#Selmi: Great! Go ask him.

[visenyaism]

ASOIAF POV characters ranked by how good of a guest judge they would be on drag race (definitive ranking)

24. Arys oakheart. spectacularly bad in a way that would also be bad TV because he simply would not know what to do. and would be icky about it.

23. Ned stark. canonically gets suspicious of people just because they are gender nonconforming.

22. Aeron greyjoy. people are going to wonder why i put him as Victarion on this list. this is because I think victarion has a better personality for reality TV.

21. Victarion greyjoy. good TV, would win reverse GLAAD award for most homophobic event on television.

20. Areo hotah. too stoic.

19. Quentyn. little nerd in over his head. if Barristan Selmy is telling you that you are not serving hard enough it’s already over.

18. Barristan selmy. a #ally for revealing that egg legalized gay marriage for his kid daeron and being happy about it, but does not have a lot else going for him. would probably say everyone looks nice

17. Bran. seven.

16. Joncon. IS gay, but does not seem like he’s super into all that.

15. Jon. Would probably awaken something in him.

14. Jaime. does not serve cunt, is one.

13. Brienne. Listen she’s trying her best okay.

12. Samwell Tarly. Would DEFINITELY awaken something in him. too busy blushing and telling everyone they look great to be an actual judge.

11. Arya. One thing about her is she WILL be finding people and she WILL be talking to ALL of them which makes her a great TV personality, but i think she would get bored.

10. Davos. Can’t explain this one i just think he would be down.

9. Cat. Serves, afraid to FULLY serve. Ally.

8. Asha. gets off on being mean to pretty boys so you know she is having a great time.

7. Dany. what can i say she’s a star.

6. Tyrion. definitely has the personality for it.

5. Cersei. is a fascist but showing up in full rhaegar eleganza to her husband who she murdered’s funeral. cuntress. You KNOW she would kill it.

4. Arianne. Definitely the first person you would think to ask to guest judge and for good reason.

3. Sansa. 13 year old fashion icon who loves gay people so much. Is so into it the whole time. meticulous notes.

2. Theon. could be the greatest to do it if he could ever get over himself but as it stands simultaneously knocks it out of the park and is a total train wreck. extremely fun to watch.

1. Melisandre. Serves like her life depends on it which she thinks it literally does. Obsessed with appearances and performances. off putting antagonistic cryptic and weird. fantastic TV.

[ode-to-fury]

Winter Thorns and Iron Crowns pt. 16

Summary: Stannis and Robert really not doing the Baratheons any favours when it comes to beating the idiot allegations

Pairings: Stannis Baratheon x Reader

Disclaimer: Ok! This is the last part! I’m so sorry if the prose isn’t as good I haven’t read the books in a minute so I might be using a different writing style a little I’m so sorry. Also really sorry if this sucks I haven’t touched this fic in like a year and a half lol. Anyway I hope everyone enjoys. Eat your heart out Bridgerton season 3 This is how you do a friends to lovers confession!

Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon’s Kingsguard, strode through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast and felt trepidation close it’s unrelenting fingers around his heart.

It was raining, drops pattering against the walls, dripping from eaves and lightly spattering onto his armour as he walked.

He clenched his fists at his sides, knowing Robert had sent him on this errand as some sort of test, though whether it was his test, Barristan could not say.

He stopped in front of a set of double doors, polished so that he could see his reflection in them. He took off his white helm and knocked on the door. Once. Sharply.

It was a few moments before a girl answered, pitch black hair and wide, deep blue eyes.

“Yes, m’lord?” She asked him, half hiding behind the door.

“Is lady Stark within?” He asked her kindly.

“Yes, m’lord,” she replied, and dropped into a quick curtsy. “But, begging your pardon m’lord, she said she wanted no visitors today, owing to the rain.”

He suppressed a roll of his eyes.

“Would you be so kind as to inform her that she will have to make an exception for a summons from king Robert?”

The girl’s already wide eyes widened even further, and she nodded, disappearing behind the large door.

A short time later, Y/n Stark came to the door.

She was dressed in black, her golden brown hair braided back from her face almost austerely, drawing attention to the lines around her mouth, the shadowed bruises beneath her eyes, the four thin scars on her cheek which seemed even more stark against her pale skin.

Barristan remembered the first time he had seen her, a shy, unremarkable girl. She had blossomed during her wardship, had become a lovely young woman, quick with a grin or a sly look for him or anyone else.

No trace of that girl could he see in the woman before him now. Now, all he could see was her slumped form in front of the Iron Throne, tears streaking across her cheeks.

Her lip curled as her eyes met his, as they travelled up and down, taking in his white armour and cloak.

Her eyes were dull, no trace of the twinkle that he had become accustomed to.

A great shame, for her beauty had always been in the twinkle of her grey eyes.

She shook her head, sighing through her nose.

“And out of everyone, he sends me you,” she said scornfully.

“Robert always did have the most terrible sense of humour.”

Will I ever be forgiven for living? He thought, knowing full well which one of his brothers she would have preferred to see outside her door.

“Well?” She snapped, before he could say anything, “Are you going to escort me or just stand there like a halfwit?”

He saluted and turned, not knowing how to reply, and began the long, silent walk to Robert’s solar.

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

Barristan held the door for lady Stark as she strode into the room. He closed it behind himself and took up a place beside it, opposite ser Meryn Trant.

Deliberately, he did not allow any thought on his new brother to enter his mind or show on his face.

The lady Stark strode into the room, black skirts swirling.

Robert, Maester Pycelle, Jon Arryn and even the king’s eunuch were present. Stannis Baratheon was still on Dragonstone, and would leave within three days, if his letters told true. Which they always did.

She sat down on a chair opposite the king without waiting for his leave, and Barristan felt his jaw tighten in tandem with Robert’s.

She and Robert stared at one another across the table for a long moment before she poured herself a goblet of wine.

“So,” she said finally, “I have been summoned to an audience with the king. I assume there is a reason for it?”

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but it was Jon Arryn who spoke first.

“Marriage.”

The word fell into the silence of the room like an arrow into a shield.

Thunk.

Robert cleared his throat.

“Ahem, yes. I’ve been informed that it is my duty as king to take a wife.”

He flashed her a sheepish smile across the small table, charming in its boyishness.

“A wife from an important family,” Jon continued for him, “With influence, and power. You were raised here, at court, this you know.”

Y/n nodded slowly, her face a blank slate.

“I would have it be Cersei Lannister,” the new Hand continued. “The Lannisters are the richest family in the realm, and we could do worse than having the lord Tywin bound to us.”

He took a deep breath.

“Robert would have it be you.”

Y/n’s shoulders tensed. She sat upright.

“Me?” She asked, her voice small.

“Of course you!” Robert burst out with a laugh. “You are a hero to the smallfolk, a figure from stories already told around hearthfires throughout the realm.”

He smiled at her warmly.

“We would have been kin, you and I.”

Y/n’s jaw tensed.

“I am not Lyanna, Robert.”

“I know that!” The king said, “But she is not here, and so cannot be my queen. If not her, I would have it be you. For the sake of the realm, for the sake of my sanity, for the sake of her memory. For Ned's sake, as well.”

Like as not he thinks the difference between them too small to matter, Barristan could not help but think.

Y/n looked at the table, her lips pursing. For a moment, Barristan saw once more the unsure young girl who had stared wonderingly as he sparred with Arthur Dayne in the courtyard.

“You know better than most what is at stake here, Y/n,” Jon Arryn said.

She looked up once more, and this time her jaw was set, something defiant in those grey eyes of hers.

“I do,” she said quietly, but not softly. “Just as the king knows better than most why I cannot accept his offer.”

There was silence for a moment.

"What?" Robert asked.

"I can't, Robert," she said. "I can't."

The king stared at her, openmouthed.

“Y/n, please,” he said, “Think of the realm, think what Ned would want! Think for a moment- !”

“I have, your grace,” she hesitated. “Robert. Ask me to do anything else for the realm. Ask me to die, if I must. But do not ask me this.”

They stared at one another for a moment, the king becoming angrier with every second that passed.

“And if it turns out he does not love you?” Robert eventually growled at her. “You would have me kiss Tywin Lannister’s feet for a man whose heart turned to stone long ago?”

Lady Stark's jaw clenched, her shoulders tensing, and it was with deliberate slow control that she stood from the chair.

“I daresay you could do worse, your grace, than Tywin Lannister’s feet, or Cersei Lannister’s cunt,” she said coolly. “My answer is no.”

She spun around toward the door.

“I am your king!” Robert shouted at her, standing from his seat to slam his hands on the tabletop.

She flinched at the noise, stopping, but did not turn back toward him.

“Do I have your leave, your grace?” She spat the last words like an insult.

Robert’s face was red, and he looked for a moment as though he would argue further, but then he waved a hand at her back.

“Bah,” he said, sagging into his chair, “Get out of my sight.”

Y/n opened the door and strode out.

“And send someone with wine!” Robert called after her, just before the door slammed shut.

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

“My lord,” Stannis’ chamberlain called hesitantly from the door to his rooms.

“What?” He asked, not looking up from the harbour catalogue. The man was incompetent at best, but Stannis put up with it, just as he put up with everything in his life.

“Ah, Lady Stark to see you, my lord.”

Stannis’ hand stilled on the page.

He had seen this morning, the preparations starting to be made for the royal wedding as he made his way up from the harbour to the Red Keep. Flowers being brought in, carts stuffed with barrels of wine rolling in from the direction of Dorne. He had paid it no mind, had not been the least bit interested in who Robert had chosen to marry so long as he was somewhat sensible in his choice.

Until the bakery.

He’d never noticed there was a bakery in that particular street before, but as he rode up toward the Red Keep, one woman was shouting at another as they opened for the day.

“I thought it was the Stark girl he’s marrying?”

“Maybe your right, I thought it was a Lannister.”

“No, no, my sister washes linens for the Hand, said she heard him complaining about the king not goin’ along with his choice.”

“Well… there you have it then. Got to admit it won’t change that much for us.”

Stannis hadn’t realised how tightly he was holding the reigns until his horse reared and almost threw him. He wrenched them again, turning the animal to the right course, ignoring the looks of the men riding with him.

She’s no Lyanna, but it’ll do.

He should have known. He should have seen that Robert would not allow him this, would never even think of what such a proposal might mean to Stannis. He should have- he should have-

What? Proposed to her first?

He’d almost laughed aloud, but instead had merely ground his teeth harder.

The thought that she would ever consent to a life shackled to him, the second son, when she could have the Iron Throne was laughable. The thought that she would ever consent to a life shackled to him when she could have Robert was even more so.

He had given his report of Dragonstone to the king’s small council, the king notably absent, endured their gripes about his failure to capture the two Targaryen children, and made his way to his chambers.

His appetite was gone, but already he had work to do as master of ships, and it served well enough as a distraction from the pain in his chest that had not eased since the morning.

Absurdly, he wondered how long it would take Davos to get to the Red Keep from Dragonstone if he would summon him.

He realised his chamberlain was still waiting for his answer, and cursed himself for a fool.

The mere thought of her presence stole his wits from him, made him tense, and breathless.

The last thing in the world he wanted was to see her.

But then he was nodding to the man, and closing the ledger, because he had never been able to deny her a thing.

And then she entered.

Her long hair was swept up in braids, in a style that reminded him of his childhood in Storm’s End. She wore black, and seemed pale, and there were dark bruises beneath her eyes which he knew matched those beneath his own.

His heart clenched in his chest, under no control of his own.

“Lady Stark,” he said in greeting. Too hard, too cold by half but he could not do it any other way.

She frowned, almost bemused, and sank into a quick curtsy.

“Lord Stannis,” her head tilted slightly to the side. “Forgive the intrusion.”

She cast her eyes to the door, where his chamberlain lingered still.

“Leave us,” he snapped. The man obeyed quickly.

Her eyes roamed over his face, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Why did you not come?” She said, after what felt like too long of a silence.

“Robert said your ship landed this morning. I was waiting all day.”

He did not look her in the eyes when he bit out, “I did not wish to interrupt your preparations.”

She frowned again.

“Preparations?”

If he was any other man, if he was Robert, perhaps, or Brandon Stark or Rhaegar Targaryen or some peasant in Fleabottom, perhaps he would have overturned his desk. Perhaps he would have walked to the wall and broke his hand against it.

Instead he looked down at the closed book on his desk.

“I suppose I should congratulate you on the match, or,” he could not resist adding through clenched teeth, bitterness leaking into his voice, “Perhaps it would be better to congratulate him, and give you my condolences.”

The frown remained on her face for a heartbeat, and then understanding dawned in her eyes.

“You…” he startled at the sound of her voice, at the hurt in it.

“You think I agreed to marry him?” She asked, shock in every word.

“I assumed so, yes,” he said stifly, not wishing for her pity.

“Only a fool would turn down the king.”

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

“After all this time,” she said, disbelievingly, “You think I would marry him? After everything? Do you truly know me so little?”

He blinked. Once.

“You- ?”

“I turned him down,” she said quietly.

“Of course I did, Stannis.”

He stared at her, clenched fists forgotten, clenched jaw slack for once in his life, disbelief and shock vying for the honor of making his knees weak.

Relief, as well.

The shock on her face morphed into hurt, slowly, and it felt as though someone was sliding a sword into his stomach, like a slow death by starvation all over again.

She schooled her features into indifference, and Stannis thought perhaps that was worse than a year of starvation.

“It did not cross my mind that you would refuse him,” he said, and the words sounded too bland to his own ears, and he wished fervantly for once in his life that he could cease speaking but the words seemed to fall from his mouth without his consent.

“Robert has always gotten everything he wanted- “

“He isn’t you, you halfwit!” She burst out, anger momentarily breaking through the indifference. “And you should know me better by now than to think I want that godsforsaken throne to myself when it has brought me nothing but misery my whole life!”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and her neutrality reasserted itsself. If it did not hurt so much, he would have been impressed by her control.

“I am glad to see you safe, my lord,” she said blandly.

“It seems I’ve been a bigger fool than I realised. You must excuse me, I have much to do. There is to be a wedding in a few days.”

“Y/n- “ he tried, pathetically.

“Good day, lord Stannis.”

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

A fortnight later, Stannis found Y/n sitting on a small pier beneath the cliffs of the Keep, waves hitting the wood as though they had better things to do, watching the sunrise.

He stood for a while at the end of the pier, grinding his teeth. The paper he held in his hands seemed frail, stupid even, when he was confronted with her. The rays from the rising sun made her braid shine golden, and though she wore only breeches and a shirt, she seemed a vision, or some such nonsense the bards always spewed at the sight of her.

All Stannis knew was that his stomach was twisted in knots, and though he had dressed in a fine doublet he still felt exposed, and she had not spoken to her since Robert's wedding.

Before he could lose his nerve, he cleared his throat.

She started, jumping to her feet and turning toward him as though she was ready for a fight. He was somewhat gratified to see the tension leave her when their eyes met, though not entirely.

“Stannis?” She asked, and he was ashamed to hear suspicion in her voice as she did. She raised her chin in that way of hers, standing in such a way he knew made her seem taller. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, however, that he was aware matched his own, and she was still too thin.

As he was. He was aware he looked emaciated, but if he did not do this, he thought he would die from... from whatever this was that had been aching in his chest since she had left his rooms.

"Y/n."

It was out of his mouth before he could decide otherwise. At her raised eyebrow, he cleared his throat once more.

"Lady Stark," he said instead, the paper in his hand felt more flimsy than ever, and he felt his treacherous fingers tremble slightly as he read what he had prepared to say over the past week.

“I’ve spoken to the king, to your lord brother, as well as to Maester Cressen at Dragonstone, asking for advice. I know that I cannot offer you Storm’s End as is my right by birth,” he saw her open her mouth but carried on, heedless, knowing that if he stopped now, he would never start again, “But all of them seem to agree that the match would be favourable for both parties as well as our households. So, Lady Stark, would you...” he took a deep breath, bracing for the worst, “Will you be my wife?”

She looked at him. There were a few moments of tense silence.

“You spoke to Ned and Robert?” She asked softly. He nodded.

“And they both agree the match would be favourable?”

Again, he nodded. His heart was beating somewhere in the region of his neck. It had been the only way he could think of to convince her. If he had to go longer pretending to feel only friendship, his nerves would fray to their ends, but he would be an idiot to think she felt anything of the sort for him.

So, he had written to Ned, and spoken with Robert, and even asked Maester Cressen, who had always counselled him well. It had almost come to blows between him and Robert, the king unwilling to forsake his fabricated claim on the Starks, but Stannis had won out eventually, after three of the kingsguard had come to stand between them.

“There is no...” she was frowning, searching his face for something, “Other reason?”

“No,” he said simply. None that matter.

She frowned, her grey eyes turning dark.

“Then no.”

His breath left him.

“What?” He asked.

“No. Not like this,” she said, and he was shocked to hear her voice shake, not from laughter but from anger.

She turned away from him, toward the sea, and seemed to take a deep breath. When she turned around again her fists were clenched and her jaw was set.

“I waited for you!” She all but hissed at him. “I gave up Winterfell, my home, my brothers! Do you know how the ships in the harbour call to me? But I didn’t board one, because I couldn’t leave you! Do you have any idea how many offers of marriage I’ve had in the past week alone! But I turned them all down, even Robert, even the godsforsaken Iron Throne, because I thought you saw more in me than just a trophy! Because I thought you...” suddenly it was as if a fire had been extinguished. Her shoulders slumped and she seemed so tired.

“My answer is no,” she said icily, and turned from him.

He caught her hand before she could.

“Because you thought I what?” He asked. He had to know, because hope had just started sprouting in his chest, like a flickering candle flame, and he had to extinguish it before it consumed him.

She frowned, and didn’t look him in the eyes.

“Because I thought you loved me,” she said quietly.

She looked up into his eyes, and he could hardly breathe. They shone in the early dawn light.

She was looking at him with something like defiance, as if she was daring him to say something.

He stared at her.

Because I thought you loved me.

He kept staring at her.

She... thought I...

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His thoughts seemed to be moving too slowly.

Finally, she seemed to lose patience with him.

“Never mind,” she said, starting to walk back toward the Keep.

“Wait. No,” he tried to stop her. “I wasn’t- I never meant- “

“Let me go, Stannis.”

“I did not think you could love me,” he blurted. “I did not dare hope you could love me.”

She stopped struggling and finally turned around. To his horror, she looked amused.

He clenched his teeth and let go of her arm.

“Once, when you were visiting Storm’s End when I was seventeen, there was a storm, and Shipbreaker Bay was as wild as I’d ever seen it. You held on to my arm as we watched it through the window,” he said quickly. “I’ve been in love with you since that day, perhaps before, even. But you- “, he stopped, not knowing how to make sense of the feelings swimming around in his head, in his chest. He hated that she did that to him.

You are too beautiful to trifle with me, and too kind and too strong and I never thought you could love me. I thought if we married, I might convince myself eventually, but to presume...

She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him for a long while, frowning. His heart had decided to make a home somewhere in his stomach.

“You’re a simpleton,” she said eventually. Still frowning.

“What?” He asked, perplexed.

“I said,” she walked forward and took his hand, entwining their fingers, “You’re a simpleton, Stannis Baratheon. A fool. An idiot. A...” she looked to the side, thinking. “A halfwit.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, my lady,” he said coolly. Now she was insulting him? On top of refusing him?

She shook her head, smiling slightly, and he was about to snap back at her for being an idiot, but she spoke over him.

“Stannis,” she said softly, looking up at him, “I’ve loved you since we were children. Since the first day you showed me Proudwing, do you remember? The sun hadn’t even come up properly yet.”

He did remember, he’d thought she was strange, with her twinkling grey eyes and bare feet, running around Storm’s End on her own. Perhaps he had loved her since that day as well.

“But I was too young to know it was love,” she said softly, “Too young to see the truth.”

“I thought you were strange,” he said, then wanted to kick himself. But instead of being angry, she laughed, and her hand found his arm. A warmth spread through him, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. That was what she was, sunlight after rain.

“I thought you were strange too,” she said softly. “A strange, lanky little boy who frowned too much and had dark blue eyes just like the ocean. I wanted to try and make you laugh.”

He smiled despite himself, despite the emotions roiling his stomach around, despite the thoughts he could not seem to get in order. Despite everything. Such an immense feeling of love welled up in him that he felt he would die from it.

She smiled too, and her eyes twinkled in that familiar way. Starlight and sunlight and flickering firelight all came together in those grey eyes when she laughed.

Then she stood on her toes and brushed her lips against his, barely more than a touch, barely a second, but fire raced through him. Fire and lightning and ice and everything at once.

“Ask me again,” she said, still standing close to him, hand in hand, her breath tickling his lips. “Correctly.”

“Be my wife,” he said, almost in a trance, “Be mine, please.”

She kissed him again, and again it was like a storm in his chest.

“Alright. For you.”

[racefortheironthrone]

Greetings! I'm asking the reverse of a question from a few weeks ago.

Who would be each ASOIAF character's favourite X-man, or mutant if you prefer? Obviously there's a lot of ASOIAF characters, only whoever strikes your fancy of course.

Thanks!

I could have sworn I had done this years ago, but I think I must have gotten a draft or something eaten back in 2018 when I did the reverse of this. In order to make this a bit more manageable, I'm going to stick with ASOIAF POV characters only.

Bran - Xavier. A morally ambiguous disabled psychic. Kind of over-determined, really.

Catelyn - Madelyne Pryor. A wronged wife with red hair granted dark powers to wreak revenge.

Daenerys - Jean Grey. A woman of immense supernatural power who literally walks through fire? C'mon.

Eddard - Cyclops. Honorable warrior respects honorable warrior.

Jon - also Cyclops, but only after the Dark Phoenix Saga.

Arya - Laura Kinney or Gabby. Not sure which.

Sansa - starts as Firestar fan (justice for Lady Butterrum!) ends as Emma Frost stan.

