#how much can you say to a crown prince without him calling you for treason???

[fluffypotatey]

Did merlin turned darker and more morally corrupt as the seasons progressed? (This isn't part of the game, I haven't watched the whole show but my mom does so I know a bit, and sometimes it really seems merlin is the #1 enemy of magic as long as Arthur is safe and happy)

yea and no????

like he does get more apathetic with killing people (as in, he isn’t as conflicted about it because his end goal is keeping Arthur alive) and he does have a hand in sabotaging events that could have helped with magic being seen as good (however, it’s not his intention). a lot of the time he feels that he doesn’t have a choice because if he were to choose between magic and Arthur, Merlin will choose Arthur

he did it in 2x08 (I may disagree with the writers’ choice here but the point still stands), he did in 4x02 choosing to sacrifice himself in Arthur’s place, and he did it in 5x05 choosing Arthur’s life again despite knowing that risked Mordred’s own life and the future of magic in Camelot

I wouldn’t call him corrupt and darker in a villainess sense but rather corrupt and darker in a sense where he has spent 10 years being told Arthur was destined to bring the Golden Age of Magic and he was meant to protect him, but then he got too attached to Arthur and no longer cared for the goal everyone set for him. He had a new goal by s4 which was keep Arthur alive despite everything

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Crown Princes and Butterfly Wings (2/?)

Chapter 1 : Faerie Cakes

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Roman and Logan leave the palace embark on an adventure, who knows what they'll find?

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Warnings: Spiked/drugged food, a character is drugged

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The castle was in chaos from the moment it was discovered that the crown prince had disappeared. When it had been first found out, the kings had immediately made the decision to keep it quiet. No-one outside of the palace staff and occupants were to know about Remus’ departure. Talking about the crown prince with anyone outside of the palace staff was suddenly classed as a treasonous act, staff were bribed and blackmailed so they wouldn’t mention this to family or friends and Roman was swept up amongst the chaos alongside his best and oldest friend, Logan.

“Sire, your father requests your presence at the next council meeting this afternoon,” a page told him, just a week after Remus had disappeared, whilst he and Logan were studying old books in the library. He couldn’t help but notice Logan’s tail flick in annoyance as the tiefling lost his place in the book to the interruption.

“Any idea what for?” Roman had asked. The page just shook his head before scampering away. Roman sighed, wings drooping as he packed up his books. “Sorry Lo, I don’t mean to cut this short, but duty calls.”

“It is not your fault.” Logan shook his head before pushing his glasses up his nose and sitting up, tossing his thick braid over his shoulder. “I have a magic lesson with my father that I must attend soon anyway, you should prepare for the meeting.”

—-

“I propose we hire mercenaries from the kingdom and send out multiple search parties in order to find your son,” the general said when asked his opinion. Roman panicked.

“No!” Roman yelled. Don’t let them come after me. “We- we can’t do that.”

“And why exactly not?” The general asked, glaring at him as though he were an impertinent child rather than the man’s superior.

“I apologise for my rudeness, general, but we’re trying to keep this operation a secret. Don’t you think that multiple search parties coming from the palace will gather some unwanted attention?” Roman asked, barely even thinking about what he was saying. “Surely it would be better to send a smaller party who could traverse the kingdom without garnering so much attention?”

The General seemed to consider, while the king nodded slowly. “My son has a good point, I believe we should hear him out.”

“Fine,” the general said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t about to disobey his king even if he was willing to look at the spare prince as though he was dirt under his shoe. Roman didn’t take offence to it—the man had always hated both him and his brother. “Who do you propose we send then, Prince?”

“Well… someone who knows Remus well, probably, who won't be recognised by the general public…." Roman had a very very stupid idea right then and as usual, Roman's mouth said it before his mind could catch up. "What if I went? You basically never let me make public appearances, so no-one would know me, and I know my brother better than anyone. Besides, Father, you've always been talking about me needing real world experience, this could kill two birds."

"That's an absolutely-" The general started. He looked moments away from snapping and murdering the prince right there.

"Splendid idea!" The king interrupted with a smile.

"Your Majesty - sire-" The general fumbled. "Really? He'll just mess everything up!"

"Please watch how you speak about my son," the king said, his tone level with an air of danger. "Roman is entirely capable, I'm sure, with the training he's gotten from you and your men. Unless you're saying you've done a sub-par job training him?"

"No- no sire," he said. Roman just sat there staring in confusion. "I just-"

"You just supposed that my son is not fit for the job?" the king asked, before turning to look at Roman, who sat up a little straighter. "I have full faith that he can find his brother. Although I must request that Logan go with you, if only for the sake of staying on target."

Roman nodded, while simply wondering what on earth he had just gotten himself into.

—-

"You what?" Logan exclaimed after Roman had finished recounting the events of the meeting. "Wait- alright - let me get this straight-"

"Good luck with that."

"-You volunteered us for a mission that will require us to hide our identities, travel across and possibly beyond our kingdom, and may take us weeks or even months to complete?" Logan said, pacing back and forth, hooves clacking on the flagstone floor of Roman's bedroom. "Why?"

"Because- um…" Roman hesitated, he wasn't supposed to tell anyone, even Logan, "I suppose- I think if Remus wanted to run away he wouldn't want hoards of search parties after him… they'd…. They'd never find him. But us- his best friend and his brother- we might have a chance?"

"Alright… I suppose I must brush up on concealment spells if we hope to hide your wings,” Logan sighed. “They are a very prominent feature of the royal family. When are we to leave?”

"...In two week's time?" Roman admitted quietly, looking up at Logan with what he hoped was an innocent look.

"For goodness sake," Logan said with a sigh, heading for the door. "I suppose I must start preparing immediately."

"Sorry, Lo!" Roman called after him, though to be honest, Roman really wasn't sorry at all. In fact he was already excited about this journey! He wasn't sure how exactly they would find Remus, but he was sure Logan would come up with a plan regardless.

—-

Two weeks later the pair found themselves outside of the palace gates. Both of them now wore clothes that made them fit more into the upper middle class rather than their normal robes, which would have them sticking out like sore thumbs. Roman picked at the robe he was wearing now. The pink swirling cloud patterns still looked beautiful, but it was nothing in comparison to his usual wear.

Logan was in the same boat—his usually billowing midnight blue and gold starry robes had been replaced with a much simpler plain blue robe tied with a rope around the middle. But it allowed for easier carrying of his pack. Roman carried one too, though his was much lighter than Logan's. Logan had the legs of a horse and a much stronger build in general, so he was able to carry much more.

Begrudgingly, Roman had allowed Logan's father—the royal advisor and a fully trained wizard—to perform a spell on him that would allow him to hide his giant butterfly wings at will so that he looked much more like a human. It was flawed of course though, because humans still didn't sport such vibrant colours naturally as he did with his bright red and gold hair. Both of them were bound to stick out, but hopefully not enough for them to attract too much attention.

The pair walked together down from the palace towards the shining city of Farfaliap that lay before them. They both knew without even saying anything that Remus wouldn’t be found this close to the castle, so they’d be going beyond the borders of the capital city as quickly as they could. Both Logan and Roman would be stepping into unfamiliar lands for the first time, though Logan knew far more than he did through his books and maps and studies. All Roman knew was what he’d learned during the lessons he’d snuck into in the crown prince’s place.

Immediately Roman was overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of the city. Even as they just walked down the mainstreet they had goods shoved towards them, merchants attempting to get them to buy whatever they were selling. People were yelling, calling out greetings and prices and advertisements as people moved around like one big swell. Roman thought it was amazing that people could navigate this crowded noisy environment that Roman wasn’t used to and he was already in love with it all.

“How about a pretty necklace for such a beautiful face,” A tiefling called to him as they passed by her stall. She was leaning forward with a coy smirk as she swung a crystal strung necklace around one of her long fingers. Some intuition told him that the necklace was probably cursed.

“Er- no thank you.” Roman waved her off. “I’m not interested.”

It turned out that Roman was prone to being drawn away from Logan by the masses of interesting things and people he could talk to. After the third time Roman had wandered off to strike up a conversation with a particularly charming elven boy selling flower crowns that had been enchanted never to wilt, Logan had wrapped his tail loosely around Romans waist so he couldn’t wander off.

“Come on, Roman,” Logan chided. “We must not get distracted if we wish to find Remus as soon as we can.”

“Oh but there’s so much to get distracted by!” Roman lamented. “Surely we can spare a few days, come on Logan! There’s so much to see!”

Logan looked conflicted for a few minutes before sighing. “Alright, fine, you have a day. We’ll stay in an inn here overnight and then continue on in the morning, how does that sound?”

“Perfect! Thank you Lo!” Roman said, resisting the urge to literally jump, he didn’t have his wings to flutter like he usually did when he was excited, so he settled for flapping his hands in an attempt to get rid of the excited energy.

“Yes, but—” Logan stopped him with his tail as he went to run off—“you see that fountain over there?”

Roman looked over to where Logan was pointing to see a small enclosed garden filled with plants and flowers, and immediately found himself wanting to go over there. In the centre of the small garden was a large (in comparison) fountain that featured marble sculpture of tangled vines and flowers spraying jets of clear water into the air where it caught the sun and bathed the garden in a rainbow of colours.

“Yes- yes I see the fountain,” Roman said, turning back to Logan after he was broken from his trance by a hand on his arm. “What about it?”

“Meet me back there when it starts to get dark, alright?” Logan asked, “I do not want to have to go looking for you, do you understand?”

“Yeah yeah worrywort, nothing will go wrong, I promise!” Roman said with a smile all while shaking his head. “See you at dusk!”

Without waiting for a reply from his comrade, Roman jogged away down the street, looking around at the wonderfully decorated streets, full of busy people moving around back and forth like ants in a colony. Colourful banners hung on strings between buildings across the streets and beautiful swirling art adorned some of the sandstone walls he passed, painted in golds and reds and blues and greens, so much colour and light and joy. Roman couldn’t help but smile even wider—he truly loved his kingdom.

Moving down the street, Roman found himself dodging citizens. Two children with ladybug wings ran around his feet, one chasing the other. Roman couldn’t help but laugh at the sight as he turned around and almost danced away in order not to step on them as he moved away. He accidentally bumped into a centaur, who just chuckled when he yelped in surprise, waving him off before he could even think to apologise. Roman had smiled and wished them a good day before continuing along the bustling street.

He saw so many people in such a small space: a person with bright green hair, someone else wearing a big cloak to protect their sensitive half-orc skin from the sun—though the cloak itself was woven from bright coloured thread, with a waving pattern like a rainbow ocean. A small group of halflings playing instruments stood on a raised platform. They sang loud and open and their music threaded through the crowds and Roman was sure if he hadn’t been smiling as wide as he thought possible already he definitely would be after that sound.

He couldn’t help but be persuaded to buy a cake from a charming faerie and interestingly; taking a bite from the dessert made him feel oddly tipsy. By the time he had finished the cake he was practically stumbling. Drowsily he thought he should go back to the fountain—whatever the hell the cake had had in it obviously didn’t sit well with his system.

“H-hey!” A voice cut through the haze. Roman blinked and realised someone much shorter than him was holding him steady by the arms, looking up through their large circular glasses. “Are you alright? You look sick-”

“I… something? Cake- weird kinda… Logan- fountain?” Roman managed to get out. He was sure it would sound like utter nonsense to whoever he was talking to.

“Ok, ok,” the person said, almost to themselves. “Obviously you’re not ok, but a fountain- I know a fountain near here- do you need to go to the fountain?”

Roman nodded, only for the movement to make him dizzy, he felt like he was falling for a moment before the person attempted to right him.

“Woah woah ok, don’t try to move too much, kay?” they said. “I’ll bring you to the fountain.”

Roman nodded slowly this time and the person wrapped an arm around his back and slowly began to lead him back down the street the way he had come. They walked slowly, mainly because Roman kept tripping over his feet and waves of dizziness caused him to pitch into the kind person who was helping him. They seemed happy to tolerate his lack of coordination while they went and Roman internally attempted to figure out what on earth had happened.

Gently he was coerced into sitting down on a bench by the person, who quickly sat down next to him. The smell of flowers now surrounding him had already begun to clear his head just from breathing it in. His swirling vision was clearing up more by the minute. Even the sound of steadily flowing water was helping to ground him in his senses. He slowly turned to look at the person who had helped him, and he must've seen something in Roman's eyes, because his face broke out into a sparkling grin.

"Hey there!" the person said with a smile. "Welcome back, are you alright?"

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Taglist: @cutebisexualmess (feel free to ask to be added!)

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Hiii. Again. I've brought you my thought again... Yeah... Sorry.

It's been almost six months since you've been living in King's Landing. In fact, you still don't understand, how your mama let you come here. Then, you look at your queen, your future mother-in-law, and still don't understand, how she let you in here. And then, you look at your almost husband, and you understand everything. Ah, the more you think about all this, the more your head hurts... Need to eat something delicious or take a bath...

It's been six months, and you're still not Aemond's wife. Although Aemond himself says, that you are obliged to marry him, from the moment you meet. But you've been able to delay this moment for six months. You're lucky, that the one-eyed prince listens to you. One day, your queen spoke unflatteringly about your appearance, and Aemond snapped at her, like a chain dog. From the accusations of the prince of treason to the crown, and the queen from death was saved by you, who covered her with your body. You loudly admitted that, yes, you also think, you look bad today, but that's because you don't feel well. And at that moment, another task clicked in Aemond's head. He grabbed your arm painfully and dragged you to your shared chambers, to take care of you. You quickly glanced back at Alicent, and noticed pity and regret in her eyes. Besides the fact, that your fiance is crazy, and a bunch of other aspects, there are two more problems in this situation. First, you lied. You don't feel bad. But if you had succumbed to a fleeting grudge against your almost mother-in-law, then she would have clearly died. Actually, yes, you were offended, that she so loudly and publicly condemned your appearance, but... Um, well... Never mind. The second problem is, that these chambers, which Aemond calls your shared ones, are actually your personal ones. This room was allocated to you, when you first arrived at the Landing. But the prince decided, that your room was too far from his, and that you would be scared and lonely alone, in an unfamiliar place, and that you would miss him. Therefore, he enters your chambers as his own, without knocking or warning. You can calmly, peacefully, sweetly doze on your crib, because it's too hot today, and then suddenly, your almost husband enters the room, stomping his boots loudly, and climbs to hug, because while he was training with a sword, he missed you. All sweaty, dirty, smelly and demanding attention. He completely ignores your protests, that it's too hot right now, that he will stain the whole bed with his dirty clothes, he needs his hourly dose of love. Ah...

But things have been getting even worse in recent days. It looks like the prince is very ill. He has practically stopped eating and drinking, you force and persuade him to drink warm, sweet water and fatten him with various fruits and dishes, that are not difficult to digest. In a very short time, Aemond has lost a lot, even too much, weight. His skin became extremely pale, and then, covered with strange, large, dark spots. And he's constantly throwing up. A lot and strongly. And what comes out of him, looks very strange... It's sticky, black, lumpy and sometimes there are streaks of blood... And every day his condition is getting worse. His skin is very hot, but he is constantly covered in cold sweat. His eye looks cloudy and his gaze is meaningless. From constant nausea, his lips became very dry, cracks began to appear in the corners. Almost everything, you feed him, comes out of his mouth. At first, you thought, that he was food poisoned by something, and treated him accordingly, but in just a couple of days, his condition became simply terrible. Even the maesters didn't know, what was wrong with him. It was the first time, Aemond wanted to sleep in his private room, because he doesn't want you to see him like this, but you didn't let him go. You may not love him, but you can't leave him alone. Not like that.

The prince sleeps most of the time. And when he doesn't sleep, he gets sick. You hold him and his hair, and you wipe his face. Then, you help him into the tub, wash him, and then, put him back to bed. And so an infinite number of times. The prince has lost so much weight and he is so weak, that you could easily break him in half. You have to be very careful with him, because bruises easily appear on his emaciated skin. And these strange spots still don't come off. The queen and the maester advised you to stay away from him, so as not to get infected, but you still haven't been infected. And you continue to take care of him.

Even Rhaenyra once intercepted you in the corridor, when you were, once again, returning from the common dining room, with food for your still sick stalker, to ask how he was. And she looked genuinely worried, in a good way. You didn't let her go into the room, only peek in. The eldest of the royal children looked at you with sympathy and, patting you on the shoulder, left.

And that night he began to rave. You woke up from the fact, that the body next to you is violently tossing and muttering something in the language of his ancestors. You couldn't make out much because of your poor knowledge of the language and his slurred speech. But you could make out one word. Name. A name you've definitely heard somewhere before. You told the maester about it, but he said it is okay, because the prince has a fever. Fever, yeah, of course... And so it went on for several nights in a row. Aemond was tossing around on the bed, mumbling something in his sleep, and you were wiping his forehead and neck, stroking him and whispering consolations.

Now, as already usual, you were collecting a plate for your prince, from the common table, when you heard, that Alicent pronounced a name familiar to you. The very name, that Aemond pronounced in his sleepy delusions. It was one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting. According to her, this young woman was just an angel in the flesh. But you didn't listen, you just grabbed a juicy apple and, saying goodbye, quickly left the dining room.

A young lady was standing near the Aemond's door, shifting uncertainly from one foot to the other, she clearly wanted to knock. And when she saw you, this lady followed you, constantly asking about the prince. At some point, you got tired of it, and you shouted at her, that you didn't have time. And at that moment you managed to get a better look at her. Well, you have to admit, that the queen is right, this lady is incredibly beautiful. Both her voice and her appearance, all in her, was the epitome of beauty and aesthetics. Without a doubt, this is the same woman, whose name is pronounced in a dream by Aemond. Very well... You gently apologized to the lady-in-waiting for your rudeness, and tried, without wasting time, to explain, that the prince is ill, that he is very ill. With every word you said, her sweet face became more and more distorted by fear and something else, resembling shame, but you don't have time to figure it out. Apologizing again, you hurried to your almost husband. He was throwing up again. This time, right on the carpet, near the bed, he could not crawl to the bucket. Poor boy...

Finally, he fell asleep again. You're so tired... You, too, can finally close your eyes.

