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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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Dany longing for a home, people to belong to and peace and safety in general

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Power is what Daenerys wants and that's really all she wants. She lusts after the Iron Throne with a hunger that is truly baffling. She's not from Westeros, or at least she's never really lived there her entire life. (x)

Why does she want to be queen so badly? Is it to bring a more just era of rule to the land? [...]

Why? What will she do with this power? Will she be a good and just monarch or will she be more like her father, the Mad King? More and more I suspect that she will be a very bad queen, only interested in doing what is right only if it helps her secure the Iron Throne. (x)

Her ruthlessness can't just mean nothing. She's far too power-hungry and far too cold to end up as a good person, ruling magnanimously over a peaceful land. (x)

Never mind that demanding that Dany asks herself why she wants to be queen is not understanding how the Westerosi pseudofeudalistic system works (or that she outright states that "justice ... that’s what kings are for" in ASOS Dany III).

Is power really all Dany wants, to the point of "lust[ing] after the Iron Throne" (particularly gross wording)? Is Dany "only interested in doing what is right only if it helps her secure the Iron Throne"? Is Dany "far too power-hungry and far too cold to end up as a good person"?

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

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

The hill loomed larger down here. Dany had taken to calling it Dragonstone, after the ancient citadel where she’d been born. She had no memories of that Dragonstone, but she would not soon forget this one. Scrub grass and thorny bushes covered its lower slopes; higher up a jagged tangle of bare rock thrust steep and sudden into the sky. There, amidst broken boulders, razor-sharp ridges, and needle spires, Drogon made his lair inside a shallow cave. He had dwelt there for some time, Dany had realized when she first saw the hill. The air smelled of ash, every rock and tree in sight was scorched and blackened, the ground strewn with burned and broken bones, yet it had been home to him.

Dany knew the lure of home.

Daenerys Targaryen was no stranger to the Dothraki sea, the great ocean of grass that stretched from the forest of Qohor to the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. She had seen it first when she was still a girl, newly wed to Khal Drogo and on her way to Vaes Dothrak to be presented to the crones of the dosh khaleen. The sight of all that grass stretching out before her had taken her breath away. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and I was full of hope. Ser Jorah had been with her then, her gruff old bear. She’d had Irri and Jhiqui and Doreah to care for her, her sun-and-stars to hold her in the night, his child growing inside her. Rhaego. I was going to name him Rhaego, and the dosh khaleen said he would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Not since those half-remembered days in Braavos when she lived in the house with the red door had she been as happy.

No, Dany told herself. If I look back I am lost. She might live for years amongst the sunbaked rocks of Dragonstone, riding Drogon by day and gnawing at his leavings every evenfall as the great grass sea turned from gold to orange, but that was not the life she had been born to. So once again she turned her back upon the distant hill and closed her ears to the song of flight and freedom that the wind sang as it played amongst the hill’s stony ridges. The stream was trickling south by southeast, as near as she could tell. She followed it. Take me to the river, that is all I ask of you. Take me to the river, and I will do the rest.

The hours passed slowly. The stream bent this way and that, and Dany followed, beating time upon her leg with the whip, trying not to think about how far she had to go, or the pounding in her head, or her empty belly. Take one step. Take the next. Another step. Another. What else could she do?

“Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was ... her name ...” Dany could not recall the child’s name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. “I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons.”

In the stream or out of it, I must keep walking. Water flows downhill. The stream will take me to the river, and the river will take me home.

Except it wouldn’t, not truly.

Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy’s city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.

ADWD Daenerys IX

She pushed herself to her feet, splashing softly. Water ran down her legs and beaded on her breasts. The sun was climbing up the sky, and her people would soon be gathering. She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself.

Treachery on treachery, the queen thought wearily. Is there no end to it?

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

ADWD Daenerys VIII

Every child knows its mother, Dany thought. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves … “They call to me. Come.”

Dany slid her arms around him and let him have his way. Drunk as he was, she knew he would not be inside her long.

Nor was he. Afterward he nuzzled at her ear and whispered, “Gods grant that we have made a son tonight.”

The words of Mirri Maz Duur rang in her head. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before. The meaning was plain enough; Khal Drogo was as like to return from the dead as she was to bear a living child. But there are some secrets she could not bring herself to share, even with a husband, so she let Hizdahr zo Loraq keep his hopes.

Her noble husband was soon fast asleep. Daenerys could only twist and turn beside him. She wanted to shake him, wake him, make him hold her, kiss her, fuck her again, but even if he did, he would fall back to sleep again afterward, leaving her alone in the darkness. She wondered what Daario was doing. Was he restless as well? Was he thinking about her? Did he love her, truly? Did he hate her for marrying Hizdahr? I should never have taken him into my bed. He was only a sellsword, no fit consort for a queen, and yet …

I knew that all along, but I did it anyway.

“My queen?” said a soft voice in the darkness.

Dany flinched. “Who is there?”

“Only Missandei.” The Naathi scribe moved closer to the bed. “This one heard you crying.”

“Crying? I was not crying. Why would I cry? I have my peace, I have my king, I have everything a queen might wish for. You had a bad dream, that was all.”

“As you say, Your Grace.” She bowed and made to go.

“Stay,” said Dany. “I do not wish to be alone.”

“His Grace is with you,” Missandei pointed out.

“His Grace is dreaming, but I cannot sleep. On the morrow I must bathe in blood. The price of peace.” She smiled wanly and patted the bed. “Come. Sit. Talk with me.”

ADWD Daenerys VII

If she had been some ordinary woman, she would gladly have spent her whole life touching Daario, tracing his scars and making him tell her how he’d come by every one. I would give up my crown if he asked it of me, Dany thought … but he had not asked it, and never would.

Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, but he had been dead so long that Daenerys had almost forgotten how it felt to love and be loved. Daario had helped her to remember. I was dead and he brought me back to life. I was asleep and he woke me. My brave captain.

“...Bring your frog to court tomorrow. The others too. The Westerosi.” It would be nice to hear the Common Tongue from someone besides Ser Barristan.

She went to the parapet and stood there gazing down upon the city as she had done a hundred times before. It will never be my city. It will never be my home.

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

When she saw the name Ser Willem Darry, her heart beat a little faster.

This was done in Braavos, while we were living in the house with the red door. Why did that make her feel so strange?

ADWD Daenerys VI

Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben’s face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. Dark skin and white hair, the broken nose, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust? What good are prophecies if you cannot make sense of them? If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace? Daario’s announcement had sparked an uproar. [...] “Be quiet! I have heard enough.”

[...] She wanted to scream, to gnash her teeth and tear her clothes and beat upon the floor. Instead she said, “Close the gates. Will you make me say it thrice?” They were her children, but she could not help them now. “Leave me. Daario, remain. That cut should be washed, and I have more questions for you.”

[...] He kissed her.

[...] “I thought you would be the one to betray me. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love, the warlocks said. I thought … I never thought Brown Ben. Even my dragons seemed to trust him.” She clutched her captain by the shoulders. “Promise me that you will never turn against me. I could not bear that. Promise me.”

ADWD Daenerys III

Dany could feel the warmth of his fingers. He was warm in Qarth as well, she recalled, until the day he had no more use for me.

That only made him chuckle. “The Dothraki horselords call the Lhazarene the Lamb Men. When you shear them, all they do is bleat. They are not a martial people.”

Even a sheepish friend is better than none.

Dany had never known a home. In Braavos, there had been a house with a red door, but that was all.

Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city?

The next morning Dany woke as full of hope as she had been since first she came to Slaver’s Bay. Daario would soon be at her side once more, and together they would sail for Westeros. For home.

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

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

Dany seated herself upon her bench again to gaze across the blue silk sea, toward distant Westeros. One day, she promised herself.

ADWD Daenerys I

She had been dreaming of a house with a red door when Missandei woke her. There had been no time to dress.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Up here in her garden Dany sometimes felt like a god, living atop the highest mountain in the world.

Do all gods feel so lonely? Some must, surely. Missandei had told her of the Lord of Harmony, worshiped by the Peaceful People of Naath; he was the only true god, her little scribe said, the god who always was and always would be, who made the moon and stars and earth, and all the creatures that dwelt upon them. Poor Lord of Harmony. Dany pitied him. It must be terrible to be alone for all time, attended by hordes of butterfly women you could make or unmake at a word. Westeros had seven gods at least, though Viserys had told her that some septons said the seven were only aspects of a single god, seven facets of a single crystal. That was just confusing. The red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war. Dany liked that even less. She would not want to be eternally at war.

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.

She looked away until she heard the doors open and close. Then she sank back onto the ebony bench. He’s gone, then. My father and my mother, my brothers, Ser Willem Darry, Drogo who was my sun-and-stars, his son who died inside me, and now Ser Jorah ...

She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, khaleesi and queen, Mother of Dragons, slayer of warlocks, breaker of chains, and there was no one in the world that she could trust.

ASOS Daenerys V

“Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home! [...] Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe?

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany found herself wondering whether he was right about Daario. She felt very lonely all of a sudden. Mirri Maz Duur had promised that she would never bear a living child. House Targaryen will end with me. That made her sad. “You must be my children,” she told the dragons, “my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead.”

Dany looked at Missandei. “What are they shouting?”

“It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means ‘Mother.’”

Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. “Mhysa!” they called. “Mhysa! MHYSA!” They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her.

ASOS Daenerys I

Across the still blue water came the slow steady beat of drums and the soft swish of oars from the galleys. The great cog groaned in their wake, the heavy lines stretched taut between. Balerion’s sails hung limp, drooping forlorn from the masts. Yet even so, as she stood upon the forecastle watching her dragons chase each other across a cloudless blue sky, Daenerys Targaryen was as happy as she could ever remember being.

The narrow sea was often stormy, and Dany had crossed it half a hundred times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives. She loved the sea. She liked the sharp salty smell of the air, and the vastness of horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above. It made her feel small, but free as well. She liked the dolphins that sometimes swam along beside Balerion, slicing through the waves like silvery spears, and the flying fish they glimpsed now and again. She even liked the sailors, with all their songs and stories. Once on a voyage to Braavos, as she’d watched the crew wrestle down a great green sail in a rising gale, she had even thought how fine it would be to be a sailor.

They are my children, she told herself, and if the maegi spoke truly, they are the only children I am ever like to have.

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

It was not by choice that she sought the waterfront. She was fleeing again. Her whole life had been one long flight, it seemed. She had begun running in her mother’s womb, and never once stopped. How often had she and Viserys stolen away in the black of night, a bare step ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives? But it was run or die. Xaro had learned that Pyat Pree was gathering the surviving warlocks together to work ill on her.

Her bloodriders would sooner have returned to their great grass sea, even if it meant braving the red waste again. Dany herself had toyed with the idea of settling in Vaes Tolorro until her dragons grew great and strong.

It was good to hear men speaking Valyrian once more, and even the Common Tongue, Dany thought as they approached the first ship.

ACOK Daenerys III

Part of her would have liked nothing more than to lead her people back to Vaes Tolorro, and make the dead city bloom. No, that is defeat. I have something Viserys never had. I have the dragons. The dragons are all the difference.

“...The Qartheen have a curious wedding custom, my queen. On the day of their union, a wife may ask a token of love from her husband. Whatsoever she desires of his worldly goods, he must grant. And he may ask the same of her. One thing only may be asked, but whatever is named may not be denied.”

“One thing,” she repeated. “And it may not be denied?”

“With one dragon, Xaro Xhoan Daxos would rule this city, but one ship will further our cause but little.”

Dany nibbled at an onion and reflected ruefully on the faithlessness of men.

ACOK Daenerys II

She wondered whether Aegon’s Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world.

The thought of home disquieted her. If her sun-and-stars had lived, he would have led his khalasar across the poison water and swept away her enemies, but his strength had left the world. Her bloodriders remained, sworn to her for life and skilled in slaughter, but only in the ways of the horselords. The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.

But before she could do that she must conquer.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys VIII

Dany did not want to go back to Vaes Dothrak and live the rest of her life among those terrible old women, yet she knew that the knight spoke the truth. Drogo had been more than her sun-and-stars; he had been the shield that kept her safe. “I will not leave him,” she said stubbornly, miserably. She took his hand again. “I will not.”

“All I can do now is ease the dark road before him, so he might ride painless to the night lands. He will be gone by morning.”

Her words were a knife through Dany’s breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all ... “No,” she pleaded. “Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way ... some magic, some ...”

AGOT Daenerys VI

“The stallion who mounts the world has no need of iron chairs.”

[...] “It was prophesied that the stallion will ride to the ends of the earth,” she said.

“The earth ends at the black salt sea,” Drogo answered at once. He wet a cloth in a basin of warm water to wipe the sweat and oil from his skin. “No horse can cross the poison water.”

“In the Free Cities, there are ships by the thousand,” Dany told him, as she had told him before. “Wooden horses with a hundred legs, that fly across the sea on wings full of wind.”

Khal Drogo did not want to hear it. “We will speak no more of wooden horses and iron chairs.” [...]

Savage beasts he did not fear, nor any man who had ever drawn breath, but the sea was a different matter. To the Dothraki, water that a horse could not drink was something foul; the heaving grey-green plains of the ocean filled them with superstitious loathing. Drogo was a bolder man than the other horselords in half a hundred ways, she had found ... but not in this. If only she could get him onto a ship ...

“My princess. How may I serve you?”

“You must talk to my lord husband,” Dany said. “Drogo says the stallion who mounts the world will have all the lands of the earth to rule, and no need to cross the poison water. He talks of leading his khalasar east after Rhaego is born, to plunder the lands around the Jade Sea.”

[...] “The khal has never seen the Seven Kingdoms,” he said. [...]

“But he must ride west,” Dany said, despairing. “Please, help me make him understand.” She had never seen the Seven Kingdoms either, no more than Drogo, yet she felt as though she knew them from all the tales her brother had told her. Viserys had promised her a thousand times that he would take her back one day, but he was dead now and his promises had died with him.

“The Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons,” the knight answered. “Have patience, Princess. Do not make your brother’s mistake. We will go home, I promise you.”

Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door ... was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? When she looked at the crones of the dosh khaleen, was she looking at her future?

