#but unlike in dragon tales!!!!! it does not need to be both the characters in my scene touching the necklace at the same time

[wickedhawtwexler]

me, in the notes of my nanowrimo project that is 75% lost and 25% final destination: unfortunately this scene is NOT like hit children's cartoon dragon tales—

[alienskittless]

The Mystery of Aaravos and my personal problem with it.

This is going to be very long so hold on tight

Don't get me wrong, I love this show. I have little drawings of the characters in my notebooks and my friend and me are always talking about what's going to happen in the next season. The characters are so funny and cool, the story line is very interesting and it's good to binge with friends or family.

This show, while being very visually pleasing and having a thought-provoking story, is not exactly written very well. I will say it plainly, it is rather bland and repetitive.

Let's compare it to a show like House M.D. While House M.D. is not a kid's show and is repetitive on purpose, but does follow a very similar writing scheme. Unlike The Dragon Prince, it shows a different plot every episode and has an overarching plot every season. However, it focuses on one special person (wink wink nudge nudge Dr. House) to be the plot driver, the fan favorite, and universally untouchable character that everything revolves around. Who does that remind you of? Aaravos. Maybe even Viren and Callum, though they're regular antagonist-protagonist characters and are not as neutral and protected as Aaravos is. Aaravos is the only thing keeping this show alive. Oh, maybe Terry? Rayla and Callum? Runaan and Ethari's reunion? What about them? ALL of this relies on Aaravos. Much like Dr. House, his actions and his words are what drive the plot, and he doesn't need to do anything but lift a finger. I would be sitting on the edge of my seat because it's so mysterious and I am actually interested in Aaravos's character and his actions. Now that I know too much about him it's bland to me. I know WHY he's leaving the world in shambles, I know WHY he wants to control Callum. This trope only really works if it's a character made important earlier (e.g. if Aaravos was the protagonist) and the corruption arc is the actual plot. The least that could have been done was reveal the fact that Leola was his daughter and that she died throughout the season and make season 6 ABOUT Leola. Instead it was revealed to me in a rush and there's so much in the blue that should have been told to us before. This is like House M.D. where so much information is revealed all at once that the mysterious and powerful Gregory House kind of becomes this creepy and irresponsible Vicodin addict. Long story short, Aaravos was interesting and the show would be great if he was still interesting. In fact there was a better way to reveal his motives and he would still be interesting.

This obviously is made for kids. I will not forget that. However, I was nine when this show first aired. I still thought it was kind of repetitive. Let's compare it to another show I watched when I was nine! Avatar: The Last Airbender. I know, it gets compared a lot, but that's why this is important. ATLA and TDP go hand in hand. You can't not relate them to each other if you've watched both. Hell, they have some of the same writers and voice actors! But TDP's similarities to ATLA currently aren't what needs to be similar. Firstly, TDP likes to make references to ATLA a lot. Callum is a very big example, as the writers take him as an opportunity to reference Sokka. Aaron Ehasz obviously wants to make TDP as similar as possible to ATLA as he can without making it look like it. What he NEEDS to do to make it similar is to stop making references and using the same sort of plot (guy is trapped in a bubble/prison and causes havoc when he gets out) and start using what is GOOD about the show's writing. ATLA has amazing filler episodes. The Ember Island play episode, the beach party episode, the Tales of Ba Sing Se episode. Along with so many others, it connects a lighthearted break from the intense plot while also adding to it and the show's lore. TDP does none of this. No, really. They have no filler episodes. It is all just plot straight to your face. It doesn't take a break and it feels jarring to watch.

Another thing ATLA does well is it builds up relationships instead of shoving them in your face. Sure, Zuko and Mai were kind of unexpected, but they eventually break up and then work up to becoming a couple again. Even if they were sudden, they made sense. Both emo nobles somehow related to Azula, who were never really loved or accepted. Now Aang and Katara are a perfect example of a well-written young couple (we will forget that Aang ended up abusing her when they got married). They became friends, had moments with a lot of romantic tension that was necessary (like the secret tunnel episode where they almost kissed), and they also had bumpy ends that led to them having a stronger romantic bond. Besides that, I couldn't see them as friends at all. They were meant and set up to be a couple. Meanwhile, with Rayla and Callum, making them a couple was not necessary. Sure, I think it's very cute, but the whole story would be the same without them becoming a couple. Let's plug them into the whole Katara and Aang thing. Did they become friends? Yes. Did they have moments of romantic tension when it was necessary? No (and this is mainly moments in season 3) and they had no drive to the episode's and story's plot. The only scene where this was applicable was the dancing to get into the silvergrove scene and it didn't have to be romantic. Did they have bumpy ends? Yes. Did this end up giving them a stronger bond? No, when Rayla left him for two years it only weakened both Callum's and Rayla's trust. They are probably going to end up hurting each other. When I saw the episode where they first kissed I was so confused. I thought they might have been awkward and that in the oasis Callum was being a good friend and comforting her. Kissing her was fanservice and had no actual point of being there. The scene where Rayla and Callum are talking about how their love is forbidden and what the dragon queen will think, that is applicable as friendship as it is strange even to be friends with the other race. It became more important in arc 2 but arc 2 could have had the same point if it was about Rayla and Callum's friendship. Now, Terry and Claudia. They give me mixed messages. They're cute, but how did they even meet? I have so many unanswered questions. The only couples that makes sense are unfortunately the adults. Viren and Aaravos, while not canonically a couple, very obviously have romantic subtext that adds to Aaravos's eerie effect on people. Sarai and Harrow's relationship actively effected Callum's childhood and what he grew up to be. Runaan and Ethari are the same for Rayla.

Overall, I love The Dragon Prince. It's so silly and I like to theorize and make memes about the characters. However, it is not my favorite piece of media and it is not meant for deep thinking like other kid's shows are.

[xxbyimm]

Here's a bunch of questions for the Writer Ask Game:

⭐️- how do you get your inspiration?

💘- what’s your favorite AU? Least favorite?

☕️- favorite passage

Hey 😊!

Ooh interesting questions!! Let's go:

⭐️- how do you get your inspiration? Well... I mean... Thorin's 🍑 is a huge inspiration of mine. 😂😂 But jokes (not really) aside, for me inspiration is to be found everywhere! It ranges from listening to a song, to reading fics from my talented writers friends, to watching series/movies or reading a book, and finally to day dreaming (an excessive lot of it). And when I'm stuck, discussing a plot with my s/o (poor guy) or friends really helps me to find my way again.

💘- what’s your favorite AU? Least favorite? My favorite AU is the "Everybody Lives" AU, which is, to be honest, not even a real AU. Since it is, you know, a fact. So, if I had to choose another one, I'd say "regency" AU, cause I LOVE my period dramas and regency men/dwarves are SOMETHING!! 🤩🥰

My least favorite would be the "modern" AU, and then I mean in the most drastic way (characters are living their lives in this world, ME does not exist). Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of lovely fics to find in this category which I love. But I think it has to do with the fact that I adore Tolkien's universe so much: the modern world becomes so... mundane (also, a serious lack of dragons 🐉!!).

☕️- favorite passage This passage is from A Tale as Old as Time, my Bard the Bowman x OC fic! "But Bard… Bard was entirely something else. Brea adored the bowman’s confidence and strong sense of self and found that unlike other men his age, these characteristics didn’t make him presumptuous; his bright mind and clear moral compass simply forbade it. Bard had already made it through the trials of young age and came out the wiser, allowing him to be both gentle and fierce when needed. And though he would beg to differ if he knew, Brea believed his company to be as exciting as Ruthron’s had been—maybe even more—though in his own, calm way. He simply was everything a man ought to be."

I don't think this is the best passage I've ever written (oh yeah I see the flaws), but it clearly shows my vision of the character and my adoration for him. 🙈🥰

Thank you so much for asking ❤❤❤❤

[pumpkinsaskblog]

Thornmint is the guardian dragon of the Silvan Woods, a place in Siivalia said to hold one of the Pylons. He's a character in my other story that I still need a name for? (For now I think I'll just call it Tales of Siivalia?) He has both ice, and plant magic, and is able to control vines and flowers. Unlike most dragons, he doesn't have wings and is rather short by the standards of a dragon. (He is 6 ft. 4 in.)

Do not harm the flowers.

Personality

Distrustful of most

Very frank

Arrogant and quick to annoy

Can be rude and easy to provoke if he doesn't trust someone (so most people)

Will attack if there is even a chance someone has malicious intent

If he does trust you, he can be very hospitable, and does enjoy talking to people

Can be wise

Hope that's enough to go off of!

Character design! I am naming him Thornmint ~

Some sketches too below.

[probably-haven]

So i was reading venti’s wiki again- as one does, for totally random reasons- and i perceived this line: “ Venti was never able to give that feather to the lad, for that lad had fallen in the battle for the sake of song, sky, and birds, and for the people who, like him, had dwelled within the storm-wall.”

which reminded me of the storybook cutscene about the first flying birds from Amber’s story quest- and my connection fueled mind came upon the following realization

The story of the birds seems an awful lot like a metaphor for the rebellion against Decarabian to me- which i know i dwell on that a lot but hear me out

these are the exact lines from the cutscene:

When the first wisp of wind brushed across the land Birds that yearned for the sky had wings But no way to fly They asked the Anemo God: "How can we reach the heavens?" To which the Anemo God replied: "You have yet to find that which is most important" As the God spoke, the wind thrust the seeds of a dandelion High into the sky The birds thrust out their wings But the breeze was all too mild Leaving them to stumble across the earth So they went to the gorge Where the wind showed off its wild and incomparable strength They threw themselves off the cliff And flapped their wings amongst the howling winds Until they were able to fly freely in the sky To the Anemo God they went, to gleefully say: "We understand now! All we needed was a stronger wind to fly" In reply the Anemo God said: "What you lacked was not wind, but courage" "It is courage that has allowed you to become the first flying birds of this world"

Now consider the following parallels

The birds being a placeholder for the people of Old Mondstadt  Wind being a kind of placeholder for power or divinity The sky/heavens being freedom  the gorge/cliff being the confrontation with Decarabian And courage(”that which is most important”) being both the literal meaning of courage, but also the nameless bard

now, as much as i would like to skip stones and say “imagine if venti wrote it,” it doesn’t fit with the typical writing style for most of the things we know are written by Venti, which tend to have a fair amount more rhyming and a more regular rhythm. 

However, we don’t recognize the voice, and in genshin the person voicing a cutscene tends to be the person telling it or who wrote it so- hear me out.  Gunnhildr. 

now a while back ago i made a post about the roles of a few characters within the rebellion, and i think this fits oddly well. Sharing in the responsibility of subtly commemoration the events that happened. 

-

but anyway now that that explanation is out of the way, may I propose to you a few things:

Venti who finds out after waking up from another one of his long ass naps(the one shortly before the events of the game to be specific) that the story made by another one of his old friends still exists and is still popularly known today, not yet faded from Mondstadt’s memory(unlike a certain dragon, amirite?), although it had admittedly been simplified to a children’s tale. But regardless it still exists as a physical reminder of his memory. 

Plus Venti just seems like the kind of guy who would be pretty fond of children’s stories anyway, and i can’t believe it took me this long and a literal concrete example to realize that headcanon

Venti who puts copies of the storybook in random places in the library just to be a little shit, and Lisa who now automatically knows the culprit whenever she realizes this has happened(and also greatly wonders where tf Venti gets so many copies like damn)

Venti who hears some grown ass person being all angsty and troubled in the corner of Angel’s Share and, with the most serious expression on his face, slides a fucking children’s book across the table as if it were the Knights of Favonius’s most confidential files. 

just- vibes

[sokkastyles]

Zutara Month Day 10: Oma and Shu

I’ve seen some people point out that Zutara doesn’t necessarily fit Oma and Shu because the Oma and Shu myth is more Romeo and Juliet than enemies to lovers, and those people are not necessarily wrong. Romeo and Juliet, just like Oma and Shu, were never themselves enemies. They did nothing but love each other, but were forbidden from being together because of the feud. Zutara, in most interpretations, is less a “forbidden” romance and more a transition from enemies to friends to lovers. Most people imagine them growing to love each other after becoming friends, often after Zuko’s redemption and the end of the war. Nonetheless, the Oma and Shu story does share several parallels with Zutara that many fans have picked up on. What I want to do is examine some of these parallels from a meta angle, to look at the Oma and Shu story as it appears in the series and other similar stories that appear in ATLA, and to also compare them to similar stories in the real world, and analyze a bit the popularity of these various tales of forbidden love, why they are popular, and what their purpose is, as well as how Zutara fits into all this.

In universe, the Oma and Shu story, in addition to being a love story, is also an origin myth of sorts for the Earth Kingdom. It explains the creation of the city of Omashu, as well as telling the story of some of the first humans to learn earthbending. The message of the story, in addition to being a tale about love thriving between two unlikely people, and a cautionary tale about what happens when love is prevented from flourishing, is also a message about love being an act of creation and a force of transformation.

Love is brightest in the dark.

This sentence is a paradox, but it fits with the theme of balance that the show comes back to again and again, of breaking down barriers and deconstructing dichotomies to create something new, something more whole than the original. Something mirroring the harmony of yin and yang.

The greatest illusion of this world is the illusion of separation. Things you think are separate and different are actually one and the same. We are all one people, but we live as if divided.

The above quote by Guru Pathik is also similar to Iroh’s philosophy, which he tries to teach Zuko.

It is important to draw wisdom from many different places. If you take it from only one place, it becomes rigid and stale. Understanding others, the other elements, and the other nations will help you become whole.

Iroh also says something in “The Crossroads of Destiny” that echoes the Oma and Shu story.

Iroh: Perfection and power are overrated. I think you were very wise to choose happiness and love.

Aang: What happens if we can't save anyone and beat Azula? Without the Avatar State, what if I'm not powerful enough?

Iroh: I don't know the answer. Sometimes, life is like this dark tunnel. You can't always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you just keep moving, [Aang earthbends the rocks away one last time. Iroh's fire blows out. He smiles.] you will come to a better place.

Iroh says that Aang is wise to choose love over power, while walking through a dark tunnel, and advises Aang to trust in the darkness to bring him to the light. Meanwhile, Zuko and Katara, two people on opposite sides of a war, share a moment of unlikely tenderness in a cave lit by glowing crystals.

Zuko in the crystal catacombs does what Iroh has been trying to teach him to do, to let go of pride and the need for power, and to instead embrace compassion and humility. Which is what he does when he apologizes to Katara. This is also part of what stories like Romeo and Juliet teach us, that pride and petty grievances are destructive, and that only by embracing love do we become whole.

I know the prompt is Oma and Shu, but thinking about that story and its place in the narrative made me think about other mythic stories that appear in the series, so let’s look at another one that has significance for zutara: Love Amongst the Dragons, Ursa’s favorite play that she took young Zuko and Azula to see every year.

The actual story of Love Amongst the Dragons, according to the ATLA wiki, is this:

The play features the Dragon Emperor, bound to mortal form by the Dark Water Spirit, and forced to adopt the alias of Noren. The humble experience results in Noren falling in love with a mortal, and through this love he is able to break free of his curse. The play concludes with Noren defeating the Dark Water Spirit and embracing his mortal girlfriend, revealed to be the Dragon Empress.

What struck me when I found this description was that this is, with some slight changes, pretty much the Chinese myth of the marriage between Dragon and Phoenix, a representation for yin and yang and harmony in marriage, and which I compared in a meta to zutara as well.

Like the Oma and Shu story, it is a story about unlikely love, and about crossing divisions. It also has a lot of similarities with various myths involving shapeshifting love-interests, often referred to as “animal bride/husband” myths (which beauty and the beast is a subset of).

The symbolism of the tale in-universe is in its connection to Ursa, and thus Zuko’s connection to his mother. Zuko’s connection to his mother is contrasted with his connection to his father, which is representative of Zuko’s destructive side. When Zuko was trying to capture the Avatar, he was searching for his father’s approval, to become someone that would earn his father’s love. Ursa, meanwhile, taught Zuko kindness and compassion, and told him that it didn’t matter that he wasn’t the most powerful or strong. That Ursa took Zuko to see this particular play is significant, a play about a godlike being, the Dragon Emperor, being humbled and learning to love.

Only with your glory hidden in false form could you recognize my devotion.

Though different, and originating in a different nation, this is another tale about love shining through the dark, about letting go of pride and choosing compassion. Animal bride/husband myths are often about seeing past what is hidden to see the truth. They are stories of transformation, and like the Oma and Shu story, are about the transformative power of love.

It’s also from this play that Zuko gets his Blue Spirit alter ego, which Zuko uses as an exploration of his own identity apart from being the Fire Nation prince. In this story the same mask is worn by the villainous Dark Water Spirit. It is very interesting that Zuko uses an identity associated with water for this purpose. Also, like the Blue Spirit, the Dark Water Spirit seems to be a bit on the morally ambiguous side. Even though the spirit is defeated at the end of the story, its motivation for transforming the Dragon Emperor seems to be to teach him humility, and this is a message the play seems to promote.

Zuko and Azula’s dialogue from the above comic pages is interesting because it expands on what we already know about both characters. Zuko complains about always having to play the villain, just as he was made a scapegoat by his father and sister, and his adapting of the Blue Spirit identity is essentially him reclaiming that identity that was forced on him while trying to figure out who he really is. Azula sees herself as the Dragon Emperor, but she misunderstands the message of the story completely, and it’s not a coincidence that she talks over the love scene in the comic above and responds angrily and pridefully to the man who tries to shush her. Similar to Ozai when he names himself the Phoenix King, ironically misinterpreting the actual myth. I also think there’s something interesting to say about gender here, as this post points out. Not only does Ozai associate himself with a female figure, but Azula associates herself with the male Dragon Emperor, while Zuko is associated with the more feminine water spirit (water being a feminine element.) However, by the end of the series, Zuko embodies the transformed Dragon Emperor, while Katara I associated before with the Phoenix/Dragon Empress, as she is associated with healing and rebirth. Also notice the red and blue color coding in the comic page above, both with the Water Spirit and Dragon Emperor and in the coloring of the two lovers.

This also brings me to another play present in the series, the play that the gaang goes to see performed by the Ember Island Players. The same players that Zuko says his mother took him to see. The play we see them put on in the series is a Fire Nation propaganda play, promoting Ozai and the war. I actually can’t imagine that Love Amongst the Dragons, a play about a Dragon Emperor learning humility, was very popular during Ozai’s reign. We hear about it being performed before Ozai became Fire Lord, but we can assume that those visits to the theatre stopped after Ursa’s disappearance. The only other time we hear about that particular play being performed is after the end of the war. This leads me to imagine that it was necessary for the Ember Island Players to find a different play to perform while Ozai was in charge. While the play is not necessarily subverting Fire Nation superiority (the villain is a water spirit, after all), it is confrontational enough that I can imagine Ozai’s brand of narcissism seeing it as a challenge to his authority. Ozai who disdained love in favor of power and control.

“The Boy in the Iceberg” contains another love story between two people from opposite sides in their depiction of Zuko and Katara in the crystal catacombs. I wrote before about how I’ve seen interpretations of this that say that the Fire Nation was trying to portray zutara as an “inferior” Water Tribe woman falling for a “superior” Fire Nation man - essentially saying that the play is in favor of zutara as a piece of Fire Nation pro-colonization propaganda - but the problem with this is that that isn’t how zutara is depicted in the play. The play mocks zutara by portraying Zuko as submissive and subservient to Aang, and Zuko is later killed, as he is currently a traitor and threat to the Fire Nation. Thus, the “romance” between Zuko and Katara is not being depicted as supporting the superior masculinity of Fire Nation men, but rather portraying Zuko, who willingly chose to dissasociate himself with the Fire Nation, as emasculated and submissive to other, “lesser” men and aggressive “foreign” women.

This is a complete mockery of the real connection that Zuko and Katara had in the catacombs, the kind of love that is inherently subversive because it requires Zuko humbling himself in front of Katara and admitting that he was wrong, and working for her forgiveness. It is the kind of love that the Fire Nation under Ozai’s rule rejects. The kind of love that is truly transformative, revelatory, and brings light to the darkness. The kind of love that creates rather than destroys, that unifies rather than divides. That is humble and not prideful. That’s the appeal of zutara.

[fgodump]

Connections to “The Poppy War”

The setting and characters to The Poppy War has derived a lot of inspiration from historical events and myths alike. This is meant to discuss which characters have a relation to those preexisting. Of course, you do not need to know this information to enjoy the books, but I think knowing them will elevate your reading experience. None of this information is official. This is just the conclusions I came to while reading. Feel free to make comments

MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ALL BOOKS

Locations

Nikara: Qing Dynasty. 

Mugen: Japan (Meiji Period)

Hesperia: Britain

The Hinterlands: Mongolia (unsure)

Murui: Yellow River

Tianshan: Kunlun

The different provinces were based off the Chinese Zodiac

The Poppy Wars: the Opium wars, as they have the heavy involvement of foreign invaders

Fang Runin: Rin’s character does not seem to take from a specific person, however the wiki stats that she was inspired by multiple people, such as Azula from ATLA and Mao Zedong

Chen Kitay: It's pretty obvious his character is inspired by Zhuge Liang in Romance of the Three kingdoms. In actual history, he wasn't that much, but in the book, Zhuge was a monster at strategy. 

In the first book, Irjah proposes a question, which Kitay replies “to bait the enemy into giving them arrows by rolling out a boat of strawmen”. This is something that Zhuge did as well.

Sring Venka: Honestly I'm blanking on Venka. I think perhaps Venka isnt supposed to represent a character at all, but instead all the comfort women and victims of the Rape of Nanking, based on what happened to her during Golyn niis. 

Yang Souji: He and his group the “Iron Wolves” remind me so much of the Shinsengumi. He even shares a name with Okita Souji, the captain of the first unit. 

The Shinsungumi were also nicknamed “The wolves of Mibu”

I know the glaring problem with this is that the Shisungumi are Japanese, and should have been Mugini in this book, but I think these parallels are pretty cool in any case.

Chiang Moag- Ching Shih. Woah, as soon as I heard Lady Pirate, it was undeniable who Moag is. Ching Shih, the most famous pirate in China perhaps, and she was a woman.

Their backstories share similarities too. Ching shih was a prostitute, just like rumors around Moag. 

The Cike: During the Zhou Dynasty, Wu Zetian (China’s only female emperor) had a secret police force that assassinated everyone she needed. This sounds incredibly similar to the way Daji used the Cike. 

Altan Trengsin: I believe that Altan is like Rin; either an amalgamation of many characters or simply someone Kuang made for the sake of the story.

Ramsa: I believe him to be Nikara’s representation of the creation of fireworks. Not based off a person, but instead one of the Four great inventions of China. Or maybe I’m looking too far into it lol, since he doesn't strike me as being inspired from a myth, since he is not a shaman

Baji: Zhu Bajie of Journey to the West. Based on his description and his name, I had him guessed before they even said anything about pig.

His weapon is even the same as Bajie’s, a nine-toothed rake. 

He also shares his desires, both of them being lusty for beautiful women

Suni: Sun Wukong. I had him guessed by his name as well. Although I believe the connection to be true, I cannot help but feel disappointed that the avatar of Sun Wukong was killed off so easily

The traits that these two characters share are pretty different, much more different than Baji had Bajie. 