You jumped up abruptly in bed, not feeling the hot and wet body next to you. You looked around the room. Aemond was pulling on his shirt. God, he is so thin, and his skin is so transparent, where there are no these terrible, dark spots, that it seems, that you can see his insides... You asked, where he was going, asked him to go back to bed, you will bring him everything, he needs. But the prince was silent. He looked at you with a completely blank look. His eye was still clouded and his voice was hoarse. He said your name several times, as if tasting it, and then pursed his lips. He hesitantly said, that he doesn't love you... Or not... He's not sure... He need some time... And almost ran out of the room. You tried to stop him, but you didn't have time. Where in his exhausted and weakened body there is so much strength and agility, this is a good question.

In the evening, you went out to the training yard and started asking, if anyone had seen the prince? No, no one has seen him. Before going to bed, you visited the Dragon Pit, but even there the prince has not been seen since the morning. The next morning you went to the dragons again, but neither the dragon nor the rider was ever seen. In the afternoon, you even visited a couple of brothels, but Aemond was not seen there either. But you found Aegon and brought him home.

By the evening of the next day, the day of another unsuccessful search, a disheveled and panting Aemond burst into your room. You already wanted to jump up to him, but he was faster. In a couple of big steps, the prince was on top of you, hugging you as tightly, as his condition allows, kissing you as hard, as he can, at the moment. Aemond clearly tried to have sex with you, but you pushed him away, scolding him. Where was he? What the hell? You've already started thinking all sorts of bad things! He needs to eat! But he just grinned, pulling you to him. His gaze was still clouded, and he was staggering. Aemond smugly purred, that he had already been told, how you were looking for him, that he so happy, that you were worried about him, that he love you, he would definitely eat, but first... And then, a loud voice called your name from the corridor. Alicent, without knocking, clearly furious, entered your room. Noticing her son on you, she shouted, that someone would bring something. Several servants and a couple of guards entered, and between them, the lady-in-waiting... What the hell is going on? The servants unfold something, and it turns out to be a medium-sized portrait of a one-eyed prince. There are some symbols and signs painted on it with something red. Looks like blood... Another pair of servants held in their hands some kind of bowl, seemingly ritual, a decorated dagger, a brush and bunches of dried herbs. The lady-in-waiting, who was as beautiful, as an angel from heaven, hung almost limply between the two guards. And next to all this stood an enraged queen. You just wanted to ask, what it was all about, but the prince's mother beat you to it, loudly offering you, and her son, to admire it all!

Aemond said, he didn't understand anything. Alicent loudly and angrily offered to explain to her maid of honor, but she only cried, so the mother said everything herself. This bitch tried to enchant the prince! You tried to say something, but you're too shocked, and Aemond has a complicated thought process in his head.

You got out of bed and approached this lady. You look her in the face, asking why she did it? And then the queen's maid of honor screamed, that she loved the prince, always loved! That she was more suitable for him! That she is the best couple for him, they would be happy together, that they are a beautiful couple! And then, you couldn't stand it. You yelled at her, that this love spell almost killed him! But the lady continued her tirade, she turned to Aemond, she appealed to his heart, asked him to confirm, that he loved her. But he was silent. And while his mother's lady-in-waiting went on and on, he dryly told her and her witchcraft tricks to be taken away from his eye. The queen promised, that she would make her remove the spell, to which the prince simply nodded, extending his arms to you for a hug. Kissing your hands, he softly purred, that you were his only and best medicine. Alicent called her son by name, to make him take the situation more seriously, but Aemond politely asked his mom and everyone else to leave the room.

You see, dear Y/n, it's just like he said. No one and nothing can separate you. Your love is stronger, than any love spells and conspiracies. Your union was created by the gods themselves. You were born to be his wife. No one and nothing can take you away from him. He is your destiny.

Pretty soon, Aemond was almost completely cured, and his recovery process is still ongoing. And, of course, he demands your presence and your love. This incident has only strengthened his faith in your sacred and strong love.

THIS WAS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL READ OH MY GOD, THE 'LADY IN WAITING' MADE ME SO MADDD I WAS HOPING SHE'D DIE AHDWJDJ

THE FLUFF? THE MOMENTS BETWEEN THEM? HIM LOVING US??? DAMN 😭💞💞💞

[tfotababe]

Sulking Cardan + Busy Jude = ???

POST TQN || Word count: 655

Last night the High King and Queen had a really cute moment.

They were having the conversations they needed.

Being all sweet and stuff.

So, Cardan, obviously, he expected to wake up with Jude giving him kisses or Jude smiling up at him while they cuddled.

You know? A fluffy morning for a fluffy night.

But when he woke up, his queen wasn't there anymore.

Sure, she was just at the table.

Sure, the table was just a few meters away.

Sure, he didn't even need to lift his head from their pillows to see her.

BUT WHY WAS SHE NOT BESIDE HIM???

Why was she doing those --- those political whatchamacallits, first thing in the morning instead of big spoonin-- SNUGGLING. Snuggling with him???

He was just thinking but he was still stuttering cuz it was just THAT absurd.

"Cardan, why do you look at me as though I'm committing treason?"

He scoffed at her.

SHE DIDN'T EVEN LOOK AT HIM! SHE WAS RIGHT! TREASON! IT WAS TREASON. (he won't be punishing her though)

He turned away from her.

"We have a revel to attend. It would do us good to start getting ready. Now."

He turned to face her again.

Still pouting and frowning at her though.

But then their eyes met.

She wore the same expression as she had last night.

The King thinks he fell in love again.

"Together?"

He wanted to say so many things but it was the only thought that verbalized itself.

He sat himself up, feet on the floor, hands on the bed beside his thighs.

"Bathing, getting clothed, face and hair. We could do it by ourselves, without Tatterfell, if you want. We could do all of it together." She smiled at him.

He didn't know when she got so close to him.

Next thing he knows he had his hands on her waist, while she cupped and planted kisses everywhere on his face.

Kissing him then pausing to look at him in the eyes then kissing him again.

Cardan wasn't used to this kind of Jude.

Still, he won't complain.

"Good morning, you boneheaded asshat." ah... The King's Jude is back.

Cardan smiled.

The High queen called for the bath to be prepared.

While waiting... Let's just say the High King and Queen's eyes landed on each other and they ended up in a position where the High Queen is propped up on the table, the High King's waist between her legs, hand on his shoulders and another around his neck. Both eating at each others lips.

The servant informs them that their bath is ready

and because the Queen can lie, she tells herself that it's fine.

The High King? Yeah, he's trying his best not to banish that servant.

As the High Queen washed her Kings hair, she couldn't help but look at his eyes. Eyes she'd never forget even after her mortal life ends.

As the High King helped his Queen into her dress, he couldn't help but smile at how lethal she looked. So lethal he could look at her a thousand times and he'd fall just as many times if not more.

As Jude applied gold powder on her husbands cheekbones and as Cardan fixed his wife's hair, they couldn't stop thinking about how much their relationship changed.

As the spy and the cruel prince put crowns on each others heads, they couldn't help but say words they never thought they'd direct at each other. I love you.

Now words they can't go a day without telling each other.

They headed to the revel with hands intertwined.

Their names were announced, the doors were opened, and their people showed respect.

As my Queen deserves. Cardan looks over to his wife.

The High Queen of Elfhame smiles

She felt respected. Appreciated. Loved.

His morning didn't turn out the way he had expected.

Still.

The High King of Elfhame couldn't be happier.

Or Maybe he could be...

Maybe if a mini them appears.

[goodlucktai]

(I feel like I should finish your prompt first but. These ones are so good....feel free to ignore if you have too many asks but 29 or 33 with chocobros...?

PROMPTS LIST

33. “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

ik i just did this one for natsuyuu but...........chocobros

x

They're somewhere in Duscae, near enough to the coast that each breeze carries a hint of the sea, on another errand for another stranger to scrape together enough gil to eat tonight.

They've stopped at the last little roadside cluster of shops before the countryside stretches far and wide and wild, stocking up on what meager supplies they can afford.

Noctis has never lived this way before. He's never gone to bed hungry before. Neither has Gladio or Ignis, for all their world-weariness and the general practical knowledge and common sense they walk around with that far surpasses Noctis' own.

Ignis can budget with the best of them, and Gladio is willing to eat literally anything at any time, but Prompto is the one who gets it.

He chats at length about all the times he's had to get creative with pasta or rice because it was all that was left in his pantry. Back in high school, when he could only work part-time. When someone should have been taking care of him, and instead he was left to figure out how to stretch a tiny budget much farther than made sense.

"Come on, Iggy," he said once when they were out shopping, half-laughing. Like he thought Ignis was joking. "Fresh produce? We've got like a hundred gil between the four of us and we're totally out of restoratives."

And Ignis paused, and glanced sidelong at him. He put back the crisp, flowery vegetables and pulled out his little notebook and asked for suggestions instead. It took Prompto a few minutes to convince himsef that Ignis was taking him seriously, but now they like, bond over canned fruit.

"I'm gonna kill this catoblepas with my bare hands," Gladio says with feeling, leaning against the car. "I'm so godsdamned sick of pasta. Don't tell Iggy I said that."

Noctis rolls an energy drink between his hands absently, brow furrowed. It's tricky business, and he's not very good at it just yet, but home-made elixirs save them a ton of gil. He feels guilty when they have to spend their money on something he should be able to do himself.

"I'm telling him," he says without missing a beat. "He'll never forget, and he'll give you shit every single time you make cup noodles from now on, forever."

"I can't stand you," Gladio tells him seriously.

The bell above the door of the convenience store rings brightly, and Noctis glances up to see Ignis and Prompto walking out looking a lot more cheerful than they did going in.

Gladio's face does something very subtle and specific when he sees them, there and gone in a second, before Noctis can pin it down and figure it out.

"What are you two chucklefucks up to?" he calls over. Ignis immediately narrows a disapproving stare at him, but Prompto beams.

"I got a commission, sort of!" he says.

"A commission?" Noctis parrots, sending the energy drink back to the Armiger.

"Sort of?" Gladio adds.

"While we were checking out, the store-owner saw my camera, and seemed really into it," Prompto says. "Since, you know. It's unique."

Noctis does know. The digital camera hanging at Prompto's side has been with him since Noctis first bought it for him three years ago. He would rebuild it every so often, bowed over a collection of impossibly tiny parts spread out carefully across a dish towel at the kitchen table in Noctis' apartment. To call it unique is a bit of an understatement.

Gladio frowns, sensing where this is going a split-second before Noctis does. "And?"

"And he offered me money for it! Like, more than it's worth probably. A lot more."

"I don't see how that could be possible," Ignis says smoothly, leaning through the open window of the Regalia to put the shopping bag in the backseat. "Since your camera is clearly priceless. Which is what I explained to the man."

Noctis relaxes, glad that Ignis and Prompto have bonded over shopping to the point that neither of them want to do it unless they can go together-- because if Prompto had been in there by himself, he 100% would have sold his camera. He would have hated to do it, but he would have done it. It's like he thinks he owes his friends something just for letting him exist.

"Good looking out, Specs," Gladio says gruffly. Prompto waffles a bit, looking torn between pleased and embarrassed. Noctis decides to rescue him.

"What commission, though?" he asks.

"Oh, right. Well, he was kind of bummed about the camera, but he asked if he could see some of my photos, and Ignis said we had time-- "

If it were literally anyone else, Noctis thinks, up to and including and especially the Actual Crown Prince, Ignis would have said they were in a hurry and not to show off.

"--and he seemed really impressed! With the photos! I told him we were going to take down a catoblepas, and he asked why, and I said for some cash, I mean, clearly," Prompto adds, gesturing at the four of them and their general road grime. "So he, ah-- well he's never seen a catoblepas up close before, and he said if I could get some good pictures of it, he'd pay me for them. He gave me a figure, and it's, like, better than some of the jobs I've done for Vyv."

He's delighted, clearly. He likes feeling like he's pulling his own weight. Noctis is always so relieved when Vyv calls, not because of the inherent payday, but more because it puts this light in Prompto's eyes that Noctis would easily climb a hundred volcanic mountains for.

"Damn, Prompto, at this rate you'll have funded our whole trip," Gladio says. He doesn't ruffle his hair anymore, because Prompto actually hates that, just sort of scrunches his fingers through it instead. Prompto doesn't hate that at all. It's adorable.

Sometimes in the early morning, when he and Noctis are the last to drag themselves out of the tiny camper, they'll do their affirmations together:

"Gotta be our best today," Noctis will say, and Prompto will put on this absurdly determined expression, bed hair hanging into his eyes and cheek still creased pink from the pillow.

"Gotta get those hair scrunches," he'll reply gravely.

"What else did he say, Prompto?" Ignis says in a pleasant tone of voice that Noctis hasn't trusted since he was seven years old.

"Um! Nothing. Nothing worth repeating, anyway, you know." He is looking completely away from them now, an avoidance tactic if Noctis has ever seen one. "Woah, is that really the time? We better get going if we wanna catch that cow before it gets dark!"

He turns toward the car and runs into Gladio's arm instead.

"He suggested that Prompto's talents would be put to better use in different company," Ignis says, his voice carrying clearly over Prompto's whine of 'nooo, Iggy, let it go.' "He said that if Prompto ever got tired of our lifestyle, his door would be open."

Ah, Noctis thinks, followed by, ouch?

"Oh, fuck that guy," Gladio blurts. "Let me go talk to him."

"No!" Prompto clings to his arm, throwing all his weight into keeping Gladio in place. The Shield, who could bench Prom's entire body weight in one hand, lets himself be detained anyway and pretends to be annoyed about it. "Ignis, why are you causing trouble right now?" Prompto says frantically.

"Transparency is important in a relationship," Ignis replies.

"There's transparency and then there's causing trouble. Noct, tell them."

"I think Gladio should go talk to him," Noctis says immediately. But then Prompto looks betrayed, and it makes Noctis feel awful. "Ugh, okay. Okay. We're leaving. Ignis, Gladio, that's an executive order."

"Are you sure I can't punch him in the face?" Gladio grumbles.

"Am I-- yes, dude!" Prompto half-laughs nervously. "Very sure!"

"What if I just broke his nose a little?"

"Then that would be treason, I guess, cause Noct just said no."

It's with the standard amount of bickering and noise that they climb into the car, the top rolling up over their heads as it starts to drizzle. Ignis pulls smoothly back onto the cracked asphalt road and reaches over to turn the radio on; a peace offering. From the backseat, Noctis can see the corner of Prompto's smile, framed by a flyaway piece of yellow hair.

They live this way now, but they didn't always. Noctis used to have the run of the whole Citadel, had his own penthouse apartment, grew up dodging banquets and lavish dinners. It's not like he likes sleeping on the ground and having nothing to eat. It's not like he chose to lose his home.

But it could be worse. It's not a bad way to live, just Noctis and the people he loves best and these countless hours together. There's a lot of hard work and sometimes he goes to bed hungry but he knows he'll remember these days forever. He knows he'll miss them.

"Hey," he says, over the quiet sound of rain on the windows and the catchy synth-pop crooning out of the speakers. "Don't ever sell your camera, okay?"

Prompto says, "I mean, I wouldn't ever want to."

"Seriously," Noctis presses. He doesn't want to let it go. It feels important. "Your pictures are-- they mean the world to me, Prom. I can't even tell you."

His friend looks bewildered. He's half-turned in his seat, and his eyes stray to Gladio, then jump to Ignis, then settle back on Noctis. Whatever he's looking for, he seems to find it, because he smiles.

"Okay, weirdo," he says, "one fully-documented roadtrip, coming up. I won't leave anything out."

Noctis is counting on it.

[galadhremmin]

We have derived Caranthir liking the Dwarves (and vice versa) because apparently, Finrod succeeds in every field Caranthir fails, and at this point it's clear this derives from the in-universe writer of the Silm and his own biases. Think about it: "Dark Finwë" , a grumpy, prejudiced lordling, and "Hair Champion", most handsome, noble king, have met with the same people!! Yet the king of the first secret kingdom is everyone's friend, but the prince that trades with them regularly is not... seems sus.

Hence, Caranthir is friends with the Dwarves. (But that is just an interpretation, so you're free to think what you wish, I just have several opinions on in-universe prejudice and the almighty narrative.)

I think that 'we' might actually have been Dawn Felagund years ago. Maybe this reading existed even before that, but I doubt that-- she's been very influential in silm fandom and was long before tumblr was much of a thing. https://dawnfelagund.com/caranthir-the-slandered

I wouldn't say it's 'clear' that what amounts to Caranthir's entire documented personality derives from the bias of the in-universe narrator, though as you can see from Dawn's writing it's a reading you can argue for. There are a number of different approaches you can take to the Silm and its biases anyway. One of the few times when it's absolutely clear the text isn't telling the entire story is when it talks about the Easterlings. I've posted about this before but the recorded names are, uhh.... the ones to betray the elves are unlikely to actually have been named things like 'ugly lord' and 'ugly beard.' 'Dark Finwe' on the other hand is a documented reference to his haircolour being dark like Finwe's own; hardly a negative judgement!

I personally think Caranthir can be exactly as ill-tempered and prejudiced as the Silm paints him without becoming an unsympathetic character. If a writer cannot make a moody, deeply prejudiced man an interesting character that is a failure as a writer; there are after all enough books who manage exactly that. That is not to say choosing not to write him that way is a failure (obviously not), but it's not necessary in order to make a reader feel for him at all.

Just going by the text, I think it actually might make for a more interesting narrative to explore in fic to me. Because he does change his mind about something, and at a very specific moment; when he meets the Haladin. That is much less dramatic if he secretly been as nice and popular as Finrod, and got along with everyone all the time already. He's been raised by Fëanor, who said things like 'No other race shall oust us!' and rallied the Noldor not motivated enough by vengeance for Finwë alone by playing on their deep-seated fear of being replaced by the Secondborn. Very unlikely that had no impact. At best it has made him uninterested in humans in his area (while they're not much of a threat to ruling instead of the elves anyway). The text says they paid them no heed.

And yet! Caranthir sees how brave Haleth and her people are. He 'does her great honour.' He changes his mind and offers them lands. His tragedy to me is not that of a slandered figure, but of this deeply, deeply prejudiced person raised to distrust the motivations of human beings -- who overcomes those beliefs, offers friendship, is rejected! then extends that same trust to the Easterlings anyway... and it's those specific Easterlings, not the ones who ally with his brothers-- who betray them all. And cause the disastrous ending of the Nirnaeth. It's the 'to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well' part of the curse hitting him in the least fair way possible. Someone finally changes for the better, and the outcome is treason and destruction.