Tyrion - this is more a deep cut, but I think Tyrion would be a huge Whiz-Kid fan, especially his S.W.O.R.D era incarnation.

Theon - I think Theon would be a Quentin Quire fan; something about the combination of great potential and raging insecurity.

Davos - Gambit comes closest, but I could see an argument for Storm, especially Storm's depowered era.

Melisandre - Rachel Summers. Fire, Mother Askani prophecies, the whole shebang.

Jaime - big fan of the Fenris twins. Just kidding. He's super into Angel/Warren Worthington III, and has confused thoughts about whether Warren is better off with Candy Southern or Psylocke.

Brienne - super into the Captains Britain.

Samwell Tarly - I think he'd be a Beast fan, but Percy's X-Force would make him very sad.

Aeron Greyjoy - Exodus is another predetermined choice.

Victarion Greyjoy - doesn't see why Sabertooth has such a bad reputation.

Asha Greyjoy - big Laura Kinney fan.

Arienne Martell - I could see her being an Emma Frost stan.

Barristan Selmy - Cable. Again, white-haired grizzled soldier who protects children of destiny. Not a hard pick.

Quentyn Martell - has a soft spot for Beak.

[carrotsnake]

Botw/Totk headcanon: Sheikah NPCs beyond Kakariko

after impa being the Last of Her Kind for nearly 20 years, we were kind of spoiled with the era of wilds sheikah. still, kakariko is known for it's older population and botw makes a point to let us know paya isn't used to seeing people her age. this post is about asking 'where are they?' and filling in the gaps. being a peaceful farming village it makes sense the younger gens would want to leave as soon as they can for some adventure.

sheikah typically have hair on the grey-to-white scale (granté proves this isn't a requirement), and unlike the past games they have a greater diversity in eye colour. below is a list of hylian npcs that look too young to have greying hair that i hc are either from kakariko, or have some sheikah ancestry.

from left to right: lecia, letty, mina, her brother mils by proxy, teli, juney, and baumar. i'll go into more detail about each under the cut, comparing them from the 2 games alongside some more headcanons. some of them i haven't found in totk yet, so i'll edit when i do.

pic on the left side is them in botw, totk on the right.

Mina is a treasure hunter looking for loot with her brother by the exchange ruins outside the great plateau. the siblings also show up in the dlc. they're trying to steal a sheikah heirloom back from the yiga hideout, though they don't know it's purpose - they just wanna sell it. in totk she walks on the path between lakeside stable and lurelin. she says that even treasure hunters deserve some fun once in a while, so we can assume she's takin' it easy. Mils, meanwhile...

...joined the zonai survey team, and moans about what tough work it is. he walks through pagos woods to the zonai ruins. he joined in the hopes it would lead him to treasure, but he hasn't had his lucky break yet. most hylians travel from stable to inn and can be assumed not to have a proper home due to the lasting effects of the calamity. this is my bias but i like to think he's talking about kakariko when he mentions home. let him grow some pumpkins and wrangle cuccos. he wishes to live a quiet life.

i find it sweet him and mina are both in faron. maybe they decided to split up and cover more ground? with mina off sunbathing and sipping mimosas in lurelin, mils got the short end of the stick again.

Baumar:

'i hope you die': lazy, cliché, unrealistic. 'i hope your favourite botw npc gets mushroomed and bowlcutted': it's scary, it's possible, it's happening to me right now. such was the fate of our poor resident shield-surfer bro from botw. known for many hit quotes such as 'let's go bamboo! yahoo!', 'shield surfing is like, totally radical, dude', and my favourite:

in botw he rides his horse on the path between serenne and snowfield stable. in totk he's part of the fashion tour-group that run around hateno village. maybe he went to hebra to show his 'wicked' surfing moves to selmie and she said 'kid, if i let you out on the slopes you'll die. sorry'. his world was completely shattered beneath him like a broken shield, so he turned to cravats and puffy short shorts to cope.

his name is similar to the hills of baumer above deya village ruins. maybe he's a descendent of the few survivors. i wonder what his ancestors are thinking now, watching what he does with the gift of life.

Teli walks between fort hateno and hateno village. He sells ancient guardian parts and even mentions he trades them with Robbie. he has a high opinion of himself and tells you he's known across hyrule for his 'roguish good looks.' in totk he's one of the men in the 'Gourmets gone missing' Penn quest that gave himself food-poisoning by riverside stable. after which he scares away some cuccos and makes you wrangle them for a sidequest. just L after L for this dashing rogue.

Juney, now famous for her rupee grinding sand seal minigame, i instantly recognised as the epic divorce woman from rito village. her attitude is just as surly as ever but they gave her a soft side. i like that every minigame location could not be further from hateno. you'll find that school someday queen.

she was a newly wed mad at her husband, jogo, for choosing a cold place for their honeymoon. he begs you to give him flint to cook some baked apples for her to save their already failing marriage.

in totk they're not together, jogo inhabits a cabin in tabantha village ruins with another woman. he didn't give her enough baked apples.

Letty walks along the path between lakeside stable and lurelin. she gives you cooking tips and that's pretty much it. In totk, she and a friend are investigating the ring ruins in Kakariko together.

Lecia is a new character in totk. she's with the research team and plays a part in the foothill stable Penn quest, the one with all the men in underpants. she kind of looks like a grown up Koko. maybe a distant relative? but maybe she's not sheikah. maybe the sight of all those pasty naked men traumatised her so bad she got marie-antoinette syndrome from the shock. i haven't seen her since.

thank you if you read to the end. to clarify i'm working on some fic stuff and that entails finding npcs across the overworld to give some more lore. it's a sheikah focused fic so i needed some characters other than the kakariko residents. it's also just fun fleshing out random npcs to make the world feel more lived in. again, i'm missing some details like what mina does before you save lurelin, so i'll edit this post in the future.

[venusintheblindspots-blog]

DECONSTRUCTIONS of Fantasy Archetypes in ASOIF

So, do y’all remember that one GRRM interview where he talks about Aragon’s tax policy?

The link to the interview is right here : https://www.tolkiensociety.org/2014/04/grrm-asks-what-was-aragorns-tax-policy/

I’ve always interpreted that quote as a critique of the endings that are given to most fantasy heroes, where they save the day, and continue to rule a happy kingdom.

Now, there are many characters in ASOIF that could be linked to the hero archetype,-Dany, Jon, Tyrion, Arya, Sansa, Davos, etc.,(literally almost every POV character is certain type of fantasy hero, or possesses traits of one, although most of them are reconstructions).

But the one character I’ve always linked to that quote, is Robert Baratheon.

Robert’s Rebellion, without the nuance, reads like a Disney fairytale. The young hero (Robert), saving the maiden (Lyanna),from the evil prince (Rhaegar) and his father (Aerys). In a Disney fairytale, Robert and Lyanna would have married, and rule as the King and Queen of a kingdom that adores them. Rhaegar and Aerys would have been disposed of, and most people would celebrate it.

But in ASOIF, that’s not what quite happens.

Romance

Robert and Lyanna were betrothed, yes, but based off of perception of Lyanna from Ned, her brother (and the only POV character who actually knew her), and what we’ve seen of Robert, their marriage would’ve been miserable for her and him ( eventually).

“You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert,” Ned told him. “You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath. She would have told you that you have no business in the melee.”

“ Robert will never keep to one bed,” Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm’s End. “I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale.” Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. “Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature.”

In these two quotes from Ned Stark’s chapters in A Game of Thrones, Lyanna seemingly has no interest in marrying Robert Baratheon, despite the ‘interest’ he has in her.

Who Are Robert’s ‘Villains’ ?

Putting the ‘romance’ in Robert’s story aside, we’ll now focus on his villains : Rhaegar and Aerys Targaryen. Most book readers agree that Aerys, the mad King was not a suitable ruler during the time of Robert’s Rebellion and needed to be gone. But Rhaegar Targaryen has always been a polarizing character within the fandom, and the text.

“I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her.”

“In my dreams, I kill him every night,” Robert admitted. “A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves.”

“Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.”

“He had failed Prince Rhaegar once. He would not fail his son, not whilst life remained in his body.”

“Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them.”

“Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

Now, it is important to note that all of these are opinions from different characters, most of whom didn’t know Rhaegar personally, so there is a lot of bias in some of these quotes. But the quote that stook out to me the most comes from Barristan Selmy :

“It was said that no man ever knew Prince Rhaegar, truly.”

Because as readers, we don’t really know him at all. We know of his actions, ( some of which I find truly selfish) and there are a thousand theories as to why he does what he does, but we truly don’t know.

But anyways, let’s get back to Robert because I don’t intend to dissect Rhaegar as yet.

Robert’s Rebellion

I’m going to just do a quick summary. Rhaegar ‘steals’ the woman that Robert is betrothed to, and in result, her brother and father are murdered by his father. His father, Aerys then calls for the heads of her betrothed, Robert Baratheon and her brother, Eddard Stark. After witnessing the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark, Jaime Lannister executes the mad King. Robert and Rhaegar face each other on the Trident, Rhaegar dies,- y’all should know this story by now.

Ultimately, Robert killing Rhaegar and saving the realm from the mad King and his son should’ve been a good thing. It should’ve secured peace and safety for everyone in the realm. The main reason most characters (Jaime Lannister) in the books wanted the Mad King gone is because his reign threatens the safety of the innocent people of Kingslanding, and the rest of Westeros. All of these things would have happened if Robert’s Rebellion was a simple fairytale, and Robert himself were a true hero (I sound a little like Sansa here, lol), but he isn’t and now we’re going to explore why.

Those Who Weren’t Protected By Our Hero

Let’s reign in Elia Martell, one of my favorite minor characters in the series.

The majority of the time we hear of Elia, we hear of the tragic ending she and her babies got. There are theories of her being on board with Rhaegar’s ‘plans’, (theories I absolutely do not buy into), or even her being so unsatisfactory of a wife that Rhaegar may have secretly hated her(quite extreme for a character we hardly know). But one thing is for certain : she did her duty as a wife in Westeros. She provided Rhaegar with two healthy children, a boy, Aegon, and a girl, Rhaenys.

“Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. ”

“Some said it had been Gregor who’d dashed the skull of the infant prince Aegon Targaryen against a wall, and whispered that afterward he had raped the mother, the Dornish princess Elia, before putting her to the sword. These things were not said in Gregor’s hearing.”

“It was said that Rhaegar’s little girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin’s soldiers had torn him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall.”

What are Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon if not innocents?

Let’s see what Robert Baratheon has to say on that matter.

“Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.”

Mind you, this man is talking about a toddler, a newborn and their mother. “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.”

Robert’s take on Elia Martell and her children is not only cold and heartless, but goes against the ‘hero protecting innocents’ trope.

Robert Baratheon Almost Two Decades After His Rebellion

Now let’s look at the Robert that we meet in A Game Of Thrones.

He’s not the ‘Demon of the Trident’ who saved the realm from chaos, but rather a terrible has-been. I mean, just look at Jon Snow’s reaction to seeing him :

“The king was a great disappointment to Jon. His father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Jon saw only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups.”

He will probably be remembered as a good king for most people in Westeros, but only because of the small council that does the work for him.

“Perhaps we had best wait for Ser Barristan and the king to join us,” Ned suggested.

Renly Baratheon laughed aloud. “If we wait for my brother to grace us with his royal presence, it could be a long sit.”

“Our good King Robert has many cares,” Varys said. “He entrusts some small matters to us, to lighten his load.”

He’s a drunkard who abuses his wife and children and reminisces on a dead girl who had zero interest in him.

“The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister’s name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna.”

“The talk is you and the queen had angry words last night.”

The mirth curdled on Robert’s face. “The woman tried to forbid me to fight in the melee. She’s sulking in the castle now, damn her.”

“My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?”

“Ned touched her cheek gently. “Has he done this before?”

“Once or twice.” She shied away from his hand. ”

He’s kind of….pathetic.

George R. R. Martin plays with the idea that good people and good intentions do not always equate to good kings, vice versa. He uses a lot of common fantasy tropes and archetypes, but reconstructs them in a realistic way. Robert Baratheon, like most characters in ASOIF plays into the hero archetype, but him being a hero in the story is subjective and highly depends on who is perceiving him.

That’s it for now. I might do more analytical posts for some of my favorite characters but don’t take my word for it.

[atopvisenyashill]

I think I need to be a little more clear: I'm asking what happens what do Joanna, Minisa, and Lyarra do differently if they're regents for their sons and how different they would be from their husbands. Like who would they want their children to marry for instance? And I didn't say anything about Cassana being regent although now that I think about it would Steffon and Cassana even go on that voyage if there's no Aerys around? Or maybe it's Rhaegar who orders them to go cause he shares his father's blood purity views and in that case they probably go earlier than in canon or they go for an entirely and reason. And the only reason that Aerys let Jaime join his kingsguard in the first place was to spite Tywin and gain a hostage. So it's very doubtful that he still becomes a kingsguard since there's no reason for Rhaegar to do this especially with Jaime being the Lord of casterly rock and even Rhaegar would probably know that's not a good idea and his mother who is friends with Joanna would likely advise against this.

well, like i said in the first ask, if rhaella is taking the regency at a young age, she needs a strong hand, so it’s likely to be tywin, as the best friend of her dead husband and the cousin of one of her ladies, for the beginning of the regency up until tyrion is born at minimum. it stands to reason rhaella would therefore be receptive to tywin’s overtures at marriage between rhaegar & cersei. however, she has several ladies, several friends, who all have ideas of their own. as i mentioned in the second ask, to avoid the incest, joanna might want to get jaime married to elia very quickly, given that in canon joanna and loreza had planned to marry their children to each other. that does leave cersei open to marry rhaegar, but once tywin is dead, joanna might not want to marry cersei to rhaegar bc she’s worried about the incest & figured the further the better, but if rhaella presses the subject, joanna can’t say no, and if rhaella catches a weird vibe and turns to loreza, loreza might not say no. however, rhaegar has a lot of room to wiggle out of whatever engagement his mother decides for him once he comes of age, and given the age gap between him and cersei, he will be of age before her, maybe even before she starts menstruating, and he can choose whoever he wants.

now as i stated in the first ask, when a child becomes an adult, they tend to chafe at their old regents, so i made the assumption that rhaegar would chafe against tywin & rhaella, which gives him wiggle room to reject or marry cersei. if he marries cersei, and cersei comes to him begging him to let jaime join the kingsguard, there is precedent for a man giving up his seat or engagement in order to join up - barristan selmy himself calls off an engagement and gives up his father’s seat to be part of the kingsguard. yeah, aerys did it to spite tywin but it’s a high honor, and cersei is both intelligent & manipulative. and if rhaegar doesn’t marry cersei, but he has been trying to stand out from rhaella, and has resented everyone lamenting tywin’s death bc tywin was the true great king of westeros, and cersei is a trusted confidant of his wife, she could very well convince rhaegar that way as well. so i do think there’s a non zero chance here that cersei can convince rhaegar to foil this match, it’s fine if you don’t agree. regardless, the only canon information on what joanna wanted for her kids was loreza’s kids so maybe cersei married oberyn as a way of getting cersei separated from jaime, or maybe she marries rhaegar bc rhaella suggests it and joanna can’t say no, or maybe joanna decides cersei can wait a few years and marry a rich redwyne, or willas or edmure, and cersei stays unwedded for a few years as punishment for attempting to escalate the incest. she’s almost definitely not marrying a cousin - joanna won’t let her stay that close to jaime.

we don’t really have canon personalities for minisa, lyarra, or cassana, so it’s hard to say what they would have wanted but we know jon arryn is a schemer, plus the nine penny kings war brought a lot of the lords together in friendship, plus there are already strong ties between the vale & north, so it stands to reason that he is still going to reach out to lyarra & cassana about fostering ned & robert, which means robert-lyanna still happens bc there’s no reason for lyarra to say no to that match. we know hoster had very lofty marriages in mind for his girls and i think it stands to reason that minisa would have shared these goals, so it makes sense that the brandon-catelyn match still goes through. lysa-jaime doesn’t bc of elia, so jaime probably never spends that time at riverrun, but that doesn’t mean Minisa isn’t looking around for lysa & baby edmure’s matches. she’s not letting petyr marry lysa tho, and i do think she’d pick up on the crush quicker and deal with it, probably hurting lysa’s feelings in the process, but maybe lysa isn’t marrying jon, so, that’s progress.

as i stated before, i think minisa would still be involved in the southron ambitions plot, because i think a man like hoster would marry an ambitious woman, and jon arryn would be happy to direct her the way he wants. that plus being regent means that even with lysa maybe being more stable, catelyn likely has the same heiress type upbringing bc minisa is leaning on her for help as the oldest the same way hoster does. joanna is likely as plugged into the political scene as tywin so her goals are as lofty, but she has the added benefit of knowing about the incest. likely she relies on kevan in a similar way that tywin does to help raise jaime. when it comes to rhaegar, he’s likely even more melancholy because his father died at summerhall, and being king gives him a way to really dig in and get invested in the prophecy he finds. i don’t think rhaella would have any reason to dissuade him from this initially, though she might not like it because of summerhall. i can see this being a point of contention between them. like i suggested in the first ask, rhaegar could perhaps get invested enough that he too seeks out jenny’s woods witch or goes searching for his own witch - as king, even with a regent, he has that power. considering that the last prophecy obsessed targs got most of themselves blown up, i can see the realm not loving this inclination in their young king, which would make rhaella want to guide him away from it but he doesn’t technically have to listen. there’s likely to be conflict here, especially once he starts having kids.

[dtyfp2]

Dreamer

The Great War

Helen Baratheon was 10 years old when she got sick.

“Uncle Stannis will have a girl,” you tell Renly as you sit for breakfast.

“Really? How do you know?” Renly asks as you feed a cube of meat to Balerion. He had gotten big in the 2 years since you found him, and strong. Maester Pycelle worried he’d never be able to fly at first, but under your care, Balerion could fly like all others. You had tried to set him free once you saw he could fly and hunt, but the great Falcon never left you for long, he always returned and followed you wherever you went.

“I dreamt it.”

——————————————————————

“She is very small,” you comment as you peer over baby Shireen’s crib.

“Aye, she is. You were small like her once,” your uncle Stannis tells you, his hand gently hovering behind your back to catch you in case you stumbled.

“Me? Are you sure?” You ask in disbelief.

“Yes, Helen, I am sure. You were once so small I could hold you in hand,” Stannis remarks as he jokingly pokes your side.

“I will make this a gift to my daughter. Do you think she’ll like it?” Stannis asks, drawing your attention to the doll in his hand. He offers it to you to hold and touch, smiling as you admire the pretty hair.

“I think she will,” you answer as you hand it back to him.

“Good, I think she will too,” Stannis chuckles as he places the doll by Shireen’s face. You watch as Shireen grabs the doll with her little hands and presses her face against it.

“She likes it,” you giggle, looking up at your uncle in delight as your aunt, Selyse, enters.

“She sure does. Now go along, princess, Selyse and I must feed her. Ser Barristan is waiting for you outside,” your uncle smiles as he pats your head. You wave goodbye before meeting the knight.

“Ser Barristan, let’s go play outside,” you suggest. You hardly wait for a response, you’re already running outside in search of Balerion.

You spend the entire afternoon on the shores of Dragonstone, rolling around in the sand, chasing Balerion, and even building sand castles (that Barristan helps you build), as well as finding pretty shells you plan to bring home with you.

You stay outside until the sun sets, long after dinner. One of the maids had brought you something to eat once it was clear you wouldn’t make it in for dinner. See Barristan comes and sits with you on the sand as the sun sets and the stars begin to shine.

“Those stars look like fathers hammer,” you point out as you lie back. Ser Barristan indulges you and lies back as well.

“Those ones look like Westeros,” he humours you. When you can’t see it immediantly, he carefully points it out for you to see.

“Today was the best day, Ser Barristan, I had so much fun,” you tell him as Balerion flies overhead.

“I am glad Princess,” he sighs contently.

“Did you have a nice day too?” You ask him as you glance over at him.

“I did princess, I had fun watching you have fun. I always have fun with you,” he smiles, much to your obvious delight. You look back up at the stars before quickly pointing up.

“That one looks like a flower!”

You spend the next little while looking up at the stars with Ser Barristan, pointing out any little thing you see. When you fail to answer him, Barristan Selmy glances over to see you had fallen asleep. He doesn’t have the heart to wake you, so he gently picks you up and walks all the stairs of Dragonstone to lay you in your bed.

It doesn’t worry Barristan when you sleep all night and all morning after the day you’ve had. It isn’t until the afternoon when the alarm bells are rung about poor Shireen Baratheon who had mysteriously taken ill, that Barristan rushes to check on you. You don’t wake when shaken and you’re feverish.

Within the fortnight, your parents join Stannis and Selyse at dragonstone and ravens are sent to every corner of the seven kingdoms and beyond, practically begging for any healer or maester to come.

You regain consciousness a few days later, but remain lethargic for months and months. It doesn’t take long for the Maesters to declare you and Shireen had caught greyscale. Your mother was devastated, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her first born. It didn’t help that no one could touch you, that she could’ve hold you like her own mother did when she got sick as a girl.

You go in and out of consciousness over the next long while, maesters had come from every nook and cranny of the Kingdom’s, many went home empty handed.

Throughout your delirium, you dreamt. Your purple eyes shining as bright as they ever did despite your condition. You dreamt of Balerion flying high, you dream of snow, weirwood trees, you dreamt of a large stag running through the woods with a gray wolf beside it, you dreamt of lions and fish, you even dreamt of dragons.

It is nearly your 11th nameday when you finally wake for good. Your mother sits by your bed and weeps when you roll over.

“Helen, my sweet girl, you’re going to be alright,” she promises as she pulls you up into her arms. Ser Barristan was standing at the door and breathes a sigh of relief when you look at him. He swears he could’ve cried.

“Mother, my arm hurts,” you whine.

“I know, little dove, it’ll feel better soon,” she assures you. Looking down, you can see your arm is wrapped in bandages.