For one, Suni is generally calm when he is not being taken over by his god, and is pretty gentle and nice actually. This is very unlike Sun Wukong, and also the reason why I think Suni was a bad body for Wukong to take over, since I think their desires do not match up like Rin and Phoenix

Aratasha: The last in the trio, Sha Wujing. I was confused at first, since Aratasha is no fighter, but I realized his name sounds incredibly similar to Sha Wujing. Wujing was a sand river demon in JTTW, so I don’t think it was a stretch to believe that Aratasha was based off of him (his god is a river god, after all)

Plus, Aratasha died before Baji and Suni did. Wujing in JTTW was weaker than both of his companions. 

Chaghan and Qara Suren: This may be a stretch, but I think Chaghan was inspired from Genghis khan. Gengis Kahn united the Mongols, like Chaghan united the Ketreids and Naimads. Even though the time period would be centuries apart (Genghis 1206, Qing Dynasty 1644-1912), it is the most likely option. It is unrecorded whether Gengis had any sisters, so I believe that Qara was made for the sake of plot (anchor). 

Yin Family: The entire Yin family was taken from the story of Nezha. You can read more about the original story by searching his name in Wikipedia. R F Kuang kept a lot of things from the original tale, and these notes are what I have noticed

Yin Vaisra- Li Jing. Li Jing was also a great general, and in other stories, he was the head general in the Jade Emperor's Heavenly Army. If you know about “Journey to the West”, it was him who attempted to subdue Sun Wukong. 

Yin Saikhara- Lady Yin

*its interesting how Kuang decided to make the mother’s name the family name for the Yins. Originally, I would have thought it was Li instead.

Muzha and Jinzha’s name were lifted directly from the source material

Mingzha is a character Kuang added, for Li Jing only had three sons (or 2 sons and a daughter in this case). There is no source material for how Muzha and Jinzha’s characters are; even in adaptations we rarely get to see any exploration of them.

Yin Nezha- Nezha:

Yin Nezha, like his original counterpart, was the third child of his father. Since Muzha was changed to a female, he is actually the second son. 

He has the powers of the Dragon of the Western river (TBG 392), likely referring to the White Dragon in myths, who is the dragon ruler of the western sea. 

Like the Nezha in the myth, Yin Nezha had an occurrence with a dragon that changed his life. 

At the first battle between Nezha and Rin in TBG, it is stated he wears golden rings around his wrists and ankles. Guanyin bodhisattva did this to Nezha in Journey to the West, in order to placate him. 

The Trifecta: All of the figures in the Trifecta were based on the Fengshen Yanyi (AKA the Investire of the Gods).

Jiang Ziya: His name was directly taken from the novel. 

Su Daji: Her name was directly taken from the novel, as well as some of her penchants for murder. Daji, in both history and the novel, was infamous for her torture methods. 

Jingzha being delivered back to his father in a dumpling holder would qualify as a toruture method. I applaud Kaung for being creative.

Yin Riga: I do not know if Riga is meant to be King Zhou or Ji Fa (the man who overthrew Zhou). Perhaps he was inspired by both of them, or neither. 

Since Kuang did not go into depth into which gods were in the pantheon, I will make a list to who I think is there

Gods mentioned in the books:

Erlang Shen

Sanshengmu 

Sun Wukong *implied through Suni

Zhu Bajie *implied through Baji

Huxian *implied through Unegen, and also Daji

Phoenix

Nuwa

Fuxi

The Four Dragon Kings (Yin Riga was likely the Dragon of the East) *There is no confirmation that there are multiple dragons, but I believe it was strongly implied

Chang’e

Xi Wang Mu, Queen Mother of the West

Zhenniao *implied through Pipaji

The Four Guardians (Azure Dragon, Vermillion Bird, White Tiger, and the Black Tortoise) *implied through Dulin, who summoned the Black Tortoise

Wong Tai sen *implied through Lianhua (Actually I am not sure, but I could not think of any other healer god in Chinese myths)

Gods not mentioned but I believe are in the Pantheon: 

Yudi: Usually depicted as the husband of Xiwangmu

Hou Yi (Since Chang’e is there. However, there is a possibility that he is in Chuulu Korikh as punishment for killing the sons of Yudi)

Shennong: He exists between Nuwa and Fuxi as the “human”

The Eight Deities

Guanyin: (Since Wukong is implied to be a god) showed up in JTTW

Yanwang: (Since Wukong is implied to be a god) showed up in JTTW

Other tidbits:

Arlong’s name may have been the combination of “Azure” and the chinese word for dragon “Long”. 

Aquebus are guns, but they shoot very slow. This aint a AK 47

The Red emperor could have been based off of Qin Shi Huang, or even the Jade Emperor himself.

Chuulu Korikh’s origin, although explained, has ties in Chinese myths. It was the mountain that encased Sun Wukong before he was broken out by Xuanzang. This means that the mountain was put there by the big B, Buddha. (Actually I can't remember if Kuang said who put the mountain down, but if she didnt specify this is what I think happened) 

I am more familiar with Chinese history and myths, rather than Japanese ones, so if im missing something feel free to correct

[insomniamamma]

Liminal: Ezra and Cee

A/N: Contemporary AU in which Ezra becomes his niece, Cee's caretaker after an automobile accident kills his brother, Damon, and costs him his arm. Same AU as "Ferris wheels are for old people." No reader insert character, just Ezra and Cee on the road. Written for @autumnleaves1991-blog​ ‘s Writer’s Wednesday.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma/injury. Drug references in a song. Some language. I tried to research body powered transhumeral prosthetics to get some idea of how Ezra's prosthetic arm might work, but then I fell into an overthinking morass, any inaccuracies are mine.

"Willin'" is written by Lowell George. The version referenced in the story is recorded by Linda Ronstadt.

lim·i·nal /ˈlimənl/

adjective: liminal

   1.relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.    2.occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.

--"Willin'"--

          "’... been warped by the rain, driven by the snow,’" Cee sings along with the music rattling through the truck's speakers, "I'm drunk and dirty, don't you know. But I'm still willin'..."

        The road stretches long and straight in front of them, harsh, rust-colored land dotted with scrub under the arc of an impossibly blue sky. Ezra asked Cee to compile the playlist. You are my co-pilot for this mission, he'd told her, and as such your duties include, but are not limited to, navigator, snack supervisor and DJ. DJ? Really? Make us a playlist, Little Bird, every adventure needs some good road music. And she had really delivered.          "’...Out on the road late last night, I'd see my pretty Alice in every headlight, Alice, Dallas Alice...’"  Ezra'd expected hours of auto-tuned pop or loud screamy music where he couldn't understand the words, and while there was some of that, Cee had taken her duties as DJ very seriously, creating a huge genre-bending list that all worked together.

     He knew a lot of it. When he was still weird Uncle Ezra and not Legal Guardian Ezra, Cee made a habit of pawing through his vinyl collection when she and Damon would visit, picking a record to play and then peppering him with questions about it. Still, some of the tracks she picked surprised him, like this one, Linda Ronstadt's version of "Willin'" a road trip anthem if there ever was one, but something he didn't expect Cee to be familiar with.  On their first go through the playlist, he'd asked her, where'd you hear this one, Birdie? You remember that movie, The Abyss? It's in that movie, the director's cut though, not the theatrical cut, the theatrical cut is bullshit--and he'd just listened to her go off about all the things wrong with the theatrical cut, the movie itself he barely remembered, something about divers finding aliens underwater, he'd listened and grinned, Cee could go so quiet sometimes. It was always a relief to hear her sound alive and interested, especially after--          "’And I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari," Cee sings and Ezra joins her, "Tehachapi to Tonopah...’" Cee's voice is sweet. Ezra's voice is not, but that's never stopped him. They've got the windows down. The AC started smelling funny a couple days ago, and, in this part of the world, a breeze to evaporate the sweat is just as good as AC. Cee's hair makes a flyaway halo as they sing--          "’Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made, Driven the backroads so I wouldn't get weighed. And if you give me...’" Ezra and Cee smile at each other, suck in deep breaths for the big chorus, "’...Weed, whites and wine, and you show me a sign...And I'll be willin' to be movin'"

--Petroglyph--

       The rust colored forms on pale stone walls peer out at them. Some loom large in the foreground, others recede into the background as if the weathered rock is a portal a window into some other place that lives just below the skin of the world. The back of Ezra's neck prickles. Sometimes the world is thin. Sometimes he feels as if there is a larger world moving and shifting beneath the surface of this one. Sometimes he feels like things are happening out of order, reality stripping and skipping like a loose bicycle chain--        Cee's warm hand creeps into his, "They're a little scary, aren't they?" She says.        "Indeed they are," says Ezra, "One has to wonder what they were thinking. What they were trying to say. Are these gods in these pictures? Or just regular men?"        "Does it matter?" Asks Cee, and he jerks his head to look at her. She is utterly entranced by the red figures and sigils.        "Of course it does," he says, "You don't think so?"        "I mean, it matters, I guess, but what matters more is that people made these," she says, "People like us. People with hands. Not that Ancient Aliens bullshit." Ezra laughs. Cee squeezes his hand.        "C'mon," she says, "let's see more."

--Rest Stop--

       "Hey MOM!," a child's voice snaps Ezra out of his reverie. Cee is in the truck stop, using the restroom and restocking their snack supply. At these stops he fuels up and then gives her some cash and sets her loose inside. And then they stretch their legs and sit outside for a spell. Ezra sits at a picnic bench letting the sun hit his closed eyelids, "MOM! That guy's got a ROBOT ARM! Like WINTER SOLDIER!" Ezra opens his eyes to a little boy, maybe four with a bunch of curly hair and big eyes, pointing at him.        "Daniel!" His mother hisses, and pinches at his arm, "That's rude. I'm so sorry. Danny, what did I tell you about staring--"        "Ma'am? It's quite alright, Ma'am," says Ezra, and hunkers down so he's eye level with the little boy.        "Hi there," he says, "Daniel, is it? I'm Ezra." He offers his right arm, the double hook at the end open, titanium alloy padded with silicone. Daniel solemnly grips the hooks and shakes.        "You've got stickers!" Says Daniel, and for a second Ezra is confused, and then he grins, looking down at the bedecked black plastic of his prosthesis. He stands.        "My girl decided that I must have a sticker for every state we stop in," says Ezra, he stands and smiles at Daniel's mom, "Like an old steamer trunk. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name--"        Cee steps out of the air-conditioned cavern of the truck stop, slits her eyes against the brightness of midday sun glittering up from the concrete, plastic bags full of crap-snacks and energy drinks threaded over her arms. Ezra handed her a couple twenties and told her to go nuts. Re-supply runs have turned into their own sort of game. She always grabs the usual stuff, chips and Snickers bars and Paydays (Ezra has an absolute weakness for Paydays. They don't taste like they used to, he'd griped, but that didn't stop him from eating them), but somewhere along the line, Cee decided to turn this into a battle of the wills. Her unspoken mission is to find something so utterly weird at one of these stops that Ezra won't eat it. So far, she has been unsuccessful. The closest thing was an aloe juice and cucumber drink that smelled amazing, but felt like swallowing cold snot. That one was a draw. She has high hopes for the dill pickle-sriracha gummy worms nestled in the bottom of the bag. The packaging looked like Christmas in hell. More important than the snacks is the plain, flat paper bag she holds.                                                                                     Ezra's near the picnic benches chattering at some lady with a kid. Menace, she thinks, but smiles. Ezra was always the extrovert before, and it's good to him smiling so big and open in the sunshine, making friends with random people at a truck stop. She sees an echo of her and him before, when she and Dad would visit when she was small and he'd tell her some outrageous tale and she'd say Uncle Ezra, you're so weird, and he'd scoop her up and swing her around, planting a prickly kiss on her cheek and saying oh, little bird, you have no idea, and this always made Dad laugh.

       "Oh, Ez-ra," Cee calls, and when he turns, he sees her devilish grin, holding a small brown paper bag up beside her face like it's contraband, "Look what I found."         "So I get to witness the sacred stickering?" Asks Ezra's new friend.        "Indeed you do," says Ezra, "This is Cee. Cee, meet Jody, and that little man playing in the dirt there is Daniel."        "Nice to meet you," says Cee, "Stick your arm out, old man."        "Don't you want to document this momentous occasion?"        "Oh, right," Cee pulls out her phone, "Hey, uh, miss Jody? Can you take some video? I got it all set up."        "Cee is documenting our adventures for posterity," says Ezra. He extends his prosthetic, already covered in overlapping ovoids, enough that they are starting to resemble dragon scales, "What do you think?" Cee and Daniel circle round.        "How bout here?" asks Daniel, tapping just above the articulated elbow.        "That's a good spot," says Cee and peels the sticker from it's backing with a flourish. She smiles up at her phone recording in a stranger's hand, "We have now infiltrated the state of Nevada," she grins, "Evil-doers beware."        "Yeah!" Says the little boy, pudgy hands planted on his hips for the benefit of the camera, "Or Winter Soldier will KICK YOUR ASS!"        "Daniel!"

--Stars--

       Cee wakes in the dead of night, disoriented, a darkness so thick that for a moment she's not sure where she is, and then she hears Ezra's rhythmic snoring off to her side, reaches out and brushes fabric of the tent and lays back, puzzled, muscles pleasantly sore from a day spent scrabbling up and down eroded granite boulders that looked like they belonged on Mars or Tatooine, walking trails and marveling at the strange ecology of the high-desert, so unlike back home. Bad dream? She wonders, probably. She feels her eyes getting heavy, feels herself lulled by Ezra's sleep sounds, snores punctuated by mumbles. Sometimes full sentences, his side of whatever dream-conversation he's having. Probably has no idea he does it--        Cee sits bolt upright, hands clutched in fists against her chest, a high-pitched wail cuts the cold night, a sound like a woman screaming, and another wail threads through the first, so loud it could be right outside the tent, and then a sound like gruesome laughter. The back of her neck prickles and her heart pounds in her throat. She tells herself that it's just some wild animal making noise, some desert bird maybe, but wasn't the California desert the last known home of the Manson family? Maybe not this desert, but still--        "Ezra," she hisses, and he mumbles something incoherent, "Ezra, wake up!" She reaches and pokes him hard, "Ezra!"        "Whazzit birdie?"        "Listen!" The screams rise and fall again like something from a horror movie.        "s'just coyotes," says Ezra, "probly next county over. They don't hurt people, they're just loud."        "You sure?"        "Go back to sleep, Cee."

       "Ezra," He's dreaming, some place with Joshua trees the size of skyscrapers, spiked limbs under a red sky. Cee's with him somewhere in the bloodlight but he can't see her, just hears her calling--        "Ezra!" He blinks awake, the red sky receding. Cee is shaking him.        "Yuh. M'awake birdie,"        "I gotta pee," she says.        "You know where the outhouses are, just right down the trail,"        "I'm not going by myself! Not with those things out there!" Ezra pushes himself up and shakes his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He can just make out Cee's form against the faint light of the sky leaking through the tent.        "Alright, just gimme a second," he says.        "I'll get the light,"        "We don't need it," he says.        "Ez-"        "We got night eyes now," he says, "No light pollution out here. You'll see."

       Ezra stands transfixed in the chill dark, head cocked upward. The more he looks, the more he can see. More stars than he's ever seen in his life spread across the vast inverted bowl of the sky, no summer haze out here, no light-wash from streetlights. He is dizzy with it, the vast sweep of the sky, and as he stares and his eyes adjust further, he can see the arm of the Milky Way angled across the black, can actually see the dark band of dust threaded through the silver-blue light. He doesn't hear the outhouse door shutting, doesn't notice Cee beside him until she folds his hand into hers.        "Look up, Little Bird," he breathes and it feels like a prayer, his heart suddenly full, squeezing in his chest, Cee small and warm next to him.        "Oh, wow," she says, barely a whisper, "That's the Milky Way isn't it?" Tears blur the stars and fall hot against his cheeks.        "It is." He looks at her, her face upturned, cheeks and hair frosted in star shine, limning her eyes, her smile. They've lost so much, him and Cee, but they've gained each other, and that's not nothing is it?        "We're so small," says Cee, "Us. People. This whole planet. All of us. We're just a little dot." Ezra smiles in the dark, even as tears dry in his lashes. He squeezes her fingers in his.        "C'mon, let's get back in the tent before we freeze."

--Hoodoo--

       Cee sleeps in the passenger's seat. She'd helped break camp and pack everything up even though it was early for her. They had spent an extra night in Joshua Tree and now had to make up the difference. It's time to go home. There are things he wants to do before Cee goes back to school, things they need to take care of. So he woke them early, promising Cee that she could sleep in the car as long as she needed. She'd helped him get ready, half-peeling a couple candy bars and putting them were he could easily reach.        "You want the playlist?" She asked, "I can get it going."        "Not right now. I want some quiet."          “'Kay," and Cee was asleep before they were to the next mile marker.

       Hoodoos rise on either side of the highway, striated red cliffs against the slowly lightening sky, cut into improbable formations by long gone rivers, thin spires topped with boulders, first glints of sun hitting the higher cliffs while everything else still exists in that liminal space between day and night. Ezra glances over at Cee, hair in a messy halo, face slack in sleep, cheeks sun-reddened and newly freckled, closed eyes moving, dreaming. Ezra thinks of those first days, wracked with pain and trying to navigate the new, dark-shrowded territory of her and him, each of them crippled by loss, each willing to lash out at the other. Ezra thinks of how far they've come since then, uncurling like relaxing fists and learning to be with each other. They drive into the dawn and the first bit of light touches her hair, turning it to fire. She shifts in her sleep, turning away from that first hint of sun. He doesn't know if she's awake or not.        "I love you, Cee."        "Love you to, Ez," she murmurs and settles back into sleep. Ezra looks out over hoodoo country spread red tinged and stark against the rising light, the miles of road ahead. We're gonna be ok, he thinks and means it.

[inhonoredglory]

I thought this needed to be its own post, since it’s a huge meta and I really loved writing it.

The following is my attempt to analyze the symbolism and staging of @tenyai​ ‘s impeccable storyboards to Douxie and Merlin’s farewell, in the final episode of Wizards: Tales of Arcadia.

Teny, your boards and the thoughtfulness, heart, and passion you put into them have legit inspired me to take up boarding as a truly narrative, imaginative, and character-driven art. Thank you for these and for all the love. Your skill and craftsmanship and sincerity of emotion come shining through in these arts, and it warms my heart and fills me with absolute joy. I’ve been in awe of your handle of cinematographic symbolism ever since you teased so much meaning out of the final scene in Killahead Part 2, and I’ve changed my entire view on how to analyze scenes and characters on screen because of it. I cannot wait to see your analysis of this scene. It’s rich and powerful in ways I cannot even express.

People, please go check out her boards on her blog and at her professional portfolio on the website in her bio!!

______

Waking up in Merlin’s Study

First up, parallelisms… Merlin’s study is the symbol of everything Douxie is aspiring to in his life. It’s the heart of Merlin’s knowledge, his position as a master and a wizard. It’s full of things Douxie is off-limits to (like the safe or the time map), as we saw in the second episode. He’s always been a student and an inferior in this room; that’s why he considers it an ironic Hell. But unlike in “Dragon’s Den,” when he wakes up in this room on the floor, scared and confused––here instead, he wakes up on the table, surrounded by Merlin’s books, Merlin’s knowledge. And he’s much more comfortable and relaxed. Symbolically, he’s not scrubbing the floor anymore as an inferior.

I almost want to say that Merlin’s tables represent the places where Merlin crafts and makes things––like in “History in the Making” when he is shown making the amulet over one of the tables in his study. But in this case, the person Merlin had a hand in crafting was Douxie. And being a father to Douxie, by saving him from the streets, is Merlin’s greatest accomplishment. He may have saved Douxie, but Douxie took on a life of his own and surpassed Merlin’s wisdom, in a way much like the amulet took on a foresight far more wise than Merlin could have ever predicted (choosing a human to be the Trollhunter, despite Merlin’s belief that a human wasn’t enough).

Walking to the Light

After Douxie wakes up, we get the walk towards the Light, with Merlin starting out in the Light and by the end of this scene, falling into Shadow. Symbolizing Douxie’s growth and perception of Merlin, and symbolizing Merlin’s position as Master Wizard of this realm and his willful relinquishing of that role to Douxie. At first, Douxie wakes up, thinking about his past in this room and all the service he did for his master––who in this shot appears as a hazy halo-ed vision speaking down at him from the unattainable glow: “Hello there, boy,” said with the kind of judgmental snide Douxie’s used to from Merlin.

Then they start walking and then we hit the window at the far end of the room, a kind of apex in the parabolic staging of Douxie and Merlin’s movement through the scene––with the arc going from the back of the room and the table, to the window, and swinging again to the back, this time from the right side of the room. Merlin’s dialogue when we hit the window is important. He’s first talking about how he’s dead and vaporized into soot, etc, and then he opens the time map and asks, “The question really is, Why are you here?” A charged, thematically rich question placed right when we see the mingle of blue and green light from the time map’s lenses––the mingling of these two’s lives through the ages, the summation of all Douxie’s insecurities and all Merlin’s expectations, all Douxie’s greatest mistakes and his greatest triumphs.

Why Are You Here?

Why is he here? At this point, Douxie’s finally let go, he’s accepted Merlin’s death, accepted the title of successor, accepted his gifts and powers and heroism. And he’s accepted that death is part of the job of Master Wizard if it means saving those he’s sworn to protect. So why is he here? Because he’s done everything and more that a true Master Wizard is supposed to do. He’s equalled Merlin, nay––surpassed him in heroism, wisdom, and responsibility. The mingling of the time map’s lights symbolizes that Douxie has achieved everything Merlin represented to him, and more.

And then Douxie touches the Light, looking out into the glow of the hereafter, saying nothing (I love that and makes me crave for his thoughts).

There’s something so fundamentally and chillingly introspective and metaphysical here in this shot for me. It comes on the heels of not only “Why are you here” but also “I am most certainly dead. You saw me vaporize into soot.” Cuz that’s what happens when we all go, isn’t it? You might be the wisest person on this earth, mastered all there is to know about life, become the greatest wizard, lived a thousand years and more, and still in the end, you will die, and to the dust you will return. Maybe Douxie’s thinking, Am I here because I’m dead too? Because my body is gone, because somewhere out there beyond the stained glass is the explanation of the mystery of what happens when we die? Because even if you master life, there is no mastery over death, because none of us will ever feel what it truly is to be on the other side until we get there?

Separate and Equal

Symbolically, with the lighting, it also means Douxie’s touched Wisdom/Maturity in a way. If the hazy glow of Merlin at the start was from this Light, from this Unattainable Essence––then by the time of this staging’s apex, Douxie has achieved what Merlin has. He’s touched the thing that he has sought for so long. He too can be framed by the Light of the person he wanted to be. So now, we see Douxie talking back to Merlin, and not being silent anymore.

Merlin and Douxie are on the same plane now––as equals. We get the vitally important shot of them side by side, Douxie laughing off Merlin’s disapproval, both of them framed by the Light, both of them standing on their own, balanced by the pillars and the light, each of them solid and independent, separate and equal.

Douxie’s Need for Validation

And then we get to the other side of the parabola, the shift in Merlin’s dialogue from disapproval to one of admiration and pride. “I can see you no longer need my validation.”

