away, hard.

Zuko stared at her, his golden eyes incredulous. She had never defied him. Never fought back. Rage twisted his features. He would hurt her now, and badly, she knew that.

Crack.

The whip made a sound like thunder. The coil took Zuko around the throat and yanked him backward. He went sprawling in the grass, stunned and choking. The riders hooted at him as he struggled to free himself. June held the handle of the whip and asked Azula a question. Azula was still so shocked to see her brother thrashing about that June repeated herself as General Zhao and the rest of her khas rode up, “Would you have him dead Khaleesi?”

“No,” Azula replied, “No.”

One of the men barked out a comment and the others laughed. Zhao translated, “They think you should take an ear to teach him respect.”

Her brother was on his knees, his fingers digging under the leather coils, crying incoherently, struggling for breath. The whip was tight around his windpipe.

“Tell them I do not wish him harmed,” Azula said.

Zhao repeated her words. June gave a pull on the whip, yanking Zuko around like a puppet on a string. He went sprawling again, freed from the leather embrace, a thin line of blood under his chin where the whip had cut deep.

“I warned him what would happen, my lady, “General Zhao said. “I told him to stay on the ridge as you commanded.”

“I know you did,” Azula replied, studying Zuko. He lay on the ground, sucking air noisily, red-faced and sobbing. He was a pitiful thing. He had always been a pitiful thing. Why had she never seen that before? There was a hollow place inside of her where her fear of him had been.

“Take his wolf,” Azula commanded Zhao. Zuko gaped at her. He could not believe what he was hearing; nor could Azula quite believe what she was saying. Yet the words came, “Let my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.” Among the Tribe, 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.”

“No!” Zuko screamed. He turned to Zhao, pleading in the Common Tongue with words the tribesmen would not understand. “Hit her, Zhao! Hurt her! Your king commands it. Kill these Water Tribe peasants and teach her!”

The older man looked from Azula to her brother; she barefoot, with snow between her toes and braids in her hair, he with his silks and steel. Azula could see the decision on his face,“He shall walk Khaleesi.” He took her brother’s wolf in hand while she remounted Nymeria. She gave one last mournful look at her brother, mourning the man she had thought he was, only now beginning to realize it was a facade.

Zuko gaped at her, and sat down in the dirt. His eyes were full of poison as they rode away. He said to the wind, “My honor, my throne, my country...I’m about to lose them all.”

Soon he was lost in the snow. When they could not see him anymore, Azula grew fearful. “Will he find his way back?” She asked General Zhao as they rode. “Even a man as blind as your brother should be able to follow our trail,'' he replied.

“He is proud. He may be too shamed to come back.” Zhao laughed, “Where else should he go? If he cannot find the khalasar, the khalasar will most surely find him. It is hard to drown in the Tribe, child.”

Azula saw the truth of that. The khalasar was like a city on the march, but it did not march blindly. Always scouts ranged far ahead, alert for any sign of game or prey or enemies, while outriders guarded their flanks. They missed nothing, not here, in this land, the place where they had come from. These lands were a part of them...and of her, now.

“I hit him,” she said, wonder in her voice. Now that it was over, it seemed a strange dream. “General Zhao, do you think...he’ll be so angry when he gets back…” She shivered. “I woke the dragon, didn’t I?

Zhao snorted, “Can you wake the dead, girl? Your cousin Lu Ten was the last dragon, and he died at the Wall. Zuko is less than the shadow of a minksnake.” His blunt words startled her. It seemed as though all the things she suddenly believed were suddenly called into question. “You-you swore him your sword..”

“That I did girl,” Zhao agreed. “And if your brother is the shadow of a minksnake, what does that make his servants?” His voice was bitter.

“He is still the true king. He is…” Zhao pulled up his wolf and looked at her. “Truth now. Would you want to see Zuko sit a throne?” Azula thought about that. “He would not be a very good king, would he?”

“There have been worse… but not many.” The man gave his heels to his mount and started off again. Azula rode close behind him. “Still,” she said, “the common people are waiting for him. Uncle says they are sewing dragon banners and praying for Zuko to return from across the narrow sea to free them.”