“I’m hungry,” you murmur, your stomach twisting as you sit up.

“Ser Barristan, get her something to eat,” your mother commands. When Ser Selmy returns, he brings a plate of soft foods, your father, a maester, and your uncle Stannis. As your mother gently feeds you, the Maester unwraps your arm as you watch. To your surprise, your forearm was covered in…it almost looked like the scales of those dragons you saw in your dreams.

“…the spread has stopped and she’s not contagious anymore, but she will bear these scars for the rest of her life,” the maester tells your father as you lean against your mothers chest.

“What stopped the spread?” Your uncle Stannis asks. He looks tired, you notice, like all the joy had been stripped from his heart. He looks older too, like the past few months had aged him 50 years.

“It’s hard to say, my lord. The Princess’s age helped surely, but it could’ve been any number of things everyone has tried, it could’ve been a combination. The fact the spread has stopped, for both the princess and Shireen is nothing short of a miracle,” the maester says as he applies some sort of ointment to your arm and rewraps it.

As the others talk, you glance over your mother’s shoulder out the window and see Balerion flying.

“…we should let the princess rest,” the maester tells everyone. Your uncle Stannis leaves quickly, followed by the Maester, and Ser Barristan steps outside just enough to leave you with your parents.

“Father, I dreamt of Balerion and stags and lions and wolves and dragons,” you tell him as he lies you down and lifts the blanket.

“You’ve had good dreams then?” He asks as he kneels beside you. You nod in agreement. You want to tell him all about it, but your eyes are getting so heavy.

“You have no idea how much that pleases me, my darling Helen,” your father bites back tears as he gently rubs your cheek.

“Can I see Balerion tomorrow?” You ask, so tired that your words begin slurring with each other.

“Of course you can, my girl, I’ll make sure of it,” your father promises. He presses a kiss to your forehead, followed by one from your mother, though both find it difficult to leave. For one of the first times in their marriage, Cersei and Robert stood together, they comforted each other, they both yearned for the same thing-that their daughter would live. Your parents remain sitting on either side of the rest of the night as you sleep, their hands finding each other as the months of stress leave their anxious bones and leave only relief.

The next morning, they follow you outside and sit on the sand, not a care in the world for their clothes and proper etiquette. They build little castles with you, watch as you (albeit very slowly) play with Balerion, and even eat outside when you refuse to go back in.

It would be one of the final moments in memory that Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon could remain in each others presence without petty squabbling and bouts of ignorance.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Queen's Hand (Barristan IV) [Chapter 70]

Long ass chapter for no good reason.

The Dornish prince was three days dying.

He took his last shuddering breath in the bleak black dawn, as cold rain hissed from a dark sky to turn the brick streets of the old city into rivers. The rain had drowned the worst of the fires, but wisps of smoke still rose from the smoldering ruin that had been the pyramid of Hazkar, and the great black pyramid of Yherizan where Rhaegal had made his lair hulked in the gloom like a fat woman bedecked with glowing orange jewels.

Perhaps the gods are not deaf after all, Ser Barristan Selmy reflected as he watched those distant embers. If not for the rain, the fires might have consumed all of Meereen by now.

+.+.+

He saw no sign of dragons, but he had not expected to. The dragons did not like the rain. 

We already know they hate the cold, and don't do well in the north, but not liking rain seems to be a new development. At least for me.

"I knew it would rain," he said in a gloomy tone. "My bones were aching last night. They always ache before it rains. The dragons won't like this. Fire and water don't mix, and that's a fact. You get a good cookfire lit, blazing away nice, then it starts to piss down rain and next thing your wood is sodden and your flames are dead."

Gerris chuckled. "Dragons are not made of wood, Arch."

"Some are. That old King Aegon, the randy one, he built wooden dragons to conquer us. That ended bad, though." - The Dragontamer, ADWD

+.+.+

Missandei sat at the bedside. She had been with the prince night and day, tending to such needs as he could express, giving him water and milk of the poppy when he was strong enough to drink, listening to the few tortured words he gasped out from time to time, reading to him when he fell quiet, sleeping in her chair beside him. Ser Barristan had asked some of the queen's cupbearers to help, but the sight of the burned man was too much for even the boldest of them. And the Blue Graces had never come, though he'd sent for them four times. Perhaps the last of them had been carried off by the pale mare by now.

It seems little Missandei can stomach some pretty gruesome things. Reminds me of another little girl in this story.

I'm going to pretend the Blue Graces aren't helping because they hate him.

+.+.+

The tiny Naathi scribe looked up at his approach. "Honored ser. The prince is beyond pain now. His Dornish gods have taken him home. See? He smiles."

Dornish gods?

+.+.+

How can you tell? He has no lips. It would have been kinder if the dragons had devoured him. That at least would have been quick. This … Fire is a hideous way to die. Small wonder half the hells are made of flame. "Cover him."

Says the Targaryen loyalist.

+.+.+

"I'll see that he's returned to Dorne." But how? As ashes? That would require more fire, and Ser Barristan could not stomach that. We'll need to strip the flesh from his bones. Beetles, not boiling. 

Something tells me House Martell won't be enjoying this skull as much as the last one.

+.+.+

"You should go sleep now, child. In your own bed."

"If this one may be so bold, ser, you should do the same. You do not sleep the whole night through."

How does she know that?

+.+.+

Grand Maester Pycelle had once told him that old men do not need as much sleep as the young, but it was more than that. He had reached that age when he was loath to close his eyes, for fear that he might never open them again. Other men might wish to die in bed asleep, but that was no death for a knight of the Kingsguard.

If there is any justice in this world, Barristan Selmy falls down a flight of stairs. Make it old man shit.

+.+.+

After the girl was gone, the old knight peeled back the coverlet for one last look at Quentyn Martell's face, or what remained of it. So much of the prince's flesh had sloughed away that he could see the skull beneath. His eyes were pools of pus. He should have stayed in Dorne. He should have stayed a frog. Not all men are meant to dance with dragons. 

Misleading. Remember everyone, the dance won't actually involve dragons, Daenerys or any other real Targaryen.

+.+.+

And with the sun arrived the Shavepate. Skahaz was clad in his familiar garb of pleated black skirt, greaves, and muscled breastplate. The brazen mask beneath his arm was new—a wolf's head with lolling tongue. 

LMAO.

Two for three! If this guy is in a rat mask at the start of TWOW, I'm going to lose my mind.

Can someone do me a favour and ask a Targ if it's a good thing when the poisoner dresses like a wolf?

+.+.+

"They await the Hand's pleasure below."

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

You realize you didn't have to do anything, you stupid jackass.

+.+.+

There are two hundred highborn gathered in the square, standing in the rain in their tokars and howling for audience. They want Hizdahr free and me dead, and they want you to slay these dragons. Someone told them knights were good at that. 

Personally, my money's on cripples, bastards, and broken things. And Samwell.

+.+.+

Men are still pulling corpses from the pyramid of Hazkar. The Great Masters of Yherizan and Uhlez have abandoned their own pyramids to the dragons.

You find any lions under that pyramid?

+.+.+

"Nine-and-twenty?" That was far worse than he could ever have imagined. The Sons of the Harpy had resumed their shadow war two days ago. Three murders the first night, nine the second. But to go from nine to nine-and-twenty in a single night …

Sounds like the perfect time to go to war, Barry.

When she opened her eyes again, Daenerys said, "I cannot fight two enemies, one within and one without. If I am to hold Meereen, I must have the city behind me. The whole city. I need … I need …" - Daenerys V, ADWD

+.+.+

Why do you look so grey, old man? What did you expect? The Harpy wants Hizdahr free, so he has sent his sons back into the streets with knives in hand. 

Both of these men thought Hizdahr was the Harpy.

+.+.+

The sign of the Harpy was left beside the bodies, chalked on the pavement or scratched into a wall. There were messages as well. 'Dragons must die,' they wrote, and 'Harghaz the Hero.' 'Death to Daenerys' was seen as well, before the rain washed out the words."

Damn, they forgot my favourite.

+.+.+

"Twenty-nine hundred pieces of gold from each pyramid, aye," Skahaz grumbled. "It will be collected … but the loss of a few coins will never stay the Harpy's hand. Only blood can do that."

"So you say." The hostages again. He would kill them every one if I allowed it. "I heard you the first hundred times. No."

He can deny him all he'd like, the blood is still on Barristan's hands if these kids die. He's the one who committed treason, and empowered this maniac.

+.+.+

Hizdahr's grotesque dragon thrones had been removed at Ser Barristan's command, but he had not brought back the simple pillowed bench the queen had favored. Instead a large round table had been set up in the center of the hall, with tall chairs all around it where men might sit and talk as peers.

The audacity of this man.

+.+.+

They rose when Ser Barristan came down the marble steps, Skahaz Shavepate at his side. 

[...]

"Whitebeard." Belwas smiled. "Where is liver and onions? Strong Belwas is not so strong as before, he must eat, get big again. They made Strong Belwas sick. Someone must die."

Someone will. Many someones, like as not.

You can only laugh. I'm sure Skahaz is.

+.+.+

Should Drogon return to Meereen without Daenerys mounted on his back, the city would erupt in blood and flame, of that Ser Barristan had no doubt. 

Wanna bet the same thing happens if she is mounted on his back?

+.+.+

Thus far both dragons seemed to have a taste for mutton, returning to Daznak's whenever they grew hungry. If either one was hunting man, inside or outside the city, Ser Barristan had yet to hear of it. The only Meereenese the dragons had slain since Harghaz the Hero had been the slavers foolish enough to object when Rhaegal attempted to make his lair atop the pyramid of Hazkar.

Uh, no actually, that's not accurate at all.

The dragon twisted violently in the air, wounds smoking, the girl clinging to his back. Then he loosed the fire.

It had taken the rest of the day and most of the night for the Brazen Beasts to gather up the corpses. The final count was two hundred fourteen slain, three times as many burned or wounded. Drogon was gone from the city by then, last seen high over the Skahazadhan, flying north. - The Queensguard, ADWD

Convenient to forget something like that. I bet Barristan is going to be forgetting a lot of things in the future.

+.+.+

"We have more pressing matters to discuss. I have sent the Green Grace to the Yunkishmen to make arrangements for the release of our hostages. I expect her back by midday with their answer."

Barristan Selmy sending the Harpy to go negotiate with Yunkai is the most Barristan Selmy thing he could have done.

+.+.+

Skahaz Shavepate slammed his fist upon the table. "The Green Grace will accomplish nothing. She may be conspiring with the Yunkai'i even as we sit here. Arrangements, did you say? Make arrangements? What sort of arrangements?"

"Ransom," said Ser Barristan. "Each man's weight in gold."

Of course the Shavepate would be the one to correctly suspect treachery.

+.+.+

"Their sellswords will want the gold, though. What are the hostages to them? If the Yunkishmen refuse, it will drive a blade between them and their hirelings." Or so I hope. It had been Missandei who suggested the ploy to him. He would never have thought of such a thing himself. In King's Landing, bribes had been Littlefinger's domain, whilst Lord Varys had the task of fostering division amongst the crown's enemies. His own duties had been more straightforward. Eleven years of age, yet Missandei is as clever as half the men at this table and wiser than all of them.

Hm, it's usually Arya. This is the first time Missandei has given off older sister vibes.

+.+.+

"They will refuse, even so," insisted Symon Stripeback. "They will say they want the dragons dead, the king restored."

"I pray that you are wrong." And fear that you are right.

Reasonable demand.

214 people dead.

+.+.+

"Your gods are far away, Ser Grandfather," said the Widower. "I do not think they hear your prayers. And when the Yunkai'i send back the old woman to spit in your eye, what then?"

"Fire and blood," said Barristan Selmy, softly, softly.

✨ foreshadowing ✨

+.+.+

Skahaz Shavepate stared through the eyes of his wolf's head mask and said, "You would break King Hizdahr's peace, old man?"

"I would shatter it." Once, long ago, a prince had named him Barristan the Bold. A part of that boy was in him still. "We have built a beacon atop the pyramid where once the Harpy stood. Dry wood soaked with oil, covered to keep the rain off. Should the hour come, and I pray that it does not, we will light that beacon. The flames will be your signal to pour out of our gates and attack. Every man of you will have a part to play, so every man must be in readiness at all times, day or night. We will destroy our foes or be destroyed ourselves." He raised a hand to signal to his waiting squires. "I have had some maps prepared to show the dispositions of our foes, their camps and siege lines and trebuchets. If we can break the slavers, their sellswords will abandon them. I know you will have concerns and questions. Voice them here. By the time we leave this table, all of us must be of a single mind, with a single purpose."

Horse shit, this is exactly what he's wanted from the beginning.

"You mean to take the field?" The Shavepate's voice was thick with disbelief. "That would be folly. Our walls are taller and thicker than the walls of Astapor, and our defenders are more valiant. The Yunkai'i will not take this city easily."

Ser Barristan disagreed. "I do not think we should allow them to invest us. Theirs is a patchwork host at best. These slavers are no soldiers. If we take them unawares …" - Daenerys V, ADWD

x

The queen sighed. "What do you counsel, ser?"

"Battle," said Ser Barristan. "Meereen is overcrowded and full of hungry mouths, and you have too many enemies within. We cannot long withstand a siege, I fear. Let me meet the foe as he comes north, on ground of my own choosing." - Daenerys V, ADWD

Ahem.

Ser Barristan is a valiant knight and true; but none, I think, has ever called him cunning."

"Knights know only one way to solve a problem. They couch their lances and charge. A dwarf has a different way of looking at the world. What of you, though? You are a clever man yourself." - Tyrion II, ADWD

I'm dying at the author giving the Daenerys side a beacon. I'm used to Stannis copying her.

+.+.+

And when all that had been discussed, debated, and decided, Symon Stripeback raised one final point. "As a slave in Yunkai I helped my master bargain with the free companies and saw to the payment of their wages. I know sellswords, and I know that the Yunkai'i cannot pay them near enough to face dragonflame. So I ask you … if the peace should fail and this battle should be joined, will the dragons come? Will they join the fight?"

They will come, Ser Barristan might have said. The noise will bring them, the shouts and screams, the scent of blood. That will draw them to the battlefield, just as the roar from Daznak's Pit drew Drogon to the scarlet sands. But when they come, will they know one side from the other? Somehow he did not think so. 

A little friendly fire. No biggie.

I wonder which ally is getting smoked.

+.+.+

Ser Barristan took two of his new-made knights with him down into the dungeons. 

Ego always wins in the end.

As he watched them at their drills, Ser Barristan pondered raising Tumco and Larraq to knighthood then and there, and mayhaps the Red Lamb too. It required a knight to make a knight, and if something should go awry tonight, dawn might find him dead or in a dungeon. Who would dub his squires then? On the other hand, a young knight's repute derived at least in part from the honor of the man who conferred knighthood on him. It would do his lads no good at all if it was known that they were given their spurs by a traitor, and might well land them in the dungeon next to him. They deserve better, Ser Barristan decided. Better a long life as a squire than a short one as a soiled knight. - The Kingbreaker, ADWD

+.+.+

Ser Gerris punched a wall. "I told him it was folly. I begged him to go home. Your bitch of a queen had no use for him, any man could see that. He crossed the world to offer her his love and fealty, and she laughed in his face."

"She never laughed," said Selmy. "If you knew her, you would know that."

"She spurned him. He offered her his heart, and she threw it back at him and went off to fuck her sellsword."

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

This will be the man who tells Dorne what happened. I couldn't be happier.

She did laugh, and she did influence him.

+.+.+

Barristan Selmy could not dispute the truth of that. He had spent the best part of his own life obeying the commands of drunkards and madmen.

Sounds like another king I know.

Jon laughed, laughed like a drunk or a madman, and his men laughed with him. - Jon VIII, ASOS

+.+.+

To Ser Barristan the big knight said, "No need to come and talk if you meant to hang us. So it's not that, is it?"

"No." This one may not be as slow-witted as he seems. 

You can't be serious.

This POV is unbearable, I can't believe I have one more to get through.

+.+.+

Ser Archibald grimaced. "Why is it always ships? Someone needs to take Quent home, though. What do you ask of us, ser?"

"Your swords."

"You have thousands of swords."

"The queen's freedmen are as yet unblooded. The sellswords I do not trust. Unsullied are brave soldiers … but not warriors. Not knights." He paused. "What happened when you tried to take the dragons? Tell me."

Even 11-year-old Sansa wasn't this deluded about knights.

+.+.+

The chains … there were bits of broken chain everywhere, big chains, links the size of your head mixed in with all these cracked and splintered bones. And Quent, Seven save him, he looked like he was going to shit his smallclothes. Caggo and Meris weren't blind, they saw it too. Then one of the crossbowmen let fly. Maybe they meant to kill the dragons all along and were only using us to get to them. You never know with Tatters. 

What a weird thing to write.

+.+.+

"Ah, what did you expect, Drink? A cat will kill a mouse, a pig will wallow in shit, and a sellsword will run off when he's needed most. Can't be blamed. Just the nature of the beast."

Still holding out hope this isn't only about Brown Ben Plumm.

+.+.+

"What did Prince Quentyn promise the Tattered Prince in return for all this help?"

He got no answer. Ser Gerris looked at Ser Archibald. Ser Archibald looked at his hands, the floor, the door.

"Pentos," said Ser Barristan. "He promised him Pentos. Say it. No words of yours can help or harm Prince Quentyn now."

"Aye," said Ser Archibald unhappily. "It was Pentos. They made marks on a paper, the two of them."

There is a chance here.

If you thought Barristan Selmy sending the Harpy to Yunkai was the dumbest thing he would do in this chapter, I've got some news for you.

"Pentos?" Her eyes narrowed. "How can I give him Pentos? It is half a world away."

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

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

Ser Barristan inclined his head. "Your Grace is wise." - Daenerys IX, ADWD

+.+.+

"I mean to send them back to the Tattered Prince. And you with them. You will be two amongst thousands. Your presence in the Yunkish camps should pass unnoticed. I want you to deliver a message to the Tattered Prince. Tell him that I sent you, that I speak with the queen's voice. Tell him that we'll pay his price if he delivers us our hostages, unharmed and whole."

Yup that's right, Barristan Selmy promised to give Pentos to a sellsword. PENTOS.

There are no words.

+.+.+

"Why not? The task is simple enough." Compared to stealing dragons. "I once brought the queen's father out of Duskendale."

Past your prime, peaked in high school energy.

+.+.+

The simple part, at least, thought Barristan Selmy, as he made the long climb back to the summit of the pyramid. The hard part he'd left in Dornish hands. His grandfather would have been aghast. The Dornishmen were knights, at least in name, though only Yronwood impressed him as having the true steel. Drinkwater had a pretty face, a glib tongue, and a fine head of hair.

God, shut up.

He would have a thin blue line bumper sticker, I know it.

Edit: Necessary addition.

+.+.+

By the time the old knight returned to the queen's rooms atop the pyramid, Prince Quentyn's corpse had been removed. Six of the young cupbearers were playing some child's game as he entered, sitting in a circle on the floor as they took turns spinning a dagger. 

Uhh, that doesn't feel like a good omen.

+.+.+

Far off to the east, beyond the city walls, he saw pale wings moving above a distant line of hills. Viserion. Hunting, mayhaps, or flying just to fly. He wondered where Rhaegal was. Thus far the green dragon had shown himself to be more dangerous than the white.

He sure is!

+.+.+

The Dornishmen, Hizdahr, Reznak, the attack … was he doing the right things? Was he doing what Daenerys would have wanted? I was not made for this. 

NO YOU CLOWN.

I want no war with Yunkai. How many times must I say it? - Daenerys VI, ADWD

+.+.+

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

That's all the Harpy confirmation I need.

It's not clear what Pink Graces do. I am reminded of House of Pahl.

+.+.+

"I am pleased to hear that. The Wise Masters of Yunkai asked after him. You will not be surprised to hear that they wish the noble Hizdahr to be restored at once to his rightful place."

"He shall be, if it can be proved that he did not try to kill our queen. Until such time, Meereen will be ruled by a council of the loyal and just. There is a place for you on that council. I know that you have much to teach us all, Your Benevolence. We need your wisdom."

"I fear you flatter me with empty courtesies, Lord Hand," the Green Grace said. "If you truly think me wise, heed me now. Release the noble Hizdahr and restore him to his throne."

"Only the queen can do that."

But you can arrest the king, start a war with Yunkai, and give away Pentos?

+.+.+

The pyramid of Hazkar has collapsed into a smoking ruin, and many of that ancient line lie dead beneath its blackened stones.

How about twins? Any set of twins under that pyramid?

+.+.+

"And murder. The Sons of the Harpy slew thirty in the night."

"I grieve to hear this. All the more reason to free the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, who stopped such killings once."

And how did he accomplish that, unless he is himself the Harpy?

+.+.+

"Her Grace gave her hand to Hizdahr zo Loraq, made him her king and consort, restored the mortal art as he beseeched her. In return he gave her poisoned locusts."

"In return he gave her peace. Do not cast it away, ser, I beg you. Peace is the pearl beyond price. Hizdahr is of Loraq. Never would he soil his hands with poison. He is innocent."

"How can you be certain?" Unless you know the poisoner.

If he would take one fucking second to listen to the words pouring out of his dumb idiotic mouth, he might realize there's no motive here.

+.+.+

"They did. No amount of gold will buy your people back, I was told. Only the blood of dragons may set them free again."

It was the answer Ser Barristan had expected, if not the one that he had hoped for. His mouth tightened.

Should the hour come, and I pray that it does not, we will light that beacon.

+.+.+

"I know these were not the words you wished to hear," said Galazza Galare. "Yet for myself, I understand. These dragons are fell beasts. Yunkai fears them … and with good cause, you cannot deny. Our histories speak of the dragonlords of dread Valyria and the devastation that they wrought upon the peoples of Old Ghis. Even your own young queen, fair Daenerys who called herself the Mother of Dragons … we saw her burning, that day in the pit … even she was not safe from the dragon's wroth."