You could never tell what treasures the traders might bring this time, and it would be good to hear men speaking Valyrian again, as they did in the Free Cities.

If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old ... and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman ... but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.

But the Western Market smelled of home.

As Irri and Jhiqui helped her from her litter, she sniffed, and recognized the sharp odors of garlic and pepper, scents that reminded Dany of days long gone in the alleys of Tyrosh and Myr and brought a fond smile to her face. Under that she smelled the heady sweet perfumes of Lys. She saw slaves carrying bolts of intricate Myrish lace and fine wools in a dozen rich colors. Caravan guards wandered among the aisles in copper helmets and knee-length tunics of quilted yellow cotton, empty scabbards swinging from their woven leather belts. Behind one stall an armorer displayed steel breastplates worked with gold and silver in ornate patterns, and helms hammered in the shapes of fanciful beasts. Next to him was a pretty young woman selling Lannisport goldwork, rings and brooches and torcs and exquisitely wrought medallions suitable for belting. A huge eunuch guarded her stall, mute and hairless, dressed in sweat-stained velvets and scowling at anyone who came close. Across the aisle, a fat cloth trader from Yi Ti was haggling with a Pentoshi over the price of some green dye, the monkey tail on his hat swaying back and forth as he shook his head.

“When I was a little girl, I loved to play in the bazaar,” Dany told Ser Jorah as they wandered down the shady aisle between the stalls. “It was so alive there, all the people shouting and laughing, so many wonderful things to look at ... though we seldom had enough coin to buy anything ... well, except for a sausage now and again, or honeyfingers ... do they have honeyfingers in the Seven Kingdoms, the kind they bake in Tyrosh?”

[...] Her handmaids trailed along as Dany resumed her stroll through the market. “Oh, look,” she exclaimed to Doreah, “those are the kind of sausages I meant.” She pointed to a stall where a wizened little woman was grilling meat and onions on a hot firestone. “They make them with lots of garlic and hot peppers.” Delighted with her discovery, Dany insisted the others join her for a sausage. Her handmaids wolfed theirs down giggling and grinning, though the men of her khas sniffed at the grilled meat suspiciously. “They taste different than I remember,” Dany said after her first few bites.

“In Pentos, I make them with pork,” the old woman said, “but all my pigs died on the Dothraki sea. These are made of horsemeat, Khaleesi, but I spice them the same.”

“Oh.” Dany felt disappointed, but Quaro liked his sausage so well he decided to have another one, and Rakharo had to outdo him and eat three more, belching loudly. Dany giggled.

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

Dany smiled shyly. It was sweet to laugh. She felt half a girl again.

She did take a dozen flasks of scented oils, the perfumes of her childhood; she had only to close her eyes and sniff them and she could see the big house with the red door once more.

AGOT Daenerys IV

Every khal had his bloodriders. At first Dany had thought of them as a kind of Dothraki Kingsguard, sworn to protect their lord, but it went further than that. Jhiqui had taught her that a bloodrider was more than a guard; they were the khal’s brothers, his shadows, his fiercest friends. “Blood of my blood,” Drogo called them, and so it was; they shared a single life. The ancient traditions of the horselords demanded that when the khal died, his bloodriders died with him, to ride at his side in the night lands. If the khal died at the hands of some enemy, they lived only long enough to avenge him, and then followed him joyfully into the grave. In some khalasars, Jhiqui said, the bloodriders shared the khal’s wine, his tent, and even his wives, though never his horses. A man’s mount was his own.

Daenerys was glad that Khal Drogo did not hold to those ancient ways. She should not have liked being shared. And while old Cohollo treated her kindly enough, the others frightened her; Haggo, huge and silent, often glowered as if he had forgotten who she was, and Qotho had cruel eyes and quick hands that liked to hurt. He left bruises on Doreah’s soft white skin whenever he touched her, and sometimes made Irri sob in the night. Even his horses seemed to fear him.

Yet they were bound to Drogo for life and death, so Daenerys had no choice but to accept them. And sometimes she found herself wishing her father had been protected by such men. In the songs, the white knights of the Kingsguard were ever noble, valiant, and true, and yet King Aerys had been murdered by one of them, the handsome boy they now called the Kingslayer, and a second, Ser Barristan the Bold, had gone over to the Usurper. She wondered if all men were as false in the Seven Kingdoms. When her son sat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him against treachery in his Kingsguard. ~

“Please, bring me one of the dragon’s eggs.”

Irri fetched the egg with the deep green shell, bronze flecks shining amid its scales as she turned it in her small hands. Dany curled up on her side, pulling the sandsilk cloak across her and cradling the egg in the hollow between her swollen belly and small, tender breasts. She liked to hold them. They were so beautiful, and sometimes just being close to them made her feel stronger, braver, as if somehow she were drawing strength from the stone dragons locked inside.

She was lying there, holding the egg, when she felt the child move within her ... as if he were reaching out, brother to brother, blood to blood. “You are the dragon,” Dany whispered to him, “the true dragon. I know it. I know it.” And she smiled, and went to sleep dreaming of home.

AGOT Daenerys III

“Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!”

Dany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here. Viserys was soiled and stained in city silks and ringmail.

“What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?” she asked him.

“Home,” he said. His voice was thick with longing.

“I pray for home too,” she told him, believing it.

Ser Jorah laughed. “Look around you then, Khaleesi.”

But it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King’s Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind’s eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind’s eye, all the doors were red.

AGOT Daenerys II

Dany had never felt so alone as she did seated in the midst of that vast horde. Her brother had told her to smile, and so she smiled until her face ached and the tears came unbidden to her eyes. She did her best to hide them, knowing how angry Viserys would be if he saw her crying, terrified of how Khal Drogo might react. Food was brought to her, steaming joints of meat and thick black sausages and Dothraki blood pies, and later fruits and sweetgrass stews and delicate pastries from the kitchens of Pentos, but she waved it all away. Her stomach was a roil, and she knew she could keep none of it down.

There was no one to talk to. Khal Drogo shouted commands and jests down to his bloodriders, and laughed at their replies, but he scarcely glanced at Dany beside him. They had no common language. Dothraki was incomprehensible to her, and the khal knew only a few words of the bastard Valyrian of the Free Cities, and none at all of the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms. She would even have welcomed the conversation of Illyrio and her brother, but they were too far below to hear her.

So she sat in her wedding silks, nursing a cup of honeyed wine, afraid to eat, talking silently to herself.

AGOT Daenerys I

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.”

And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled King’s Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daenerys had been only a quickening in their mother’s womb.

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea. Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.

She did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper’s brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one night Ser Willem Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them both, along with her wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the Braavosian coast.

She remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and bellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had always been kind to Dany. He called her “Little Princess” and sometimes “My Lady,” and his hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

[...] “We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

“Those three are Drogo’s bloodriders, there,” he said. “By the pillar is Khal Moro, with his son Rhogoro. The man with the green beard is brother to the Archon of Tyrosh, and the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont.”

The last name caught Daenerys. “A knight?”

“No less.” Illyrio smiled through his beard. “Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself.”

“What is he doing here?” she blurted.

“The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.”

“I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done,” her brother said. Dany found herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and balding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather. His tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on two legs.

She was still looking at this strange man from the homeland she had never known when Magister Illyrio placed a moist hand on her bare shoulder.

“I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. “Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.”

“Home?” He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. “How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. “How are we to go home?” he repeated, meaning King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost.

Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. “I don’t know ...” she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes.

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

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petglue9-blog · 4 years

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Skin Tag Removal center, Plymouth, Devon.

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Police officer primarily stems from the 1500s English word 'cap', indicating to seize, from Middle French 'caper' for the exact same word, and possibly linked additionally to Scicilian and also Latin 'capere' implying to record. The full form Copper is partially derived as well as use reinforced via the metallic copper badges put on by very early New York cops sergeants. By the way the patrolmen had brass badges and the captains silver ones. cloud nine/on over the moon - severe happiness or euphoria/being in a state of severe joy, not necessarily however possibly due drugs or alcohol - cloud seven is an additional variation, yet blissfulness tends to be the most popular.

Words and also language may transform gradually, yet the noise of a fart is just one of life's more sustaining attributes. consume crow - recognize a mistake, suffer embarrassment - the expression's origins are American, from imagery and also mythology from the late 19th century. Crow would certainly have been considered an instead distasteful dish, similar to the original English Umble Pie metaphor from the 1700s. According to etymologist James Rogers, eating crow ended up being the topic of a tale reported in the Atlanta Constitution in 1888, which informed the tale of an American soldier in the Battle of 1812, that fired a crow during a ceasefire. A British policeman matched the bear up his shooting as well as asked to see the weapon, which when handed to him, he switched on the soldier, reprimanding him for trespassing, and also compeling the soldier to consume a piece of the dead crow. However, on having the gun returned to him, the soldier quickly transformed the weapon on the policeman, as well as made him consume the rest of the crow.

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Hoag paid off the authorities to get away prosecution, however eventually paid the rate for being also creative when he tried to reduce the police out of the offer, resulting in the pair's arrest. In explaining Hoag at the time, the police were allegedly the initial to use the 'wise aleck' expression.

If you have very early recollections of use or ideas of exact origins or authors of any one of the above expressions please let me understand, and I'll release the searchings for on this page in the main listing. Let me recognize additionally if you desire any mysterious expressions contributing to the list for which no published origins seem to exist. Can you help discover the earliest beginnings or precise resources of some fairly current expressions and numbers of speech? Below are a couple of interesting sayings for which for which completely pleasing beginnings appear not to exist, or existing explanations welcome growth and even more information. The primary advantages of using these lotions like rapid virgin spray is that they are made from entirely natural herbs hence lack any type of kind of type of adverse results. Older people with even more thorough photo-ageing, serious skin laxity, or exceptionally droopy skin on the neck aren't terrific prospects along with might need surgical procedure.

The basis of the definition is that Adam, being the first guy ever, and also therefore the farthest eliminated from anybody, symbolizes a male that any person is least likely to know. Out of passion, an 'off ox' would have been the monster drawing the cart on the side farthest from the motorist, and for that reason much less recognized than the 'near ox'. This expansion to the expression was American; the 'off ox' as well as various other expansions such as Adam's brother or Adam's foot, are just created to exaggerate the distance of the acquaintance.

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The above usage of the 'black Irish' expression is perhaps supported since it was also a term given to a former servant who took on the name of an Irish proprietor. Whether this was in Ireland, the West Indies, or in other places is not clear, and in any event is not likely to have been the primary derivation of the expression provided various other more common aspects. containers - eyeglasses, or the eyes - an easy reducing of words field glasses, initially appeared in English c. 1930, potentially from the armed forces or London, for which this sort of short-form slang would certainly have been normal. almanac - diary - either or both from the Arabic 'al manac' indicating 'the journal' and/or from Saxon term 'al-mon-aght' suggesting 'all moon follow', which was the record of new as well as full moons. Cohen suggests the beginning dates back to 1840s New york city City defrauder Aleck Hoag, who, with his wife posing as a prostitute, would certainly burglarize the consumers.

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Dosh appears to have originated in this form in the US in the 19th century, and afterwards reappeared in a lot more preferred use in the UK in the mid-20th century. doss-house - harsh resting accommodation - the term is from Elizabethan England when 'doss' was a straw bed, from 'dossel' meaning package of straw, in turn from the French 'file' meaning package. Before c. 13th century the word was dyker, from Latin 'decuria' which was a trading system of ten, initially utilized for pet hides. dead pan - expressionless - from the 1844 rhyme (' The Dead Pan') by Elizabeth Browning which told that at the time of the crucifixion the cry 'Terrific Frying pan is dead' swept across the ocean, and 'the responses of the oracles ceased for ever before'. dandelion - wild flower/garden weed - from the French 'dent de lyon', indicating 'lion's tooth', due to the jagged shape of the dandelion's fallen leaves. According to Chambers the plant's name came into English in the late 1300s originally as French 'dent-de-lyon', progressing with dandelyon, additionally generating the surname Daundelyon, before reaching its present English kind.

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London meteorologist Luke Howard established the first extensively approved cloud name and classification system, which was published in 1803. The system is essentially still in use today, albeit raised from Howard's original seven-cloud framework.

Names of blossoms are amongst numerous other usual English words which came into English from French in the late middle-ages, the reason for which is discussed in the 'pardon my French' beginning. In much of the expression's common usage the meanings seem to converge, in which the hybrid 'really feel' is just one of domination/control/intimacy in return for payment/material reward/safety/protection. Using the expression as a straight insult, where the significance is to examine an individual's parentage, is found, but this would not have actually been the beginning, and also is a much more current retrospectively used definition. dachshund - short-legged dog - the dog was initially a German breed made use of for hunting badgers. Words appears to have pertained to England in the last 19th century. cop/copper - police officer - Some recommend this is a phrase from 'Constable On Patrol' however this is a retrospectively applied description.

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The 'bottoms up' expression then normally referred to looking for the King's shilling at the bottom of the flask. If you recognize anything more regarding the origins of "throw me a bone" - particularly the expression taking place in a language aside from English, please inform me. The flag is a blue rectangle with a solid white rectangular shape in the center; 'peter' is from the French, 'partir' suggesting 'to leave'. In addition,, heaven and white 'blue peter' flag is a basic nautical signal flag which stands for the letter 'P'. The letter 'P' is connected with the word 'peter' in lots of phonetic alphabets, consisting of those of the English as well as American military, as well as it is feasible that this phonetic language organization was affected by the French 'partir' origin.

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ciao - Italian greeting or farewell, and also typical English colloquialism meaning 'goodbye' - noticable 'chow', is derived from Italian words 'schiavo vosotro' indicating 'I am your slave'. Chambers and also OED are clear in showing the earlier Latin complete type of 'carnem levare', from medieval Latin 'carnelevarium', and that the derivation of the 'val' element is 'doing away with' or 'getting rid of', as well as not 'saying goodbye, as some recommend. OED as a matter of fact states that the connection with Latin 'vale', as if claiming 'goodbye to flesh' results from 'preferred' etymology. by and large - generally/vaguely/one way or one more - one of a number of maritime terms; 'typically' literally implied 'to the wind as well as off it'.