“The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,” Zhao told her. “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.” He gave a shrug, “They never are.”

Azula rode along quietly for a time, working his words like a puzzle. It went against everything Zuko 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 Zhao’s words, the more they rang of truth.

“What do you pray for, General Zhao?” “Home,” he said. His voice was thick with longing. “I pray for home too,” she told him, believing it.

Zhao laughed, “Look around you then, Khaleesi.” But it was not the snow Azula saw then. It was the Capital and the great Red Palace that her ancestors had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind’s eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind’s eye, all the doors were red.

“My brother will never take back the Four Nations,” Azula 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 General Zhao and all the world to hear.

Zhao gave her a measuring look. “You think not.” “He couldn’t lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one,” Azula said. “He has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a minksnake. The Tribe mocks his weakness. He will never take us home.”

“Wise child,” the man smiled. “I am no child,” she retorted fiercely. Her heels pressed into the side of her wolf, rousing her to a gallop. Faster and faster she raced, leaving Zhao and June and the others behind, the sharp wind in her hair and the setting sun red on her face. By the time she reached the khalasar, it was dusk.

Her tent had been erected by the shore of a small pool. She could hear rough voices from the hill. Soon there would be laughter, when the men of her khas told the story of what happened in the snows today. By the time Zuko came limping back among them, every man, woman and child in camp would know him for a walker. There were no secrets in the khalasar.

Azula gave her wolf over to June for grooming and entered her tent. It was cool, but not unbearable. As she let the flap close behind her, Azula saw a finger of dusty red light reach out to touch her dragon’s eggs across the tent. For an instant, a thousand droplets of scarlet flame swam before her eyes. She blinked, and they were gone.

Stone, she told herself. They are only stone, even Uncle said so, the dragons are all dead. She put her palm against the black egg, fingers spread gently across the curve of the shell. The stone was warm. Almost hot. “The sun,” Azula whispered. “The sun warmed them as they rode.”

She commanded her handmaids to prepare her a bath. Jin built a fire outside the tent, while Ming-Hua and June fetched the big copper tub-another bride gift-from the pack horses and carried water from the pool. When the bath was steaming, Ming-Hua helped her into it and climbed in after her.

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” she asked as Ming-Hua scrubbed her back and June sluiced small icicles from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the Spirit World. Perhaps some were still living there, in realms strange and wild.

“Dragons are gone, Khaleesi,” Ming-Hua said.

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

Zuko had told her that the last Sozin dragons had died no more than a century and a half ago, during the reign of Azulon, who was called the Dragonbane. That didn’t seem so long ago to Azula. “Everywhere?” she asked, disappointed. “Even in the Spirit World?”

“No dragon,” Ming-Hua said. “Men kill them. It is known.”

“It is known,” agreed June.

“A trader once told me that dragons came from the moon,” Jin said as she warmed a towel over the fire. June and Ming-Hua were older than Azula, almost twenty and five. Jin was of age with Azula. Her brother had found the girl at a pleasure house in Ba Sing Se.

Jet black wet hair tumbled across her eyes as Azula turned her head, curious. “The moon?”

“He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi,” the Earth Kingdom girl said. “Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat, A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return.”

The two other servants gave her a perplexed look. “You are foolish, Earth peasant,” Ming-Hua said. “Moon is no egg. Moon is spirit, woman wife of sun. It is known.”

“It is known,” June agreed.

Azula’s skin was flushed and pink when she climbed from the tub. Ming-Hua laid her down to oil her body and scrape the dirt from her pores. Afterward June sprinkled her with vanilla and winterberry perfumes. While Jin brushed her hair until it shone like onyx, Azula thought about the moon, and eggs and dragons.

Supper was a simple meal of fruit and cheese and bread, with a jug of wine to wash it down. “Jin, stay and eat with me,” Azula commanded while she dismissed her other handmaidens.

Jin lowered her eyes when they were alone. “You honor me Khaleesi,” she said, but it was no honor, only service. Long after the moon had risen, they sat together talking.