"Dragons," Aemon whispered. "The grief and glory of my House, they were." - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

Ser Barristan was on his feet at once. "What is it?"

"The trebuchets," the Shavepate growled. "All six."

Galazza Galare rose. "Thus does Yunkai make reply to your offers, ser. I warned you that you would not like their answer."

They choose war, then. So be it. Ser Barristan felt oddly relieved. War he understood. "If they think they will break Meereen by throwing stones—"

"Not stones." The old woman's voice was full of grief, of fear. "Corpses."

Yeah no shit, I would also feel relief if I manipulated the system for a specific outcome, then got exactly what I wanted.

I wish him well. Barristan Selmy is not allowed to die in Meereen with a sword in his hand.

Final thoughts:

Live look at me trying to get through the last three chapters.

-> return to menu <-

[waitingforwinterwinds]

ASOS; Steel and Snow: 12 TYRION II (pages 161-172)

Tyrion visits Varys to arrange a date with Shae, then sics Bronn on a bard.

-

The eunuch was humming tunelessly to himself as he came through the door, dressed in flowing robes of peach-colored silk and smelling of lemons.

lemon(s) = 🥛

also I have just had the best mental image of Modern Day AU Varys as a Drag Queen. Probably runs a club with all the best gossip.

"I am full of surprises. Are you cross with me for abandoning you after the battle?" "It made me think of you as one of my family."

Ha! that is both a sick burn, and also really sad.

... damn. Maegor: 3 x Grand Maesters by Axe Aegon II: 1 x Grand Maester by Dragon Digestion

That "maesters wrecked the Targaryens actually" theory sounding more and more likely. Look at all this extra motive.

Bronn had turned up all he could on Ser mandon, but no doubt Varys knew a great deal more... should he choose to share it. "The man seems to have been quite friendless," Tyrion said carefully. "Sadly," said Varys, "oh, sadly. You might find some kin if you turned over enough stones back in the Vale, but here... Lord Arryn brought him to King's Landing and Robert gave him his white cloak, but neither loved him much, I fear. (...) Ser Barristan was once heard to say he had no friend but his sword and no life but duty... but you know, I do not think Selmy meant it altogether as praise.-"

OOOHHHH!!!! I just had a conspiracy theory.

Cersei didn't hire Moore to kill Tyrion, Moore was taking a chance to kill who he believed was responsible for Jon Arryn's death after getting news from the Vale from on old friend who still lives there re: the very rigged Trial and Lysa's (very loud and false) claims. Moore was taking the first opportunity for vengeance that he thought he could get away with.

What do you think? Feasible? Too much crack?

One day, I am going to come up with a conspiracy theory that contains so much pure crack, the cops will break down the door for a drug bust.

But also, given how this series uses perceptions and assumptions, even if we're in some one's POV, we don't always get the full story, but it is the best way to be sure someone actually did something for realsies.

... You know, I'm actually kind of surprised they let Lollys keep the foetus (or are forcing her to keep the foetus) to term. You'd think, given how they treat bastards and such, that they'd remove 'such a stain' before it became a problem.

(Or at the very least they wouldn't force a young woman who's been violated to carry a baby she never asked for. But then again this series does not care very much for the female members of the cast. The kind ongoing of trauma and dysphoria that is probably giving her, whether it looks that way or not in her current mental state...)

"To guard the king's life, you surrender your own. You give up your lands and titles, give up hope of marriage, children..." "House Tyrell continues through my brothers," Ser Loras said. "It is not necessary, for a third son to wed, or breed." "Not necessary, but some find it pleasant. What of love?" "When the sun has set, no candle can replace it."

D&D suck at their job = 🥛

I'm sorry, but can we just take a moment and appreciate the depth of Loras' grief? Like, I have no trouble believing Book!Loras loved Renly for real. Truly, honestly loved him first and foremost before he saw him as a pawn to get at the throne.

Show!Loras and Renly? I forgot they even fucked.

Loras being gay in the show felt like a background joke. "LoL, Sansa has a crush on a gay boy," or "LOL, Cersei is getting married to the gay boy."

Even between Loras and Renly, in the show, the first time we really saw them together, Loras was talking Renly into vying for the crown and Robert wasn't even dead yet. It was manipulation and titillation. Were they in love or was Loras just using him? Who knows, but after Renly died no one really cared, and I forgot they fucked, forgot Loras was even gay until it was shoved back in my face like a poor tasting joke.

Book!verse though? I can believe those two were in love, I can believe Loras is grieving that loss so quietly because he can't say what he's lost, what he feels, he can't express the depth of it and he has to listen to everyone around him belittle that affection and connection, and oh my gosh that poor boy.

A woman sidled into the light; plump, soft, matronly, with a round pink moon of a face and heavy dark curls. Tyrion recoiled. "Is something amiss?" she asked. Varys, he realized with annoyance.

Drag Queen!Varys is canon. Pry it from my cold dead hands. Just cross-dressing, I know, shhhh, let me have this.

"He's gone," Shae said. Tyrion turned to look. It was true. the eunuch had vanished, shirts and all. The hidden doors are here somewhere, they have to be.

You wanna bet they're under the giant stone slab of a bed? You know, that thing that our attention was directed to the last time he was talking about hidden doors?

(also, it made me think of that scene from the animated Secret Garden, with the secret door under the window seat when they were talking about it earlier, but it probably slides like that giant coffin door from... oh gish, what's the movie... it's going to come to me right as I'm drifting off to sleep. It's like an entire trope to be fair, "giant stone altar/coffin is actually a sliding door" so I'm probably thinking of several movies.)

Her cunt gave him a little squeeze, and he started to stiffen again inside her.

'cunt' = 🥛

... you know, the longer Shae talks about Lollys, the more I prefer Show!Shae to Book!Shae, just for the fact that the show version has some level of empathy for other people. I understand it's probably a coping mechanism for some kind of hidden backstory trauma (no one in this series is without), but damn the way book!Shae treats sexual assault is icky AF.

Then he made a round of the walls, tapping on each in turn, searching for the hidden door. Shae sat with her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped around them, watching him. Finally she said, "They're under the bed. the secret steps." He looked at her, incredulous. "The bed? the bed is solid ston. It weighs half a ton." "There's a place where Varys pushes, and it floats right up. I asked him how, and he said it was magic." "Yes." Tyrion had to grin. "A counterweight spell."

Ha-ha! I was right... about the location. Not the door type, though. The magic in this series is so low key or background I tend to forget it's a thing.

This does explain how he got out of the room without being heard. half-ton stones are not quietly moved, even if they have mechanisms to help them.

!! Alayaya made it back to her mother's brothel! Phew, I was low key worried something had happened to her on the walk back. you know, after she was whipped and kicked out the Keep naked?

"There is a singer who calls himself Symon Silver Tongue," Tyrion said wearily, pushing his guilt aside. "He plays for Lady Tanda's daughter sometimes. "What of him?" Kill him, he might had said, but damn the man had done nothing but sing a few songs.

You'd think Bards would do better in life, what with being a Charisma class, but no, no one likes Bards here.

And fill Shae's head with thoughts of doves and dancing bears.

... well now I have "Once Upon a December" from Anastasia (1997) stuck in my head.

Dancing Bears Painted Wings Things I almost remember. And a song someone sings Once upon a December.

[daenerysstormborntargaryen]

"Jaime Lannister sends his regards."

What does this line mean? What are the implications, the message it is trying to send? Is it a better line than the changed one in the show?

These are questions I have been asking myself as of late. Initially, I wanted to explain why I liked the show's version better, but as I thought about what the book's version meant, I started to change my mind

To be honest, the reason why I liked the show's version better for so long was because I thought it was more impactful. By saying "The Lannisters send their regards" rather than just Jaime, it made the Lannisters seem like a unified front, a great House that is not to be fucked with and not just a singular great man. It would send the message that it is not the actions of a singular person but something that will set a precedent for the House as a whole when dealing with, ultimately, people getting in their way.

But then I started thinking about why Tywin would have them say Jaime specifically. I came to two major conclusions:

1) Tywin doesn't care that Jaime is a member of the Kingsguard let alone the Lord Commander, he still wants Jaime to inherit Casterly Rock. Cersei is the Queen, just the thing Tywin wanted her to be, thus he wants to keep her right where she is. Tyrion is the heir of Casterly Rock but Tywin would rather bring the Seven Hells upon Westeros than see Tyrion as the Lord of Casterly Rock. He has always seen Jaime as the heir, his heir. When he made his vows, Tywin was pissed as all hell, at Jaime, at Aerys, at everyone. But then Joffrey set the precedent that members Kingsguard don't have to serve for life with the dismissal of Baristan Selmy, thus opening up the path for Tywin to make his wishes come true.

Several time through the series, we see the song "The Rains of Castamere" used as a threat, a reminder to any and all of what Tywin Lannister is capable of. The ruthless destruction of Houses Reyne and Tarbeck solidifies Tywin's fearsome reputation and I believe the Red Wedding is meant to be Jaime's Castamere. By giving him the responsibility, Tywin is securing Jaime's legacy almost. Already Jaime is well-known for being one of the greatest swordsmen alive, but he needs to be more of a threat, more of a foreboding presence at the back of people's minds than just someone who is pretty handy with a sword. If people believe Jaime capable and willing to do something as horrible as the Red Wedding, what else is he willing to do to protect the realm (or just his family)?

However, similar to Castamere, the Red Wedding is a huge, huge, huge political mistake. It is not a show of power, of skill in battle, of cunning or wit. No, it's a demonstration of brutality. It says to everyone else that the Lannisters will do whatever they want in response to slights, minor or otherwise. The Red Wedding especially does this. Sure, you crushed the Northern rebellion and took out a huge threat to your power, congratulations. Now no one trusts you or respects you or will want to be by your side. They may fall in line out of fear, but fear can only hold people for so long and to such lengths. Tywin os still upset, to his dying day, of the perceived failings of his father. He hated how his bannerman laughed at him, hated how a "whore" wore his mother's jewels and clothing, hated the weakness he saw. But I would argue it is better to be underestimated yet respected than feared yet reviled. When the going gets tough, who will come to Lannister aid after this? After this violation of a sacred law, Guest Right, who would ever want to be on the side of Lannister?

2) This is more of a narrative reason, though I certainly believe Tywin may think similarly, but this line is also a twisting of the knife. Cat let Jaime go and everyone and their mother told her what a horrible idea it was. Now, it's come to bite her in the ass. Had she not released Jaime, I am not entirely sure the Red Wedding would have happened but that is a whole different discussion. Fact of the matter is, she did and now she has to watch her son be murdered in front of her. How could she not blame herself? How could she not blame the Lannisters for being cravens wholly lacking honor? How could she not blame the gods for their cruelty? This line is the cherry on top of the tragedy of the Starks.

While (iirc) Tywin did not know Catelyn was the one who let Jaime go, I believe he thinks he somehow escaped on his own, I do think he would also view it in the same way. As consequence of taking his son, and of letting him slip through their fingers, their lives are forfeit. Yes, when they rebelled their lives were forfeit to begin, but I think Jaime's capture pushed Tywin to such a drastic means of dealing with them.

At his core, Tywin is a petty, vindictive person who values getting his revenge more than actually doing what is best for the Lannister name. True, he may believe this is the best course of action, but that just goes to show what an emotionally-driven, lack of forethought moron Tywin truly is. He is not clever, he is cruel. Do not confuse the two. And, much like every other Lannister, Tywin seems to believe because the Targaryens conquered and kept the peace through fire and blood, he can do whatever violent acts he wishes and history will laud him for it, but he is not a Targaryen, it does not work the same way. Targaryens for centuries were viewed as closer to gods than men, Lannisters never were held in that esteem. All he is doing is dragging the Lannister name through the mud.

One of the things that makes Tywin Lannister notorious in Westeros is told about in the song "The Rains of Castamere," which details how Tywin brought about the end of House Reyne and House Tarbeck, serves several times as a reminder and threat of what Tywin Lannister is capable of ie complete ruthless brutality. It is intended to keep people in line and to keep their noses clean. I believe Tywin wanted to give Jaime a similar reputation.

[secret-waterblog]

@linkspussy ‘s Fantasy Omovember Day 6: Exploring a Town

Author’s note: Based roughly on referenced canon events. Also I’m really proud of this one.

Rhaegar Targaryen had sneaked out of the castle with the captain of his Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy. The crown prince liked to occasionally leave the Red Keep and tour King’s Landing in disguise. He would put on a brown cloak that would cover his silver-white hair.

The prince liked to go into town with his harp to sing and play music for the common folk. Rhaegar had a beautiful singing voice and the townsfolk liked to give him tips. He and Ser Barrister liked to challenge each other to see how much money the prince could bring in.

Rhaegar had received more money than usual this evening and he wanted to share his earnings with Ser Barrister. The knight suggested that the two of them use the coins to get “horribly drunk”. Rhaegar had never actually been drunk before, only a little tipsy, and the idea intrigued the young prince.

Ser Barrister decided to take Rhaegar to the “Best Tavern in Kings Landing”. The bar maid gave the Targaryen Prince a large mug of the “strongest ale in Westeros”.

After having five large mugs of the ale Rhaegar was feeling in good spirits. “I want to see the rest of the town now,” he announced to Ser Barrister.

“Then you will see the town,” the knight drunkenly laughed back.

See Barrister started to lead the crown prince around King’s Landing, stopping to visit crowded market stalls teeming with street food, toys and homewares. Rhaegar was loving everything he saw, heard and smelled until he suddenly didn’t, the “horrible” part of getting “horribly drunk” started to sink in . The happy joyous feeling he had felt earlier had been replaced with a pounding headache, his stomach started to feel like he was going to puke, and all the ale had suddenly made itself known to his bladder.

“Are you alright my prince you are looking a little green?” Ser Barrister asked with a concerned look on his face.

Rhaegar looked up at him with a pathetic expression on his face, that reminded the knight that even though Rhaegar was 18, he was still young and inexperienced sometimes.

The Prince turned to his Kingsguard then turned to whisper to him like he was an embarrassed child, “My head and stomach hurt, and I really have to pee,” the prince’s face turned red.

“We should be able to find a public privy somewhere around here my prince,” Ser Barrister assured him.

The two of them started to scouraring the street the street for the closest public privy. The more they walked around the more Rhaegar felt his need grow. He saw a drunk man just taking a leak behind a building, this made the prince’s discomfort grow. As the eldest Targaryen Prince he would not dare to bring shame on himself and his family’s line by getting caught committing public urination.

Right when Rhaegar was afraid he wasn’t going to make it without having an accident, Ser Barrister found the privy.

Rhaegar ran in and didn’t care that it was set up as communal with no privacy, but luckily no one else was in it. Ser Barrisrer stood guard outside the door.

The prince sprinted to the closest toilet hole, pulled down the front of his trousers and finally started to piss.

The feeling of the urine finally leaving his bladder gave him a great feeling of relief. With the pressure on his lower half alleviated, his stomach and headache started to subside. The painsweren’t completely gone but he felt so much better.

When he finally finished urinating, Rhaegar pulled his trousers back up and headed to a wash basin to wash his hands.

“We should probably head back to the castle,” Ser Barrister suggested, “your wife and children will probably be wondering where you are.”

Rhaegar agreed and the two of them headed back to the Red Keep. The prince couldn’t wait to get back to his bed to sleep off his oncoming hangover.

[tennis-kittens]

[magalidragon]

A wolf in Essos | a Robb POV fic | part of when the sun sets in the east | a teaser

I wanted a drabble (less than 2500 words) and now it’s 6000 words and counting. Damn! 🤣😭

Sansa sat down at the small table in the corner, clutching her hands in her skirts. "I do not speak Valyrian, but there were some sailors who spoke Common Tongue, I could hear them through the walls." She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes. "She has three known advisors. We need all the information we can get on her. Davos is looking for more."

"Jorah Mormont," he said, already knowing the Bear Knight was in her service.

She ticked off her fingers. "Jorah Mormont, Barristan Selmy, and an unknown. They said he's a shadow."

"Probably some sort of assassin from Braavos."

"They said he's her lover."

"What do sailors know? Who cares," he grumbled, his eye socket aching, his heart hurting. He wanted a nap.

Sansa wrinkled her nose. "We just need to be prepared for all avenues."

He waved her off. He wanted to sleep. Grey Wind whimpered again, scratching the door. "Go," he shouted, waving off the wolf, who was driving him insane. He fell back onto the bed, closing his eyes, a major headache forming. He felt like his mind was getting split.

The second his eyes closed, Jon's face swam into view, his pale face unlined, gray eyes wide, shouting at him to not run off, that father would be angry with him.

“Robb! Wait up! You're too fast!"

“You can't catch me! I'm the Lord of Winterfell!"

“Robb!"

He felt Jon disappear, water trickling through his fingers, and then he pulled on the tether with Grey Wind. He was not very good at warging; he didn't even know what it was for the longest time. Not until he got to the Wall and the wildings there knew immediately. He had to work hard to control it, but he still struggled.

Grey Wind let him in and he saw through his eyes, loping out of the house, someone shouting and pointing again. "Zokla!" He padded away from the building, making his way down the streets, sniffing here and there, searching for bits of scraps. He wanted to hunt, he wanted to run, but he couldn't, because there was something he was searching for. He needed to find him.

His brother.

It was Grey Wind speaking, trying to override his thoughts, refusing to let him lead the way, so he relaxed into his mind, tried to let the wolf take over while still being present; it was hard for him. He let the wolf sniff around, wondering why it was so <i>familiar</i>. He panted, hot and tired, but he had to search, had to find.

There was something familiar to the smell that overrode the general filth of a highly populated city, made even worse by the heat. He closed his eyes, pausing, and struggling to collect it on his senses. Once he did, he sprang forward, hurrying towards where it seemed to be strongest.

The pyramid.

He ran across the city, towards the great stone structure with its Targaryen standards, the closer he grew towards it, the stronger the scent. It was the North. It was pine, snow, and wind. It was Stark. It was Winterfell.

It was home.

The Unsullied soldiers with their smooth gray armor and deadly spears stood together on corners, closer and closer to the pyramid, the greater their number. He was not scared; they were not worried at the sight of him, which he should have questioned. He made his way towards the great gate and stopped, sniffing the stone, and it was here.

Brother.

In the distance he thought he heard a sound; a strangled, high-pitched noise, the sound from the silent one. The one they wanted to leave behind, who could not survive.

Except he had survived.

He was here.

Brother, he screamed in his mind, and took off, sending dirt and dust up in a cloud under his feet, howling, and then he saw him.

The great white wolf, the tiniest of their litter, the silent, the strange. He loped towards him, eyes bright and red, and he knew it was him, for it could be no one else.

Ghost!

They collided, the two of them reunited after so long, a crash of massive bodies, garnering attention and exclaim from others around, some of the Unsullied drawing their spears, but he noted-- more for the protection of his long-lost brother then to attack him. He rubbed his neck along the other wolves in affection, crying out in howls and whines, unable to understand exactly what was happening beyond that he was seeing him again.

He thought he heard a voice, a harsh, almost Northern voice scream out-- "Robb!"-- in his head, but it was a mistake surely, because Jon was dead. He had to be dead.

But the wolf had survived, had made his way here to Meereen of all places, to the Queen's pyramid.

He tore away from him, jerking upright in the bed, screaming out: "Jon!"

At the table, Sansa looked up from a missive of some sort, alarmed. "Robb?" she asked. "What is it?"

He blinked a few times, his hand to his heart, confused, almost frightened. He pushed at his forehead, his head splitting in half, groaning. "Gods, that...I...I don't understand..."

"What did Grey Wind see?" she murmured, getting up from the table. She squinted, peering down at him. "Robb?"

He tilted his face up to hers, ignored her recoil at his face, and he whispered, confused, needing more information. "Ghost. He's alive."

But how?

[runtedfiction]

tomorrow

day 3: flight @zelinkweek2021

ao3

AN: i fucking love haikyuu!! also this week has been lots of fun :)

* * *

Revali finds someone who flies nearly as high as he does on the court. The world implodes.

* * *

When Impa asks Zelda to be on an intramural volleyball team, she doesn’t think about it too much. They’re studying in the library, and she nods absentmindedly while organizing her cybersecurity notes.

“You’ll just be an alternate,” Impa says, over-explaining even though she knows that Zelda would agree to hide a body with her. “We have six people already, so occasionally you might have to sub in, but I don’t think that would happen. You can also borrow my gear.”

“Well, you remember how bad I was in high school,” Zelda says with a shrug. “And it’s been two years since then, so.”

“Don’t worry!” Impa waves her hand. “Most of them are Mipha’s friends, so they’re chill. We’re all very casual.”

Zelda nods again, and begins reading about different kinds of web attacks.

(If this were a sitcom, this would be the part where the narrator tells the audience, “They were not chill. Or casual.”)

* * *

She shows up ten minutes late to their first game. It’s not her fault--the exam ran over, and she had to get changed before coming--but it’s a bad look nonetheless. Everyone’s looking at her, already lined up on the court, and she smiles apologetically while dying inside.

“Midterm started late, sorry!”

“No worries,” Impa says. “We’re just getting started!”

The whistle blows, and a boy with black--no navy--hair does a jump serve that slams into the opposing team’s court. Zelda doesn’t know if she’s seen anyone jump this high.

“Way to go, Revali,” the burliest person she’s ever seen says. He pulls Revali in for what looks to be a bone-crushing hug.

The other team doesn’t score a point until Revali misses his fourth monster serve; the ball goes just outside the lines. But even when the other team finally gets the ball, it’s easy for the burly boy to receive, Mipha to set, and her roommate (Urbosa?) to spike.

Zelda realizes very quickly, much to her horror, that everyone on this team is good. She can’t even do an overhand serve--what was Impa thinking, what was she thinking--but she doesn’t have time to continue to despair because someone else is serving now.