An additional analysis, and also certainly a belief when held by some, is that sneezing expelled ghouls from an individual's body. A contributory element was the organization of sneezing with the Black Death which ravaged England as well as specifically London in the 14th as well as 17th centuries. In more current times the expression has been connected to the misconception that sneezing creates the heart to stop beating, further strengthening the Bless You personalized as a protective superstitious notion. blarney - persuasive yet vacant words - from the spoken laziness tactics of Cormack MacCarthy, 1602, in holding the castle of Blarney in Ireland, near Cork, despite consenting to commend the English as component of the surrender terms.

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Keep in mind that a wind is described according to where it comes from not where it's mosting likely to. Sailing 'by' a South wind would suggest cruising essentially in a South instructions - 'to the wind'. box and die/whole/hole box and pass away - see see 'entire box and die' feasible meanings and beginnings listed below. Bars and also drinkers familiarized this method as well as the customized of alcohol consumption from glass-bottom flagons began.

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melshappyjourney · 5 years

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Anti fucking Festivities

Goooood evening beautiful people!

No, this isn’t as horrible as you think. Just read ahead. So this year I have decided not to do Christmas, now this is a big shock to some of you but people who are close to me know that Christmas does not really matter all that much - at all. See when I was a kid ( still act like one at times) my brother and I were always taught that new toys and crap aren’t REALLY that important obviously at the time we resented our parents for it. As I’ve gotten older and more conscious of how little once HUGE amounts of cash actually are. Like what does $100 actually get you?????? I have been very frivolous with my money every since I got my very first Maccas pay in my account. I spend money like it NEEDS to be spent. This might be because of my childhood we always struggled for money ( a lot ) and I just see it and think ‘ holy fuck what can I do with this!???? After realising how fragile money really is - I learned that we make a lot of disposable purchases. Now I can’t justify spending $50 on someone out of obligation or for a religious holiday that I don’t really practice and never have at all. This might seem selfish but I’m just not going to buy into Christmas at least this year anyway because honestly it’s never really made much sense to me and it’s also a massive money pit if I got you a new game, a new headband or even a gift card I can almost promise you that you won’t use it 6 months to a year. I know this sounds very ‘I hate Christmas’ of me but I’d rather get working on that grind and make some cool dosh to save and buy something awesome with ( European getaway maybe ?????? ) than fork out FUCK LOADS of money on Christmas basically. In saying this in no way do I hate this holiday, because it really is a magical time of year but I think we have been convinced that the material side is more meaningful and worthwhile.

Thank y’all for still reading this blog, and liking it (hopefully) I have some very exciting things to come on this journey so please share and like and all that good stuff 🌷🌷🌷

Until next time xx

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moonblooch · 5 years

Link

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)

Relationships: Fjord & Jester Lavorre, Fjord & Caleb Widogast

Characters: Fjord (Critical Role), Caleb Widogast, Nott (Critical Role), Mollymauk Tealeaf, Yasha (Critical Role), Jester Lavorre

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, minor conflict between characters, Misunderstanding, but its all cool, mentions of Fjord's backstory, references to Caleb's backstory

Language:English

Series:← Previous Work Part 2 of the Hits off the Cosmic Deck series

Some secrets are shared and the problem with the engine that probably definitely wasn't caused by this weird glowing thing.

“Was zum teufel?!”

Caleb’s voice echoed down the corridor to Beau’s room, where Fjord was trying to find some robes that she probably wouldn’t mind losing, just in case the person he sent to deliver them (because he’d be doshed if he was leaving his ship alone with a bunch of strangers) decided to take anything for themselves.

“What’s up in there Caleb?” he called back, praying for a good answer as he made his way into the corridor clutching a robe in hand.

The first thing Caleb had done was take a screwdriver to Beau’s goggles, claiming that they were not working properly. When he was satisfied with those, he had lifted Nott onto his shoulders to fix the lights, which required them powering down the entire engine room, which could only be done from the bridge, which now had all of its breadboards on display and several disconnected. Thankfully the lights had seemed to be a loose connection in the wiring as opposed to a fault with the cells and when the lights had flickered back to life, they had unveiled the sheer mess that the engine room was actually in.

Aside from the splatter of tar-fuel (thankfully only from a spare canister, not from the engine itself) which Beau had left close to the entrance, the engine itself was nearly incomprehensible. Fjord was no mechanic by any means, but he had assisted in maintaining the engines of the cargo vessels he had worked on in the past. And yet none of the engine of The Mistake seemed even vaguely recognisable to him. He was certain he would have given it a look over when they bought it (bought being a fairly generous description for the transaction which had brought the ship into their hands), perhaps he had been in too much of a rush.

Either way, Caleb at least seemed to recognise its components, though his comment on the “unconventional layout” was far from encouraging. He had stowed his pack in the little space available in the engineer’s quarters before opening his other bag and affixing a device that seemed to be a small collar light wired to a pair of goggles to Frumpkin and sending him into the depths of the engine room.

He had removed Beau’s goggles, replacing them with a pair of his own which he explained were connected to Frumpkin’s, so that he would be able to see what his cat could. Fjord had left the room, intending on sending Nott to find Beau and Jester with the spare clothes, but Caleb’s latest exclamation led him back into the corridor.

“Why in the name of everything sacred does this thing run on rhydonium?” Caleb yelled back.

“Should it not?” Fjord asked, already knowing the answer as he rounded the corner into the engine room. Caleb’s goggles were glowing blue, presumably an indicator that they were connected to Frumpkins.

“Nein! Nothing this small should.”

“Then, uh, can you make it so that it runs on something else?”

“Not without taking the entire ship to pieces. Every pipe would have to be treated, the cost would be enormous. That and you would attract a lot of attention; these kinds of mods are usually only found on pirate ships.”

Scrutiny was not something Fjord was looking for at that time. The thing in his arm was difficult enough to hide, and travelling with more people was a risk as well. Taking The Mistake to a proper workshop for any extended amount of time could just be the final bolt in the sarcophagus.

“Is there any good news?” he asked.

“Yes, the good news is that I know what your problem is. It is a two person problem to fix, but it mostly requires somebody else to hold things in place while I work. I have made a list of the tools and materials it will need, the ones that I do not already have.” He indicated a clunky looking data-pad which sat on top of his tool bag.

“Right,” Fjord said, looking at the clearly extensive list, “and what is the problem exactly?”

“There are a host of minor issues, but this ship must be at least twenty standard years old by now and I am going to assume it has worked hard in that time so those are to be expected. You will want to get them fixed eventually as they will hamper the functionality if left, but they are not urgent. Your problem is the acceleration compensator.”

“Well dag.”

“I am astounded you even made it to dirt.” Caleb told him, lifting his goggles for a moment to make eye contact. “If you take off in this state you will be flat as a panna cake before you hit the big L.”

“Beau’s not going to like that.” Fjord mused, mostly to himself.

“She is your pilot?” Caleb asked.

“Yeah, a good one at that. She’s done her best with the engine as well, but she’s more of the ‘hit it ‘til it works’ type. Never failed us before, but I guess it had to at some point.”

The look that Caleb gave him before he pulled the goggles back over his eyes could only be described as horrified.

“I will send Frumpkin on a bit more of a look around, if I find anything else important you will hear my yelling. Could you send someone to purchase the items on that list please?”

Fjord picked up the data pad and scanned the list as he walked back to the galley, where he had last seen the others. He could still hear the slightly muffled sound of voices as he approached.

“All I’m saying is that you can’t just go around waving those glowsticks wherever you want to.” Nott was saying. “That sort of thing can get you killed.”

“Well if it’s my life at risk then I’ll wave them wherever I please.” Molly’s voice replied as Fjord came to the door. He had hovered for a moment, debating whether or not to interrupt, when Nott made a guttural growling sound and he decided that it would be best to step in.

“Hey there folks, apologies for interrupting here but I’m afraid I’ve got a couple errands I need taking care of.” He said proffering the robe. “Nott, could you take this to Beau please? I’m guessing she’ll be nearly done.”

Nott shot Molly one foul look before taking the robe and leaving, her feet clicking against metal as she scurried down the steps outside. Fjord turned to Molly and Yasha.

“There going to be any trouble?” he asked “because this is a small ship, I don’t want any scraps breaking out.”

“Not at all.” Molly sighed. “Nott’s just a little agitated about me showing off the lightsabres in public, not that it’s any of her business.”

“Well,” Fjord replied, “I’d take it as a favour if you listened to her in this case. Just to keep the peace a bit. Particularly since anything to do with Jedi only ever leads to trouble in my experience.”

“Whoever said anything about Jedi?” Molly asked with a grin.

“I’m sure you’re just being wise-mouthed, but for the love of the First Light don’t say that sort of thing around Beau. If she thinks you’re Sith she will kill you, and I’ll be in no place to stop her.”

Whilst Molly’s expression didn’t change, something in Yasha’s face twitched. Fjord decided not to comment on this; Yasha looked like she might be able to snap him in half and he was hardly keen to test that theory.

“Look, I’m sorry to come down on y’all like this, I’ll have a word with Nott when I have a chance. Could you maybe have a look around for some of these things?” he held out the data pad. “As many as you can find, maybe some food as well, and I’ll consider the cost your fee for the trip.”

“What if it costs more than a trip to the next planet?” Yasha asked.

“Then we’ll take you further, as long as The Mistake can handle it. That’s what the parts are for.”

“Well, she’s living up to her name if this list is anything to go by.” Yasha said, looking it over. “We will see what we can do.”

Once they had left, Fjord took a moment to breathe. Letting this number of strangers onto his ship all at once was laserbrained, but he had no choice. He had to find out what had happened to Vandren’s starship, and how he had found himself on a beach halfway to the other side of the galaxy after the apparent explosion. In order to keep following the trail of information, he needed a crew. Beau and Jester had been doing a fine job, but a crew of three could only move slowly, and forget about getting any work.

He returned to his quarters, sat on his bunk and at last removed his glove. He had not been missing a hand when he had lost his last crew, but he had woken up on that beach with a hand made of metal, a crystal embedded in the palm. He had examined it many times since, but now he curled the fingers experimentally, trying to parse how the joints moved against each other and the tiny pistons slid into place. Plenty of freighter workers were missing limbs or had enhancements, but Fjord had never seen a hand quite like his before.

He had never seen one that could do what his could either.

Holding his arm a safe distance in front of him, Fjord closed his fist entirely.

A bolt of light shot out from it, quickly solidifying into a shape he had come to both recognise and learn to use as a blade. He turned it this way and that, allowing the blueish glow to chase away the shadows of his perpetually gloomy room. The edges of his vision gradually darkened until it was just him and the light. The sensation of the bunk and the floor beneath his feet faded until he was floating, hypnotized by the crackling bolt in front of him. He must have been breathing, but he could not recall the last time he had actually taken a breath.

LEARN

Fjord’s hand sprung open out of instinct, fear clawing at his throat. He looked frantically about his room but no source for the voice made itself evident. Legs shaking he stood.

LEARN

There it was again, more insistent. Fjord clenched his hand, allowing the blade to form again as he strode from his room, stumbling through the entrance bay then the galley and into the main corridor, towards the one person he knew to still be on the ship.

“Zurück!” came the cry from the engine room, Caleb swung into view, sending Fjord to a stop immediately. He was clutching a weapon his hands, one that Fjord didn’t quite recognise but which he had seen half a dozen variations of in his brief time as part of a hunting party to the Xorhassian Sector.

“Is that a flame thrower?” he asked, dropping his blade and raising his hands. He could hold his own in a fight, but against a ranged weapon with nowhere to run he barely stood a chance. “Ferglutz Caleb, why do you have a flame thrower?”

“Are you with them? The order?” Caleb asked, voice shaking and all but a yell.

“Who?” Fjord asked

Caleb appeared to physically deflate.

“I am sorry Fjord, I heard the noise of a lightsabre and I panicked.” He holstered the barrel of the flame thrower, which Fjord could now see was attached to the mysterious pack which he had stowed in the engineer’s quarters, and held his hands out.

“You’ve had a bad past with some Jedi then?” Fjord asked. The last thing he needed was someone else that Beau might be inclined to start a fight with.

Caleb’s face grew dark.

“Not with Jedi, but yes. All sabres make a very distinctive sound when they are activated, so when I heard yours my first assumption was that someone had hunted me down. Clearly that was incorrect, and I am very sorry for trying to kill you. Your hand looks very much like something that they would create, which is why I did not drop my weapon when I saw you.”

LEARN

The voice came again, and Fjord did his best not to flinch, instead keeping his eyes on Caleb who did not appear to have heard it. The message was clear; Caleb knew someone who could have done this to him. He needed to learn who that was.

“Hey, no hard feelings alright?” he said, taking a tentative step forward. When Caleb did not retreat or grab for the flamethrower again he continued to walk forward until they were almost too close to touch. “I’ve met guys who spent their whole lives at light speed trying to get away from Sith, if you’ve had a bad past with them you being a little jumpy’s understandable.”

He held out his metal hand, open a silent offer for Caleb to take it, and did his best to exude as calming an air as possible. Caleb eyed the hand nervously before reaching out with both hands to examine it.

“Truly, this is a faszinierend piece of hardware you have here.” He remarked, turning the hand gently in the light. “Forgive me for asking, but who gave you this, please?”

“Honestly Caleb, I wish I could tell you. I was in a freighter accident, about a standard year ago I think, and when I woke up I had that thing.” He left out the fact that his hand had not been damaged when his escape pod was deployed, that he could only remember the snippets of darkness and glowing eyes which came to him in his dreams.

Instead he said “I’d appreciate it if we could keep this incident between the two of us Caleb.”

Caleb looked surprised, but nodded in agreement.

“Yes, likewise. Nott will worry if she believes that I have had an, er, an episode I suppose. I take it that you do not want the others to know about your hand?”

“That’d be great. I’ll extend the same courtesy to your flame thrower for now, but it might be better if the others knew about it in case we get into a scuffle.”

“Is that likely?” Caleb asked, releasing Fjord’s hand.

“I’d hope not, but if this is a pirate starship like you suggested then I can’t guarantee we won’t be mistaken for enemies by some shipjackers.”

Caleb nodded slowly.

“I can make some tweaks to the hyperdrive, in something like this we should be able to outrun almost anything that is not an imperial model.”