That is a very good character arc to me, actually. His aesthetics-based scorn for the Dwarves is reprehensible but strikes me as deeply Elvish, and part of his prejudices. Naugrim is too unflattering a name for them for it not to be common. His temper-- well why can't he have one? Sure there's only one recorded instance -- but that's imo because there are hardly any conversations in the Silm! Anyway I like some people with tempers well enough. Personally I think people are missing out on opiniated grouches.

Obviously the biased anti-Feanorian Pengolodh reading is a nice one, and I have enjoyed a lot of stories written based it. But it's not at all a reading that is necessary for me to read Caranthir as a flawed but sympathetic character. He can have serious faults and still, ultimately, be someone I feel for.

What I was asking though was if I overlooked any canon evidence of Caranthir being particularly, personally fond of the Dwarves; and it seems I did not. Also; there is room for Caranthir growing to like the Dwarves over centuries without an anti-Feanorian bias reading this strong, there is simply no evidence for friendship in the rather barebones narrative (I'm not interested atm because it's wildly overdone to me & I like variety).

That said, in my opinion making Caranthir the hidden, slandered Feanorian Finrod equivalent with a dash of Curufin's Dwarf affection is not as enjoyable as simply working with what little canon character is actually there. Because there is one (and it's not the greedy tax collector of some fanon depictions either imo)

1. To start with, wrt Caranthir as the anti-Finrod, I don't think it works that well. Sure sure dark/light, open/prejudiced, repressed/shouty, but different motivations, different locations, plus they meet very different peoples even if both are Edain-- besides, Caranthir's own older brothers do successfully ally with the Easterlings without betrayal, while Curufin (much more so than Finrod! no Khuzdul for Finrod!) is the Dwarves' Friend(tm). Also, a flawed Finrod already exists. That's just the regular edition. He has his own faults and (very different) tragic arc.

If Finrod never seems to have strong prejudices to overcome, and if he's not confrontational (which... look he's a diplomat. Make of that what you will. Pretty awkward there in Doriath, buddy!) he does have trouble facing his own complicity (he wanted to sail those ships despite the murders) until Sauron beats him to death with it. He leaves Valinor with the idea of ruling but he has to give up the crown. He's ambitious, he seems emotionally repressed, he's.. possibly paying the greater Dwarves to drive the Petty Dwarves out of their ancestral home to build a city? Oops. Depending on the version you go with in that case, of course; there's also ones where he's free of the blame of that one. Not of wanting to sail those ships and being uneasy with the guilt wrt wanting to do so despite their being stolen and murdered for though. No he doesn't kill; but he wants to use the result of it anyway, and to make it worse he is actually half Telerin.

There's also (to be fair, only for sure after the disaster of the Sudden Flame because that's the recorded instance) his guards killing random innocent trespassers to keep his kingdom hidden -- yes, that's right there in Silm, yes he's still King at the time. Beren has to wave that ring. People just seem to miss that he'd be killed without it somehow.

I think it's just too easy to reduce him to the golden perfect opposite of Caranthir. Yes he's described more positively; he's also just mentioned more because unlike Caranthir he rules an actual kingdom, the greatest and richest in Beleriand in fact; and does things that have a lot of very longterm effects, like helping B&L steal a Silmaril. They don't 'meet the same people' anyway -- the Haladin have a different culture from the Beorians which contributes to their reaction to Caranthir (and iirc their later fate).

Sidenote: Dawn's essay attributes the Green Elves helping the Feanorians at Amon Ereb to Caranthir's diplomatic skills; but why not to those of Amras or Amrod? This is the quote; 'Caranthir fled and joined the remnant of his people to the scattered folk of the hunters, Amrod and Amras, and they retreated and passed Ramdal in the south. Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had aid of the Green-elves' -- nothing here indicates it was Caranthir who got them that aid. In fact A&A are the hunters, i.e. more likely to have roamed in various forests where they would have encountered Green Elves, imo.

There's also the very desperate times to consider in which this aid takes place. This is just post Sudden Flame, and even if the Green Elves didn't like Caranthir they probably liked him better than Morgoth. Also, speaking of cosmopolitans, Maedhros allies with, yes, Dwarves (Azaghal), Grey elves, Easterlings (and you might say: Fingolfinians); even part of the remaining people of Dorthonion rally to Himring post sudden flame (that means Edain and Arafinwean followers in Himring, at least for a time), and he manages to be friendly with Felagund despite calling him a badger. ;)

Finrod is not the only other leader to forge diverse alliances, and though B&L ends happily his people mostly do not. Caranthir's not much like Finrod in any way. Not in motivations, temperament, tragic arc. That's fine. No hidden kingdom for a dragon to eat either. Finrod could probably do with being a little less like Finrod sometimes, though he's well-intentioned and likable. Caranthir loves to shout and isn't sneaky. Good for him.

2. Curufin also already exists. His love for Dwarves is one of his defining and redeeming characteristics and boy does he need them. He's daddy's favourite, a sneaky overambitious bitchy bastard who is also a talented smith and linguist, and truly considered a Dwarf friend, which is apparently exceptional. He's quite flawed; tries to help Celegorm force a political marriage, laughs with a bruised mouth, seeming to lose his mind while attempting and failing murder after first losing his own stronghold and then the city he tried to take from his cousin. He's just... a personality. Mostly a bad one! You can feel for him though, because he seems like an utter mess. Many 'i would love to study you' feelings on my part. Would hate for him to be real but also I'd pay to be his therapist.

3. And then finally there's Canon Caranthir. A difficult, prejudiced person who despite that (which doesn't at all have to mean there is no despite, the despite is what makes it juicy)

- seems to be responsible for re-establishing (large scale?) trade with the Dwarves, whatever he might think of them (and they of him) to their mutual benefit. I don't think he's greedy either. It seems like a mutually profitable situation. Access to Dwarvish goods seems pretty vital to Beleriand, and facilitating trade is a real service.

As someone pointed out in the replies, the Silm does mention Dwarvish companies travelling east to Nan Elmoth and menegroth various times, but quote wrt Caranthir says 'Caranthir’s people came upon the Dwarves, who after the onslaught of Morgoth and the coming of the Noldor had ceased their traffic into Beleriand' and 'when the Dwarves began again to journey into Beleriand.'

They stopped at some point and Caranthir's people made it happen again.

- which means he's practical. He seems like he's good at organising, and setting his own feelings aside if necessary despite his prejudice and temper (which is an achievement it wouldn't be without his, hm, everything). Also he and his people as well as the Dwarves work together well because ''either people loved skill and were eager to learn,' despite their (initial?) mutual dislike. Those aren't bad characteristics; seems like it was an exchange of skill as well as goods and possibly providing safe travel opportunities.

I don't like the 'greedy Caranthir' fanon and don't think it is even that easy support entirely with canon. 'They had of it great profit,' the text says-- both Caranthir and the Dwarves. They exchanged skills and knowledge and Caranthir seems to have helped them start trading in Beleriand again. That's hardly Scrooge Mcduck.

- Another thing we can say about canonthir (lol) is that he apparently attaches a lot of value to aesthetics (was he a visual artist? is a he a sculptor like Nerdanel? WORSE: AN ART CRITIC?! Feanorian art critic is truly nightmare fuel) and that's why he dislikes Dwarves (of all things...). Either way points to 'aesthetics' as something apparently important to Caranthir. Which makes sense given who his parents are. What is interesting to me is that this apparently DOESN'T matter to Curufin, who is a lot like Feanor in most things. That's interesting!

I've never, never seen this but I think it would be very funny to attribute his aesthetic prejudices to Nerdanel. I love her; but why should her opinions be perfect? I know she wasn't considered beautiful herself, but she's an artist. She's got to have had some strong opinions on aesthetics anyway. I doubt it's the beards; Mahtan had one as well. And 'stunted'...at least some of this comes down to the Elvish obsession with height yet again. Hm.

- eventually Caranthir overcomes what have to be some very deeply held beliefs about human beings and their place in the world, and offers what for all intents and purposes looks like real friendship, not the ruling over Men Feanor seems to have had in mind at best. He's capable of real change!

Anyway his character works just fine to me from canon, and what he achieves and the ways in which he fails are more interesting that way rather-- neither slandered Feanorian Finrod 2.0 nor Curufin 'Dwarf Fan' Feanorion without the sneakiness and murder attempts pack the same punch as a stupidly prejudiced grouchy man doing his best anyway for centuries in this stupid ugly cursed land, eventually changing for the better, opening up-- and being brutally punished for it by the Doom.

Dammit. I hope there's therapy in the Everlasting Darkness.

hm a bit long but that's what I get for trying to gather my thoughts wrt why after considering it a bit transferring Curufin's love for Dwarves to Caranthir is a bit boring to me personally. Though there are still stories that still do it very well.

[takuyakistall]

romeo!

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Ace Trappola from the Trappola Kingdom, there was no doubt that he was a great man that was destined to achieve glory in a few years' time. But, there was one tiny problem. Being a prince from his own country meant that he needed to marry a lady from a prominent household. With much reluctance, he ended up choosing a princess from a neighbouring country—only to find out that the Prince of the Spade Kingdom has his eyes set on her as well. Is this... Competition?

Tags: Fem!Reader, Royalty AU, mentions of death, kidnapping, anything else you would find in a romance manhwa

Note: This piece is purely self indulgent and I plan on writing more for it! But I decided to share the first chapter here. There's no action yet so this is just some build-up.

Ace Trappola was never one to abide by the silly little rules of etiquette, he always thought that they were too nitpicky and stiff ever since he was a little boy. He thought that it was useless to keep up appearances for the sake of his reputation—until he experienced firsthand how cruel high society could be to a mere child who had made a single mistake. Of course, they would never dare to utter a single word in fear that their tongues would be cut off by his Highness, the king. But he would never ever forget the cold gazes that laid upon him as soon as he turned his back.

Which is why he donned a mask. He wore it all day and night as a child, hoping that it would be indestructible as he grew up but that brought him nothing but more of the empty and hollow feeling he hated. Despite already being so well-mannered, so educated, and so charming—he was nothing more than the second prince of the country who always seemed to be overshadowed by his older brother, the first prince. He was the definition of Ace's "perfect".

"Hey uncle," little Ace referred to his butler as such as he closed the storybook he was reading. A spark of curiosity sparkling in his eyes as he continued, "how do I become as amazing as my big brother?"

A childlike innocence could easily be tainted by those with such intentions—the old butler could easily plant the wrong ideas in his head and nurture the seeds of jealousy he planted within him. He stared at him for a second before letting out a sigh, strengthening his resolve when he saw Ace's eyes full of wonder.

"His Highness does not have to do anything, you are already a wonderful child just like your brother."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I wouldn't dare lie to you. If you continue to stay on the right path, I have no doubt that you will be as great as your brother in the future." He patted Ace's head, relieved that the second prince seemed to be satisfied with the answer.

"Yeah... I will!" He declared, staring right back at his butler with an uncontrollably big grin taking over his face.

That was the last time he saw that butler.

The palace staff told him he died because of heart failure during his day off. This devastated poor little Ace Trappola greatly—demanding to be allowed to attend his funeral but was stopped by his father, saying that there was no need for someone like him to attend a servant's funeral. The hand-picked white lilies Ace took that day in hopes of paying his respects, withered inside his room as he cried his heart out.

The next day, they had already found a replacement for his butler. Someone who was far younger than his previous one and was definitely less warm—he went by the name "Rowen" and insisted that the young prince should call him that. At first, Ace put up a fight as he tried to resist everything Rowen tried to do—even if it was just a menial task such as him trying to tie Ace's necktie for him.

But, nonetheless, Ace was still a child and children, more often than not, don't know how to deal with grief. You could easily spot him crying in places he shouldn't be yet no one had the heart to tell him that, even more when Rowen asked the palace staff specifically to not approach the prince if they ever spot him like that and instead, call for him immediately.

Stuck inside the garden, Ace was barely trying to keep his sobs in as he rubbed his eyes with his sleeves.

"I miss uncle…" He cried out, perhaps getting a little bit tired of how colder the palace seemed to be towards him. A pair of footsteps suddenly approached him, Ace quickly stood up and patted away all the dirt from his clothes so it seemed like he didn't cry but his swollen eyes were a dead giveaway.

"Your Highness, I was looking for you."

"Oh, Rowen. It's you…" A dejected look took over his face, was he expecting his old butler to appear? He silently crushed his hopes as he raised a question for his new companion.

"Can I ask you a question…?"

"Of course."

"D-Do you think I can still be as amazing as my big brother?" A few seconds of silence passed by as Rowen crossed his arms.

"Forgive me for my bluntness. However, at this rate, you will never amount to what your brother will be in the future."

"E-Eh? But uncle said that—"

"Your 'uncle' was foolish, perhaps that was why he died." Rowen crouched down, his green irises staring right into Ace's eyes—there was something in his eyes that Ace couldn't put a finger on but one thing is for sure, he thought Rowen was scary during this very moment.

"What you need right now is power," Rowen pressed a finger against his lips. "And that's exactly what I can give you."

"Power? Don't I already have plenty of that, I'm a prince!"

"What you need," he pushed Ace back with his index finger, "is enough power to take the throne."

"But big brother is the only one who can take that!" Ace shouted, trying to overpower the nonsense he was hearing from his new butler.

"Heed my words and I can make it happen." Rowen's lips tugged up into a small smirk before delivering his final words.

"After all, you want to be as great as your brother, the first prince."

Ace felt confused. He clutched his chest as he thought about his words—he did want to be as great as his brother but he couldn't help but be a little wary of what Rowen might ask of him. Ace had to slap himself back to reality, there was no reason for him to think about this so seriously! There was no way he could take the throne for himself and why would he even want to do that…? Isn't he happy the way he is right now?

Ace stepped out from the garden with Rowen following him shortly behind. He stared at the castle building, the maids and butlers working about, and a few noble visitors roaming around.

That was when a little devil's voice started whispering in his ear.

Deuce Spade had been anything but happy upon growing up inside the Royal Palace. Being the sole crown prince of the Spade Kingdom, his life never consisted of flowers and rainbows contrary to what many think. If you asked young Deuce himself about his position, he would simply give you a blank stare before properly processing your question. Once he does, he’ll give you a half-hearted smile before answering with: “It’s a duty I must fulfill.”

He’d never been too fond of the fact that his life was already planned ahead of him the moment the royal palace discovered his existence in his mother’s womb. He would undergo proper education fitting for the crown prince, he would be assigned with tasks that were meant for the crown prince, and he would soon rise to the throne once his father was no longer able to rule.

Rather than inheriting the throne, he yearned for something else. Being the heir to the throne meant that there was almost nothing he couldn’t obtain but he found himself dumbfounded when his elders aggressively denied him of his desire for the first time.

His desire to become a knight.

Deuce was said to be excellent with the art of the sword, easily surpassing other kids his age. But that was not the reason why Deuce had the desire to become a knight.

One of the first things they taught Deuce was the fact that he was in a dangerous position and that there might be cases wherein other people might make an attempt on his life. He thought that it was ridiculous because, after all, who would dare try to kill the crown prince? It would be treason!

And because of that, he was too lax.

One night, the prince got kidnapped and threw the whole palace in an uproar. Little Deuce could barely open his eyes when he tried assessing his surroundings, his eyes were blurry and he couldn’t move a muscle as no voice came out from his mouth. He was beyond terrified, he thought he was going to die that night. He pleaded inside his head, begging someone to come and find him. But for days, he was yet to be found.

He thought that perhaps the Royal Palace had decided to give up on him as he lost hope himself, his eyes growing dull and duller. He had to endure the harsh treatment given to him during his abduction, the only thing keeping him sane was the single ray of hope that someone was going to rescue him.

Just as he felt as if the thread was about to snap, he saw a cloaked man barge into the place where he was held hostage with a sword in hand. Ruthlessly, he cut down the perpetrators without so much as a blink. Deuce could only stare at the scene unfolding in front of him weakly. ‘Am I… being saved?’

It took him every ounce of his strength to stay conscious. And even more when he forced himself to ask the mysterious cloaked man. He wasn’t wearing anything that could discern his homeland, Deuce couldn’t figure out where he came from. His face was covered by the hood of the cloak, he couldn’t see his features very well. Deuce was afraid that there would be no way of him figuring out his identity before he passes out, so he forced a voice out of his throat.

“Who… are you?” His voice was hoarse. The man stayed silent, sheathing his sword before walking closer to the prince and unlocking the rope binding his hands together. Deuce could slowly feel himself losing consciousness but just before he could pass out, the man finally answered his question.

“...A knight.” He muttered.

The next time Deuce opened his eyes, he was no longer in a dark place but instead, in an unfamiliar yet extravagant room. He could tell that it was not the palace in his kingdom, he felt himself panic once again as he remembered the past events. When he heard a knock on his door, Deuce flinched as he hesitantly told them to come in.

A small girl around Deuce’s age entered the room with a plushie in her arms. He told himself to calm down upon seeing her, reassuring himself that the probability of this girl doing the same thing as the ones who kidnapped him were very low.

“Are you feeling better now, Your Highness?” She asked, concern lacing her voice. Deuce clutched his arm.

“Better than before… at least. But before that, who are you?” It was only normal for Deuce to become extremely wary considering what he just went through. The young girl understood that and merely gave him a small grin.

She introduced herself as the first princess of the kingdom he was residing in. Deuce was shocked, it wasn’t his own kingdom that found him but another! Did that mean that all this time he was in a foreign country? Was that the reason why no one had found him for days? Countless questions were swirling inside his head.

The princess was the only one who was let into his room, seeing as how Deuce was more comfortable seeing someone around his own age rather than adults. She was as clumsy as she was kind, Deuce found himself being comforted by her even if most of their meetings consisted of him being gloomy.

A few days later, an envoy was sent to Deuce’s kingdom to inform them that he was safe in their palace. During that period of time, Deuce was cooped up inside his room—thinking about a lot of stuff and refused to come out for hours. When it was time for him to go, he visited the princess one last time.

“Is it possible for me to visit you in the future?” Gratitude? Attraction? Personal interest? The reason behind his words was blurred.

When he returned home, he almost gave the whole Royal Court a heart attack when he declared that he wanted to become a knight. Nobody could tell what Deuce was thinking after he was abducted, it was as if he turned into an entirely different person. But he was thoroughly denied of his desire to become a knight, in which he was highly disappointed in. But, somehow, he found a way to secretly train without anyone finding out.