This line kills me, because you can see in Douxie’s face that yes, he does. Oh how he desperately wants it. But he’s worked so hard to NOT need it, so that he can grow and flourish. And Douxie falls back into that quiet again, waiting on Merlin’s every word, because his rebellious veneer is stripped right now. Merlin’s hitting on the core of his needs, the source of his insecurity. In the film version, he’s even holding his hands together in front of him, and if that body language means anything to me, it’s Douxie feeling small and childlike again, needing and wanting something from his Dad but not having the courage to tell him.

Staging-wise, Douxie’s still very much following Merlin. He’s behind him, chasing after him, looking up to him. The “ancient Draconic” stand-off was the first and most important show of Douxie’s growth, born from Douxie’s own gumption and sass, when Merlin for the first time in this scene walked up to *Douxie* instead of the other way around, even if it was to judge him:

But like any good hero’s journey, after one win, our hero gets a setback, a reminder of his failures, before he wins again. And this time, it’s Douxie feeling like this latest monologue from Merlin is again some kind of judgement, some kind of backhanded lecture. Would his show of strength and independence fall on deaf ears?

“Remember when I told you that magic is mastery over life?” Merlin says, holding up an alchemy bottle and then a book––tools of the trade, spellcraft and tricks. All the things Merlin taught him. In a huge way, Merlin wasn’t there for the real lessons Douxie learned to become truly wise. Douxie became strong and selfless and kind because he had to, because those were the ways he knew in his heart would take him on the path to reaching that wisdom of life Merlin was talking about. I wonder if there’s something to the fact that once Merlin starts saying, “Nine hundred years you’ve guarded this realm…” he puts the book away––putting away his own knowledge and symbolically recognizing that Douxie’s wisdom has taken him far past Merlin’s own teachings, and that in the 900 years that went by, Douxie has guarded this realm with a mastery of life all his own.

In the final version, the moment Merlin says, “You’ve disrupted time, freed ancient beasts,” that’s when Douxie drops his hands, stops walking, and looks down––a brushstroke reminder of his guilt on doing these things, things that Merlin disapproved of, but things Merlin is now seeing as good and right things to do.

And then we get to the shot of the amulet blueprints, and the wonderful crowning statement of Douxie’s morality: “You’ve… fought to save one life at the risk of countless others.” Meaning Jim, meaning the very person who inspired Douxie to take his selflessness that one step further and set aside his own life so that he could save everyone. Because every life is precious. I find it fascinating that on this line in the boards, Douxie silently fist-slams the table, disappointment all over his face. While Merlin, now in Shadow, has a look of wistful regret.

This shot is so pack full of meaning, and I keep adding to this interpretation...

Douxie for so long has been stripped down for everything he’s done, been criticized by Merlin for being different from him. In some ways, he thinks this latest monologue is more of the same, more ways in which he’s disappointed his father. And clearly, despite his growth, it still hurts him.

And it hurts him that while Merlin is talking about saving Jim’s life, Douxie never really was able to save him. Douxie died while Jim was still corrupted. He died only seeing Jim lose himself to the Green Knight. He never saw Claire’s heroism in bringing Jim back. Personally, Douxie failed.

But even more than that, it hurts him that for all his love for Merlin, he could not save him. He might give his life to save the world, but he cannot bring Merlin back from the grave. Every life is precious and he would risk countless to save just one. But he couldn’t save the one that meant the most to him.

Merlin recognizing he’s wronged Douxie

In the end, Merlin here isn’t talking Douxie down, even as he’s pointing out their differences. He’s in awe at this idealism Douxie possesses. He’s not criticizing him, he’s not being wry or ironic. Merlin looks up at the portrait, knowing that it wasn’t him who gave Douxie this outlook on life. It wasn’t his harsh treatment that gave Douxie his beautiful soul. Douxie had it all along, and Merlin was too dense to see it and nourish it.

So what Merlin says next hits even deeper––

“And yet, despite such relentless hardships…” Merlin’s looking up at the portrait. He’s looking at himself. He’s looking at everything he’s done to Douxie that’s burdened his son with that guilt, that insecurity, that fear, that emotional abandonment. He’s acknowledging here his part in the trauma of Douxie’s life, and his regret is that all this time, it was Douxie who was the better man than he was.

And then we get the symbolic shot––“Despite such relentless hardships, you managed to protect those dearest to you”––with Merlin in Shadow and Douxie lit from behind with the Light. A reversal of the opening shot of this scene, when it was Merlin in the Light and Douxie, unsettled, in the Shadow. This is finally Merlin laying down his ego, seeing in Douxie the strength and force of love and protectiveness he never had. The very thing Merlin didn’t do, when he didn’t protect Douxie all those years, when he let his son down, when he left him and ignored him and took him for granted. When he didn’t give the person dearest to him the love he deserved.

Resolution

And finally, it’s Merlin walking *up* to Douxie, Merlin falling in Douxie’s shadow, and Douxie being once and finally again on an equal plane with his master and peer. “My Hisirdoux, what a life you’ve lived. What a wizard you’ve become.” This is the climax of Douxie’s parabolic hero’s journey in this room. Merlin has at long last given to him what he desperately needed to hear––pure, unadulterated pride in his father’s eyes, and an honest and sincere expression of love, kindness, and emotion.

It’s too much for Douxie’s desperate heart, and he collapses into his father’s arms, releasing 900 years of pent-up emotions and need.

(Is that symbolically why Merlin’s always in armor and Douxie never had any––cuz he’s fragile and bare in the face of Merlin’s cold, callous exterior?)

After that hug (waaaah TEARS, every. freaking. time), we once again are treated to the Light symbolism. First again to show how equal these two men are––Merlin importantly a step down from his son, with the light behind Douxie. And then to show the time map, glimmering with a calm, peaceful, happy equality.

Life and Death

And now we’re in scene denouement, as Merlin and Douxie walk to the end of the parabola (past the first table and eventually out the door). Fascinatingly, in the boards, Douxie glances around the room and then his eyes I believe land on the table he woke up in earlier, before the scene cuts and we get a shot of that same table, panning up to reveal Merlin and Douxie facing the doorway to the hereafter.

And in my brain, it’s like we’ve come full circle in Douxie’s life arc. If waking on your back is birth, snarking about your tough childhood, and now after all you’ve gone through, you look back on that time at the end of your days, ready to face what comes after death…. (well, that’s what it means to me anyway).

Douxie’s fully prepared to leave the mortal world. That’s how far he’s come in his maturity. He closes his eyes, accepting the unknown and resting in the confidence of who he is.

The Hero’s Journey

But like any good hero’s journey, the end isn’t to leave the ordinary world with the boon of your new knowledge and wisdom. It is to return to your home and share that knowledge with others, to use what you have gained and become a teacher and protector for your family and community.

Merlin gives him one last lesson, one last parting gift to tell him, Hey, you have more power than you even imagine you possess. Your rebellious spirit made you who you are today, and it’s what will keep you alive and fighting because it’s your gift and how you protect the world. Your way.

Merlin’s parting sign of the horns is the cherry on top of this whole thing, a perfectly subtle way of Merlin acknowledging who Douxie is, accepting it, and celebrating it. Saying goodbye to his son in a language meant for him. Douxie’s tears at the end (wish they got into the final oof!) speaks volumes to his beautifully mingled emotions––amusement at Merlin’s gesture and a poignant love that he did it for him. I tear up just thinking about the look on Douxie’s face and what it all means in his heart.

Anyway, that’s a wrap, folks. I love Douxie with my entire soul. Thank you for sharing these boards, Teny, and for putting your heart and tears into this masterwork of a scene. (I listened to “Moving On” to write this for the Mood and guhh, it’s a tear-jerker gosh.) This fandom is incredibly lucky to be the recipients of your favorite sequence in your career to date. It’s been an absolute pleasure to see your work and feel the heart you poured into them.

[hetalia-has-a-secretary]

Allies + Canada and Axis + Prussia walking in on their toddler singing Disney songs while wearing a costume that matches that certain Disney movie (like for example Germany walks in on them singing I’ll make a man out of you and the toddler is dressed like Mulan, you decide the song the toddler sings that fits which country and who they’re dressed up as)

QwQ omg my favorite Disney princess is 100% The girl from brave! (I'm kicking myself for forgetting her name...) And you know this prompt is gonna be super cheesy lmao and I'm stretching it across general kid movies!

Dad!Allies and Dad!Axis catching their child dressed up as their favorite Character!

Allies-

America:

He could hear Monster's Inc. playing for about, the fourth time today

The only difference this time was he could hear his kid going "Rawr!" Every five seconds.

The man got curious and just about busted a gut from restraining his laughter.

His kid had Purple colored paper taped all over them. It was hard to tell but they were dressed up as Boo!

This gave him an idea!

Running up to this spare attic he found a purple blanket and an unused mop and some googly eyes.

Walking back to his kid he helped them get on his make shift Boo outfit, and the kid was ELATED about it. No more paper cuts for them!

The best part was when he asked them why they dressed up as Boo, they told him it was because Boo was brave, and wasn't scared of monsters, just like their dad!

Cue their kid getting America a box of tissues while he cried on the floor.

England:

He wasn't a fan of American movies, but his kid was, so what his kid wanted, was what they got.

It... It was Shrek.

At first England kind of disliked the movie, but the more he watched it with his kid, the more he liked art the interpretations of the fairy tale characters.

And this was an extremely special moment for england.

Around the fifth time watching it he saw his kid point to one of the characters and say "That's not what tinker bell looks like!"

England had immediately spit out his tea, and started questioning his kid about it.

This was how he learned that his child had the same ability to see fairytale creatures as he does!

Soon enough he had his kid running around grabbing different blankets and scarfs to try and recreate what she really looked like!

Now he has a child sized Tinkerbell running around, Tinkerbell herself chasing after them playfully.

France:

He has the whole Disney collection from start to finish, and it's terrifying.

His kid is also badly addicted. But especially to Little Mermaid.

The thing is, France has his child completely spoiled, and has a bunch of maids around the place. One of which loves nothing more than sewing together cute outfits for the kid.

It's not that France doesn't have the time, oh no, this was the kids idea, and their idea only.

One day, after a grueling work day, he's in his room, trying to rest. His kid comes in wearing a trench coat.

France is courious as to why, and his mood is immediately lifted as the small child acts out a shortened play of The Little Mermaid, all costumes included.

It was amazing how well they moved with all the clothes they were wearing, and taking them on and off again as quickly as possible.

By the end France had given them a standing ovation, and they both happily napped on his bed due to the amount of physical exhaustion.

You can 100% catch France bragging about his little star to the other countries when he gets the chance!

China:

China's rubbed off on his child with several things.

One of those things is his love for old culture and reminiscing memories.

so surprise! Mulan is 100% a movie in the house... Except his kid has become brutality obsessed with the dragon.

One day China's fancy res shirts goes missing, and he finds it on his child while they were watching Mulan.

Mimicking everything Mushu does.

China has to hold his hand over his mouth as his kid eventually trips over the long shirt and starts saying things like "This is disrespectful to dragons!" And "If this shirt has a cow, it is now dishonored!"

Eventually china, very shyly, dresses up as Mulan while his kid isn't watching.

The kid proceeds to act like they're meeting a princess at Disney, not recognizing their own father.

Russia:

Unlike him, his kid really, REALLY loves the snow.

It's something that he hopes his child grows out of because he's heard them sing 'let it go' about 50 times.

It was very cute at first. Now he wants to beat the CD with his pipe (and then America for gifting them the movie).

But then the SECOND on came out.

Now his child parades around as Elsa, hitting high sqeaky notes, and following around the cat.

Cat is having more fun then the kid to be honest.

Russia was about to try and distract his kid until they asks him to play dress up with them

The sparkle in their eyes made him immediately say yes.

They wanted him to be Christoph, and when he asked them why he just about cried.

"Your cool, funny, nice, and you have the same nose!"

That's it. That broke him, he's trying not to cry

Has never knitted a dress so fast in his life, and has a very similar outfit to Christoph as well, so the two of them are parading around the house with their cat trailing behind them. His own little knitted Olaf costume on!

Canada:

Canada's kid can be rebellious at best, but seeing them dressed up as maleficent almost made him choke.

Is his kid turning into a villain!?

Nope. Turns out they just thought she was really cool, and felt bad that she wasn't invited to the child's birthday, or whatever.

And to be honest, yeah, that's kind of cruel.

Canada had bought the Sleeping Beauty film via America's suggestion, and wasn't dissapointed.

And now it was totally worth it since his kid was going through their "I have one outfit and no matter how many times my horns won't fit through the car door, I refuse to take them off" phase.

He enjoyed watching his kid act out a happier ending dressed as the Disney villain. And even snuck a few pictures of them prancing around and singing.

It brought tears to his eyes knowing that no matter what, his kid can see the good in anyone, and maybe one day that will come in handy!

Axis-

Germany:

I need to make it immediately clear, that Germany and China now officially plan playdates for their Mulan obsessed children.

Except Germany's kid is obsessed with Li Shang, and the "let's get down to business" song.

He's so proud of his kid not being afraid to show their little clumsy moves in order to show people they mean business.

Even if he can't take them seriously when they are this small and cute.

It starts out when they wanted to be a character from Mulan on Halloween, not yet seen the movie, but all that was left was a mock up Li Shang costume.

It was game over.

The kid would sing to his German shepherds as if they were their shoulders and bark dog commands.

Germany is a proud father now.

And the playdates I mentioned earlier? Oh yeah it's twice as cute when you have a tiny red dragon going "I HAVE TINY ARMS I CAN NIT BE MAN!"

Italy:

Beauty and the beast.

Italy's kid adores Bell, and has memorized every line, and dance.

One point gave him a heart attack catching them climbing a latter.

The best part is, Italy kept his chibi outfit from when he lived under Austria's rules. Which was at some point died blue, but now he has a tiny Bell running around more than gleefully.

Italy even joins in with him, and honestly it's the cutest thing.

Surprisingly his kid is really good with singing, and this is their new favorite hobby now.

Italy is also really emotional over the fact his kid wasn't scared of Beast either. His little tike is going to be a brave one, Italy is going to make sure of it!

Japan:

Yeah, Disney movies don't exist in his house, but Studio Ghibli 1000% does.

His kid is obsessed with Ponyo!

One day Japan was really concerned over how quiet his kid was being until he found them in the koi pond, trying to talk to the fishes, and heard him name them Ponyo 1-5.

His heart dank because he wanted to tell them the fish had no clue what they were saying, but at the same time.

Kawaii overload.

Small child talking to the koi, and enjoying the water, and muddy rain puddles? Oh yeah. That's adorable.

Eventually he makes them a fish outfit and it's a good thing it was mostly foam because the first thing his kid did was splash around in the puddles.

Japan filmed it.

He's planning on embarrassing his kid when they turn 16.

It's payback for not letting him watch the movie with them earlier.

Prussia:

Oh no. His kid has become obsessed with Rapunzel.

"how is that an issue?"

Well when your kid developed some of your impulse control issues, you will find them trying to crawl out of a window to escape their unlawful step mother/Prussia.

He was extremely confused about it at first as well. Untill his kid said, something something RAPUNZEL!

Then it clicked, and he was able to laugh about it.

Prussia hasn't seen the movie himself, and when he watches it he thinks Rapunzel is so quirky and super AWESOME! Especially because his kid now has a bunch of yarn on their head.

Not gonna lie, they both dress up as Rapunzel and try and fight each other with the long wigs.

Which is a sight to see first thing in the morning. Just ask Germany.

I know I didn't answer the prompt exactly, but I couldn't resist making some wholesome content! Also-

HER NAME IS MERIDA I JUST REMEMBERED IT LIKE, 3 DAYS AFTER THE FIRST DRAFT! THE CHICK FROM BRAVE IS MERIDA!!!

[thedigitalpen]

My 10 favourite... beefcake animes!

Okay yes, I realise that this is a rather weird title. I had originally thought to call it something along the lines of my favourite martial arts or fighting animes, but because the animes don’t always fall into that category, I decided to call a spade, a spade (or a beefcake, a beefcake) and admit that, most times sometimes, I just enjoy animes with muscular guys in them. That’s not to forget the ladies though because some of these shows also feature some rather muscular ladies in the mix too. So there’s something for everyone!

So, in no particular order (because the genres are sometimes different so making comparisons wouldn’t be fair):

1. Street Fighter series.

Hardly a surprise considering that this is a series that has a legacy firmly placed in the gaming world. Although you don’t really need to know who’s who in order to watch these shows, it doesn’t hurt to know a little about the characters before you jump in - mainly because the creators assume that those who watch it are fans of the show. Expect a fair amount of fighting (the name gives that one away), lots of bromance (Ryu and Ken 4eva!) and the eternal fight of good vs. evil (which is usually the plot of every show/movie)! Even if you aren’t familiar with Ryu & co., the show won’t lead you astray so you can watch without worry. Oh and let me just say - Chun Li is ma gurl! If you want to see a woman that’s not only beautiful but can also kick your ass, then watch these shows - especially Street Fight II the movie! 

2. Hajime no Ippo.

One of my most favourite sports animes of all time which tells the tale of Makunouchi Ippo and his rise up the ranks of the boxing world. He starts off as a kid that just wants to get stronger so that he can fend off the bullies who harass him. Sick of his weak self (and after a couple of incidents here and there), Ippo joins a boxing gym, starting from scratch and going through basic training. His coach sees his potential and helps shape Ippo into a power boxer who fights head on and never backs down from the fight. Throughout the series, we get to know the other boxers in the gym as well as the competitors that they face, and we watch them battle it out in the ring. It’s a story with a great balance of sports, a sprinkling of slice of life (well, the life of a boxer) and comedy. And, of course, boxing boys come with boxing bodies... and I’m not complaining! And if you enjoy this and want more, try either “Ashita no Joe” (old school classic) or it’s more recent spin-off, “Megalo Box”. Oh and in terms of strong women - no one beats Ippo’s mom! She’s a powerhouse!

3. Baki the Grappler.

More of an MMA vibe with this one - it’s about a kid (he’s like 13 when we first meet him) who has been raised to be a fighter since he was born - his mother gets him the best trainers and equipment money can buy. He eventually feels like he’s outgrown the traditional training method and starts to find other ways to become a better fighter, which includes following his fathers footsteps - training the same way he did and with the people he did - and taking on some of the other fighters he meets along the way. After an altercation with his father (using that term rather lightly), Baki’s path eventually leads to the underground fight scene where challengers can test their strength and face off against each other in an anything-goes type of fight, using whatever techniques, power and skills they have at their disposal. And Baki’s ultimate goal? To defeat his father! It’s got some family drama as the foundation, but when it comes to beefcakes, there’s no shortage here - even if it is a 17-year old kid looking like a grown-ass man. Oh, best to be aware that (excluding the OVAs) there 3 seasons of Baki - the anime series from 2001 and the 2018 Netflix version which covers the "Most Evil Death Row Convicts" arc. 

4. Kengan Ashura.

When I first started watching this, the first thing I thought was - ahhh! this reminds me of Baki! And, indeed, there are quite a few elements that are similar. There isn’t any family drama here but there is an underground fight scene where anything goes in terms of fight style. However, the premise here is that the fighters don’t fight for themselves (well, not officially anyway) but that they fight for various companies who settle their business disputes via these types of organised “kengan” matches. It eventually reaches a situation where some of the other businessmen wish to get rid of the current Kengan chairman, and so this chairman organises a huge battle royale for any companies that wish to enter. The prize? The owner of the winning company gets to be the next chairman! This sets the stage for a number of one-on-one showdowns between the various fighter representatives. In terms of background stories, we have two main protagonists and their stories. The one is about a salaryman (turned “CEO”) and his life, as well his relationship with his son, and the other is about a fighter and the vendetta he holds against another fighter for a past incident. Personally, I love the way the fights are presented in this show - not only because of the eye-candy - but because it really does feel like you’re at a grand show! Oh, and unlike Baki, at least most of the fighers are adults.

5. Golden Kamuy.

Bring on the boys! Honestly one of the most entertaining shows I’ve watched in a while (and one where I demand that there be another season at least!) and also culturally/historically interesting too. It’s set around the time of the Russo-Japanese war and follows the story of Immortal Sugimoto - a soldier who left active service and finds out that there may be Ainu gold hidden somewhere in Hokkaido. The only problem is that the map has been tattooed in pieces, onto the torsos of various prisoners, most of whom have dispersed to different areas. Nevertheless, thus begins the hunt for the map! Along the way, Sugimoto meets various people along the way - making allies with some and enemies with others - all of whom are associated with each other in interconnecting ways. And all of whom are working toward one goal - get the gold! It’s a brilliant show that’s got some fighting, some mystery, some espionage vibes, some comedy (some of which is could be considered dark and/or weird) and some feels. It balances it all out and makes for an interesting and entertaining watch. Oh, and let’s not forget - a very enjoyable watch too! Mm mm mmm...

6. All Out!!

Another sport anime here, but this time it’s rugby! As someone from a country where rugby is a staple, national sport, this was totally up my ally! The premise is similar to most other school-based sports animes - a kid who’s self-conscious about his height joins the rugby team and learns to get along with the other boys as he trains and works together with them as part of the team. This is not only so that he can help the team improve, but to also prove his own worth. The team goes through training camps and they play against other schools, getting to know some of the opposing teams’ members and establishing some rivalries along the way. It’s pretty typical fare, but damn are these boys stacked! It’s pretty accurate though since rugby is a contact sport which requires some power (and apparently some short, tight shorts) to get the job done. It’s a light watch, but that eye candy is truly sweet!

7. Tiger Mask W.

From rugby to wrestling! This actually a continuation of sorts to the original Tiger Mask and Tiger Mask II series, building on the legacy and keeping related in the same sphere, but not directly incorporating the older characters. Unfortunately, the original series is hella hard to get hold of but even without it, you can watch Tiger Mask W without much of an issue. So the story is about a guy who had decided to join a wrestling gym and was pretty happy there until the gym was destroyed by another rival gym. Vowing to take that other gym down, he strikes out on his own and eventually joins one of the national wrestling associations, working in their match roster. But it’s all so that he can reach his goal of taking down that other gym by defeating the players supported by them. Enter into the ring various wrestling friends and both friendly and unfriendly rivals (including an old friend - bromance anyone?) and you get plenty of matches, plenty of muscles and some satisfying action! They also don’t forget the female wrestlers, which is a nice touch! Another one that’s light enough to enjoy at face value - much like how you’d enjoy real wrestling too.

8. Gifuu Doudou!! Kanetsugu to Keiji. 

A historical vibe with this one - it’s actually based on the spin-off of the original manga, “Keiji” which was created by Tetsuo Hara. And if that name doesn’t ring a bell, check number 10 on this list and you’ll know who I’m talking about - that’s right, it’s the guy who worked on Hokuto no Ken - and that should immediately give you an idea as to why this show is on the list. It’s a period piece about the friendship between Maeda Keiji and Naoe Kanetsugu - both of whom found their accomplishments on the battlefield. It’s told in hindsight, where they sit together, have a drink or three and reminisce about their younger days and what it took to get to where they are now. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but it was pretty entertaining - especially when you see just how clever these guys were when it came to political maneuvering as well as in a fight. Of course, they’re pretty high in the beefcake stakes so if you like your men manly, then you’ve come to the right era. 