He has a powerful overhand; again, the ball goes straight into the court. But for his second serve, he takes a few steps back, and flies for his jump serve. He’s shorter than the first boy, but he’s jumping almost as tall as him. Zelda’s mouth opens slightly.

“Nice one Link!” Urbosa says. Revali snorts.

Their team--the Champions--wins the game in what must be under half an hour. Zelda thinks about how she hasn’t done an underhand serve in two years and wants to scream.

* * *

After the third game (another ridiculously easy win), the burly boy--Daruk, she’s learned--suggests that they all go out for frozen yogurt. It’s 11pm and the brunt of exams have passed, so everyone is free.

“Perfect!” His voice booms throughout the gym and matches his giant smile. He claps a hand on Link’s shoulder. The force of it undoes his loose ponytail. “Let’s celebrate the little guy for his final block!”

They go to Selmie’s Spot and eat on the sidewalk. It’s a chilly night, but the chocolate is so delicious that she can’t complain.

“Link,” Revali asks, “where did you learn to play like that?”

“I started in middle school,” he says. Zelda wonders if she’s taller than him--they’re definitely the same height at least. “And then I played through all of high school.”

“Nice,” Revali says in a way that makes it clear he does not, in fact, find that nice.

“Your vertical is quite impressive,” Mipha says. Revali’s eyes look like they could shoot out murderous laser beams.

When everyone’s finished with their ice cream, they figure out logistics for walking back home. Impa, Mipha, and Urbosa head north; Daruk and Revali accompany them.

Zelda finds herself alone with Link, who doesn’t have much to say.

“You’re quite good,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“Did you ever consider playing for real in college?”

“Nah.”

Zelda shuts up quickly, and they reach her gate soon enough.

“Thanks for walking me here,” she says.

“No problem.”

Euch, she thinks as she walks him away. The night swallows his bright blue hoodie. Standoffish.

* * *

For the next two games, Zelda sits on the sidelines and alternates between clapping and getting work done on her laptop. Everything goes swimmingly. Link and Revali rack up points from serves and general talent, Daruk receives steadily, and Mipha and Impa set to Urbosa for spikes.

Then Zelda gets called into the next game. When Revali mentioned that he needed to leave for someone’s birthday party, she agreed to sub in, assuming that the game might end before them anyway.

The game, however, is not ending early; the Guardians might hand the Champions their first loss.

They’re one point behind when Zelda steps in, and then they’re five points behind. The best server on the opposing team aims the balls straight for her, and even though she can get the ball up most of the time, it’s punishing. It slams into her forearms, sometimes spiralling off (Link manages to dive and save it once), and rarely making it to Mipha.

Finally the serve goes out of bounds, and it’s a relief. But then it’s her turn to serve, and oh God, it’s match point.

“It’s ok, you got this!”

Impa’s too kind. Zelda takes one swing at the ball--underhand, how humiliating--and loses the game.

* * *

On the walk back, she’s the quiet one this time.

She doesn’t understand why she’s so upset; intramural volleyball doesn’t matter. Her grades are excellent, she probably has a second date with that cute classmate, and she definitely has a second interview with the university research lab.

Link speaks, unprompted, for the first time in her presence.

“You don’t need to look so worried,” he says.

“I don’t look worried,” she counters. Are her brows furrowed? They are. She makes a conscious effort to smooth them out.

He smiles. “Whatever you say.”

She spends the rest of the walk wondering if she looks worried. Then she remembers how she lost the game for everyone tonight, and that awful feeling pools in her stomach again.

“Hey,” she says when they reach her gate. “What did I do wrong tonight?”

He looks surprised. “Oh, hm--”

“Too much to count?” She tries to say it as a joke, but it comes out a bit desperate. Fuck.

“My roommate books practice courts sometimes, and always asks if I want to come,” he says instead of answering. “Maybe we can practice this week and I’ll show you some stuff?”

She nods. Her brows are furrowed again.

"Don't worry," he says. "It'll be chill."

“I’m not--I’m not worried,” she says.

“Ok,” he says, and she thinks he’s laughing as he walks away.

She scowls. Annoying.

* * *

At the practice court, he teaches her how to serve. Thankfully only Impa and Link’s friends get to dodge her serves that first go into the net, then way too deep, before finally she starts hitting the court.

“Nice,” he says after what must be two hours. She’s exhausted. “Remember you want to hold the ball steady in your left hand before you pound it with your right.”

“Uh. Ok.”

When they’re all walking out of the gym at the end of the practice, Link turns to her. “Sidon booked the court for Sunday night too, if you want to come then.”

“That would be great, thanks."

“He’s cute, right,” Impa says when Link leaves.

Zelda raises her eyebrows. “What?”

Impa just laughs.

On Sunday, he teaches her how to receive.

“Bend your knees more,” he says. “Instead of swinging your arms upward.”

They fall into a rhythm where he does a light spike and she gets the ball back to him. Her forearms are red when they break for water.

“Nice. You learn quickly,” he says. The compliment, said so matter of factly, makes her a bit embarrassed. “Before the qualifying game on Tuesday I got the sand courts up by the track if you want to practice a few hours before. I want to do my serve and Daruk said he might need to come late to the game, so.”

“Yeah, I'll come!” she says. She wonders if she hears a “please don’t mess this up” hidden between the lines, but she has a feeling he’s too nice to think that. He’s patient and an understanding teacher and--frick.

She examines his face more closely.

Impa wasn’t lying. He is cute.

Frick.

* * *

Zelda subs in for Daruk, and surprisingly it isn’t a disaster. She gets all her serves over the net, and only messes up two digs. Revali and Link's jumpserves are also particularly nasty this time around, and they win easily.

They make it to the elimination round, and then semifinals. Frozen yogurt at Selmi's becomes a regular tradition after each game.

Before they reach the finals, she asks Link to practice with her once more. It’s very likely that the Guardians will beat the Zorans, and they’ll have to face them again. Impa has a conflicting exam this time around, but can sub in once it ends.

“Sure, I’ll book the sand courts again,” he says. When they reach her gate, he smiles. Cute. “Night.”

Her mouth still tastes like chocolate when she smiles back. “Goodnight.”

She meets him at the court on a sunny day. They have a small rally, just the two of them serving, bumping, setting, and spiking to each other. Even though it’s late autumn, it feels like summer. They take a water break in the shade of the tree.

His water bottle is empty, she notices.

“Here,” she says, holding out hers. “Have some.”

“Ah, that’s ok--”

“Have some.”

“Ok.” He pauses before taking a small sip and handing it back to her. Huh, his eyes are really blue. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

On their way back, they reach the intersection that they normally split at when they’re walking during the day.

“Hey,” he says. “You want to get lunch?”

Her heart is pounding. “Sure.”

* * *

When they face the Guardians again in the finals, she’s the most confident she’s been in her skills. The monster server is back and targeting her, but she only misses once, and even then Daruk is there to cover for her and get the ball to Mipha.

Mipha sets it to Zelda this time, which catches everyone by surprise. Urobsa’s been hitting the entire time, barely getting past the blockers.

Zelda sets up for a spike that ends up rolling off her fingers and functioning more like a tip, but no one is covering her, and they’re one point ahead.

“Yes!” Impa yells from the sidelines. It looks like she ran from her test; there’s still a pencil in her hand as she punches her fist in the air.

“Thanks,” Zelda says as she subs out.

“No problem,” Impa says. “You did great!"

Zelda watches as the Champions go toe to toe with the Guardians. She cheers when Mipha does an elegant dump, when Urbosa hits the ball so hard it goes off the blocker’s fingers, when Daruk digs balls with gnarly spirals, and when Link and Revali pull off superstar plays.

The game ends when Link hits from the back row with impossible strength and precision right on the line.

“Nice!” she yells along with everyone.

(But she could swear that he smiles right at her, and it floods her with warmth.)

At Selmie’s Spot after, even Revali gives Link one of those boy handshakes where they do a one armed hug.

“Nice one,” Revali chokes out, sounding only minimally pained.

“Oh come on,” Daruk says. “The little guy won us the whole thing! Your yogurt’s on me.”

“No, no.” Link shakes his head. “Team effort.”

“Yeah,” Impa agrees, putting her arm around Zelda. “Team effort! To the Champions!”

Zelda smiles. ”To the Champions.”

On the walk home, they’re both quiet at first. She keeps racking her brain for funny things to say to break the silence, or excuses to see him so regularly again.

But then he reaches for her hand, so easily, and that’s all she can think about as they walk. His hand is warm and rough and lovely.

Hm, so lunch the other day was probably a date, she thinks. But I didn’t get that specific vibe? But hm, he’s holding my hand now, fuck. He’s holding my hand. Ok, concentrate--so lunch was a date. Ok but even if it wasn’t--maybe we should talk about this. Do we need to? Is there a “this” even?

The stress makes her palm sweaty. He probably notices, but thankfully he doesn’t break his hold and keeps the same steady pressure.

In the end, she manages a lame, “That was fun.” when they reach her gate. Instead of entering in the code immediately like usual, she turns around to face him. She drops his hand so he doesn’t drop hers first, but she wipes it on her sweater to have an excuse.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. The warm feeling starts to come back. “Really fun.”

“I definitely got better thanks to you,” she says.

He shrugs. “You were really determined to get better. Stubborn, even.”

It’s so easy to joke back. "Worried about it?”

“Oh, yeah. Always. I feel like you’re worrying right now.”

“Well, yeah,” she says. His eyes are so kind when he picks up her hand again. He laces his fingers around hers, and squeezes. The warm feeling multiplies tenfold. It makes it easy for her to ask, “Let’s do something tomorrow?”

He's really smiling now. “Let me cook for you.”

The seed of hope in her chest blooms. “Sounds good. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

[agentrouka-blog]

Hi me again I was wondering what you think rhaegar relationship with elia was like too

Hi there!

Hmm. Let’s say, I suspect she and Lysa Tully could have formed a support group.

Viserys, was her first thought the next time she paused, but a second glance told her otherwise. The man had her brother's hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. "Aegon," he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. "What better name for a king?"

"Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked.

"He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany's, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. "There must be one more," he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. "The dragon has three heads." He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way. (ACOK, Daenerys IV)

Elia almost died delivering Aegon, she asks him a question that connects his personal talent with his role as a father -  and Rhaegar has THAT to say? Cold.

"But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!" said Dany. "Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?"

"It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother's heart, Your Grace. The Princess Elia was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate."

Dany pulled the lion pelt tighter about her shoulders. "Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late." She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. "If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl."

"Perhaps so, Your Grace." Whitebeard paused a moment. "But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy." (ASOS, Daenerys IV)

Barristan Selmy is just.. ugh. He doesn’t even bother trying not to blame Elia and defend her. “Perhaps so”. Really?

"Her duty." The word felt cold upon her tongue. "You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?"

The old knight hesitated. "Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her."

Fond, thought Dany. The word spoke volumes. I could become fond of Hizdahr zo Loraq, in time. Perhaps. (ADWD, Daenerys IV)

A theme emerges.

A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar's wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon's birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward.     (ADWD, The Griffin reborn)

And yet I point to Rhaegar’s reaction after his birth. Relief? Guilt? Gratitude? Nope. “There must be one more.”

However:

Prince Rhaegar's support came from the younger men at court, including Lord Jon Connington, Ser Myles Mooton of Maidenpool, and Ser Richard Lonmouth. The Dornishmen who had come to court with the Princess Elia were in the prince's confidence as well, particularly Prince Lewyn Martell, Elia's uncle and a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. But the most formidable of all Rhaegar's friends and allies in King's Landing was surely Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.    

(The World of Ice and Fire - The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

The relationship was quite obviously more dutiful than passionate, and sadly for Elia, he probably was only a more genial version of his father’s Targ-centric, selfish disregard.

Basically, she lived with an egocentric, prophecy-obsessed Targaryen poster boy who could not care one jot about her well-being beyond being a vessel for his magic dragon sperm, and all his household were busy low-key blaming her for being “weak”. To top it off, her husband didn’t really care for the babies once they were born, not beyond their role in whatever fantasy filled his head. Sounds awesome.

He probably treated her “kindly”, but the fact that he endangered her life so carelessly with the quick succession of pregnancies, the fact that Barristan and Jon Connington both find it easy to dismiss Elia’s importance to Rhaegar and his eventual humiliation and the abandonment of both her and their children... it makes me fairly certain that Rhaegar was as incapable of true empathy as Dany with much less of an excuse.

Someone as bright and warm as Elia would have felt that keenly.

The only thing that surprises me is how much support he got from Dornish men, like Elia’s own uncle and Arthur Dayne. The latter even ended up aiding in Lyanna’s imprisonment, which makes me suspect that Rhaegar managed to form quite a cult of personality (like Dany), especially to those he entrusted with his prophecy talk.

Elia was invited into that trusted circle but the text gives us nothing on how she actually felt about it. Not that she had a choice either way... Maybe there was quite a sexist divide. The men liked the grandeur of prophecy, while the women viewed Elia’s situation with trepidation.  It would doubly explain Arthur Dayne’s sister Ashara’s involvement in guarding Aegon, if she is, in fact, Septa Lemore. Loyalty to Elia and knowledge of that prophecy stuff her brother was privy to. We cannot know. Their thoughts and voices are not shared in the text by GRRM. Yet.

I imagine Elia was not exactly happy and tried to make the best of the situation by focusing on her children and her many female companions.

[aboveallarescuer]

All mentions of Dany in other POVs

This is a list with all mentions of Dany and/or her dragons and/or events involving Dany in other POVs.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Epilogue

“We have these tales coming from the east as well. A second Targaryen, and one whose blood no man can question. Daenerys Stormborn.”

“As mad as her father,” declared Lord Mace Tyrell.

That would be the same father that Highgarden and House Tyrell supported to the bitter end and well beyond. “Mad she may be,” Ser Kevan said, “but with so much smoke drifting west, surely there must be some fire burning in the east.”

Grand Maester Pycelle bobbed his head. “Dragons. These same stories have reached Oldtown. Too many to discount. A silver-haired queen with three dragons.”

“At the far end of the world,” said Mace Tyrell. “Queen of Slaver’s Bay, aye. She is welcome to it.”

“On that we can agree,” Ser Kevan said, “but the girl is of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and I do not think she will be content to remain in Meereen forever. If she should reach these shores and join her strength to Lord Connington and this prince of his, feigned or no … we must destroy Connington and his pretender now, before Daenerys Stormborn can come west.”

ADWD The Queen's Hand

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

~

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

~

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

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

~

“They await the Hand’s pleasure below.”

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

~

“The fighting pits will remain closed,” said Selmy. “Blood and noise would only serve to call the dragons.”

“All three, perhaps,” suggested Marselen. “The black beast came once, why not again? This time with our queen.”

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

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

~

The hostages again. He would kill them every one if I allowed it. “I heard you the first hundred times. No.”

“Queen’s Hand,” Skahaz grumbled with disgust. “An old woman’s hand, I am thinking, wrinkled and feeble. I pray Daenerys returns to us soon.” He pulled his brazen wolf’s mask down over his face. “Your council will be growing restless.”

“They are the queen’s council, not mine.”

~

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

~

“What he did he did for love of Queen Daenerys,” Gerris Drinkwater insisted. “To prove himself worthy of her hand.”

The old knight had heard enough. “What Prince Quentyn did he did for Dorne. Do you take me for some doting grandfather? I have spent my life around kings and queens and princes. Sunspear means to take up arms against the Iron Throne. No, do not trouble to deny it. Doran Mar-tell is not a man to call his spears without hope of victory. Duty brought Prince Quentyn here. Duty, honor, thirst for glory … never love. Quentyn was here for dragons, not Daenerys.”

~

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

~

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

~

“Have there been any further tidings of our sweet queen?”

“None as yet.”

“I shall pray for her. And what of King Hizdahr, if I may be so bold? Might I be permitted to see His Radiance?”

“Soon, I hope. He is unharmed, I promise you.”

“I am pleased to hear that. The Wise Masters of Yunkai asked after him. You will not be surprised to hear that they wish the noble Hizdahr to be restored at once to his rightful place.”

“He shall be, if it can be proved that he did not try to kill our queen. Until such time, Meereen will be ruled by a council of the loyal and just. There is a place for you on that council. I know that you have much to teach us all, Your Benevolence. We need your wisdom.”

“I fear you flatter me with empty courtesies, Lord Hand,” the Green Grace said. “If you truly think me wise, heed me now. Release the noble Hizdahr and restore him to his throne.”

“Only the queen can do that.”

~

“I know these were not the words you wished to hear,” said Galazza Galare. “Yet for myself, I understand. These dragons are fell beasts. Yunkai fears them … and with good cause, you cannot deny. Our histories speak of the dragonlords of dread Valyria and the devastation that they wrought upon the peoples of Old Ghis. Even your own young queen, fair Daenerys who called herself the Mother of Dragons … we saw her burning, that day in the pit … even she was not safe from the dragon’s wroth.”

“Her Grace is not … she …”

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

ADWD The Dragontamer

“Is that rain? Your whores will be gone.”

“Not all of them. There are little snuggeries in the pleasure gardens, and they wait there every night until a man chooses them. Those who are not chosen must remain until the sun comes up, feeling lonely and neglected. We could console them.”

“They could console me, is what you mean.”

“That too.”

“That is not the sort of consolation I require.”

“I disagree. Daenerys Targaryen is not the only woman in the world. Do you want to die a man-maid?”

Quentyn did not want to die at all. I want to go back to Yronwood and kiss both of your sisters, marry Gwyneth Yronwood, watch her flower into beauty, have a child by her. I want to ride in tourneys, hawk and hunt, visit with my mother in Norvos, read some of those books my father sends me. I want Cletus and Will and Maester Kedry to be alive again. “Do you think Daenerys would be pleased to hear that I had bedded some whore?”

“She might be. Men may be fond of maidens, but women like a man who knows what he’s about in the bedchamber. It’s another sort of sword-play. Takes training to be good at it.”

The gibe stung. Quentyn had never felt so much a boy as when he’d stood before Daenerys Targaryen, pleading for her hand. The thought of bedding her terrified him almost as much as her dragons had. What if he could not please her? “Daenerys has a paramour,” he said defensively. “My father did not send me here to amuse the queen in the bedchamber. You know why we have come.”

“You cannot marry her. She has a husband.”

“She does not love Hizdahr zo Loraq.”

“What has love to do with marriage? A prince should know better. Your father married for love, it’s said. How much joy has he had of that?”

~

“Dorne remembers Aegon and his sisters. Dragons are not so easily forgotten. They will remember Daenerys as well.”

“Not if she’s died.”

“She lives.” She must. “She is lost, but I can find her.” And when I do, she will look at me the way she looks at her sellsword. Once I have proven myself worthy of her.

~

“What’s that for?” Arch asked.

“Daenerys used a whip to cow the black beast.” Quentyn coiled the whip and hung it from his belt. “Arch, bring your hammer as well. We may have need of it.”

~

Warrior, grant me courage, he prayed. He did not want to do this, but he saw no other way. Why else would Daenerys have shown me the dragons? She wants me to prove myself to her. Gerris handed him a torch. He stepped through the doors.

The green one is Rhaegal, the white Viserion, he reminded himself. Use their names, command them, speak to them calmly but sternly. Master them, as Daenerys mastered Drogon in the pit. The girl had been alone, clad in wisps of silk, but fearless. I must not be afraid. She did it, so can I. The main thing was to show no fear. Animals can smell fear, and dragons … What did he know of dragons? What does any man know of dragons? They have been gone from the world for more than a century.

~

Last and longest the beast stared at Pretty Meris, sniffing. The woman, Quentyn realized. He knows that she is female. He is looking for Daenerys. He wants his mother and does not understand why she’s not here.

Quentyn wrenched free of Gerris’s grip. “Viserion,” he called. The white one is Viserion. For half a heartbeat he was afraid he’d gotten it wrong. “Viserion,” he called again, fumbling for the whip hanging from his belt. She cowed the black one with a whip. I need to do the same.

ADWD The Kingbreaker

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

No, thought Selmy. “Hizdahr seemed distraught.”

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

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

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

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

~

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

“And when she does return?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was not wrong.”

“I will not permit it.”

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

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

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

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

~

That is what I fear. If King Hizdahr was innocent, what they did this day would be treason. But how could he be innocent? Selmy had heard him urging Daenerys to taste the poisoned locusts, shouting at his men to slay the dragon. If we do not act, Hizdahr will kill the dragons and open the gates to the queen’s enemies. We have no choice in this. Yet no matter how he turned and twisted this, the old knight could find no honor in it.

~

Some of them had been training for the fighting pits when Daenerys Targaryen took Meereen and freed them from their chains. Those had had a good acquaintance with sword and spear and battle-axe even before Ser Barristan got hold of them. A few might well be ready. The boy from the Basilisk Isles, for a start. Tumco Lho.

~

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

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

~

The boy went running off, and the king turned back to Selmy. “I dreamed you found Daenerys.”

“Dreams can lie, Your Grace.”

~

“It was your pit, your box, your seats. Sweet wine and soft cushions, figs and melons and honeyed locusts. You provided all. You urged Her Grace to try the locusts but never tasted one yourself.”

“I … hot spices do not agree with me. She was my wife. My queen. Why would I want to poison her?”

Was, he says. He believes her dead. “Only you can answer that, Magnificence. It might be that you wished to put another woman in her place.” Ser Barristan nodded at the girl peering timidly from the bed-chamber. “That one, perhaps?”

The king looked around wildly. “Her? She’s nothing. A bedslave.” He raised his hands. “I misspoke. Not a slave. A free woman. Trained in pleasure. Even a king has needs, she … she is none of your concern, ser. I would never harm Daenerys. Never.”

“You urged the queen to try the locusts. I heard you.”

“I thought she might enjoy them.” Hizdahr retreated another step. “Hot and sweet at once.”

“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 …”

“… burning men who meant harm to your queen. Harpy’s Sons, as like as not. Your friends.”

“Not my friends.”

“You say that, yet when you told them to stop killing they obeyed. Why would they do that if you were not one of them?”