Fjord desperately hoped that was not a possibility.

The awkward ticks slid past one by one until Fjord finally spoke up again.

“So, did you find any other problems? With the engine I mean.”

“Hm, oh, yes, ah, I – there was nothing major,” Caleb seemed to be grateful for a topic he could speak about comfortably, “all mostly standard for a rhydonium engine, which you should not have. Most of the strangeness that I encountered can be put down to the down-sizing; this appears to be based off the old Venator class and I am certain that you do not need me to tell you how insane that is.”

He shook his head, a strange smile creeping onto his face.

“Apart from that, the only unusual item which I found, well, Frumpkin found, was this glowing – I think that it was a crystal of some sort, but no kind that I recognise. About this big.” He indicated with his hands. “I put it in the engineer’s quarters, hold on.”

He opened the door to the small side room, an action shortly followed by a long, low meow.

“I know, I know.” Fjord heard Caleb mutter. “It was just to keep you safe, yes?”

He emerged barely a tick later, holding something glowing in his gloved hands. As it got closer, Fjord had to admit that crystal was probably the best word for the dodecahedron-shaped object, even if his vision swam every time he tried to look directly at it. It was the colour of a blue sky in a partial eclipse, a strange, swirling, not-quite-silver that could have been a different colour entirely from another angle.

“I am aware that some ships use crystals, but I have never seen any like this. Do not worry,” Caleb said, immediately causing worry to curl in Fjord’s gut, “it was not attached to anything, and it did not appear to have been at any point. It was tucked away in a corner.”

“Huh.” Was all that Fjord could offer in response.

“I am happy to take a closer look at it when I have fixed the acceleration compensator, but it does not seem to do anything apart from make your eyes water.”

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that. It’d be a nice thing to keep, but it might be worth a fair number of credits to the right buyer, maybe one of those collector types?”

“I doubt that I could guess the value my friend, but I can certainly study it when we are moving.” Caleb returned the object to his room.

“I would advise that you move quickly if you do not want the others to know about your hand, Nott has just informed me that they are on their way back.” He said as he was walking back over to Fjord, briefly lifting his hair to display a small contraption made of copper wire which hooked over the top of his ear.

“Right, thanks for the heads up.” Fjord answered. “If you want any help clearing that room of yours out just shout for me or the others, right? I’m sure Beau and Jester would be happy to help.”

“Of course, thank you.” Caleb called after him as he retreated once again to his room. He had barely got his glove back on when he heard the thunder of footsteps in the entrance bay.

“We’re back!” cried Jester’s voice. “Fjord, where are you? We found this really cute shop on the way back and I got you something.”

“I’m just in my room.” He called back, bracing himself as his door slammed open.

“So check this out, okay, we were walking back from the cantina and we took a slightly different route back because Nott saw something shiny and cool looking, and Nott’s really, really cool by the way I think we might be like best friends now. Not better friends than you and me and Beau, but still, like, really, really good friends. Oh, and maybe not as good friends as with the Traveller, but like, you get the idea.”

Fjord couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling.

“So anyway, we went down this little alleyway and there was this little trinket shop and we bought this.” She held up a small, glittering device on a short chain. “And look, it does this if you spin it.” She flicked it with one finger and it spun, undulating into a number of different shapes and colours. “And I thought it would be good for your room, because it’s really boring in here right now. I mean that’s cool if you like that, but it’s not very fun for anyone visiting you, you know?”

“Thank you Jester, I really like it.” Fjord replied, taking the device from her and holding it up to the little light which his room had. “I’ll find somewhere real nice to hang it, I promise.”

“You had better.” She said, crossing her lekku twice behind her back. “So what’s up with the ship, did you ask Caleb to take a look at the engine yet? How soon can we go?”

“We ain’t going anywhere in this state Jester.” Fjord sighed before continuing, “Caleb says the acceleration compensator’s out of commission. He says he can fix it, but it sounds like it’ll take a while.”

“Aw frang!” Jester exclaimed. “Did he say how long exactly?”

“I didn’t ask.” Fjord paused for a beat before blurting out “Jester, he knows about my hand.”

“Oh.”

“He found out by accident but it sounded like he might know who did it.”

“That’s really good Fjord!” Jester beamed at him. “You can finally find out what happened to Vandren, I’m really happy for you. With me and Beau’s help of course.”

“I certainly hope so Jess.”

They were interrupted by a klang from the general direction of the entrance bay.

“Can someone get out here?” Molly’s voice sounded strained through the wall between them. “We’re about to drop this thing.”

Yasha murmured something indiscernible from due to the distance between them.

“Alright, I’m about to drop this thing. A little help here please?”

Notes: Hi again folks, second update today because the feedback on The Saga Begins was so amazing. Speaking of, the lovely jmercedesd asked for a bit of a species breakdown for everyone so here we are:

Caleb & Beau: Still Human, but that might have slightly different connotations in Star Wars canon than real life so link to wiki included here.

Fjord: Falleen, although he can just about pass for a few other spiecies with the right sort of disguise.

Jester: Twi'lek, because even though there is a species in the Star Wars universe that is basically Tieflings just making her that would feel like a bit of a cheat.

Molly: Chiss. There are actually plot reasons for him being a different species to Jester, but that's spoiler territory.

Yasha: Probably Diathim but I'm still considering that one.

Nott: Yoda's Species because Star Wars handed me a goblin on a platter and I wasn't going to ignore that.

I'll reveal Caduceus when he shows up, although I do know what he is.

As ever I do not own any of the characters or concepts contained within this fic.

#critical role #cr2 #critical role campaign two #critical role campaign 2 #Fjord #Caleb Widogast #Jester Lavorre #Nott the Brave #Mollymauk Tealeaf #Yasha #fanfic #My fic #hey look ma i updated

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jammy-badger · 7 years

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hi this is your friendly neighbourhood australian who knows all the secrets of pocket camp already and is prepared to dispense wisdom

save your leaf tickets. i cannot stress this enough. right now your items will all be ready in less than an hour, but when you’re at level 40, stuff takes like 3 days to make

also, materials get harder and harder to come by so frequently you’ll need to use leaf tickets to keep the ball rolling. also being able to buy campers/tom nook/kk is worth more than speeding things up

know which villagers give what. some villagers, like apollo in my camp at least for example, give paper more frequently than others, while some give, say, conserves. paper is incredibly valuable as you need 150 to make just one wallpaper

THERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN RUGS AND FLOORS. FLOORS CANNOT BE USED AT YOUR CAMPSITE, ONLY IN YOUR CAMPER. DON’T BE LIKE ME AND WASTE 150 PAPER ON A FLOOR YOU CAN’T USE OH GOD

shake all the non-fruit trees every day! one will drop up to 1000 bells each day, and you’ll need the money you can get

put loads of stuff up in your market box, for cheap. it seems useless right now, but as your level gets higher and it gets harder and harder to respawn items, people will come and buy from you and you can get a good income

help your friends with the quarry; its nice and you get money rewards

ask everyone on your friends list to help you with the quarry EARLY. chances are you’ll miss the haul you need if you wait

even if you dont want it, make a nintendo account and get the free dosh. every leaf ticket helps, plus you get cool stuff too and a steady income to boot

objects respawn offscreen. if you need a specific bug, scare away all the bugs or catch them (recommended) and then wait in the corner for a bit. rinse and repeat

always shake your trees and just leave the fruit it doesnt rot and you’ll need more than they give you anyway (this is why the marketplace gets so useful)

add loads of people! this helps you get into the quarry, get ideas for your camp, and gives you access to loads of market boxes for when you need them. which you will.

you can expand your van...for loans. sell stuff on market boxes, or just straight up sell rare items for cheap, to pay it off

always leave kudos at someones camp when they leave one at yours; its good manners and they’ll have your back later

don’t waste materials on things you dont need; especially, don’t waste the material corresponding to your theme (cool uses a lot of metal, natural uses a lot of wood, etc.)

always have something on the go crafting, and its a worthy investment to get a second slot for crafting too

save your honey and nets for when you’re really stressed out

change up your look often and visit the able sisters constantly; they only have a few items up at the start but as you level up they have more, and cooler stuff

try and complete all your requests, and especially try and complete your stretch goals! they’re a really good way to get free stuff, so do yourself a favour and make the polka dot set and the green set; theyre cheap you only need 4 of each. just put them in your campground once at the same time and you’ll get 20 tickets, then sell them or whatever

use your request tickets wisely. specifically, use them on your lowest-level villagers. they level up faster, meaning you level up faster

at some point, get all the tents, even the ones you dont like. animals will eventually stop levelling up if you dont have their respective tent, and you will need their love. literally.

change up your look! don’t try and limit yourself to one theme - this game is a lot more fun when you look at others and try and put your own mark on the game.

you can change your hair, eye colour, and hairdo in the options menu

anyway i hope this helped. my code is 3612-7018-102 (Row) and I’m always open for questions because hell i’ve been playing this religiously since release and i need to do something with this knowledge. add anything you want to the list!

#acpc #animal crossing pocket camp #animal crossing #pocket camp

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repairslip9-blog · 4 years

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Police officer mainly stems from the 1500s English word 'cap', implying to take, from Center French 'caper' for the very same word, and also most likely linked likewise to Scicilian as well as Latin 'capere' indicating to catch. The complete kind Copper is partially obtained and also usage enhanced using the metallic copper badges put on by early New York authorities sergeants. By the way the patrolmen had brass badges and also the captains silver ones. cloud nine/on over the moon - severe happiness or euphoria/being in a state of extreme happiness, not always yet possibly due medications or alcohol - cloud seven is another variant, however heaven has a tendency to be the most preferred.

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Words and also language may change gradually, yet the sound of a fart is just one of life's more withstanding features. eat crow - acknowledge a blunder, experience humiliation - the expression's beginnings are American, from imagery and also folklore from the late 19th century. Crow would have been considered as a rather horrible recipe, just like the initial English Umble Pie metaphor from the 1700s. According to etymologist James Rogers, consuming crow came to be the subject of a tale reported in the Atlanta Constitution in 1888, which informed the tale of an American soldier in the Battle of 1812, that shot a crow during a ceasefire. A British police officer matched the soldier on his shooting and asked to see the weapon, which when handed to him, he activated the soldier, reprimanding him for trespassing, as well as requiring the soldier to consume a piece of the dead crow. Nonetheless, on having the weapon went back to him, the soldier promptly turned the weapon on the officer, and made him consume the rest of the crow.

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Hoag rewarded the cops to escape prosecution, yet ultimately paid the price for being too creative when he attempted to cut the cops out of the offer, bring about the pair's arrest. In describing Hoag at the time, the cops were supposedly the first to use the 'clever aleck' expression.

If you have very early recollections of usage or pointers of specific origins or writers of any one of the above expressions please allow me understand, and also I'll publish the findings on this web page generally listing. Let me understand additionally if you want any kind of strange expressions adding to the checklist for which no published origins seem to exist. Can you help discover the earliest beginnings or accurate sources of some relatively current expressions and figures of speech? Right here are a few fascinating sayings for which for which fully satisfying origins appear not to exist, or existing explanations invite growth and even more detail. The main advantages of using these lotions like instantaneous virgin spray is that they are made from completely all-natural herbs thus lack any kind of kind of kind of adverse impacts. Older people with even more comprehensive photo-ageing, significant skin laxity, or very sagging skin on the neck aren't terrific prospects as well as might require surgical procedure.

The basis of the significance is that Adam, being the first male ever before, and as a result the farthest eliminated from any individual, symbolizes a male that anybody is least most likely to know. Out of interest, an 'off ox' would certainly have been the beast pulling the cart on the side farthest from the chauffeur, and also as a result less recognized than the 'near ox'. This extension to the expression was American; the 'off ox' and various other expansions such as Adam's bro or Adam's foot, are just made to overemphasize the range of the acquaintance.

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The above use of the 'black Irish' expression is probably supported due to the fact that it was additionally a term provided to a previous servant that adopted the name of an Irish owner. Whether this remained in Ireland, the West Indies, or somewhere else is not clear, and also anyway is not likely to have actually been the main derivation of the expression given various other a lot more common elements. containers - eyeglasses, or the eyes - a straightforward reducing of the word field glasses, first appeared in English c. 1930, perhaps from the militaries or London, for which this kind of short-form jargon would certainly have been regular. almanac - journal - either or both from the Arabic 'al manac' indicating 'the journal' and/or from Saxon term 'al-mon-aght' meaning 'all moon note', which was the document of brand-new as well as moons. Cohen suggests the beginning goes back to 1840s New York City scammer Aleck Hoag, that, with his spouse posing as a woman of the street, would burglarize the clients.

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Dosh appears to have actually originated in this form in the United States in the 19th century, and after that reappeared in extra preferred usage in the UK in the mid-20th century. doss-house - rough resting accommodation - the term is from Elizabethan England when 'doss' was a straw bed, from 'dossel' implying bundle of straw, consequently from the French 'file' indicating bundle. Before c. 13th century words was dyker, from Latin 'decuria' which was a trading system of 10, originally used for animal hides. dead pan - expressionless - from the 1844 rhyme (' The Dead Frying Pan') by Elizabeth Browning which informed that at the time of the crucifixion the cry 'Terrific Frying pan is dead' swept across the ocean, and 'the actions of the oracles stopped for ever before'. dandelion - wild flower/garden weed - from the French 'damage de lyon', meaning 'lion's tooth', as a result of the jagged shape of the dandelion's fallen leaves. According to Chambers the plant's name entered into English in the late 1300s at first as French 'dent-de-lyon', developing through dandelyon, additionally creating the last name Daundelyon, prior to arriving at its current English form.

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London meteorologist Luke Howard set up the initial commonly accepted cloud name and category system, which was released in 1803. The system is basically still in operation today, albeit boosted from Howard's original seven-cloud structure.

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Names of flowers are amongst lots of other common English words which entered into English from French in the late middle-ages, the factor for which is described in the 'excuse my French' beginning. In much of the expression's usual use the definitions seem to converge, in which the hybrid 'feel' is one of domination/control/intimacy in return for payment/material reward/safety/protection. Making use of the expression as a straight insult, where the significance is to question a person's parentage, is discovered, but this would not have actually been the origin, and is a much more current retrospectively applied definition. dachshund - short-legged canine - the pet was initially a German type made use of for searching badgers. Words appears to have pertained to England in the last 19th century. cop/copper - cop - Some suggest this is an acronym from 'Constable On Patrol' however this is a retrospectively used explanation.