Using the princess as the shield, he went in and out of your kingdom to train under the pretense of meeting her. But she was more than happy to assist him as they became partners in crime. Deuce couldn’t forget the mysterious knight that saved him and so he idolized him ever since, saying how he wanted to be someone who protected people.

“Princess!” He called out, waving his hand as he grinned at her. This was the start of their relationship with each other. Only time can tell if this was to end happily ever after or otherwise.

[inarizakibabe]

Changes

As the first prince of his country Suna had just about everything his heart could want. Riches, fine silks and linens, and more food than he could eat. One would expect with a life as luxurious as his he would be happy. Unfortunately his father could see the sadness deep in his son's eyes. Maybe he needed  new hobby or more servants to boss around? Then again looking at things carefully the king noticed his son avoided the servants as much as he could. Just what could cheer up his son and bring back the joy in his eyes? Oh! Maybe that could work.

"You called for me father?"

"Yes Rintaro. I've noticed your sour mood these past few months and I think I know what could make it better." the king smiled down at his son. "I remember entering a funk as you young kids say and your grandfather threw a ball in my honor and I ended up meeting your mother."

Suna fought hard to hide the disgust creeping onto his face. Surely his father didn't really think he wanted to meet someone.

"So that's why three days from now we will have a ball and invite all eligible maidens to attend. Maybe I'll be able to see you smile again,"

"Um father with all due respect I don't really see how a ball will improve my funk as you called it. Maybe if I took a ride around the forest I'll feel better?" Suna hoped his father would get the message but knowing how stubborn he was he'll most likely be engaged three days from now. "I'll even bring my attendants to make sure I'm alright."

"Nonsense going for a ride isn't what you need. Trust me on this Rintaro. A ball is exactly what you need. You're dismissed. You have a ball to prepare for." The king said before turning back to the papers on his desk.

Suna sighed and left his father's office. Maybe if he ran away nobody would miss him. Or the entire kingdom would be put on lock down until he was found. He couldn't put his people through that so there was only one thing to do.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day Suna found himself taking a walk in the garden. If all goes to plan he wouldn't have to propose and maybe he could get the freedom he was craving. Sure castle life was fun but when you have people constantly telling you how to live and doing every thing fro you it can get tiring. Before he turned eighteen he didn't have as many responsibilities as he does now. Life was simple he would take lessons during the day and after a certain time he was free to do what he wanted until dinner time.

Now he's stuck behind a desk everyday taking on the tasks of the kingdom he father didn't want to do. If he got to leave the castle anymore it was for business and once all was settled he'd come right back home and behind the four walls of his personal office again. His home had become a prison and his office his cell.

"You know if you continue to frown at the ground it's less likely to open up and take you away from here."

Suna looked up and found one of his attendants speaking with him. He had two personal attendants who miraculously happened to be twins. They met each other at the age of six and have been together ever since. The one speaking to him now was the blonde one Atsumu which meant his brother Osamu, with gray hair, was most likely harrassing the kitchen staff.

"That sounds like a dream come true right now. Don't you feel suffocated here? You've lived here your whole and trained to work for me. Was it something you always wanted or was this chosen for you?" Suna asked.

"Sounds like someone is scared of their responsibilities. Alright Rintaro tell me what's wrong." Atsumu offered Suna an encouraging smile until he noticed the deadpan look on Suna's face. "You don't have to look at me like that you know."

"No offense but, actually take as much offense as you can from this but last I checked advice giving wasn't something you were capable of. Where's Osamu?"

"Looking up one of the maid's skirts. Now what do you mean I'm not a good advice giver? I happen to give great advice to people in need." Atsumu huffed.

"Right right remind me again why ten percent of the palace guards quit after you left 'inspiring' words with them." Suna mused.

"Be glad you're a prince." Atsumu muttered dejectedly.

"Threatening the crowned prince? That's grounds for dungeon time. Let me know if you want gray or white sheets." Suna laughed as he continued in the direction he was headed before.

"I'll take green. Look the fact of the matter is you're clearly not happy about something and as one of your attendants it's my job to fix that. I can get your horse saddled if you want and tell your father you had an entire platter filled with cheese." Usually Suna would grimace at the mention of cheese but a ride through the kingdom sounded more like what he needed.

"Thanks but no thanks, after the last time my father would kill me if he found out I ran off again. If you did want to cheer me up you could figure out a way to get him to cancel this ball he's throwing in my honor."

"You know as well as I do just how stubborn your old man is. You'd have better luck raising the dead than changing his mind. Look on the bright side. There'll be cake." Atsumu smiled at Suna who in turn frowned at him.

"For saying that you get purple sheets."

"Wait! Let's talk this out!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The following day Suna found himself in his room being fitted for a new suit. In the twenty minutes he's been standing there he's been pricked by pins three times.

"Last warning tailor. The next time you hurt the prince you'll be charged for treason." Today Osamu was keeping Suna company

''Forgive me your highness. You're more built than I'm use to dealing with. Rest assured this suit will be the most beautiful suit you'll ever wear." the tailor put another pin in the fabric he was working with and prayed he hadn't pricked Suna again. "If I may ask, what occasion is this ball in honor of? The last celebration we had was your eighteenth birthday and I believe your birthday isn't until next year so what's the joyous occasion?"

"You'll find out the day after the ball until then please focus on leaving skin on my body." Suna sighed.

"Of course your highness my apologies again."

"Tsumu talked to me yesterday. What's going on with you?"

"He talks too much. He simply saw me walking in the garden nothing else."

"Oh yeah? I heard that princess you met in Shektor is coming tomorrow. Should I make arrangements that she's your first dance of the evening?" Osamu smirked at Suna who scowled at him. "Oh dear your highness what an expression. Be careful Princess Tsumaki doesn't see it she might think one of the wind goblins is tickling your nose again. In fact I'll write a letter to her right now to bring her special medicine to cure you!"

"Osamu you bastard! Ow! Alright fine enough I'll answer both your questions just stop tormenting me! I should have both of you locked up for treason." Suna growled trying to keep the parts if his sanity he still had.

The tailor and Osamu smirked at each other as Suna began to speak again. "I just felt trapped behind these walls recently. Is everything I'm doing really important? I sit down and sigh papers all day either about farm rations or mining and I just don't see the need to do any of that. The people know what they need to survive and they know how to do what they need to survive so why should I waste time looking over it for them? They're not children who need to be supervised they'd be well off without me. The again if I don't do that then what is my purpose here? What am I suppose to do with my life? Am I just the face the people use when they need something? No wait that's my father's job so I'm just here. I make agreements and trade deals with other countries and attend diplomat meetings my father can't make it to. If I didn't do any of that then I'd be a regular boy in the kingdom maybe doing stable work. Sounds better than being the one everyone blames for everything if things go wrong. My father apparently doesn;t know me very well and thought I was lonely so he's throwing a ball for me to find a wife. What's not to love about that?"

Osamu sighed and pulled one of Suna's cheeks. "First don't talk about yourself like that. Like it or not this is how you were born and there's literally nothing you can do about that. It doesn't matter what kind of job you do even if all you did was tell someone to move a chair you still did something and it benefited somebody in the long run. You can't see yourself for the things you do but me and everyone else around you can. You just need to look at things from a different point of view."

Suna looked away from both of them and sighed while taking in Osamu's words. Maybe all he did need was to view things from a different perspective. Yeah maybe that could work. "Ow!"

"You didn't have to stick him again Mori." Osamu sweatdropped.

"Nope that time definitely was an accident. Please try not to move your highness." Mori smiled innocently.

Or maybe his tailor would take him out first. Whichever came first he guessed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The day of the ball finally arrived and carriage after carriage arrived at the castle holding nobles and royals from near and far. Suna was in his room again watching from the window as carriages entered the palace grounds. Maybe if he's lucky he could make a run for it during the party and jump the fence to get away from everybody to maybe save himself for a little while. Or maybe one of guards sees him and tries to follow him and ruins his plans.

"Just sit through the ball and I'm sure your father will let you leave for an hour tomorrow."

"Yeah right after his engagement announcement. Listen Rin if you don't want to do it then I don't see why you should."

"Don't listen to Tsumu. We'll help you if you need a breather every now and again but we can't cover fro you the entire night."

"Or eat these two slices of cheesecake right now and be excused for the rest of the night." Atsumu suggested wiggling his eyebrows.

It was a pretty solid plan but a night of pain wasn't worth missing the ball. His father might only postpone it and he'd be confined to his room until everything passes.

"Well gentlemen it's my last night a single man. If I'm lucky Tsumaki won't be my future bride. The small bout of freedom I had was nice but it's time for me to be a big boy and do what I have to. Once I'm king the first thing I'm doing is making sure Asami doesn't go through this." Suna sighed.

"I doubt she'd have a problem with it. Which girl doesn't want to be entertained by a handsome man? Bonus points cause he's rich." Atsumu shrugged.

Suna's eyebrow raised in confusion, "Are you calling the princess a money whore?"

Atsumu chuckled softly and smiled at Suna. "You and I both know that's not what I meant. You're really the only person who has a problem with palace life. Asami is actually looking forward to her happily ever after which is something you need to start doing. You can hate it but if it's something that has to be done then you have to suck it up and get it over with."

"You can say that because it's not your life. I need to teach Asami about how dirty boys are. Osamu you'll be the example for what you and Mori did yesterday. Who could've imagined my attendant and the tailor conspiring against me. The mutiny." Suna shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Be disappointed all you want. I did what I had to do. Now you have to get ready for tonight. If you need us you know where we'll be." Osamu left with Atsumu right behind him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*

Night fell quickly and two hours into the party Suna finally met all the young women his father had invited. Many were kind and some more beautiful than necessary but all quickly looked away when Princess Tsumaki approached him. The night continued on as his father hoped with Suna being forced to mingle with everyone present. Eventually his social meter began to run out and he retreated to a hidden balcony for air.

A sound close by caught his attention and Suna found a young woman who seemed to be in the same situation as him. If he remembered he remembered her name was (y/n) third princess of a neighboring country. Suna tried to sneak away before you could see him but alas luck wasn't on his side.

"Your highness good night."

Suna counted to three then slowly faced you with a friendly smile, "Good night my lady. I hope you're enjoying the party."

"It's lovely and so is your country. Please give your father my thanks for inviting my family."

"I can assure you he'll give his thanks for attending. If I'm not being too forward may I ask why you're out here instead of enjoying the food?" Hopefully pressuring you like this will give Suna the quiet time he was hoping for.

"Forgive my rudeness but the amount of people inside made the room a little stuffy. I came out here for a little air." you smiled at him.

"Fair enough. I hope the air is to your liking."

"With all due respect your highness it's been a long night and it's exhausting speaking like this so if you don't mind we can call each other old acquaintances and speak like old friends would. It would be an honor if you would call me (y/n)."

Suna blinked at your request and fought the grin trying to rise on his face. "If that's so then feel free to call me Rintaro. Blame my father for taking things the wrong way and forcing us all to go through this."

"We can't really fight what our parents want us to do. Comes with the title really. You seemed upset earlier should I assume that you don't really want to get married?"

Suna sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't mind getting married I just don't think I should get married because my father thought I was in a funk as he called it. Sounds cliche but I actually believe in meeting someone and falling in love."

You blinked at the prince and giggled. "You're very cute Rintaro. I like to believe everyone wants to fall in love that way. Nobody wants to have their partner chosen for them. What good is being married if you're gonna be miserable everyday."

"If it means I don't have to sit through marriage consultations and weird balls like this one then I may just prefer the other way."

"Careful what you say. I think we both know your father is capable of that. I saw princess Tsumaki looking for her Rinnepoo earlier. Maybe I should let his majesty know you've chosen someone." You looked up to find Suna pouting at you. "Careful your highness they may send you back to etiquette classes for making such a face."

"Good evening Prince Rintaro. It's a pleasure to make your aquaintance tonight. I do hope that-"

"Ok! That's enough! Don't you dare repeat that."

Suna smirked and hid his mouth behind his hand. "Pardon me princess. I just found your greeting to me this evening amusing. I mean no harm it's just you were so cute. How many times did you practiced that?"

"Whatever. Let's see what you would do if the roles were reversed."

"Sorry princess but this isn't about me." Suna giggled.

"So you can smile and laugh. I almost thought you were emotionally constipated. Is that the funk your father thought you were in?"

Suna sighed being reminded of the situation he was in. "It's more than that but nobody would understand."

You smiled at him encouragingly. "The whole you're royalty so you have absolutely no reason to not be happy thing?"

"Exactly that. It's gonna sound stupid but I guess I miss the freedom I had before I turned eighteen. Well more I don't see the need for me to do the things I'm doing."

"Ah you feel monarchy should be abolished. Look at it this way crackers taste good on their own but with cheese the taste is elevated. Cheese and crackers is superior to just plain old crackers by themselves or just cheese by itself. Yes your kingdom could probably prosper on it's own but there are situations the people shouldn't handle on their own. Budget distribution, land distribution, diplomatic matters and many other things. We exist to keep harmony in the kingdom. Imagine leaving children to raise themselves. Many would unfortunately die before reaching a certain age. Think of your kingdom as your very own children. They're self sufficient yes but without you to guide them in the things they don't understand they'll be hurt. You can still do the things you love but your children come first. If you don't take care of them then someone may just take them away. "

Suna sighed. "I can understand that but I just don't understand why it has to be me."

"I don't understand why it can't be you. Anyone could've been chosen for the job but you were chosen. I don't know you well enough to speak on certain things but I have heard rumors that you basically run half of your kingdom on your own. The fact that nothing has fallen apart shows that you're more than competent to do your job. You need to have more confidence in yourself. I've only known you for a short time but I can already tell you're a wonderful person. Don't sell yourself short." You smiled at Suna who looked at you unsure.

Suna shrugged, "If you say so (y/n). Are you hungry?"

"I'm alright for now. But I do think we need to get back before someone misses us."

"What's the rush? You know the reason for this party."

"Is that you asking for my company your highness?"

"I didn't hear a no princess." Suna smirked when you giggled.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A few months later Suna found himself sitting in his office again. He was hard at work but this time with a slight smile on his face. A knock on the door took him away from the work he was doing and Atsumu stepped into his office.

Atsumu placed a sandwich and a cup of tea on the table in front of Suna "You seem to be in a better mood these days. What's your secret?"

"Sorry but secrets are secret for a reason."

"Keep your secrets then. Simply means I can't tell you the one I just heard." Atsumu smirked.

"I heard the dungeons don't have heat." Suna shrugged.

"Really? Just make sure my sheets are red."

Suna laughed and shook his head, "You little turd nugget. What's going on?"

"Alright fine but only because you asked so rudely. I heard your favorite princess is coming by later today. Maybe if you finish all your work you can be at the doors to greet her."

"Lucky for me this was the last page I had to look over. Prepare two horses and I'll make sure your sheets are maroon."

"And you call me the turd nugget." Atsumu rolled his eyes. "His majesty said you can do whatever you want for the rest of the day once you stop keeping him in suspense."

"Sounds good. Thanks for lunch."

Things were definitely starting to look up and with one simple question later tonight Suna's life was about to change again. This time for the better.

[anatomical-puppet]

A short lil fic because Oh My God, Arthyr My Beloved,,, I also just wanted to write some Eira angst with at least a kinda-happy ending lol :')

Warnings: Cursing, as well as mentions of injury and being attacked/jumped. Ask to tag if I forgot anything!

Reblogs appreciated!!! ^^

Arthyr had always found the day-to-day routine of princehood rather dull. You’d think it would be a walk in the park, and he was the first to admit that he did have it significantly better than most. But even then, there were still downsides.

The constant circle of guards that stalked his every move was certainly chief among his complaints. Really, what sort of self-respecting seventeen-year-old couldn’t even take a walk by himself? It was humiliating.

He was on one such walk- just a simple stroll to unwind after a particularly tense dinner with his parents- when he heard the falls of familiar boots a few meters to his left. They turned into an alleyway, the one a few blocks southwest of the castle with the graffiti at the far end and the family of raccoons living in the garbage cans. Thank god he’d taken the time to memorize the kingdom’s layout as a child; his little getaways would have been much more difficult otherwise.

“I think I heard some disturbance over that way,” Arthyr blurted immediately, pointing forwards and to the right, down a side street lined with book shops and apothecaries. “If you all would take a moment to investigate, I’d be very much appreciative.”

Three of the four guards flanking him nodded, hands apprehensively gravitating to their sabers as they walked the few meters to investigate the prince’s ruse. Thankfully, the remaining guard was new to his position and had yet to learn that the prince needed a careful eye on him at all times, lest he mysteriously vanish. He was remarkably stealthy for his height.

Arthyr waited a mere moment, listening to the other three guards grow steadily further away, before slipping silently behind the back of the fourth and jogging into the alleyway he’d heard the boots duck into.

“Eira?” he called in a stage whisper, smiling to himself and dragging his right hand along the coarse brick wall to keep himself on track. “I know you’re down here, silly bastard, I heard you.”

A hefty sigh greeted him from further along, lower than Arthyr had expected. He must’ve been sitting on the ground.

“I thought you said you were gonna be at home tonight.” The voice was congested and hollow.

“I was. But now I’m not.” Arthyr’s brow furrowed as he turned to face Eira’s voice, then sat beside him, careful not to dirty his cloak. “You sound cross.”

“I’m fine,” Eira bit back.

“Clearly not. What’s the matter?” Arthyr reached a hand out to carefully grasp Eira’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” Eira snapped, jerking his shoulder away.

“Eira, what-

“Go back home, Arty, it’s cold.”

“You say that as if it’s anything new,” Arthyr said with a roll of his eyes. “Really, what’s come over you? You sound like you’ve been crying. Tell me.”

Eira cursed, then stood and continued walking down the alley.

Arthyr could hear the limp to his steps.

“You’re hurt? Eira-”

“I told you it’s fine.” His voice cracked at the end. “Go. Home.”

“No.” Arthyr stood and began to walk beside Eira, his longer strides making it impossible for Eira to pass him without running, which would’ve been damn near impossible with that limp. “I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me what happened and how I can help.”

In his frustration, Eira slammed his hand against a nearby trash can, crying out on impact as pain seared back through his wrist.