Hizdahr shook his head. This time he did not answer. “Tell me true,” Ser Barristan said, “did you ever love her, even a little? Or was it just the crown you lusted for?”

“Lust? You dare speak to me of lust?” The king’s mouth twisted in anger. “I lusted for the crown, aye … but not half so much as she lusted for her sellsword. Perhaps it was her precious captain who tried to poison her, for putting him aside. And if I had eaten of his locusts too, well, so much the better.”

~

“You will be kept a prisoner until the queen returns. If nothing can be proved against you, you will not come to harm. You have my word as a knight.”

ADWD Victarion I

The war for Meereen was won, the captain claimed; the dragon queen was dead, and a Ghiscari by the name of Hizdak ruled the city now.

Victarion had his tongue torn out for lying. Daenerys Targaryen was not dead, Moqorro assured him; his red god R’hllor had shown him the queen’s face in his sacred fires. The captain could not abide lies, so he had the Ghiscari captain bound hand and foot and thrown overboard, a sacrifice to the Drowned God.

~

Sailing out of Myr, the Dove brought them no fresh news of Meereen or Daenerys, only stale reports of Dothraki horsemen along the Rhoyne, the Golden Company upon the march, and others things Victarion already knew.

~

They had been running empty, Victarion learned, making for New Ghis to load supplies and weapons for the Ghiscari legions encamped before Meereen … and to bring fresh legionaries to the war, to replace all the men who’d died. “Men slain in battle?” asked Victarion. The crews of the galleys denied it; the deaths were from a bloody flux. The pale mare, they called it. And like the captain of the Ghiscari Dawn, the captains of the galleys repeated the lie that Daenerys Targaryen was dead.

“Give her a kiss for me in whatever hell you find her,” Victarion said. He called for his axe and took their heads off there and then. Afterward he put their crews to death as well, saving only the slaves chained to the oars. He broke their chains himself and told them they were now free men and would have the privilege of rowing for the Iron Fleet, an honor that every boy in the Iron Islands dreamed of growing up. “The dragon queen frees slaves and so do I,” he proclaimed.

~

“The silver queen is gone,” the ketch’s master told him. “She flew away upon her dragon, beyond the Dothraki sea.”

“Where is this Dothraki sea?” he demanded. “I will sail the Iron Fleet across it and find the queen wherever she may be.”

The fisherman laughed aloud. “That would be a sight worth seeing. The Dothraki sea is made of grass, fool.”

~

“He bearded the lion in his den and tied the direwolf’s tail in knots, but even Dagon could not defeat the dragons. But I shall make the dragon queen mine own. She will share my bed and bear me many mighty sons.”

~

His dusky woman was enough to satisfy his appetites until he could reach Meereen and claim his queen.

~

A great wind came up then, a wind that filled their sails and swept them north and east and north again, toward Meereen and its pyramids of many-colored bricks. On wings of song I fly to you, Daenerys, the iron captain thought.

ADWD The Griffin Reborn

“Prince Doran’s younger son has been betrothed to Myrcella Baratheon, which would suggest that the Dornishmen have thrown in with House Lannister, but they have an army in the Boneway and another in the Prince’s Pass, just waiting …”

“Waiting.” He frowned. “For what?” Without Daenerys and her dragons, Dorne was central to their hopes. “Write Sunspear. Doran Martell must know that his sister’s son is still alive and has come home to claim his father’s throne.”

~

“My lord does have one prize to offer,” Haldon Halfmaester pointed out. “Prince Aegon’s hand. A marriage alliance, to bring some great House to our banners.”

A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar’s wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon’s birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward.

“Daenerys Targaryen may yet come home one day,” Connington told the Halfmaester. “Aegon must be free to marry her.”

ADWD The Spurned Suitor

“Even if the queen returns, she’ll still be married.”

“Not if I give King Harzoo a little smack with my hammer,” suggested the big man.

“Hizdahr,” said Quentyn. “His name is Hizdahr.”

“One kiss from my hammer and no one will care what his name was,” said Arch.

They do not see. His friends had lost sight of his true purpose here. The road leads through her, not to her. Daenerys is the means to the prize, not the prize itself. “ ‘The dragon has three heads,’ she said to me. ‘My marriage need not be the end of all your hopes,’ she said. ‘I know why you are here. For fire and blood.’ I have Targaryen blood in me, you know that. I can trace my lineage back—”

“Fuck your lineage,” said Gerris. “The dragons won’t care about your blood, except maybe how it tastes. You cannot tame a dragon with a history lesson. They’re monsters, not maesters. Quent, is this truly what you want to do?”

“This is what I have to do. For Dorne. For my father. For Cletus and Will and Maester Kedry.”

“They’re dead,” said Gerris. “They won’t care.”

“All dead,” Quentyn agreed. “For what? To bring me here, so I might wed the dragon queen. A grand adventure, Cletus called it. Demon roads and stormy seas, and at the end of it the most beautiful woman in the world. A tale to tell our grandchildren. But Cletus will never father a child, unless he left a bastard in the belly of that tavern wench he liked. Will will never have his wedding. Their deaths should have some meaning.”

~

“Denzo, I thought you told me that the dragon queen had married some Ghiscari.”

“A Meereenese nobleman. Rich.”

The Tattered Prince turned back to Quentyn. “Could that be true? Surely not. What of your marriage pact?”

“She laughed at him,” said Pretty Meris.

Daenerys never laughed. The rest of Meereen might see him as an amusing curiosity, like the exiled Summer Islander King Robert used to keep at King’s Landing, but the queen had always spoken to him gently. “We came too late,” said Quentyn.

~

“How long do you think the Yunkishmen will want to continue paying wages to four free companies?”

The Tattered Prince took a sip of wine and said, “A vexing question. But this is the way of life for we men of the free companies. One war ends, another begins. Fortunately there is always someone fighting someone somewhere. Perhaps here. Even as we sit here drinking Bloodbeard is urging our Yunkish friends to present King Hizdahr with another head. Freedmen and slavers eye each other’s necks and sharpen their knives, the Sons of the Harpy plot in their pyramids, the pale mare rides down slave and lord alike, our friends from the Yellow City gaze out to sea, and somewhere in the grasslands a dragon nibbles the tender flesh of Daenerys Targaryen. Who rules Meereen tonight? Who will rule it on the morrow?” The Pentoshi gave a shrug. “One thing I am certain of. Someone will have need of our swords.”

~

“So. Let me see if I understand. A proven liar and oathbreaker wishes to contract with us and pay in promises. And for what services? I wonder. Are my Windblown to smash the Yunkai’i and sack the Yellow City? Defeat a Dothraki khalasar in the field? Escort you home to your father? Or will you be content if we deliver Queen Daenerys to your bed wet and willing? Tell me true, Prince Frog. What would you have of me and mine?”

“I need you to help me steal a dragon.”

ADWD The Discarded Knight

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

Reznak mo Reznak cleared his throat noisily. “Meaning no offense, yet it seems to me that Her Worship Queen Daenerys gave you … ah … seven hostages. The other three …”

“The others shall remain our guests,” announced the Yunkish lord in the breastplate, “until the dragons have been destroyed.”

A hush fell across the hall. Then came the murmurs and the mutters, whispered curses, whispered prayers, the hornets stirring in their hive. “The dragons …” said King Hizdahr.

“… are monsters, as all men saw in Daznak’s Pit. No true peace is possible whilst they live.”

Reznak replied. “Her Magnificence Queen Daenerys is Mother of Dragons. Only she can—”

Bloodbeard’s scorn cut him off. “She is gone. Burned and devoured. Weeds grow through her broken skull.”

~

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

~

“Leave the city. Return to Dorne.”

The Dornishmen exchanged a look. “Our arms and armor are back in our apartments,” said Gerris Drinkwater. “Not to mention most of the coin that we have left.”

“Swords can be replaced,” said Ser Barristan. “I can provide you with coin enough for passage back to Dorne. Prince Quentyn, the king made note of you today. He frowned.”

Gerris Drinkwater laughed. “Should we be frightened of Hizdahr zo Loraq? You saw him just now. He quailed before the Yunkishmen. They sent him a head, and he did nothing.”

Quentyn Martell nodded in agreement. “A prince does well to think before he acts. This king … I do not know what to think of him. The queen warned me against him as well, true, but …”

“She warned you?” Selmy frowned. “Why are you still here?”

Prince Quentyn flushed. “The marriage pact—”

“—was made by two dead men and contained not a word about the queen or you. It promised your sister’s hand to the queen’s brother, another dead man. It has no force. Until you turned up here, Her Grace was ignorant of its existence. Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear. If the queen had known of this pact in Qarth, she might never have turned aside for Slaver’s Bay, but you came too late. I have no wish to salt your wounds, but Her Grace has a new husband and an old paramour, and seems to prefer the both of them to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ADWD Tyrion XI

“The silver queen—”

“—is dead,” insisted Sweets. “Forget her! The dragon took her across the river. She’s drowned in that Dothraki sea.”

“You can’t drown in grass,” the goat boy said. “If we were free,” said Penny, “we could find the queen. Or go search for her, at least.”

You on your dog and me on my sow, chasing a dragon across the Dothraki sea. Tyrion scratched his scar to keep from laughing. “This particular dragon has already evinced a fondness for roast pork. And roast dwarf is twice as tasty.”

~

The fact that there were any good wells at all within a day’s march of the city only went to prove that Daenerys Targaryen was still an innocent where siegecraft was concerned. She should have poisoned every well. Then all the Yunkishmen would be drinking from the river. See how long their siege lasts then. That was what his lord father would have done, Tyrion did not doubt.

~

There was no better place to hear the latest news and rumors than around the well. “I know what I saw,” an old slave in a rusted iron collar was saying, as Tyrion and Penny shuffled along in the queue, “and I saw that dragon ripping off arms and legs, tearing men in half, burning them down to ash and bones. People started running, trying to get out of that pit, but I come to see a show, and by all the gods of Ghis, I saw one. I was up in the purple, so I didn’t think the dragon was like to trouble me.”

“The queen climbed onto the dragon’s back and flew away,” insisted a tall brown woman.

“She tried,” said the old man, “but she couldn’t hold on. The cross-bows wounded the dragon, and the queen was struck right between her sweet pink teats, I hear. That was when she fell. She died in the gutter, crushed beneath a wagon’s wheels. I know a girl who knows a man who saw her die.”

In this company, silence was the better part of wisdom, but Tyrion could not help himself. “No corpse was found,” he said.

The old man frowned. “What would you know about it?”

“They were there,” said the brown woman. “It’s them, the jousting dwarfs, the ones who tilted for the queen.”

The old man squinted down as if seeing him and Penny for the first time. “You’re the ones who rode the pigs.”

Our notoriety precedes us. Tyrion sketched a courtly bow, and refrained from pointing out that one of the pigs was really a dog. “The sow I ride is actually my sister. We have the same nose, could you tell? A wizard cast a spell on her, but if you give her a big wet kiss, she will turn into a beautiful woman. The pity is, once you get to know her, you’ll want to kiss her again to turn her back.”

Laughter erupted all around them. Even the old man joined in. “You saw her, then,” said the redheaded boy behind them. “You saw the queen. Is she as beautiful as they say?”

I saw a slender girl with silvery hair wrapped in a tokar, he might have told them. Her face was veiled, and I never got close enough for a good look. I was riding on a pig. Daenerys Targaryen had been seated in the owner’s box beside her Ghiscari king, but Tyrion’s eyes had been drawn to the knight in the white-and-gold armor behind her. Though his features were concealed, the dwarf would have known Barristan Selmy anywhere. Illyrio was right about that much, at least, he remembered thinking. Will Selmy know me, though? And what will he do if he does?

~

“The queen watched us tilt,” Penny was telling the other slaves in line, “but that was the only time we saw her.”

“You must have seen the dragon,” said the old man.

Would that we had. The gods had not even vouchsafed him that much. As Daenerys Targaryen was taking wing, Nurse had been clapping irons round their ankles to make certain they would not attempt escape on their way back to their master. If the overseer had only taken his leave after delivering them to the abbatoir, or fled with the rest of the slavers when the dragon descended from the sky, the two dwarfs might have strolled away free. Or run away, more like, our little bells a-jingle.

“Was there a dragon?” Tyrion said with a shrug. “All I know is that no dead queens were found.”

~

“...Might be they did but decided to say elsewise, to keep you slaves quiet.”

“Us slaves?” said the brown woman. “You wear a collar too.”

“Ghazdor’s collar,” the old man boasted. “Known him since we was born. I’m almost like a brother to him. Slaves like you, sweepings out of Astapor and Yunkai, you whine about being free, but I wouldn’t give the dragon queen my collar if she offered to suck my cock for it. Man has the right master, that’s better.”

 ADWD The Iron Suitor

And I must needs reach the dragon queen before the Volantenes.

In Volantis he had seen the galleys taking on provisions. The whole city had seemed drunk. Sailors and soldiers and tinkers had been observed dancing in the streets with nobles and fat merchants, and in every inn and winesink cups were being raised to the new triarchs. All the talk had been of the gold and gems and slaves that would flood into Volantis once the dragon queen was dead.

~

“Is it still to be Meereen?”

“Where else? The dragon queen awaits me in Meereen.” The fairest woman in the world if my brother could be believed. Her hair is silver-gold, her eyes are amethysts.

Was it too much to hope that for once Euron had told it true? Perhaps. Like as not, the girl would prove to be some pock-faced slattern with teats slapping against her knees, her “dragons” no more than tattooed lizards from the swamps of Sothoryos. If she is all that Euron claims, though … They had heard talk of the beauty of Daenerys Targaryen from the lips of pirates in the Stepstones and fat merchants in Old Volantis. It might be true. And Euron had not made Victarion a gift of her; the Crow’s Eye meant to take her for himself. He sends me like a serving man to fetch her. How he will howl when I claim her for myself. Let the men mutter. They had sailed too far and lost too much for Victarion to turn west without his prize.

 ADWD The Queensguard

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

~

“I have the poisoner.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

“Her poisoner.”

Is he? “Where is your proof?”

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

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

ADWD Tyrion X

The next piece of chattel was already being led up to take their place. A girl, fifteen or sixteen, not off the Selaesori Qhoran this time. Tyrion did not know her. The same age as Daenerys Targaryen, or near enough. The slaver soon had her naked. At least we were spared that humiliation.

~

Mormont paid no mind to the mongrel crowd; his eyes were fixed beyond the siege lines, on the distant city with its ancient walls of many-colored brick. Tyrion could read that look as easy as a book: so near and yet so distant. The poor wretch had returned too late. Daenerys Targaryen was wed, the guards on the pens had told them, laughing. She had taken a Meereenese slaver as her king, as wealthy as he was noble, and when the peace was signed and sealed the fighting pits of Meereen would open once again. Other slaves insisted that the guards were lying, that Daenerys Targaryen would never make peace with slavers. Mhysa, they called her. Someone told him that meant Mother. Soon the silver queen would come forth from her city, smash the Yunkai’i, and break their chains, they whispered to one another.

And then she’ll bake us all a lemon pie and kiss our widdle wounds and make them better, the dwarf thought. He had no faith in royal rescues. If need be, he would see to their deliverance himself.

ADWD Jon IX

“Let us hope so. The narrow sea is perilous this time of year, and of late there have been troubling reports of strange ships seen amongst the Step-stones.”

“Salladhor Saan?”

“The Lysene pirate? Some say he has returned to his old haunts, this is so. And Lord Redwyne’s war fleet creeps through the Broken Arm as well.

On its way home, no doubt. But these men and their ships are well-known to us. No, these other sails … from farther east, perhaps … one hears queer talk of dragons.”

“Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit.”

“My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons.”

ADWD Tyrion IX

“We failed at that as well. No one threw coins.” Not a penny, not a groat.

“They will when we get better.” Penny pulled off her helm. Mouse-brown hair spilled down to her ears. Her eyes were brown too, beneath a heavy shelf of brow, her cheeks smooth and flushed. She pulled some acorns from a leather bag for Pretty Pig. The sow ate them from her hand, squealing happily. “When we perform for Queen Daenerys the silver will rain down, you’ll see.”

~

At Joffrey’s wedding feast, he recalled, one rider had displayed the direwolf of Robb Stark, the other the arms and colors of Stannis Baratheon. “We will need both animals if we’re to tilt for Queen Daenerys,” he said. If the sailors took it in their heads to butcher Pretty Pig, neither he nor Penny could hope to stop them … but Ser Jorah’s longsword might give them pause, at least.

“Is that how you hope to keep your head, Imp?”

“Ser Imp, if you please. And yes. Once Her Grace knows my true worth, she’ll cherish me. I am a lovable little fellow, after all, and I know many useful things about my kin. But until such time I had best keep her amused.”

“Caper as you like, it won’t wash out your crimes. Daenerys Targaryen is no silly child to be diverted by japes and tumbles. She will deal with you justly.”

Oh, I hope not. Tyrion studied Mormont with his mismatched eyes. “And how will she welcome you, this just queen? A warm embrace, a girlish titter, a headsman’s axe?” He grinned at the knight’s obvious discomfit. “Did you truly expect me to believe you were about the queen’s business in that whorehouse? Defending her from half a world away? Or could it be that you were running, that your dragon queen sent you from her side? But why would she … oh, wait, you were spying on her.” Tyrion made a clucking sound. “You hope to buy your way back into her favor by presenting her with me. An ill-considered scheme, I’d say. One might even say an act of drunken desperation. Perhaps if I were Jaime … but Jaime killed her father, I only killed my own. You think Daenerys will execute me and pardon you, but the reverse is just as likely. Maybe you should hop up on that pig, Ser Jorah. Put on a suit of iron motley, like Florian the—”

The blow the big knight gave him cracked his head around and knocked him sideways, so hard that his head bounced off the deck.

~

“The widow said this ship would never reach her destination. I took that to mean that once we were out to sea beyond the reach of triarchs, the captain would change course for Meereen. Or perhaps that you would seize the ship with your Fiery Hand and take us to Daenerys. But that isn’t what your high priest saw at all, is it?”

“No.” Moqorro’s deep voice tolled as solemnly as a funeral bell. “This is what he saw.”

ADWD Tyrion VIII

“Have you come to pray with me?”

“Someone told me that the night is dark and full of terrors. What do you see in those flames?”

“Dragons,” Moqorro said in the Common Tongue of Westeros. He spoke it very well, with hardly a trace of accent. No doubt that was one reason the high priest Benerro had chosen him to bring the faith of R’hllor to Daenerys Targaryen. “Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all.”

~

Twice exiled, and small wonder, Tyrion thought. I’d exile him too if I could. The man is cold, brooding, sullen, deaf to humor. And those are his good points. Ser Jorah spent most of his waking hours pacing the forecastle or leaning on the rail, gazing out to sea. Looking for his silver queen. Looking for Daenerys, willing the ship to sail faster. Well, I might do the same if Tysha waited in Meereen.

~

“Daenerys has a kind heart and a generous nature.” It was what she needed to hear. “She will find a place for you at her court, I don’t doubt. A safe place, beyond my sister’s reach.”

Penny turned back to him. “And you will be there too.”

Unless Daenerys decides she needs some Lannister blood, to pay for the Targaryen blood my brother shed. “I will.”

~

“Does our captain mean to test the curse?”

“Our captain would prefer to be fifty leagues farther out to sea, well away from that accursed shore, but I have commanded him to steer the shortest course. Others seek Daenerys too.”

Griff, with his young prince. Could all that talk of the Golden Company sailing west have been a feint? Tyrion considered saying something, then thought better. It seemed to him that the prophecy that drove the red priests had room for just one hero. A second Targaryen would only serve to confuse them. “Have you seen these others in your fires?” he asked, warily.

“Only their shadows,” Moqorro said. “One most of all. A tall and twisted thing with one black eye and ten long arms, sailing on a sea of blood.”

  ADWD Tyrion VII

“What is he saying?” Tyrion asked the knight.

“That Daenerys stands in peril. The dark eye has fallen upon her, and the minions of night are plotting her destruction, praying to their false gods in temples of deceit … conspiring at betrayal with godless outlanders …”

The hairs on the back of Tyrion’s neck began to prickle. Prince Aegon will find no friend here. The red priest spoke of ancient prophecy, a prophecy that foretold the coming of a hero to deliver the world from darkness. One hero. Not two. Daenerys has dragons, Aegon does not. The dwarf did not need to be a prophet himself to foresee how Benerro and his followers might react to a second Targaryen. Griff will see that too, surely, he thought, surprised to find how much he cared.

~

Tyrion had just swallowed another locust. He almost choked on it. Is he mocking me? How much could he know of Griff and Aegon? “Bugger,” he said. “I meant to hire the Golden Company myself, to win me Casterly Rock.” Could this be some ploy of Griff’s, false reports deliberately spread? Unless … Could the pretty princeling have swallowed the bait? Turned them west instead of east, abandoning his hopes of wedding Queen Daenerys? Abandoning the dragons … would Griff allow that?

~

“We need swift passage to Meereen.”

One word. Tyrion Lannister’s world turned upside down.

One word. Meereen. Or had he misheard?

One word. Meereen, he said Meereen, he’s taking me to Meereen. Meereen meant life. Or hope for life, at least.

“Why come to me?” the widow said. “I own no ships.”

“You have many captains in your debt.”

Deliver me to the queen, he says. Aye, but which queen? He isn’t selling me to Cersei. He’s giving me to Daenerys Targaryen. That’s why he hasn’t hacked my head off. We’re going east, and Griff and his prince are going west, the bloody fools.

Oh, it was all too much. Plots within plots, but all roads lead down the dragon’s gullet. A guffaw burst from his lips, and suddenly Tyrion could not stop laughing.

“Your dwarf is having a fit,” the widow observed. “My dwarf will be quiet, or I’ll see him gagged.”

Tyrion covered his mouth with his hands. Meereen!

~

“...Have you heard Benerro preach?”