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The 'bottoms up' expression then normally described checking for the King's shilling at the bottom of the flask. If you recognize anything more about the beginnings of "toss me a bone" - particularly the expression occurring in a language other than English, please inform me. new La-Lipo.uk offerings is a blue rectangular shape with a solid white rectangle between; 'peter' is from the French, 'partir' meaning 'to leave'. Additionally,, heaven as well as white 'blue peter' flag is a standard nautical signal flag which means the letter 'P'. The letter 'P' is related to the word 'peter' in many phonetic alphabets, consisting of those of the English and American armed forces, and it is possible that this phonetic language association was influenced by the French 'partir' root.

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ciao - Italian welcoming or goodbye, and also usual English informality meaning 'goodbye' - noticable 'chow', is derived from Italian words 'schiavo vosotro' meaning 'I am your servant'. Chambers and also OED are clear in revealing the earlier Latin complete type of 'carnem levare', from medieval Latin 'carnelevarium', which the derivation of the 'val' aspect is 'putting away' or 'getting rid of', and not 'claiming goodbye, as some suggest. OED actually states that the connection with Latin 'vale', as if stating 'farewell to flesh' results from 'popular' etymology. by and large - generally/vaguely/one method or one more - one of a variety of maritime terms; 'typically' literally implied 'to the wind as well as off it'.

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An additional interpretation, as well as certainly an idea when held by some, is that sneezing eliminated ghouls from a person's body. A contributing factor was the association of sneezing with the Black Fatality which damaged England as well as especially London in the 14th and also 17th centuries. In more recent times the expression has been connected to the misconception that sneezing creates the heart to quit defeating, even more strengthening the Bless You customized as a safety superstition. blarney - persuasive yet empty words - from the spoken laziness techniques of Cormack MacCarthy, 1602, in holding the castle of Blarney in Ireland, near Cork, regardless of consenting to hand it to the English as component of the abandonment terms.

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Bear in mind that a wind is described according to where it originates from not where it's mosting likely to. Sailing 'by' a South wind would certainly suggest sailing basically in a South instructions - 'to the wind'. box as well as die/whole/hole box and also die - see see 'whole box as well as pass away' feasible definitions as well as origins below. Clubs and enthusiasts became aware of this method as well as the custom of alcohol consumption from glass-bottom flagons started.

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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Dany is (relatively) frugal and modest

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

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

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

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

Even when Daenerys was kidnapped by a then-hostile Dothraki in season 6, she didn’t look this disheveled. In fact, her hair and outfit were impeccable in the face of relentless desert grit and threatened imprisonment in the Dosh Khaleen. Dany, a woman who has believed she was fated for greatness since birth, has never let herself look anything but perfect. That is, until now. (x)

Dany has not believed she was fated for greatness neither since birth nor as of ADWD. This meta and these lists make it clear enough. But this list is about something else: has Dany "never let herself look anything but perfect"? I would argue that the books tell a very different story.

NOTE: There are few moments in AGOT because Dany is among the Dothraki, so several behaviors that could be considered "frugal" and "modest" are normalized. In other books, she's among other nobles, which highlights these particular traits of her.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

The sun was hot this morning, the sky blue and cloudless. That was good. Dany’s clothes were hardly more than rags, and offered little in the way of warmth. One of her sandals had slipped off during her wild flight from Meereen and she had left the other up by Drogon’s cave, preferring to go barefoot rather than half-shod. Her tokar and veils she had abandoned in the pit, and her linen undertunic had never been made to withstand the hot days and cold nights of the Dothraki sea. Sweat and grass and dirt had stained it, and Dany had torn a strip off the hem to make a bandage for her shin. I must look a ragged thing, and starved, she thought, but if the days stay warm, I will not freeze.

Hers had been a lonely sojourn, and for most of it she had been hurt and hungry ... yet despite it all she had been strangely happy here. A few aches, an empty belly, chills by night ... what does it matter when you can fly? I would do it all again.

The sun grew hotter as it rose, and before long her head was pounding. Dany’s hair was growing out again, but slowly. “I need a hat,” she said aloud. Up on Dragonstone she had tried to make one for herself, weaving stalks of grass together as she had seen Dothraki women do during her time with Drogo, but either she was using the wrong sort of grass or she simply lacked the necessary skill. Her hats all fell to pieces in her hands. Try again, she told herself. You will do better the next time. You are the blood of the dragon, you can make a hat. She tried and tried, but her last attempt had been no more successful than her first.

Once I dreamed of flying, she thought, and now I’ve flown, and dream of stealing eggs. That made her laugh. “Men are mad and gods are madder,” she told the grass, and the grass murmured its agreement.

Dany wedged herself into that corner, making a nest of sorts by tearing up handfuls of the grass that grew around the ruins. She was very tired, and fresh blisters had appeared on both her feet, including a matched set upon her pinky toes. It must be from the way I walk, she thought, giggling.

She wondered how the ants had managed to climb over it and find her. To them these tumbledown stones must loom as huge as the Wall of Westeros. The biggest wall in all the world, her brother Viserys used to say, as proud as if he’d built it himself.

Viserys told her tales of knights so poor that they had to sleep beneath the ancient hedges that grew along the byways of the Seven Kingdoms. Dany would have given much and more for a nice thick hedge. Preferably one without an anthill.

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands. In Meereen I was a queen in silk, nibbling on stuffed dates and honeyed lamb, she remembered. What would my noble husband think if he could see me now? Hizdahr would be horrified, no doubt. But Daario ...

Daario would laugh, carve off a hunk of horsemeat with his arakh, and squat down to eat beside her.

ADWD Daenerys IX

Behind her, Reznak leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Magnificence, hear how they love you!”

No, she knew, they love their mortal art.

ADWD Daenerys VII

Reznak mo Reznak bowed and beamed. “Magnificence, every day you grow more beautiful. I think the prospect of your wedding has given you a glow. Oh, my shining queen!”

Dany sighed.

She sat upon her cushions, listening, one foot jiggling with impatience.

Dany envied the Dothraki maids their loose sandsilk trousers and painted vests. They would be much cooler than her in her tokar, with its heavy fringe of baby pearls. “Help me wind this round myself, please. I cannot manage all these pearls by myself.”

“The day is too hot to be shut up in a palanquin,” said Dany. “Have my silver saddled. I would not go to my lord husband upon the backs of bearers.”

“Your Grace,” said Missandei, “this one is so sorry, but you cannot ride in a tokar.”

The little scribe was right, as she so often was. The tokar was not a garment meant for horseback. Dany made a face. “As you say. Not the palanquin, though. I would suffocate behind those drapes. Have them ready a sedan chair.” If she must wear her floppy ears, let all the rabbits see her.

ADWD Daenerys VI

The bride is dressed in dark red veils above a tokar of white silk, fringed with baby pearls.”

The queen of the rabbits must not be wed without her floppy ears. “All those pearls will make me rattle when I walk.”

“Daenerys, my queen, I will gladly wash you from head to heel if that is what I must do to be your king and consort.”

“To be my king and consort, you need only bring me peace.[”]

Dany hurried off, calling for her handmaids. She would not welcome her captain home in a tokar. In the end she tried a dozen gowns before she found one she liked, but she refused the crown that Jhiqui offered her.

ADWD Daenerys IV

Oft have I heard that yours is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Wise, and Daeron the Dragon. The noble Hizdahr is of the blood of Mazdhan the Magnificent, Hazrak the Handsome, and Zharaq the Liberator.”

“His forebears are as dead as mine. Will Hizdahr raise their shades to defend Meereen against its enemies? I need a man with ships and swords. You offer me ancestors.”

“Bright queen,” he said, “you have grown more beautiful in my absence. How is this thing possible?”

The queen was accustomed to such praise, yet somehow the compliment meant more coming from Daario than from the likes of Reznak, Xaro, or Hizdahr.

ADWD Daenerys III

“Let us speak instead of love, of dreams and desire and Daenerys, the fairest woman in this world. I am drunk with the sight of you.”

She was no stranger to the overblown courtesies of Qarth. “If you are drunk, blame the wine.”

ADWD Daenerys II

Dany seated herself on a cushion, crossed her legs, and gazed up at him.

ADWD Daenerys I

The tokar was a master’s garment, a sign of wealth and power.

Dany had wanted to ban the tokar when she took Meereen, but her advisors had convinced her otherwise. “The Mother of Dragons must don the tokar or be forever hated,” warned the Green Grace, Galazza Galare. “In the wools of Westeros or a gown of Myrish lace, Your Radiance shall forever remain a stranger amongst us, a grotesque outlander, a barbarian conqueror. Meereen’s queen must be a lady of Old Ghis.” Brown Ben Plumm, the captain of the Second Sons, had put it more succinctly. “Man wants to be the king o’ the rabbits, he best wear a pair o’ floppy ears.”

The slippers the Butcher King had sent her had grown too uncomfortable. Dany kicked them off and sat with one foot tucked beneath her and the other swinging back and forth. It was not a very regal pose, but she was tired of being regal. The crown had given her a headache, and her buttocks had gone to sleep.

In the afternoon a sculptor came, proposing to replace the head of the great bronze harpy in the Plaza of Purification with one cast in Dany’s image. She denied him with as much courtesy as she could muster.

As Dany stood, her tokar began to slip. She caught it and tugged it back in place.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Her audience chamber was on the level below, an echoing high-ceilinged room with walls of purple marble. It was a chilly place for all its grandeur. There had been a throne there, a fantastic thing of carved and gilded wood in the shape of a savage harpy. She had taken one long look and commanded it be broken up for firewood. “I will not sit in the harpy’s lap,” she told them. Instead she sat upon a simple ebony bench. It served, though she had heard the Meereenese muttering that it did not befit a queen.

Her bloodriders were waiting for her. Silver bells tinkled in their oiled braids, and they wore the gold and jewels of dead men. Meereen had been rich beyond imagining. Even her sellswords seemed sated, at least for now.

ASOS Daenerys V

“I must have this city,” she told them, sitting crosslegged on a pile of cushions, her dragons all about her.

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany sat crosslegged on a cushion, and Viserion spread his white-and-gold wings and flapped to her side.

“Do all the Yunkai’i whine so over a singed tokar? I shall buy you a new one ... if you deliver up your slaves within three days. Elsewise, Drogon shall give you a warmer kiss.”

When the old man came, she was curled up inside her hrakkar pelt, whose musty smell still reminded her of Drogo.

ASOS Daenerys I

But later that night, as Balerion plunged onward through the dark and Dany sat crosslegged on her bunk in the captain’s cabin, feeding her dragons—“Even upon the sea,” Groleo had said, so graciously, “queens take precedence over captains”—a sharp knock came upon the door.

[...] Dany pulled up a coverlet and tucked it in under her arms. She was naked, and had not expected a caller at this hour.

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

She was breaking her fast on a bowl of cold shrimp-and-persimmon soup when Irri brought her a Qartheen gown, an airy confection of ivory samite patterned with seed pearls. “Take it away,” Dany said. “The docks are no place for lady’s finery.”

"I have won no victories," she tried telling her handmaid when the bell tinkled softly.

Jhiqui disagreed. "You burned the maegi in their house of dust and sent their souls to hell."

That was Drogon's victory, not mine, Dany wanted to say, but she held her tongue. The Dothraki would esteem her all the more for a few bells in her hair.

“I regret if we caused you alarm. If truth be told, we were not certain, we expected someone more ... more ...”

“Regal?” Dany laughed. She had no dragon with her, and her raiment was hardly queenly.

ACOK Daenerys III

Rhaegal hissed and dug sharp black claws into her bare shoulder as Dany stretched out a hand for the wine. Wincing, she shifted him to her other shoulder, where he could claw her gown instead of her skin.

“Weep, weep, for the treachery of men.”

Dany would sooner have wept for her gold. The bribes she’d tendered to Mathos Mallarawan, Wendello Qar Deeth, and Egon Emeros the Exquisite might have bought her a ship, or hired a score of sellswords.

The crown was the only offering she’d kept. The rest she sold, to gather the wealth she had wasted on the Pureborn.

“Did I not give you an army, sweetest of women? A thousand knights, each in shining armor.”

The armor had been made of silver and gold, the knights of jade and beryl and onyx and tourmaline, of amber and opal and amethyst, each as tall as her little finger. “A thousand lovely knights,” she said, “but not the sort my enemies need fear. And my bullocks cannot carry me across the water[”]

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

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

“No trick,” a woman said in the Common Tongue.

Dany had not noticed Quaithe in the crowd, yet there she stood, eyes wet and shiny behind the implacable red lacquer mask. “What mean you, my lady?”

“Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass. He had some small skill with powders and wildfire, sufficient to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work. He could walk across hot coals and make burning roses bloom in the air, but he could no more aspire to climb the fiery ladder than a common fisherman could hope to catch a kraken in his nets.”

[...] “And now?”

“And now his powers grow, Khaleesi. And you are the cause of it.”

“Me?” She laughed. “How could that be?”

The woman stepped closer and lay two fingers on Dany’s wrist. “You are the Mother of Dragons, are you not?”

ACOK Daenerys I

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

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys III

“You dare!” he screamed at her. “You give commands to me? To me?” He vaulted off the horse, stumbling as he landed. His face was flushed as he struggled back to his feet. He grabbed her, shook her. “Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!”

Dany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here.

AGOT Daenerys II

Other gifts she was given in plenty by other Dothraki: slippers and jewels and silver rings for her hair, medallion belts and painted vests and soft furs, sandsilks and jars of scent, needles and feathers and tiny bottles of purple glass, and a gown made from the skin of a thousand mice. "A handsome gift, Khaleesi," Magister Illyrio said of the last, after he had told her what it was. "Most lucky." The gifts mounted up around her in great piles, more gifts than she could possibly imagine, more gifts than she could want or use.