“Something with your hand, too,” Arthyr sighed, holding a hand out towards Eira. “May I?”

Eira hesitated before shakily holding his left hand out for Arthyr to gingerly take.

His wrist and hand were shoddily wrapped in bandages, and he heard Eira wince when he put pressure on the joint. The bandages were slightly damp...

But they were cold. So it was just melted snow. Good.

“Who was it this time?” Arthyr asked gently, carefully pulling Eira’s sleeve down to cover the bandages before letting go and crossing his hands back over his cane.

“Some jackass fuckin’ kids,” Eira spat, leaning against the opposite wall before sliding down to sit. Arthyr took up his spot on Eira’s right yet again.

“They jumped at me, just tryin’ to scare me, and I… got startled. Accidentally hit one of them with some ice. And then they kicked my ass. Six of them, I think? Maybe more. I couldn’t see.”

“They attacked you because of the ice..? Or because you hit them?”

“Obviously because of the fucking ice,” Eira spat, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just kind of on edge still.”

“That’s alright. I know how you get sometimes, I don’t mind.”

They sat in relative silence for a few moments before Arthyr heard a scratching on his left.

“You’re picking at the scar again.”

“What?”

“The scar. You’re picking at it.” Arthyr lifted his hand, giving Eira ample time to move his own away before gently guiding his touch away from the mark on his face. “It’s going to bleed again if you keep prodding at it like that.”

“I’ve had it for years and it’s only bled twice. I think I’ll be fine.” Arthyr could hear the roll of his eyes but chose to ignore it.

“Well, here. I can’t be away much longer or my father’ll have my head for running off again.” Arthyr rifled through his pockets, then pulled out a few coins and handed them to Eira. “I’m assuming you’ve got some scrapes and cuts, too, so buy yourself some antiseptic. And get supper while you’re at it, I know you haven’t eaten.”

“You sure you’re not magick? You seem pretty fuckin’ psychic to me” Eira breathed out a weak laugh but didn’t take the coins in Arthyr’s palm. “I’m fine.”

“You know I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

“Arty, really, I-”

“Eira, darling,” Arthyr mused, “denying the direct orders of the prince could be reasonably considered as treason, no? And I have ordered you to take this money and go buy yourself some damn food.”

Eira chuckled again, more like himself this time, and reluctantly slipped the coins into a hidden pocket of his jacket. “Thanks, your highness.”

“Ugh, you know I hate it when you call me that,” Arthyr laughed, standing and wiping snow from his cloak before holding a hand out to help Eira up.

“Of course I do. That’s why I do it.”

“Scoundrel.”

“Rich kid.”

“Street rat.”

“Pretty boy.”

“Little- wait, what?”

“What?”

“Prince Arthyr!”

Both heads turned sharply at the intrusion of the guard’s shout, just outside the entrance to the alleyway.

“Shit,” Eira whispered, looking about frantically. “I gotta hide, they’re gonna think I was trying to shiv you or something.”

“Find someplace quick, dumbass,” Arthyr hissed, hurriedly shoving Eira to the left. “I remember there being some boxes over there when I was here the other week.”

Eira dove, skidding into the snow behind the conveniently-placed stack of crates just as one of the crown’s guards rounded the corner, heaving a sigh of relief at the sight of the prince standing, unscathed, at the tail end of the alleyway.

“Goodness, your majesty, why the hell are you in this dingy place? Not fit for a man of your rank, you know. And I really don’t think you’re supposed to be on your own, regardless.”

“Thought I heard something else awry and must’ve taken a wrong turn in my investigation,” Arthyr lied, walking briskly past the guard and allowing his cloak to whip against his face. “I’ll try not to get turned around next time I take a detour.”

[sanders-sides-dnd]

Family Reunion Chapter 1

Here it is! The beginning of our adventures. I’m sorry this took so long. This was the first session of the first game we played together, everything the characters do was the choice of their players. This includes the romance, I later worked their pairings into their backstories to add some clarity. If you have any questions for us or the characters our askbox is open. Wordcount: 5048 TWs: Kidnapping, swearing, violence, implied child death, implied child abuse, ghosts, hunting, dog Pairings: Logince, Moceit Taglist (ask to be added): @crazydemigod666 @newtnotfound @star-crossed-shipper @3amthebitchinghour @s4moose 

The group woke up and felt a tight rope tying them all together. They looked around the darkness and most were able to identify they were in a cell, they also saw Prince Roman sitting outside the cell. He softly stroked Kai, the paladin Patton the Moral’s hound. Roman didn’t notice his friends had woken. Logan, a human wizard and partner of Prince Roman, recognised the cell. They were in the castle of Creativiton which explained why Roman was not locked up. His parents wouldn’t lock up their heir. But why were they locked up? Logan was the first to try and get Roman’s attention.

“Why are we here?” Logan asked. Roman’s black eyes lit up when his partner spoke. “What happened?” The group all looked at Roman. Kai stuck his head through the bars to try and get to his owner. Roman felt guilty, this was all his fault. He remembered what had happened. They were happily walking through the forest, unaware how close they strayed to Roman’s kingdom. They were ambushed by familiar guards, his mothers personal battalion, they knocked out his friends before they could even fight. They were all tied up and brought back to the castle. He was separated from his friends and brought to his less than pleased parents who promptly banished him to his room to wait, however he clearly didn’t stay there long. “Are you all okay?” Roman asked full of concern. “We were ambushed on our journey.” The half-orc answered as he slid a cup of water through the bars towards his friends. Patton, being only a few feet tall, easily slid out of the ropes and inspected the water. “My parents are… displeased we left. They wished to speak to all of us, I was waiting for you all to wake up.” Patton brought the water to Logan to inspect, he was much smarter after all. Logan nodded and took a sip, Patton followed hesitantly. Janus the deceiver, Patton’s partner, a wicked tiefling warlock, smirked and took a drink not worried if it was poisoned or not. Virgil drank too and Patton returned the cup. “Why are we in a cell?” Patton asked as he handed the cup over. “Couldn’t they have spoken to us over dinner or something not… this?” Virgil, the rogue elf, piped up. Roman looked away guiltily. Patton moved to pet his hound. “I think they’re just angry we left the castle. Although I agree, locking you up is a bit drastic.” Roman sympathised. Janus scoffed. “And tying us up is just for safety.” Janus remarked, snarky as always. “Right, totally believable.” Janus never trusted royals, the only reason he could get along with Roman is because they met away from the castle. Roman paused for a moment. “We’ve been here a few hours and I haven’t seen Remus yet.” Roman said solemnly. Prince Remus or, as he preferred, Duke Remus was not the kind to be quiet. Especially after his brother who has been gone for so long came back. Virgil knew this was weird too, he was a close friend to Remus. Well, until he abandoned him that is. Roman shook his head and got back to business. “I could break you out of here and we can leave. Or we could stay and talk to my parents… although I am starting to think fleeing might be our best move. What do you think we should do?” Roman nervously eyed a nearby guard, trying his best to stay out of sight.  Virgil asked what everyone was thinking. “Did you know your parents were going to do this?” Virgil pressed. “Of course not, I have no idea why they would lock you up!” Roman defended. “You know your parents best. Do you think talking to them would work?” Virgil asked. He already knew from what he’d heard from the twins that the Queen definitely wasn’t the talking it out type but perhaps the king was? Logan spoke up after a bit of contemplation, working at the castle meant he had a good array of knowledge to help make a decision.  “If Duke Remus is missing then something suspicious is going on. I vote we flee while we have the chance.” Logan concluded. “I’m sure they have a reason to want to talk! Even if they weren’t the best to their guests...” Patton opposed. He always saw the best in people, it’s what he was taught in the temple he grew up in, even when it got him in trouble. "I say we get out now and then we'll see." Janus said. He was Patton’s grounding force, bringing him back from his dream lands and reminding him of the harsh reality. “They were in a foul mood when I spoke to them earlier, I vote we get out of here.” Roman informed. "If we escape do you think your parents will send people after us?" Virgil questioned. Roman thought for a moment before replying. "Most likely, but what other choices do we have?" Roman finally replied.  "What if they just kidnap us again?" "Then we'll get out again." Janus announced. Virgil knew how to do that, he’d been in these jails many times. Logan grew agitated, they needed to make a decision quickly. "We do not have time to worry about that, we must be focused on getting out for the time being!" Logan reminded them all. "The best we can do now is to get as far away as possible, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Roman added. With a nod Virgil and Patton finally gave in. Virgil quickly got to work. With his hands behind his back he quickly found the knot keeping the men together, the knot was tough but Virgil was an expert. In mere seconds the rope slacked and the men were free. Virgil knew the key to a successful escape was speed so he wasted no time beginning to pick the lock. Roman looked at the guard, he was still unaware. The bars opened with a quiet squeak. “Where to now?” Virgil whispered as they all exited the cell. They had no gear, no weapons, they weren’t in the best position. Roman remembered all the times Remus and he had snuck around the castle, trying to think of an exit. "I can lead us out of here, but we'd have to go through the main halls. There's a high chance we could be spotted." Roman whispered. "Damn, no secret passageways?" Virgil retorted with a smirk. In all his years here he had never found any but then again he wasn’t a royal. "None that I can think of right now, and none that won't be monitored by my father's men." Roman informed as the group started sneaking. “They wouldn't expect us to go through the main halls, out in the open. It's our best chance of escape." Roman looked around the corner, it seemed clear. The men kept low and ran quietly, Roman took care looking around every corner to watch for guards. Eventually they made it to sight of the door, but as Roman looked around the corner he saw the shins of a familiar human. He looked up to see the black armour his mothers battalion wore, the same colour as the man’s hair and stubble. His helmet was off so Roman could clearly see his grey eyes looking down at him. “Ah Roman, how predictable.” Remy teased as Roman rose in shame. "Remy, " Roman said grimly. "Let us pass, my friends and I have done no wrong." Without a word, guards seized the group and brought them to the throne room. Roman was set at the front of the group with the others slightly behind. They stayed silent as two royals stepped out. A tall and stocky orc woman with brown dreaded hair and a lean human warrior in a golden crown on his silver hair. The king and queen stood on a dais with one throne, looking down at their son and his party.

“Ah Roman I see your companions are awake.” The king sung. The king was a professional man, even Roman had never heard his name. He had always called him Dad or Your Majesty. This didn’t mean he was a stick in the mud, he was a happy man just a stickler for titles. “Welcome to Creativiton!” Queen Bhom Head-Crusher greeted, knowing well some of the group had been here before. The Queen was a true blood orc, married into human society. Steel and war ran through her veins. She was caring but violent and bull-headed. “Salutations.” Logan said with a controlled glare. “Pleasure.” Janus followed with a scoff. Patton tried to bow and Virgil tried not to barf. “It’s been a while since I had you in chains, Virgil.” Remy chuckled. "Can't get enough of me in chains?" Virgil shot back. “What is the meaning of this?” Roman cried, outraged at the treatment of him and his friends. They had been knocked and locked and now, just as they had a taste of freedom, chained. Queen Bhom looked across the group then let her eyes land on Roman. “When you left your brother was quite upset that you didn’t ask him to join you. He felt as if you didn’t care about him anymore. He was sad for a while but then it turned into anger.” She explained. Roman felt guilt begin to scratch at his stomach. “He wanted to find you and make you explain yourself. So he left, without telling us.” The Queen’s black eyes grew sad, but her face did not waver from it’s strong expression. "Is that all?” Janus announced. All eyes turned to him. “Hardly seems a reason to put us in chains and a cell." Janus didn’t let royals hold power over him, he had once and it ended with blood on his face and a demon in his mind. “Well, street rat, we can’t have both of our heirs just off running around in forests. We need at least one of you here or our reputation will be destroyed.” The King reasoned. He looked directly at Roman. “So we're grounding you until your brother comes back and we can sort this out together. Your friends must stand trial for treason and kidnapping but if they leave without causing trouble then I won’t stop them.” Roman blinks, momentarily thrown off guard. "He's never shown interest in fighting with us before, I didn't think this time was any different, so I didn't ask." Roman mumbled. This wasn’t like his brother. Yes he was wild and unpredictable, and he hated the castle, okay maybe it was like him. "Not to be rude, your majesty, but how is it our fault if Duke Remus felt a certain way and did certain actions? Those were of his own volition." Logan asked. “And it’s not kidnapping if Roman came with us willingly.” Virgil added. Patton raised his hand. “Your highnesses?” He addressed incorrectly. “Some of us are not even from here. How can it be treason if we aren’t citizens?” Roman put out a hand to silence his friends. He took a deep breath and stepped forward. He could stand up to his parents one on one, but both of them together is a challenge.  "Mother, Father, surely you see that this is unreasonable?” Roman began. “I went with my friends of my own volition, it was in no way a kidnapping. Let them go peacefully, and I swear to stay and do whatever it takes to locate my brother. He couldn't have gone far. Let me take responsibility for him, but let my friends leave." Roman’s plan to sacrifice himself did not sit well with his friends. However, his mother looked down proudly. “Well how about a trial by combat, an orc tradition.” Queen Bhom announced proudly. The king tapped her arm gently but she gave him a reassuring glance. “If you can find your brother and bring him back then it would be quicker and we won’t have to send more guards. It’ll also prove to us that you can go out and adventure with your companions without getting yourself killed.” The queen waited for a response. Roman looked back at his friends, they all gave him enthusiastic nods. Roman pulled himself to his full height. “I accept.” With a wave of her hand the guards escorted the group to the armoury where all their gear was laying on the ground. While everyone gathered their gear Virgil turned to Remy. “Don’t miss me too much.” Virgil flirted with a wink. Remy looked away, the faint blush on his face mostly covered by his stubble. The others kept a close eye on Virgil while they gathered their stuff. Roman thought it was a good idea to have the head guard on their side. Logan and Roman looked around at the other guards protectively. “Hurry up and get your stuff before I lock you up.” Remy said in a stressed tone. Virgil began collecting his stuff while looking back at Remy. “I’m sure you’ll be looking forward to that.” Virgil shot another wink. Remy looked away awkwardly. Virgil did too as he remembered the last time before this he was locked up, it wasn’t his most graceful encounter. Janus made a gagging noise and rolled his eyes.

When everyone had their stuff Remy escorted them out of the castle and slammed the large door behind them. The streets were narrow and the group walked in sets of two. Logan looked at Roman. “You know Remus the best, where is he likely to go?” Logan asked. “Tavern.” Virgil and Roman answered in unison. Roman continued. “He’s a fan of wandering around. He’s usually at the tavern but I’ve seen him around the inn, the blacksmith, and that old burned farm.” “There’s also a hunting store he likes to visit.” Virgil added. "Maybe we should try the tavern first," Roman mused. "He's probably passed out drunk under the counter." "With so many places, perhaps it would be wise to split up?" Logan suggested. They all agreed. Roman split from the group to go to the tavern, he didn’t find Remus but the bartender did tell him they hadn’t seen the duke in a week. Logan and Janus went to the inn, they hadn’t seen him at all. Patton brought his hound and found the blacksmith, he informed him that Remus had stopped by a month ago to get some weapons sharpened. Virgil took the hunting store where he found out Remus had bought a large sum of dried meat about a month ago.

The group met up again at the gates to share their findings as they headed out to the last place on their list. The burned down farm. The sky was a dim orange as the sun disappeared. "This is worrying, to say the least," Murmured Roman. He started to look visibly concerned about his brother. "Sharpening weapons, hoarding dry rations, sounds like he was planning to go away for a while." Logan put a hand on his partner's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. He knew Remus and Roman were close, this had to be affecting him a lot. "Well we were gone for a while ourselves. It's a good thing he at least has anything with him at all.” Janus reasoned, but it only made Roman’s guilt grow.  “Now what is the deal with this farm?” Roman and Virgil smirked at each other before leaping into a dramatic stance. “We don’t know a lot about the farm…” Roman began suspiciously. Logan knew this song and dance. “I heard a child who was just learning to control magic lived here with her family. One day she lost control and burned down the whole farm.” Virgil explained and Roman made an explosion sound behind him. Janus and Logan rolled their eyes but Patton was entranced. "The flames didn't touch anything on the other side of the fence, and they didn't touch her younger brother's things. The girl and her parents perished, her brother was never found." Roman finished with a flourish. Patton clapped. Roman turned around and saw a charred fence. They were here. 