9. Dragon Ball series.

I’m pretty sure that I don’t have to talk about this anime, but in the interest of completeness, let me give you the wiki breakdown about what this anime is about: “The series follows the adventures of the protagonist, Son Goku, from his childhood through adulthood as he trains in martial arts. He spents his life far from civilization, until he is found by Bloomer, a teen girl who encourages him to explore the world in search of the seven orbs known as the Dragon Balls, which summon a wish-granting dragon when gathered. Along his journey, Goku makes several friends and battles a wide variety of villains, many of whom also seek the Dragon Balls.” (source). Of course, this is continued throughout the various series that follow, where Goku has his own family etc. But when it comes to the muscle factor in this show, it’s got it where it counts - everywhere! It’s a classic for a reason so even if you aren’t into beefcake guys, you should still probably watch it if you haven’t already.

10. Hokuto no Ken.

It just wouldn’t feel right if I had to leave this off the list because when someone says “manly anime”, I’m betting that 99.9% of the time most people think about Hokuto no Ken / Fist of the North Star. It’s the post-apocalyptic era and times are tough, with everyone fighting to survive with what little there is on the planet. Some guys want to be rulers, some guys want to be thugs, but one guy just wants to find his fiancee and do what he can to right the wrongs of the world and make a difference to the people he meets. That one man is, of course, Kenshiro. It’s full-tilt action, usually incorporating martial arts through the various fighting styles of the characters - whether it’s Hokuto Shinken, Nanto Seiken or sometimes just brute force and good old hand-to-hand combat. There’s a few female characters here and there who also kick ass so it isn’t completely one-sided, but they usually end up getting saved by the dudes so take that with a pinch of salt. Post-apocalyptic world or not, these guys sure can maintain their physiques. And when it comes time for a fight, you best believe they pull no punches! If you like pure fighting animes where you get to see people explode each episode, followed by the most epic line ever said in anime, then this is the one! 

Honourable mentions.

...because, can we really do without more muscular men and women in our lives?

1. Terra Formars - if you’re looking specifically for that muscular vibe, then try season 1. While I enjoyed both, season 1 had better animation (for me) and they all looked badass when defeating those nasty roaches - both the men and the ladies! 2. Hinomaru Sumo - a sports anime that revolves around a newly formed high school sumo club and the career path of the main protagonist. Informative if you don’t know much about sumo and, as expected, loads of meaty guys aiming for victory and aiming for the position of yokozuna. 3. Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure - another show that hardly requires an introduction and would probably take way too long to explain considering how many Jojo’s there are, but rest assured, the guys are packed, stacked and ready to attack! 4. One Punch Man - if only because there a few characters who fit the beefcake category perfectly, e.g. Suiryu (hello there!), Garou and Tanktop Master to name a few. An anime that’s some parts serious, some part hilarious but always flipping shounen tropes on its head. 5. Sengoku Basara - also, not completely beefed out, but there are a few characters who would make the grade, e.g. Maeda Keiji (dejavu from number 8?) and Oda Nobunaga. Another period anime, based on a Capcom game, that uses a lot of poetic licence to make it an exciting watch with very memorable characters. 6. Free! - “Make us free na Splash! Kasaneta... 👏 👏 !” Swimmers bodies - that is all. If you’ve ever seen a swimmer’s bodies in real life, you’ll know what I mean ‘cos they have muscles in all the right places. A slice-of-life sports anime that revolves around high school boys (who eventually become college boys) who engage in competitive swimming. 7. Air Master - The ladies take over in this one, which is a show that revolves around street fighting and the goal of those various street fighters and martial artists to become number 1 on the Fukamichi Rankings. It’s more of that underground fight scene vibe but the main protagonist is a gymnast-turned-street fighter who takes on anyone who’ll challenge her (man or woman) and usually kick their ass. It’s got a quirky/weird sense of humour to it, but that’s part of why I liked it.

Well, I’m pretty sure that there are other shows that I’ve missed, and mountains of characters who have that A-grade beef, but I tried to choose shows that specifically have that muscular aesthetic as a default setting in the show. Hopefully I hit the mark here, sharing my faves with you, but if there’s some show or character that I absolutely must see, feel free to let me know! Because just like Tanigaki’s shirt, I’m always open to suggestions.

[kyloren]

i was never really into the jonsa ship, but that post of yours has got me really interested... do you have any fave fics of them??

welp, we’re going old-school, lads. prepare for some of my favourite fandom throwbacks well, I failed at that, I put some of the newer things on the list, too

CANON-VERSE:

Now You See Me: Kissed by fire, Ygritte thought to herself, just like me. 

Goodbye Means Going Away (And Going Away Means Forgetting): Memory is unreliable. No one understands this better than Rickon Stark.

Take My Crown Away (Don’t Smile So Sweetly, My Love): A world where everything is easier. Except for those who love, and love too much.

Build a Ladder to the Stars: Jon abandons the Night’s Watch to join Robb’s cause. After rescuing Sansa from King’s Landing, he and Sansa find themselves in a relationship they never saw coming.

A Winter’s Tale: The War of Three Dragons comes to the Vale, bringing Jon Snow and Sansa Stark together once more.

The Winter of Our Discontent: In the end it is Jon and his men of the Night’s Watch who come to take her back to Winterfell.

tell me true (who are you): Ned Stark brought a dark-haired, grey-eyed bastard babe home and called him son. Years later, Jon Targaryen does the same.

Lift Me Like an Olive Branch and Be My Homeward Dove: She never dreams of Jon Snow but in the end he is the one that comes for her under a Targaryen banner, the might of Winterfell and the North behind him with their father’s sword on his back.

The Whispering Ghosts (Left You Out In The Cold): Winter came and brought Jon home. [this is the first Jonsa fic I ever read, boy, did it fuck me up]

A Bronze Crown: In the end there are no knights. In the end Sansa must rescue herself. Based on the prompt: he doesn’t ride to her rescue; she comes north with her granduncle and the armies of the Vale to wage war on the Boltons, save his life and teach his assassins and the Boltons a sharp lesson.

how ruthless are the gentle*: “Yes, I do.” The easiest lie he’s ever told, by far. It came so naturally, he hardly thought of it as false. “She’s easy to love.”

Tell the Ones That Need to Know (We Are Headed North)*: After years of confinement in the Red Keep with Ned prisoner in the black cells, the Dragon Queen comes. With the knowledge that Jon Snow is actually a Targaryen, she agrees to let the Starks return to Winterfell only if Jon marries one of the Stark daughters. Sansa volunteers so they can all go home. Soon she figures out being married to Jon isn’t bad, but it is complicated.

Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things*: We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark. 

Dragons of Red, Dragons of White*: An AU where the Battle of the Trident took place, but just between Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon. Their duel and its outcome have ramifications that none could foresee. In the world built afterwards, dragons once again rule and roam Westeros, among them the son of a northern beauty and the king. Prince Jon and his kin, Stark and Targaryen alike, face new challenges from both without and within. Whatever the future holds, the Seven Kingdoms will learn that, whether in a coat of red or a coat of white, a dragon still has claws.

A Knight’s Watch: Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths with characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places.

The Conquest*: Three hundred years after Aegon the Conqueror built a new empire on the ashes of the Valyrian Freehold the known world is a place of war. The Targaryen Empire is pressed by enemies, the Seven Kingdoms war amongst themselves and forces contrive to pull them all apart.

Live Without Shame: When Catelyn’s treatment of Winterfell’s Bastard unexpectedly softens, Sansa reconsiders her relationship with Jon. But despite the revelations that ensue, Jon must and will always remain Winterfell’s Bastard and suffer its consequences.

The Tempered Kingdoms*:  After years of wars, death, destruction, politics, and White Walkers, a tentative calm has returned to Westeros partially due to the rulership of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. But politics rues its head again as Stannis Baratheon demands his right to rule, while the former Queen Cersei languishes in a cell, plotting her revenge against all who live above her. Sansa Stark is forced to return to King’s Landing after being found by the rumored lovers Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth.

winterbloom: “You’ve traveled a long way for a rumor.” Sansa lives at the Wall under the protection of her brother Jon Snow, but when Sandor Clegane comes looking for her, she and Jon begin to realize that she is not as safe as they once hoped.

As History Changes: Jon agrees to accompany Stannis south to the Vale and he meets a person he did not expect to meet.

hold onto your heart (you’ll keep it safe): When Sansa turns eleven her wrist burns. She excitedly unwraps the cloth guarding her skin, waiting eagerly for the name to finish forming. The dark letters stop after only three and when Sansa leans in closer she realises that she knows that name and she knows that handwriting already.

carve your heart into mine: Sansa spent many evenings sewing her wedding dress by the fire, dreaming of her husband. The gown spilled out of her hands like a silver river, burning brighter from the light of the flames. She had embroidered it with a noble husband in mind, but she wed her lowborn love in the godswood, with snowflakes falling on her veil. 

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE:

Into the Darkness of the Grave: The tragic death of Eddard Stark’s cousin Lyanna brings her estranged son back to Winterfell House, the family’s old plantation home, for her funeral.

The Other Shoe: If anyone had told Sansa Stark that she would be married to Jon Snow, expecting a child with him at the age of nineteen she would have laughed at them. Not because Jon was a bad person, for he had slowly come out of his shell in the past seven years; not because she was young, her parents were married right out of Hogwarts; simply because Sansa Stark seemed to be the anthesis of a happy ending.

several sunlit days: Everyone knows you don’t date Robb Stark’s sisters unless you want to spend your days avoiding hexes and angry bludgers shot at your head. Too bad Jon’s traitorous feelings could care less.

the unexpected champion: Jon must swim to The Black Lake and retrieve something *cough* Sansa *cough* stolen from him. This task makes him realize who he should invite to the Yule Ball.

Where Did You Sleep Last Night: Sansa needs a new guitarist, Jon needs a new band, and the two of them definitely don’t need each other.

and labor till the work is done: Stark Industries is a family legacy she was hoping to avoid: Robb is a project manager, grooming to eventually be a partner, Arya is a summer intern with Bran sure to follow next year and Rickon in another three, and even Jon Snow, who is technically not family but who has been around for as long as Sansa can remember, works as an estimator. But Sansa is not who she was at sixteen or eighteen or even twenty and she’s still in the process of learning what’s truly important, like who she is, who she wants to be, and what kind of people she wants in her life.

One Of The Few Things: Jaime and Sansa spend a lot of time pining over Brienne and Jon together. Sometimes, they actually even do their jobs.

flower shaped heart*: Alayne Stone has lived her whole life in her hidden tower, forbidden by Mother to leave. But she yearns for an adventure like the ones in the songs, so when a man named Jon Snow crashes into her tower and into her life, she seizes the chance. They travel to King’s Landing where the floating lanterns shine each year on her nameday. The new world is exciting and frightening, but Jon Snow is there to guide her every step. He is not nearly as terrible as Mother said men are, though the rest of the world might be. Danger, betrayals, and lies form the steps of their journey as Alayne uncovers terrible secrets.

Crawl up to my Room: Jon left her side after a few moments of silence and she watched him leave with a quiet thought playing in her mind. He was her stepbrother for only a few hours, and she already found herself utterly fascinated and irritated with Jon Stark. 

in the summer, as the lilacs bloom: “You did tech in high school,” Sansa points out. (Yeah, I did tech because you were playing the lead and I was in love with you.) Jon doesn’t tell her that, though. Of course not. Instead he agrees to spend his summer stage managing this passion project of hers, and some trace of his seventeen-year-old self has dried out his throat at the thought of three months’ constant contact with Sansa.

Down from the Mountain: Sansa flies home from college after her older brother Robb, one of the country’s hottest young pitchers, is hurt in a car accident. Robb’s best friend Jon is there to help the Stark family in any way he can.

Little Bed in the Big Woods: “I stared at him for a solid five minutes because he looked like what I imagine god would look like if god was a lumberjack.”

A Game of Stars*: When the Mad Emperor hears that the Starks are Force-sensitive, he discovers the hidden rebel base on Hoth. He sends Jon there with one order: Burn them all. But bring the Stark children to Coruscant. It’s time for the two most powerful Force bloodlines in the galaxy to merge.

I’ll Pack My Goods for the Arkansas Woods*: When Sansa’s brother goes missing, it falls to her to defend the house and the woods against the greed of the Boltons and Freys. All of this would be much easier if she could fight fire with fire, and there’s a saying in the valley: that all the Starks are a little wild, and all the Targaryens are a little mad. Her cousin Jon just happens to be both.

In the Face of Death: On a long list of things Jon never expected, Sansa came top.

United States of Irreversible Oblivion: With the government losing its fight at the northern border, Sansa’s only hope is that one of its soldiers, Office Jon Snow, will return for her and save her from the horrors of a collapsing society.

remember me love when i’m reborn: ‘Longest Night’ has biggest night in hollywood history. “Joffrey wanted someone to make him famous, and as soon as Sansa wrote a movie for him that did just that, he left her in the dirt.”

Hear the Wolf*: The Starks are in Hogwarts. Sansa has to learn to stand up to her ex-boyfriend and Jon has to learn to face his past. They’re determined to do it alone. Will they ever admit they’re stronger together?

Somewhere in the Winter Woods*: Lost on her way to her grandmother’s cabin in the winter woods after running away from home, beautiful young Sansa thinks she’s run into trouble when she crosses a white wolf in the forest. Instead of harming her, the animal guides her to his master, a handsome warrior named Jon who lives in solitude and clothes himself in black.

* marks the ongoing stories. 

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Princess Bride: The Characters, Part 2: The Sicilian Crowd, the Villains, and Conclusion

When we are first introduced to Inigo, he’s not exactly a glowing example of heroism.  A former alcoholic, Inigo is a Master Swordsman, working as a mercenary, he is one of the trio who first kidnaps Buttercup (under Humperdinck’s orders).  He’s fine with the abduction itself, but shows a few of his true colors when he objects to murdering her, already proving himself a little more decent than Vizzini, the leader of the band.

A little later, during the duel with Westley, much is revealed about Inigo, more in fact than you ever learn about the backstories of either Westley or Buttercup: the story of his father’s murder and his own desire for revenge, so strong that it has encouraged him to dedicate his life to mastering the art of fencing.  The duel, exciting enough from an action and comedy standpoint, also clues the audience in on a few other key details: Inigo isn’t really all that bad of a guy, just a man on a Roaring Rampage of Revenge, again demonstrating the same duality (just reversed) that Westley does.

Despite not having as much screen time and focus as Buttercup and Westley, Inigo is the Breakout Character of The Princess Bride, a Determinator, the Lancer of the film.  As I mentioned, he’s also the character we receive the most information about, learning that he is a man of honor, good hearted, and loyal through his interactions with other characters, notably Westley and Fezzik.  Thanks to his sympathetic backstory and one-track mind, he’s understandable to the audience: we know everything about him and why he is doing everything.  He’s totally transparent in the best way, he makes sense, and the audience roots for him.  They care about him, even when he’s initially introduced as a more villainous character (albeit one with truly hilarious lines).  The audience arguably has a stronger attachment to him than they do to Westley and Buttercup, which is very unusual, especially when Inigo disappears for a while after Westley defeats him in battle.

In a way, Inigo would seem to have the qualities very necessary to carry a film: tragic backstory, sympathetic motivation, understandable actions rooted in very clear character traits, and indeed, a lot of elements that put him in the Hero camp.  And yet, like Buttercup and Westley, while some things fit him into this mold, others don’t.

Although he doesn’t have a connection to Humperdinck (aside from him being a distant employer), he does have a very strong tie to the main villains of the story in Count Rugen.

Rugen is, of course, the six-fingered man who murdered Inigo’s father so many years ago, and scarred Inigo himself.  It is he that Inigo is out to get throughout the entire film (and his entire life), a much stronger tie to an individual character in a personal way than Westley’s nemesis: Humperdinck.  Rugen is much more of an arch-nemesis, representing a very personal loss to Inigo, something that cuts much deeper, even, than true love.  While Westley never seems particularly worried about himself or Buttercup because he just knows that True Love will keep them together, Inigo reacts very strongly to Rugen and his own emotional journey, traits more typically associated with a protagonist than a cool confidence in how everything will turn out.

As a direct result to this personal stake in the story, Inigo, being at full strength and in full health, is the one who is given the final climactic battle at the end of the movie.

Where Westley has a rather anticlimactic confrontation with Humperdinck, Inigo gets a huge duel with Rugen, the climax centerpiece, the scene most memorable and most quoted in the entire film, ending in Inigo actually achieving his goal: getting revenge.  Afterwards, he even muses that after having gotten his revenge, now he no longer knows what to do with his life, with the film implying that he will become the next Dread Pirate Roberts in Westley’s place.  

Unlike Westley, and even unlike Buttercup, Inigo has an arc, pursuing what he wants actively, achieving it, and moving on.  He makes choices that have huge consequences in the plot: pursuing revenge, leaving Vizzini, finding Westley and bringing him to Miracle Max.  In a way, a huge part of the story is Inigo’s, just as much as it is Buttercup and Westley’s.  

Westley has the Heroic qualities, Buttercup has most of the focus (and her title in the movie’s name), and Inigo has the dramatic arc and climactic battle.  On their own, no one character manages to pull off the full requirements for being a fantasy protagonist, or even a protagonist at all, but together, they manage to make one complete protagonist between them.  While the story of The Princess Bride, in plot beats and story elements, seems very much like your very traditional fairy-tale story, in terms of protagonist, the execution is actually very complex.  By taking the traits of a protagonist and dividing them equally between three characters with varying levels of screen-time and activism within a story (not always at the same time), the story manages to get the audience’s interest invested in not one, but three characters equally, weaving the major threads for each of their stories in amongst each other to keep it all tied together.  And in the end, both the characters and the audience (even the Grandson!) feel closure and satisfaction.

But Inigo, Westley and Buttercup aren’t the only characters in the film.  Every story needs their supporting cast, and none are quite as supportive as Fezzik.

Fezzik is a Gentle Giant.  He’s big and strong, for sure, but he’s also very kind, the Big Guy with a heart of gold who, while not exactly being a pushover, isn’t out to hurt anybody who doesn’t deserve it.  He’s the Brute of Vizzini’s Beauty, Brains, and Brawn trio, and manages to subvert the Dumb Muscle stereotype.  He’s not terribly clever, but he does have a wit and intelligence to him that isn’t typical of most fairy-tale giants.

He and Inigo are borderline inseparable, and much like Inigo, Fezzik is somewhat okay with kidnapping Buttercup for money, but he’s considerably less approving of killing her.  Like Inigo, he is a man of honor, preferring to fight Westley in a ‘sportsmanlike’ way instead of clubbing him over the head with a rock like Vizzini first suggests.  He’s a good, loyal friend, rescuing Inigo from the palace guards, sobering him up, and then accompanying him throughout the rest of the story in finding and reviving Westley and then storming the castle.

Unlike Inigo, Westley and Buttercup, Fezzik has no stake in this story.  He has no goal to achieve here, no personal mission.  After Vizzini, his ‘boss’, is killed, there’s nothing keeping Fezzik in the story except his own will, like the Chewbacca to Inigo’s Han Solo.  He’s here because of his loyalty and concern for his friends.  He just wants to help, and help he does, turning his back on his mercenary ways pretty easily and without any real convincing.  He’s along for the ride, a supporting character that manages to be more than just ‘the comic relief’.  (In a way, one of the smartest things The Princess Bride did in terms of its characters was to make everyone funny, so no one is relegated to ‘just’ the comic relief.)

With that said, Fezzik still remains an active character in the story, helping with the storming of the castle and providing the Muscle (and the heart!) for the mission, and providing the escape by finding Humperdinck’s four white horses in his stable.

Starting out as a Minion with an F in Evil, Fezzik ends The Princess Bride as one of its most memorable and loved heroes, a kindly figure of support who’s anything but minor.

Which is more than we can say for the deceased leader of the trio of kidnappers: Vizzini.

Vizzini is the smartest of the trio sent to abduct Buttercup, but despite his bragging, he demonstrates hints that he’s not half as smart as he thinks he is.  The brains to Inigo’s beauty and Fezzik’s brawn, Vizzini is merely a Big Bad Wannabe, the final obstacle for Westley’s initial reunion with Buttercup, a Disk One Final Boss before the plot kicks off with portraying Humperdinck as the real villain.  However, while the film points out that Fezzik and Inigo fight Westley with honor, and he leaves them respectful of their talents (defeating them in the process), Westley shows no such respect for Vizzini’s ‘talents’, and simply Out-Gambits him, despite Vizzini’s Poisoned Chalice Switcheroo.  In the end, Vizzini is Too Clever by Half, and is the only one of the Sicilian Crowd to be killed, most likely due to his arrogance.

Despite his death being one of the most memorable scenes in the entire film, Vizzini doesn’t receive much screen time, or even narrative weight, in comparison to the true villains of the movie.  After all, Vizzini is only a hired stooge, a pawn in Humperdinck’s evil plan.

Humperdinck, as far as fairy-tale villains go, isn’t terribly impressive.  He’s no great dragon or emperor, or evil wizard.  He’s just a prince, a man with a lot of power who’s used to getting his own way.  He does plenty of rotten things along the way (torture Westley and kill him, order Buttercup’s kidnapping, attempt to kill her) but in the end, his goal isn’t world-domination, or wealth, or anything like that: he’s just after an excuse to go to war with the neighboring country.  He’s not after Buttercup for her beauty, like many other fairy-tale villains before him, he’s just after her to use as a political figure, aiming to kill her after their wedding night and pin it on Guilder.

Arguably, this makes him worse.

There’s no great, over-the-top explanation for his villany.  He’s not cartoonish or after traditional fairy-tale things, he’s actually after something that we’d see in the real world.  He is the true Big Bad, the Chessmaster, The Evil Prince obsessed with war, who, ironically, happens to be a Dirty Coward.

Oddly enough, throughout the film, although Humperdinck is presented as the Archenemy of Westley, there’s no real personal connection between them.  This isn’t like Beauty and the Beast, where both men are vying (in their own way) for Buttercup’s affection.  Humperdinck honestly couldn’t care less about Buttercup, viewing her as a tool to get what he really wants.  In the end, he rushes through a marriage ceremony in order to murder Buttercup after the wedding, again, nothing personal, just business.  His only connection to Westley is happening to choose the wrong girl to murder.

As such, as opposed to Count Rugen’s thematically resonant demise, Humperdinck is actually allowed to live, and go free at the end of the story, which seems to be a big-time rule-breaker in terms of fairy-tale storytelling.  The Grandson himself expresses irritation and disbelief at this fact, after all, villains should be punished, not sternly talked-down by a paralyzed hero.

Yet, that’s what happens.  Considering that the most Humperdinck managed to do was temporarily kill Westley, he gets very little ‘revenge’ in return.  Like I said in the Story article:

Westley couldn’t care less about Humperdinck other than the fact that he’s getting in the way of his and Buttercup’s storybook love.  Humperdinck is an obstacle to his true goal and drive, and he’s not worth the killing.  Once he’s out of the way and Westley and Buttercup are reunited, Humperdinck ceases to matter to Westley.  If the story had been from Miracle Max’s point of view, Humperdinck would have died or at least, have something more horrible happen to him, but since Humperdinck never really succeeded in doing much of anything throughout the story, he’s actually so pathetic that he’s not worth Westley’s time.