AGOT Daenerys I

“We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

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zaldrizer-sovesi · 7 years

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Khaleesi of Nothing, the Millionth of your Name

Each of the old women had been a khaleesi once. When their lord husbands died and a new khal took his place at the front of his riders, with a new khaleesi mounted beside him, they were sent here, to reign over the vast Dothraki nation. Even the mightiest of khals bowed to the wisdom and authority of the dosh khaleen. Still, it gave Dany the shivers to think that one day she might be sent to join them, whether she willed it or no. (AGOT, Daenerys V)

The heart of a stallion would make her son strong and swift and fearless, or so the Dothraki believed, but only if the mother could eat it all. If she choked on the blood or retched up the flesh, the omens were less favorable; the child might be stillborn, or come forth weak, deformed, or female. (AGOT, Daenerys V)

"You belong to the Dothraki now. In your womb rides the stallion who mounts the world." He held out his cup, and a slave filled it with fermented mare's milk, sour-smelling and thick with clots.

Dany waved her away. Even the smell of it made her feel ill, and she would take no chances of bringing up the horse heart she had forced herself to eat.

Do the dosh khaleen have power?

They certainly have status and influence. They have important jobs in the temple. They are probably kept safe. Compared to most of the other options, it’s nice work if you can get it.

But it’s also not something that you can aspire to, earn, or even choose. When Daenerys first sees the city as a teenager, she is adapting to a situation that’s been forced onto her. While she intellectually acknowledges that the temple of the dosh khaleen is how that situation ends, she doesn’t come up against what that means until Drogo is wounded. Before anyone knows about his injury, she can pretty much do whatever she wants, as long as she explicitly invokes his authority. Even after the bloodriders realize it’s serious, he’s still alive and conscious enough that she can convince him to submit to Mirri’s treatment. Her idea is pretty transgressive and it’s impressive that she fights for it – but even then, the issue is whether Mirri’s abilities can be exercised, not whether Dany can do anything on her own. But she will lose everything with his death, and she knows it. Much as she’s come to care for him, her fear of his death is largely and explicitly about how she will lose everything when the light of her sun-and-stars goes out. And she’s right!

Jhogo took the whip from her hands, but his face was confused. "Khaleesi," he said hesitantly, "this is not done. It would shame me, to be bloodrider to a woman.".... Aggo accepted the bow with lowered eyes. "I cannot say these words. Only a man can lead a khalasar or name a ko."..... "You are khaleesi," Rakharo said, taking the arakh. "I shall ride at your side to Vaes Dothrak beneath the Mother of Mountains, and keep you safe from harm until you take your place with the crones of the dosh khaleen. No more can I promise."

A khaleesi has status, and some derivative degree of influence. But it’s not a title which connotes authority or power, individually or collectively.

That’s not to say they’re irrelevant. The dosh khaleen serves an important purpose in Dothraki life. They are the inhabitants and keepers of Vaes Dothrak. The city is both domestic and public, effectively serving the purpose of the private sphere for the Dothraki: it provides a place of sanctuary where the men who run a society are protected from competition with other men. But it also serves the public function of allowing the various khals to maximize the benefits of cooperation and trade while minimizing the risks. The dual nature of the city creates the sense of it as a home for all Dothraki, which in turn supports a sense of shared community across the many far-flung khalasars. Vaes Dothrak is important enough that the constraints on its inhabitants are critical.

There are more immediate reasons for this duty to be given to the widows of khals. Khals make the rules, and they’re not going to give Vaes Dothrak to one of their rivals. Most khals want their wives to be taken care of after their deaths, and even the ones who are emotionally indifferent to their wives still don’t want to be subjected to the posthumous degradation they inflict on their own enemies of “taking [raping and enslaving] their wives.” Removing a widowed khaleesi from the horde is part of keeping the power structure unambiguous, and it forces the khal’s sons to sink or swim on their own if they want to take their father’s place. But it’s also a forceful enactment of cultural values. Someone who stays put in one city may be a king, but he cannot be a khal, and nobody who is not a khal can be given authority over khals.

Their role categorically excludes them from the defining features of Dothraki life. They cannot ride with a khalasar, because they cannot leave Vaes Dothrak. They cannot fight – or prepare themselves for someone to attack them – because there are no weapons in Vaes Dothrak. This paradoxically forces the dosh khaleen to be more invested than anyone in protecting the Dothraki’s social norms, because the Dothraki’s social norms are all that will protect them.

In this light, the priestesses of the dosh khaleen have some striking parallels to the Vestal Virgins of ancient Rome. Like the Dothraki, the ancient Romans were militaristic and expansionist. Rome, as the core of that empire, had the deep importance of a home base. And in the heart of Rome, certain sacred duties were entrusted to the Vestal Virgins. They were honored at sacred ceremonies and entrusted with documents as important as Caesar’s will. In many ways, they had more respect and independence than any other women in the Republic or the Empire. This autonomy is conditional on their gender performance – specifically, on their sexual histories. Like most khaleesi, Vestal Virgins didn’t choose their life path, they were chosen as children. Like the dosh khaleen, they lived or died as individuals and as an institution only as long as the sacred city’s rules and norms were universally upheld in their spirit and to the letter.

The institution of the dosh khaleen is an almost brutally crisp operationalization of the madonna/whore dichotomy, a sociological phenomenon which pins inequalities (primarily, but not only, gender inequality) in place by rewarding some women for their purity with a largely toothless type of status, while openly rationalizing abuses of any other women. Dothraki khals grant the title of khaleesi to a tiny minority of women, chosen either wholly arbitrarily or due to other status markers, such as the nobility, beauty, and adolescence that Illyrio used to market Daenerys to Drogo. They are set apart from most (not all) of the often horrifying treatment of lower status women – as long as they don’t put a toe out of line. Perfect compliance will bring you some polite deference and as comfortable a life as you can reasonably anticipate. Any challenge to those expectations and, well. It is known.

Daenerys, of course, veers way off this course when she hatches her dragons. Dragons are fire made flesh, and firepower is really not in the job description. She collects more conventional power. She learns to be a commander and a dragon queen, even chains her dragons and tries to be a politician.

[This is where we jump from the books to the show. I’ve used the books so far because I like the detail in the books, but there’s more material in S6, including scenes where the khaleesi speak to each other and for themselves. The core issue I’m interested in here is consistent.]

She is an intelligent, accomplished, and deeply impressive person. And what’s all that get her, when Drogon flies off and the Dothraki catch up with her?

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

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

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

QHONO: I’ll ask Khal Moro for a night with you. What do you think?

AKHO: Pretty eyes, but she’s an idiot.

QHONO: She doesn’t have to be smart to get fucked in the ass....... (The Red Woman)

"Eroeh?" asked Dany, remembering the frightened child she had saved outside the city of the Lamb Men.

"Mago seized her, who is Khal Jhaqo's bloodrider now," said Jhogo. "He mounted her high and low and gave her to his khal, and Jhaqo gave her to his other bloodriders. They were six. When they were done with her, they cut her throat." (AGOT, Daenerys IX)

MORO: You are nobody, the millionth of your name, Queen of Nothing, slave of Khal Moro. Tonight I will lie with you, and if the Great Stallion is kind you will give me a son. Do you understand?

DAENERYS: I will not lie with you.....

MORO: Forgive me. I did not know. It is forbidden to lie with a Khal’s widow. No one will touch you, you have my word.

DAENERYS: If you will escort me back to Meereen, I will see that your khalasar is given a thousand horses as a sign of my gratitude.

MORO: When a khal dies, there is only place for his khaleesi. (The Red Woman)

The only thing that saves her from the sexual violence the bloodriders were planning is her status as Drogo’s widow. Moro cuts her hands loose, but she is still a prisoner.

Moro’s bloodriders deliver her to the temple and wordlessly comply when the High Priestess tells them to leave. If that’s more than ceremonial, if she’s really in charge of the temple, you’d expect the High Priestess to be able to do more than “hope” the khals will “let” Daenerys live.

MORO: She should stay here. It’s our tradition. She belongs with the dosh khaleen.

DAENERYS: Don’t you want to know what I think?

MORO: You’d rather be sold into slavery? Or maybe you’d like to show Rhalko here what you taste like?

DAENERYS: No, I don’t want either of those things.

MORO: We don’t care what you want. This is the temple of the dosh khaleen. You have no voice here, unless you are dosh khaleen. Which you are not, until we decide you are. (Book of the Stranger)

And there it is. In this system, the khals are the final arbiters of her position. It’s inconsequential enough to them that they seem willing to humor her, maybe as a poke in the eye for those ancient and most glorious cities to the south. Until she opens her mouth to express an opinion and pique their egos, at which point she immediately becomes a “crazy cunt” they’re going to gang-rape to death.

Daenerys crushes them because she has the magic and the slightly deranged courage of a demigod – but also because of some hard-earned wisdom.

HIGH PRIESTESS: You cannot run from Dothraki. You know this.

DAENERYS: I will never run from Dothraki. (Book of the Stranger)

She understands that she can’t just extricate herself from this situation. Not only as a moral issue, or because she’s started to bond with a couple of them. She actually can’t. The only way to leave this system behind is to destroy some of it and to change the rest irrevocably.

#asoiaf meta #game of thrones meta #dothraki #vaes dothrak #daenerys targaryen #a game of thrones #the red woman #book of the stranger #rape culture #gender roles #historical parallels

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terriblevalveartandocs · 7 years

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About Valve OCs and the blog

This has been on my mind for a while.

This blog never got a satisfying end in my books, and I’m sure for other readers as well. Even though closure is a myth perpetuated by mainstream media, I will make this post to try to rectify past mistakes and general truancy of this blog. I have my own suspicions that most of my readers are dead (considering all of the porn bots are now starting to follow me), so I write this post in the darkness of the night into the void that is Tumblr. Read my cry if you care.

Firstly, this blog will never update again. There are multiple factors that have led to this blog’s extinction and I think they’re important to address

Motivation

This blog took up a large chunk of my life back when it was active. Don’t get me wrong, bad art still gets me to cringe and I find myself on occasion still pining over weird ocs and art styles on Deviantart. However, maintaining it as a blog with daily updates became a chore for me along with promising critiques of ocs and such. I’ve come to discover that I can’t do what I love as “””work”””. While bad art still remains a passion for me, I don’t see myself continuing this in blog format.

OCs have changed

The OC market has changed. Base art has definitely taken a downturn in the past few years and you’re more likely to see people hand-drawing their ocs or writing them out. Thanks with the culture of memeing about bootleg fandom ocs (This is my own original character blonic, donut steels) , it seems that people are more drawn towards creating their own worlds and characters rather than shoving their mary sue into their current fan favorite content. These are good changes in terms of originality for artists and writers in my opinion.

However, a lot of the formats for OCs have changed as well. There tends to be an emphasis on their sexuality and race in OC culture now. I don’t consider that a bad thing but I’d rather not poke that hornet’s nest of gender identity and race of fictional characters. What used to be the standard straight, bi, gay has expanded into other territories that I am unfamiliar with and now we have more ocs outside of the standard white chick but with Japanese last name because the creator really likes naruto. Again, this just seems to be the trend and I think my last few revival posts kinda show them.

Valve as a games publisher

LOL when’s half life 3???

Valve has definitely moved from being a game developer to a digital distributor. Steam definitely seems to be their focus outside of Hat/Weapon Skin collecting and online gambling (and also their weird consoles/controllers???). Not that I would continue this blog if they released more content (They published another update to the TF2 comic, can’t wait for that to get updated in a year).

Along with this slump of their own original content, this has led to a slump in original characters for their franchises. There are not as many fan ocs and art isn’t being produced for their franchises (except maybe with comic updates for TF2 and nostalgia for old games).

This blog was created at the optimal time imo with L4D2 still being fresh, TF2 still having an active userbase, and Portal 2 giving some great content in terms of creative material.

Also I’m not interested in reviewing Dota 2 art and I don’t think there are enough Counterstrike ocs.

Negativity

I don’t know if this blog was a source of positive or negative energy. On one hand, I was ridiculing people’s art without much hesitation and not acknowledging how much time and effort that might have been put in by the artist. But on the other hand, it provided laughs for people during its duration and gave me a creative outlet in terms of humor, arguments, and writing. I think I did my best to avoid any harassment for these artists by removing any watermarks that might lead any rude reader to them, but I’ll never know if they suffered any bullying. Obviously I’m not going to put this on my resume as work experience but I like to think that this blog help think critically about their content, regardless of what role you played on the blog be it me, a submitter, an observer, or the subject. Maybe if some supreme being questions why I started this blog in the afterlife, I can tell them I did it for the lolz.

In the end, I think I did more harm than any general good for the world and nobody will really understand that weird pain if I try to repent for it publicly. I don’t know of any key examples of this (or really remember because I haven’t done this shit in years), but I do apologize if I ruined anyone’s ambitions for writing/drawing.

I’m glad there is a stronger hugbox mentality for artists who aren’t very good and I embrace that style of encouragement. I guess my only concern is veering too far into that and just embracing everything as perfect and awesome and never improving. Criticism has its place in society.

Perhaps the real lesson is that who the hell gives a shit about what you post on the internet. Why should you give a stranger any control over how much your art is worth? However, this also gives the argument into determining if any of your art is worth anything based on your preconceived notions on your art’s merits since you are only a stranger to me. Why should you tell me that your art is valid and equal to anything else produced when it looks like you drew it with your tablet pen stuck up your ass?

Maybe we all just need to learn to stop giving invisible voices the power to ruin our emotional states and work on our self satisfaction.

Growing up????

I wrote most of this blog like a million years ago. It was a stronger part of my identity and a part of a community in a way of similar blogs in the same style. But I don’t really relate to the content as much I used to. Valve games are still near and dear to me, but they’re more nostalgic than my current flame and muse. I feel the same happened to other blogs in the same vein as mine. Perhaps also age and the changes of time led to our own focuses in our own lives than looking at the scribbles of some stranger on the internet. While it’s still one of my internet past times, it is not my main focus in life to critique bad art (unless it starts paying serious dosh). I just don’t relate to the words and passions anymore. In a way, this is my own cringe that artists produce when they’re young on Deviantart. It’s kind of funny in a weird way.