By this time it was dark, and the darkness only enhanced how creepy the house was. Under the full moon’s glow they inspected the burned walls. The house was a husk, not even the roof remained. However a small hay bed and some kids toys were alone, only touched by a thick layer of dust. They felt a cold presence around them. Janus lit a torch to help them see. “I feel like something doesn’t want us here...” Roman said as he lit up another torch. Logan inspected the toys without touching them, they had no ash on them. Just dirt and dust. They looked like they hadn’t been touched in years. Patton closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Using his divine powers bestowed upon him after a lifetime of prayer, he could sense the presence of good and evil. He breathed deeply through his nose. He could smell the foul scent of an evil and greedy presence. It was so strong it nearly startled him. Virgil saw a flick of white in the corner of his eye but when he turned there was nothing here. "I don't like the vibes of this place. How about we just confirm that Remus isn't here and get the fuck out?" Virgil fretted. He did care about Remus, but this place seemed off. Janus saw what Patton was doing and put a hand on his shoulder. Patton nodded in response. “There’s something here.” Janus shouted to the group who was spread around the house. They all looked over. “What kind of something?” Logan asked. Janus enjoyed being vague but it annoyed Logan. Maybe that was part of why he enjoyed it. “Only one way to find out.” Janus smirked. He gave his torch to Patton and sat down. He began chanting in a language no one else could understand. “Venite Tenebrae Animae et Ostende te.” Three ghostly figures faded into view in front of him. One child and two adults. The child appeared in the corner, she looked to be hiding. The adults, a man and a woman, quickly turned on the party with a hiss. The group readied their weapons. Patton was first to attack as he grabbed his battle-axe in one hand and raised his shield with the other. He pulled back and swung his axe at the female ghost. It passed right through her. “Crap…” Patton let out before the ghost retaliated. She scratched his face with her long nails. It didn’t do much but it was enough that it pushed him back. Roman took out his great-sword and raised it above his head. The heavy steel blade and golden hilt caught the torch light. Roman was about to take a risk. But it didn’t seem like he could do much else. If Patton’s silver axes didn’t work then surely his sword wouldn’t do much more.  "Don't come any closer!" He yelled with his booming orcish voice. "I am Prince Roman of Creativiton, and I command you to stay back!" When they were alive they clearly lived in Creativiton, perhaps not during Roman’s life but at some point. Perhaps they still had some loyalty. Roman’s risk paid off as the ghosts cowered, leaving them vulnerable. Janus took the opportunity. He took out his staff and held it horizontally in front of him. The staff was curved and made of light coloured apple wood. A python is etched into the wood circling to the top, the side of the staff where the head was. “Illusio.” He whispered to himself. He pointed the end of his staff towards the attacking ghosts and a wall of flames shot towards them. They were shocked and backed themselves against the wall, much more scared than Patton’s attack. The male ghost looked to his right to see the scared child. He grabbed her and held her out like a shield. “Janus, what can we do?” Virgil asked as he pulled out his daggers. Janus was their creature expert, there is nothing he hadn’t fought. “Healing items and magic.” Janus shouted back. Virgil put away his daggers. Those weren’t going to do squat. “Healing?” Virgil asked again. Janus rolled their eyes although it was hard to tell since they were pure gold. “They lose connection to the physical realm because of the healing properties.” Janus explained as the male ghost shook the child at them. Logan was the only other who knew spells. He pulled out his silver staff, the blue gems attached to the top already glowing. He pointed the staff at the female ghost, streaks of blue shot out. The ghost disappeared as it was hit by the rays of frost, only leaving behind a thin layer of ice on the wall behind it. Roman shot a proud smile at his partner. He loved watching him fight, the way his face was lit by the magical spells he trained so hard to learn was his favourite sight. “One down.” Logan said proudly. Patton took advantage of his close range and called upon his divine powers again. His hands glowed with a healing light. Janus took the opportunity to reach to the shelf behind him and pick up a few small pieces of rubble discarded there. Patton lunged at the remaining ghost, attempting to avoid the child he shielded himself with. The ghost quickly turned on him, holding out the child. Patton retracted, not wanting to harm her. Across the room Janus put away his staff and pulled out a sling. He closed his hand around the rocks and whispered into it. “Incanto lapis.” When Janus opened his hand, the pebbles had a hint of a pink glow around them. He loaded the three small rocks into the sling and took aim. “Are you aiming at the child?!” Patton yelled from across the room. He knew his partner too well at this point. The rest of the group also looked over at him “Yeah.” Janus responded. The party looked between the two, not even paying attention to the ghost. “The child is a child!” Patton scolded. “Fine.” Janus groaned. He let go of the elastic and the rocks flew towards the ghosts. The little girl put up her hands to block her face but the pebbles went around her, bouncing off the wall and hitting her attacker. The other ghost faded after the rocks hit his head, the small girl fell to the floor. She stood and looked around. She smiled brighter than the white glow around her as the party put away their weapons. “Thank you! Thank you for helping me!” She said gratefully. She looked around at them all before her eyes fell on Kai. “Oh, can I pet your dog?” She asked happily. Patton offered the girl a comforting smile. “Of course you can.” He answered. The girl floated forward and began playing with the dog. They all looked at each other. Roman kneeled down next to the girl. “Hello there.” He said gently, trying to get her attention without startling her. She looked over with a smile. “Hi!” She replied. She looked at Roman quizzically for a second. “You look my friend.” Roman looked interested. For anyone else this’d be just a confused or funny kid moment, but he had a twin brother who hung around this house. “Your friend?” He asked, trying to pull more information from the child. She turned away from Roman to continue playing with Kai. “My friend Duke. He always scares away my parents when they try to hurt me but he wasn’t here this time.” She explained happily. Roman looked up at his friends. “He came by a month ago and told me that he was leaving. I miss him. He was silly and made me laugh. He promised he’d come back though!” The story seemed to fit what Roman’s parents had told them. Remus was a prince but preferred the title of duke in non-formal settings. He always said What’s the point of being called a prince if I won’t get the crown? “He’s my brother.” Roman was excited to finally have some information but tried to keep his voice quiet and reassuring. "We haven't seen him in a while either, do you have any idea where he went? Also what’s your name?" He questioned. He felt guilty for interrogating a small dead child. “I don't remember my name, but I do know where Dukey went. He said he was going to find you. He went to the witches in the north forest to see if they knew where you was.” She stopped playing with Kai and turned to Roman who had now shifted to a sitting position. “I’m looking for my brother too! Have you seen him? His name is Elliott.” Roman looked up at Logan who shrugged. He looked at the others who also didn’t know. "I'm really sorry, we haven't seen your brother,” Roman said. "Or my brother," he added after a pause. The small girl reached out and touched his hand. She smiled at him, he couldn’t help but smile back. “Okay. If you see him tell him he’s late and Mama and Pa are going to be mad.” The child said as she started to fade. Roman gave her one last nod as she disappeared. Roman stayed sitting for a couple seconds. He felt bad for the young girl. Logan put a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “We should find somewhere to set up camp.” Janus prompted. Roman nodded and stood slowly. They all left the burnt out house and set up camp on the edge of the northern forest, lighting a small fire and dropping some of their gear. “Our supplies are low.” Logan said, rummaging through his bag. “We’ll need to find some food.” Virgil nodded. He and Logan went into the forest. “I’ll go too, we’ll have a better chance.” Janus said as he stood. “Take Kai.” Patton told him. Kai trod up next to Janus. They headed into the forest together. After a while Logan and Virgil returned. "I saw some berries.” Logan said upon returning. Virgil settled empty handed by the fire. “I thought they were blackberries. I tried to get them. I was unable to, and was damaged by the thorns." Logan put out his arms to show a number of scratches. Behind him Janus came out of the treeline. "Well it turns out having the dog with us was very beneficial." Janus said and dropped a dead fox in front of Logan. "Look what he caught." Logan flushed red as Janus nudged him jokingly. "Never speak a word of this again." Logan huffed and went over to sit in Roman’s lap, Janus picked up the fox again. "Of course not Logan, I wouldn't want to blackmail you with any of this." Janus teased as he handed the fox to Patton. After the fox was skinned and cooked they all sat around the fire eating together. Janus and Patton sat facing each other, both with food in their lap. “You know I think I left something in the forest.” Janus said as they ate. “Help me come look for it?” Patton rolled his eyes. Janus and him had been dating for near a year now. He knew his tricks. “Janus! Everyone can hear you.” Patton didn’t really mind that much. “Yeah they look very interested.” Janus laughed and nodded towards Logan and Roman. They had abandoned their dinner and started kissing instead. Virgil was playing with Kai nearby. “Even so. I would prefer something a little more romantic then just follow me into the forest.” Patton responded. Again, Patton didn’t really mind. He loved Janus no matter whether he was able to come up with fancy words or not. He just enjoyed teasing him. Janus tried to come up with something quickly but his flustered mind couldn’t find anything. “So…” Janus began. “Papaya?” Janus drew out the last sound of that word. Patton giggled, it was cute putting Janus on the spot. He was usually so sharp tongued but when it came to Patton he would lose his nerve. Patton decided to throw him a bone. He put down his plate and put his arms around Janus’ neck. “Well I don’t know anything about papaya…” He began. He got close to Janus’ pointed ear, his breath warmed it better than the fire did. “But I do know about peaches.” Without warning Janus stood, holding Patton. He ran off into the forest with his partner. Virgil enjoyed the company of Kai. Virgil didn’t talk much and Kai didn’t mind, mostly because Kai was a dog and also couldn’t talk. Virgil also enjoyed being an elf. It meant he could stay up later than his friends. He looked across at his sleeping friends, he hated just sitting around. It meant he had to think. There were lots of things he didn’t want to think about right now. He went into the forest and climbed into the trees. He jumped from one branch to another. He did this as a kid, except instead of trees it was buildings. It helped him clear his head, focusing only on where to jump next. As he jumped he heard a scamper below him. He looked around and saw a fat rabbit. “You shouldn’t be out this late.” Virgil whispered as he grabbed his shortbow. He also took out an arrow, the purple feathers were stiff against his hand as he pulled the arrow back against the string. “Goodnight little bunny.” Virgil hummed as he let go of the string. He gathered the rabbit and took it back to the camp. There were just enough embers left in the fire to cook it. He stored it in his bag and found a place to sit against a tree. The other four were huddled together, sleeping in one big pile. Even Kai was with them. He felt a little left out, but he needed to be alone to meditate. Virgil closed his eyes, signalling the end to another day of adventure.  

[haledamage]

Oh there are so many good ones, but I’m gonna go with either aspectabund or petrichor for Nadia/Kurt bc I must ENABLE😇

aaaaand here’s the other one 😁 (first one is here)

aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes

have 2000 words of pure hurt/comfort! putting everything including the notes under the cut because it’s pretty spoilerific

Takes place right after the Prince’s Secret/Treason!/Suffering of Constantin parade of earth-shattering revelations. That was a really rough day for De Sardet and I wanted Nadia to get a chance to actually process it before moving on to the next adventure. Nadia/Kurt, pre-relationship but only barely (like, literally the difference of a matter of days. They would have left to deal with Major Hermann in the morning 😉)

---

They had only just stepped into the warmth and relative safety of the De Sardet residence before Nadia left the room with barely a word or glance at any of her companions. Kurt felt her gentle dismissal like a blow to his chest, and the quiet click of her bedroom door latch carved a hollow space behind his rib cage. It didn’t feel right for her to be alone with her sorrows, no matter that at least some of the blame for her pain could be laid squarely at his feet.

He only realized he’d moved to follow her when a hand fell on his shoulder. When he turned to confront its owner, he found Vasco there, his expression grave enough to disperse Kurt’s anger before it had a chance to build. “Best leave her be. She’s had a trying day. Give her time.”

He was right. Kurt knew he was right. That didn’t mean he had to like it, but he tried to listen to his advice nonetheless.

He went to his own room, right across the hall from Nadia’s, and mindlessly stripped off his armor and weapons with the conciseness of routine. He tried not to think too much about the blood he washed off his skin, or if he’d known the person it belonged to; they had made their choice, and so had he.

Clean and dressed, Kurt was out of distractions. He considered patrolling around the property on the off chance that someone lurked with the intent to do Her Excellency harm, but instead of reaching for his sword he found himself reaching for the door handle. His feet carried him across the hall before he’d asked them to. It was only at the terse tap tap tap of his own knock that he realized he was at her door.

The woman who answered the door was not the Nadia de Sardet he thought he knew. He’d known her more than half her life and always she’d been a lively creature, clever and curious and full of mischief. But not now. Now she looked delicate and subdued, her normally bright blue eyes dull and ringed in red, ginger hair bedraggled and falling from its crown. She was still wearing her armor, caked in mud and blood and who knew what else. Her hand clenched tightly on the edge of the door, but it wasn’t enough to hide the way it trembled.

She was beautiful even so. He felt guilty for thinking it at a time like this, but not enough to consider taking it back.

“Kurt.” She tried to smile at him, but it fell far short of believable. Her voice shook like her hands did. “Is something the matter?”

“I think I should be asking you that question.” He clasped his hands behind his back like he was presenting himself to a superior officer for inspection, weighing his words and movements carefully so as not to bludgeon through this. She looked like a strong wind or word would break her entirely. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Even after everything that had happened, she didn’t hesitate before stepping aside in silent invitation. He slipped past her into the room before she could change her mind.

Everything looked completely untouched. A bath had been drawn for her, but the water remained pristine and had been left to cool. Nadia’s sword and rucksack sat in a chair against the wall, but they were the only sign anyone had stepped foot in this room in weeks.

Nadia herself still hovered by the closed door, arms wrapped around herself but shoulders straight. Her voice was stronger but still far too small. “Please tell me you aren’t here with any new world-shattering revelations. I don’t think my heart can take any more.”

“I just wanted to see you,” he assured her quickly. “Check on you, make sure you were…” The last word turned to ash in his mouth. Of course she wasn’t okay. That she was still even trying to smile was nothing short of a miracle.

“I’m fine,” she lied. She made no attempt to make it sound believable.

“No you’re not, Nadia. You don’t have to be.” She sagged, as if him calling her by name had severed the last of the bravado holding her upright. He caught her before she could collapse, one hand on her elbow and the other cupping her cheek. “Let me help you.”

She studied his face for a long moment, though what she was looking for he had no idea. Kurt let her search as long as she wanted, letting his thumb trace a line along the edge of her jaw as she did. He could feel her mark under his fingers, smooth lines and whorls like that of a newly-inked tattoo or the veins of a leaf.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she nuzzled into his hand, letting out a sigh of what sounded like relief. Then, finally, she nodded in assent.

Slowly and carefully, he helped her disrobe. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her naked--bathing in rivers and dressing each other’s wounds were part of the life they led, and he was too old to blush at the sight of a bit of bare skin, no matter who it belonged to. A traitorous part of his mind - one that had grown vocal of late, no matter how much he tried to push it away - wished that the circumstances were different, that he could be undressing her with a different outcome in mind, but he squashed that thought as soon as it arose. He wouldn’t take advantage of her distress like that, would not allow himself to consider such a thing right now.

Nadia was completely compliant under his direction, silent and passive as he removed her armor and led her to the bath. She didn’t so much as flinch at the touch of the cold water as he cleaned the blood and dirt from her skin as gently as possible. Kurt gave her a quick cursory search for injuries, but it seemed she’d at least had the wherewithal to heal herself at some point. Satisfied, he dressed her in fresh clothes and led her to the edge of the bed.

He sat next to her and set about unbraiding her hair. It was tangled and wild, and he considered brushing it for her as well, but didn’t trust himself to be gentle enough to do so without hurting her. Perhaps he should ask one of the others to help with that, later on.

And then Kurt was out of things to do and had no idea what to say to fill the quiet. He shouldn’t linger past his welcome, he told himself, no matter how much he might selfishly wish to remain in her company.

He climbed reluctantly to his feet, but stood in front of her a moment longer to see if she awoke from her trance. She didn’t, and so he reached out to rest his hand on the crown of her head in a way he hoped she found comforting. “Get some rest, Green Blood. If you need anything at all, you come find me. I’m right across the hall.”

Nadia still didn’t answer, and so he sighed and turned to leave.

“Kurt.” Her hand shot out and grabbed his. There was life in her eyes again when he turned back to her. “Thank you. For this and for… everything.” She looked away, distracting herself by tracing the lines of old scars on his hand, her touch light and yet deliberate. Kurt tried not to shiver at the sensation. “I can’t imagine how difficult of a decision it must have been. What you did today. I hope you don’t regret it.”

“The only thing I regret is that I couldn’t tell you sooner.” When Nadia didn’t look back up, he knelt in front of her, raising the hand that she didn’t still cling to up to her face to get her to meet his gaze again. Her eyes shimmered with tears, only barely held at bay. “D’you want to know why I did what I did? Why I chose you over the Coin Guard? Because they tried to order me to kill you, and you are sitting here crying your eyes out worried about how I feel about it.”

He’d told her once that her soft heart would get her killed one day. As it turned out, it may have been what saved her life - or saved his.

Her bottom lip quivered until she clenched her jaw to force it to still, but the action made the tears finally spill over, falling silently down her cheeks. He brushed them away, though more fell to take their place almost immediately. “Though I would bet these tears aren’t all for me, are they, Green Blood?” 

She shook her head, though he didn’t really need the confirmation; the last day had brought revelations from every corner, but worst for her would be Constantin’s condition. Her cousin had always been her closest friend, and he might be considered her only real remaining family. 

Kurt tried to force a bit of optimism in his voice, though he doubted it was convincing. “He’ll be okay. If anyone can save him, it’s you.”

“I couldn’t save my mother.” Nadia’s voice broke, and with it the last of her composure. “Can I even still call her that?”

Times like this served to remind Kurt that he did in fact still have a heart, because he could feel it break for her. Tears stung the back of his own eyes for a moment before he forced them away and sat on the bed once more, then gathered her into his arms. “Come here. I’ve got you.”

She buried her face in his shoulder with a whimper, gripping his shirt with a surprising strength, and finally let herself go.

Her body shook with the strength of her sobs, as if all of the day’s events struck her at once and tried to tear her asunder. Kurt held her through it all, whispering things he would only half remember if he tried to think of them later, attempts at comfort and confessions and promises that he knew neither of them would ever hold him to.

At some point, they fell back on the bed and Nadia pressed herself to his side like she was made to fit there. He continued to hold her close, stroking her back and hair until she had finally cried herself out and relaxed against him.

“Thank you, Kurt.” She stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. It was a familiar motion - Nadia had always been free and easy with her affections when it came to those she cared about - but this time it burned like a brand, leaving a claim on him for the world to see. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and murmured against her hair, “You’ll never have to find out.” It was the easiest oath he’d ever had to make, and he meant it with every bone in his body.

The last of the tension bled out of her, and he could feel her go slack as sleep claimed her at last. 

He continued to caress her back for a while longer, the repetitive motion as soothing for him as it clearly was for her. He knew he should leave now that she was asleep, but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to move. He didn’t want to wake her, he reasoned to himself. She shouldn’t be left alone in this state. It would be easier to protect her if he stayed--just in case more trouble came for them.

He was still trying to convince himself when sleep dragged him under too.

[pls-let-me-out]

The Selection

For thirthy-five youngers, the Selection is the chance of a lifetime. The opportunity to escape the life laid out for them since birth. To be swept up in a world of glittering gowns and priceless jewels. To live in a palace and compete for the heart of gorgeous Prince William.

But for Niccolò Jackson, formerly di Angelo, being Selected is a nightmare. It means leaving his home to enter a fierce competition for a crown he doesn't want. Living in a palace that is constantly threatened by violent rebel attacks. Especially when he knows that his family has rebel affiliations. Just one slip as he talks of them, and he will be executed for treason. So, when he is chosen to participate, he has a simple plan: get in, don’t do absolutely anything to attract the Prince’s attention, and be sent home after the first week.

Of course, things start going down-hill since the first day.

 After saying good-bye to his younger sister Hazel, with the promise of writing, the last thing Nico wants to do is socializing with the other suitors. Not only would it be absolutely tiring, but he also finds it useless, as they are meant to be competitors for the same prize. None of them will cultivate any long-lasting relationship. Not that the others are too heartbroken to see him disappear, they have been eyeing him weirdly since he first set foot down the plane. He isn’t the one from the lowest cast, but most of the others are from the higher ones.