As the girls began to eat, Azula asked, “Why did the trader tell you that story about dragons?” Jin gave a soft smile, “Men like to talk after their pleasure. It is when they are happy”

Azula thought on it as she took a sip of wine, “Can you- can you teach me how to make the Khal happy?” Jin chewed thoughtfully, “You have done it though, yes?” Azula glanced sideways, “Yes, but-” “But you want him to feel for you?” She wasn’t sure, but Azula responded, “Something like that.”

Jin nodded, “How does he take you?” The Princess was slightly affronted by how brazen her handmaiden was, but she answered “As all the Tribe does.” Jin chided, “No, no. You must look upon his face. You must use your eyes to make him feel for you. It was said that Irogenia of the Northern Air Temple could finish a man with just a look. Men traveled across the world for a night with her. They sold their riches. Fire Nation men burned her enemies just to have her for a few hours with her. They say a thousand men proposed to her and she refused them all.”

Azula poked at her food, “I don’t think the Khal would approve of me on top of him.” Jin looked at her knowingly, “Do not worry Khaleesi. You will make him enjoy it. Men want what they have never had. The Tribe take women like wolf takes a bitch. You are not bitch, you will not make love like bitch. You are Khaleesi.”

The Earth Kingdom girl stood from where they were eating and beckoned Azula to her, “Come Khaleesi. I will show you.” Azula tentatively followed this girl that seemed to have no issue instructing her Khaleesi. Azula sat on the floor of her tent and Jin shamelessly climbed into her lap. She took Azula’s small hands and put them on her hips as she began to sway, “Like this Khaleesi.” Azula felt Jin’s body press into hers, rubbing together through their many layers of furs.

Azula thought upon her handmaiden’s earlier words and easily flipped the other girl underneath her. Jin let out small laugh, “You are fast learner Khaleesi. Out there he is mighty Khal, but at night he is yours.”

The princess pulled back, “This is not the way of the Tribe.” Jin sat up following her, “Khaleesi, if he wanted way of the Tribe, why did he marry you?”

That night, when Khal Sokka came, Azula was waiting for him. He stood in the door of her tent and looked at her with surprise. She rose slowly and undressed, letting her furs fall to the ground. “This night we must go outside, my lord,” she told him. For the Tribe believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done beneath the open sky.

Khal Sokka followed her out into the moonlight, his long’s wolf tail blew in the breeze. A few yards from her tent was a bed of soft furs, and it was there that Azula drew him down. When he tried to turn her on her stomach, she put her delicate hand on his massive chest. “No,” she said in the Tribe language she was still stumbling on, “This night I would look on your face.”

There is no privacy in the heart of the khalasar. Azula could feel the many eyes on her as she undressed him, heard the soft voices as she did the things Jin told her to do to give a man pleasure. It was nothing to her. Was she not Khaleesi? Her Khal’s eyes were the only ones that mattered, and when she mounted him she saw something in his face that she had never seen before. She rode him as fiercely as ever and when the moment of his pleasure came- Khal Sokka called out her name.

They were on the far side of the Watertribe Sea when Ming-Hua brushed the soft swell of Azula’s stomach with her fingers and said, “Khaleesi, you are with child.”

“I know,” Azula told her.

It was her nineteenth name day.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Windblown (Quentyn II) [Chapter 25]

She is coming. Her host is on the march. She is racing south to Yunkai, to put the city to the torch and its people to the sword, and we are going north to meet her.

Frog had it from Dick Straw who had it from Old Bill Bone who had it from a Pentoshi named Myrio Myrakis, who had a cousin who served as cupbearer to the Tattered Prince. "Coz heard it in the command tent, from Caggo's own lips," Dick Straw insisted. "We'll march before the day is out, see if we don't."

+.+.+

"We'll get provisions in Yunkai, maybe fresh horses, then it will be on to Meereen to dance with the dragon queen. So hop quick, Frog, and put a nice edge on your master's sword. Might be he'll need it soon."

In Dorne Quentyn Martell had been a prince, in Volantis a merchant's man, but on the shores of Slaver's Bay he was only Frog, squire to the big bald Dornish knight the sellswords called Greenguts. The men of the Windblown used what names they would, and changed them at a whim. They'd fastened Frog on him because he hopped so fast when the big man shouted a command.