This blog will continue to remain up but I’ll probably move into another blog of some sort (I accidentally made this my primary blog and I can’t delete it). It sort of became my main lurking blog and I guess its time that I make a less weird not ghost blog (I’m probably confusing a lot of the people that I follow with my constant hearts and comments).

I guess I wanna say thanks for all of the people who followed this blog and its contents. I probably wouldn’t have continued for very long without followers so you’re all to blame for this negative impact I’ve made on the world (jkjk). I like to think we’re connected with our mutual spirit in improving how we create things and wanting to see improvement in others. I think this blog helped me see the dumbest of things and not be afraid to say it was dumb and I hope it did for you as well. I also hope it brought you laughs in the content that was displayed or the humor I attempted to convey. It did genuinely warm my heart whenever I got a heart, reply, reblog, or messages to keep up the work. It kind of makes me sad to think that I left rather abruptly, but better blogs have died quicker and quieter. Simple fact of life really. Thank god my ego keeps me in check to constantly remind people of my existence.

To any artists out there, bad art is a fact of life. You do not come out of the womb knowing how to do two point perspective and 3d shapes. You mess up doing 3d shapes each any every time until you get it and then move on to the next thing you’re not good at. There’s a common TIL leddit post about how Michaelangelo burnt all of his old works so nobody would know how bad he was when he was starting out. I don’t know how true that is, but that’s not a great mentality to have for your art. Seeing that bridge between your former self and current self is important for seeing self growth in your skills. Plus you won’t have those juicy likes and comments on instagram when you do the art redraw and show how far you come like how can you skimp on that you dingus.

All of the great content creators right now love showing off the shitty art they did as kids because it gives them a sense of progress in their work and their accomplishments and continues to drive them in their own works. (unless you’re rebecca sugar and drew ed edd and eddy shipping porn lol). Heck, some of them even take the stuff that was once cliche characters and expanded on them in their own Original Universe Donut Steel. And thanks to their own Original Universe Donut Steel, now tens of thousands of impressionable young artists can look at it and say “that’s awesome, but it would be way better if there was my own character...”.

OCs are weirdly one of the ultimate ways of fan expression where you enjoy the content so much you wish you were part of it. Even though it’s very disjointed and out of place, it’s usually done in a place of love for the franchise or the characters. So for those of you that are doing that still, keep at it I guess.

Fan art is sorta in the same way where you enjoy something so much that you want to replicate the style/themes/characters in your own or the content’s style. While not as extreme, it’s still in the same place of love and people generally like that more than original shit anyways so continue to make it so I can buy your posters at anime conventions without supporting the original creator lol.

If you want to harass me further for my sins against budding artists, I guess I’ll link my personal blog if anyone actually asks me. I also wrote this at 3 am so it is extremely unedited and awful but it’s the most “pure” for my usual diatribe. Consider it my first OC for the blog.

Good night, good life, and farewell.

#valve #terriblevalveartandocs #wow this dead blog finally got an obiturary #that's right grandma decided to haunt this blog and repeat this blog post to those who enter #came back from the dead to remind you i'm dead #but this is on my own terms death ahahahah #there go my dreams of being tumblr famous #i love all of my ...*looks at smuged handwriting* smefty hundred followers #NOW I CAN SLEEP #this was actually part of my repentance for church that my pastor assigned me #now i can get into heaven where i belong #also the real reason i stopped updating was because i was in prison for 3 years for cyberbullying #i hurt too many bronies feelings #thankfully i'm back and i ended up joining a brony prison gang #guess what my cutie mark is #why do i still think i'm funny

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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Dany’s appreciation (and criticism) of the Dothraki and Viserys

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

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend Dany's character in analysis or even conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find.

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

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

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

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

Would Dany’s return actually be good for the realm? She offers a fairly similar vision of Westeros to the Dothraki that her late husband Khal Drogo did back in season one, but for the common folk of Westeros, that would likely mean their homes and livelihood being destroyed by nomadic invaders with a penchant for violence. (x)

The problem is that Daenerys has come of age with Viserys and then the Dothraki: two parties who only ever cared about conquest. Maybe it’s too sweeping to say that conquest is always wrong. But, perhaps Daenerys needs to realize that war is rarely justified when it is just for one person’s glory. And I’m not sure that that will ever happen. (x)

Bonus from the same source linked above: Fundamentally, Daenerys has a good heart – and maybe Jon can show her the way.

Is Dany so lacking in moral conscience and critical thinking that she can't discern what's good and what's bad from the Dothraki and Viserys's influence? I would argue that the books tell a different story.

Also, fuck that person for saying that maybe Jon can show her the way (to goodness or peace or whatever). FUCK THAT PERSON.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

Dany set off through the tall grass at a brisk pace. The earth felt warm between her toes. The grass was as tall as she was. It never seemed so high when I was mounted on my silver, riding beside my sun-and-stars at the head of his khalasar.

Only the birth of her dragons amidst the fire and smoke of Khal Drogo’s funeral pyre had spared Dany herself from being dragged back to Vaes Dothrak to live out the remainder of her days amongst the crones of the dosh khaleen.

A few bright stars lingered in the cobalt sky. Perhaps one of them is Khal Drogo, sitting on his fiery stallion in the night lands and smiling down on me.

Would the horse god of the Dothraki part the grass and claim her for his starry khalasar, so she might ride the nightlands with Khal Drogo? In Westeros the dead of House Targaryen were given to the flames, but who would light her pyre here? My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.

She dreamt of her dead brother.

Viserys looked just as he had the last time she’d seen him. His mouth was twisted in anguish, his hair was burnt, and his face was black and smoking where the molten gold had run down across his brow and cheeks and into his eyes.

“You are dead,” Dany said.

Murdered. Though his lips never moved, somehow she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear. You never mourned me, sister. It is hard to die unmourned.

“I loved you once.”

Once, he said, so bitterly it made her shudder. You were supposed to be my wife, to bear me children with silver hair and purple eyes, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. I took care of you. I taught you who you were. I fed you. I sold our mother’s crown to keep you fed.

“You hurt me. You frightened me.”

Only when you woke the dragon. I loved you. “You sold me. You betrayed me.”

No. You were the betrayer. You turned against me, against your own blood. They cheated me. Your horsey husband and his stinking savages. They were cheats and liars. They promised me a golden crown and gave me this. He touched the molten gold that was creeping down his face, and smoke rose from his finger.

“You could have had your crown,” Dany told him. “My sun-and-stars would have won it for you if only you had waited.”

I waited long enough. I waited my whole life. I was their king, their rightful king. They laughed at me.

“You should have stayed in Pentos with Magister Illyrio. Khal Drogo had to present me to the dosh khaleen, but you did not have to ride with us. That was your choice. Your mistake.”

Do you want to wake the dragon, you stupid little whore? Drogo’s khalasar was mine. I bought them from him, a hundred thousand screamers. I paid for them with your maidenhead.

“You never understood. Dothraki do not buy and sell. They give gifts and receive them. If you had waited ...”

I did wait. For my crown, for my throne, for you. All those years, and all I ever got was a pot of molten gold. Why did they give the dragon’s eggs to you? They should have been mine. If I’d had a dragon, I would have taught the world the meaning of our words.

One rider, and alone. A scout. He was one who rode before the khalasar to find the game and the good green grass, and sniff out foes wherever they might hide. If he found her there, he would kill her, rape her, or enslave her. At best, he would send her back to the crones of the dosh khaleen, where good khaleesi were supposed to go when their khals had died.

ADWD Daenerys IX

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

ADWD Daenerys VII

“Have my silver saddled. I would not go to my lord husband upon the backs of bearers.”

ADWD Daenerys V

The day might come soon when she would have need of every knight. “Will they joust for me? I should like that.” Viserys had told her stories of the tourneys he had witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms, but Dany had never seen a joust herself.

“They are not ready, Your Grace. When they are, they will be pleased to demonstrate their prowess.”

Daario should be here, and my bloodriders, she thought. If there is to be a battle, the blood of my blood should be with me.

ADWD Daenerys IV

“Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him. If that’s the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr.”

Her anger flashed. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No. Have you?”

Viserys would have his head off for that insolence. “I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons.” When Dany stood, the lion pelt slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the ground. “Leave me.”

ADWD Daenerys III

“Dothraki make slaves, Ghiscari train them. And to reach Qarth, the horselords must needs drive their captives across the red waste. Hundreds would die, if not thousands … and many horses too, which is why no khal will risk it. And there is this: Qarth wants no khalasars seething round our walls. The stench of all those horses … meaning no offense, Khaleesi.”

“A horse has an honest smell. That is more than can be said of some great lords and merchant princes.”

ADWD Daenerys I

Dothraki were wise where horses were concerned, but could be utter fools about much else.

Daenerys pushed her hair back. “Find these cowards for me. Find them, so that I might teach the Harpy’s Sons what it means to wake the dragon.”

“Soldiers, not warriors, if it please Your Grace. They were made for the battlefield, to stand shoulder to shoulder behind their shields with their spears thrust out before them. Their training teaches them to obey, fearlessly, perfectly, without thought or hesitation ... not to unravel secrets or ask questions.”

“Would knights serve me any better?” [...]

“Not in this,” the old man admitted. “And Your Grace has no knights, save me. It will be years before the boys are ready.”

“Then who, if not Unsullied? Dothraki would be even worse.” Dothraki fought from horseback. Mounted men were of more use in open fields and hills than in the narrow streets and alleys of the city.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“When I sent you down into the sewers, part of me hoped I’d seen the last of you. It seemed a fitting end for liars, to drown in slavers’ filth. I thought the gods would deal with you, but instead you returned to me. My gallant knights of Westeros, an informer and a turncloak. My brother would have hanged you both.” Viserys, would have, anyway. She did not know what Rhaegar would have done.

Irri helped her slip from her court clothes and into more comfortable garb; baggy woolen breeches, a loose felted tunic, a painted Dothraki vest.

“Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver’s Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on.”

ASOS Daenerys V

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

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

ASOS Daenerys IV

She had made Jhogo, Aggo, and Rakharo her kos as well as her bloodriders, and just now she needed them more to command her Dothraki than to protect her person. Her khalasar was tiny, some thirty-odd mounted warriors, and most of them braidless boys and bentback old men. Yet they were all the horse she had, and she dared not go without them.

ASOS Daenerys III

Today she rode her silver, clad in horsehair pants and painted leather vest, a bronze medallion belt about her waist and two more crossed between her breasts. Irri and Jhiqui had braided her hair and hung it with a tiny silver bell whose chime sang of the Undying of Qarth, burned in their Palace of Dust.

ASOS Daenerys II

The old man had not wanted to sail to Astapor; nor did he favor buying this slave army. A queen should hear all sides before reaching a decision. That was why Dany had brought him with her to the Plaza of Pride, not to keep her safe. Her bloodriders would do that well enough.

And some had skins of the same amber hue as Kraznys mo Nakloz, and the bristly red-black hair that marked the ancient folk of Ghis, who named themselves the harpy’s sons. They sell even their own kind. It should not have surprised her. The Dothraki did the same, when khalasar met khalasar in the sea of grass.

Aggo and Jhogo fell in to either side of them, walking with the bowlegged swagger all the horselords affected when forced to dismount and stride the earth like common mortals.

She set her mouth grimly and gave her head a shake, and the bell in her braid chimed softly.

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

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

If the Milk Men thought her such a savage, she would dress the part for them. When she went to the stables, she wore faded sandsilk pants and woven grass sandals. Her small breasts moved freely beneath a painted Dothraki vest, and a curved dagger hung from her medallion belt. Jhiqui had braided her hair Dothraki-fashion, and fastened a silver bell to the end of the braid. “I have won no victories,” she tried telling her handmaid when the bell tinkled softly.

Jhiqui disagreed. “You burned the maegi in their house of dust and sent their souls to hell.”

That was Drogon’s victory, not mine, Dany wanted to say, but she held her tongue. The Dothraki would esteem her all the more for a few bells in her hair.

She chimed as she mounted her silver mare, and again with every stride [...] At least when she rode she felt as though she was getting somewhere.

Well, perhaps it was time. The people of her khalasar had welcomed the chance to recover from the ravages of the red waste, but now that they were plump and rested once again, they began to grow unruly. Dothraki were not accustomed to staying long in one place. They were a warrior people, not made for cities.

“I smell it, Khaleesi,” he called. “The poison water.” The Dothraki distrusted the sea and all that moved upon it. Water that a horse could not drink was water they wanted no part of. They will learn, Dany resolved. I braved their sea with Khal Drogo. Now they can brave mine.

ACOK Daenerys IV

Aggo put a hand on his arakh. “Khaleesi, it is said that many go into the Palace of Dust, but few come out.”

“It is said,” Jhogo agreed.

“We are blood of your blood,” said Aggo, “sworn to live and die as you do. Let us walk with you in this dark place, to keep you safe from harm.”

“Some places even a khal must walk alone,” Dany said.

The blood of the dragon must not be afraid. Dany said a quick prayer, begging the Warrior for courage and the Dothraki horse god for strength. She made herself walk forward.

ACOK Daenerys III

“A firemage, Khaleesi.”

“I want to see.”

“Then you must.” The Dothraki offered a hand down. When she took it, he pulled her up onto his horse and sat her in front of him, where she could see over the heads of the crowd. The firemage had conjured a ladder in the air, a crackling orange ladder of swirling flame that rose unsupported from the floor of the bazaar, reaching toward the high latticed roof.

Most of the spectators, she noticed, were not of the city: she saw sailors off trading ships, merchants come by caravan, dusty men out of the red waste, wandering soldiers, craftsmen, slavers. Jhogo slid one hand about her waist and leaned close. “The Milk Men shun him. Khaleesi, do you see the girl in the felt hat? There, behind the fat priest. She is a—”

ACOK Daenerys II

But before she could do that she must conquer.

[...]When Khal Drogo had lived, men trembled and made him gifts to stay his wrath. If they did not, he took their cities, wealth and wives and all. But his khalasar had been vast, while hers was meager. Her people had followed her across the red waste as she chased her comet, and would follow her across the poison water too, but they would not be enough. Even her dragons might not be enough. Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king ... but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things.

Her doubts made her shiver.