Nico is a Six, or has been so for the last few years. It’s the cast of workers. He doesn’t know how much of a background-check they’ve done at the Palace, how much the Prince actually knows about him. However, it has taken Nico exactly a look at the other two suitors from the lower castes (Elise, a Seven, a manual laborer; James, a fellow Six) to know that they are the charity cases. Every time a Selection is held, people from all castes (except Eights) are brought to the Palace, but it’s always clear that they won’t stay for long. They are often ignored by the other suitors and the Royals. It’s fine by Nico. He will be paid for staying a week.

The gardens are at least pretty. Nico has to admit as much. There’s a maze somewhere, which he doesn’t want to see even from afar, and old statues in white marble are scattered around. If Hazel were here, she would love the place. Nico finds it a bit overboard. There’s a golden plaque on the ground. Nico bends to read the descriptions.

“Forgive me,” someone says, and Nico almost jumps out of his skin. “Are you lost, sir?”

Nico turns around, hiding the cigarette behind himself. Useless, since it just makes the smoke come from behind him. The person he comes face to face with has widened blue eyes. Oh shit.

So much for not being noticed, Nico thinks. In complete silence, he stares at the Prince, and the Prince stares right back at him. Nico hopes that, if he gets away from the situation at hand quickly enough, the Prince will forget his face. Poor people probably look all the same to pricks like him, anyway.

“Hey!” The Prince exclaims, and a smile brightens his features. “You are one of the suitors, aren’t you? I’m Prince William, it’s nice to meet you.”

Prince William extends a hand, and Nico has to switch the cigarette in the other hand to shake it.

“Niccolò Jackson,” Nico says. Should he say that it’s nice to meet him? How is he supposed to know how to greet a Prince? He lets go of the Prince’s hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” the Prince continues. “However, shouldn’t you be socializing with the other suitors?”

Nico sighs. “It’s not really my scene. Sorry.” He shrugs.

“Oh.” The Prince rubs the back of his neck, looking around uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to stay,” Nico says. He craves peace and quiet, and he can’t get it when the whole reason he has been taken away from the family in the first place is right in front of him. “You can just go. I’m sure you have very important things to do.”

“I do, as a matter of fact. Greeting every suitor, for example.”

“Consider me greeted.” Nico nods one last time at the Prince, before giving him his back and inhaling the smoke of his cigarette. He really hopes they aren’t being filmed right now, or Sally will kick his ass once he gets home.

“I – you shouldn’t be smoking,” the Prince continues.

“Will you put me in jail if I do?”

The Prince seems even more taken aback, and Nico is starting to feel impatient. He wants to go home and sleep for the next few years, but he can’t, because of course he just had to be one of thirty-five idiots sorted from the whole kingdom. That’s just the kind of luck that follows him around these days.

“Well?” Nico asks again. “Will you put me in jail?”

“Of course no! But it’s bad for-”

“Bad for me, so mind your own business.”

And with that, Nico stomps away. They won’t even notice I’m there, Nico told Hazel before leaving, when she was still in bed with her hair wrapped in her scarf. I’ll be a shadow. I’ll sneak something out of the Palace for you, though. She laughed, until her lungs started burning again, and she got cut off by a heavy round of coughs.

 Nico shares his suite with a guy named something he can’t pronounce. He’s a Two, an actor. He informs Nico of that himself, and also asks whether Nico wants an autograph. It’s almost heartbreaking, how Nico has to inform him that he has never seen any of his movies.

“It must be such an upgrade for you,” the guy continues, from where he is perched on the sofa, watching him unpack through the open door of the bedroom. “Passing from being a Six to a Three. You know you will be a Three when this is all over, don’t you? Of course I will remain a Two, unless the Prince chooses me. Then I’d be a One. Don’t you find it so-?”

Nico doesn’t hear the rest. He closes the door, muttering something about taking a bath. He just sits on the bed, and lets the hours pass. He doesn’t get out of his room until it’s dinner time, when they are brought food into the suite. Actor-boy tells him that he will be dining with the girls in the next suite, and leaves Nico behind.

 The following day the suitors have breakfast together. Only one place is left vacant at the table, by the time food arrives.

“Is it for the Prince?” The girl next to him asks another. “Should we wait for him?”

The other shakes her head. “Oh, no. It’s for Drew Tanaka. She will be having breakfast with her family, though.”

Nico furrows his eyebrows, sipping his coffee quietly. Shouldn’t that not be allowed? They can keep their phones and contact their families, also post on social media, but they shouldn’t be traveling home. And does she intend on traveling home every day?

“Her father’s a lord,” the second girl responds. “Her family lives here.” She snorts. “Didn’t you research anything about the other suitors?”

“I didn’t think it was allowed.”

“And it isn’t,” a third girl says. She sighs. “Honestly. Just don’t talk about breaking the rules so openly at the breakfast table. You don’t even know who is listening.”

Nico feels her eyes on his face, but he doesn’t look up from his coffee. Once again, he wishes he were in his own home, even if it means having to deal with Percy and his obnoxiousness. Maybe he can stay just for a few days, thinking better about it.

When breakfast is over, they are brought to a circular room. The smell of flowers in there is almost nauseating, and Nico wishes he could open the windows. But Jasmine – the woman who showed them around yesterday – is already giving him weird looks. If he were to step closer to the window, she would probably think him in the middle of a robbery of windows. So he walks around the room while he waits for his turn, stopping every once in a while to admire the paintings on the walls.

“You aren’t a Five, are you?”

Nico almost jumps out of his skin. Again. This time at least it isn’t the Prince in front of him, but the third girl from the breakfast table. Nico shakes his head.

“Six,” he says. “But not only Fives can watch art, you know.”

“I guess,” she responds, shrugging a bare shoulder. The girls are wearing elegant dresses, and hers has a particularly large gown. Nico is in a suit, which he looks like an idiot in. “I’m Lou Ellen, Two.”

“Niccolò Jackson,” Nico says. “Six.”

“You already said that.”

Nico shrugs, without anything left to say. He turns back to the painting.

“You don’t look particularly happy to be here,” she continues. “Don’t you want to woo Will?”

Nico turns back to her. “Who’s Will?”

“Prince William.” She doesn’t hide a smile. “He’s a friend of mine. So, are you going to woo him?”

“That’s just the least my charming personality can do,” Nico replies. There’s a smudge of something in the corner of the painting, which is in equal measure disgusting for the viewers and horrifically disrespectful to the artist.

Lou Ellen laughs. “I guess so. Why are you here if you don’t think you can woo him?”

Nico shrugs. “Aren’t they paying us?”

“Chapeau,” Lou Ellen concedes. She takes a deep breath. “You don’t seem very interested in making friends.”

“That’s because we won’t be friends for long. Ten go away after this first week, or fifteen, I didn’t really read all that well. After that, everyone who has stayed will try their best to remain again, beat the others somehow. At some point, people will just be stabbing each other in the back.”

“Will you?”

Nico scoffs. “I won’t stay that long. Me, the other Six, and the girl from Seven. We are the three everyone is certain will leave after this week. We are placeholders.”

Lou Ellen is called in next. They’re going by order of the castes, so Nico is the third-last to go in. He finds the Prince seated at the round table, the breeze entering from the window is ruffling his blond hair. His lips are already pulled in a smile when Nico enters. It makes him shiver.

“Mr. Jackson,” the Prince says. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

The Prince gestures to the enormous teapot and the two empty mugs. There are also many types of sweets, and the lemon-cake Hazel likes so much. Just thinking of her has nostalgia blossom in Nico’s chest, and they have only been apart for a day.

“Are you glaring at the lemon cake?” The Prince asks.

Nico startles. He quickly sits at the free chair. “No.”

“Are you allergic?”

“No.” Nico clears his throat.

“May I offer you some tea?”

“I really despise tea,” Nico replies. He crosses his arms on the chest, leaning back. The Prince pours some for himself. “Also, isn’t it your thirty-third cup?”

The Prince smiles. “Yup. Believe it or not, there are people who enjoy a good cup of tea.”

“I can believe that, but thirty-three in a morning is a bit of a stretch. Won’t you get indigestion or something?”

“Is that a threat?”

“From the one who thought that it would be alright to let you drink thirty-three cups of tea in a morning, maybe,” Nico replies. He grins. “Not for the poor soul who is just the witness. Should I tell the thirty-fifth to let you take a toilet break?”

The Prince laughs. “I really hope you know we are being filmed, and this is a live-stream.”

Nico taps his foot on the ground. He isn’t used to being on camera anymore, although Hazel often posts short videos in which he also appears on her profiles on social media. He doesn’t have to talk in those, though.

“You really know how to put people at ease,” Nico comments. “What are you going to tell me next, that your parents are watching in the next room, ready to intervene if I ask you too much about your toilet habits?”

“They only intervene if you are unreasonably sarcastic.”

“That’s a very charming and fancy way of telling me to shut up.”

“Oh dear – tell me you aren’t one of those eat the royal folks.”

“Didn’t you run a background check on me or something?”

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t shown any of that,” the Prince admits. He shrugs. “So, uh. I don’t know much about you.”

Nico nods, and stares at the table. It’s covered by a really horrible, red and golden tablecloth. It’s exactly the type of thing Nico should have expected to find in the Palace.

“Cool,” Nico says.

“What’s cool?”

Not this tablecloth. He doesn’t say that. “Not much.”

The Prince nods. “Alright.” He clears his throat.

There’s a long, awkward silence. Nico should deal better with awkward, really. That’s all conversations ever are with him. There are stilted words, long, stretching silences. He wishes the ground would open under him.

“How much longer do I have to stay?” Nico finally asks.

“Where?”

In this hellish hole. “Here. Now. In the tea-room, I mean.”

“We should go for a walk,” the Prince says.

“Not together, right?”

“Ah.”

“I mean, no offense, but this is frankly embarrassing,” Nico says. He leans forward in his seat. “I just really need a cigarette.”

“I’ve never smoked one.”

“I really hope you aren’t trying to get one of mine.”

“I was just trying to make conversation.”

And the Prince makes a strange kind of puppy eyes, which Nico has only ever seen Hazel make. And Percy, occasionally, but his just annoy Nico to an unbelievable level.

“So, what do you do in your free-time?” Nico blurts out, hoping to erase the Prince’s eyes.

“Oh, I study,” the Prince says. “I really enjoy reading, and learning in general. I particularly enjoy Philosophy, which I usually study on my own. I have tutors, of course. Although at the moment I am having some problems with Physics. I have also tried studying French a couple of years back, but I wasn’t really good at that. It was just so horrible.”

“Learning French sucks,” Nico concedes, thinking back to his own struggles with the language. “But not as much as learning Latin.”

“You know Latin?”

Nico shrugs. He shouldn’t have said that, should he? The Prince has already said that he doesn’t know much of his background, so maybe he also doesn’t know that Nico hasn’t always been a Six. Hell, he wasn’t even always called Niccolò Jackson.

“I know Ancient Greek.”

Nico nods. “Sounds fancy.” He doesn’t say that he knows that, too.

The Prince almost seems to be having problems controlling all his energy. His finger curl and uncurl around the armrests of the chair. His gaze shifts more than once to the windows and the gardens. When Nico follows his eyes, he doesn’t see anything, though.

A bell rings, startling the Prince out of his reverie.

“It seems that our time is up,” the Prince says.

The Prince stands, and Nico does the same, giving him an even-more-than-awkward nod, and turning to leave.

“It was really nice meeting you!” The Prince continues, when Nico’s hand is already on the doorknob.

Nico turns back, to give him a tight-lipped smile, catching the Prince empty the mug of tea out of the window. It startles a laugh out of him. The Prince turns, his eyes widened at having been caught in the act. His cheeks dust in red, and it only makes Nico laugh harder.

“So you aren’t poisoning yourself with thirty-five cups of tea, only the soil outside,” he says. “Good to know.”

“It’s considered polite to offer people tea,” the Prince replies smoothly.

Nico’s smile tightens. “Well, let me tell you, Your Highness, maybe the Twos, Threes, maybe even Fours or Fives, care about drinking tea and making small talk. Sixes and Sevens? We don’t really care whether you stuff yourself in tea and lemon cakes. Actually, most people from home would probably much rather you not waste so much food when everyone has already been served plentiful breakfast.” Nico makes a mocking wave with his hand. “With your gracious permission.”

He doesn’t slam the door behind himself, even if his cheeks are red and his ears ring. Sally should be proud of him, honestly.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Warlock's Apprentice

Pairing: warlock!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, allusion to non-con, breeding, non-graphic depiction of violence, manhandling.

Words: 2373.

Summary: You walked side by side with the Devil.

_____________

You still had hard time believing you were walking down the Great Hall, stepping on the white marbled floors and doing your best not to shake while the members of the court stared down at you as if you were some fairytale creature. You saw giant mirrors hanging on blazing white walls and golden curtains, huge heavy chandeliers with thousands of candles, the statues of gold double eagles - everything here was so different compared to the gloomy tower of the Warlock where it was dark even during the brightest days.

Knowing he watched you out of the corner of his eye, you clenched your teeth, keeping your composure. You had to make a good impression, not gape at the walls like a country girl. Maybe you weren't an aristocrat like most of the people here, but you were the Shadow Enchanter, the Soldat's Apprentice, second only to him, and you had a power to reckon with.

"Keep your head up, girl." You heard Bucky's voice in your head and stiffened involuntary. "We are above them all."

Would you be charged with treason if anyone was to discover what your master was telling you? You bet you would.

You stepped on the blue carpet and finally saw a raised throne of gold at the end of the room, beautiful people in ostentatious clothes milling over it - all you saw were not faces but gowns of silk and brocade, fancy parade uniforms, ribbons, medals, and bawdricks. This extravagance was slowly making your stomach sick, but you thought of your completely black soldier's dress and felt a bit better abour yourself. Your master and you must have looked like two crows among the peacocks.

"The Warlock and Shadow Enchanter." Somebody's loud voice thundered, and you saw the King sitting on the golden throne, the Queen to his right, and two young men standing by their sides.

God, it was happening, truly.

The King looked like a man who carried the weight of the world on his thin shoulders, his face unhealthy pale - you could see the dark circles around his eyes regardless of how court magicians tried to cover them with their glamour charms. It was true then, all the rumors you heard of King's withering health. He was only in his forties, but, apparently, he would hardly last long.

The Queen, on the contrary, looked nothing like her plain husband, her body unmistakably strong, her forms magnificent and face looking fresh with ruddy, healthy glow in her cheeks. Her older son was much like her with the same grace in his features - Steven was his name, and he was the very same Prince Charming all the girls in the Academy were talking about when you were still studying there.

You wanted to stare shamelessly at his immensely handsome face, his eyes blue like southern sky in the summer, but you bit your tongue instead. You were no longer a girl dreaming of marrying princes and living in a high castle.

Then you glanced quickly at the other son, Peter, the one who was about your age. While Steven, undoubtedly, took after his mother, Peter reminded you of the King, although much younger and - you admitted with shame - much prettier. He had dark hair and dark eyes, yet there was light to his face. Maybe he lacked the same intimidating air the other royals had around them, but you saw his dignity, his kind and clever eyes shining with interest as the Warlock and you moved closer to the end of the room.

You liked the younger son, you thought and then cringed as you failed to keep your eyes off the princes once again.

"Please don't collapse if one of them decides to talk to you."

You clenched your teeth tighter, hating this awful manner with which your master intruded in your thoughts all the time.

You needed to keep calm. You were to give your vows to protect the royal family and your kingdom. And later... later you were most certainly to be invited to the royal ball organized in Warlock's honor to celebrate his return. Maybe you would get a glimpse of the princes there.

_____________

"Do you think I brought you here to give you to the prince?" His mocking tone turned dark, poisonous. "You think I've been teaching you magic all these years so you could marry one of those pathetic royals and keep giving them babies with Enchanter's blood running through their veins?"

You tried to move away from the Warlock, but he grabbed you by the arm and brought you closer, watching you wincing in pain.

"My task is to keep away the Great Shadow." You whispered, horrified with your teacher's sudden shift of mood and wishing to run to the door the moment he'd let you go. "It doesn't mean I should be celibate."

"And your husband has to be the prince, of course." Bucky grimaced and cupped your chin, staring at you with his scary light eyes from above. "Women. You're all the same. It is never enough for you, is it? I gave you the power to wreck the world, and all you want is to lay beneath a weakling wearing the crown."

You pushed him, chanting a little spell - you caught him by surprised and quickly stepped back, shiver running down your spine. You had seen the Warlock being furious many times, but never as mad as now, pacing back and forth your chamber like a caged beast, his hands clenched in fists. God, you knew he'd take it badly.

"I've done no wrong." You claimed in a shaky voice, thinking of whether you had to chant a barrier around yourself. "I didn't betray you. His Highness said nothing about marrying me or anything of this kind! We've only danced and talked about science and magic."

Bucky let out a laugh, and you felt your stomach twisting.

"Of course, my dear. No one will say anything to you until one day they'll come to your chambers and announce your wedding with prince without asking for your approval. By the way, sweetheart, which prince do you want?" The knot in your throat prevented you from defending yourself in front of your furious master. "I guess you like the young one more, but you caught the attention of the crown prince. You want to be the Queen, don't you? This is the only thing that matters for a little minx like you."

Biting down on your lip, you felt your eyes watering at his words. Why was he saying that? You had never been power-hungry. You cared little for royals and luxury surrounding them, and your master knew it better than anyone else. Why was he saying that? Why did he need to humiliate you for something you had never wished for even in your dreams?

"But I've got to tell you the truth." The man looked at you bitterly. "You'll never be their equal. They'll treat you like nothing but the tool to strengthen their bloodline, and that's all you got to be for them. You'll become one more of their Assets like I've been before."

"Am I not the Asset to you?" You blinked away the tears and stared at him with revulsion, feeling betrayed. "Weren't you going to use me for your own purpose? Don't tell me you wanted to set me free. What's the difference between you and the royal family?"

"Ungrateful little brat." He hissed and moved before you could create the shield.

The man gripped your hair in his fist and yanked you towards your bed, hovering above you and pushing your face in the mattress with all his force. Your cry was muffled by the blanket as you tried to fight him, but was easily outpowered, ropes binding your arms by your master's command. Your first thought was that Bucky wanted to strangle you in rage - you could hardly breathe beneath his large hand. Knowing his unyielding temperament, you did what you could to wriggle free, chanting more and more spells, yet he was able to undo your clumsy charms with ease.