So, yeah, Humperdinck is left to live with his cowardice because his death wouldn’t have provided the characters anything except maybe catharsis, and honestly, that’s not really a good enough reason to off your villain

He’s such a coward, he doesn’t even have a chance to take part in a climatic duel.  He’s so unimpressive as a fantasy villain that he even strips the audience of their chance to see another sword fight, without diminishing his hatefulness and narrative weight as a villain.

Thankfully, the audience does get their climactic battle: thanks to Count Rugen.

Rugen is Inigo’s archenemy, rather than Westley’s, and unlike the rivalry between the main protagonist and antagonist, Rugen’s relationship with Inigo is very personal indeed.  Rugen, the six-fingered man that Inigo wants to hunt down and kill so badly, is the man who killed Inigo’s father, and left him scarred as a little boy.  Rugen is the Dragon, a Soft-Spoken Sadist who serves as Humperdinck’s Right Hand Man and Torture Technician.  He is the inventor of the torture machine that ends up taking Westley’s life, and throughout the film, serves as co-conspirator to Humperdinck.

He’s pretty rotten, and just like Humperdinck, proves himself to be a Dirty Coward too.

However, while Westley let Humperdinck live with that knowledge, Inigo offers Rugen no such mercy.

The final duel between Inigo and Rugen is one of the show-stopping setpieces of the film, paying off a considerable amount of buildup foreshadowed with much of Inigo’s dialogue and character.  Like I said in the ‘Story’ article:

On the other hand, Inigo’s villain, Count Rugen, is killed, for a very simple reason: that’s the logical end to fulfill Inigo’s story.

In order for Inigo to feel fulfilled and gain satisfaction, to lay his father’s spirit to rest, Rugen has to die, knowing why he’s dying, and who it is who killed him.  In a sense, the antagonists fit the ‘antagonist’ bill much the same way the protagonists do: by splitting the roles, from Humperdinck having the main plot being responsible for most of the obstacles, where Rugen fills in for the emotional punch instead.

There are other characters too, of course: Miracle Max and his wife Valerie, offering a comedic look at a few other residents of Florin, The Albino, Rugen’s assistant, The Impressive Clergyman, and even Yellin, the captain of the guard, but for the most part, these characters (aside from Miracle Max and Valerie being responsible for resurrecting Westley) serve as comedic filler, without much actual narrative weight.

As fairy-tale archetypes with surprising amounts of dimension, the characters of The Princess Bride all do their jobs with ease, falling into natural roles in an organic fashion, despite the unconventional structuring of the characters’ parts to play.

The beauty of all of these characters is that none of them are in the slightest bit realistic.  These are very clearly ‘fairy-tale’ characters, who don’t think about things in the way that we do, and yet, the audience still relates to them, is entertained by them, is concerned for them.  Even though characters don’t act in terribly realistic ways, they are motivated by things that we understand: love, revenge, etc.  The audience feels and understands their emotions, and therefore understands where characters are coming from, even if the actions taken by the characters are primarily ‘fantasy based’, superhuman, incredibly skilled and heroic or villainous in the context of the story that the Grandfather is reading to the Grandson.  

The Princess Bride’s characters are not portrayed as ‘people’, instead being played as simple characters typical of traditional ‘fairy-tale’ stories.  Each character, whether hero or villain, behaves almost as though they know what part they inhabit, playing the ‘fairy-tale’ aspect straight, with a comedic edge to the archetypes found in a book, a familiar-feeling, simple, but emotional story that people have loved and laughed with for decades.

The characters of The Princess Bride serve their purpose incredibly well: making the audience care about what happens to them.  Every role is memorable, unique, distinct, with plenty of quotes and character tics to be referenced and replicated decades later.  They perfectly match the film they belong to: a fantasy classic that has finally been Vindicated by History, gaining it’s rightful place among fantasy greats.  

Thank you guys so much for reading!  If you have something you’d like to add or say, don’t forget that the ask box is always open!  I hope to see you all in the next article.

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany and Barristan’s relationship

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

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

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

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

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

~

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

He boasts of bedding me, you mean.

~

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

ADWD The Queen's Hand

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

~

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

~

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

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

~

“They await the Hand’s pleasure below.”

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

~

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

~

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

“Only the queen can do that.”

~

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

“Her Grace is not … she …”

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

ADWD The Kingbreaker

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

No, thought Selmy. “Hizdahr seemed distraught.”

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

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

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

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

~

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

“And when she does return?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was not wrong.”

“I will not permit it.”

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

ADWD The Discarded Knight

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ADWD The Queensguard

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

~

“I have the poisoner.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

“Her poisoner.”

Is he? “Where is your proof?”

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

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

ADWD Daenerys IX

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

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

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

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

“I am one old man, Your Grace.”

“Strong Belwas will be with me as well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

Dany turned. “Why are we stopped?”

Hizdahr stood. “The way is blocked.”

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“Ser Barristan?” she said softly.

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

“How much did you hear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The woman is the worst of all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dornishmen are notoriously stubborn, Your Grace. Prince Quentyn’s forebears fought your own for the better part of two hundred years. He will not go without you.”

Then he will die here, Daenerys thought, unless there is more to him than I can see. “Is he still within?”

“Drinking with his knights.”

“Bring him to me. It is time he met my children.”

A flicker of doubt passed across the long, solemn face of Barristan Selmy. “As you command.”

Her king was laughing with Yurkhaz zo Yunzak and the other Yunkish lords. Dany did not think that he would miss her, but just in case she instructed her handmaids to tell him that she was answering a call of nature, should he inquire after her.

Ser Barristan was waiting by the steps with the Dornish prince.

~

Even here in her own pyramid, on this happy night of peace and celebration, Ser Barristan insisted on keeping guards about her everywhere she went. The small company made the long descent in silence, stopping thrice to refresh themselves along the way.

~

One of the elephants trumpeted at them from his stall. An answering roar from below made her flush with sudden heat. Prince Quentyn looked up in alarm. “The dragons know when she is near,” Ser Barristan told him.

[...] “Remain outside,” Dany told Ser Barristan, as the Unsullied were opening the huge iron doors. “Prince Quentyn will protect me.” She drew the Dornish prince inside with her, to stand above the pit.

~

“Ser Barristan will have summoned a pair of sedan chairs to carry us back up to the banquet, but the climb can still be wearisome.”

ADWD Daenerys VII

Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, but he had been dead so long that Daenerys had almost forgotten how it felt to love and be loved. Daario had helped her to remember. I was dead and he brought me back to life. I was asleep and he woke me. My brave captain. Even so, of late he grew too bold. On the day that he returned from his latest sortie, he had tossed the head of a Yunkish lord at her feet and kissed her in the hall for all the world to see, until Barristan Selmy pulled the two of them apart. Ser Grandfather had been so wroth that Dany feared blood might be shed. “We cannot wed, my love. You know why.”

~

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

~

“If it please Your Grace, we are all three knights.”

Dany glanced at Daario and saw anger flash across his face. He did not know. “I have need of knights,” she said.

Ser Barristan’s suspicions had awakened. “Knighthood is easily claimed this far from Westeros. Are you prepared to defend that boast with sword or lance?”

“If need be,” said Gerrold, “though I will not claim that any of us is the equal of Barristan the Bold. Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but we have come before you under false names.”

“I knew someone else who did that once,” said Dany, “a man called Arstan Whitebeard. Tell me your true names, then.”

~

“This is your gift? A scrap of writing?” Daario snatched the parchment out of the Dornishman’s hands and unrolled it, squinting at the seals and signatures. “Very pretty, all the gold and ribbons, but I do not read your Westerosi scratchings.”

“Bring it to the queen,” Ser Barristan commanded. “Now.”

Dany could feel the anger in the hall. “I am only a young girl, and young girls must have their gifts,” she said lightly. “Daario, please, you must not tease me. Give it here.”

The parchment was written in the Common Tongue. The queen unrolled it slowly, studying the seals and signatures. When she saw the name Ser Willem Darry, her heart beat a little faster. She read it over once, and then again.

“May we know what it says, Your Grace?” asked Ser Barristan.

“It is a secret pact,” Dany said, “made in Braavos when I was just a little girl. Ser Willem Darry signed for us, the man who spirited my brother and myself away from Dragonstone before the Usurper’s men could take us. Prince Oberyn Martell signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness.” She handed the parchment to Ser Barristan, so he might read it for himself.

~

Daario and Ser Barristan followed her up the steps to her apartments. “This changes everything,” the old knight said.

“This changes nothing,” Dany said, as Irri removed her crown. “What good are three men?”

“Three knights,” said Selmy.

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

“And bought you too, I do not doubt.” He did not trouble to deny it. Dany unrolled the parchment and examined it again. Braavos. This was done in Braavos, while we were living in the house with the red door. Why did that make her feel so strange?

She found herself remembering her nightmare. Sometimes there is truth in dreams. Could Hizdahr zo Loraq be working for the warlocks, was that what the dream had meant? Could the dream have been a sending? Were the gods telling her to put Hizdahr aside and wed this Dornish prince instead? Something tickled at her memory. “Ser Barristan, what are the arms of House Martell?”

“A sun in splendor, transfixed by a spear.”

The sun’s son. A shiver went through her. “Shadows and whispers.” What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun’s son. There was a lion in it too, and a dragon. Or am I the dragon? “Beware the perfumed seneschal.” That she remembered. “Dreams and prophecies. Why must they always be in riddles? I hate this. Oh, leave me, ser. Tomorrow is my wedding day.”

~

She found Strong Belwas eating grapes, as Barristan Selmy watched a stableboy cinch the girth on his dapple grey.

~

Ser Barristan helped her up onto her sedan chair. Quentyn rejoined his fellow Dornishmen. Strong Belwas bellowed for the gates to be opened, and Daenerys Targaryen was carried forth into the sun. Selmy fell in beside her on his dapple grey.

“Tell me,” Dany said, as the procession turned toward the Temple of the Graces, “if my father and my mother had been free to follow their own hearts, whom would they have wed?”

“It was long ago. Your Grace would not know them.”

“You know, though. Tell me.”

The old knight inclined his head. “The queen your mother was always mindful of her duty.” He was handsome in his gold-and-silver armor, his white cloak streaming from his shoulders, but he sounded like a man in pain, as if every word were a stone he had to pass. “As a girl, though … she was once smitten with a young knight from the stormlands who wore her favor at a tourney and named her queen of love and beauty. A brief thing.”

“What happened to this knight?”

“He put away his lance the day your lady mother wed your father. Afterward he became most pious, and was heard to say that only the Maiden could replace Queen Rhaella in his heart. His passion was impossible, of course. A landed knight is no fit consort for a princess of royal blood.”

And Daario Naharis is only a sellsword, not fit to buckle on the golden spurs of even a landed knight. “And my father? Was there some woman he loved better than his queen?”

Ser Barristan shifted in the saddle. “Not … not loved. Mayhaps wanted is a better word, but … it was only kitchen gossip, the whispers of washerwomen and stableboys …”

“I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest.”

“As you command.” The white knight chose his words with care. “Prince Aerys … as a youth, he was taken with a certain lady of Casterly Rock, a cousin of Tywin Lannister. When she and Tywin wed, your father drank too much wine at the wedding feast and was heard to say that it was a great pity that the lord’s right to the first night had been abolished. A drunken jape, no more, but Tywin Lannister was not a man to forget such words, or the … the liberties your father took during the bedding.” His face reddened. “I have said too much, Your Grace. I—”

“Gracious queen, well met!”

ADWD Daenerys VI

Ser Barristan wrinkled up his nose, and said, “Your Grace should not be here, breathing these black humors.”

“I am the blood of the dragon,” Dany reminded him. “Have you ever seen a dragon with the flux?” Viserys had oft claimed that Targaryens were untroubled by the pestilences that afflicted common men, and so far as she could tell, it was true. She could remember being cold and hungry and afraid, but never sick.

“Even so,” the old knight said, “I would feel better if Your Grace would return to the city.” The many-colored brick walls of Meereen were half a mile back. “The bloody flux has been the bane of every army since the Dawn Age. Let us distribute the food, Your Grace.”

“On the morrow. I am here now. I want to see.” She put her heels into her silver. The others trotted after her. Jhogo rode before her, Aggo and Rakharo just behind, long Dothraki whips in hand to keep away the sick and dying. Ser Barristan was at her right, mounted on a dapple grey.

~

Yesterday a wagon had been overturned and two of her soldiers killed, so today the queen had determined that she would bring the food herself. Every one of her advisors had argued fervently against it, from Reznak and the Shavepate to Ser Barristan, but Daenerys would not be moved. “I will not turn away from them,” she said stubbornly. “A queen must know the sufferings of her people.”

~

“Too many dead,” Aggo said. “They should be burned.”

“Who will burn them?” asked Ser Barristan. “The bloody flux is everywhere. A hundred die each night.”

“It is not good to touch the dead,” said Jhogo.

“This is known,” Aggo and Rakharo said, together.

“That may be so,” said Dany, “but this thing must be done, all the same.” She thought a moment. “The Unsullied have no fear of corpses. I shall speak to Grey Worm.”

“Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan, “the Unsullied are your best fighters. We dare not loose this plague amongst them. Let the Astapori bury their own dead.”

“They are too feeble,” said Symon Stripeback.

Dany said, “More food might make them stronger.”

Symon shook his head. “Food should not be wasted on the dying, Your Worship. We do not have enough to feed the living.”

He was not wrong, she knew, but that did not make the words any easier to hear. “This is far enough,” the queen decided. “We’ll feed them here.” She raised a hand. Behind her the wagons bumped to a halt, and her riders spread out around them, to keep the Astapori from rushing at the food. No sooner had they stopped than the press began to thicken around them, as more and more of the afflicted came limping and shambling toward the wagons. The riders cut them off. “Wait your turn,” they shouted. “No pushing. Back. Stay back. Bread for everyone. Wait your turn.”

Dany could only sit and watch. “Ser,” she said to Barristan Selmy, “is there no more we can do? You have provisions.”

“Provisions for Your Grace’s soldiers. We may well need to withstand a long siege. The Stormcrows and the Second Sons can harry the Yunkishmen, but they cannot hope to turn them. If Your Grace would allow me to assemble an army …”

“If there must be a battle, I would sooner fight it from behind the walls of Meereen. Let the Yunkai’i try and storm my battlements.” The queen surveyed the scene around her. “If we were to share our food equally …”

“… the Astapori would eat through their portion in days, and we would have that much less for the siege.”

Dany gazed across the camp, to the many-colored brick walls of Meereen. The air was thick with flies and cries. “The gods have sent this pestilence to humble me. So many dead … I will not have them eating corpses.” She beckoned Aggo closer. “Ride to the gates and bring me Grey Worm and fifty of his Unsullied.”

“Khaleesi. The blood of your blood obeys.” Aggo touched his horse with his heels and galloped off.

Ser Barristan watched with ill-concealed apprehension. “You should not linger here overlong, Your Grace. The Astapori are being fed, as you commanded. There’s no more we can do for the poor wretches. We should repair back to the city.”

“Go if you wish, ser. I will not detain you. I will not detain any of you.” Dany vaulted down from the horse. “I cannot heal them, but I can show them that their Mother cares.”

~

“To celebrate your nuptials, it would be most fitting if you would allow the fighting pits to open once again. It would be your wedding gift to Hizdahr and to your loving people, a sign that you had embraced the ancient ways and customs of Meereen.”

“And most pleasing to the gods as well,” the Green Grace added in her soft and kindly voice.

A bride price paid in blood. Daenerys was weary of fighting this battle. Even Ser Barristan did not think she could win. “No ruler can make a people good,” Selmy had told her. “Baelor the Blessed prayed and fasted and built the Seven as splendid a temple as any gods could wish for, yet he could not put an end to war and want.” A queen must listen to her people, Dany reminded herself.

~

The queen was framing her response when she heard a step behind her. The food, she thought. Her cooks had promised her to serve the noble Hizdahr’s favorite meal, dog in honey, stuffed with prunes and peppers. But when she turned to look, it was Ser Barristan standing there, freshly bathed and clad in white, his longsword at his side. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing, “I am sorry to disturb you, but I thought that you would want to know at once. The Stormcrows have returned to the city, with word of the foe. The Yunkishmen are on the march, just as we had feared.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed the noble face of Hizdahr zo Loraq. “The queen is at her supper. These sellswords can wait.”

Ser Barristan ignored him. “I asked Lord Daario to make his report to me, as Your Grace had commanded. He laughed and said that he would write it out in his own blood if Your Grace would send your little scribe to show him how to make the letters.”

“Blood?” said Dany, horrified. “Is that a jape? No. No, don’t tell me, I must see him for myself.” She was a young girl, and alone, and young girls can change their minds. “Convene my captains and commanders. Hizdahr, I know you will forgive me.”

“Meereen must come first.” Hizdahr smiled genially. “We will have other nights. A thousand nights.”

“Ser Barristan will show you out.”

~

“You’re hurt,” she gasped.

“This?” Daario touched his temple. “A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile.” He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. “This blood is not mine. One of my serjeants said we should go over to the Yunkai’i, so I reached down his throat and pulled his heart out. I meant to bring it to you as a gift for my silver queen, but four of the Cats cut me off and came snarling and spitting after me. One almost caught me, so I threw the heart into his face.”

“Very gallant,” said Ser Barristan, in a tone that suggested it was anything but, “but do you have tidings for Her Grace?”

“Hard tidings, Ser Grandfather. Astapor is gone, and the slavers are coming north in strength.”

~

Ser Barristan frowned at Daario. “Captain, you made mention of four free companies. We know of only three. The Windblown, the Long Lances, and the Company of the Cat.”

“Ser Grandfather knows how to count. The Second Sons have gone over to the Yunkai’i.” Daario turned his head and spat. “That’s for Brown Ben Plumm. When next I see his ugly face I will open him from throat to groin and rip out his black heart.”

~

“Please,” Dany said, but only Missandei seemed to hear. The queen got to her feet. “Be quiet! I have heard enough.”

“Your Grace.” Ser Barristan went to one knee. “We are yours to command. What would you have us do?”

“Continue as we planned. Gather food, as much as you can.”

ADWD Daenerys V

Ser Barristan remained. “Our stores are ample for the moment,” he reminded her, “and Your Grace has planted beans and grapes and wheat. Your Dothraki have harried the slavers from the hills and struck the shackles from their slaves. They are planting too, and will be bringing their crops to Meereen to market. And you will have the friendship of Lhazar.”

Daario won that for me, for all that it is worth. “The Lamb Men. Would that lambs had teeth.”

“That would make the wolves more cautious, no doubt.”

That made her laugh. “How fare your orphans, ser?”

The old knight smiled. “Well, Your Grace. It is good of you to ask.” The boys were his pride. “Four or five have the makings of knights. Perhaps as many as a dozen.”

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

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

“I hope that day comes quickly.” She would have kissed her good knight on the cheek, but just then Missandei appeared beneath the arched doorway.

~

Afterward, Ser Barristan told her that her brother Rhaegar would have been proud of her. Dany remembered the words Ser Jorah had spoken at Astapor: Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.

~

She turned to Ser Barristan. “Send riders into the hills to find my bloodriders. Recall Brown Ben and the Second Sons as well.”

“And the Stormcrows, Your Grace?”

Daario. “Yes. Yes.” [...]

When Ser Barristan told her that her captain desired words with her, she thought for a moment that it was Daario, and her heart leapt. But the captain that he spoke of was Brown Ben Plumm.

~

“These are not apples, Ben,” said Dany. “These are men and women, sick and hungry and afraid.” My children. “I should have gone to Astapor.”

“Your Grace could not have saved them,” said Ser Barristan. “You warned King Cleon against this war with Yunkai. The man was a fool, and his hands were red with blood.”

And are my hands any cleaner?

~

Daenerys looked at the faces of the men around her. The Shavepate, scowling. Ser Barristan, with his lined face and sad blue eyes. Reznak mo Reznak, pale, sweating. Brown Ben, white-haired, grizzled, tough as old leather. Grey Worm, smooth-cheeked, stolid, expressionless. Daario should be here, and my bloodriders, she thought. If there is to be a battle, the blood of my blood should be with me. She missed Ser Jorah Mormont too. He lied to me, informed on me, but he loved me too, and he always gave good counsel.

~

“I defeated the Yunkai’i before. I will defeat them again. Where, though? How?”

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

Ser Barristan disagreed. “I do not think we should allow them to invest us. Theirs is a patchwork host at best. These slavers are no soldiers. If we take them unawares …”

“Small chance of that,” the Shavepate said. “The Yunkai’i have many friends inside the city. They will know.”

“How large an army can we muster?” Dany asked.

“Not large enough, begging your royal pardon,” said Brown Ben Plumm. “What does Naharis have to say? If we’re going to make a fight o’ this, we need his Stormcrows.”

“Daario is still in the field.”

~

“Ben, I will need your Second Sons to scout our enemies. Where they are, how fast they are advancing, how many men they have, and how they are disposed.”

“We’ll need provisions. Fresh horses too.”

“Of course. Ser Barristan will see to it.”

~

“What of these Astapori?”

My children. “They are coming here for help. For succor and protection. We cannot turn our backs on them.”

Ser Barristan frowned. “Your Grace, I have known the bloody flux to destroy whole armies when left to spread unchecked. The seneschal is right. We cannot have the Astapori in Meereen.”

Dany looked at him helplessly. It was good that dragons did not cry.

~

When Daenerys finally turned away, Ser Barristan stood near her, wrapped in his white cloak against the chill of evening. “Can we make a fight of this?” she asked him.

“Men can always fight, Your Grace. Ask rather if we can win. Dying is easy, but victory comes hard. Your freedmen are half-trained and unblooded. Your sellswords once served your foes, and once a man turns his cloak he will not scruple to turn it again. You have two dragons who cannot be controlled, and a third that may be lost to you. Beyond these walls your only friends are the Lhazarene, who have no taste for war.”

“My walls are strong, though.”

“No stronger than when we sat outside them. And the Sons of the Harpy are inside the walls with us. So are the Great Masters, both those you did not kill and the sons of those you did.”

“I know.” The queen sighed. “What do you counsel, ser?”

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

“Meet the foe,” she echoed, “with the freedmen you’ve called half-trained and unblooded.”

“We were all unblooded once, Your Grace. The Unsullied will help stiffen them. If I had five hundred knights …”

“Or five. And if I give you the Unsullied, I will have no one but the Brazen Beasts to hold Meereen.” When Ser Barristan did not dispute her, Dany closed her eyes. Gods, she prayed, you took Khal Drogo, who was my sun-and-stars. You took our valiant son before he drew a breath. You have had your blood of me. Help me now, I pray you. Give me the wisdom to see the path ahead and the strength to do what I must to keep my children safe.

The gods did not respond.

When she opened her eyes again, Daenerys said, “I cannot fight two enemies, one within and one without. If I am to hold Meereen, I must have the city behind me. The whole city. I need … I need …” She could not say it.

“Your Grace?” Ser Barristan prompted, gently.

A queen belongs not to herself but to her people.

ADWD Daenerys IV

“They are very sweet, the both of them,” Dany assured her. “Qezza sings for me sometimes. She has a lovely voice. And Ser Barristan has been instructing Grazhar and the other boys in the ways of western chivalry.”

~

“Your Grace need only ask him. The noble Hizdahr awaits below. Send down to him if that is your pleasure.”