ACOK Daenerys I

“Your hair is coming back, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui said as she scraped sand off her back. Dany ran a hand over the top of her head, feeling the new growth. Dothraki men wore their hair in long oiled braids, and cut them only when defeated. Perhaps I should do the same, she thought, to remind them that Drogo’s strength lives within me now. Khal Drogo had died with his hair uncut, a boast few men could make.

“My handmaids say there are ghosts here.”

“There are ghosts everywhere,” Ser Jorah said softly. “We carry them with us wherever we go.”

Yes, she thought. Viserys, Khal Drogo, my son Rhaego, they are with me always.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys X

Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and look for the first star.

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

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

AGOT Daenerys IX

“It was her fate, Khaleesi,” said Aggo. 

If I look back I am lost. “It was a cruel fate,” Dany said, “yet not so cruel as Mago’s will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh.”

The memory of their first ride was with her when she led him out into the darkness, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done beneath the open sky. She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai. The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. She took that for an omen.

No soft blanket of grass welcomed them here, only the hard dusty ground, bare and strewn with stones. No trees stirred in the wind, and there was no stream to soothe her fears with the gentle music of water. Dany told herself that the stars would be enough. “Remember, Drogo,” she whispered. “Remember our first ride together, the day we wed. Remember the night we made Rhaego, with the khalasar all around us and your eyes on my face. Remember how cool and clean the water was in the Womb of the World. Remember, my sun-and-stars. Remember, and come back to me.”

AGOT Daenerys VIII

The child kicked inside her, as if he had heard. Dany remembered the story Viserys had told her, of what the Usurper’s dogs had done to Rhaegar’s children. His son had been a babe as well, yet they had ripped him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall. That was the way of men. “They must not hurt my son!” she cried.

“Khaleesi,” he pleaded, “you must not do this thing. Let me kill this maegi.”

“Kill her and you kill your khal,” Dany said.

“This is bloodmagic,” he said. “It is forbidden.”

“I am khaleesi, and I say it is not forbidden. In Vaes Dothrak, Khal Drogo slew a stallion and I ate his heart, to give our son strength and courage. This is the same. The same.”

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

AGOT Daenerys VII

Ser Jorah said the people of this country named themselves the Lhazareen, but the Dothraki called them haesh rakhi, the Lamb Men. Once Dany might have taken them for Dothraki, for they had the same copper skin and almond-shaped eyes. Now they looked alien to her, squat and flat-faced, their black hair cropped unnaturally short. They were herders of sheep and eaters of vegetables, and Khal Drogo said they belonged south of the river bend. The grass of the Dothraki sea was not meant for sheep.

“Jhogo, Quaro, you will aid Ser Jorah. I want no rape.”

The warriors exchanged a baffled look.

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

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

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

“It is known,” her handmaid Irri echoed.

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

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

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

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

All the while the man atop the lamb girl continued to plunge in and out of her, so intent on his pleasure that he seemed unaware of what was going on around him. Ser Jorah dismounted and wrenched him off with a mailed hand. The Dothraki went sprawling in the mud, bounced up with a knife in hand, and died with Aggo’s arrow through his throat.

A mounted warrior rode up and vaulted from his saddle. He spoke to Haggo, a stream of angry Dothraki too fast for Dany to understand. The huge bloodrider gave her a heavy look before he turned to his khal. “This one is Mago, who rides in the khas of Ko Jhaqo. He says the khaleesi has taken his spoils, a daughter of the lambs who was his to mount.”

Khal Drogo’s face was still and hard, but his black eyes were curious as they went to Dany. “Tell me the truth of this, moon of my life,” he commanded in Dothraki.

Dany told him what she had done, in his own tongue so the khal would understand her better, her words simple and direct.

When she was done, Drogo was frowning. “This is the way of war. These women are our slaves now, to do with as we please.”

“It pleases me to hold them safe,” Dany said, wondering if she had dared too much. “If your warriors would mount these women, let them take them gently and keep them for wives. Give them places in the khalasar and let them bear you sons.”

Qotho was ever the cruelest of the bloodriders. It was he who laughed. “Does the horse breed with the sheep?”

Something in his tone reminded her of Viserys. Dany turned on him angrily. “The dragon feeds on horse and sheep alike.”

Khal Drogo smiled. “See how fierce she grows!” he said. “It is my son inside her, the stallion who mounts the world, filling her with his fire. Ride slowly, Qotho ... if the mother does not burn you where you sit, the son will trample you into the mud. And you, Mago, hold your tongue and find another lamb to mount. These belong to my khaleesi.”

AGOT Daenerys VI

She had never seen the Seven Kingdoms either, no more than Drogo, yet she felt as though she knew them from all the tales her brother had told her. Viserys had promised her a thousand times that he would take her back one day, but he was dead now and his promises had died with him.

The day was warm and cloudless, the sky a deep blue. When the wind blew, she could smell the rich scents of grass and earth. As her litter passed beneath the stolen monuments, she went from sunlight to shadow and back again. Dany swayed along, studying the faces of dead heroes and forgotten kings. She wondered if the gods of burned cities could still answer prayers. If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old ... and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman ... but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.

AGOT Daenerys V

A procession followed them out onto the godsway, the broad grassy road that ran through the heart of Vaes Dothrak, from the horse gate to the Mother of Mountains. The crones of the dosh khaleen came first, with their eunuchs and slaves. Some supported themselves with tall carved staffs as they struggled along on ancient, shaking legs, while others walked as proud as any horselord. Each of the old women had been a khaleesi once. When their lord husbands died and a new khal took his place at the front of his riders, with a new khaleesi mounted beside him, they were sent here, to reign over the vast Dothraki nation. Even the mightiest of khals bowed to the wisdom and authority of the dosh khaleen. Still, it gave Dany the shivers to think that one day she might be sent to join them, whether she willed it or no.

“He has no gold to pay soldiers. What if he’s betrayed?” Caravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head.

“Then ... he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother ... and my true king.”

“He is your brother,” Ser Jorah acknowledged.

“You do not understand, ser,” she said. “My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have.” “Once,” said Ser Jorah. “No longer, Khaleesi. You belong to the Dothraki now. In your womb rides the stallion who mounts the world.”

AGOT Daenerys IV

Beyond the horse gate, plundered gods and stolen heroes loomed to either side of them. The forgotten deities of dead cities brandished their broken thunderbolts at the sky as Dany rode her silver past their feet. Stone kings looked down on her from their thrones, their faces chipped and stained, even their names lost in the mists of time. Lithe young maidens danced on marble plinths, draped only in flowers, or poured air from shattered jars. Monsters stood in the grass beside the road; black iron dragons with jewels for eyes, roaring griffins, manticores with their barbed tails poised to strike, and other beasts she could not name. Some of the statues were so lovely they took her breath away, others so misshapen and terrible that Dany could scarcely bear to look at them. Those, Ser Jorah said, had likely come from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai.

“So many,” she said as her silver stepped slowly onward, “and from so many lands.”

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

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

“The dragon speaks as he likes,” Viserys said ... in the Common Tongue. He glanced over his shoulder at Aggo and Rakharo, riding behind them, and favored them with a mocking smile. “See, the savages lack the wit to understand the speech of civilized men.”

“I will give my brother his gifts tonight,” she decided as Jhiqui was washing her hair. “He should look a king in the sacred city. Doreah, run and find him and invite him to sup with me.”

[...] While her handmaids prepared the meal, Dany laid out the clothing she’d had made to her brother’s measure: a tunic and leggings of crisp white linen, leather sandals that laced up to the knee, a bronze medallion belt, a leather vest painted with fire-breathing dragons. The Dothraki would respect him more if he looked less a beggar, she hoped, and perhaps he would forgive her for shaming him that day in the grass. He was still her king, after all, and her brother. They were both blood of the dragon.

She was arranging the last of his gifts—a sandsilk cloak, green as grass, with a pale grey border that would bring out the silver in his hair—when Viserys arrived, dragging Doreah by the arm.

“Look. These are for you.”

Viserys frowned suspiciously. “What is all this?”

“New raiment. I had it made for you.” Dany smiled shyly.

He looked at her and sneered. “Dothraki rags. Do you presume to dress me now?”

“Please ... you’ll be cooler and more comfortable, and I thought ... maybe if you dressed like them, the Dothraki ... ” Dany did not know how to say it without waking his dragon.

“Next you’ll want to braid my hair.”

“I’d never ... ” Why was he always so cruel? She had only wanted to help. “You have no right to a braid, you have won no victories yet.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Fury shone from his lilac eyes, yet he dared not strike her, not with her handmaids watching and the warriors of her khas outside. Viserys picked up the cloak and sniffed at it. “This stinks of manure. Perhaps I shall use it as a horse blanket.”

“I had Doreah sew it specially for you,” she told him, wounded. “These are garments fit for a khal.” “I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not some grass-stained savage with bells in his hair,” Viserys spat back at her. He grabbed her arm. “You forget yourself, slut. Do you think that big belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”

His fingers dug into her arm painfully and for an instant Dany felt like a child again, quailing in the face of his rage. She reached out with her other hand and grabbed the first thing she touched, the belt she’d hoped to give him, a heavy chain of ornate bronze medallions. She swung it with all her strength.

It caught him full in the face. Viserys let go of her. Blood ran down his cheek where the edge of one of the medallions had sliced it open. “You are the one who forgets himself,” Dany said to him. “Didn’t you learn anything that day in the grass? Leave me now, before I summon my khas to drag you out. And pray that Khal Drogo does not hear of this, or he will cut open your belly and feed you your own entrails.”

AGOT Daenerys III

“Wait here,” Dany told Ser Jorah. “Tell them all to stay. Tell them I command it.”

The knight smiled. Ser Jorah was not a handsome man. He had a neck and shoulders like a bull, and coarse black hair covered his arms and chest so thickly that there was none left for his head. Yet his smiles gave Dany comfort. “You are learning to talk like a queen, Daenerys.”

“Not a queen,” said Dany. “A khaleesi.” She wheeled her horse about and galloped down the ridge alone.

The descent was steep and rocky, but Dany rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of it were a song in her heart. All her life Viserys had told her she was a princess, but not until she rode her silver had Daenerys Targaryen ever felt like one.

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

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

As the riding became less an ordeal, Dany began to notice the beauties of the land around her. She rode at the head of the khalasar with Drogo and his bloodriders, so she came to each country fresh and unspoiled. Behind them the great horde might tear the earth and muddy the rivers and send up clouds of choking dust, but the fields ahead of them were always green and verdant.

By then her agony was a fading memory. She still ached after a long day’s riding, yet somehow the pain had a sweetness to it now, and each morning she came willingly to her saddle, eager to know what wonders waited for her in the lands ahead. She began to find pleasure even in her nights, and if she still cried out when Drogo took her, it was not always in pain.

At the bottom of the ridge, the grasses rose around her, tall and supple. Dany slowed to a trot and rode out onto the plain, losing herself in the green, blessedly alone. In the khalasar, she was never alone. Khal Drogo came to her only after the sun went down, but her handmaids fed her and bathed her and slept by the door of her tent, Drogo’s bloodriders and the men of her khas were never far, and her brother was an unwelcome shadow, day and night. Dany could hear him on the top of the ridge, his voice shrill with anger as he shouted at Ser Jorah. She rode on, submerging herself deeper in the Dothraki sea.

The green swallowed her up. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the smell of horseflesh and Dany’s sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells. They seemed to belong here. Dany breathed it all in, laughing. She had a sudden urge to feel the ground beneath her, to curl her toes in that thick black soil. Swinging down from her saddle, she let the silver graze while she pulled off her high boots.

“Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!”

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

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

“Wise child.” The knight smiled.

“I am no child,” she told him fiercely. Her heels pressed into the sides of her mount, rousing the silver to a gallop. Faster and faster she raced, leaving Jorah and Irri and the others far behind, the warm wind in her hair and the setting sun red on her face. By the time she reached the khalasar, it was dusk.

There is no privacy in the heart of the khalasar. Dany felt the eyes on her as she undressed him, heard the soft voices as she did the things that Doreah had told her to do. It was nothing to her. Was she not khaleesi? His were the only eyes that mattered, and when she mounted him she saw something there that she had never seen before. She rode him as fiercely as ever she had ridden her silver, and when the moment of his pleasure came, Khal Drogo called out her name.

AGOT Daenerys II

She was a young filly, spirited and splendid. Dany knew just enough about horses to know that this was no ordinary animal. There was something about her that took the breath away. She was grey as the winter sea, with a mane like silver smoke.

Hesitantly she reached out and stroked the horse’s neck, ran her fingers through the silver of her mane. Khal Drogo said something in Dothraki and Magister Illyrio translated. “Silver for the silver of your hair, the khal says.”

“She’s beautiful,” Dany murmured. 

“She is the pride of the khalasar,” Illyrio said. “Custom decrees that the khaleesi must ride a mount worthy of her place by the side of the khal.”

Drogo stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her up as easily as if she were a child and set her on the thin Dothraki saddle, so much smaller than the ones she was used to. Dany sat there uncertain for a moment. No one had told her about this part. “What should I do?” she asked Illyrio.

It was Ser Jorah Mormont who answered. “Take the reins and ride. You need not go far.”

Nervously Dany gathered the reins in her hands and slid her feet into the short stirrups. She was only a fair rider; she had spent far more time traveling by ship and wagon and palanquin than by horseback. Praying that she would not fall off and disgrace herself, she gave the filly the lightest and most timid touch with her knees.

And for the first time in hours, she forgot to be afraid. Or perhaps it was for the first time ever.

The silver-grey filly moved with a smooth and silken gait, and the crowd parted for her, every eye upon them. Dany found herself moving faster than she had intended, yet somehow it was exciting rather than terrifying. The horse broke into a trot, and she smiled. Dothraki scrambled to clear a path. The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. She sent it into a gallop, and now the Dothraki were hooting and laughing and shouting at her as they jumped out of her way. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. They were hemmed in on either side, with no room to stop. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.

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

When she pulled up before Magister Illyrio, she said, “Tell Khal Drogo that he has given me the wind.” The fat Pentoshi stroked his yellow beard as he repeated her words in Dothraki, and Dany saw her new husband smile for the first time.

The last sliver of sun vanished behind the high walls of Pentos to the west just then. Dany had lost all track of time.

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

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