“Last night.”

“Benerro can see the morrow in his flames,” the widow said. “Triarch Malaquo tried to hire the Golden Company, did you know? He meant to clean out the red temple and put Benerro to the sword. He dare not use tiger cloaks. Half of them worship the Lord of Light as well. Oh, these are dire days in Old Volantis, even for wrinkled old widows. But not half so dire as in Meereen, I think. So tell me, ser … why do you seek the silver queen?”

~

“Keep your silver. I have gold. And spare me your black looks, ser. I am too old to be frightened of a scowl. You are a hard man, I see, and no doubt skilled with that long sword at your side, but this is my realm. Let me crook a finger and you may find yourself traveling to Meereen chained to an oar in the belly of a galley.” She lifted her jade fan and opened it. There was a rustle of leaves, and a man slid from the overgrown archway to her left. His face was a mass of scars, and in one hand he held a sword, short and heavy as a cleaver. “Seek the widow of the waterfront, someone told you, but they should have also warned you, beware the widow’s sons. It is such a sweet morning, though, I shall ask again. Why would you seek Daenerys Targaryen, whom half the world wants dead?”

Jorah Mormont’s face was dark with anger, but he answered. “To serve her. Defend her. Die for her, if need be.”

That made the widow laugh. “You want to rescue her, is that the way of it? From more enemies than I can name, with swords beyond count … this is what you’d have the poor widow believe? That you are a true and chivalrous Westerosi knight crossing half the world to come to the aid of this … well, she is no maiden, though she may still be fair.” She laughed again. “Do you think your dwarf will please her? Will she bathe in his blood, do you think, or content herself with striking off his head?”

Ser Jorah hesitated. “The dwarf is—”

“—I know who the dwarf is, and what he is.” Her black eyes turned to Tyrion, hard as stone. “Kinslayer, kingslayer, murderer, turncloak. Lannister.” She made the last a curse. “What do you plan to offer the dragon queen, little man?”

My hate, Tyrion wanted to say. Instead he spread his hands as far as the fetters would allow. “Whatever she would have of me. Sage counsel, savage wit, a bit of tumbling. My cock, if she desires it. My tongue, if she does not. I will lead her armies or rub her feet, as she desires. And the only reward I ask is I might be allowed to rape and kill my sister.”

~

“If I were Volantene, and free, and had the blood, you’d have my vote for triarch, my lady.”

“I am no lady,” the widow replied, “just Vogarro’s whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis.” She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. “Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon.”

ADWD The Windblown

The word passed through the camp like a hot wind. 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.

~

“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.”

~

“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. The more Quentyn heard of Daenerys Targaryen, the more he feared that meeting. The Yunkai’i claimed that she fed her dragons on human flesh and bathed in the blood of virgins to keep her skin smooth and supple. Beans laughed at that but relished the tales of the silver queen’s promiscuity. “One of her captains comes of a line where the men have foot-long members,” he told them, “but even he’s not big enough for her. She rode with the Dothraki and grew accustomed to being fucked by stallions, so now no man can fill her.” 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.”

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 murdeous as her father, must I still marry her? Prince Doran had never spoken of that possibility.

~

Their mistress could not have been more than sixteen and fancied herself Yunkai’s own Daenerys Targaryen.

~

“Daenerys may be halfway to Yunkai by now, with an army at her back,” Quentyn said as they walked amongst the horses.

“She may be,” Gerris said, “but she’s not. We’ve heard such talk before. The Astapori were convinced Daenerys was coming south with her dragons to break the siege. She didn’t come then, and she’s not coming now.”

“We can’t know that, not for certain. We need to steal away before we end up fighting the woman I was sent to woo.”

“Wait till Yunkai.” Gerris gestured at the hills. “These lands belong to the Yunkai’i. No one is like to want to feed or shelter three deserters. North of Yunkai, that’s no-man’s-land.”

He was not wrong. Even so, Quentyn felt uneasy. “The big man’s made too many friends. He knows the plan was always to steal off and make our way to Daenerys, but he’s not going to feel good about abandoning men he’s fought with. If we wait too long, it’s going to feel as if we’re deserting them on the eve of battle. He will never do that. You know him as well as I do.”

~

“You’d have us turn our cloaks?”

“I would,” said the Tattered Prince.

Quentyn Martell almost laughed aloud. The gods are mad.

The Westerosi shifted uneasily. Some stared into their wine cups, as if they hoped to find some wisdom there. Hugh Hungerford frowned. “You think Queen Daenerys will take us in …”

“I do.”

~

“Meris will command you,” said the Tattered Prince. “She knows my mind in this … and Daenerys Targaryen may be more accepting of another woman.”

~

“The best ruses always have some seed of truth,” said the Tattered Prince. “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.”

 ADWD The Lost Lord

A ferocious southern sun beat down upon the crowded riverfront of Volon Therys, but heat was the last and least of Griff’s concerns. The Golden Company was encamped three miles south of town, well north of where he had expected them, and Triarch Malaquo had come north with five thousand foot and a thousand horse to cut them off from the delta road. Daenerys Targaryen remained a world away, and Tyrion Lannister … well, he could be most anywhere.

~

“The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we reached Queen Daenerys,” Lemore was saying.

“That was when we believed the girl was coming west. Our dragon queen has burned that plan to ash, and thanks to that fat fool in Pentos, we have grasped the she-dragon by the tail and burned our fingers to the bone.”

“Illyrio could not have been expected to know that the girl would choose to remain at Slaver’s Bay.”

“No more than he knew that the Beggar King would die young, or that Khal Drogo would follow him into the grave. Very little of what the fat man has anticipated has come to pass.”

~

“I assume you know that the Targaryen girl has not started for the west?”

“We heard that tale in Selhorys.”

“No tale. Simple truth. The why of it is harder to grasp. Sack Meereen, aye, why not? I would have done the same in her place. The slaver cities reek of gold, and conquest requires coin. But why linger? Fear? Madness? Sloth?”

“The why of it does not matter.” Harry Strickland unrolled a pair of striped woolen stockings. “She is in Meereen and we are here, where the Volantenes grow daily more unhappy with our presence. We came to raise up a king and queen who would lead us home to Westeros, but this Targaryen girl seems more intent on planting olive trees than in reclaiming her father’s throne. Meanwhile, her foes gather. Yunkai, New Ghis, Tolos. Bloodbeard and the Tattered Prince will both be in the field against her … and soon enough the fleets of Old Volantis will descend on her as well. What does she have? Bedslaves with sticks?”

“Unsullied,” said Griff. “And dragons.”

“Dragons, aye,” the captain-general said, “but young ones, hardly more than hatchlings.” Strickland eased his sock over his blisters and up his ankle. “How much will they avail her when all these armies close about her city like a fist?”

Tristan Rivers drummed his fingers on his knee. “All the more reason that we must reach her quickly, I say. If Daenerys will not come to us, we must go to Daenerys.”

“Can we walk across the waves, ser?” asked Lysono Maar. “I tell you again, we cannot reach the silver queen by sea. I slipped into Volantis myself, posing as a trader, to learn how many ships might be available to us. The harbor teems with galleys, cogs, and carracks of every sort and size, yet even so I soon found myself consorting with smugglers and pirates. We have ten thousand men in the company, as I am sure Lord Connington remembers from his years of service with us. Five hundred knights, each with three horses. Five hundred squires, with one mount apiece. And elephants, we must not forget the elephants. A pirate ship will not suffice. We would need a pirate fleet … and even if we found one, the word has come back from Slaver’s Bay that Meereen has been closed off by blockade.”

~

And then Prince Aegon spoke. “Then put your hopes on me,” he said. “Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon that you need.”

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon’s shoulder. “Spoken boldly,” he said, “but think what you are saying.”

“I have,” the lad insisted. “Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros.”

Franklyn Flowers laughed. “I like it. Sail west, not east. Leave the little queen to her olives and seat Prince Aegon upon the Iron Throne. The boy has stones, give him that.”

The captain-general looked as if someone had slapped his face. “Has the sun curdled your brains, Flowers? We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Without her, the lords will only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender. And how do you propose to get to Westeros? You heard Lysono. There are no ships to be had.”

~

“By now the lion surely has the dragon’s scent,” said one of the Coles, “but Cersei’s attentions will be fixed upon Meereen and this other queen. She knows nothing of our prince. Once we land and raise our banners, many and more will flock to join us.”

“Some,” allowed Homeless Harry, “not many. Rhaegar’s sister has dragons. Rhaegar’s son does not. We do not have the strength to take the realm without Daenerys and her army. Her Unsullied.”

“The first Aegon took Westeros without eunuchs,” said Lysono Maar. “Why shouldn’t the sixth Aegon do the same?”

“The plan—”

“Which plan?” said Tristan Rivers. “The fat man’s plan? The one that changes every time the moon turns? First Viserys Targaryen was to join us with fifty thousand Dothraki screamers at his back. Then the Beggar King was dead, and it was to be the sister, a pliable young child queen who was on her way to Pentos with three new-hatched dragons. Instead the girl turns up on Slaver’s Bay and leaves a string of burning cities in her wake, and the fat man decides we should meet her by Volantis. Now that plan is in ruins as well.

“I have had enough of Illyrio’s plans. Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne without the benefit of dragons. We can do the same. And if I am wrong and the realm does not rise for us, we can always retreat back across the narrow sea, as Bittersteel once did, and others after him.”

Strickland shook his head stubbornly. “The risk—”

“—is not what it was, now that Tywin Lannister is dead. The Seven Kingdoms will never be more ripe for conquest. Another boy king sits the Iron Throne, this one even younger than the last, and rebels are thick upon the ground as autumn leaves.”

ADWD Tyrion VI

“And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne … assuming that our fair Daenerys takes you for her consort.”

“She will. She must.”

“Must?” Tyrion made a tsking sound. “That is not a word queens like to hear. You are her perfect prince, agreed, bright and bold and comely as any maid could wish. Daenerys Targaryen is no maid, however. She is the widow of a Dothraki khal, a mother of dragons and sacker of cities, Aegon the Conqueror with teats. She may not prove as willing as you wish.”

“She’ll be willing.” Prince Aegon sounded shocked. It was plain that he had never before considered the possibility that his bride-to-be might refuse him. “You don’t know her.” He picked up his heavy horse and put it down with a thump.

The dwarf shrugged. “I know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad … a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet. Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, ‘Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I’ve been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I’ve washed the blue dye from my hair and I’d like a dragon, please … and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?’ ”

Aegon’s mouth twisted in fury. “I will not come to my aunt a beggar. I will come to her a kinsman, with an army.”

“A small army.” There, that’s made him good and angry. The dwarf could not help but think of Joffrey. I have a gift for angering princes. “Queen Daenerys has a large one, and no thanks to you.” Tyrion moved his crossbows.

“Say what you want. She will be my bride, Lord Connington will see to it. I trust him as much as if he were my own blood.”

~

“But,” Prince Aegon said, “without Daenerys and her dragons, how could we hope to win?”

“You do not need to win,” Tyrion told him. “All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours.”

“You said she might not have me.”

“Perhaps I overstated. She may take pity on you when you come begging for her hand.” The dwarf shrugged. “Do you want to wager your throne upon a woman’s whim? Go to Westeros, though … ah, then you are a rebel, not a beggar. Bold, reckless, a true scion of House Targaryen, walking in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror. A dragon.

“I told you, I know our little queen. Let her hear that her brother Rhaegar’s murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen, hard-pressed on every side … and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer. The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother’s son in his hour of peril. And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?”

~

“Then rouse him. We have tidings he’d best hear. The queen’s name is on every tongue in Selhorys. They say she still sits in Meereen, sore beset. If the talk in the markets can be believed, Old Volantis will soon join the war against her.”

Haldon pursed his lips. “The gossip of fishmongers is not to be relied on. Still, I suppose Griff will want to hear. You know how he is.” The Halfmaester went below.

The girl never started for the west. No doubt she had good reasons. Between Meereen and Volantis lay five hundred leagues of deserts, mountains, swamps, and ruins, plus Mantarys with its sinister repute. A city of monsters, they say, but if she marches overland, where else is she to turn for food and water? The sea would be swifter, but if she does not have the ships …

~

“That was another age. Come, we’d best hear what that priest is going on about. I swear I heard the name Daenerys.”

Across the square they joined the growing throng outside the red temple. With the locals towering above him on every hand, the little man found it hard to see much beyond their arses. He could hear most every word the priest was saying, but that was not to say he understood them. “Do you understand what he is saying?” he asked Haldon in the Common Tongue.

“I would if I did not have a dwarf piping in my ear.”

“I do not pipe.” Tyrion crossed his arms and looked behind him, studying the faces of the men and women who had stopped to listen. Everywhere he turned, he saw tattoos. Slaves. Four of every five of them are slaves.

“The priest is calling on the Volantenes to go to war,” the Halfmaester told him, “but on the side of right, as soldiers of the Lord of Light, R’hllor who made the sun and stars and fights eternally against the darkness. Nyessos and Malaquo have turned away from the light, he says, their hearts darkened by the yellow harpies from the east. He says …”

“Dragons. I understood that word. He said dragons.”

“Aye. The dragons have come to carry her to glory.”

“Her. Daenerys?”

Haldon nodded. “Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …”

“Do I have to be reborn in this same body?” asked Tyrion. The crowd was growing thicker. He could feel them pressing in around them. “Who is Benerro?”

Haldon raised an eyebrow. “High Priest of the red temple in Volantis. Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, First Servant of the Lord of Light, Slave of R’hllor.”

The only red priest Tyrion had ever known was Thoros of Myr, the portly, genial, wine-stained roisterer who had loitered about Robert’s court swilling the king’s finest vintages and setting his sword on fire for mêlées. “Give me priests who are fat and corrupt and cynical,” he told Haldon, “the sort who like to sit on soft satin cushions, nibble sweetmeats, and diddle little boys. It’s the ones who believe in gods who make the trouble.”

~

“What news from downriver? Will it be war?”

Qavo shrugged. “The Yunkai’i would have it so. They style themselves the Wise Masters. Of their wisdom I cannot speak, but they do not lack for cunning. Their envoy came to us with chests of gold and gems and two hundred slaves, nubile girls and smooth-skinned boys trained in the way of the seven sighs. I am told his feasts are memorable and his bribes lavish.”

“The Yunkishmen have bought your triarchs?”

“Only Nyessos.” Qavo removed the screen and studied the placement of Tyrion’s army. “Malaquo may be old and toothless, but he is a tiger still, and Doniphos will not be returned as triarch. The city thirsts for war.”

“Why?” wondered Tyrion. “Meereen is long leagues across the sea. How has this sweet child queen offended Old Volantis?”

“Sweet?” Qavo laughed. “If even half the stories coming back from Slaver’s Bay are true, this child is a monster. They say that she is blood-thirsty, that those who speak against her are impaled on spikes to die lingering deaths. They say she is a sorceress who feeds her dragons on the flesh of newborn babes, an oathbreaker who mocks the gods, breaks truces, threatens envoys, and turns on those who have served her loyally. They say her lust cannot be sated, that she mates with men, women, eunuchs, even dogs and children, and woe betide the lover who fails to satisfy her. She gives her body to men to take their souls in thrall.”

Oh, good, thought Tyrion. If she gives her body to me, she is welcome to my soul, small and stunted though it is.

“They say,” said Haldon. “By they, you mean the slavers, the exiles she drove from Astapor and Meereen. Mere calumnies.”

“The best calumnies are spiced with truth,” suggested Qavo, “but the girl’s true sin cannot be denied. This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver’s Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. Behind the Black Wall, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives. Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row our galleys, fight our battles. And now when they look east, they see this young queen shining from afar, this breaker of chains. The Old Blood cannot suffer that. Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation.”

Tyrion advanced his spearmen. Qavo replied with his light horse. Tyrion moved his crossbowmen up a square and said, “The red priest outside seemed to think Volantis should fight for this silver queen, not against her.”

“The red priests would be wise to hold their tongues,” said Qavo Nogarys. “Already there has been fighting between their followers and those who worship other gods. Benerro’s rantings will only serve to bring a savage wrath down upon his head.”

“What rantings?” the dwarf asked, toying with his rabble.

The Volantene waved a hand. “In Volantis, thousands of slaves and freedmen crowd the temple plaza every night to hear Benerro shriek of bleeding stars and a sword of fire that will cleanse the world. He has been preaching that Volantis will surely burn if the triarchs take up arms against the silver queen.”

“That’s a prophecy even I could make. Ah, supper.”

Supper was a plate of roasted goat served on a bed of sliced onions. The meat was spiced and fragrant, charred outside and red and juicy within. Tyrion plucked at a piece. It was so hot it burned his fingers, but so good he could not help but reach for another chunk. He washed it down with the pale green Volantene liquor, the closest thing he’d had to wine for ages. “Very good,” he said, plucking up his dragon. “The most powerful piece in the game,” he announced, as he removed one of Qavo’s elephants. “And Daenerys Targaryen has three, it’s said.”

“Three,” Qavo allowed, “against thrice three thousand enemies. Grazdan mo Eraz was not the only envoy sent out from the Yellow City. When the Wise Masters move against Meereen, the legions of New Ghis will fight beside them. Tolosi. Elyrians. Even the Dothraki.”

~

“You’re mine, Hugor.”

Tyrion could no more outrun him than outfight him. Drunk as he was, he could not even hope to outwit him. He spread his hands. “And what do you mean to do with me?”

“Deliver you,” the knight said, “to the queen.”

ADWD Davos II

The old fellow made a face. “Prince Viserys weren’t the only dragon, were he? Are we sure they killed Prince Rhaegar’s son? A babe, he was.”

“Wasn’t there some princess too?” asked a whore. She was the same one who’d said the meat was grey.

“Two,” said the old fellow. “One was Rhaegar’s daughter, t’other was his sister.”

“Daena,” said the riverman. “That was the sister. Daena of Dragon-stone. Or was it Daera?”

“Daena was old King Baelor’s wife,” said the oarsman. “I rowed on a ship named for her once. The Princess Daena.”

“If she was a king’s wife, she’d be a queen.”

“Baelor never had a queen. He was holy.”

“Don’t mean he never wed his sister,” said the whore. “He just never bedded her, is all. When they made him king, he locked her up in a tower. His other sisters too. There was three.”

“Daenela,” the proprietor said loudly. “That was her name. The Mad King’s daughter, I mean, not Baelor’s bloody wife.”

“Daenerys,” Davos said. “She was named for the Daenerys who wed the Prince of Dorne during the reign of Daeron the Second. I don’t know what became of her.”

"I do," said the man who'd started all the talk of dragons, a Braavosi oarsman in a somber woolen jack. "When we were down to Pentos we moored beside a trader called the Sloe-Eyed Maid, and I got to drinking with her captain's steward. He told me a pretty tale about some slip of a girl who come aboard in Qarth, to try and book passage back to Westeros for her and three dragons. Silver hair she had, and purple eyes. 'I took her to the captain my own self,' this steward swore to me, 'but he wasn't having none of that. There's more profit in cloves and saffron, he tells me, and spices won't set fire to your sails.' "

ADWD Tyrion III

Griff ignored the request. Instead he touched the letter to the candle flame and watched the parchment blacken, curl, and flare up. “There is blood between Targaryen and Lannister. Why would you support the cause of Queen Daenerys?”

“For gold and glory,” the dwarf said cheerfully. “Oh, and hate. If you had ever met my sister, you would understand.”

ADWD The Merchant's Man

That was before Prince Doran had summoned him to the Water Gardens. And now the most beautiful woman in the world was waiting in Meereen, and he meant to do his duty and claim her for his bride. She will not refuse me. She will honor the agreement. Daenerys Targaryen would need Dorne to win the Seven Kingdoms, and that meant that she would need him. It does not mean that she will love me, though. She may not even like me.

~

“Perhaps your silver queen would like a monkey,” said Gerris.

Quentyn had no idea what Daenerys Targaryen might like. He had promised his father that he would bring her back to Dorne, but more and more he wondered if he was equal to the task.

~

“And if Daenerys is dead before we reach her?” Quentyn said. “We must have a ship. Even if it is Adventure.”

Gerris laughed. “You must be more desperate for Daenerys than I knew if you’d endure that stench for months on end. After three days, I’d be begging them to murder me. No, my prince, I pray you, not Adventure.”

ADWD Tyrion II

“How many days until we reach the river?” he asked Illyrio that evening. “At this pace, your queen’s dragons will be larger than Aegon’s three before I can lay eyes upon them.”

“Would it were so. A large dragon is more fearsome than a small one.” The magister shrugged. “Much as it would please me to welcome Queen Daenerys to Volantis, I must rely on you and Griff for that. I can serve her best in Pentos, smoothing the way for her return. So long as I am with you, though … well, an old fat man must have his comforts, yes? Come, drink a cup of wine.”

“Tell me,” Tyrion said as he drank, “why should a magister of Pentos give three figs who wears the crown in Westeros? Where is the gain for you in this venture, my lord?”

The fat man dabbed grease from his lips. “I am an old man, grown weary of this world and its treacheries. Is it so strange that I should wish to do some good before my days are done, to help a sweet young girl regain her birthright?”

Next you will be offering me a suit of magic armor and a palace in Valyria. “If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.”

“Fear not, my little friend. The blood of Aegon the Dragon flows in her veins.”

Along with the blood of Aegon the Unworthy, Maegor the Cruel, and Baelor the Befuddled. “Tell me more of her.”

The fat man grew pensive. “Daenerys was half a child when she came to me, yet fairer even than my second wife, so lovely I was tempted to claim her for myself. Such a fearful, furtive thing, however, I knew I should get no joy from coupling with her. Instead I summoned a bed-warmer and fucked her vigorously until the madness passed. If truth be told, I did not think Daenerys would survive for long amongst the horselords.”