You presume too much, priestess, the queen thought, but she swallowed her anger and made herself smile. “Why not?” She sent for Ser Barristan and told the old knight to bring Hizdahr to her. “It is a long climb. Have the Unsullied help him up.”

~

No sooner had Hizdahr zo Loraq taken his leave of her than Ser Barristan appeared behind her in his long white cloak. Years of service in the Kingsguard had taught the white knight how to remain unobtrusive when she was entertaining, but he was never far. He knows, she saw at once, and he disapproves. The lines around his mouth had deepened. “So,” she said to him, “it seems that I may wed again. Are you happy for me, ser?”

“If that is your command, Your Grace.”

“Hizdahr is not the husband you would have chosen for me.”

“It is not my place to choose your husband.”

“It is not,” she agreed, “but it is important to me that you should understand. My people are bleeding. Dying. A queen belongs not to herself, but to the realm. Marriage or carnage, those are my choices. A wedding or a war.”

“Your Grace, may I speak frankly?”

“Always.”

“There is a third choice.”

“Westeros?”

He nodded. “I am sworn to serve Your Grace, and to keep you safe from harm wherever you may go. My place is by your side, whether here or in King’s Landing … but your place is back in Westeros, upon the Iron Throne that was your father’s. The Seven Kingdoms will never accept Hizdahr zo Loraq as king.”

“No more than Meereen will accept Daenerys Targaryen as queen. The Green Grace has the right of that. I need a king beside me, a king of old Ghiscari blood. Elsewise they will always see me as the uncouth barbarian who smashed through their gates, impaled their kin on spikes, and stole their wealth.”

“In Westeros you will be the lost child who returns to gladden her father’s heart. Your people will cheer when you ride by, and all good men will love you.”

“Westeros is far away.”

“Lingering here will never bring it any closer. The sooner we take our leave of this place—”

“I know. I do.” Dany did not know how to make him see. She wanted Westeros as much as he did, but first she must heal Meereen. “Ninety days is a long time. Hizdahr may fail. And if he does, the trying buys me time. Time to make alliances, to strengthen my defenses, to—”

“And if he does not fail? What will Your Grace do then?”

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

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

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

Ser Barristan went on. “I saw your father and your mother wed as well. Forgive me, but there was no fondness there, and the realm paid dearly for that, my queen.”

“Why did they wed if they did not love each other?”

“Your grandsire commanded it. A woods witch had told him that the prince was promised would be born of their line.”

“A woods witch?” Dany was astonished.

“She came to court with Jenny of Oldstones. A stunted thing, grotesque to look upon. A dwarf, most people said, though dear to Lady Jenny, who always claimed that she was one of the children of the forest.”

“What became of her?”

“Summerhall.” The word was fraught with doom.

Dany sighed. “Leave me now. I am very weary.”

“As you command.” Ser Barristan bowed and turned to go. But at the door, he stopped. “Forgive me. Your Grace has a visitor. Shall I tell him to return upon the morrow?”

“Who is it?”

“Naharis. The Stormcrows have returned to the city.”

Daario. Her heart gave a flutter in her chest. “How long has … when did he …?” She could not seem to get the words out.

Ser Barristan seemed to understand. “Your Grace was with the priestess when he arrived. I knew you would not want to be disturbed. The captain’s news can wait until the morrow.”

“No.” How could I ever hope to sleep, knowing that my captain so close? “Send him up at once. And … I will have no more need of you this evening. I shall be safe with Daario. Oh, and send Irri and Jhiqui, if you would be so good. And Missandei.” I need to change, to make myself beautiful.

~

When he was gone, Daenerys called Ser Barristan back. “I want the Stormcrows back in the field.”

“Your Grace? They have only now returned …”

“I want them gone. Let them scout the Yunkish hinterlands and give protection to any caravans coming over the Khyzai Pass. Henceforth Daario shall make his reports to you. Give him every honor that is due him and see that his men are well paid, but on no account admit him to my presence.”

“As you say, Your Grace.”

ADWD Daenerys III

“Your hinterlands are not precious to me. Your person is. Should any ill befall you, this world would lose its savor.”

“My lord is good to care so much, but I am well protected.” Dany gestured toward where Barristan Selmy stood with one hand resting on his sword hilt. “Barristan the Bold, they call him. Twice he has saved me from assassins.”

Xaro gave Selmy a cursory inspection. “Barristan the Old, did you say? Your bear knight was younger, and devoted to you.”

“I do not wish to speak of Jorah Mormont.”

~

“Oh most beautiful of women,” Xaro said, as they began to climb, “there are footsteps behind us. We are followed.”

“My old knight does not frighten you, surely? Ser Barristan is sworn to keep my secrets.”

~

She turned her back upon the night, to where Barristan Selmy stood silent in the shadows. “My brother once told me a Westerosi riddle. Who listens to everything yet hears nothing?”

“A knight of the Kingsguard.” Selmy’s voice was solemn.

“You heard Xaro make his offer?”

“I did, Your Grace.” The old knight took pains not to look at her bare breast as he spoke to her.

Ser Jorah would not turn his eyes away. He loved me as a woman, where Ser Barristan loves me only as his queen. Mormont had been an informer, reporting to her enemies in Westeros, yet he had given her good counsel too. “What do you think of it? Of him?”

“Of him, little and less. These ships, though … Your Grace, with these ships we might be home before year’s end.”

Dany had never known a home. In Braavos, there had been a house with a red door, but that was all. “Beware of Qartheen bearing gifts, especially merchants of the Thirteen. There is some trap here. Perhaps these ships are rotten, or …”

“If they were so unseaworthy, they could not have crossed the sea from Qarth,” Ser Barristan pointed out, “but Your Grace was wise to insist upon inspection. I will take Admiral Groleo to the galleys at first light with his captains and two score of his sailors. We can crawl over every inch of those ships.”

It was good counsel. “Yes, make it so.” Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city? Meereen was never your city, her brother’s voice seemed to whisper. Your cities are across the sea. Your Seven Kingdoms, where your enemies await you. You were born to serve them blood and fire.

Ser Barristan cleared his throat and said, “This warlock that the merchant spoke of …”

“Pyat Pree.” She tried to recall his face, but all she could see were his lips. The wine of the warlocks had turned them blue. Shade-of-the-evening, it was called. “If a warlock’s spell could kill me, I would be dead by now. I left their palace all in ashes.” Drogon saved me when they would have drained my life from me. Drogon burned them all.

“As you say, Your Grace. Still. I will be watchful.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “I know you will. Come, walk me back down to the feast.”

~

Late that afternoon Admiral Groleo and Ser Barristan returned from their inspection of the galleys. Dany assembled her council to hear them.

[...] The ships are sound, then?” she said, hoping.

“Sound enough, Your Grace. They are old ships, aye, but most are well maintained. The hull of the Pureborn Princess is worm-eaten. I’d not want to take her beyond the sight of land. The Narraqqa could stand a new rudder and lines, and the Banded Lizard has some cracked oars, but they will serve. The rowers are slaves, but if we offer them an honest oarsman’s wage, most will stay with us. Rowing’s all they know. Those who leave can be replaced from my own crews. It is a long hard voyage to Westeros, but these ships are sound enough to get us there, I’d judge.”

~

“Those left behind in Meereen would envy them their easy deaths,” moaned Reznak. “They will make slaves of us, or throw us in the pits. All will be as it was, or worse.”

“Where is your courage?” Ser Barristan lashed out. “Her Grace freed you from your chains. It is for you to sharpen your swords and defend your own freedom when she leaves.”

“Brave words, from one who means to sail into the sunset,” Symon Stripeback snarled back. “Will you look back at our dying?”

“Your Grace—”

“Magnificence—”

“Your Worship—”

“Enough.” Dany slapped the table. “No one will be left to die. You are all my people.” Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. “I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait.”

Groleo was aghast. “We must accept these ships. If we refuse this gift …”

Ser Barristan went to one knee before her. “My queen, your realm has need of you. You are not wanted here, but in Westeros men will flock to your banners by the thousands, great lords and noble knights. ‘She is come,’ they will shout to one another, in glad voices. ‘Prince Rhaegar’s sister has come home at last.’”

“If they love me so much, they will wait for me.” Dany stood.

~

She received the merchant prince alone, seated on her bench of polished ebony, on the cushions Ser Barristan had brought her.

ADWD Daenerys II

“It has been so long,” she had said to Ser Barristan, just yesterday. “What if Daario has betrayed me and gone over to my enemies?” Three treasons will you know. “What if he met another woman, some princess of the Lhazarene?”

The old knight neither liked nor trusted Daario, she knew. Even so, he had answered gallantly. “There is no woman more lovely than Your Grace. Only a blind man could believe otherwise, and Daario Naharis was not blind.”

No, she thought. His eyes are a deep blue, almost purple, and his gold tooth gleams when he smiles for me.

Ser Barristan was sure he would return, though. Dany could only pray that he was right.

~

A shadow. A memory. No one. She was the blood of the dragon, but Ser Barristan had warned her that in that blood there was a taint. Could I be going mad? They had called her father mad, once.

~

In the purple hall, Dany found her ebon bench piled high about with satin pillows. The sight brought a wan smile to her lips. Ser Barristan’s work, she knew. The old knight was a good man, but sometimes very literal. It was only a jape, ser, she thought, but she sat on one of the pillows just the same.

~

“Your barber has served you well, Hizdahr. I hope you have come to show me his work and not to plague me further about the fighting pits.”

He made a deep obeisance. “Your Grace, I fear I must.”

Dany grimaced. Even her own people would give no rest about the matter. Reznak mo Reznak stressed the coin to be made through taxes. The Green Grace said that reopening the pits would please the gods. The Shavepate felt it would win her support against the Sons of the Harpy. “Let them fight,” grunted Strong Belwas, who had once been a champion in the pits. Ser Barristan suggested a tourney instead; his orphans could ride at rings and fight a mêlée with blunted weapons, he said, a suggestion Dany knew was as hopeless as it was well-intentioned. It was blood the Meereenese yearned to see, not skill.

~

Ser Barristan escorted her back up to her chambers. “Tell me a tale, ser,” Dany said as they climbed. “Some tale of valor with a happy ending.” She felt in need of happy endings. “Tell me how you escaped from the Usurper.”

“Your Grace. There is no valor in running for your life.”

Dany seated herself on a cushion, crossed her legs, and gazed up at him. “Please. It was the Young Usurper who dismissed you from the Kingsguard …”

“Joffrey, aye. They gave my age for a reason, though the truth was elsewise. The boy wanted a white cloak for his dog Sandor Clegane and his mother wanted the Kingslayer to be her lord commander. When they told me, I … I took off my cloak as they commanded, threw my sword at Joffrey’s feet, and spoke unwisely.”

“What did you say?”

“The truth … but truth was never welcome at that court. I walked from the throne room with my head high, though I did not know where I was going. I had no home but White Sword Tower. My cousins would find a place for me at Harvest Hall, I knew, but I had no wish to bring Joffrey’s displeasure down upon them. I was gathering my things when it came to me that I had brought this on myself by taking Robert’s pardon. He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me.”

“My brother Viserys.”

“Such was my intent. When I reached the stables the gold cloaks tried to seize me. Joffrey had offered me a tower to die in, but I had spurned his gift, so now he meant to offer me a dungeon. The commander of the City Watch himself confronted me, emboldened by my empty scabbard, but he had only three men with him and I still had my knife. I slashed one man’s face open when he laid his hands upon me, and rode through the others. As I spurred for the gates I heard Janos Slynt shouting for them to go after me. Once outside the Red Keep, the streets were congested, else I might have gotten away clean. Instead they caught me at the River Gate. The gold cloaks who had pursued me from the castle shouted for those at the gate to stop me, so they crossed their spears to bar my way.”

“And you without your sword? How did you get past them?”

“A true knight is worth ten guardsmen. The men at the gate were taken by surprise. I rode one down, wrenched away his spear, and drove it through the throat of my closest pursuer. The other broke off once I was through the gate, so I spurred my horse to a gallop and rode hellbent along the river until the city was lost to sight behind me. That night I traded my horse for a handful of pennies and some rags, and the next morning I joined the stream of smallfolk making their way to King’s Landing. I’d gone out the Mud Gate, so I returned through the Gate of the Gods, with dirt on my face, stubble on my cheeks, and no weapon but a wooden staff. In roughspun clothes and mud-caked boots, I was just one more old man fleeing the war. The gold cloaks took a stag from me and waved me through. King’s Landing was crowded with smallfolk who’d come seeking refuge from the fighting. I lost myself amongst them. I had a little silver, but I needed that to pay my passage across the narrow sea, so I slept in septs and alleys and took my meals in pot shops. I let my beard grow out and cloaked myself in age. The day Lord Stark lost his head, I was there, watching. Afterward I went into the Great Sept and thanked the seven gods that Joffrey had stripped me of my cloak.”

“Stark was a traitor who met a traitor’s end.”

“Your Grace,” said Selmy, “Eddard Stark played a part in your father’s fall, but he bore you no ill will. When the eunuch Varys told us that you were with child, Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand.”

“Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?”

“Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace.”

“Lannister or Stark, what difference? Viserys used to call them the Usurper’s dogs. If a child is set upon by a pack of hounds, does it matter which one tears out his throat? All the dogs are just as guilty. The guilt …” The word caught in her throat. Hazzea, she thought, and suddenly she heard herself say, “I have to see the pit,” in a voice as small as a child’s whisper. “Take me down, ser, if you would.”

A flicker of disapproval crossed the old man’s face, but it was not his way to question his queen. “As you command.”

The servants’ steps were the quickest way down—not grand, but steep and straight and narrow, hidden in the walls. Ser Barristan brought a lantern, lest she fall. Bricks of twenty different colors pressed close around them, fading to grey and black beyond the lantern light. Thrice they passed Unsullied guards, standing as if they had been carved from stone. The only sound was the soft scruff of their feet upon the steps.

At ground level the Great Pyramid of Meereen was a hushed place, full of dust and shadows. Its outer walls were thirty feet thick. Within them, sounds echoed off arches of many-colored bricks, and amongst the stables, stalls, and storerooms. They passed beneath three massive arches, down a torchlit ramp into the vaults beneath the pyramid, past cisterns, dungeons, and torture chambers where slaves had been scourged and skinned and burned with red-hot irons. Finally they came to a pair of huge iron doors with rusted hinges, guarded by Unsullied.

At her command, one produced an iron key. The door opened, hinges shrieking. Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the hot heart of darkness and stopped at the lip of a deep pit. Forty feet below, her dragons raised their heads. Four eyes burned through the shadows—two of molten gold and two of bronze.

Ser Barristan took her by the arm. “No closer.”

“You think they would harm me?”

“I do not know, Your Grace, but I would sooner not risk your person to learn the answer.”

When Rhaegal roared, a gout of yellow flame turned darkness into day for half a heartbeat. The fire licked along the walls, and Dany felt the heat upon her face, like the blast from an oven. Across the pit, Viserion’s wings unfolded, stirring the stale air. He tried to fly to her, but the chains snapped taut as he rose and slammed him down onto his belly. Links as big as a man’s fist bound his feet to the floor. The iron collar about his neck was fastened to the wall behind him. Rhaegal wore matching chains. In the light of Selmy’s lantern, his scales gleamed like jade. Smoke rose from between his teeth. Bones were scattered on the floor at his feet, cracked and scorched and splintered. The air was uncomfortably hot and smelled of sulfur and charred meat.

“They are larger.” Dany’s voice echoed off the scorched stone walls. A drop of sweat trickled down her brow and fell onto her breast. “Is it true that dragons never stop growing?”

“If they have food enough, and space to grow. Chained up in here, though …”

The Great Masters had used the pit as a prison. It was large enough to hold five hundred men … and more than ample for two dragons. For how long, though? What will happen when they grow too large for the pit? Will they turn on one another with flame and claw? Will they grow wan and weak, with withered flanks and shrunken wings? Will their fires go out before the end?

What sort of mother lets her children rot in darkness?

ADWD Daenerys I

“Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan Selmy, the lord commander of her Queensguard, “there is no need for you to see this.”

“He died for me.”

~

Ser Barristan Selmy remained behind. His hair was white, and there were crow’s-feet at the corners of his pale blue eyes. Yet his back was still unbent, and the years had not yet robbed him of his skill at arms. “Your Grace,” he said, “I fear your eunuchs are ill suited for the tasks you set them.”

Dany settled on her bench and wrapped her pelt about her shoulders once again. “The Unsullied are my finest warriors.”

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

“Would knights serve me any better?” Selmy was training knights for her, teaching the sons of slaves to fight with lance and longsword in the Westerosi fashion … but what good would lances do against cowards who killed from the shadows?

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

“Then who, if not Unsullied? Dothraki would be even worse. [...] When the Stormcrows return from Lhazar, perhaps I can use them in the streets,” she told Ser Barristan, “but until then I have only the Unsullied.” Dany rose. “You must excuse me, ser. The petitioners will soon be at my gates. I must don my floppy ears and become their queen again. Summon Reznak and the Shavepate, I’ll see them when I’m dressed.”

“As Your Grace commands.” Selmy bowed.

~

There were times when Dany wondered if that razor might not be better saved for Reznak’s throat. He was a useful man, but she liked him little and trusted him less. The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?

~

“Ser Barristan,” she called, “I know what quality a king needs most.”

“Courage, Your Grace?”

“Cheeks like iron,” she teased. “All I do is sit.”

“Your Grace takes too much on herself. You should allow your councillors to shoulder more of your burdens.”

“I have too many councillors and too few cushions.”

~

Her dragons had grown too large to be content with rats and cats and dogs. The more they eat, the larger they will grow, Ser Barristan had warned her, and the larger they grow, the more they’ll eat.

~

No. Dany shivered. No, no, oh no. “Are you deaf, fool?” Reznak mo Reznak demanded of the man. “Did you not hear my pronouncement? See my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid for your sheep.”

“Reznak,” Ser Barristan said quietly, “hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheep bones.”

No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Dany shifted uncomfortably on the ebony bench. She dreaded what must come next, yet she knew she had put it off too long already. Yunkai and Astapor, threats of war, marriage proposals, the march west looming over all ... I need my knights. I need their swords, and I need their counsel. Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she’d swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly. I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears. “Tell Belwas to bring my knights,” Dany commanded, before she could change her mind. “My good knights.”

Strong Belwas was puffing from the climb when he marched them through the doors, one meaty hand wrapped tight around each man’s arm. Ser Barristan walked with his head held high, but Ser Jorah stared at the marble floor as he approached. The one is proud, the other guilty. The old man had shaved off his white beard. He looked ten years younger without it. But her balding bear looked older than he had. They halted before the bench.

~

“Ser Barristan saved me from the Titan’s Bastard, and from the Sorrowful Man in Qarth. [...] So many people wanted her dead, sometimes she lost count. “And yet you lied, deceived me, betrayed me.” She turned to Ser Barristan. “You protected my father for many years, fought beside my brother on the Trident, but you abandoned Viserys in his exile and bent your knee to the Usurper instead. Why? And tell it true.”

“Some truths are hard to hear. Robert was a ... a good knight ... chivalrous,
brave ... he spared my life, and the lives of many others ... Prince Viserys was only a boy, it would have been years before he was fit to rule, and ... forgive me, my queen, but you asked for truth ... even as a child, your brother Viserys oft seemed to be his father’s son, in ways that Rhaegar never did.”

“His father’s son?” Dany frowned. “What does that mean?”

The old knight did not blink. “Your father is called ‘the Mad King’ in Westeros. Has no one ever told you?”

“Viserys did.” The Mad King. “The Usurper called him that, the Usurper and his dogs.” The Mad King. “It was a lie.”

“Why ask for truth,” Ser Barristan said softly, “if you close your ears to it?” He hesitated, then continued. “I told you before that I used a false name so the Lannisters would not know that I’d joined you. That was less than half of it, Your Grace. The truth is, I wanted to watch you for a time before pledging you my sword. To make certain that you were not ...”

“... my father’s daughter?” If she was not her father’s daughter, who was she?

“... mad,” he finished. “But I see no taint in you.”


“Taint?” Dany bristled.

“I am no maester to quote history at you, Your Grace. Swords have been my life, not books. But every child knows that the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness. Your father was not the first. King Jaehaerys once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Jaehaerys. This old man knew my grandfather. The thought gave her pause. Most of what she knew of Westeros had come from her brother, and the rest from Ser Jorah. Ser Barristan would have forgotten more than the two of them had ever known. This man can tell me what I came from. “So I am a coin in the hands of some god, is that what you are saying, ser?”

“No,” Ser Barristan replied. “You are the trueborn heir of Westeros. To the end of my days I shall remain your faithful knight, should you find me worthy to bear a sword again. If not, I am content to serve Strong Belwas as his squire.”

“What if I decide you’re only worthy to be my fool?” Dany asked scornfully. “Or perhaps my cook?”

“I would be honored, Your Grace,” Selmy said with quiet dignity. “I can bake apples and boil beef as well as any man, and I’ve roasted many a duck over a campfire. I hope you like them greasy, with charred skin and bloody bones.”

That made her smile. “I’d have to be mad to eat such fare. Ben Plumm, come give Ser Barristan your longsword.”

But Whitebeard would not take it. “I flung my sword at Joffrey’s feet and have not touched one since. Only from the hand of my queen will I accept a sword again.”

“As you wish.” Dany took the sword from Brown Ben and offered it hilt first. The old man took it reverently. “Now kneel,” she told him, “and swear it to my service.”

He went to one knee and lay the blade before her as he said the words. Dany scarcely heard them. He was the easy one, she thought. The other will be harder.

~

“Your Grace?”

She turned to find Ser Barristan behind her. “What more would you have of me, ser? I spared you, I took you into my service, now give me some peace.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. It was only ... now that you know who I am ...” The old man hesitated. “A knight of the Kingsguard is in the king’s presence day and night. For that reason, our vows require us to protect his secrets as we would his life. But your father’s secrets by rights belong to you now, along with his throne, and ... I thought perhaps you might have questions for me.”

Questions? She had a hundred questions, a thousand, ten thousand. Why couldn’t she think of one? “Was my father truly mad?” she blurted out. Why do I ask that? “Viserys said this talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper’s ...”

“Viserys was a child, and the queen sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise ... but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until ...”

Dany stopped him. “Do I want to hear this now?”

Ser Barristan considered a moment. “Perhaps not. Not now.”

“Not now,” she agreed. “One day. One day you must tell me all. The good and the bad. There is some good to be said of my father, surely?”

“There is, Your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother ... and Rhaegar. Him most of all.”

“I wish I could have known him.” Her voice was wistful.

“I wish he could have known you,” the old knight said. “When you are ready, I will tell you all.”

Dany kissed him on the cheek and sent him on his way.

~

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

“There is nothing to stay for,” said Brown Ben Plumm.

“Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves,” said Daario Naharis.

“You have brought freedom as well,” Missandei pointed out.

“Freedom to starve?” asked Dany sharply. “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?” Am I mad? Do I have the taint?

“A dragon,” Ser Barristan said with certainty. “Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace.”

“But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?” He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. “My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again.” She turned back to look at their faces. “I will not march.”

“What will you do then, Khaleesi?” asked Rakharo.

“Stay,” she said. “Rule. And be a queen.”