Frog prince, she's not going to kiss you, please go home.

He refers to himself as Frog throughout this chapter. Oh, Quentyn.

+.+.+

The Windblown went back thirty years, and had known but one commander, the soft-spoken, sad-eyed Pentoshi nobleman called the Tattered Prince. His hair and mail were silver-grey, but his ragged cloak was made of twists of cloth of many colors, blue and grey and purple, red and gold and green, magenta and vermilion and cerulean, all faded by the sun. When the Tattered Prince was three-and-twenty, as Dick Straw told the story, the magisters of Pentos had chosen him to be their new prince, hours after beheading their old prince. Instead he'd buckled on a sword, mounted his favorite horse, and fled to the Disputed Lands, never to return. He had ridden with the Second Sons, the Iron Shields, and the Maiden's Men, then joined with five brothers-in-arms to form the Windblown. Of those six founders, only he survived.

[...]

An old man he was, past sixty, yet he still sat straight and tall in the high saddle, and his voice was strong enough to carry to every corner of the field. 

There are old sellswords and bold sellswords, but no old bold sellswords. - Daenerys V, ASOS

The Tattered Prince was selected to be Prince of Pentos, and refused. It's giving Jon Snow.

For those thinking that might also be hinting at a volunteered exile, we'll later learn the Tattered Prince does want Pentos. So no, I don't think so.

"What I want," said the Tattered Prince, "is Pentos." - The Spurned Suitor, ADWD

+.+.+

But Gerris had the right of it; he and Arch were here to protect Quentyn, and that meant keeping him by the big man's side. "Arch is the best fighter of the three of us," Drinkwater had pointed out, "but only you can hope to wed the dragon queen."

Wed her or fight her; either way, I will face her soon. 

Boy, you don't know how right you are.

+.+.+

The more Quentyn heard of Daenerys Targaryen, the more he feared that meeting. 

[...]

And Books, the clever Volantene swordsman who always seemed to have his nose poked in some crumbly scroll, thought the dragon queen both murderous and mad. "Her khal killed her brother to make her queen. Then she killed her khal to make herself khaleesi. She practices blood sacrifice, lies as easily as she breathes, turns against her own on a whim. She's broken truces, tortured envoys … her father was mad too. It runs in the blood."

And the best lies contain within them nuggets of truth, enough to give a listener pause. - Tyrion III, ACOK

+.+.+

It runs in the blood. King Aerys II had been mad, all of Westeros knew that. He had exiled two of his Hands and burned a third. If Daenerys is as murderous as her father, must I still marry her? Prince Doran had never spoken of that possibility.

That's the problem with marriage pacts, you might get a Viserys or Daenerys.

He had exiled two of his Hands and burned a third.

I never considered this might be foreshadowing. She exiles Jorah.

+.+.+

Frog would be glad to put Astapor behind him. The Red City was the closest thing to hell he ever hoped to know. The Yunkai'i had sealed the broken gates to keep the dead and dying inside the city, but the sights that he had seen riding down those red brick streets would haunt Quentyn Martell forever. A river choked with corpses. The priestess in her torn robes, impaled upon a stake and attended by a cloud of glistening green flies. Dying men staggering through the streets, bloody and befouled. Children fighting over half-cooked puppies. The last free king of Astapor, screaming naked in the pit as he was set on by a score of starving dogs. And fires, fires everywhere. He could close his eyes and see them still: flames whirling from brick pyramids larger than any castle he had ever seen, plumes of greasy smoke coiling upward like great black snakes.

Good lord.

"What's the point of Quentyn Martell's POV?" This. This is the point. POVs in Slaver's Bay that aren't Daenerys.

+.+.+

When the wind blew from the south, the air smelled of smoke even here, three miles from the city. Behind its crumbling red brick walls, Astapor was still asmolder, though by now most of the great fires had burned out. Ashes floated lazy on the breeze like fat grey snowflakes.

+.+.+

The Yunkai'i did not lack for commanders. An old hero named Yurkhaz zo Yunzak had the supreme command, though the men of the Windblown glimpsed him only at a distance, coming and going in a palanquin so huge it required forty slaves to carry it.

They could not help but see his underlings, however. The Yunkish lordlings scuttled everywhere, like roaches. Half of them seemed to be named Ghazdan, Grazdan, Mazdhan, or Ghaznak; telling one Ghiscari name from another was an art few of the Windblown had mastered, so they gave them mocking styles of their own devising.

Ha ha, funny author. Almost as funny as introducing three new characters, then changing their names the next chapter.

Yurkhaz zo Yunzak will be an important character, but I don't remember enough to have an opinion of him.

+.+.+

Foremost amongst them was the Yellow Whale, an obscenely fat man who always wore yellow silk tokars with golden fringes. Too heavy even to stand unassisted, he could not hold his water, so he always smelled of piss, a stench so sharp that even heavy perfumes could not conceal it. But he was said to be the richest man in Yunkai, and he had a passion for grotesques; his slaves included a boy with the legs and hooves of a goat, a bearded woman, a two-headed monster from Mantarys, and a hermaphrodite who warmed his bed at night. "Cock and cunny both," Dick Straw told them. "The Whale used to own a giant too, liked to watch him fuck his slave girls. Then he died. I hear the Whale'd give a sack o' gold for a new one."

Guess who buys Tyrion in a slave market.

Is every character morbidly obese in this book? He's probably supposed to remind me of Illyrio. Couldn't tell you why.

+.+.+

Then there was the Girl General, who rode about on a white horse with a red mane and commanded a hundred strapping slave soldiers that she had bred and trained herself, all of them young, lean, rippling with muscle, and naked but for breechclouts, yellow cloaks, and long bronze shields with erotic inlays. Their mistress could not have been more than sixteen and fancied herself Yunkai's own Daenerys Targaryen.

Is the horse named Drogal? Does she call her slaves freedmen?

+.+.+

The Little Pigeon was not quite a dwarf, but he might have passed for one in a bad light. Yet he strutted about as if he were a giant, with his plump little legs spread wide and his plump little chest puffed out. His soldiers were the tallest that any of the Windblown had ever seen; the shortest stood seven feet tall, the tallest close to eight. All were long-faced and long-legged, and the stilts built into the legs of their ornate armor made them longer still. Pink-enameled scales covered their torsos; on their heads were perched elongated helms complete with pointed steel beaks and crests of bobbing pink feathers. Each man wore a long curved sword upon his hip, and each clasped a spear as tall as he was, with a leaf-shaped blade at either end.

"The Little Pigeon breeds them," Dick Straw informed them. "He buys tall slaves from all over the world, mates the men to the women, and keeps their tallest offspring for the Herons. One day he hopes to be able to dispense with the stilts."

The giant dwarf is a nod to Tyrion, but I don't know what the hell the rest of it means.

+.+.+

"Some say that herons are majestic," said Old Bill Bone.

"If your king eats frogs while standing on one leg."

"Herons are craven," the big man put in. "One time me and Drink and Cletus were hunting, and we came on these herons wading in the shallows, feasting on tadpoles and small fish. They made a pretty sight, aye, but then a hawk passed overhead, and they all took to the wing like they'd seen a dragon. Kicked up so much wind it blew me off my horse, but Cletus nocked an arrow to his string and brought one down. Tasted like duck, but not so greasy."

We've got an arrow taking down a massive bird, but it's the hawk that's the dragon in this scenario.

Herons fleeing once they see a dragon is probably a sign of things to come.

+.+.+

The last time the slave soldiers of Yunkai'i had faced the dragon queen's Unsullied, they broke and ran. The Clanker Lords had devised a stratagem to prevent that; they chained their troops together in groups of ten, wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle. "None of the poor bastards can run unless they all run," Dick Straw explained, laughing. "And if they do all run, they won't run very fast."

Something to keep in mind when Daenerys returns to Meereen in TWOW, and decimates the Yunkish slave army.

Game of Thrones didn't do a great job at conveying those were slaves she was burning.

+.+.+

"A pack of stinking yellow fools," Beans complained. "They still ain't managed to puzzle out why the Stormcrows and the Second Sons went over to the dragon queen."

"For gold, they believe," said Books. "Why do you think they're paying us so well?"

"Gold is sweet, but life is sweeter," said Beans. "We were dancing with cripples at Astapor. Do you want to face real Unsullied with that lot on your side?"

Daenerys better not lose battles in Westeros.

+.+.+

A real fight, thought Frog. The words stuck in his craw. The fight beneath the walls of Astapor had seemed real enough to him, though he knew the sellswords felt otherwise. "That was butchery, not battle," the warrior bard Denzo D'han had been heard to declare afterward. 

[...]

Dead or alive, the Butcher King still took the Wise Masters unawares. The Yunkishmen were still running about in fluttering tokars trying to get their half-trained slave soldiers into some semblance of order as Unsullied spears came crashing through their siege lines. If not for their allies and their despised hirelings they might well have been overwhelmed, but the Windblown and the Company of the Cat were ahorse in minutes and came thundering down on the Astapori flanks even as a legion from New Ghis pushed through the Yunkish camp from the other side and met the Unsullied spear to spear and shield to shield.

A whole chapter dedicated to telling me Yunkai doesn't have a hope in hell.

+.+.+

The rest was butchery, but this time it was the Butcher King on the wrong end of the cleaver. Caggo was the one who finally cut him down, fighting through the king's protectors on his monstrous warhorse and opening Cleon the Great from shoulder to hip with one blow of his curved Valyrian arakh. Frog did not see it, but those who did claimed Cleon's copper armor rent like silk, and from within came an awful stench and a hundred wriggling grave worms. Cleon had been dead after all. The desperate Astapori had pulled him from his tomb, clapped him into armor, and tied him onto a horse in hopes of giving heart to their Unsullied.

Dead Cleon's fall wrote an end to that. The new Unsullied threw down their spears and shields and ran, only to find the gates of Astapor shut behind them.

What the hell?

I'm instantly reminded of Roose Bolton's decoy, but I doubt he'll be a dead guy.

+.+.+

Yet that was no real fight, he thought. The real fight will be on us soon, and we must be away before it comes, or we'll find ourselves fighting on the wrong side.

[...]

Those were hardships to be endured, the stuff of all adventures.

But what must come next was plain betrayal. The Yunkai'i had brought them from Old Volantis to fight for the Yellow City, but now the Dornishmen meant to turn their cloaks and go over to the other side. That meant abandoning their new brothers-in-arms as well. The Windblown were not the sort of companions Quentyn would have chosen, but he had crossed the sea with them, shared their meat and mead, fought beside them, traded tales with those few whose talk he understood. 

Aww, he's made wildling friends.

Nice for the sellswords, but I wish more Yunkai were humanized. We're getting nothing but evil one-dimensional caricatures right now.

Oops, sorry, am I being a slavery apologist again?

+.+.+

It was the Tattered Prince himself who did the speaking. "Orders have come down from Yurkhaz," he said. "What Astapori still survive have come creeping from their hidey-holes, it seems. There's nothing left in Astapor but corpses, so they're pouring out into the countryside, hundreds of them, maybe thousands, all starved and sick. The Yunkai'i don't want them near their Yellow City. We've been commanded to hunt them down and turn them, drive them back to Astapor or north to Meereen. If the dragon queen wants to take them in, she's welcome to them. Half of them have the bloody flux, and even the healthy ones are mouths to feed."

And it begins.

Just when she thinks Astapor is behind her, someone rides in on a pale mare.

+.+.+

"A fair question. You're to ride east, deep into the hills, then swing wide about Yunkai, making for Meereen. Should you come on any Astapori, drive them north or kill them … but know that is not the purpose of your mission. Beyond the Yellow City, you're like to come up against the dragon queen's patrols. Second Sons or Stormcrows. Either will serve. Go over to them."

"Go over to them?" said the bastard knight, Ser Orson Stone. "You'd have us turn our cloaks?"

"I would," said the Tattered Prince.

Quentyn Martell almost laughed aloud. The gods are mad.

Now he doesn't have to defect! This is like the only good thing to ever happen to Quentyn Martell.

+.+.+

Hugh Hungerford frowned. "You think Queen Daenerys will take us in …"

"I do."

"… but if she does, what then? Are we spies? Assassins? Envoys? Are you thinking to change sides?"

[...]

"Let us be frank," said Denzo D'han, the warrior bard. "The Yunkai'i do not inspire confidence. Whatever the outcome of this war, the Windblown should share in the spoils of victory. Our prince is wise to keep all roads open."

Hedging his bets. Now we know how he made it to sixty.

I'm a little cloudy on the details, but I believe Daenerys doesn't take the Windblown sellswords in at first, because she doesn't trust them. Then Barristan Selmy is put in charge, and agrees to do business. Is that correct?

More relying on the wrong people basically.

+.+.+

"Every one of you has ample reason for wanting to abandon me. And Daenerys Targaryen knows that sellswords are a fickle lot. Her own Second Sons and Stormcrows took Yunkish gold but did not hesitate to join her when the tide of battle began to flow her way."

It only now occurred to me that Taena Merryweather and Daario Naharis might be playing the same role in each queen's story. Other than the sexual attraction, I mean.

Cersei knows Taena is playing both sides, but seems to forget that as the story develops. Daenerys knows she shouldn't trust sellswords, but. . .

+.+.+

The three Dornishmen were silent as they left the command tent. Twenty riders, all speaking the Common Tongue, thought Quentyn. Whispering has just gotten a deal more dangerous.

The big man slapped him hard across the back. "So. This is sweet, Frog. A dragon hunt."

A dragon hunt?

Final thoughts:

That was one of the hardest chapters to read in the entire series. Not gruesome, I mean I didn't understand anything.

-> return to menu <-

[gingerwritess]

So can we just agree that Loki is safe with reader? What? He died? But he's with our son pranking Thor.

agreed.

(tagged as spoilers j u s t in case, but it’s just a tiny baby spoiler)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Do it again, dad, do it,” the little boy giggles, hugging his pillow tighter to his chest.

“You’ve got to push the button, remember?” Loki leans forwards on the bed, smiling down at his son. “Don’t hit it, just…gently.”

Elliot reaches up, his laughing smile bright enough to light the entire room, and pokes a chubby finger on his father’s nose. Right away a wave of green energy washes over Loki’s body, and then it’s Thor sitting on the edge of Elliot’s bed, shirtless as usual.

“Wha—what did you do, Elliot??”

“Uh oh…” he giggles again and rubs his eyes, watching Loki pretend to be worried with a sleepy grin. “I switch-eroo-ed you.”

“Hmm…well, isn’t that magical.” Loki/Thor strokes his beard thoughtfully, turning to you leaning in the doorway and spreading his arms wide. “What do you think, dearest? Like what your son did with me?”

“Y’know, I don’t think I do,” you laugh, making your way to Elliot’s bed and patting Loki/Thor on the chest. “I think you should put a shirt on and see if we can get our magical kid here to get us our daddy back.”

“I am Thor, god of thunder.” Loki/Thor lifts his arms, flexing his muscles and striking heroic poses to the laughter of you and his son. “And I have not a single shirt in my possession. It would be a sin to cover muscles like these, no?”

“…I’m not answering that.”

Loki/Thor grins at you, and you can still recognise that dark gleam in his eyes through the illusion. “Smart girl…”

“C’mere!” Elliot bounces on the bed a couple times, making grabby hands at his dad. “Lemme push the button again, I want my daddy back!”

“What? What button?” Loki/Thor turns back to Elliot, the whole mattress dipping when he sits on the edge with a huff. “Your father is a smart man, to have a button built in that can change his—oh no.”

Elliot sits back with a giggle, having successfully tapped Loki on the nose again, only to now have a certain Captain America sitting on the edge of his bed, spangly outfit and shield and everything.

“Woah…” Loki/Cap gasps, glancing at the shield with a grin spreading over his face. “I look awesome. It’s a bit tight, but boy, do I feel unstoppable in these pants—”

“I think you need’a fix your button,” Elliot grins, reaching for the shield and putting it on his head, nose scrunching up as he tries to balance it on his head. “You’re not my daddy, Mr. ‘Merica.”

“How is this my fault??” Loki/Cap gasps, pressing his hands to the blue and red adorning his chest. “You’re the one who pressed the button, Lokason. Fix me, quick, I feel like pledging my allegiance to a flag.”

“But I’m not magic.” Elliot shrugs, the shield falling off his curly mop of hair. “Not yet! I need my dad back so he can teach me.”

“Perhaps your mother, then?” Loki/Cap takes a few steps towards you. “She seems like a worthy wielder of powers. Maybe she can fix the button.”

“Nothing’s impossible until mom can’t do it, right?” You laugh and appease the little bedtime charade, tapping your finger on Loki’s nose. He glows green again, shooting you a quick wink, and then he’s little.

Like…a child.

Oh my god, is that what Loki looked like as a kid??

“Oh—oh no, Elliot, help me.” Loki glares up at you, and a shocked laugh leaves your lips. “It appears your mother has sent me back in time.”

“You’re adorable!” You bend down on one knee to be eye level with this weird-kid-Loki, pinching his cheek with a grin. “You’re just as cute as my kid!”

Even as a child, Loki’s eyes turn murderous at the sound of the word “adorable”.

“Okay, that’s weird,” Elliot announces, jumping out of bed and running over to stare at his dad—who’s now the same height, looks to be the same age, and honestly, looks scarily similar to your son. “You’re like…me. Come back, dad, please?”

Loki gives him a small smile—this is just wrong, the two of them the same size and looking at each other…it almost makes you want another kid.

“You know what to do, Lokason.”

Elliot giggles and reaches a finger out to boop the other kid on the nose, and in a flash of green light, Loki—your Loki, tall and normal as he can be—stumbles back a few steps, hair whipping around his face as he looks around, acting confused.

“I just…what—where am I??”

Clapping happily, Elliot throws his arms around Loki’s legs. “You’re home, dad, you’re home!”

Loki’s heart melts, you can see it in his eyes, and the softest smile plays at his lips as he bends to pick his son up. “That I am,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Elliot’s forehead and carrying him back to bed. “I am home.”

“Hey, mommy?” Elliot stares back at you from over Loki’s shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“C’mere ‘n cuddle with us.”

Well…I mean, you’re not one to take orders, but…

”Sure thing, kiddo.”

A sleepy smile spreads over the kid’s face as Loki lowers him into his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. “Need anything before you fall asleep?” He runs the backs of his fingers along Elliot’s cheek, smiling softly down at him. “Water? Another blanket?”

“M’not gonna sleep tonight,” Elliot yawns. “M’not tired.”

“Let me know how that works out for you, Lokason.”

“Umm…can you bring Tessi over here?” The little boy waves a hand at his night stand. “It gets too dark in here, I don’t wike it.”

Loki blinks, shooting you a confused look. “Tessi?”

Who knows? you mouth back with a shrug.

“C’mon, dad, you gave me Tessi,” Elliot giggles sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he yawns again. “My nightlight, over there!”

Ohhh. Tessi the Tesseract, of course.

Loki laughs and goes to get it out of its case on his dresser, bringing the glowing cube over to rest on his bedside nightstand. “Better?”

The little boy smiles and snuggles into his pillows. “Better.”

The god bends down to plant another kiss to Elliot’s forehead. “Goodnight, Elliot. I love you to the stars and back.”

“G'night, daddy.” Elliot reaches for both of you, pulling you in for what he calls his ‘extra-warm-double-hug’ (the best thing in the world, don’t even try to argue).

Little kids tend to have some cute quirks to them. Some like that double-hug, his arms around both your necks as he plants a kiss on each of your cheeks. But Elliot’s cutest, purest little quirk?

He doesn’t really say “I love you.”

He snuggles back into his pillow, eyes fluttering closed as he pulls the blankets to his chin, and his voice comes out drowsy and sluggish, but undeniably, indisputably happy.

“You make my heart warm.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance@destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1@yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea@wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth@adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424@paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai@polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown@atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs@scarlettrosella @rocks-are-pretty-odd@confessionsofastrugglingteen  @easilydistractedwriter@arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose@lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s@lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt@mischievousbellerina  @kcd15 @mellowgirl01@lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81@lokixme @vast-ish @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163