"Stop struggling." He snarled, pushing your face into the bed. "Or I'll show what you get for talking to your master like that."

His angry voice sounded threatening - the last time you disregard it he whipped you that bad you couldn't sit properly for a week, but today everything might end up much worse that that, you thought. You always got to obey him no matter what.

Why did you had to now, though? You were no longer his little girl, hiding in his shadow. Today you were deemed worthy serving your King, and, in fact, the Warlock had no power over you anymore. Unfortunately, he was never bothered by formalities.

"I have fed you, clothed you, given you the roof above you head and shared my knowledge with you." You heard him growling in your ear as he let you breathe again, moving his palm from your head to the back of your neck. "And this is how you thank me for everything I've done for you?"

"I've served you all these years like a dog." You hissed. "I've cooked and cleaned, I've made so many potions I could make a fortune from it alone, I've protected the Tower when Wakandan magus came searching for you. I took all your beatings without saying a word!"

"I didn't beat you, I've trained you."

"You can call it whatever you like, master." You grinned wickedly at him, watching him with your peripheral vision.

His gaze darkened, and you realized you were only making it worse for yourself. Nevertheless, you refused to be intimidated by him, the man who had ruled over you, took advantage of you, forced you to obey his every whim and keep your mouth shut. You wouldn't let him treat you like that. Not anymore.

You felt his ragged breath on the top of your head, his huge body pressing yours into the mattress. He was the Winter Soldier, the Soldat, the Warlock, but you could bring the Great Shadow to the chamber with a snap of your fingers, and he could do nothing to fight it. The only issue with it was that the King would claim you a traitor instead of savior and send all his soldiers to hunt you till the end of your days.

Suddenly, you sensed Bucky's grip weakening, and then he withdrew his hand, letting you move away from him that very second, ropes falling on the bed sheets. His eyes were as cold as a winter night when he stared at you, crawling away from him on the bed.

"Do you want the crown, Y/N?" The man asked sharply, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

"I want someone to love me." You said angrily. "I want to be treated kindly. I want to feel appreciated. I want all the things you would never give me, master."

For a moment you thought Bucky looked hurt before he was on you again, his hands clenching yours and blocking your charms. As you stared at his face, his expression enraged, you growled just like him.

"Rot in Hell." You barked, almost ready to call the Shadow.

"I've been rotting long before you were born, little girl."

He lowered himself until his forehead touched yours, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. You saw his anger disappearing, but you didn't feel a delicious sense of relief, anxiety washing over you even more.

"They've taken away all I had. They stripped me of any family and friends, my comrades, anything I treasured, and they want to snatch you away from me all the same." He whispered lowly, watching you frown. "Stay with me, and I'll make you a saint in the eyes of people. You're the Shadow Enchanter, you're above all the royals hiding in this wretched place."

"But you want me beneath you." You said, deeply hurt at his words and his desire to control you even when you thought he deemed you worthy of his trust. "Above them all, but beneath you. Don't you see I want to be neither queen nor saint? All I ever wanted was to be treated fairly, and you denied me this. You're keep doing it even now."

Suddenly, you realized tears were streaming down your face and making the pillow beneath you wet.

"What have I done to you? I loved you with all my heart, and you mocked me for it. You've made me force these feelings down my throat. I wanted you to be proud of me, value me, tell me I'm good enough, but you didn't. Now you get mad because someone else dared to do it?"

His eyes went wide at your confession.

"Did you love me? Did you ever love me?"

"I did. I even dreamt of marrying you." You bit back a cry, angry at yourself for telling him the truth when all you wanted was to spit in his face. "Imagine, master, I hoped to bear your children. But if you don't want it, maybe one day someone else would."

"I do. I want it."

You winced from humiliation and a deep sense of shame, your face flushed.

Of course, now he'd say whatever you wanted to hear from him to make you comply again. He'd play with your feelings as he had always done, and in the end you won't ever become the true Shadow Enchanter, you'd always be the Warlock's faithful Apprentice and nothing else.

"Do you think I can believe you now?" You let out a quiet laugh, staring at him with resentment and hate.

"I don't need you to believe me." He said and pressed his dry chapped lips to your forehead. "I'll show you. I'll show you that you're wrong."

Bucky moved slightly, and you felt the bulge in his pants against your thigh. Oh Gods.

"No, no, master, please-"

"I'll make you a saint. I'll put a crown on your pretty head." His whisper burnt your ear when his nose brushed against your temple. "I'll give you all the things you deserve, and no prince will take you away from me."

___________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki  ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint

[everwizard]

In the Eye of the Beholder

Chapter Two: In the Forest

Word count: 2,295

Warnings: Violence, theft

Chapter summary: Dream embarks on his journey to the Antarctic Empire.

AO3 Link

Dream's group traveled for a day and a half without incident. It would be another half day to reach the border where they had planned to meet Philza.

Dream was sat upon his horse, Spirit, listening to the sounds of the forest and the babbling of his friends, when a sudden noise caught his attention. 

"Hey! Be quiet for a second," he said.

"Don't tell me what to do, Dream," Sapnap retorted.

"Seriously. Just shut up for a second."

Sapnap crossed his arms with a frown as he stopped talking. Not a moment after, an arrow whizzed past his head and stuck in a tree behind him with a thunk.

"Sapnap!" Dream cried out, "George! Get down!" Dream jumped off his horse and drew his blade. He could hear his companions dismounting behind him as another arrow flew past.

Dream stood in a fighting stance as he honed his hearing on anything out of place. He could hear birds chirping, the wind rustling the trees, the horses tails flicking, and to his left, the sound of a crossbow being loaded.

He made a dash in the direction of the noise, dodging trees and branches through the sound of their blowing leaves. George followed after, just a few paces behind Dream as Sapnap stealthily snuck through the brush.

Dream sprinted through the forest until he came to a small clearing not too far from where they left their horses. Stood in the clearing was a man holding a loaded crossbow. It was aimed at Dream.

The unknown archer released the bolt just in time to be tackled by Dream. It grazed his shoulder but Dream paid it no mind as he pinned their assailant, the crossbow clattering a short distance away. He brought his sword to the attacker's neck and rested it against his Adam's apple.

"Who are you? Why are you shooting at us?" Dream demanded.

"We were hired to despoil anyone who comes through here. It's nothing personal, just business."

"Wait," George started, "We?"

As he spoke, a second attacker emerged from the brush and lunged for the knight. The man wielded an axe and swung it haphazardly in a desperate attempt to make contact.

George blocked the attacks with his own blade. He was a skilled swordsman and was holding his own quite well against the goon.

Dream turned his attention to the scuffle, listening for any signs that his friend may be losing. He didn't notice when the man pinned below him reached out and grabbed ahold of his crossbow. He didn't notice when the man aimed the weapon at George's head. He didn't notice when the archer pulled the trigger.

The sound of metal piercing metal rang out as a second crossbow bolt rammed into the first. Sapnap emerged from his hiding spot, wielding his own crossbow. He quickly reloaded it and aimed it at the axe-wielding assailant. "Stop or I'll shoot," he declared. The tip of his bolt glowed blue as enchanted fire danced upon it. Sapnap could feel the heat radiating from it but ignored it as he stared down George's combat partner.

The man hesitated for a moment and lowered his axe.

"Good," said Sapnap, "now drop it and we can talk about this like grown ups."

The attacker bent over in a show to gently set the axe down as Sapnap kept the crossbow trained on him. As he reached the ground, he made a swing for George's leg. George jumped out of the way as Sapnap released the bolt. The crossbow bolt embedded into the attacker's shoulder as the axe cut into George's ankle, not deep enough to cause lasting damage but still deep enough to be painful. He let out a hiss as he fell to the ground, holding his injury. 

Dream looked up just in time for the attacker's shirt to burst into flames. The man cried out in pain as he desperately tried to extinguish the flames. Dream stood from where he pinned the man with the crossbow and stepped on his chest to keep him down, keeping his sword pointed at the man's neck.

"George!" he called out. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine! Can we just deal with these guys?"

"Got it!" Dream responded as he pushed his sword into his hostage's neck, just deep enough to draw blood. "Now, I'm sure you gentlemen know that attacking a member of the royal family is treason, a crime punishable by death. I can be reasonable. We can make a deal. Either you give me all your stuff and we never see you again or we kill you and take your things anyway. Your choice."

The flaming man shared a look with his accomplice and dropped his weapon. "You won't hurt us if we leave?"

Dream nodded. "That is correct. However, I want you to empty your pockets right here, right now. The only thing you may keep is the clothes on your back."

The man hastily began dumping his pockets. Out spilled gold, jewelry, miscellaneous weapons and other small assorted items. 

Dream helped his captive to his feet, keeping his sword trained on the other at all times. "You too," he prompted.

Similar items cascaded from the other man's many pockets. There was a small pile of loot on the forest floor when the two had finished.

Dream lowered his weapon. "Okay. You can leave. Now go before I change my mind." 

The two men made a mad dash into the forest, not daring to look back.

"I'll take care of George," Dream offered. "You can have the bolts for your crossbow if you want."

Metal rods clattered together as Sapnap gathered the man's bolts. He then collected all the valuables from the floor and put them in a pouch.

Dream fished bandages from his satchel along with a healing potion. Handing the potion to George, he began wrapping his friend's ankle.

George took a drink of the potion and felt the healing effect rush through him almost instantly. He set the bottle down with a refreshed sigh. "Thanks, Dream," he said.

Dream continued wrapping George's ankle without a word. When he was finished, he returned the remaining bandages to his satchel and helped George to his feet. Only after he was sure George could stand on his own did he say, "You're welcome, George."

"All done?" Sapnap asked.

"I think so," Dream replied. "You ready, George?"

"Whenever you are."

Dream nodded, "Lead the way then."

They returned to their trusted equines and mounted their respective horses. 

"By the way," Sapnap enquired, "why did you want their stuff? You have the entire kingdom's vault at home."

"Honestly?" Dream laughed, "I thought it would be funny."

Dream spurred his horse and they continued on the path to the Antarctic Empire.

They could tell they were close to their destination due to the rapidly dropping temperature. It wouldn't be long until they reached Philza.

They had stopped a short while ago to change into warmer clothes. Dream wore a thick dark green hooded cloak that wrapped around his entire body. It was trimmed with brown fur at the hood and along the edges. He had also put on a thicker blouse and pair of trousers. George was adorned in a capelet of pastel blues. He had multiple layers of clothes underneath with varying thicknesses and shades of blue. Sapnap wore the least, depending on only a mid-length cape made of red and white fur in addition to his usual clothing and armor.

As they made their way through the chilly Surmup forest, they could hear the echoes of a shouting child. 

"What do you suppose that is?" George pondered. 

"I don't know," Dream said, straining his ears in the direction of the sound, "want to go check it out?"

"Couldn't hurt," George shrugged as he steered his horse off the path. "It doesn't seem that far, we should be able to help and not lose too much time."

The trio and their horses wandered in the direction of the noise. As they got closer, the shouting got louder. Soon they could hear additional voices mixed in, though it seemed like the child was leading the conversation.

Dream tried to listen to the conversation but could not understand everything with all the overlapping voices.

"I...to bring…bo," the child with the high voice complained. Dream noted how the voice sounded like drawings made of crayon and chalk.

"...just a few days," said an older voice. It was more distinguished and sounded like chestnuts and fire and all things warm and safe.

"...dy got to come!" the child retorted.

"Fundy is family," a new voice chimed in. This one--a smooth tenor--reminded Dream of hot chocolate by the fireplace, topped with marshmallows, whipped cream, and cinnamon.

"Boys!" the second voice reprimanded. Everyone stopped talking as if they'd just noticed something they hadn't previously seen. "Sorry about them," he continued, "they can get pretty heated."

It was then that Dream realized this man was talking to him. "Oh! Uh, it's fine. Did you all need any help with something? It's a bit cold to be out here this late."

It was clear that this group could see Dream but he couldn't say the same about them. He decided to continue to be courteous to them despite not knowing who they are or what they were doing out in the cold.

"Wait! Dad, are these the guys you were going on about?" the whining child from earlier asked.

"That depends who's asking," Sapnap countered.

"Sapnap, please," Dream scolded, "not right now."

"Oh it's alright," the man cut in, "I'm Emperor Philza of the Antarctic Empire and these are my boys." He made a dramatic gesture to his own group before turning back to Dream's. "You must be Prince Dream of Surmup along with Sirs George and Sapnap."

Dream quickly dismounted his horse and performed a deep bow out of respect. "I'm so sorry, your Majesty. I didn't realize--"

Philza scoffed, cutting the prince off, "You don't need to be so formal. You can just call me Phil."

"Right. Okay. Phil," Dream stammered out.

"And these young men," Phil continued, "are my family." He gestured to a group of four, starting with the oldest, a half-pig wearing a deep red cloak lined with white fur as well as a golden crown. "You've met Technoblade."

It was true. Technoblade, or Techno as he preferred, had spent time training in Surmup Techno was the only person Dream had met whose combat skills rivaled his own. He was still looking forward to their eventual rematch.

"Hello," Techno waved, a man of few words. His voice was low, steady, and firm, like a boulder standing strong against the elements.

Phil moved on to the next son. He wore a yellow sweater paired with a maroon sash and a blue winter cloak. Various potions littered his clothes for easy access. "This is Wilbur."

"How's it going?" he greeted. Dream noted that this was the man that had the hot chocolate voice. 

Dream nodded in response, both to Wilbur's question and Phil's statement.

Phil then gestured to a very tall child donned in all white with the exception of a bright red cape draped over one shoulder. "This is Tommy, the problem child."

"Oi!" he retorted, "I'm not a problem child, I'm awesome." This was clearly the loud one from earlier.

"Sure," Phil smirked as he moved to an orange-haired man with fox ears. He wore a black hat and jacket with four different blues accenting. There was orange fur peeking out from under the jacket at the neck and wrists. "And this is my grandson, Fundy."

"Nice to meet you," he said in a voice that sounded like salted caramel and something else Dream couldn't quite place. It was clear from the lower pitch that this man was fully grown and definitely older than the child, Tommy. He couldn't have been much younger than Techno and Wilbur.

"How does that work?" George cut in.

Phil laughed. "Care to explain, Wil?"

Wilbur sighed. "He's my son. I accidentally spilled an aging potion on him a few months ago."

"And I wouldn't let him turn me back," Fundy finished. "So I've been nineteen for three months."

"But the dickhead has only existed for like a year and a half," Tommy whined.

"Don't call your nephew a dickhead," Phil admonished.

Dream laughed at the exchange. It was a very different atmosphere from the rigid and formal structure of the castle. It reminded him of when he was a child. Before he lost his eyesight. When he, George, and Sapnap could run around without the responsibility of an entire nation on their shoulders. He smiled sadly at the thought.

"You already know who we are so it doesn't look like introductions are necessary."

"You could still introduce yourselves if you want," Phil said warmly.

Dream cleared his throat. "Right. I am Prince Dream of Surmup but you can just call me Dream."

George spoke up next. "I'm George, First Knight to the Prince of Surmup."

"And I'm Sapnap, Dark Knight to the Prince of Surmup," Sapnap concluded.

"Lovely to meet you all," Phil smiled. "Now I'm sure you're all very tired from your trip so I would like to invite you to join us at the inn we're staying in. You can rest for the night and we'll help at the border in the morning. How does that sound?"

Dream considered his options, and an inn was definitely nicer than setting up a camp in the middle of the cold forest. "That sounds great," he agreed. "Lead the way?"

"Sure."

Dream remounted his horse and followed the sound of five sets of feet in the direction of an inn.

[raayllum]

this has been on my mind for a long time and been questioning this ever since season three ended and hope you can help me with this. how does viren become king in season three? viren has killed people and more but somehow he gets anyway with it. and people start following his role over katiols it bothers me so much because how? i don't get it.

Viren was almost crowned king in 1x04, and although the people weren’t happy about it, they were willing to go along with it. Then Viren does assume a leadership position during S2 and him being captured for treason likely wouldn’t have been common knowledge among well, the common people. Opeli and the council had still then been working out a verdict. So the council would perhaps know his crimes, but wouldn’t know about Aararvos’ involvement. All they would know was Viren illegally called a summit meeting with the king’s seal and then killed a handful of guards while resisting arrest; they don’t know anything else. Not how deep into dark magic, not him sending his children to kill the princes, not the dragon egg, etc. 

Then the prince returns after a two week, unexplained absence, is crowned king... and immediately “sides” with Xadia even though his father was like, just murdered by elven assassins. While the council in S2 didn’t want to go to war with Xadia, they were quoted as saying, “No, we should wait. Xadia sent assassins and they took the king’s life [...] there hasn’t even been the slightest skirmish since then. Maybe that was it? They’ve had their revenge and everything will settle down now.”

Then Viren’s batch of shadowy assassins attack the other four monarchs of the Pentarchy, killing two of them and seriously wounding another to the point that his son needs to step up. That’s three murdered rulers and another on the verge. And because no one but Viren knows where the assassins came from, the blame easily falls on Xadia’s shoulders.

Suddenly, there’s far more than a skirmish. Suddenly, over half the pentarchy’s leadership has been struck down or incapacitated, and it’s clear that the elves have majorly escalated things rather than “settling down.” Suddenly, you have a child king who came home without his brother (aka no heir) and says that a Moonshadow — the very creatures who killed the late king less than a month ago! — are travelling to restore peace... on the slim chance the dragon queen’s heart will change? 

Viren had warned everyone that more attacks would be coming and suddenly it looks like he was right. His paranoia has been vindicated, as far as the people of Katolis & the council know he was like Harrow’s brother (his words at the funeral in 1x04; no one’s around to dispute them after all), the current king is a child and hovering over a decision that will either lead to vengeance for the human kingdoms and their fallen rulers, or... lead to civil war between them. 

And then the common people see the council rallying around Lord Viren, who is giving a plan of action that makes them feel in control — be invaders rather than defenders, get justice for their fallen king, prove that humanity will not be intimated — and has the backing of three of the four other kingdoms. That was nearly enough, after all, to convince the Pentarchy rulers to go to war after Harrow’s death in S2, narrowly avoided by Aanya, and I can’t imagine they would do anything they thought their people would actively revolt against, either.

I’m more impressed that some people didn’t fall for it, tbh

[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.”