ASOS Daenerys V

“Blood of my blood,” Dany told them, “your place is here by me. This man is a buzzing fly, no more. Ignore him, he will soon be gone.” Aggo, Jhogo, and Rakharo were brave warriors, but they were young, and too valuable to risk. They kept her khalasar together, and were her best scouts too.

“That was wisely done,” Ser Jorah said as they watched from the front of her pavilion. “Let the fool ride back and forth and shout until his horse goes lame. He does us no harm.”

“He does,” Arstan Whitebeard insisted. “Wars are not won with swords and spears alone, ser. Two hosts of equal strength may come together, but one will break and run whilst the other stands. This hero builds courage in the hearts of his own men and plants the seeds of doubt in ours.”

~

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

“It will be.” Dany said, as the hero tucked his penis away again.

~

“Missandei,” she called, “have my silver saddled. Your own mount as well.”

The little scribe bowed. “As Your Grace commands. Shall I summon your bloodriders to guard you?”

“We’ll take Arstan. I do not mean to leave the camps.” She had no enemies among her children. And the old squire would not talk too much as Belwas would, or look at her like Daario.

~

“There’s the treacherous sow,” he said. “I knew you’d come to get your feet kissed one day.” His head was bald as a melon, his nose red and peeling, but she knew that voice and those pale green eyes. “I’m going to start by cutting off your teats.” Dany was dimly aware of Missandei shouting for help. A freedman edged forward, but only a step. One quick slash, and he was on his knees, blood running down his face. Mero wiped his sword on his breeches. “Who’s next?”

“I am.” Arstan Whitebeard leapt from his horse and stood over her, the salt wind riffling through his snowy hair, both hands on his tall hardwood staff.

“Grandfather,” Mero said, “run off before I break your stick in two and bugger you with —”

The old man feinted with one end of the staff, pulled it back, and whipped the other end about faster than Dany would have believed. The Titan’s Bastard staggered back into the surf, spitting blood and broken teeth from the ruin of his mouth. Whitebeard put Dany behind him. Mero slashed at his face. The old man jerked back, cat-quick. The staff thumped Mero’s ribs, sending him reeling. Arstan splashed sideways, parried a looping cut, danced away from a second, checked a third mid-swing. The moves were so fast she could hardly follow. Missandei was pulling Dany to her feet when she heard a crack. She thought Arstan’s staff had snapped until she saw the jagged bone jutting from Mero’s calf. As he fell, the Titan’s Bastard twisted and lunged, sending his point straight at the old man’s chest. Whitebeard swept the blade aside almost contemptuously and smashed the other end of his staff against the big man’s temple. Mero went sprawling, blood bubbling from his mouth as the waves washed over him. A moment later the freedmen washed over him too, knives and stones and angry fists rising and falling in a frenzy.

Dany turned away, sickened. She was more frightened now than when it had been happening. He would have killed me.

“Your Grace.” Arstan knelt. “I am an old man, and shamed. He should never have gotten close enough to seize you. I was lax. I did not know him without his beard and hair.”

“No more than I did.” Dany took a deep breath to stop her shaking. Enemies everywhere. “Take me back to my tent. Please.”

~

“You might have warned me that the Titan’s Bastard had escaped.”

He frowned. “I saw no need to frighten you, Your Grace. I have offered a reward for his head—”

“Pay it to Whitebeard. Mero has been with us all the way from Yunkai. He shaved his beard off and lost himself amongst the freedmen, waiting for a chance for vengeance. Arstan killed him.”

Ser Jorah gave the old man a long look. “A squire with a stick slew Mero of Braavos, is that the way of it?”

“A stick,” Dany confirmed, “but no longer a squire. Ser Jorah, it’s my wish that Arstan be knighted.”

“No.”


The loud refusal was surprise enough. Stranger still, it came from both men at once.

Ser Jorah drew his sword. “The Titan’s Bastard was a nasty piece of work. And good at killing. Who are you, old man?”

“A better knight than you, ser,” Arstan said coldly.

Knight? Dany was confused. “You said you were a squire.”

“I was, Your Grace.” He dropped to one knee. “I squired for Lord Swann in my youth, and at Magister Illyrio’s behest I have served Strong Belwas as well. But during the years between, I was a knight in Westeros. I have told you no lies, my queen. Yet there are truths I have withheld, and for that and all my other sins I can only beg your forgiveness.”

“What truths have you withheld?” Dany did not like this. “You will tell me. Now.”

He bowed his head. “At Qarth, when you asked my name, I said I was called Arstan. That much was true. Many men had called me by that name while Belwas and I were making our way east to find you. But it is not my true name.”

She was more confused than angry. He has played me false, just as Jorah warned me, yet he saved my life just now.

Ser Jorah flushed red. “Mero shaved his beard, but you grew one, didn’t you? No wonder you looked so bloody familiar ...”

“You know him?” Dany asked the exile knight, lost.

“I saw him perhaps a dozen times ... from afar most often, standing with his brothers or riding in some tourney. But every man in the Seven Kingdoms knew Barristan the Bold.” He laid the point of his sword against the old man’s neck. “Khaleesi, before you kneels Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who betrayed your House to serve the Usurper Robert Baratheon.”

The old knight did not so much as blink. “The crow calls the raven black, and you speak of betrayal.”

“Why are you here?” Dany demanded of him. “If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?” He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood
aside ... “I want the whole truth now, on your honor as a knight. Are you the Usurper’s man, or mine?”

“Yours, if you will have me.” Ser Barristan had tears in his eyes. “I took Robert’s pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King’s Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, it shames me to admit. But when he took the cloak that the White Bull had draped about my shoulders, and sent men to kill me that selfsame day, it was as though he’d ripped a caul off my eyes. That was when I knew I must find my true king, and die in his service—”

“I can grant that wish,” Ser Jorah said darkly.

“Quiet,” said Dany. “I’ll hear him out.”

“It may be that I must die a traitor’s death,” Ser Barristan said. “If so, I should not die alone. Before I took Robert’s pardon I fought against him on the Trident. You were on the other side of that battle, Mormont, were you not?” He did not wait for an answer. “Your Grace, I am sorry I misled you. It was the only way to keep the Lannisters from learning that I had joined you. You are watched, as your brother was. Lord Varys reported every move Viserys made, for years. Whilst I sat on the small council, I heard a hundred such reports. And since the day you wed Khal Drogo, there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises.”

He cannot mean ... “You are mistaken.” Dany looked at Jorah Mormont. “Tell him he’s mistaken. There’s no informer. Ser Jorah, tell him. We crossed the Dothraki sea together, and the red waste ...” Her heart fluttered like a bird in a trap. “Tell him, Jorah. Tell him how he got it wrong.”

“The Others take you, Selmy.” Ser Jorah flung his longsword to the carpet. “Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

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

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

I was going to take you home! Her dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame. I should say the word and burn the two of them. Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe? “Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you two? Get out, before my dragons roast you both. What does roast liar smell like? As foul as Brown Ben’s sewers? Go!”

Ser Barristan rose stiff and slow. For the first time, he looked his age. “Where shall we go, Your Grace?”

“To hell, to serve King Robert.” Dany felt hot tears on her cheeks. Drogon screamed, lashing his tail back and forth. “The Others can have you both.” Go, go away forever, both of you, the next time I see your faces I’ll have your traitors’ heads off. She could not say the words, though. They betrayed me. But they saved me. But they lied. “You go ...” My bear, my fierce strong bear, what will I do without him? And the old man, my brother’s friend. “You go ... go ...” Where?

And then she knew.

ASOS Daenerys IV

But when Mero was gone, Arstan Whitebeard said, “That one has an evil reputation, even in Westeros. Do not be misled by his manner, Your Grace. He will drink three toasts to your health tonight, and rape you on the morrow.”

“The old man’s right for once,” Ser Jorah said. “The Second Sons are an old company, and not without valor, but under Mero they’ve turned near as bad as the Brave Companions. The man is as dangerous to his employers as to his foes. That’s why you find him out here. None of the Free Cities will hire him any longer.”

“It is not his reputation that I want, it’s his five hundred horse.”

~

“I think we should attack from three sides. Grey Worm, your Unsullied shall strike at them from right and left, while my kos lead my horse in wedge for a thrust through their center. Slave soldiers will never stand before mounted Dothraki.” She smiled. “To be sure, I am only a young girl and know little of war. What do you think, my lords?”

“I think you are Rhaegar Targaryen’s sister,” Ser Jorah said with a rueful half smile.

“Aye,” said Arstan Whitebeard, “and a queen as well.”

~

“Daenerys, I am thrice your age,” Ser Jorah said. “I have seen how false men are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Even his beard wears false colors.”

That angered her. “Whilst you have an honest beard, is that what you are telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust?”

He stiffened. “I did not say that.”

“You say it every day. Pyat Pree’s a liar, Xaro’s a schemer, Belwas a braggart, Arstan an assassin ... do you think I’m still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words?”

~

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

~

A stillness settled over her camp when midnight came and went. Dany remained in her pavilion with her maids, while Arstan Whitebeard and Strong Belwas kept the guard. The waiting is the hardest part. To sit in her tent with idle hands while her battle was being fought without her made Dany feel half a child again.

The hours crept by on turtle feet. Even after Jhiqui rubbed the knots from her shoulders, Dany was too restless for sleep. Missandei offered to sing her a lullaby of the Peaceful People, but Dany shook her head. “Bring me Arstan,” she said.

When the old man came, she was curled up inside her hrakkar pelt, whose musty smell still reminded her of Drogo. “I cannot sleep when men are dying for me, Whitebeard,” she said. “Tell me more of my brother Rhaegar, if you would. I liked the tale you told me on the ship, of how he decided that he must be a warrior.”

“Your Grace is kind to say so.”


“Viserys said that our brother won many tourneys.”

Arstan bowed his white head respectfully. “It is not meet for me to deny His Grace’s words ...”

“But?” said Dany sharply. “Tell me. I command it.”

“Prince Rhaegar’s prowess was unquestioned, but he seldom entered the lists. He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.”

“He won some tourneys, surely,” said Dany, disappointed.

“When he was young, His Grace rode brilliantly in a tourney at Storm’s End, defeating Lord Steffon Baratheon, Lord Jason Mallister, the Red Viper of Dorne, and a mystery knight who proved to be the infamous Simon Toyne, chief of the kingswood outlaws. He broke twelve lances against Ser Arthur Dayne that day.”

“Was he the champion, then?”

“No, Your Grace. That honor went to another knight of the Kingsguard, who unhorsed Prince Rhaegar in the final tilt.”

Dany did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. “But what tourneys did my brother win?”

“Your Grace.” The old man hesitated. “He won the greatest tourney of them all.”

“Which was that?” Dany demanded.

“The tourney Lord Whent staged at Harrenhal beside the Gods Eye, in the year of the false spring. A notable event. Besides the jousting, there was a mêlée in the old style fought between seven teams of knights, as well as archery and axe-throwing, a horse race, a tournament of singers, a mummer show, and many feasts and frolics. Lord Whent was as open handed as he was rich. The lavish purses he proclaimed drew hundreds of challengers. Even your royal father came to Harrenhal, when he had not left the Red Keep for long years. The greatest lords and mightiest champions of the Seven Kingdoms rode in that tourney, and the Prince of Dragonstone bested them all.”

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

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

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

“Perhaps so, Your Grace.” Whitebeard paused a moment. “But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

“Not sour, no, but ... there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense ...” The old man hesitated again.

“Say it,” she urged. “A sense ...?”

“... of doom. He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.”

Viserys had spoken of Rhaegar’s birth only once. Perhaps the tale saddened him too much. “It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him, was it not?”

“Yes. And yet Summerhall was the place the prince loved best. He would go there from time to time, with only his harp for company. Even the knights of the Kingsguard did not attend him there. He liked to sleep in the ruined hall, beneath the moon and stars, and whenever he came back he would bring a song. When you heard him play his high harp with the silver strings and sing of twilights and tears and the death of kings, you could not but feel that he was singing of himself and those he loved.”

“What of the Usurper? Did he play sad songs as well?”

Arstan chuckled. “Robert? Robert liked songs that made him laugh, the bawdier the better. He only sang when he was drunk, and then it was like to be ‘A Cask of Ale’ or ‘Fifty-Four Tuns’ or ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair.’ Robert was much—”

ASOS Daenerys III

“Give me all,” she said, “and you may have a dragon.”

There was the sound of indrawn breath from Jhiqui beside her. Kraznys smiled at his fellows. “Did I not tell you? Anything, she would give us.”

Whitebeard stared in shocked disbelief. His hand trembled where it grasped the staff. “No.” He went to one knee before her. “Your Grace, I beg you, win your throne with dragons, not slaves. You must not do this thing—”

“You must not presume to instruct me. Ser Jorah, remove Whitebeard from my presence.”

Mormont seized the old man roughly by an elbow, yanked him back to his feet, and marched him out onto the terrace.

“Tell the Good Masters I regret this interruption,” said Dany to the slave girl.

~

Arstan Whitebeard held his tongue as well, when Dany swept by him on the terrace. He followed her down the steps in silence, but she could hear his hardwood staff tap tapping on the red bricks as they went. She did not blame him for his fury. It was a wretched thing she did. The Mother of Dragons has sold her strongest child. Even the thought made her ill.

Yet down in the Plaza of Pride, standing on the hot red bricks between the slavers’ pyramid and the barracks of the eunuchs, Dany turned on the old man. “Whitebeard,” she said, “I want your counsel, and you should never fear to speak your mind with
me ... when we are alone. But never question me in front of strangers. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said unhappily.


“I am not a child,” she told him. “I am a queen.”

“Yet even queens can err. The Astapori have cheated you, Your Grace. A dragon is worth more than any army. Aegon proved that three hundred years ago, upon the Field of Fire.”

“I know what Aegon proved. I mean to prove a few things of my own.”

ASOS Daenerys II

“Tell her that these have been standing here for a day and a night, with no food nor water. Tell her that they will stand until they drop if I should command it, and when nine hundred and ninety-nine have collapsed to die upon the bricks, the last will stand there still, and never move until his own death claims him. Such is their courage. Tell her that.”

“I call that madness, not courage,” said Arstan Whitebeard, when the solemn little scribe was done. He tapped the end of his hardwood staff against the bricks, tap tap, as if to tell his displeasure. The old man had not wanted to sail to Astapor; nor did he favor buying this slave army. A queen should hear all sides before reaching a decision. That was why Dany had brought him with her to the Plaza of Pride, not to keep her safe. [...]

“Inform the savages that we call this obedience. Others may be stronger or quicker or larger than the Unsullied. Some few may even equal their skill with sword and spear and shield. But nowhere between the seas will you ever find any more obedient.”

“Sheep are obedient,” said Arstan when the words had been translated. He had some Valyrian as well, though not so much as Dany, but like her he was feigning ignorance.

~

“A eunuch who is cut young will never have the brute strength of one of your Westerosi knights, this is true,” said Kraznys mo Nakloz when the question was put to him. “A bull is strong as well, but bulls die every day in the fighting pits. A girl of nine killed one not three days past in Jothiel’s Pit. The Unsullied have something better than strength, tell her. They have discipline. We fight in the fashion of the Old Empire, yes. They are the lockstep legions of Old Ghis come again, absolutely obedient, absolutely loyal, and utterly without fear.”

Dany listened patiently to the translation.
“Even the bravest men fear death and maiming,” Arstan said when the girl was done.

~

“Tell her all their names are such,” Kraznys commanded the girl. “It reminds them that by themselves they are vermin. The name disks are thrown in an empty cask at duty’s end, and each dawn plucked up again at random.”

“More madness,” said Arstan, when he heard. “How can any man possibly remember a new name every day?”

~

Arstan Whitebeard tapped the end of his staff on the bricks as he listened to that. Tap tap tap. Slow and steady. Tap tap tap. Dany saw him turn his eyes away, as if he could not bear to look at Kraznys any longer.

~

She looked at Arstan. “You have lived long in the world, Whitebeard. Now that you have seen them, what do you say?”

“I say no, Your Grace,” the old man answered at once.


“Why?” she asked. “Speak freely.” Dany thought she knew what he would say, but she wanted the slave girl to hear, so Kraznys mo Nakloz might hear later.

“My queen,” said Arstan, “there have been no slaves in the Seven Kingdoms for thousands of years. The old gods and the new alike hold slavery to be an abomination. Evil. If you should land in Westeros at the head of a slave army, many good men will oppose you for no other reason than that. You will do great harm to your cause, and to the honor of your House.”

“Yet I must have some army,” Dany said. “The boy Joffrey will not give me the Iron Throne for asking politely.”

“When the day comes that you raise your banners, half of Westeros will be with you,” Whitebeard promised. “Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

“And my father?” Dany said.

The old man hesitated before saying, “King Aerys is also remembered. He gave the realm many years of peace. Your Grace, you have no need of slaves. Magister Illyrio can keep you safe while your dragons grow, and send secret envoys across the narrow sea on your behalf, to sound out the high lords for your cause.”

“Those same high lords who abandoned my father to the Kingslayer and bent the knee to Robert the Usurper?”

“Even those who bent their knees may yearn in their hearts for the return of the dragons.”

“May,” said Dany. That was such a slippery word, may. In any language.

~

Tap tap tap, Dany heard. Arstan Whitebeard’s face was still, but his staff beat out his rage. Tap tap tap.

~

Dany climbed into her litter frowning, and beckoned Arstan to climb in beside her. A man as old as him should not be walking in such heat.

~

“Bricks and blood built Astapor,” Whitebeard murmured at her side, “and bricks and blood her people.”

“What is that?” Dany asked him, curious.

“An old rhyme a maester taught me, when I was a boy. I never knew how true it was. The bricks of Astapor are red with the blood of the slaves who make them.”

“I can well believe that,” said Dany.

“Then leave this place before your heart turns to brick as well. Sail this very night, on the evening tide.”

Would that I could, thought Dany. “When I leave Astapor it must be with an army, Ser Jorah says.”

“Ser Jorah was a slaver himself, Your Grace,” the old man reminded her. “There are sellswords in Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh you can hire. A man who kills for coin has no honor, but at least they are no slaves. Find your army there, I beg you.”

“My brother visited Pentos, Myr, Braavos, near all the Free Cities. The magisters and archons fed him wine and promises, but his soul was starved to death. A man cannot sup from the beggar’s bowl all his life and stay a man. I had my taste in Qarth, that was enough. I will not come to Pentos bowl in hand.”

“Better to come a beggar than a slaver,” Arstan said.

“There speaks one who has been neither.” Dany’s nostrils flared. “Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and
I ... my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “Your Grace, I did not mean to give offense.”

“Only lies offend me, never honest counsel.” Dany patted Arstan’s spotted hand to reassure him. “I have a dragon’s temper, that’s all. You must not let it frighten you.”

“I shall try and remember.” Whitebeard smiled.

He has a good face, and great strength to him, Dany thought. She could not understand why Ser Jorah mistrusted the old man so. Could he be jealous that I have found another man to talk to?

~

“Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

ASOS Daenerys I

The squire Whitebeard, standing by the figurehead with one lean hand curled about his tall hardwood staff, turned toward them and said, “Balerion the Black Dread was two hundred years old when he died during the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. He was so large he could swallow an aurochs whole. A dragon never stops growing, Your Grace, so long as he has food and freedom.” His name was Arstan, but Strong Belwas had named him Whitebeard for his pale whiskers, and most everyone called him that now. He was taller than Ser Jorah, though not so muscular; his eyes were a pale blue, his long beard as white as snow and as fine as silk.

“Freedom?” asked Dany, curious. “What do you mean?”

“In King’s Landing, your ancestors raised an immense domed castle for their dragons. The Dragonpit, it is called. It still stands atop the Hill of Rhaenys, though all in ruins now. That was where the royal dragons dwelt in days of yore, and a cavernous dwelling it was, with iron doors so wide that thirty knights could ride through them abreast. Yet even so, it was noted that none of the pit dragons ever reached the size of their ancestors. The maesters say it was because of the walls around them, and the great dome above their heads.”

“If walls could keep us small, peasants would all be tiny and kings as large as giants,” said Ser Jorah. “I’ve seen huge men born in hovels, and dwarfs who dwelt in castles.”

“Men are men,” Whitebeard replied. “Dragons are dragons.”

Ser Jorah snorted his disdain. “How profound.” The exile knight had no love for the old man, he’d made that plain from the first. “What do you know of dragons, anyway?”

“Little enough, that’s true. Yet I served for a time in King’s Landing in the days when King Aerys sat the Iron Throne, and walked beneath the dragonskulls that looked down from the walls of his throne room.”

“Viserys talked of those skulls,” said Dany. “The Usurper took them down and hid them away. He could not bear them looking down on him upon his stolen throne.” She beckoned Whitebeard closer. “Did you ever meet my royal father?” King Aerys II had died before his daughter was born.

“I had that great honor, Your Grace.”

“Did you find him good and gentle?”

Whitebeard did his best to hide his feelings, but they were there, plain on his face. “His Grace was ... often pleasant.”

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


“He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies.”


“A wise man never makes an enemy of a king,” said Dany. “Did you know my brother Rhaegar as well?”


“It was said that no man ever knew Prince Rhaegar, truly. I had the privilege of seeing him in tourney, though, and often heard him play his harp with its silver strings.”

Ser Jorah snorted. “Along with a thousand others at some harvest feast. Next you’ll claim you squired for him.”

“I make no such claim, ser. Myles Mooton was Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and Richard Lonmouth after him. When they won their spurs, he knighted them himself, and they remained his close companions. Young Lord Connington was dear to the prince as well, but his oldest friend was Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning!” said Dany, delighted. “Viserys used to talk about his wondrous white blade. He said Ser Arthur was the only knight in the realm who was our brother’s peer.”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “It is not my place to question the words of Prince Viserys.”

“King,” Dany corrected. “He was a king, though he never reigned. Viserys, the Third of His Name. But what do you mean?” His answer had not been one that she’d expected. “Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

“Your Grace,” said Whitebeard, “the Prince of Dragonstone was a most puissant warrior, but ...”

“Go on,” she urged. “You may speak freely to me.”

“As you command.” The old man leaned upon his hardwood staff, his brow furrowed. “A warrior without peer ... those are fine words, Your Grace, but words win no battles.”

“Swords win battles,” Ser Jorah said bluntly. “And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one.”


“He did, ser, but ... I have seen a hundred tournaments and more wars than I would wish, and however strong or fast or skilled a knight may be, there are others who can match him. A man will win one tourney, and fall quickly in the next. A slick spot in the grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before. A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory.” He glanced at Ser Jorah. “Or a lady’s favor knotted round an arm.”

Mormont’s face darkened. “Be careful what you say, old man.”

Arstan had seen Ser Jorah fight at Lannisport, Dany knew, in the tourney Mormont had won with a lady’s favor knotted round his arm. He had won the lady too; Lynesse of House Hightower, his second wife, highborn and beautiful ... but she had ruined him, and abandoned him, and the memory of her was bitter to him now. “Be gentle, my knight.” She put a hand on Jorah’s arm. “Arstan had no wish to give offense, I’m certain.”

“As you say, Khaleesi.” Ser Jorah’s voice was grudging.

Dany turned back to the squire. “I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded. There is a tale told of him ... but doubtless Ser Jorah knows it as well.”

“I would hear it from you.”

“As you wish,” said Whitebeard. “As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father’s knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’”

“And he was!” said Dany, delighted.

“He was indeed.” Whitebeard bowed. “My pardons, Your Grace. We speak of warriors, and I see that Strong Belwas has arisen. I must attend him.”

Dany glanced aft. The eunuch was climbing through the hold amidships, nimble for all his size. Belwas was squat but broad, a good fifteen stone of fat and muscle, his great brown gut crisscrossed by faded white scars. He wore baggy pants, a yellow silk bellyband, and an absurdly tiny leather vest dotted with iron studs. “Strong Belwas is hungry!” he roared at everyone and no one in particular. “Strong Belwas will eat now!” Turning, he spied Arstan on the forecastle. “Whitebeard! You will bring food for Strong Belwas!”

“You may go,” Dany told the squire. He bowed again, and moved off to tend the needs of the man he served.

Ser Jorah watched with a frown on his blunt honest face. Mormont was big and burly, strong of jaw and thick of shoulder. Not a handsome man by any means, but as true a friend as Dany had ever known. “You would be wise to take that old man’s words well salted,” he told her when Whitebeard was out of earshot.

“A queen must listen to all,” she reminded him. “The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal. One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found.” She had read that in a book.

“Hear my voice then, Your Grace,” the exile said. “This Arstan Whitebeard is playing you false. He is too old to be a squire, and too well spoken to be serving that oaf of a eunuch.”

That does seem queer, Dany had to admit.

[...] Ser Jorah saved me from the poisoner, and Arstan Whitebeard from the manticore. Perhaps Strong Belwas will save me from the next.

~

“Sit, good ser, and tell me what is troubling you.”

“Three things.” Ser Jorah sat. “Strong Belwas. This Arstan Whitebeard. And Illyrio Mopatis, who sent them.”

Again? Dany pulled the coverlet higher and tugged one end over her shoulder. “And why is that?”

“The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times,” the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other.

“Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.” Dany was not like to forget. “Mirri Maz Duur was the first.”

“Which means two traitors yet remain ... and now these two appear. I find that troubling, yes. Never forget, Robert offered a lordship to the man who slays you.”

Dany leaned forward and yanked Viserion’s tail, to pull him off his green brother. Her blanket fell away from her chest as she moved. She grabbed it hastily and covered herself again. “The Usurper is dead,” she said.

“But his son rules in his place.” Ser Jorah lifted his gaze, and his dark eyes met her own. “A dutiful son pays his father’s debts. Even blood debts.”

“This boy Joffrey might want me dead ... if he recalls that I’m alive. What has that to do with Belwas and Arstan Whitebeard? The old man does not even wear a sword. You’ve seen that.”

“Aye. And I have seen how deftly he handles that staff of his. Recall how he killed that manticore in Qarth? It might as easily have been your throat he crushed.”

“Might have been, but was not,” she pointed out. “It was a stinging manticore meant to slay me. He saved my life.”

“Khaleesi, has it occurred to you that Whitebeard and Belwas might have been in league with the assassin? It might all have been a ploy to win your trust.”

Her sudden laughter made Drogon hiss, and sent Viserion flapping to his perch above the porthole. “The ploy worked well.”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

“I see a fat brown man and an older man with a staff. Which is it?”

“Both of them,” Ser Jorah said. “They have been following us since we left Quicksilver.”

~

The other man wore a traveler’s cloak of undyed wool, the hood thrown back. Long white hair fell to his shoulders, and a silky white beard covered the lower half of his face. He leaned his weight on a hardwood staff as tall as he was. Only fools would stare so openly if they meant me harm. All the same, it might be prudent to head back toward Jhogo and Aggo. “The old man does not wear a sword,” she said to Jorah in the Common Tongue as she drew him away.

~

A Qartheen stepped into her path. “Mother of Dragons, for you.” He knelt and thrust a jewel box into her face.

Dany took it almost by reflex. The box was carved wood, its mother-of-pearl lid inlaid with jasper and chalcedony. “You are too generous.” She opened it. Within was a glittering green scarab carved from onyx and emerald. Beautiful, she thought. This will help pay for our passage. As she reached inside the box, the man said, “I am so sorry,” but she hardly heard.

The scarab unfolded with a hiss.

Dany caught a glimpse of a malign black face, almost human, and an arched tail dripping venom ... and then the box flew from her hand in pieces, turning end over end. Sudden pain twisted her fingers. As she cried out and clutched her hand, the brass merchant let out a shriek, a woman screamed, and suddenly the Qartheen were shouting and pushing each other aside. Ser Jorah slammed past her, and Dany stumbled to one knee. She heard the hiss again. The old man drove the butt of his staff into the ground, Aggo came riding through an eggseller’s stall and vaulted from his saddle, Jhogo’s whip cracked overhead, Ser Jorah slammed the eunuch over the head with the brass platter, sailors and whores and merchants were fleeing or shouting or both ...

“Your Grace, a thousand pardons.” The old man knelt. “It’s dead. Did I break your hand?”

She closed her fingers, wincing. “I don’t think so.”

“I had to knock it away,” he started, but her bloodriders were on him before he could finish.

Aggo kicked his staff away and Jhogo seized him round the shoulders, forced him to his knees, and pressed a dagger to his throat. “Khaleesi, we saw him strike you. Would you see the color of his blood?”

“Release him.” Dany climbed to her feet. “Look at the bottom of his staff, blood of my blood.” Ser Jorah had been shoved off his feet by the eunuch. She ran between them as arakh and longsword both came flashing from their sheaths. “Put down your steel! Stop it!”

“Your Grace?” Mormont lowered his sword only an inch. “These men attacked you.”

“They were defending me.” Dany snapped her hand to shake the sting from her fingers. “It was the other one, the Qartheen.” When she looked around he was gone. “He was a Sorrowful Man. There was a manticore in that jewel box he gave me. This man knocked it out of my hand.” The brass merchant was still rolling on the ground. She went to him and helped him to his feet. “Were you stung?”

“No, good lady,” he said, shaking, “or else I would be dead. But it touched me, aieeee, when it fell from the box it landed on my arm.” He had soiled himself, she saw, and no wonder.

She gave him a silver for his trouble and sent him on his way before she turned back to the old man with the white beard. “Who is it that I owe my life to?”

“You owe me nothing, Your Grace. I am called Arstan, though Belwas named me Whitebeard on the voyage here.” Though Jhogo had released him the old man remained on one knee. Aggo picked up his staff, turned it over, cursed softly in Dothraki, scraped the remains of the manticore off on a stone, and handed it back.

“And who is Belwas?” she asked.

The huge brown eunuch swaggered forward, sheathing his arakh. “I am Belwas. Strong Belwas they name me in the fighting pits of Meereen. Never did I lose.” He slapped his belly, covered with scars. “I let each man cut me once, before I kill him. Count the cuts and you will know how many Strong Belwas has slain.”

Dany had no need to count his scars; there were many, she could see at a glance. “And why are you here, Strong Belwas?”

“From Meereen I am sold to Qohor, and then to Pentos and the fat man with sweet stink in his hair. He it was who send Strong Belwas back across the sea, and old Whitebeard to serve him.”

The fat man with sweet stink in his hair ... “Illyrio?” she said. “You were sent by Magister Illyrio?”

“We were, Your Grace,” old Whitebeard replied. “The Magister begs your kind indulgence for sending us in his stead, but he cannot sit a horse as he did in his youth, and sea travel upsets his digestion.” Earlier he had spoken in the Valyrian of the Free Cities, but now he changed to the Common Tongue. “I regret if we caused you alarm. If truth be told, we were not certain, we expected someone more ... more ...”

“Regal?” Dany laughed. She had no dragon with her, and her raiment was hardly queenly. “You speak the Common Tongue well, Arstan. Are you of Westeros?”

“I am. I was born on the Dornish Marches, Your Grace. As a boy I squired for a knight of Lord Swann’s household.” He held the tall staff upright beside him like a lance in need of a banner. “Now I squire for Belwas.”

“A bit old for such, aren’t you?” Ser Jorah had shouldered his way to her side, holding the brass platter awkwardly under his arm. Belwas’s hard head had left it badly bent.

“Not too old to serve my liege, Lord Mormont.”

“You know me as well?”

“I saw you fight a time or two. At Lannisport where you near unhorsed the Kingslayer. And on Pyke, there as well. You do not recall, Lord Mormont?”

Ser Jorah frowned. “Your face seems familiar, but there were hundreds at Lannisport and thousands on Pyke. And I am no lord. Bear Island was taken from me. I am but a knight.”

“A knight of my Queensguard.” Dany took his arm. “And my true friend and good counselor.” She studied Arstan’s face. He had a great dignity to him, a quiet strength she liked. “Rise, Arstan Whitebeard. Be welcome, Strong Belwas. Ser Jorah you know. Ko Aggo and Ko Jhogo are blood of my blood. They crossed the red waste with me, and saw my dragons born. [...] Now tell me, what would Magister Illyrio have of me, that he would send you all the way from Pentos?”

“He would have dragons,” said Belwas gruffly, “and the girl who makes them. He would have you.”

“Belwas has the truth of us, Your Grace,” said Arstan. “We were told to find you and bring you back to Pentos. The Seven Kingdoms have need of you. Robert the Usurper is dead, and the realm bleeds. When we set sail from Pentos there were four kings in the land, and no justice to be had.”

Joy bloomed in her heart, but Dany kept it from her face. “I have three dragons,” she said, “and more than a hundred in my khalasar, with all their goods and horses.”

“It is no matter,” boomed Belwas. “We take all. The fat man hires three ships for his little silverhair queen.”

“It is so, Your Grace,” Arstan Whitebeard said. “The great cog Saduleon is berthed at the end of the quay, and the galleys Summer Sun and Joso’s Prank are anchored beyond the breakwater.”

Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. “I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names.”

“As you wish,” said Arstan. “What names would you prefer?”

“Vhagar,” Daenerys told him. “Meraxes. And Balerion. Paint the names on their hulls in golden letters three feet high, Arstan. I want every man who sees them to know the dragons are returned.”

[recentanimenews]

INTERVIEW: After 13 Years, Indie RPG Masterpiece Ruina is Finally Available in English

All screenshots of Ruina: Fairy Tale of the Forgotten Ruins taken by author

  This article was made possible through the invaluable contributions of translators Dink and bool, and further aided by context generously provided by writer, translator, and RPG Maker scene dweller Kastel (@kastelwrites). Sections from their answers were excerpted for this piece and edited for clarity and content.

  Last year, at the start of the pandemic, a lapsed member of the RPG Maker community known as Dink stumbled across a screenshot while trawling Japanese free game websites: a black obelisk standing in the midst of ruins. “This is going to make me sound like I've been huffing paint, but this image spoke to something quite visceral for me — like I'd been waiting to find this game. Something about the sepia tones, the light and shadows, the elegance of its very archetype. I knew I had to play it.” Dink had stumbled across Ruina: Haitou no Monogatari (Fairy Tale of the Forgotten Ruins), one of the most acclaimed free RPGs ever made in Japan. Released in the antiquated RPG Maker 2000 engine in 2008 by developer Shoukichi Karekusa, it retains a strong cult following and has even been translated into Chinese. Yet unlike its RPG Maker siblings Yume Nikki and Ib, Ruina is practically unknown in English-speaking countries. Dink decided to change that.  “Once I realized that it had yet to be translated into English,” he said, “it was like I’d become possessed.”

  Ruina is unique. A role-playing game that takes direct influence from tabletop games and gamebooks, it boldly defies conventions established by classic console role-playing games like Dragon Quest and Final Fantasy. Rather than controlling the main character across a top-down map, the player slowly uncovers a hand-illustrated map of nodes. Survival in the dungeon requires the use of ropes, pickaxes, and oil for your lantern, resources that are all expendable. Your party members are valuable not only for their combat skills but for their out-of-combat abilities: thieving, sneaking, even swimming. Most of all, Ruina allows for choice and consequence, a phenomenon far more common in western RPGs than Japanese RPGs. Say you stumble across treasure in a dungeon, but are ambushed by thieves who want the treasure for themselves. Do you give the treasure to the thieves? Stand your ground? Or attack the thieves before they can do the same to you? Since your ability to save in the dungeon is heavily rationed, you may find yourself having to choose between restarting a save or living with the messy outcomes of your choices.

    There’s something to Ruina that grounds it in the Japanese RPG tradition, rather than a straightforward riff on Wizardry or Might & Magic. Those earlier games gave you several choices as to building your party, but little in the way of story or character. Ruina is a far more curated experience. On starting the game, you’re offered four “backgrounds” that align you with certain other characters, just one year before Dragon Age: Origins would pull a similar trick. Rather than being given the full freedom to explore a sprawling world, your options are limited to navigating a single, contained dungeon. The characters available to be recruited into your party have defined personalities and quirks — some are already good friends of yours, others are insufferable, and still others have significant flaws that speak to the kind of person they are versus their gameplay function. These are NPCs out of the Baldur’s Gate school, given the illusion of life, rather than the team of personalized murderers you’d recruit in an Etrian Odyssey game.

  Very little else in the Japanese games scene is like Ruina. You could draw comparisons with games like Unlimited Saga and Scarlet Grace, representing the legacy of controversial SQUARE ENIX auteur Akitoshi Kawazu. You could similarly connect Ruina with Yasumi Matsuda’s experimental Crimson Shroud, which takes influence from tabletop to the point that it has the player rolling dice in-game. But Ruina is more accessible and polished than a Kawazu game, and far more fleshed out than Crimson Shroud. Even Etrian Odyssey, with its comparatively barebones story and characters, doesn’t quite compare. Ruina stands alone in the Japanese free games community, a legendary title that people respect but don’t fully understand how to replicate.

    A few days ago I reached out to Kastel, an academic, writer, and translator who is very familiar with Japan’s RPG Maker scene, about where Ruina fit in Japan’s wider field of indie games. “I know many people in the furige (free game) scene who love the game to death,” they said. “But they also found it to be a hard sell due to its unique, almost western take on the scene. The fact that the game is even this popular speaks to something.” Despite its crunchy mechanics and niche inspirations, the game is popular enough to have spawned light novels, an honor not unique to it (other RPG Maker games have accomplished the same) but certainly significant. Kastel drew a comparison between Ruina and Darkest Dungeon, another weird and uncompromising game that draws from both Japanese and western RPGs. “Ruina is sorta different from everything, but you also see dungeon crawlers get inspired by it,” they said. “Not all games take direct inspiration, but you can’t help but see a little bit of Ruina here and there.”

  So why did it take so long for anybody to translate Ruina? Dink isn’t the only person to try his hand at translating it into English; just last fall, another forum dweller placed an ad recruiting a translation team to tackle the game. The unfortunate reality is that translating text within the RPG Maker engine into English requires intensive and repetitive labor. “There’ve been tools developed by vgperson [a prominent translator of RPG Maker games] for RPG Maker 2000 and some other machine translation tools for newer games, but they all remain difficult to use for translators,” Kastel says. “The way games are scripted uses events inside the map and developers rarely name them. So not only do you need to edit it via the appropriate RPG Maker engine, but you also need to go through each event contextless unless the creator actually notes things down.” So, the enterprising Ruina translator doesn’t just need to translate all the text in the game into English. It isn’t even a question of whether or not to manually edit the game’s many pictures and custom menus into English by hand. It’s the sheer difficulty of navigating between thousands of (often poorly labeled) events and variables in the RPG Maker engine, ensuring not to introduce any new bugs or errors in the process, while also finding the time to do all of the above.

    Dink was assisted by a friend of his named bool, who played through the game alongside the translation process and gave invaluable advice and fixes. “Uncovering the mystery in the game's story sort of ran parallel with the translation of the game itself,” bool says. “As the story progressed, the characters would decipher and learn more about the lore of the eponymous ruins within the game, and as the translation progressed, the same held true for us. It really captivated me to be a part of this process, and I started to look forward to each new area that I could explore and each new morsel of the story I could understand.”

  Without bool’s efforts, it might have taken far longer to put together something workable. As it was, it took four exhausting months. “I worked long hours — 12+ hours a day, 6, sometimes 7 days a week on top of my day job — and very rarely used my free time on anything else,” Dink says. “I did manually input the text in RPG Maker 2000, which has raised some eyebrows because there are some very nice tools available for game translation that would have saved me a lot of time. However, a huge advantage of working directly in the editor is being able to see the game more or less as it appears to players. A Notepad file streamlines the basic translation process, but it also heavily obscures context, whereas the editor allows you to see what switches and variables are being used, what music is being played, and sometimes even helpful creator comments, all in the same relative order you'd experience it from within the game.” Dink had one more secret weapon up his sleeve: the experience of working with the RPG Maker engine as an adolescent. RPG Maker has a reputation of being a tool designed to churn out Dragon Quest clones with ease; but nobody knows the intense difficulty of forcing the engine to do something, anything, like a former RPG Maker developer does. 

    The English version of Ruina, as it currently exists, is a workable but inevitably compromised version of the game. Running the game requires installing the Japanese RTP pack of visual and audio resources for RPG Maker to function, along with the use of the EasyRPG player to provide English-language player name entry. There’s the matter of the custom menus, as well. Several of the menus have been replaced with functional English equivalents, but by Dink's own admission they could use an expert's attention to better compare to the original. Other pictures, such as place name displays, have yet to be replaced by English-language equivalents at all. And the strict character limits of RPG Maker 2000 led to some creative truncating when translating from Japanese to English, especially with item and skill descriptions.

  But the existence of an English-language Ruina, one that renders the whole game playable from beginning to end with a readable script, is a miracle. Speaking for myself, I started the long process of learning Japanese two years ago in part so that I could one day play this game, never expecting there might one day be an alternative. Others in the Japanese RPG Maker scene, knowing the brutal difficulty of translating a game made in the earlier engines, were shocked that a game of Ruina’s complexity and length was successfully translated at all.  Speaking for themselves, Dink and bool insist that their own story doesn’t matter much. What matters is the quality of the original game and the hard work developer Shoukichi Karekusa put into its creation. Anything else is an addendum, another version of the game that — while it cannot ever be the original — might at least make something resembling that original experience accessible to others.

    Frankly speaking, I think there’s something to that. The “true” version of Ruina will always exist in its original form, released for free by Karekusa in 2008. It stands as the defining work of a creator who sought to create a unique experience combining the appeal of console and tabletop roleplaying games, with no concessions to market sensibilities. A creator who not only released their baby on the internet for free, but insisted that a game like Ruina must always and ever be free. An austere monolith, it stands side by side with Yume Nikki, Ib, and even Cave Story as one of the great works to come out of Japan’s independent scene. Now any English speaker can pick up and play this new version of Ruina, and learn what that monolith is and where it leads to.

  You can download the English translation of Ruina here. For those who want to learn more about the Japanese RPG Maker scene, I recommend checking out Kastel’s page here.

  Are you a Ruina fan? Let us know in the comments! 

    Adam W is a Features Writer at Crunchyroll. When he is not working through exercises in Wanikani, he sporadically contributes with a loose group of friends to a blog called Isn't it Electrifying? You can find him on Twitter at:@wendeego

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a feature, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Adam Wescott

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

Fic writer tag game!

Thank you for the tag @wind-on-the-panes :)

How many works do you have on AO3? 17!

What's your total AO3 word count? 167350. It took me 15 minutes to figure out where to find this/the stats page.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Fallout from the Fade (744): Hawke stays in the Fade to deal with Nightmare’s demon... and survives. Getting back out however costs her more than she expects, and has drastic consequences. My long fic 

Provided it tied you down first (373): Inquisitor Trevelyan receives information that an important magister will be in a... compromising location, and has to blend in to get the information. She has to bring a mage along to help her, and her crush on Solas has nothing to do with why she picked him. This was a k!meme prompt and an experiment in writing smut/pwp, and people seemed to like it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Lost to night (235): After the events at the Winter Palace, Inquisitor Lavellan is both relieved the crisis is over, and exasperated with the court of Orlais. The only thing cheering her up is spending some extra time with Solas, and find themselves slipping away for some more private one on one time. When I was first getting into fanfic I mostly wrote generic protags. This fic was one of my first with writing specifically about my own Lavellan, and I like it for that reason :)

Less a Man than a Wild Cat (221): Fenris takes a trip out to the Storm Coast on some personal business... and a week later a cat with suspiciously familiar white markings in its fur storms into the Hanged Man and curls up in Hawke’s lap. I do still love this one, it was so fun to write. 

Banister Banter (218): POV/commentary from the other Inquisition members (like Dorian/Leliana) on the Inquisitor’s burgeoning relationship with Solas. Abandoned because I was trying to write humor and its very very very hard and I’m not great at it.

Do you reply to comments, why or why not? I MEAN TO AND I’M SO SORRY THAT I’M BAD AT IT... Before the Indoors Times of 2020, I spent almost all day out of service most weeks, including a lot of extended overnight trips. I also have a bad habit of saving comment replys as a “reward” for myself for whenever I finish writing the next chapter, but... my between updates time has been ever-increasing oops. ANYWAY SORRY, I do read and treasure them all. 

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? Ahahahahaaha... well I do try not to end them all on an angsty note just for, you know, the sake of everyone else. But with Letters to Fenris I did try to tear out the heart a bit, and my Mass Effect the people you love become ghosts inside you, and like this, you keep them alive fic I was trying to work through my emotions about my Shepard who picks the Destroy ending and dies. and i specifically headcanon she does die even though I did get the last breath scene because i think its more emotional/significant that way

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? Had to stop and scroll and I Don’t Write Fluff but I think the endings that are most positive are Less A Man Than A Wild Cat and Lost to Night. 

Do you write crossovers? Not yet, I might be tempted with something like a fairy tale but I’m not so interested in cross-fandom

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Not that I know of, though I know my delight in angst/pain will not be to all readers tastes and that’s perfectly fine

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes, if it fits the story or is the point of the work. But there’s gonna be ~complicated~ feelings or circumstances involved.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Two of my fics are translated into Russian, Letters to Fenris and Fallout from the Fade :) 

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, I write sporadically and at weird times, I think I’d be a nightmare to collaborate with

What’s your all-time favourite ship? I pretty much only have ships when it’s player character you get to design + another character, and you get to have some control over the narrative/there’s room for personal interpretation; which is why I only really write for Dragon Age/Mass Effect. Within those, I like Solavellan, FenHawke, and Shakarian; though there’s others I hope to write for and delve deeper into someday.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? I never published it because I know I’m unlikely to finish it + the Mass Effect: Andromeda fandom wasn’t as large/interested; but I still love the start of the WIP I have examining Ryder’s complex relationship with SAM.

What are your writing strengths? I like to think I’m good at building tension. My favorite part of writing Fallout from the Fade was the section where I ended every chapter on a terrible cliffhanger and people yelled at me in the comments. 

What are your writing weaknesses? I’m not funny :( in real life too, i have to rely on absurdism 

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? If there is a translation in the text and it’s not more than a few words or lines at a time I enjoy it. Otherwise it can pull me out of the narrative. 

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Dragon Age :) didn’t start writing fic until after DAI, 

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written? Fallout my baby I will finish you someday... I have a whole outline and thoughts on upcoming stuff and everything I’ve been holding in my head for a year, but I need to reread it before I get back to it, and lord am I short on free time these days :( I’ve seen a bunch of people already post these, so not sure who all has done this yet but: @roseategales @m-m-m-myysurana @lesbianarcana and if you haven’t yet but would like to, please consider this me tagging you and @ me so I can read it! :)