“That did not stop you selling her to Khal Drogo …”

“Dothraki neither buy nor sell. Say rather that her brother Viserys gave her to Drogo to win the khal’s friendship. A vain young man, and greedy. Viserys lusted for his father’s throne, but he lusted for Daenerys too, and was loath to give her up. The night before the princess wed he tried to steal into her bed, insisting that if he could not have her hand, he would claim her maidenhead. Had I not taken the precaution of posting guards upon her door, Viserys might have undone years of planning.”

“He sounds an utter fool.”

“Viserys was Mad Aerys’s son, just so. Daenerys … Daenerys is quite different.” He popped a roasted lark into his mouth and crunched it noisily, bones and all. “The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen. When I sent ships to bring her home, she turned toward Slaver’s Bay. In a short span of days she conquered Astapor, made Yunkai bend the knee, and sacked Meereen. Mantarys will be next, if she marches west along the old Valyrian roads. If she comes by sea, well … her fleet must take on food and water at Volantis.”

~

“For that matter, why would you? Slavery may be forbidden by the laws of Pentos, yet you have a finger in that trade as well, and maybe a whole hand. And yet you conspire for the dragon queen, and not against her. Why? What do you hope to gain from Queen Daenerys?”

“Are we back to that again? You are a persistent little man.” Illyrio gave a laugh and slapped his belly. “As you will. The Beggar King swore that I should be his master of coin, and a lordly lord as well. Once he wore his golden crown, I should have my choice of castles … even Casterly Rock, if I desired.”

Tyrion snorted wine back up the scarred stump that had been his nose. “My father would have loved to hear that.”

“Your lord father had no cause for concern. Why would I want a rock? My manse is large enough for any man, and more comfortable than your drafty Westerosi castles. Master of coin, though …” The fat man peeled another egg. “I am fond of coins. Is there any sound as sweet as the clink of gold on gold?”

A sister’s screams. “Are you quite certain that Daenerys will make good her brother’s promises?”

“She will, or she will not.” Illyrio bit the egg in half. “I told you, my little friend, not all that a man does is done for gain. Believe as you wish, but even fat old fools like me have friends, and debts of affection to repay.”

Liar, thought Tyrion. There is something in this venture worth more to you than coin or castles.

~

“I dreamed about the queen,” he said. “I was on my knees before her, swearing my allegiance, but she mistook me for my brother, Jaime, and fed me to her dragons.”

“Let us hope this dream was not prophetic. You are a clever imp, just as Varys said, and Daenerys will have need of clever men about her. Ser Barristan is a valiant knight and true; but none, I think, has ever called him cunning.”

“Knights know only one way to solve a problem. They couch their lances and charge. A dwarf has a different way of looking at the world. What of you, though? You are a clever man yourself.”

“You flatter me.” Illyrio waggled his hand. “Alas, I am not made for travel, so I will send you to Daenerys in my stead. You did Her Grace a great service when you slew your father, and it is my hope that you will do her many more. Daenerys is not the fool her brother was. She will make good use of you.”

~

“Our last news of Queen Daenerys is old and stale, I fear. By now she will have left Meereen, we must assume. She has her host at last, a ragged host of sellswords, Dothraki horselords, and Unsullied infantry, and she will no doubt lead them west, to take back her father’s throne.” Magister Illyrio twisted open a pot of garlic snails, sniffed at them, and smiled. “At Volantis, you will have fresh tidings of Daenerys, we must hope,” he said, as he sucked one from its shell. “Dragons and young girls are both capricious, and it may be that you will need to adjust your plans. Griff will know what to do. Will you have a snail? The garlic is from my own gardens.”

I could ride a snail and make a better pace than this litter of yours. Tyrion waved the dish away. “You place a deal of trust in this man Griff. Another friend of your childhood?”

“No. A sellsword, you would call him, but Westerosi born. Daenerys needs men worthy of her cause.”

~

“Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. When Maelys the Monstrous died upon the Stepstones, it was the end of the male line of House Blackfyre.” The cheesemonger smiled through his forked beard. “And Daenerys will give the exiles what Bittersteel and the Blackfyres never could. She will take them home.”

A Feast for Crows

AFFC Samwell V

He held back only the secrets that he was sworn to keep, about Bran Stark and his companions and the babes Jon Snow had swapped. “Daenerys is the only hope,” he concluded. “Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late.”

~

“Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy ... her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall.”

“Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy.” Marwyn turned his head and spat a gob of red phlegm onto the floor. “Not that I would trust it. Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is ... and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time.” He chewed a bit. “Still ...”

Alleras stepped up next to Sam. “Aemon would have gone to her if he had the strength. He wanted us to send a maester to her, to counsel her and protect her and fetch her safely home.”

AFFC The Princess in the Tower

“...He has gone to bring us back our heart’s desire.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What is our heart’s desire?”

“Vengeance.” His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. “Justice.” Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, “Fire and blood.”

AFFC Samwell IV

“No one ever looked for a girl,” he said. “It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought ... the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it.” Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. “I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger.”

~

“I will add my voice to yours, maester. We will both tell them, the two of us together.”

“No,” the old man said. “It must be you. Tell them. The prophecy ... my brother’s dream ... Lady Melisandre has misread the signs. Stannis ... Stannis has some of the dragon blood in him, yes. His brothers did as well. Rhaelle, Egg’s little girl, she was how they came by it ... their father’s mother ... she used to call me Uncle Maester when she was a little girl. I remembered that, so I allowed myself to hope ... perhaps I wanted to ... we all deceive ourselves, when we want to believe. Melisandre most of all, I think. The sword is wrong, she has to know that . . . light without heat ... an empty glamor ... the sword is wrong, and the false light can only lead us deeper into darkness, Sam. Daenerys is our hope. Tell them that, at the Citadel. Make them listen. They must send her a maester. Daenerys must be counseled, taught, protected. For all these years I’ve lingered, waiting, watching, and now that the day has dawned I am too old. I am dying, Sam.”

AFFC Cat of the Canals

Sometimes she brought back sailor’s tales, of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide wet world beyond the isles of Braavos, wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching.

AFFC The Reaver

“It was not the god who spoke. Euron is known to keep wizards and foul sorcerers on that red ship of his. They sent some spell among us, so we could not hear the sea. The captains and the kings were drunk with all this talk of dragons.”

“Drunk, and fearful of that horn. You heard the sound it made. It makes no matter. Euron is our king.”

~

“It is daring to sail out of sight of land, so no word of our coming could reach these islands before us,” he growled, “but crossing half the world to hunt for dragons, that is something else.”

~

“A king must have a wife, to give him heirs. Brother, I have need of you. Will you go to Slaver’s Bay and bring my love to me?”

~

“No, to make an heir that’s worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware.”

“What dragon?” said Victarion, frowning.

“The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silver-gold, and her eyes are amethysts ... but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver’s Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me.”

“Why should I?” Victarion demanded.

“For love. For duty. Because your king commands it.” Euron chuckled. “And for the Seastone Chair. It is yours, once I claim the Iron Throne. You shall follow me as I followed Balon ... and your own trueborn sons shall one day follow you.”

My own sons. But to have a trueborn son a man must first have a wife. Victarion had no luck with wives. Euron’s gifts are poisoned, he reminded himself, but still ...

“The choice is yours, brother. Live a thrall or die a king. Do you dare to fly? Unless you take the leap, you’ll never know.”

Euron’s smiling eye was bright with mockery. “Or do I ask too much of you? It is a fearsome thing to sail beyond Valyria.”

“I could sail the Iron Fleet to hell if need be.” When Victarion opened his hand, his palm was red with blood. “I’ll go to Slaver’s Bay, aye. I’ll find this dragon woman, and I’ll bring her back.” But not for you. You stole my wife and despoiled her, so I’ll have yours. The fairest woman in the world, for me.

AFFC The Drowned Man

“Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons.”

“And so shall we,” Euron Greyjoy promised. “That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call, and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments. The dragonlords of old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind dragons to my will.”

Asha laughed aloud. “A horn to bind goats to your will would be of more use, Crow’s Eye. There are no more dragons.”

“Again, girl, you are wrong. There are three, and I know where to find them. Surely that is worth a driftwood crown.”

 AFFC Cersei V

“Do you have any news of more import?”

“The slave revolt in Astapor has spread to Meereen, it would seem. Sailors off a dozen ships speak of dragons ...”

“Harpies. It is harpies in Meereen.” She remembered that from somewhere. Meereen was at the far end of the world, out east beyond Valyria. “Let the slaves revolt. Why should I care? We keep no slaves in Westeros. Is that all you have for me?”

AFFC The Queenmaker

If the sailors could be believed, the east was seething with wonders and terrors: a slave revolt in Astapor, dragons in Qarth, grey plague in Yi Ti. A new corsair king had risen in the Basilisk Isles and raided Tall Trees Town, and in Qohor followers of the red priests had rioted and tried to burn down the Black Goat.

AFFC Cersei IV

I hesitate to take up the council’s time with trifles, but there has been some queer talk heard along the docks of late. Sailors from the east. They speak of dragons ...”

“... and manticores, no doubt, and bearded snarks?” Cersei chuckled. “Come back to me when you hear talk of dwarfs, my lord.”

AFFC Prologue

“The dragon has three heads,” he announced in his soft Dornish drawl.

“Is this a riddle?” Roone wanted to know. “Sphinxes always speak in riddles in the tales.”

“No riddle.” [...]

“No dragon has ever had three heads except on shields and banners,” Armen the Acolyte said firmly. “That was a heraldic charge, no more. Furthermore, the Targaryens are all dead.”

“Not all,” said Alleras. “The Beggar King had a sister.”

“I thought her head was smashed against a wall,” said Roone.

“No,” said Alleras. “It was Prince Rhaegar’s young son Aegon whose head was dashed against the wall by the Lion of Lannister’s brave men. We speak of Rhaegar’s sister, born on Dragonstone before its fall. The one they called Daenerys.”

“The Stormborn. I recall her now.” Mollander lifted his tankard high, sloshing the cider that remained. “Here’s to her!” He gulped, slammed his empty tankard down, belched, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where’s Rosey? Our rightful queen deserves another round of cider, wouldn’t you say?”

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Tyrion III

The eunuch drew a parchment from his sleeve. “A kraken has been seen off the Fingers.” He giggled. “Not a Greyjoy, mind you, a true kraken. It attacked an Ibbenese whaler and pulled it under. There is fighting on the Stepstones, and a new war between Tyrosh and Lys seems likely. Both hope to win Myr as ally. Sailors back from the Jade Sea report that a three-headed dragon has hatched in Qarth, and is the wonder of that city—”

“Dragons and krakens do not interest me, regardless of the number of their heads,” said Lord Tywin. “Have your whisperers perchance found some trace of my brother’s son?”

“Alas, our beloved Tyrek has quite vanished, the poor brave lad.” Varys sounded close to tears.

“Tywin,” Ser Kevan said, before Lord Tywin could vent his obvious displeasure, “some of the gold cloaks who deserted during the battle have drifted back to barracks, thinking to take up duty once again. Ser Addam wishes to know what to do with them.”

“They might have endangered Joff with their cowardice,” Cersei said at once. “I want them put to death.”

Varys sighed. “They have surely earned death, Your Grace, none can deny it. And yet, perhaps we might be wiser to send them to the Night’s Watch. We have had disturbing messages from the Wall of late. Of wildlings astir ...”

“Wildlings, krakens, and dragons.” Mace Tyrell chuckled. “Why, is there anyone not stirring?”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Bran I

“Wolves often howl at the moon. These are howling at the comet. See how bright it is, Bran? Perchance they think it is the moon.”

 When Bran repeated that to Osha, she laughed aloud. “Your wolves have more wit than your maester,” the wildling woman said. “They know truths the grey man has forgotten.” The way she said it made him shiver, and when he asked what the comet meant, she answered, “Blood and fire, boy, and nothing sweet.”

 Bran asked Septon Chayle about the comet while they were sorting through some scrolls snatched from the library fire. “It is the sword that slays the season,” he replied, and soon after the white raven came from Oldtown bringing word of autumn, so doubtless he was right.

 Though Old Nan did not think so, and she’d lived longer than any of them. “Dragons,” she said, lifting her head and sniffing. She was near blind and could not see the comet, yet she claimed she could smell it. “It be dragons, boy,” she insisted. 

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Eddard XIII

“The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right … that’s why, the girl … the gods sent the boar … sent to punish me …” The king coughed, bringing up blood. “Wrong, it was wrong, I … only a girl … Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother … worthless … no one to tell me no but you, Ned … only you …” He lifted his hand, the gesture pained and feeble. “Paper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you.”

~

“The girl,” the king said. “Daenerys. Let her live. If you can, if it … not too late … talk to them … Varys, Littlefinger … don’t let them kill her. And help my son, Ned. Make him be … better than me.”

~

Certainly Varys had once been young. Ned doubted that he had ever been innocent. “You mention children. Robert had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Whatever arrangements you made, I want unmade. At once.”

“Alas,” said Varys. “At once may be too late. I fear those birds have flown. But I shall do what I can, my lord. With your leave.”

AGOT Eddard X

“The Targaryen girl—”

The king groaned. “Seven hells, don’t start with her again. That’s done, I’ll hear no more of it.”

“Why would you want me as your Hand, if you refuse to listen to my counsel?”

“Why?” Robert laughed. “Why not? Someone has to rule this damnable kingdom.”

AGOT Eddard VIII

“Robert, I beg of you,” Ned pleaded, “hear what you are saying. You are talking of murdering a child.”

“The whore is pregnant!” The king’s fist slammed down on the council table loud as a thunderclap. “I warned you this would happen, Ned. Back in the barrowlands, I warned you, but you did not care to hear it. Well, you’ll hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them dead.”

The other councillors were all doing their best to pretend that they were somewhere else. No doubt they were wiser than he was. Eddard Stark had seldom felt quite so alone. “You will dishonor yourself forever if you do this.”

“Then let it be on my head, so long as it is done. I am not so blind that I cannot see the shadow of the axe when it is hanging over my own neck.”

“There is no axe,” Ned told his king. “Only the shadow of a shadow, twenty years removed … if it exists at all.”

“If?” Varys asked softly, wringing powdered hands together. “My lord, you wrong me. Would I bring lies to king and council?”

Ned looked at the eunuch coldly. “You would bring us the whisperings of a traitor half a world away, my lord. Perhaps Mormont is wrong. Perhaps he is lying.”

“Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me,” Varys said with a sly smile. “Rely on it, my lord. The princess is with child.”

“So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If she births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we need not fear.”

“But if it is a boy?” Robert insisted. “If he lives?”

“The narrow sea would still lie between us. I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water.”

The king took a swallow of wine and glowered at Ned across the council table. “So you would counsel me to do nothing until the dragonspawn has landed his army on my shores, is that it?”

“This ‘dragonspawn’ is in his mother’s belly,” Ned said. “Even Aegon did no conquering until after he was weaned.”

“Gods! You are stubborn as an aurochs, Stark.” The king looked around the council table. “Have the rest of you mislaid your tongues? Will no one talk sense to this frozen-faced fool?”

Varys gave the king an unctuous smile and laid a soft hand on Ned’s sleeve. “I understand your qualms, Lord Eddard, truly I do. It gave me no joy to bring this grievous news to council. It is a terrible thing we contemplate, a vile thing. Yet we who presume to rule must do vile things for the good of the realm, howevermuch it pains us.”

Lord Renly shrugged. “The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn.”

“Mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly,” Ned replied. “On the Trident, Ser Barristan here cut down a dozen good men, Robert’s friends and mine. When they brought him to us, grievously wounded and near death, Roose Bolton urged us to cut his throat, but your brother said, ‘I will not kill a man for loyalty, nor for fighting well,’ and sent his own maester to tend Ser Barristan’s wounds.” He gave the king a long cool look. “Would that man were here today.”

Robert had shame enough to blush. “It was not the same,” he complained. “Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard.”

“Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl.” Ned knew he was pushing this well past the point of wisdom, yet he could not keep silent. “Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?”

“To put an end to Targaryens!” the king growled.

“Your Grace, I never knew you to fear Rhaegar.” Ned fought to keep the scorn out of his voice, and failed. “Have the years so unmanned you that you tremble at the shadow of an unborn child?”

Robert purpled. “No more, Ned,” he warned, pointing. “Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?”

“No, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Have you?”

“Enough!” the king bellowed. “I am sick of talk. I’ll be done with this, or be damned. What say you all?”

“She must be killed,” Lord Renly declared.

“We have no choice,” murmured Varys. “Sadly, sadly …”

Ser Barristan Selmy raised his pale blue eyes from the table and said, “Your Grace, there is honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother’s womb. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard.”

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes. “My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?” He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. “Is it not wiser, even kinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?”

“Kinder,” Varys said. “Oh, well and truly spoken, Grand Maester. It is so true. Should the gods in their caprice grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm must bleed.”

Littlefinger was the last. As Ned looked to him, Lord Petyr stifled a yawn. “When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it,” he declared. “Waiting won’t make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it.”

“Kiss her?” Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

“A steel kiss,” said Littlefinger.

Robert turned to face his Hand. “Well, there it is, Ned. You and Selmy stand alone on this matter. The only question that remains is, who can we find to kill her?”

“Mormont craves a royal pardon,” Lord Renly reminded them.

“Desperately,” Varys said, “yet he craves life even more. By now, the princess nears Vaes Dothrak, where it is death to draw a blade. If I told you what the Dothraki would do to the poor man who used one on a khaleesi, none of you would sleep tonight.” He stroked a powdered cheek. “Now, poison … the tears of Lys, let us say. Khal Drogo need never know it was not a natural death.”

Grand Maester Pycelle’s sleepy eyes flicked open. He squinted suspiciously at the eunuch.

“Poison is a coward’s weapon,” the king complained.

Ned had heard enough. “You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least.”

“Gods,” the king swore, the word exploding out of him as if he could barely contain his fury. “You mean it, damn you.” He reached for the flagon of wine at his elbow, found it empty, and flung it away to shatter against the wall. “I am out of wine and out of patience. Enough of this. Just have it done.”

“I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it.”

~

“After you stormed out, it was left to me to convince them not to hire the Faceless Men,” he continued blithely. “Instead Varys will quietly let it be known that we’ll make a lord of whoever does in the Targaryen girl.”

Ned was disgusted. “So now we grant titles to assassins.”

Littlefinger shrugged. “Titles are cheap. The Faceless Men are expensive. If truth be told, I did the Targaryen girl more good than you with all your talk of honor. Let some sellsword drunk on visions of lordship try to kill her. Likely he’ll make a botch of it, and afterward the Dothraki will be on their guard. If we’d sent a Faceless Man after her, she’d be as good as buried.”

AGOT Eddard IV

“Why should Tyrion Lannister want Bran dead? The boy has never done him harm.”

“Do you Starks have nought but snow between your ears?” Littlefinger asked. “The Imp would never have acted alone.”

Ned rose and paced the length of the room. “If the queen had a role in this or, gods forbid, the king himself … no, I will not believe that.” Yet even as he said the words, he remembered that chill morning on the barrowlands, and Robert’s talk of sending hired knives after the Targaryen princess. He remembered Rhaegar’s infant son, the red ruin of his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darry’s audience hall not so long ago. He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.

AGOT Eddard II

“Do you remember Ser Jorah Mormont?”

“Would that I might forget him,” Ned said bluntly. The Mormonts of Bear Island were an old house, proud and honorable, but their lands were cold and distant and poor. Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king’s justice. Five years had passed since then.

“Ser Jorah is now in Pentos, anxious to earn a royal pardon that would allow him to return from exile,” Robert explained. “Lord Varys makes good use of him.”

“So the slaver has become a spy,” Ned said with distaste. He handed the letter back. “I would rather he become a corpse.”

“Varys tells me that spies are more useful than corpses,” Robert said. “Jorah aside, what do you make of his report?”

“Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Shall we send her a wedding gift?”

The king frowned. “A knife, perhaps. A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it.”

Ned did not feign surprise; Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.” Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna’s death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.

This time, Ned resolved to keep his temper. “Your Grace, the girl is scarcely more than a child. You are no Tywin Lannister, to slaughter innocents.” It was said that Rhaegar’s little girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin’s soldiers had torn him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall.

“And how long will this one remain an innocent?” Robert’s mouth grew hard. “This child will soon enough spread her legs and start breeding more dragonspawn to plague me.”

“Nonetheless,” Ned said, “the murder of children … it would be vile … unspeakable …”

“Unspeakable?” the king roared. “What Aerys did to your brother Brandon was unspeakable. The way your lord father died, that was unspeakable. And Rhaegar … how many times do you think he raped your sister? How many hundreds of times?” His voice had grown so loud that his horse whinnied nervously beneath him. The king jerked the reins hard, quieting the animal, and pointed an angry finger at Ned. “I will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on, until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I will piss on their graves.”

Ned knew better than to defy him when the wrath was on him. If the years had not quenched Robert’s thirst for revenge, no words of his would help. “You can’t get your hands on this one, can you?” he said quietly.

The king’s mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. “No, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them, and now he’s handed them over to the Dothraki. I should have had them both killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him.”

“Jon Arryn was a wise man and a good Hand.”

Robert snorted. The anger was leaving him as suddenly as it had come. “This Khal Drogo is said to have a hundred thousand men in his horde. What would Jon say to that?”

“He would say that even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, so long as they remain on the other side of the narrow sea,” Ned replied calmly. “The barbarians have no ships. They hate and fear the open sea.”

The king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Perhaps. There are ships to be had in the Free Cities, though. I tell you, Ned, I do not like this marriage. There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. Do you forget how many houses fought for Targaryen in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If the beggar king crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the traitors will join him.”

“He will not cross,” Ned promised. “And if by some mischance he does, we will throw him back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East—”

“He will not cross,” Ned promised. “And if by some mischance he does, we will throw him back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East—”

The king groaned. “For the last time, I will not name the Arryn boy Warden. I know the boy is your nephew, but with Targaryens climbing in bed with Dothraki, I would be mad to rest one quarter of the realm on the shoulders of a sickly child.”

AGOT Bran III

He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise.