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scottspack · 4 years

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SO YOU JUST FINISHED THE UNTAMED AND YOU WANT TO READ SOME FIC

Congratulations Jen @jlf23tumble on finishing The Untamed (tomorrow)! Now that you’re done with the show (tomorrow), you can finally dive into the wide and wonderful world of untamed fic!!! I’m ecstatic to be personally curating your reading experience! LET’S BEGIN!

I’ve started off with a list of 5 fics I think you should read in this specific order to 1. get some resolution from the end of the show and 2. get you acclimated to untamed fics! Then, I’ve listed a bunch of fics in different categories for your perusal to read at your leisure! This is an unbelievably long post holy shit brace yourself.

I’m like fairly certain that all of these follow the tv show canon BUT also its very typical for authors to combine many aspects of all of the different forms of canons to their liking. Therefore, I feel like I need to give a quick explanation of a couple things from the novel that show up frequently in fics that idk if you know already or not:

In the book, when Wei Wuxian is resurrected, he is brought back in Mo Xuanyu’s actual body and has his face and everything. Mo Xuanyu was pretty young when he died, I wanna say maybe 17 or 18??? and he was also short and pretty and flamboyantly gay. This is where the references to their crazy height difference come from, but again, I think I tried to include mostly fics that skew more heavily to the tv version where WWX keeps his same body and he and LWJ are more evenly matched physically.

Its novel canon that LWJ smells like sandalwood incense and has golden colored eyes. This is mentioned in like almost every single wangxian fic ive ever read, even if the author said they were strictly adhering to show canon lol

At the end of the novel wangxian run away together and elope! Obviously in the show that’s not how it goes down, but I think a couple of the fics I’ve recced might mention it in passing. (Oh also when they elope they make a pact to fuck “everyday,” a concept that might be mentioned as well.

Obviously, we have to kick it off with some fics that both reunite wangxian and give more resolution to the actual show. If you’re like me, it both took you a while to get all the way through the show AND took 100% of your brain power to remember all of the characters and plot lines. If that’s that case: these fics should be helpful in serving as a kind of emotional refresher for the show to wrap up some loose ends and to dive deeper into some of the things the show glosses over for one reason or another!

1. A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart (Wangxian, E, 21k)

The funny part is - and it is a little funny, even if Wei Wuxian has no one left to share the joke with - they never have. Not anything. He has never kissed any part of Lan Zhan besides his slim hands; never been even partially undressed with him anywhere besides a miserable, xuanwu-infested cave. It’s always been like this between them, this simmering need, this desperate understanding: a knowledge so deep that it lives somewhere in his bones, that if he wanted to have Lan Zhan he could have him, and if Lan Zhan wanted Wei Wuxian he could have that too. But they never have.

I found this fic on someone’s blog when they said that it was the definitive fic to read directly after finishing the series so i saved it, read it directly after finishing the series, and felt COMPLETE. Beautifully written, seamlessly fits with canon, and has a super fulfilling resolution. The perfect way to kick off reading untamed fic!

2. One Rogue Spark In My Direction by hansbekhart (Lan Wangji/Xiao Xingchen/Song Lan, E, 5k)

He’d thought, in Yueyang, that they’d seen something in each other, something familiar. That maybe they’d recognized something in him. But it’s been many years, and many things have happened since, and he’s guessed wrongly at other people’s hearts before. Lan Wangji looks back down at the table, at his steaming, bitter tea. He’ll beg if he has to.

In “A Lot Of Edges Called Perhaps” Wangji mentions that he has had sex before and this is the in-universe story of that time and WHEW BABY!!!! AHHHHHH!!! While this fic is like, almost pure smut, I think there is a ton of value to it in terms of emotional perspective on how fucked up LWJ was after WWX’s death. Also, it’s very hot.

3. Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Laz Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

Later, when he’s older, it’s this that A-Yuan will remember most: the stretch of silence, the two of them both dirty and shaking with fever, as he looked at Brother Rich, and Brother Rich looked back at him.

This is a fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui from when he rescues Sizhui from the Burial Mounds until they bring WWX back to the Cloud Recesses after he’s resurrected. It made me cry about 18 times and I consider it fully canon in relation to the show. I think this gives a lot of emotional depth to the Wangji/Sizhui family relationship that is very important in most fics, so this acts as a good base since the show doesn’t really talk about it too much.

4. Your Name, Safe In Their Mouth by astrolesbian (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, G, 10k)

“You’ve got a fever,” Wei Wuxian says soothingly. “You just keep still as well as you can. We’ll have you fixed up soon.”

Lan Sizhui recognizes his tone—this is the voice that Wei Wuxian uses on hurt people and young children, a very calm and no-nonsense voice that has none of the mischief and cheer of the way he sounds the rest of the time. Lan Sizhui looks up and meets his eyes, and they are dark, stormy gray, muddled and concerned.

“I’m all right,” he croaks.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

or: lan sizhui gets sick on a night hunt. wei wuxian comforts him. they both have a lot of feelings about it.

The Wei Wuxian and Sizhui bonding fic that I so desperately desperately needed to read. Since we got the emotional depth to Wangji/Sizhui in the last fic, here’s some emotional resolution for Sizhui and his other dad!!!!!!!!!! Scratched the very particular itch of “but have they REALLY talked about what it means that they’re reunited after 16 years???”

5. climbing up that coastal shelf by Sour_Idealist (Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng, & Wei Wuxian, T, 15k)

Jin Ling had begun to suspect years ago that there were parts of his family history that had been crossed out; long streaks of black where Wei Wuxian had been. The truth is more like whole books being brought up from their hiding places again.

Or: Jin Ling tries to figure out what family means, now.

OKAY!!!! Last emotional resolution before I send you on your way to explore! This is the emotional resolution for the other half of WWX’s family. Featuring just a FUCK TON of family feels and a lot of TALKING that this fucked up family needs so damn bad. *chefs kiss* muy delicioso! ALSO i think this is a good introduction to a lot of the naming conventions that are used frequently in untamed fic that took me a while to pick up on!

WHEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now that you’ve gotten some post-show catharsis in the form of a few extremely well-written fics, it’s time for a full rec! I’ve divided it up into seven categories: long fics, smutty one-shots, 3zun (lan xichen/nie mingjue/meng yao) fics, fics about the juniors, family fun fics, some miscellaneous fics, and then some yizhan RPF! I wouldn’t have put any of these fics on here if I didn’t think they were worth reading, BUT! I did mark my particular favorites with asterisks to demark the crème de la crème of the bunch. SO! LET’S DIVE IN!

EPIC TALES (LONG AND/OR IMMERSIVE)

My Age Has Never Made Me Wise by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 63k) ***

“We hear that His Excellency might be married by summer’s end,” the merchant’s wife says and Wei Wuxian freezes, his heart in his throat. “The Gusu Lan sect has been buying enough red silk and brocade that the merchants in Caiyi can’t satisfy the demand.”

He feels himself grow brittle inside, like a flick of a finger to his temple might make him shatter. His ears are ringing.

“Who’s the lucky bride?” he asks despite himself. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

Or: The story of a marriage.

I LOVE THIS FIC. YOU MUST PROMISE ME YOU’LL READ THIS FIC. The absolute best kind of slow burn and I think such an extremely accurate representation of the canon material. I’m always surprised by the authors in this fandom’s ability to write shit that is so concretely grounded in the universe. This could and should be a real companion novel. Amazing. I love it. (Also I know you said you’re not into fics that are long just to be long and I think this fic is the exact opposite of that, it’s long but for good reason and has such an insanely satisfying payoff that it’s completely worth dedicating a few hours to!)

The Year of Drought by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 24k)

Wei Ying could not be contained by the walls of the Cloud Recesses, alive again and overflowing with it, bursting like a dam in spring with the force of two lives unspent. And so he had to go. Lan Wangji understands that—he understood it when Wei Ying told him of his plans, looking at Lan Wangji above the rim of his cup with an apologetic smile, like craving freedom was something to apologize for.

Wei Ying would go, and Lan Wangji would see him off; this has always been the only way it could be.

Or: In the absence of Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji waits.

The previous fic but from Wangji’s perspective. Absolutely required reading if you read the other one. Wangji baby.......i love you.....

further than the grave by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 32k)

There is something about grief that turns Lan Wangji numb. He cannot be certain if it is not some kind of defect inside him that makes him so. But just as he grieved his mother’s passing with dry eyes and a stone in his chest, so he grieves Wei Ying: quietly, frozen inside, without tears. Beyond the Jingshi window it might be spring, but Lan Wangji’s body and mind are still held within the winter’s grasp.

As the anniversary of his leaving seclusion approaches, Lan Wangji ponders the nature of grief and healing.

One last fic from the same verse as the previous two, this talks about Wangji post-WWX’s death and then them dealing with the past post-marriage. Its just as good and immersive and amazing as the previous two parts, but this is the only untamed fic that actually made me gasp out loud and if you read this and can guess what it was we will be best friends forever. (There are two other fics in this verse that are also good but these three in particular are god-tier in my eyes.)

Vagabond by xantissa (Wangxian, E, 66k)

Wei Wuxian comes back to Cloud Recesses after a year of wandering the world, hoping to start a relationship with Lan Zhan. He doesn’t expect to come into the middle of a case of sleeping sickness mysteriously killing people, nor does he expect what follows, putting everything he holds dear on the line once again.

OOOWEE CASE FIC! CASE FIC! This is truly the twisty turny intense and INTERESTING type of fic from this fandom that blows my mind. This could fully be a stand alone novel its that good and there’s that much to it. Another one that isn’t long just to be long, it has so much PLOT!!!!! REAL GOOD SHIT!

Seldom All They Seem by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 25k)

or, one hundred and thirty-three principles of the Gusu Lan, pertaining to the state of marriage

***

He bows to Wei Wuxian, sword in hand, sleeves falling properly. Wei Wuxian bows in return, and the sect leaders begin the opening courtesies, and for all of ten minutes Lan Wangji is under the impression that he is betrothed to a boy who is perfectly normal and acceptable apart from an unfortunate tendency to fidget with his clothes.

That impression does not last.

A canon-divergent fic exploring “what if Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were betrothed from when they were young like Yanli and Jin Zixuan?” It’s extremely good and very compelling and also made me cry multiple times. (The confrontation in the rain doesn’t get any easier even if they’re betrothed!)

Half Cloak & Half Dagger by Fahye (Lan Xichen/Meng Yao, E, 13k)

Jin Guangyao lifts his head and smiles. "I'm considering a problem."

"Can I be of any assistance with it?"

He drops a kiss on Lan Xichen's chest. With the nail of one finger he lightly traces the characters for irony on Lan Xichen's side. "Not this one, er-ge."

A follow-up fic set in the “Seldom All They Seem” universe but focused on xiyao. Has hands down the best written characterization of meng yao in any fic ive read so far. I continuously come back to this fic just to read the absolutely genius way this author writes the Head Bitch In Control of the cultivation world.

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (Wangxian, T, 20k)

Wei Wuxian’s hand jolts, spilling a drop of wine onto the tabletop. “Love?” he croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. “Lan Zh— uh, Hanguang-jun, in love?”

“Have you not heard the story?” the other young woman asks, looking pitying. “You must, it is a truly heartrending tale of star-crossed romance and mutual pining — go to any storyhouse in town, everyone has been requesting a reading of this book.”

“There’s a book?” Wei Wuxian says blankly.

In which the junior disciples (namely, Lan Jingyi, Ouyang Zizhen, and a reluctant Lan Sizhui) turn to RPF in an attempt to rehabilitate Wei Wuxian's reputation so that he and Hanguang-jun can get together and get married and live happily ever after. It's... surprisingly effective.

I kept avoiding this fic, even though it was really high up on the list of most popular fics in the fandom, bc the premise sounded pretty goofy BUT I finally bit the bullet one day and AHHHHHHHH!!!!! Very very very cute and fun, made me smile like an idiot throughout the entire thing. Heartwarming and very well written!!!

never let me go by yiqie (Wangxian, E, 69k)

Wei Wuxian has certainly hoped so ardently in his two lifetimes, for so many different things, in so many different ways, that he could have summoned the demon to his front door with his bare hands. His eyes wander to Lan Zhan, settle on the back of his head, the blue-black curtain of his hair. Oh, how he has hoped.

Another extremely good and super immersive case fic. If you ever just want to sink really deep into an untamed fic, this is a great one for it.

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (Wangxian, E, 24k)

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian repeats. His heart clenches. He wants—but he’d really meant to have this nightmare stuff down before they met again, so he wouldn’t find himself relying on Lan Wangji’s nearness. He’s not supposed to go back yet. But he’s so tired, and his will crumbles. “Yeah,” he says. “All right. Take me back to Gusu with you.”

You want hurt/comfort? I gotcha hurt/comfort RIGHT HERE!

shadows in the sun rise by Yuu_chi (Wangxian, E, 25k) ***

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, voice slow and a pitch too quiet. A second later Wei Wuxian understands why. “I cannot hear.”

Or; Lan Wangji is cursed into internal isolation. Their ability to understand one another remains as unwavering as ever.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I have been thinking about this fic nonstop since I read it. It is…..fucking incredible. One of the best qualities of wangxian is that they’re so in tune with each other and able to work so cohesively with little communication and this fic is like “what if we take that and DIAL IT UP TO ELEVEN” and i was like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

I hope that you will come and meet me by feyburner (Wangxian, M, 28k) ***

The second time Lan Zhan said Wei Ying, come back, Wei Wuxian did.

okay so this is literally getting added to the fic rec one day before i send it to you because i just finished it and WHEW BABY!!!!! YES it is just another wangxian post-canon reunion get-together fic, BUT 1. i cant get enough of that specific brand of fic and 2. ITS SO GOOD. ITS. SO. GOOD. achingly tender and incredibly soft but also funny and sweet and very in-character! i love it!

THE BONE ZONE (WANGXIAN SMUT)

Sweet Night by corteae (Wangxian, E, 10k)

It was like coming back to life again, like being restitched into existence, cell by cell, nerve by nerve. From the surface of his skin to the marrow of his bones, everything new and purposeful. Like being pulled back from oblivion into an embrace of pure light. A feeling of absolute asylum.

That’s what it felt like, to realize Lan Wangji was in love with him.

An in-show au of “what if they just admitted they’re in love and fucked during episode 43?” Soft and romantic and hot!

the crucial point by dissembler (Wangxian, E, 7k) ***

Months after parting on the mountain, Lan Wangji makes up his mind, plots his course on a map, and has faith.

I LOVE THIS FIC! Very realistic and sweet wangxian reunion fic from wangji’s perspective. Has so many good little details and is very true to their characters. Good shit. Great.

Stainless by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 6k)

"I'm starting to feel," says Lan Xichen, "that this was a counterproductive suggestion."

Wei Wuxian looks down onto the pristine, tranquil cold springs of the Cloud Recesses. Sitting in the water, their bare shoulders rising like dumplings carefully spaced in a steaming-basket, are a large number of Lan disciples.

"They seem to be doing better," he says, encouragingly. "If they--oh, no, I see what you mean."

At the near bank, someone has pressed someone else against the rocks and is kissing them frantically.

What is getting into a new pairing if not an excuse to read sex pollen in new and exciting ways!

To Recklessly Confess by la_dissonance (Wangxian, E, 8k)

Lan Wangji has a fantasy. Wei Wuxian gets several clues.

The “what if they just fucked in episode 43” au but from a different angle.

all the depths of me, real by northofallmusic (Wangxian, E, 15k)

Wei Wuxian is dealing with a curse a little worse than he'd like to let on, and Lan Zhan is a little less than willing to let it slide.

Another “what if they just fucked in the show” fic, this time set when WWX has the curse on his leg and Wangji has to carry him back to the inn.

Every Day, Learning More by phnelt (Wangxian, E, 6k)

The pink was high on Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. “I mean I haven’t been able to… that I can’t. Not without you.”

Lan Wangji stared. “In this body, the whole time you’ve had it -- you’ve never…”

Wei Wuxian kicked his heels into Lan Wangji’s back. “I just said that!”

I knew at least one of these was more book verse than show! WWX hasn’t been able to jerk off in his new body, LWJ helps him out :-)

the meaning of the ritual by newamsterdam (Wangxian, E, 8k)

“Lan Zhan… wants to bed me?”

The hand on his chest is shaking, slightly. “Mn.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian breaths out.

There’s something— something powerful, about that. Lan Wangji wants to bed him. Lan Wangji wants to sleep with him. Lan Wangji wants to touch him, and kiss him. The immovable, implacable Second Master of Lan, with a face and principles both carved from jade, wants him.

“Is this a fantasy of yours?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Forcing all the demonic energy out of me with your—”

Lan Wangji claps a hand over his mouth. “Silence, now.”

When the entire cultivation world turns against the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian makes a risky gamble— he'll agree to participate in an ancient ritual for cleansing the spirit, so that his character can no longer be called into question. The catch? He has no idea who his partner for the ritual will be.

This is also book-verse! As the tag says “Let Lan Wangji Fuck the Yiling Patriarch”!!!!!!!!!!!

Hurricane by gdgdbaby (Wangxian, E, 6k) ***

"Haven't you heard?" Nie Huaisang replied, clicking his tongue, though he was clearly pleased that he could be the one to break the news. He leaned in to announce with a dramatic flourish: "Lan Wangji just took emergency family leave this past weekend."

WANGXIAN AS SPIRK STAR TREK PON FAR AU!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEWOO WEEWOO WEEWOO!!!!!!!! This was actually recced to ME by CHI and I have not stopped thinking about this fic for a full month. It’s like author gdgdbaby sat down one day and was like “Tumblr user Liv Scottspack deserves everything she wants in this life.” and then wrote this fic. Thank you author gdgdbaby, I love you.

WORLD’S WORST THROUPLE (3ZUN)

The body is a blade by rheawrites (3zun, E, 2k) ***

In which Lan Xichen is taken by surprise, Nie Mingjue takes what he can get, and Meng Yao gets what he wants.

This was the first 3zun fic I ever read and whew baby, got it in one! It’s actually a slight AU but it gets their characterization so right and is a very fun read. One of those fics I go back to frequently because it does so much with so few words.

shang tiantang by fuckwarlock (3zun, E, 4k)

They wanted so much, and with the way A-Yao gasps at the saber-calloused hand unfastening his belts, he does, too. The night air twirls with the scents of osmanthus and cinnamon and melon. Lan Xichen smiles, leans in, and ghosts his lips over the crook of A-Yao’s neck. What kind of brother would he be if he didn’t give A-Yao what he wanted? “I think it’s your turn to ascend, A-Yao.”

The Venerated Triad celebrates the Mid-Autumn Festival the best way they know how.

Truly the only way the venerated triad works is if meng yao gets Destroyed :-)

Favour and Fate by soulgusttheguardian (3zun, E, 8k)

There have been times in Meng Yao’s life when he couldn’t help but wonder how he came to be in his current situation. Found himself reflecting on the choices leading up to whatever misfortune had befallen him that day, and pondering why fate hated him so.

Granted, there had also been times when he couldn't help but wonder just what he had done to earn the favour necessary to be rewarded with certain things...

The current situation he found himself to be in, however, was definitely the latter.

More of the same! Truly I personally can never get enough of the 3zun dynamic in smut fics its just too goddamn motherfucking GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!

the stars do not take sides by everyearning (3zun, E, 4k)

Mingjue isn’t sure he’s ever seen Xichen do anything other than treat the boy like a porcelain doll and it’s laughable to him, to think of Meng Yao as something breakable, instead of the sharp, deadly object he is.

Okay one last “Destroy Meng Yao” 3zun fic! Enjoy!

never as alive as we are right now by ThirtySixSaveFiles (3zun, E, 12k)

Three perspectives on three sworn brothers, at three different times in their relationship.

(Or, three times 3zun got it on and some of the feelings they had along the way.)

Wait actually I want to end the 3zun fics on this one because it has true Emotional Resolution at the end and I think they deserve a little healing.

BABY BOYS. BABIES. (THE JUNIORS)

A Civil Combpaign by Ariaste (Jin Ling/Lan Sizhui, T, 20k) ***

“And,” said one of the pompous ministers, “there’s the matter of a marriage to consider as well!”

Jin Ling, who at the beginning of that sentence had expected to slam into the very last wall of his patience and lose his temper entirely, paused. “A what?”

Thing was… it wasn’t such a bad idea.

A MUST-FUCKING-READ!!! Jin Ling gets it in his head that as sect leader he should get married and sets his sights on Lan Sizhui. I cannot stress enough how FUCKING CUTE this fic is!!! Sizhui being the best boy! Jin Ling having more uncles than he knows what to do with! Jiang Cheng being the worst at relationship advice! It’s so fucking good it love it so much.

Anyway, Here’s Wuji by kakikaeru (Lan Jingyi/Lan Sizhui, T, 18k)

The melody gets a little clearer when he breaks out of the trees, and Jingyi changes course with certainty, barreling down the back hill and through the Cloud Recesses, dodging scandalized disciples left and right. He throws open the doors to the Receiving Hall without announcement and bows nearly double, eyes on the floor instead of on the shocked faces of the Mei delegation and the impenetrable gaze of the Chief Cultivator.

"Forgive this disciple," Jingyi shouts, because he's going to get punished for rule breaking regardless. "From the back hill, Hanguang-jun, there is a song in the wind!"

Lan Jingyi comes of age.

A Jingyi-central fic about Jingyi growing up and falling in love and being a hero and being the second best boy of my heart right after Sizhui. Not only is this fic sweet and romantic but it’s another one that explores a lot of interesting things within canon and all of the supporting characters are written very well and are just as interesting as second best boy Jingyi.

Ok, JiuJiu by kakikaeru (Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen, T, 16k)

Uncle's jaw works in the way that suggests he's about to say something irredeemable. Jin Ling, in a move of diplomacy he hopes the Chief Cultivator appreciates, distracts him with spicy food and his favourite subject: the incompetence of his own officials.

"I hear the lakes in the south east are having drainage problems?" he asks nonchalantly, sticking three big slices of braised pork belly into his Uncle's bowl.

Jin Ling just wants to get through the Discussion Conference with his Sect, his dignity, and his heart intact.

A follow up fic to “Anyways, Here’s Wuji.” I LOVE the Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen dynamic of Jin Ling having been raised by Jiang “I keep all my emotions right here and then one day I’ll die” Cheng AND being hopelessly charmed and smitten with Ouyang “President of the I Love Love Romance Novel Book Club” Zizhen! I LOVE IT! EXTREMELY CUTE!

Lan Sizhui's Guide to Courtship by Kimblydot (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, T, 23k)

In which Jingyi is a little oblivious, Sizhui is patient (and should have said something in the beginning), and everyone else is resigned to watching them dance around each other for far longer than necessary.

(Or: five things Sizhui tries to do in his courtship, and the one time Jingyi realizes there was one happening in the first place.)

I’ll stop describing fics about the juniors as being “cute” when they stop being SO FUCKING CUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

His Merit All My Fear by violettressed (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, G, 16k)

It’s too late for any of Hanguang-Jun’s rabbits to be awake -- one of the sundown chores for young disciples is to herd them back into their hutch -- but the rabbit field is as good a spot as any for quality sulking, so Lan Jingyi makes his way there.

Someone has beat him to it.

Lan Jingyi stares at Hanguang-Jun. Hanguang-Jun stares passively back.

When Lan Sizhui is swept away with the Ghost General, off on a new adventure, Lan Jingyi is the one who returns to Cloud Recesses alone.

Not only another extremely cute Sizhui/Jingyi fic BUT one that includes a Wangji/Jingyi friendship??? Incroyable! *chefs kiss*

spirit running wild by idrilka (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, E, 17k)

He doesn’t know, exactly, when the friendship he shared with Sizhui over the years has changed into something that’s made Jingyi finally understand why Hanguang-Jun always wears that expression whenever he looks at Senior Wei. There hasn’t been one single moment that he can point to and say, yes, this is where it started, because the thing about falling in love with your best friend is that it happens gradually, until it’s impossible to tell which step has been the deciding one.

Jingyi goes to Baling with a crush.

Written by the same genius that wrote the first three fics I made you read so you know it’s good. Its truly the childhood best friends to lovers of it all! Sizhui is adorable and Jingyi is a mess! *muah!*

FAMILY FUN TIME (NO ROMANCE, JUST FEELS)

Grow by cafecliche (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, T, 14k)

“Okay,” Jingyi says, as Sizhui puzzles this out aloud. “Okay! So the demon has been turning its victims into children.”

“I think so,” Sizhui says.

“To make them easier prey,” Jingyi says.

“Yes,” Sizhui says.

“So—” Jingyi’s voice cracks here, “this kid is Senior Wei.”

Wei Wuxian, still tangled in his own massive robes, blinks politely at them.

(Or: Wei Wuxian is cursed on a night-hunt, and the junior quartet rapidly finds themselves in over their heads.)

What I expected to be a goofy, silly fic turned out to be extremely emotional and made me FULLY CRY! It’s a very moving fic about Sizhui coming to understand himself and Wei Wuxian a lot better AND features all of the juniors arguing over who’s turn it is to hold 6 year old Wei Wuxian. A true win/win of a fic.

To The Act of Making Noise by words-writ-in-starlight (Lan Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

His father in white plays the song late into the night, and when A-Yuan wakes up confused and afraid, the guqin lulls him back to sleep.

Lan Sizhui hears his father play the same song every night for his whole life, and never, ever get an answer.

Another very moving and heartwarming fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui and Sizhui figuring out Wangji’s past and then eventually reconnecting with Wei Wuxian. It’s cute and soft and Sizhui is my best boy!

History (Proud To Call Your Own) by words-writ-in-starlight (Wen Ning, G, 5k)

“A-Yuan? Um—Lan-gongzi,” Wen Ning corrects, trying to set a good example. The children are young, seven and eight, exactly a dozen of them lined up in two crisp lines of tiny blue and white robes. Wen Ning can feel them staring at him, even though most of them have already mastered that Lan trick of neutrality. The smallest, a little girl with liquid dark eyes, is clinging to her nearest shijie’s sleeve and half-hiding. “Can I—what can I do for you?”

Wen Ning gets himself recruited for services, while he and Sizhui are visiting Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian gets a fan club.

Set in the same universe as “To The Act of Making Noise,” a very cute fic about Wen Ning finding his place in the post-canon world and being proud of Sizhui and being the world’s best substitute teacher. As the official Wen Ning Fan Club President, I had to include this.

the stone-filled sea by yukla (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, T, 9k) ***

He forgets how quickly Wei-qianbei changes faces, sometimes. Like pulling a theater mask over a bruise—color over color, a diversion with the swipe of his hand.

Lan Sizhui navigates a world that hates his father, one endless wave at a time.

Oh man oh man. I will never get enough of the fics where Sizhui (and the rest of the juniors) get ANGRY on Wei Wuxian’s behalf!! That’s their dad and their teacher and their friend and they will DEFEND HIM!!! YEAH BAYBEEEEEEEEEE!!!

PICK & MIX (MISCELLANEOUS)

This Side of Paradise by greenfionn (Wei Wuxian/Wen Qing, E, 3k)

Wei Wuxian does some very quick math in his head that goes something like this: He is pretty sure he’s in love with Lan Zhan - Lan Zhan is not here and likely never will be here - Wen Qing is here, not to mention very hot and let us not forget, actually interested in sex with him - there’s a solid chance he goes genuinely crazy or dies, or both, in the next few months and really, who wants to die a virgin?

Listen.......the fic premise is “Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing, noted bisexuals, figure life sucks enough at the Burial Mounds, they might as well have any fun they can before they die” and........I Am Looking Directly At It. It features Wen Qing bossing Wei Wuxian around and Wei Wuxian’s canon he-wants-to-be-pregnant kink. It’s........I liked it.

palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss by iodhadh (Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, M, 15k) ***

The realization strikes Song Lan like a bolt of lightning: Xiao Xingchen laughs, and he wants with a sudden, stunning desperation to kiss the mirth from his beautiful mouth. How, precisely, he is meant to manage that—that, he has no idea at all.

Or: introspective meditations on touch, trust, and the problem of desire.

I Am Baby and for some reason cannot handle how sad the entire Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen storyline ended up so I rarely read songchen fics, and when I do they’re always soft pre-canon fics like this one. Luckily there are some very beautiful and moving pre-canon songchen fics!!! I love you fandom!!

purpose and ritual by iodhadh (Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, E, 8k)

Song Zichen has beautiful hands. He's a powerful swordsman, strong and skilled, unfairly impressive and unreasonably handsome. He is devoted and self-disciplined and he takes direction like a dream. And he doesn't touch people—no one at all, if he can help it, except for Xiao Xingchen.

The poets might call him a saint, but Xiao Xingchen is so very, very human.

More of the same :-)

born to sweet delight by la_dissonance (Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, E, 10k)

Xiao Xingchen lightly jumps into the center of the pool, the water a shock that cools his sticky, heated skin, and does nothing for the heat building inside him. When he surfaces, pushing the hair out of his face, he finds Song Lan's gaze and meets it. Between them, everything goes both ways. What Song Lan will offer, Xiao Xingchen will freely give too.

Or, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan meet, pledge their lives to each other, and then fall in love.

This is about the angstiest I will go for songchen and its still absolutely Baby Soft lmfao!!!!!!

Pin it down by rheawrites (Jiang Yanli/Jin Zixuan, Jin Zixuan/Nie Mingjue, E, 2k)

“Yanli, I did not lie on our wedding night. You are the only woman I have gone to bed with. But… there was a man.”

“Oh?” Yanli blinks up at him. She does not appear horrified, or betrayed, which is surely a good sign.

Jin Zixuan swallows. “It was Sect Leader Nie,” he says quickly, as though that will make it easier.

“…Oh,” says Yanli, and her eyes are dark.

Jin Zixuan tells his wife a war story. Or, two thousand words of Jin Zixuan getting railed.

Have you ever looked at Jin Zixuan and been like “I bet that mf likes getting PEGGED!!!!!!!!” Well here’s the fic for you.

*YIBO VOICE* DIDI LOVES YOU! (YIZHAN RPF)

never really over by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 10k)

The thing is: it would be good to see Xiao Zhan again — if Yibo could just trust himself to be normal.

Author gdgdbaby is the yizhan master, so here are five of my personal favorites of their fics, starting with this post-filming reunion fic that was the first yizhan fic I ever read and HIT real good after having just finished the show myself.

pedagogy by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 17k) ***

Yibo opens his mouth and says, "I want to learn," barreling past the rapid rise of Xiao Zhan's eyebrows. "To last longer. Will you teach me?"

Quick-fire Yibo comes too easily and Xiao Zhan helps train him to last longer :-)

you’re the reason that i just can’t concentrate by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 10k)

Xiao Zhan hears about it from Yu Bin, which probably should've been the first warning sign.

Yibo was only 20 when they filmed the untamed, which lends itself perfectly to fics like this.

a truth so loud you can’t ignore by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 5k)

It's their last day of filming in Hengdian when the secret comes out.

If yibo has to be a fictional virgin than SO DOES XIAO ZHAN!

if you would only let you by gdgdbaby (Yizhan, E, 32k) ***

"Well?" Yibo demands. Past the severe frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, a flicker of the old him slips through, the persistent boy who shoved his way into Xiao Zhan's space without a second thought and made a home for himself there. "Are you coming or not?"

Xiao Zhan's heart twists. He forcibly settles it back in his chest. He's only told Yibo no once in his entire life, and it was already the hardest thing he's ever had to do. "Okay," Xiao Zhan murmurs, quiet but decisive, and thumbs his phone off. "Let's go."

Like I said, all gdgdbaby fics are incredibly good, super well written, and very hot, but this one does stand out from the bunch for being a Full Epic Romance! This is one of Chi’s favorite fics so that should speak to it’s quality!

baby, who’s counting by nobirdstofly (Yizhan, E, 12k)

Xiao Zhan gasps, trying to rein in another peal of giggles. “What do I owe you anyway?”

Yibo shrugs one shoulder, and his smirk deepens. “Haven’t decided.”

Xiao Zhan’s still staring at him, laughter gone in his dry throat, when he hears someone yell for a reset. Yibo’s eyes are so, so dark, and he hasn’t stopped watching Xiao Zhan this whole time. Xiao Zhan swallows, nods, and pushes every dirty thought out of his head.

(Or: Yibo bets Xiao Zhan he'll break first during a take, Xiao Zhan loses, and it's all downhill from there.)

Ah sex bets, who doesn’t love sex bets!

Mystery Dance by mrsronweasley (Yizhan, E, 16k)

"That? That's your confession?" Yibo's toppled onto Xiao Zhan's side and is clutching his shoulder, trying not to fall over. "That's pathetic!"

"Oh, what, you can do better?" Zhuocheng is pretty flushed and there's a challenge in his voice that Yibo just can't walk away from.

"Hell yeah, I can. Hit me, Yu Bin." Yu Bin cheers and refills Yibo's shot glass. "All right!" Yibo downs the shot, gags only slightly, and says, "Everyone! I'm a fucking virgin!"

WHAT’S better than a Yibo virgin fic? A SECOND YIBO VIRGIN FIC!

This author also writes extremely good yizhan threesomes so here’s three of them!

Some Nights by mrsronweasley (Yizhan/Xuan Lu (Jiang Yanli), E, 2k)

Xuan Lu opened her legs to him and Xiao Zhan wasted no time diving in. He pressed his mouth against her pussy, licking her out steadily as her thighs trembled around him. She was nestled between Yibo's legs and if Xiao Zhan looked up, not only could he see the planes of her body, her small breasts going up and down with her breathing, ribs expanding, her tipped back head and open mouth, but Yibo, gaze boring into Xiao Zhan's as he ate Xuan Lu out.

The entire cast is hot and there is no reason they shouldn’t ALL fuck! Not one reason!!!!!!

gege loves you by mrsronweasley (Yizhan/Wang Zhuocheng (Jiang Cheng)), E, 7k)

"We are very sorry," Xiao Zhan murmured as he unbuttoned Zhuocheng's jeans while Yibo kissed his ear, "for how we've been acting."

"Is this how you apologize to everyone," Zhuocheng panted, hands already going for his zipper to help Xiao Zhan along, "or am I special?"

WHEW LORD!!!!!!!!! WHEW!!!!!!!

Talking in the Dark by mrsronweasley (Yizhan (Side Xiao Zhan/M/F), E, 14k)

Xiao Zhan has a light-hearted romp of a threeway with some friends, then makes the mistake of telling Yibo. It goes down.

A non-yizhan threesome BUT features jealous!yibo which is a ton of fun.

Finally, a couple AUs!

With Joy and Purpose by feenwitch (Yizhan, E, 30k) ***

Yibo has been alone for approximately five Earth years when Xiao Zhan crash lands on his planet.

YIZHAN ANDROID AU!!!!!!!! This is a very star trek-esque universe which is fun, but the fic itself is also CRAZY interesting and moving and beautiful!!!!!!!!! It’s A LOT! This was a rec from Nina, so thank you Nina!

Bound With a Same-Heart Knot by mrsronweasley (Yizhan, E, 59k)

London, 1892. Xiao Zhan, a promising young attache at the Chinese embassy is tasked with showing the new ambassador's son Wang Yibo around London. The inevitable happens.

Victorian AU! I actually think you already read this, but included for posterity.

AND SCENE! This is the result of two months of daily fic reading, having 50 tabs of fic open at any given time, reading truly anything and everything, and Loving The Untamed. I’m SO EXCITED you’re diving into fic for this show and I can’t wait to talk to you about all of them and to have someone to scream with! WOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

#the untamed #fic #the untamed fic rec #holy gosh diddly darn moly #this is long as hell and has approximately 950k words of fic in it #my magnum opus!!!!#what's even more wild is that this literally doesnt even scratch the surface #i am constantly reading more #from the time i started putting this rec together until now #i added two new fics that i read and thought were amazing #there is no dearth of good shit to read in this fandom #ANYWAYS congrats on finishing (tomorrow)!#i cant wait to talk fic!#i hope you enjoy this list!#sorry it is genuinely absurdly long!

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crimsonhcadache · 4 years

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- ̗̀ NOW INTRODUCING: IVES ❝ IVY ❞ SERRANO !

( DANNA PAOLA, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER, SCORPIO, 24 ) I just spotted IVES “IVY” SERRANO at the beach today. Don’t you know them? They live down by the TOWERS and usually hang out with the RICH KIDS & MUSICIANS cliques. From what I’ve heard, they can be DECEITFUL, but they’re also ADAPTIVE. I always think of them when i hear LAST LAUGH - FLETCHER and tend to associate them with STRAWBERRY CHAMPAGNE, A FRESH SET OF STILETTO NAILS, AND RED LINGERIE. ( tay, she/her, 22, est )

full name: natalie rose serrano ives serrano nicknames: ivy, poison ivy faceclaim: danna paola voiceclaim: lana del rey birthday: november 1st, 1996 zodiac: scorpio sun, aries moon, gemini rising sexuality: bisexual occupation: influencer, instagram model, musician, scammer / thief positive traits: effervescent, bold, creative, charismatic, coquettish, intuitive, ambitious, alluring, adventurous, perceptive negative traits: cantankerous, deceitful, envious, manipulative, dramatic, stubborn, narcissistic, materialistic, reckless, quick-tempered character inspos: maddy perez euphoria, jackie burkhart that 70’s show, blair waldorf gossip girl, margo hanson the magicians, every lana del rey song ever, lucrecia montesinos and cayetana pando elite, rosa diaz brooklyn nine nine, the entire rose family schitts creek, jen harding dead to me

- ̗̀♡ — › background !

the main thing u need to know about ivy is that she is lying ! always !! her real name isn’t even actually ivy smh

she was born NATALIE ROSE SERRANO, to two working class parents in new york city. she knew from a young age that she was just supposed to be rich and famous, and that something had gotten mixed up somewhere and she was put in the wrong life.

in high school she got a scholarship to a fancy private catholic school, and that’s where she started to hone her craft of manipulating rich people. she would befriend all of the richest bitches at school and take advantage of everything that came along with it: vacations to far away places, stays in the family’s cabins and lake houses, even designer clothes that her friends no longer wanted and would gift to her, thinking it was their idea all along

as she grew up and got better at getting what she wanted out of people, her entitled attitude only got worse, driving a wedge between her and her parents, who kept waiting for her to develop a work ethic and kept being disappointed. a few months after she graduated high school, on her 18th birthday, her parents kicked her out of the house and cut her off, hoping that it would force her to grow up and take on any responsibility

but that plan backfired for them, her parents underestimating how truly stubborn natalie was. the day after her 18th, she wandered into a local strip club and got a job, figuring it’d be the easiest and quickest way to get some cash, and she took to it naturally and actually really enjoyed stripping

she started to embody an entirely new persona that she had created for herself, dancing under the name POISON IVY and telling everyone she was a trust fund baby that had been cut off from her rich parents, needing to dance to supplement her income, and her lies just continued to spiral out of control until she almost started to believe it herself. she had never told anyone at the club her real name, not even the other strippers, just going by “ivy” for a while.

she had learned to weaponize the power she had over people by being pretty and charming, using her looks for absolute evil and doing whatever it took to get money—from straight up pickpocketing, to making men buy her expensive gifts, to blackmailing, to sugar babying, to getting patrons wasted and manipulating them into tipping her absurd amounts… she did it all, very quickly earning enough to live the life she had always dreamed of, that she felt she deserved for whatever twisted reason.

she started posting on instagram with the name poison ivy generally just flaunting her carefree, extravagant life, often exaggerating or down right lying just to really dazzle her quickly growing audience

as she started to go down the influencer route, she realized she needed to do something to hide the skeletons in her closet ( the fact that she didn’t actually come from money and was making far more than was normal for even the best of dancers, a couple of small possession / shoplifting charges, and just generally anything that could lead people to her real identity ) so she started to tell people her name was ives, fully taking on the new identity. she even went so far as to make some of the people that had been closest to her sign NDAs about her real identity, making sure that no one could sell info about her should her plan of being famous work out

she also moved out to california to run away from everyone in the city that was starting to catch on to what she was doing, basically doing all the same shit but now in a New Place.. this was about 3-4 years ago, so she’s been in sunhollow for a while now doing the whole influencer thing !!

and it did work out !! at first she was definitely buying followers/likes to boost her likelihood of brand sponsorships, but eventually she faked it until she made it and actually attained influencer status. she then used her newfound internet fame ( and some classic blackmailing ) to get herself a record deal

she also started sleeping around with pretty much any famous person she could, having very public relationships and breakups and scandals to keep her name in the press, which ultimately lead to more exposure/people following her, if only to see what she did next, which lead to even more sponsorships

eventually she stopped dancing and just focused on her influencing and more recently ( like... less than 6 months ago recently ) her music career. but she never stopped sugar babying and scamming rich stupid men, still very much using that as a means to keep up her lifestyle. she’s also done a few modeling things, but it’s mostly just like catalog work or being the face of a trendy campaign bc she’s way too short for the runway

she also recently made an only fans account bc she was bored one night and was mostly planning on posting once as a joke but then she made a bunch of money / got a bunch of subscribers and was like oh word ? i can do that ! so she will post on there from time to time but she’s not like… super serious about it ya know ? also her music label is big mad at her for it bc they’re like bUt yOuR rEpUtAtIoN and she’s like yeah.. but my bank account ? also it’s no secret she used to be a stripper so she rly just.. doesn’t give a fuck !

so basically she’s jus here making money being pretty and pulling a long ass scam on… everyone

- ̗̀♡ — › personality / headcannons !

she’s a real two faced bitch… she has perfected the art of becoming whoever she thinks other people want her to be, quickly adapting her personality to get whatever she wants

she’s usually pretty friendly actually, really charming and outgoing and just trying to have a good time

she has a pretty short temper tho and holds grudges like you wouldn’t believe, so once you’re on her bad side… good luck lol she is so ruthless

she’s like… deeply, deeply selfish and will always put herself first, but she’s so manipulative that she can make people do things that they think are their idea, but it’s really just something she planted in their head so it’s not always obvious

also very spoiled and will throw a mf fit if she doesn’t get her way or u say no to her

always going out !! always doing the most !! she’s the type to show up randomly at ur door at 8pm on a tuesday with a bottle of tequila and make u party with her whether u like it or not

she’s a lot smarter than she lets on sometimes, like she knows people expect her to be stupid and ditzy and shallow and she’ll let them underestimate her when it’s beneficial

always looks perfectly put together— her nails are always meticulously manicured, usually w stiletto shaped acrylics, and you’ll literally never see her outside her house without makeup and a perfectly composed outfit. it’s also a rare occasion that she’s not wearing at least six inch heels, trying to make up for bein so mf short ( she’s 5’3 )

she talks A Lot but is really good at saying a lot of words without actually saying anything, like you can be best friends with her for months and then just be like “i don’t actually know a single thing about her”

always up to no good and sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong !! she’s always got some sort of scheme going or getting in to some kind of drama

v much a hoe and v much proud of it, will sleep w just about anyone especially if she can get something out of it

also a serial dater !! she’s always hoping in and out of relationships and being rumored to be with a dozen people at once

most definitely calls paparazzi on herself, especially when she’s around other famous ppl but will never admit it

compulsive liar, she will literally lie about the dumbest things like she doesn’t even need a reason to lie she jus.. does

she has a luxury two bedroom apartment that she lives alone in ( one room is kinda a guest room but also mostly just a giant closet ) in the towers and the gag is she doesn’t even know how much her rent is bc one of her random sugar daddies pays her rent.. her power tbh

- ̗̀♡ — › wanted connections !

hookups / flings / one night stands / fwbs all that shit !!

exes on bad terms … gimme drama pls

enemies / ppl she’s stolen from maybe… she would definitely deny it and say they’re jus jealous of her or smth stupid but that could make the feud worse

party pals !! like i said she goes out a lot and always somehow manages to make new friends and drag them into her shenanigans

on again / off again exes… i want the Angst so bad..

shallow friendships / influencer friends like they play it up a lot for insta bc they both have a pretty big following but they dont really... like each other that much ?? like they definitely seem to be a lot closer than they really are

pr relationships this could be past or present !! in the same vein as the last one except they pretend to date ( or maybe just act like they’re gonna date but never actually do ?? like to fuel rumors )

unlikely friends !! like ppl who are nice and sweet and Pure, she could use a lil good energy in her life

situationship / flirtationship like they’re super flirty and maybe hook up a couple times but everyone assumes they’re dating or like gonna date but they’re jus vibing. bonus points if one or both of them actually has feelings but can’t tell if they’re just friends / casually hooking up or if it could turn into something more.. im a slut for some mutual pining !!

neighbors … mb they hate her for always being loud n throwing mini parties OR maybe they join in

mean girl rivalries !!

someone she’s taking advantage of / stealing from without them knowing .. oof

partner in crime !!!

one sided crushes or like someone she’s stringing along smh

sugar daddies mb 😇

someone to put her in her mf place JDKDKD like they call her out on her bs and are like “i see what ur doing bitch stay away from my friends” type thing

idk anything really !! gimme all the messy plots ok :~)

#hqclique.intro #this is so long i jus have so much to say abt my favorite evil demon <3 #now to do mickeys .. which requires sm more rewriting .... pray for me #♡ — 𝐢𝐯𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐨 › 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 .

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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What we know that Dany knows of her ancestors, dragonlore and history

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

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm sparing people from inaccurate (or plain wrong) opinions about Daenerys. I made this list simply because I wanted to know all that we find onpage that Daenerys knows when it comes to her ancestors, dragonlore and history.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

The dragonlords of old Valyria had controlled their mounts with binding spells and sorcerous horns.

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

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

In Westeros the dead of House Targaryen were given to the flames, but who would light her pyre here?

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“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.

The bones on the floor of the pit were deeper than the last time she had been down here, and the walls and floors were black and grey, more ash than brick. They would not hold much longer … but behind them was only earth and stone. Can dragons tunnel through rock, like the firewyrms of old Valyria? She hoped not.

“You ... you mean to ride them?”

“One of them. All I know of dragons is what my brother told me when I was a girl, and some I read in books, but it is said that even Aegon the Conqueror never dared mount Vhagar or Meraxes, nor did his sisters ride Balerion the Black Dread. Dragons live longer than men, some for hundreds of years, so Balerion had other riders after Aegon died ... but no rider ever flew two dragons.”

“I ... I have the blood of the dragon in me as well, Your Grace. I can trace my lineage back to the first Daenerys, the Targaryen princess who was sister to King Daeron the Good and wife to the Prince of Dorne. He built the Water Gardens for her.”

“The Water Gardens?” She knew little and less of Dorne or its history, if truth be told.

“My father’s favorite palace. It would please me to show them to you one day. They are all of pink marble, with pools and fountains, overlooking the sea.”

“They sound lovely.”

“Tell me of this other Daenerys. I know less than I should of the history of my father’s kingdom. I never had a maester growing up.” Only a brother.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Grace,” said Quentyn.

ADWD Daenerys VII

When Dany told him how Serwyn of the Mirror Shield was haunted by the ghosts of all the knights he’d killed, Daario only laughed.

“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—”

ADWD Daenerys IV

“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.”

ADWD Daenerys III

The cedars that had once grown tall along the coast grew no more, felled by the axes of the Old Empire or consumed by dragonfire when Ghis made war against Valyria. Once the trees had gone, the soil baked beneath the hot sun and blew away in thick red clouds. “It was these calamities that transformed my people into slavers,” Galazza Galare had told her, at the Temple of the Graces. And I am the calamity that will change these slavers back into people, Dany had sworn to herself.

ADWD Daenerys II

“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.

“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 …”

Viserys had told her all the tales when she was little. He loved to talk of dragons. She knew how Harrenhal had fallen. She knew about the Field of Fire and the Dance of the Dragons. One of her forebears, the third Aegon, had seen his own mother devoured by his uncle’s dragon. And there were songs beyond count of villages and kingdoms that lived in dread of dragons till some brave dragonslayer rescued them. At Astapor the slaver’s eyes had melted. On the road to Yunkai, when Daario tossed the heads of Sallor the Bald and Prendahl na Ghezn at her feet, her children made a feast of them. Dragons had no fear of men. And a dragon large enough to gorge on sheep could take a child just as easily.

ADWD Daenerys I

Dragons are fire made flesh. She had read that in one of the books Ser Jorah had given her as a wedding gift.

A crown should not sit easy on the head. One of her royal forebears had said that, once. Some Aegon, but which one? Five Aegons had ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper’s dogs had murdered her brother’s son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. Aegon would have been closer to my age than Viserys. Dany had only been conceived when Aegon and his sister were murdered. Their father, her brother Rhaegar, perished even earlier, slain by the Usurper on the Trident. Her brother Viserys had died screaming in Vaes Dothrak with a crown of molten gold upon his head.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“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.

“Bring me the book I was reading last night.” She wanted to lose herself in the words, in other times and other places. The fat leather-bound volume was full of songs and stories from the Seven Kingdoms. Children’s stories, if truth be told; too simple and fanciful to be true history. All the heroes were tall and handsome, and you could tell the traitors by their shifty eyes. Yet she loved them all the same. Last night she had been reading of the three princesses in the red tower, locked away by the king for the crime of being beautiful.

ASOS Daenerys V

Her captains bowed and left her with her handmaids and her dragons. But as Brown Ben was leaving, Viserion spread his pale white wings and flapped lazily at his head. One of the wings buffeted the sellsword in his face. The white dragon landed awkwardly with one foot on the man’s head and one on his shoulder, shrieked, and flew off again. “He likes you, Ben “ said Dany.

“And well he might.” Brown Ben laughed. “I have me a drop of the dragon blood myself, you know.”

“You?” Dany was startled. Plumm was a creature of the free companies, an amiable mongrel. He had a broad brown face with a broken nose and a head of nappy grey hair, and his Dothraki mother had bequeathed him large, dark, almond-shaped eyes. He claimed to be part Braavosi, part Summer Islander, part Ibbenese, part Qohorik, part Dothraki, part Dornish, and part Westerosi, but this was the first she had heard of Targaryen blood. She gave him a searching look and said, “How could that be?”

“Well,” said Brown Ben, “there was some old Plumm in the Sunset Kingdoms who wed a dragon princess. My grandmama told me the tale. He lived in King Aegon’s day.”

“Which King Aegon?” Dany asked. “Five Aegons have ruled in Westeros.” Her brother’s son would have been the sixth, but the Usurper’s men had dashed his head against a wall.

“Five, were there? Well, that’s a confusion. I could not give you a number, my queen. This old Plumm was a lord, though, must have been a famous fellow in his day, the talk of all the land. The thing was, begging your royal pardon, he had himself a cock six foot long.”

The three bells in Dany’s braid tinkled when she laughed. “You mean inches, I think.”

“Feet,” Brown Ben said firmly. “If it was inches, who’d want to talk about it, now? Your Grace.”

Dany giggled like a little girl. “Did your grandmother claim she’d actually seen this prodigy?”

“That the old crone never did. She was half-Ibbenese and half-Qohorik, never been to Westeros, my grandfather must have told her. Some Dothraki killed him before I was born.”

“And where did your grandfather’s knowledge come from?”

“One of them tales told at the teat, I’d guess.” Brown Ben shrugged. “That’s all I know about Aegon the Unnumbered or old Lord Plumm’s mighty manhood, I fear. I best see to my Sons.”

“Go do that,” Dany told him.

She could see her ships standing out to sea. Balerion floated nearest; the great cog once known as Saduleon, her sails furled. Further out were the galleys Meraxes and Vhagar, formerly Joso’s Prank and Summer Sun. They were Magister Illyrio’s ships, in truth, not hers at all, and yet she had given them new names with hardly a thought. Dragon names, and more; in old Valyria before the Doom, Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar had been gods.

ASOS Daenerys IV

“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.”

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 II

The harpy of Ghis, Dany thought. Old Ghis had fallen five thousand years ago, if she remembered true; its legions shattered by the might of young Valyria, its brick walls pulled down, its streets and buildings turned to ash and cinder by dragonflame, its very fields sown with salt, sulfur, and skulls. The gods of Ghis were dead, and so too its people; these Astapori were mongrels, Ser Jorah said. Even the Ghiscari tongue was largely forgotten; the slave cities spoke the High Valyrian of their conquerors, or what they had made of it.

Yet the symbol of the Old Empire still endured here, though this bronze monster had a heavy chain dangling from her talons, an open manacle at either end. The harpy of Ghis had a thunderbolt in her claws. This is the harpy of Astapor.

“When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done.”

ASOS Daenerys I

“How big will he grow?” Dany asked curiously. “Do you know?”

“In the Seven Kingdoms, there are tales of dragons who grew so huge that they could pluck giant krakens from the seas.”

Dany laughed. “That would be a wondrous sight to see.”

“It is only a tale, Khaleesi,” said her exile knight. “They talk of wise old dragons living a thousand years as well.”

“Well, how long does a dragon live?” She looked up as Viserion swooped low over the ship, his wings beating slowly and stirring the limp sails.

Ser Jorah shrugged. “A dragon’s natural span of days is many times as long as a man’s, or so the songs would have us believe ... but the dragons the Seven Kingdoms knew best were those of House Targaryen. They were bred for war, and in war they died. It is no easy thing to slay a dragon, but it can be done.”

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.”

In time, the dragons would be her most formidable guardians, just as they had been for Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters three hundred years ago.

“Illyrio Mopatis wants you back in Pentos, under his roof. Very well, go to him ... but in your own time, and not alone. Let us see how loyal and obedient these new subjects of yours truly are. Command Groleo to change course for Slaver’s Bay.”

Dany was not certain she liked the sound of that at all. Everything she’d ever heard of the flesh marts in the great slave cities of Yunkai, Meereen, and Astapor was dire and frightening. “What is there for me in Slaver’s Bay?”

“An army,” said Ser Jorah. “If Strong Belwas is so much to your liking you can buy hundreds more like him out of the fighting pits of Meereen ... but it is Astapor I’d set my sails for. In Astapor you can buy Unsullied.”

“The slaves in the spiked bronze hats?” Dany had seen Unsullied guards in the Free Cities, posted at the gates of magisters, archons, and dynasts. “Why should I want Unsullied? They don’t even ride horses, and most of them are fat.”

“The Unsullied you may have seen in Pentos and Myr were household guards. That’s soft service, and eunuchs tend to plumpness in any case. Food is the only vice allowed them. To judge all Unsullied by a few old household slaves is like judging all squires by Arstan Whitebeard, Your Grace. Do you know the tale of the Three Thousand of Qohor?”

“No.” The coverlet slipped off Dany’s shoulder, and she tugged it back into place.

“It was four hundred years ago or more, when the Dothraki first rode out of the east, sacking and burning every town and city in their path. The khal who led them was named Temmo. His khalasar was not so big as Drogo’s, but it was big enough. Fifty thousand, at the least. Half of them braided warriors with bells ringing in their hair.

“The Qohorik knew he was coming. They strengthened their walls, doubled the size of their own guard, and hired two free companies besides, the Bright Banners and the Second Sons. And almost as an afterthought, they sent a man to Astapor to buy three thousand Unsullied. It was a long march back to Qohor, however, and as they approached they saw the smoke and dust and heard the distant din of battle.

“By the time the Unsullied reached the city the sun had set. Crows and wolves were feasting beneath the walls on what remained of the Qohorik heavy horse. The Bright Banners and Second Sons had fled, as sellswords are wont to do in the face of hopeless odds. With dark falling, the Dothraki had retired to their own camps to drink and dance and feast, but none doubted that they would return on the morrow to smash the city gates, storm the walls, and rape, loot, and slave as they pleased.

“But when dawn broke and Temmo and his bloodriders led their khalasar out of camp, they found three thousand Unsullied drawn up before the gates with the Black Goat standard flying over their heads. So small a force could easily have been flanked, but you know Dothraki. These were men on foot, and men on foot are fit only to be ridden down.

“The Dothraki charged. The Unsullied locked their shields, lowered their spears, and stood firm. Against twenty thousand screamers with bells in their hair, they stood firm.

“Eighteen times the Dothraki charged, and broke themselves on those shields and spears like waves on a rocky shore. Thrice Temmo sent his archers wheeling past and arrows fell like rain upon the Three Thousand, but the Unsullied merely lifted their shields above their heads until the squall had passed. In the end only six hundred of them remained ... but more than twelve thousand Dothraki lay dead upon that field, including Khal Temmo, his bloodriders, his kos, and all his sons. On the morning of the fourth day, the new khal led the survivors past the city gates in a stately procession. One by one, each man cut off his braid and threw it down before the feet of the Three Thousand.

“Since that day, the city guard of Qohor has been made up solely of Unsullied, every one of whom carries a tall spear from which hangs a braid of human hair.

“That is what you will find in Astapor, Your Grace. Put ashore there, and continue on to Pentos overland. It will take longer, yes ... but when you break bread with Magister Illyrio, you will have a thousand swords behind you, not just four.”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

“The dragon has three heads,” she sighed. “Do you know what that means, Jorah?”

“Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black.”

“I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons.”

“The three heads were Aegon and his sisters.”

“Visenya and Rhaenys,” she recalled. “I am descended from Aegon and Rhaenys through their son Aenys and their grandson Jaehaerys.”

“His is the song of ice and fire, my brother said. I’m certain it was my brother. Not Viserys, Rhaegar. He had a harp with silver strings.”

Ser Jorah’s frown deepened until his eyebrows came together. “Prince Rhaegar played such a harp,” he conceded. “You saw him?”

She nodded. “There was a woman in a bed with a babe at her breast. My brother said the babe was the prince that was promised and told her to name him Aegon.”

“Prince Aegon was Rhaegar’s heir by Elia of Dorne,” Ser Jorah said. “But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall.”

“I remember,” Dany said sadly. “They murdered Rhaegar’s daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon’s sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?”

“It’s no song I’ve ever heard.”

ACOK Daenerys I

Such little things, she thought as she fed them by hand, or rather, tried to feed them, for the dragons would not eat. They would hiss and spit at each bloody morsel of horsemeat, steam rising from their nostrils, yet they would not take the food ... until Dany recalled something Viserys had told her when they were children.

Only dragons and men eat cooked meat, he had said.

“Aegon’s dragons were named for the gods of Old Valyria,” she told her bloodriders one morning after a long night’s journey. “Visenya’s dragon was Vhagar, Rhaenys had Meraxes, and Aegon rode Balerion, the Black Dread. It was said that Vhagar’s breath was so hot that it could melt a knight’s armor and cook the man inside, that Meraxes swallowed horses whole, and Balerion ... his fire was as black as his scales, his wings so vast that whole towns were swallowed up in their shadow when he passed overhead.”

The Dothraki looked at her hatchlings uneasily. The largest of her three was shiny black, his scales slashed with streaks of vivid scarlet to match his wings and horns. “Khaleesi,” Aggo murmured, “there sits Balerion, come again.”

If I had wings, I would want to fly too, Dany thought. The Targaryens of old had ridden upon dragonback when they went to war. She tried to imagine what it would feel like, to straddle a dragon’s neck and soar high into the air. It would be like standing on a mountaintop, only better. The whole world would be spread out below. If I flew high enough, I could even see the Seven Kingdoms, and reach up and touch the comet.

“Tell me the name of your ghost, Jorah. You know all of mine.”

His face grew very still. “Her name was Lynesse.” “Your wife?” “My second wife.”

It pains him to speak of her, Dany saw, but she wanted to know the truth. “Is that all you would say of her?” The lion pelt slid off one shoulder and she tugged it back into place. “Was she beautiful?”

“Very beautiful.” Ser Jorah lifted his eyes from her shoulder to her face. “The first time I beheld her, I thought she was a goddess come to earth, the Maid herself made flesh. Her birth was far above my own. She was the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower of Oldtown. The White Bull who commanded your father’s Kingsguard was her great-uncle. The Hightowers are an ancient family, very rich and very proud.”

“And loyal,” Dany said. “I remember, Viserys said the Hightowers were among those who stayed true to my father.”

“That’s so,” he admitted.

“Did your fathers make the match?”

“No,” he said. “Our marriage ... that makes a long tale and a dull one, Your Grace. I would not trouble you with it.”

“I have nowhere to go,” she said. “Please.”

“As my queen commands.” Ser Jorah frowned. “My home ... you must understand that to understand the rest. Bear Island is beautiful, but remote. Imagine old gnarled oaks and tall pines, flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. The hall of the Mormonts is built of huge logs and surrounded by an earthen palisade. Aside from a few crofters, my people live along the coasts and fish the seas. The island lies far to the north, and our winters are more terrible than you can imagine, Khaleesi.”

“Still, the island suited me well enough, and I never lacked for women. I had my share of fishwives and crofter’s daughters, before and after I was wed. I married young, to a bride of my father’s choosing, a Glover of Deepwood Motte. Ten years we were wed, or near enough as makes no matter. She was a plain-faced woman, but not unkind. I suppose I came to love her after a fashion, though our relations were dutiful rather than passionate. Three times she miscarried while trying to give me an heir. The last time she never recovered. She died not long after.”

Dany put her hand on his and gave his fingers a squeeze. “I am sorry for you, truly.”

Ser Jorah nodded. “By then my father had taken the black, so I was Lord of Bear Island in my own right. I had no lack of marriage offers, but before I could reach a decision Lord Balon Greyjoy rose in rebellion against the Usurper, and Ned Stark called his banners to help his friend Robert. The final battle was on Pyke. When Robert’s stonethrowers opened a breach in King Balon’s wall, a priest from Myr was the first man through, but I was not far behind. For that I won my knighthood.”

“To celebrate his victory, Robert ordained that a tourney should be held outside Lannisport. It was there I saw Lynesse, a maid half my age. She had come up from Oldtown with her father to see her brothers joust. I could not take my eyes off her. In a fit of madness, I begged her favor to wear in the tourney, never dreaming she would grant my request, yet she did.”

“I fight as well as any man, Khaleesi, but I have never been a tourney knight. Yet with Lynesse’s favor knotted round my arm, I was a different man. I won joust after joust. Lord Jason Mallister fell before me, and Bronze Yohn Royce. Ser Ryman Frey, his brother Ser Hosteen, Lord Whent, Strongboar, even Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard, I unhorsed them all. In the last match, I broke nine lances against Jaime Lannister to no result, and King Robert gave me the champion’s laurel. I crowned Lynesse queen of love and beauty, and that very night went to her father and asked for her hand. I was drunk, as much on glory as on wine. By rights I should have gotten a contemptuous refusal, but Lord Leyton accepted my offer. We were married there in Lannisport, and for a fortnight I was the happiest man in the wide world.”

“Only a fortnight?” asked Dany. Even I was given more happiness than that, with Drogo who was my sun-and-stars.

“A fortnight was how long it took us to sail from Lannisport back to Bear Island. My home was a great disappointment to Lynesse. It was too cold, too damp, too far away, my castle no more than a wooden longhall. We had no masques, no mummer shows, no balls or fairs. Seasons might pass without a singer ever coming to play for us, and there’s not a goldsmith on the island. Even meals became a trial. My cook knew little beyond his roasts and stews, and Lynesse soon lost her taste for fish and venison.”

“I lived for her smiles, so I sent all the way to Oldtown for a new cook, and brought a harper from Lannisport. Goldsmiths, jewelers, dressmakers, whatever she wanted I found for her, but it was never enough. Bear Island is rich in bears and trees, and poor in aught else. I built a fine ship for her and we sailed to Lannisport and Oldtown for festivals and fairs, and once even to Braavos, where I borrowed heavily from the moneylenders. It was as a tourney champion that I had won her hand and heart, so I entered other tourneys for her sake, but the magic was gone. I never distinguished myself again, and each defeat meant the loss of another charger and another suit of jousting armor, which must needs be ransomed or replaced. The cost could not be borne. Finally I insisted we return home, but there matters soon grew even worse than before. I could no longer pay the cook and the harper, and Lynesse grew wild when I spoke of pawning her jewels.”

“The rest ... I did things it shames me to speak of. For gold. So Lynesse might keep her jewels, her harper, and her cook. In the end it cost me all. When I heard that Eddard Stark was coming to Bear Island, I was so lost to honor that rather than stay and face his judgment, I took her with me into exile. Nothing mattered but our love, I told myself. We fled to Lys, where I sold my ship for gold to keep us.”

His voice was thick with grief, and Dany was reluctant to press him any further, yet she had to know how it ended. “Did she die there?” she asked him gently.

“Only to me,” he said. “In half a year my gold was gone, and I was obliged to take service as a sellsword. While I was fighting Braavosi on the Rhoyne, Lynesse moved into the manse of a merchant prince named Tregar Ormollen. They say she is his chief concubine now, and even his wife goes in fear of her.”

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys VIII

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

She told herself she would die for him, if she must. She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.

AGOT Daenerys III

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” she asked as Irri scrubbed her back and Jhiqui sluiced sand from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai and the islands of the Jade Sea. Perhaps some were still living there, in realms strange and wild.

“Dragons are gone, Khaleesi,” Irri said.

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

Viserys had told her that the last Targaryen dragons had died no more than a century and a half ago, during the reign of Aegon III, who was called the Dragonbane. That did not seem so long ago to Dany. “Everywhere?” she said, disappointed. “Even in the east?” Magic had died in the west when the Doom fell on Valyria and the Lands of the Long Summer, and neither spell-forged steel nor stormsingers nor dragons could hold it back, but Dany had always heard that the east was different. It was said that manticores prowled the islands of the Jade Sea, that basilisks infested the jungles of Yi Ti, that spellsingers, warlocks, and aeromancers practiced their arts openly in Asshai, while shadowbinders and bloodmages worked terrible sorceries in the black of night. Why shouldn’t there be dragons too?

“No dragon,” Irri said. “Brave men kill them, for dragon terrible evil beasts. It is known.” “It is known,” agreed Jhiqui.

“A trader from Qarth once told me that dragons came from the moon,” blond Doreah said as she warmed a towel over the fire. Jhiqui and Irri were of an age with Dany, Dothraki girls taken as slaves when Drogo destroyed their father’s khalasar. Doreah was older, almost twenty. Magister Illyrio had found her in a pleasure house in Lys.

Silvery-wet hair tumbled across her eyes as Dany turned her head, curious. “The moon?”

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

The two Dothraki girls giggled and laughed. “You are foolish strawhead slave,” Irri said. “Moon is no egg. Moon is god, woman wife of sun. It is known.”

“It is known,” Jhiqui agreed.

AGOT Daenerys I

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper’s hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother’s crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother “the beggar king.” Dany did not want to know what they called her.

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

“Drogo is so rich that even his slaves wear golden collars. A hundred thousand men ride in his khalasar, and his palace in Vaes Dothrak has two hundred rooms and doors of solid silver.” There was more like that, so much more, what a handsome man the khal was, so tall and fierce, fearless in battle, the best rider ever to mount a horse, a demon archer. Daenerys said nothing. She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian.

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

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thaisibir · 4 years

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La Vie en Rose (Bede and young!Opal time travel fic)

La Vie en Rose (Life in Pink) Rating: T (for character deaths and language) Chapter 4/10 - Love Story (length: ~4k words) Summary: Bede doesn’t get why that loony old bat Opal wants him to be the next Fairy-type Gym Leader. To help him understand, Opal has Celebi take Bede back to the time of her youth.

(For other chapters, look up the tag “pokemon la vie en rose” or go to my profile)

The doctor at the clinic identified fatigue and dehydration as the culprit of Roger’s condition. The man had to lie in bed and receive IV treatment.

The doctor turned to Opal, who had been watching with quiet concern from the threshold of the treatment room. “Should be right as rain in a few days,” he said, “given enough rest and fluids, anyway.”

Bede could tell that she had a handful of questions at the tip of her tongue. Of course she would. He would too, if he ran into a strange, apparently homeless man in the woods.

Finally she told the doctor, “I’ll go see how his Pokemon are doing.”

Bede followed her to Ballonlea’s Pokemon Center across the street, where the nurse had been treating Roger’s Mightyena and Linoone. Their coats were no longer dirty and untidy, but clean and smooth. They perked their ears and wagged their tails when they saw Opal stride up to them.

“Don’t worry, you two, your Trainer’s doing fine at the clinic,” she assured them. “He still needs to be in bed, though. I’m here to pick you up and take you to him, if you’ll let me.”

The two Pokemon exchanged a glance, and Mightyena hopped down from the examination counter to stand at her side. She extended her arms, inviting Linoone to be held. It jumped into her embrace, then surprised her as it scrabbled at the fabric of her dress shirt to curl around her neck and shoulders.

She chuckled. “You prefer that, then?”

Linoone replied with an affirmative grunt.

“Poke balls really weren’t around back then, huh?” Bede asked Celebi. “I don’t think twice about having them. They sure are convenient.”

The two Pokemon accompanied Opal dutifully and quietly until she returned to the clinic. Roger sat up in his bed as soon as he heard Mightyena and Linoone calling for him. The doctor rushed into the room to click his tongue at the Pokemon.

“No jumping on the bed, now,” he told them. “And keep it down. You’ll disturb the other patients.”

Mightyena and Linoone’s excitement couldn’t be curbed until Roger had to repeat the doctor’s orders gently, with a smile behind his unkempt facial hair. Bede noticed that Opal tried to hide her own smile. It was clear to him and her that the two Pokemon found a kind and good friend in Roger.

“You’ll have to stay in the clinic overnight,” the doctor said to Roger. “Then you can be discharged if you’re stable the next day. After that, you’re out of my hands, I’m afraid.”

Roger scratched the back of his head. “It’s already been obvious to this young lady here, but I’m embarrassed to say that I have no place to stay.”

“There’s plenty of space at the theatre,” Opal said. “We can clear out a room for you.”

Roger’s eyes widened. “The Ballonlea Theatre? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—“

“That’s the next best place. The inn’s under construction.” A mischievous light glinted in Opal’s blue eyes. “Between the theatre and sharing a house with me, an unmarried woman, the rules of society dictate that the first option is a bit less strange and a bit more acceptable.”

That made Roger laugh. “You have a point there. I appreciate your kindness, Miss—um...”

“Opal. My name’s Opal. How do you do?” She reached out to shake his hand, paying no heed to his embarrassment and reluctance to extend his own hand. Perhaps he thought she would be disgusted by his shabbiness. Her initiative seemed to surprise and delight him as his face lit up.

Bede thought he might’ve seen a spark of something as their hands linked. Maybe because he knew years later what would happen between the two.

The next day, after Roger’s condition improved and he was well enough to leave the clinic, Opal had the Ballonlea Theatre’s makeup department clean him up. She passed the time by training her Pokemon in the empty stadium. Well, empty when Bede and Celebi didn’t count.

It was like watching a rehearsal for dancers and actors, which didn’t surprise Bede at all. Weezing, Mawile, Togekiss, and Alcremie practiced their moves with finesse and grace. In between her orders, Opal called out encouragement and praise for their top form.

“Ms. Opal sure likes to put on a good show for everything,” Bede said to Celebi, who chirped in agreement.

He remembered one of the many pieces of unsolicited advice she had given him: “My boy, even in defeat, it is the duty of us Gym Leaders to give the audience a spectacle worth watching.”

Opal lived by that for a very long time. She never lost her flair for the dramatic. Small wonder that even to the present day, she had scores of fans when she otherwise might’ve been pushed aside and overshadowed by younger stars like Nessa and Raihan. Watching the early days of Opal’s passion not only for Pokemon battling, but for making it an art, put a smile on Bede’s face.

The training only stopped when a Gym Trainer showed up at the stadium entrance. “Miss Opal, we’re done,” she called. Then she winked and said, “Mr. Roger’s ready for you.”

Bede saw with amusement that Opal didn’t acknowledge the Gym Trainer’s suggestive tone as she gathered her Pokemon to her side and strode back into the theatre.

Roger emerged a transformed man. A dark, closely fit suit accentuated his tall, slender build. His beard was neatly trimmed. His hair was combed back and closely cropped. All in all, much closer to the dashing gentleman Bede recognized in the old photos.

Opal’s gaze briskly swept him head to toe. Bede noticed that her cheeks turned a bit red at the sight of Roger. A spark of something definitely went off there.

“How do you like your new look?” She asked.

“Very much, thank you, ma’am.” He shook his head and turned up his palms. ”How can I ever repay you?”

Opal held up a hand. “No need for that. My Gym Trainers and I don’t mind accommodating you. Isn’t that right, ladies?”

“Certainly,” one of them said before they all dissolved into light giggles behind their hands.

Opal silenced them with a pointed look under a raised eyebrow, then turned her attention back to Roger. “Besides, frankly you don’t look like you’re in any shape to repay us.”

Though she kept her tone gentle without judgment, Roger sighed and averted his gaze out of shame. “It’s true. I’ve been barely scraping by. My Pokemon and I have roamed far and wide, living day by day off of whatever battle money we can get.” He cracked a sheepish smirk. “And I’m not a very good battler.”

“Well, as you may or may not be aware, Ballonlea Theatre also functions as a Gym,” Opal replied. “We are fully staffed, so I have no need for more Trainers to keep our Gym challenge running. We do, however, need someone to fill in for a role in a play we are trying to put together.” She eyed Roger with interest. “You might just be the one we need.”

Roger tugged at his new tie. “You flatter me, Miss.”

“I say ‘might’ because you’ll have to audition first. I have no doubt that you’ll pass with flying colors, though.” Opal walked over to a table and pulled out a few papers to hand to Roger. “Here’s the casting call and script. We’re supposed to end the call today, but I’ll make an exception for you. Will you be up for auditioning tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes, Miss Opal, I can.”

“Very good. I heard you singing when you were on the verge of collapse. I look forward to hearing you sing at your best.”

Bede didn’t hear any more of the conversation as Celebi took his hands. The flash of light coming from Celebi was so short that Bede didn’t have time to shut his eyes. Must have been a tiny skip in time.

They jumped to the next day. Roger’s performance during his audition had Opal floored. She was so impressed that she actually went up on stage to sing along with him—something she had never done with the other candidates.

She treated him to dinner later at the Dancing Impidimp, Ballonlea’s premier cafe not too far from the Gym. Bede sat down at a table for two next to them, just in time for him to catch Opal exclaiming in disbelief, “You mean to tell me that you were never classically trained?”

She had almost dropped her cup of tea in the process.

“It’s true,” Roger said modestly. “I never went to school for theatre and singing. Couldn’t afford it.”

“Well, you must have learned somehow.” She sounded more curious and astonished than accusatory.

“When I was young, before I turned ten to become a Trainer, a traveling troupe would visit my home town once in a while to perform. I was enraptured. I committed the notes and steps of all the songs to memory. I wanted to dance and sing just like them. Unfortunately, when I became old enough to join that troupe, they disbanded. My family was too poor to send me to a proper school, so I tried my hand at making money as a Pokemon Trainer, but that didn’t work out so well, either.”

Opal inclined her head at him. “Where did you grow up? I gather from your lack of a Galarian accent that you’re not from around here, I know that much.”

“I’m from Hoenn, ma’am.”

She raised her eyebrows for a moment. “You’ve come a long way, Mr. Roger.”

“I’m from Littleroot Town, to be exact. Maybe you’ve heard of it? I won’t be surprised at all if you haven’t. It’s a sleepy little town, a blip on the map.”

“I can’t say that I’ve heard of it,” she admitted.

“Me neither,” Bede said, knowing that only Celebi would hear him. He had never set foot outside of Galar. It made sense that Roger came from Hoenn. Mightyenas were not local to the Galar region.

“I’m sorry to hear that you’ve had a rough upbringing,” Opal went on after a sip of her tea. “It’s a shame that your talents weren’t recognized. You have an amazing voice. You have the part, for sure. I’ll pay you generously for your contribution to the play.”

Roger raised his hands as if he was trying to stop her. “Miss Opal, you’ve already done so much for me. You gave me a place to stay, let me keep new clothes, and gave me work to do. Any more and you’ll make me very guilty.”

“Oh, don’t be guilty about it. I have a lot of money to spare. Trust me.” Then she raised a hand to her chest. “Oh, dear. That must’ve come off as quite snobby.” She cleared her throat. “What I mean to say is that you deserve reward for your talent, and that I have no reservations about supporting you wholeheartedly. At least, until the play is done and you can get back on your feet.”

Roger beamed at her. “Thank you. I think I’m going to enjoy my time here.”

Celebi touched Bede’s hands once more and they jumped forward in time. He ended up back in the theatre, facing the stage, among a packed audience that sent up a rousing applause for the actors assembled for the final bow. Opal and Roger, decked out in stunning, classy costumes, were among those who bowed with broad grins and a flourish.

Celebi tugged at Bede’s sleeve, beckoning him to follow Opal and her Gym Trainers to the dressing room.

Bede frowned. “I don’t know, Celebi, that’s the room for women—“

“Bi!” The time-traveling Pokemon gave him a playful shove from behind. He had no choice but to duck into the door before the last woman inside shut it behind her.

“Stunning duet, as always, Miss Opal,” one of the Trainers remarked.

“You and Roger make such a great team,” another Trainer said.

“And a great couple, one day,” said yet another Trainer with a giggle.

Opal rolled her eyes as she scrubbed off makeup before the mirror. “Ladies, please. Don’t get all your skirts in a ruffle. The man’s twelve years older than me. He would be more interested in a woman his age.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said the Gym Trainer with a gleam in her eye. “Have you seen the way he can barely take his eyes off of you when we rehearse and perform? He’s absolutely smitten by you.”

“Who can blame the poor man? You are a prime specimen of charm and beauty, Miss Opal.”

Opal snatched up a fan from the box of props sitting nearby and swatted at the teasing Gym Trainers. “Enough of this. He and I are just playing our parts. Nothing to it.”

“Oh, it’s much more than that, Miss Opal. You just don’t see it yet.”

The young Ballonlea Gym Leader huffed in exasperation. “I’ll never change out of costume in peace with you ladies around.” With a scowl and reddened cheeks, she put attitude into unbuttoning her dress while the women continued to laugh and tease her.

Celebi spared Bede from looking anymore as it took his hands.

Bede ended up back at the Dancing Impidimp, where Opal and Roger sat down for lunch.

“You would like the usual, I presume?” The waiter asked them.

“Yes, please,” Opal replied, and the waiter took their orders with a knowing smile.

“They must come here a lot,” Bede remarked to Celebi.

On the table between the two were a stack of papers bound by clips, so the breeze wouldn’t blow them away. Bede wondered what those were when Opal said, “Now I know why you insisted that you didn’t want your backpack thrown away with all your old clothes. All these plays you wrote...they’re brilliant. I can’t believe that no one would take them.”

“There’s no market for plays in Hoenn,” Roger replied. “Pokemon Contests are all the rage there. I tried taking them to Unova, but Pokestar Studios make films and have no interest in plays. So I made my way here, because I got word that the Ballonlea Theatre takes a chance on original plays.”

“You heard correctly. We’ve always had a reputation for being avant-garde. Yes, we usually run the classic and established plays, but when we find a story that’s good enough, we take that to the stage as well. And everything you have here is more than good enough, Roger. You are a born storyteller. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Roger laughed. “Well, I can barely put up a good fight in a Pokemon battle. Don’t believe me? Ask Mightyena and Obstagoon, the poor chaps. I’m just not cut out for thinking on my feet and following my intuition. I lost to enough Trainers half my age that it’s quite embarrassing. And I lost count of the number of times I was tempted to burn these scripts, just for a warmer fire at night.”

“I’m glad you didn’t throw them into the fire. I would love to have the theatre perform these plays you’ve written. We’ve run dry on originality these days. We could use a breath of fresh air.”

Roger raised an eyebrow. “Even if the ending’s tragic and everyone dies?”

“Especially that,” Opal replied. “I love the power and poignancy of sad stories. I love wringing a few tears out of the audience.”

“You are quite the sadist,” he joked.

“Says the one who writes those kind of stories.”

“Touche.”

Bede noticed the change in atmosphere since the two had shared a meal at the Dancing Impidimp for the first time. All throughout their banter, they leaned their heads closer, the space between them smaller. They had grown comfortable enough around each other to laugh freely and easily. Neither of them needed to reach over much to brush hands. It was only a matter of time before the two took their relationship further. But how much time?

Celebi answered that by clasping Bede’s hands. This time Celebi took him through brief snapshots, compounded into a compilation of increasingly intimate moments between Opal and Roger.

He watched the two spend long hours in the theatre, collaborating to bring a creative vision from paper to stage. The table Opal had once occupied alone to assess auditions was now shared with Roger as they bent over stacks of scripts to discuss. They would share a pack of cigarettes during these sessions. Many animated conversations were held, and sometimes they escalated to heated proportions when the two disagreed.

To Bede’s dismay, Celebi brought time traveling to a halt to focus on their most heated argument.

Roger frowned across the table at Opal. “I don’t want to make that kind of change to the script.”

She tapped the end of her cigarette into the ashtray. “It won’t look good on stage. Please, Roger, you need to reconsider.”

“You’re asking me to butcher a character beyond recognition.”

She loudly expelled a huff of frustration and smoke from her mouth. “It’s not butchering. You call rewriting a few lines of dialogue butchering?”

“Yes, because those few lines are the essential pivot to the plot!”

Mightyena was curled up in a napping position close to the table, and at Roger’s raised voice, it raised its head and growled at Opal.

She briefly pressed fingers to her temple. “I don’t know any other way to say this without telling it to you straight: the way you portray this character is sexist. It’s painfully clear to me because I am a woman and you’re not.”

That statement from her stamped disbelief all over Roger’s face. “I’m not trying to be—“

“I know you’re not, but being unintentionally sexist is still sexist.” Opal folded her arms across her chest. “You’re not helping your case by challenging me here.”

“I still can’t see where you’re coming from. I tried. I really did. I think you’re looking too much into it.”

“What more can I do to make you see things my way?”

“Your way? These are my stories.” Roger stood up to glare down at Opal. “If there’s something that I don’t want to change, you’d better respect that.”

“And this is my stage.“ She rose from her seat to get nose-to-nose with him. “Your stories aren’t going anywhere without my say so. Your stories aren’t meant to sit on the shelves. They’re meant to be acted out on stage.” Her eyes narrowed to cold blue slits. “I’ve had years of training and experience on the place your stories are meant to be. So you’d better respect that.”

“We’re pulling out the education and fancy degree cards now? When you know that I don’t have one?” Roger’s voice was sharp with scorn. “I didn’t expect you to stoop that low, Opal, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Because you’re the most arrogant, stuck-up, controlling woman I’ve had the displeasure of knowing.”

Opal flinched back as if he had struck her with his hand. Wide-eyed anger rendered her speechless for a moment, then hurt seeped into her face as her brow furrowed and her lower lip quivered. She crushed the cigarette in her hand and let it fall into the ashtray. What she said next came out tight and clipped, but not to Roger. “Weezing, use Fairy Wind.”

She turned on her heel and stormed away from Roger just as her Pokemon floating nearby unleashed the attack on him. He cried out and threw up his hands, sneezing and coughing while Opal fled the theatre.

Bede too was taken by surprise. He squeezed his eyes shut despite not being affected by the sparkling puff like Roger. He blinked his eyes open in time to catch Celebi flying after Opal. He took off after it.

He heard Roger mutter to himself, “Roger, you idiot.” Then he called, “Opal, come back!”

In a time before Poke balls, Pokemon like Rapidash were kept in a stable. The theatre had a stable nearby. Bede ran outside to see Opal free one of the Rapidash from its stall in the stable. Tears ran unchecked down her face. Once she jumped on the Rapidash, she spurred it to a gallop. The Pokemon, startled and confused by her abruptness, reared back and whinnied before following her command. Bede jumped out of the way as the Rapidash hurtled past him.

“Great. How am I supposed to follow her now?” He asked Celebi. He was a fast runner, but there was no way he could catch up with a Rapidash.

But Celebi hovered in place, watching Opal and Rapidash take off in the direction of Glimwood Tangle. Not too far from Bede, Roger had burst out from behind the Gym doors, still coughing and blinking in confusion at the dwindling Opal.

“Opal, please, come back,” he cried.

But she disappeared with the Rapidash into the woods. A few seconds later, Bede heard a terrible scream. He and Roger broke into a run in response. When they reached the edge of Glimwood Tangle, Opal was sprawled on her back, her face and voice twisted in agony. The Rapidash she had been riding didn’t run off, but remained nearby, stamping its hooves in mixed agitation and guilt. Clearly Opal had fallen off the Rapidash.

Bede stood where he was, frozen in horror, while Roger ran up to Opal with arms outstretched, ready to pick her up.

“No, don’t,” she gasped. “I think I broke my back.” She crushed grass into her fists, and all she could get out next was a ragged, drawn out scream of pain.

Roger had to run back into town to get help, and Opal had to be moved onto a stretcher because she couldn’t even sit up. She spent the rest of that day bound to a bed at the Stow-On-Side Hospital. The doctors there found that she had fractured a few bones along her spine, and had torn several muscles of her lower back.

That explains her bad back, Bede thought. He didn’t think she had gotten it this young, though, in her early twenties. He had always thought it was just from her being so old.

Roger stayed close to Opal’s side throughout the medical evaluation and diagnosis. So did Bede and Celebi.

Opal had a tight grip on Roger’s hand through her painful ordeal, before the painkillers kicked in, and he let her hold his hand.

“Opal, I’m so, so sorry,” he murmured. “This is all my fault.”

“No, I’m the one who shouldn’t have jumped on a bloody Rapidash, of all Pokemon, while I was upset and not thinking straight.” She cracked a smirk. “Not a good idea, Roger. I don’t recommend it.”

He didn’t laugh to her weak attempt at humor. “I hurt you. That’s what led to all of this. I’ve thought about your input on the script since coming to the hospital, and you were right. I should’ve listened to you. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

“No. You were right to call me out. I had been arrogant, and...” She trailed off and blinked several times, apparently a bit loopy and scatterbrained from all the medications. “What else did you call me?”

“Stuck-up and controlling,” Roger said in a small voice.

“Ah, that’s right. I had to get off my high horse, so I did. Literally.” Opal laughed at her own joke, then looked like she regretted laughing as she winced.

Roger squeezed her hand. “I don’t know where I would be without you, Opal. I have a place to stay, decent clothes to wear, enough food to eat, a job that I enjoy, all thanks to you.”

She smiled up at him. “Well, I don’t do that for just anybody, you know. You have so much talent that I would be a fool to ignore. I love your vision and your voice, and...” She blushed. “I love you.”

Roger drew away in shock, but didn’t let go of her hand, and his own face reddened. “I...I love you, too.”

Coming from sixty years down the line, this came as no surprise to Bede. Still, suddenly he felt that he was intruding on a private moment, and that he ought to wait outside or something.

Opal drew in a sharp breath. “You...you really love me?”

“From the moment I laid my eyes on you, when you stumbled into me in the woods. Of course I didn’t admit it back then, but you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I thought I was hallucinating.”

Roger’s confession made Opal blush even harder. “I fell in love with your voice first,” she said. “You completely drew me in. I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever felt that...that enchanted.” She furrowed her brow. “Perhaps the last time was when I discovered my love for Fairy type Pokemon, when I was a little girl given a Togepi egg.” Then she averted her gaze from Roger, to fix it at the end of her white, clean hospital bed. “I was born into a wealthy and powerful family in Wynwall. I didn’t like growing up there. I wanted to escape. I wanted to prove to the world that I wasn’t a girl who only knew money and things handed to her on a silver platter. So I left for Ballonlea Town. Worked hard under my mother’s tutelage. I tried to leave my roots behind. Apparently I didn’t.” She shook her head against the pillow and sighed. “I am the youngest and only female Gym Leader in Galar, Roger.” Her eyes grew wet with tears. “I suppose, in my efforts to compensate, to prove myself to all the older men, I could never let go of being the stuck-up rich girl I was meant to be.”

Roger reached out to gently brush away the tears on her cheeks with his thumb. “I doubt that you would have given me a second glance if you really are that stuck-up. You can be a little haughty, to be honest, and comfortable with being in charge, but that’s because you run a Gym and a theatre. You have all my admiration and respect for that.” He lifted her hand to kiss the back of it. “You’re not just beautiful, but strong, passionate, and you care so much about Pokemon and theatre. I love you for all of that.”

He leaned over to plant a soft, tender kiss on her lips.

Bede let out a small groan and covered his eyes. Celebi uttered something close to a tinkering laugh and touched both of his hands.

Bede opened his eyes and lowered his hands to find himself back at the Ballonlea Theatre. The actors had finished performing a play and split up after the final bow. All except for Roger, who stood where he was at the center of the stage, and Opal, whose hand was taken by Roger before she could walk away. Along with everyone else in the audience, Bede gasped as Roger lowered himself on one knee and presented Opal with a ring.

“This is not an act,” Roger declared, not just to the audience, but to her. “This is for life. Opal, will you marry me?”

Bede knew that she would say yes. What he didn’t know until now was how that moment came about so publicly, and of course, theatrically. He found himself grinning widely and clapping with the audience as Opal threw herself into Roger’s arms and buried tears of joy into his costume.

Celebi interrupted his clapping by taking his hands. The time-traveling Pokemon never made him leave the theatre, but still transported him to a time when that theatre turned into a site for a wedding.

Amid the gathering of colorful flowers and Fairy type Pokemon, and standing with rows of witnesses, Bede looked up to see Opal and Roger, the bride and the groom, reciting their vows. Their Pokemon stood beside them—Mightyena and Obstagoon next to Roger, and Mawile, Togekiss, Weezing, and Alcremie next to Opal. Looking at her now took Bede’s breath away. Her pixie-like dark hair, coupled with the white, flowing dress and a sparkling lacy veil, made for a stunning, radiant sight. If he hadn’t known any better, he might’ve thought she was a princess. He had seen the old photos, but that didn’t hold a candle to seeing it for himself.

His voice was soft with awe and wonder. “Wow, Celebi...Ms. Opal is so beautiful.”

Opal and Roger sealed the ceremony with a long, deep kiss, becoming husband and wife. This time, Bede didn’t cover his eyes.

Notes: Sometimes I think I’m pushing the envelope with the 12-year age gap between Opal and Roger, but then I think of how the real Maria and Captain von Trapp, the couple who inspired The Sound of Music, were 25 years apart, and I don’t feel as bad.

Speaking of The Sound of Music, musical inspiration for this chapter is: Laendler!

I imagine Roger to look like Gregory Peck, the actor best known for playing Atticus Finch in the film adaptation of To Kill A Mockingbird. He was in Roman Holiday too, another favorite film of mine. I just love old timey things, if you can’t already tell.

#pokemon sword and shield #pokemon swsh #swsh bede #swsh opal #pokemon bede #pokemon opal #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon fic #pokemon la vie en rose

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archived--hell · 6 years

Note

1, 2, 17, honestly all of them if you’re up to it

1 - already answered

2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs?

L O R D T jupiter fuck man got damn id die for jupiter

3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?

i have adopted characters before, but ive never done anything with them, and i have received characters Back from people but besides that nah

4. A character you rarely talk about?

HI PLEASE I BEG OF YOU ASK ABOUT THE GODS PLE AS E IM DYING

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be?

fuck uh.. honestly if its only semi popular would i do this bc being Well Known would be nice, yeah, but.. it scares me? idk but uh probably leo or aero, theyre two boys i hold close to my heart

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?

:) eldur and leo kinda? idk i try not to make any of them look alike rip

7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories?

YES! theyre actually all part of one universe called cooking with demons! i have a whole game planned out for the man cast kinda? but all in all its all set within one universe, with multiple different stories occurring within it jhfdksg

8 - already answered

9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else?

unless specfifically made for them upon request, no. ive already tried that once and it lead to me losing any and all control i had over my characters. At this moment, i only “share” a few ocs with my boyfriend @coffee-burglar and even then, its taken almost a year to even be able to do that

10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design?

uh, all of them are kinda complicated for me, but as of right now, that would go to leos full form. (if u want a ref hmu and ill post it, but it wont be my art)

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”?

like a ray of sunshine? yeah! angel and stitch would fit perfectly for that!

12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot

@coffee-burglar their oc chrome n koh, or derek but thats bc im a hoe

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?

aero, jhor, innis, leo are all trouble makers to some degree, leo being the most trouble some

14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory

uhhhh fuck what counts as tragic?

i guess id have to say leo or jupiter mostly, but eldur fits too

15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?

if youd let me i would yell about these fucks for hours on end, ive done it

16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)?

the best but wouldnt enjoy it: Jupiterthe best and would absolutely enjoy it: colby

17. Any OC OTPs?

stitch/lavaaero/kohcolby/derek/inniswill/happiness aeyr/Eberictderek/Xhaztolleo/eldur

18. Any OC crackships?

jhfkdfsjghdfkjhgdkfjsgl i never talk abt it but will/aero is fucking A+

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

ah,, leo. i originally made him to project the worst in myself onto, and because of that ive made his life a living shit hole. but,, recently ive been hell bent on giving him a good ending, one where he heals, and lives his life ok, where he finally, finally has a chance to be happy and get help. its,, kind of been a tiny growing point for me? he just, means a lot to me because of that haha

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?

uhhh all of their voice claims are songs n such but only a few of them actually sing in canon! heres the voice claims of the ones who do sing:

Aero - thats his voice, but hed probably more likely to sing Something Like ThisAngelStitch - this is her voice! but shed be much more likely to sing something a lot more upbeat, kind of like thisColby (its jeremy from bmc jghfdkg)

and one i dont have a voice claim for yet that does sing canonically is Sycamore!

21. Your most artistic OC

!!!! oh thatd easily be will! hes nothing professional at all, but he does enjoy drawing and making diy type projects :0c hazels also artistic but with food :0c but what would you expect from a kitchen witch

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?

Hi My Names Skinny Penis And No One Has Ever Even Looked At My Ocs For More Than Two Seconds

23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?

lordt all of them would fit that, but the one thats changed the most? lordy thatd probably be will! he used to be a persona that was mostly only interested in dying and getting fucked, but now hes? evolved into a fully fledged character, and has even changed from being human lmao

24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why?

jupiter, simply because he is The Biggest Comfort i have. hes,,, really important to me and i love him a lot

25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)

:) its bold of you to assume they dont all resemble me in some way. the most though? damian. lazy motherfucker with 200 emotional issues and no motivation to fix any of them

26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will?

…yeah.

27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song?

Nope, most tend to be born from ideas spawned by me n my bf concepting about my ocs, and what would happen if this thing happened? yknow?

28. Your most dangerous OC?

He has yet to be revealed >:)c his names icarus

29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?

INNIS, GOD INNIS WOULD AND HED PROBABLY DIE

30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection?

secret: damiannot so secret: colby

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)

uHHhhHh

damian would probably have a very shitty coded blog theme (or default) and would genuinely only reblog shitty, abstract memes, and nice food recipes for hazel to make him

32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why?

protagonist? if youre going for the scared baby, colby. if ur going for the stoic “thats weird but ok” one, innis or aero.antagonist tho???? Leo and angelica :)

33. Your shyest OC?

uh, a oc thats genuinely shy and not just anxiety filled? angel :0c shes had a very limited interaction pool with anything thats not other angels so she tends to shy away from others bc she really, really doesnt want to get into awkward situations

34. Do you have any twin characters?

Jupiter and leo!

35. Any sibling characters?

Jupiter, leo, angelica, damian, eldur

jupiter, leo, damian, and angelica are all related via their dad, while eldur is related to damian via their mom

36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)?

uhh if im understanding this question right yeah i do! derek, koh, n a lot of others belong to @coffee-burglar ! ive just roped them into my universe dkjfhkdjgh

37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human

Op All Of My Characters Are Inhuman

38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer?

surprisingly? aero! hes got really good rhythm and can actually dance really well, its kinda scary

39. Introduce any character you want

:)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) Ill let yall have a choice, pick one

1.) Lust2.) Greed

40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!

fond?? uh,, not really. but damian does have a very important memory attached to him.

tw for suicide ment hjgkdfs

with damian, i created him after i tried to kill myself and was stuck in a mental hospital. i had just finished reaing the first shadowhunters book, and decided to try and draw the first demon(???? was that what he was?? im a dumbass and its been over 2 years) you met, which had bright blue hair and if i remember correctly, electric green eyes? but yeah. i made him to cope with all the mental stress i had while being forced to be in that hospital, and hes become very close to my heart because of that

41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!)

!!!!!!!!! yeah!!! my boyfriends drawn damian and most of my characters bgjkfdhgkfdsgl but one i do hold close to my heart (bc at the time, i barely knew them) was when @stuck-in-the-ghost-zone drew aeyr! it made me really happy tbh. i still have it saved to my phone actually!!!

42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods?

uhhhh,,, provided that they found a way to get anything involving earth and their beliefs itd probably be either angel or colby. angel enjoys learning anything and everything she can, while colby enjoys hearing about the Tea™ that comes with greek shit

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess

lordt ok

i really just? enjoy making demons really, or anything that doesnt quite fit “conveniently attractive” in at least one form they have. (i also favor making guys bc im Gay)

44. Something you like about your OCs in general

how well theyre coming together, for so long, their stories have been little fractures and pieces that never fit together. Fragments. but now, theyre almost fully put together and its… wonderful to see

45. A character you no longer use?

a hi have.. one. their name was angel aura, a steven universe oc. i got rid of them because of too many.. bad things.

46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly?

not directly, but yes. it.. actually helped me give a lot of them a ok life, or at least a good ending

47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child?

@coffee-burglar eldur, colby, will n a few others lmao

48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure

ELDUR GOD ELDUR PLEASE SOMEONE GIVE THIS KID BACK TO HIS MOM

49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memes

damian

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want

ghjkfgkfdhgklfjhglkjdfhgslfjdgh give me a actual thing to talk about bc im dying op

#general oc tag #Anonymous

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transphormers · 7 years

Note

please tell us about your ocs! i love hearing about others ocs!

Ok so under readmore cause its....quite long fdasdasf:

Nightflare:Not a noble/towers mech but almost tbh. Has a fancy car-like alt. Very educatedand cultured and very interested in justice but he used to saw things in a veryblack&white way. Wanted to become the Cybertronian equivalent of a lawyer/judgeif such thing existed (which? Im pretty sure it did but anyway) Never reallygot around to do it for various reasons (mostly peer pressure cause most of hisfriends where the kind of rich asshole who thinks working is below ‘people likethem’ but also cause he’s a very one-track mind kind of person and he just? Alwaysfound other things he felt he needed to focus on :/)

He met his(future) conjux, Sonicboom, when one of his friends began to act as a patronfor him and started bringing him over to their apartment complex for musiclessons and the like. He began to learn about the terrible living conditions ofother Cybertronians by listening to Sonicboom talk about his life andexperiences as well as those of people he knew. He was deeply disgusted withwhat he learnt and became quickly involved with the Decepticon movement once itbegan.

Heconsidered becoming a neutral and leaving the planet with Sonicboom once thewar started but he was way too committed to the original ideals of themovement. As the war progressed and things got more crude he began to regrethis choice but it was too late to try to become a neutral so instead he did hisbest to keep both Sonicboom and himself alive.

Once thewar ended and they returned to Cybertron he kind of wanted to try to be alawyer or a judge for real this time but at the same time he’s not sure if hestill wants that and just feels like its no longer his thing so he’s just kindof working on w/e he can find both to be able to live + also to feel usefulwhile he sorts out his own head.

Sonicboom: Idkwhat alt I want him to have but I can imagine him as a radio tbh. Has a veryactive mind but tends to get lost in his own head (this got worse during andafter the war) Also very interested in culture both Cybertronian and alien,especially the arts (and especially among the arts: music) He’s Nightflare’sconjux. A really good singer and composer.

He wasquite poor in the earlier years of his life but things changed when ahigh-class mech heard him singing and decided to sponsor him and help himbecome a singer and composer (its around this time when he met Nightflare thothey took a long time to become conjux). He hates talking about that part ofhis past and he has opened to very little people about it. He became quitefamous in pre-war Cybertron but that obviously didn’t matter when the warstarted.

He wantedto stay a neutral but ended up joining the Decepticons to keep an eye onNightflare when he refused to become a neutral too. Managed to survive the warand now that there’s peace again he wants to go back to being a musician butall he has been able to compose lately are either very melancholic & pessimisticsongs about a time and dreams long gone or upbeat but actually quite depressingsongs about the war and he’s pretty sure people wouldn’t like those, so he’smostly letting time go by like and avoiding all conversations about his future andmusic like ‘haha yeah. Im working on my music. Happy music. Youll hear it soon.Haha. Yeah :) but lets now talk about me what are You doing?’.

Mishmash: (I came up with this Oc after having spentthe whole night reading fics so that should give you an idea of how terrible he’sgonna be. Anyway)

Some ‘backstory’ofhis creation: idk if you know but there’s this idea in fandom that bots can mergetheir sparks and that’s seen as smth very intimate to do with yourconjux/bestest of friends and its like?? The Ultimate Form of Connection™between 2 mechs and while they are at it they can like? Share memories &feelings & communicate without barriers or w/e and idk ive always liked theidea tbh and I wanted to use it somewhere in a fic but since im an awful littlegoblin who loves angst too much for her own good I had to make it sad.

Problem is,I couldn’t think of any Canon characters I could fit in the already very clearand sad scenario I had in mind so I decided to just use two nameless ocs (All Iknow of them:One was a flyer the other a grounder. They were amica. Almostbecame conjux but someone else came along. Never really regretted not becomingconjux tbh).

Anyway, the scene I had in mind was, in a few words:

These 2 robots are fucking around investigatingsome place far from the city when smth goes awfully wrong and they both getreally hurt. One of them takes the worst damage on their frames and the otheron their sparks and knowing that they are most likely end up dead they decideto merge sparks one last time, to both comfort the other and themselves inthose final moments u kno?. (And here’s where things get weird(er)) While beingmerged and as their sparks die smth happens and?? Somehow?? Both sparks fullymerge creating a ‘new’ one, which gets into the frame that’s less damaged one(the flier) managing to survive. A while later some other bots find these 2bots and quickly take them back to the city where they focus on fixing the onethat still has a spark.

And oncethey are done said bot wakes up, problem is: he desnt?? recognize the name he’sbeing called? Or rather he recognizes it but he doesn’t feel like its his? Andhis head is a mess cause he is remembering some events from two different povs?+ there’s smth wrong with his frame cause he?? Doesn’t feel like it’s the rightframe but it isn’t the right one either? Basically everything is very confusingand the poor bot ends up running away from the medical bay he’s in causeeverything is too much. Everyone else is quite freaked out too cause they knowthis bot and its obvious that smth isn’t right with him??cause not even hisvoice sounds the same???

And to make things even more complicated one ofthe original bots conjux comes to see wtf has happened with his conjux and hisconjuxs amica only to find this one bot who looks like one of them but…. Isn’t oneof them? Not really? It’s such a capital M Messy situation.

So, inshort: Mishmash is a very confused and stressed pretty much new-builtcybertronian who’s just trying to find his place in the universe and, mostimportantly, find out who he is which, it’s quite hard because sometimes hefeels like himself but other times he feels more like one of the bots whosesparks made his and sometimes he feels like they are with him? Or he suddenly remembersthings from their lives and so on. + lots of bots who knew those other two botsare?? Quite pushy with him, trying to get him to be more like one of the botsthey knew and its……….. awful.

(surprisinglyenough the most accepting and helpful person is The Conjux??? Like, sure, thereare moments where he also fucks up but he’s the only one who apologizes for nottreating Mishmash like his own person and who tries to help him organize hisnew/old memories and navigate his new life the most)

#tf ocs #mine post #this is embarrashing dfasfdas #they are awful ocs?? but i love them #Anonymous

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theoneandonlysaucymo · 8 years

Text

He Needs You More Part 1

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega! Reader

Words: 7,155 (OOPS)

Warnings: No smut yet thats next time, Slight mention of other character death,

A/N: For @dr-dean ABO Birthday/Song challenge. I’ve been itching to write it and ive been pondering this idea for a while and well I saw the song list and bamn it fit so perfectly! THIS GOT LONG AF I CANT WRITE PWP I LOVE MY PLOTS TOO MUCH. That being said I am sorry this is late school has been kicking me hard but I’m working on part two now! Song comes later this is just setting things up.

Tags: (If you would like to be tagged let me know. tagging a few abo blogs to): @hymnofthevalkyries @mylittlefandomfanfictions @feelmyroarrrr @kittenofdoomage @angryschnauzer

“WHAT ARE YOU KIDS DOING!” You shouted opening the door in the old abandoned house. The five teenagers bolted their fear evident coursing through their pores as they bolted out the back entrance and through broken windows. You sighed out frustrated, so they had been the ones summoning these demons, not that they knew what they were doing. You looked down at the books and notes, these kids clearly had no idea what they were messing with. You moved picking up the items and right as you reached to snuff out the lines a man appeared in the center with a white light. You reached for your gun but this guy was slightly quicker knocking it from your hand but you were ready a silver knife in the other. You had it at his throat and pinned him quickly to the wall looking straight into his eyes. Your expression turned to a bit shocked as green eyes stared back at you, that wasn’t the shocking part as his scent filled your nose. Alpha. “Who the hell are you?! Demon?” You snarled as the silver knife cut into his skin but he didn’t flinch.

“Look lady I ain’t no demon but I came here looking for one,” The man said before he looked at you funny. You let up on him but still were suspicious and only when you saw the trickle of blood on his neck did you pull away. You shoved him back and fully erased a line on the drawn symbol on the ground. He wasn’t a demon the blade that was at his neck was made by the hands of priests and from blessed steel so if a demon that should’ve burned him. You looked at the symbol then it struck you.

“You aren’t from here are you?” You asked his scent overwhelming you but you were trying to keep it together.

“What gave that away?” He smirked his hand reaching up to whip the blood from his neck.

“Your scent….it reeks of alpha…” You said looking at him picking up the last of the books. You saw a blank and confused stare from the man and you looked down at the symbol on the floor and flipped through the book.

“I'm a what?” He almost spat out not sure he heard you correctly.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about do you?” You said shocked as it was a portal spell, he was never supposed to be here at all. A cellphone started ringing and the man fumbled for it.

“Hello?” He asked cautiously. “Wait I actually get signal here? Yea….yea Sam I’m fine…let me call you back later, got some chick here talking about me being an alpha or something.” He hung up the phone and looked at you. “Where exactly am I?” He asked.

“Not sure what to say other than earth, specifically North Carolina…but I guess an alternate reality from yours since you had no idea what an alpha is,” You said shifting a bit uncomfortably before changing the subject. “If you’re looking for the black demon they originally released its dead,” You said shuffling through the book, you found the page you wanted quickly reading the passage.

“You sure? He had an accomplice,” The man said as you fumbled for your phone showing him a few images of the demons before you killed them.

“Both dead, those idiot teenagers had no idea what they were doing, thinking they were summoning some hot chick when all they got were demons, caught them before they could try it again but I guess this is where you can travel back and forth. We can try to recreate this but it can’t be so close together, time rifts could happen, so looks like you’re crashing here for a few days,” You said looking at him as you took your phone out and snapped a few pictures of the drawings on the floor. The man hadn’t said a word to you but you could see the wheel moving in his head.

“So you a hunter?” He said finally. You nodded retrieving your gun putting the safety back on and putting it in its holster.

“If you mean I go around killing these things then yea, here we usually use the term exorcist,” You said pondering your options with him. It was going to be a very long few days at this rate; you might be able to get away with using it in three or four days. “I guess you can stay with me till that time…don’t need you wandering around you’ll raise too much attention,” You added pulling out your car keys.

“Attention? Listen sweetheart I can fade into the shadows no problem and ill just wait around till my brother does the spell again,” He said.

“Names Y/N, Not sweetheart, and I highly doubt that you’re gonna attract omegas from all over the state if we don’t get you hidden,” You said walking out of the house. You waited for him to follow and he soon appeared from the house, hands in his pocket as you watched him.

“Safe to say I know nothing about this world…this alpha omega thing or not guess I better not turn down help,” He said. “Names Dean Winchester,” he said extending out his hand. You smiled and shook it but could not shake how odd you were feeling.

“Get in thankfully these idiots did this not too far from where I live,” You said opening the doors to your mustang. Dean looked over your car, black with silver embellishing’s, and tan interior, this was looking a bit to eerily like his life as he sat on the passenger’s side. The hum of the older motor unsettled him slightly but he said nothing as you pulled away. No music was played as you focused on the road and trying to ignore him, but his scent was tainting your car, worse yet you weren’t minding it.

“So what is this whole alpha omega thing…like everyone is a werewolf or something?” Dean asked.

“No not quite, they took the names maybe from packs I guess,” You started as you turned onto a main highway. “Look everyone here is born either an alpha, an omega, or a beta. Alphas for some reason have died out, either killed or just not being born anymore, I'm not really sure which for sure” You started.

“And yet demons appear as alphas?” Dean asked

“That or angels, male female doesn’t matter anything supernatural it seems appears as an alpha….so makes my job easy…but you….you shouldn’t be here,” You stated again you voice sounding a bit bitter. “You’re going to throw off the balance and have demons coming from all over the place,” You added as you were gunning it now to get back. You couldn’t stand to watch another person die let alone another alpha.

“Look I’m sorry for being a bother but that demon was bad news we couldn’t let it just get away it was possessing a child where I was from,” Dean said as he looked out the window then he felt like this was a weird game of déjà vu. You pulled into a garage that looked strangely like the bunkers garage and parked where he usually parked Baby. He looked around and you watched him curious as he got out of the car, he looked like he was seeing ghosts as he followed you inside. You set your things down on the kitchen table and looked at him as his green eyes looked you angry. “Is this some kind of game?!” He shouted.

“Game? This is where I-?” You asked a bit shocked.

“Live Yea this is exactly where I live too,” Dean said same time as you. You followed him and he pointed out every single place in this including the dungeon. He moved to the bedrooms and opened the door to your sister’s room before you could stop him. “This….is...was mine…” He paused looking around as the room looked similar to his but the colors were different and furnishings were less masculine and simple. Biggest difference this room looked unlived in a fine layer of dust coated the furniture and the room smelled a bit musty.

“If you would please leave this room alone,” You said pulling him away and shutting the door. You looked away then realized you would have to explain. “That was my sister’s room, can pick any other room except this one and the one down the hall since you know your way around,” You said turning and heading for your room.

“And that’s Sam’s room,” Dean sighed out softly his eyes looking down the hall shocked. Your door shut and he was left in the hallway alone. He opened the door to your sisters room and stepped inside, why was all this so much like his life. He looked at the bookcase, you two kept better photos than he and Sam ever did as he looked through the frames. If Dean and Sam had taken pictures, they probably would’ve looked similar to this. He saw you in graduation gowns then acceptance letters to college before a picture with you and another girl in front of a dorm. The photos quickly changed and he saw a much more tired you, happy as you smiled with the same girl from earlier, but tired.

“You don’t listen either,” You sighed out from the doorway as you watched Dean sitting on your sister’s bed looking at photos.

“What happened?” Dean asked as you moved and sat next to him. He handed you a photo and you smiled, you remembered that night at the bar after a tough hunt. You wanted nothing more than to just curl up into bed but not her, no she wanted to celebrate and you could never so no.

“Demon possessed her,” You said softly your fingers tracing over her face as you whipped a layer of dust off. “I couldn’t find a cure, not one in time anyways she had done too much killed to many,” You said leaving it at that. It was you that pulled the trigger and you would regret that for the rest of your life.

“This can’t be happening,” Dean said you turned looking at him. “Why is it you and her are living the exact same life I am?!” He said annoyed. You shrugged.

“Probably not all the same but bits and pieces Sam still has you so it’s not exact,” You said standing and putting the picture back on the bookshelf. You let out a sigh and looked at him, “She too was an alpha she hid her scent with drugs but demons can just tell, my theory is they are eliminating the alphas making humans more susceptible to them, particularly omegas who are also dying out or disappearing either one,” You said.

“So you’ve explained this alpha beta omega thing sort of what is it really?” Dean asked.

“It’s just some genetic thing god thought would be funny to put on people, betas I guess are just like your world just normal people omegas are as well so long as an alpha isn’t around,” You added trying to think of how to word this. “Alphas are plain what their name sake says they were top dogs, could make a whole room look there way, picture the high school all-star jocks if you will, just what the name implies they could turn heads. Omegas can either act like alphas and command attention, but also they can be shy and meek it’s kinda hard to say we don’t really fit any certain standard,” You thought about it. You were more on the beta alpha side of the spectrum but you had meet much more shy omegas.

“Is that it? Just a personality thing?” Dean pressed as you could feel he was getting a bit agitated about something.

“No…your anatomy changes too, Alphas can smell what everyone is and typically they attract more to Omegas and vice versa, not to say they can’t be attracted to betas. I guess the biggest thing is the obvious anatomy does change. Omegas are like super fertile but only at certain times we call it not surprisingly heats,” You stated. "But the heats only happen in Omegas, alphas it’s called rutt sometimes they line up with each other sometimes they don’t,” You stated as you excused yourself to grab an anatomy book from the library. “Pretty much the two were designed to have lots of kids….guess when he first made us we weren’t reproducing fast enough. The rest of the anatomy changes you can look up,” You said handing him the book. You certainly did not want to be thinking about the alpha male anatomy changes he was already here and his scent overpowering. Dean had been quiet this whole time, his face a bit mixed of shock and curiosity but took the book a little hesitant to look through it. “Right I’ll leave you to that, you know the way around just don’t mess anything up in here ok?” You asked softly. Dean looked at the book but didn’t open it

“Is that why you smell so good?” He asked almost hesitantly.

“Heat? No its cause I’m an omega and you’re an alpha it’s just pure biology on that,” You smiled at him before leaving the room. You headed to your room and clenched at your stomach, this was such a bad idea and you needed to get him home as fast as possible before you went into heat or he went into a rutt….and you had a feeling the latter would happen first.

You awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon and shrugged the sleep from your eyes. You moved to grab for your gun before remembering you had a visitor and groaned as you moved to put on clothes. It was too early to be up for you but would be rude to sleep all day. You washed your face and tried to look a bit more presentable and wake up before you headed to the kitchen.

“Hey morning….you had some stuff so…I’d thought I’d make breakfast? Or I guess brunch,” Dean said as you headed straight for the coffee. The warm beverage in hand you looked around

“This looks good,” You smiled as he started to plate things. Eggs, bacon, pancakes you were actually looking forward to this.

“Didn’t know what you liked but this seemed safe,” Dean said setting a plate in front of you before sitting at the other end of the table. You two ate in relative silence, it wasn’t weird you thought you were still trying to wake up as you finished and offered to wash dishes. Dishes washed you sat back down with another cup of coffee. “So….like guys are just ok here smelling people and having weird muscles?” Dean finally asked as you spit your coffee. That was so not, what you were expecting this early.

“I…ummm… like I said alphas are pretty much extinct now but no…it…it’s just something we all just kinda know as kids on top of bird and the bees in general, not…really weird for us. Your type has almost gone into like a fairy tale myth for people,” You said getting a napkin and cleaning up the spilt coffee. You looked over at him, “Seriously I wasn’t kidding when I said there are no alphas, the biology text books may talk about them but honestly they are gone and omegas are starting to head the same way, and girls can be alphas too,” You added as it wasn’t just guys that got special anatomy. He went to ask but then got a bit of a shocked and horrified face, “I’ll just let you ponder that for a while Winchester, if you look in that book it did explain,” You laughed as you headed into the library. His scent was becoming a bit too intoxicating as you shuffled around what looked like an herb cabinet. You quickly found some suppressants, checking the date you took them, no need for you to even think about going into heat with him around. Pills taken you moved around searching for portal spells, there had to be some way to send him back faster.

“So…..is there a plan?” Dean asked.

“Not really, you can’t leave this bunker period,” You said finding a few books.

“What that’s not even fair-“

“You don’t get it when I say there is literally zero, read my lips ZERO alphas you will literally be like walking meat on a stick and god forbid you run into an omega in heat…..” You grumbled as you looked over and he was kinda smirking. “No like cat in heat all over you annoying…and don’t even think about fucking someone, if you slip up and go and bond with them…..heaven help you heartless bastard,” You said frustrated.

“Whoa wait what bond?” Dean asked.

“Did you even read that anatomy book?” you sighed out.

“Well open a book and I just get put to sleep soo….” He said scratching at his neck. You sighed out

“So during the whole sex thing, yes there’s the sex but you can also claim that person forming a bond with them. Corny I didn’t make the rules, but you bite an area on the neck that is typically more appealing and you can claim them,” You said looking at him as he just had a shocked face. “Exactly so just keep it in your pants, you claim someone you have to be with them fairly frequently or risk them practically dying from heats that you awaken in them, since you’re an alpha and all, I doubt you would find a beta to be with,” You said going back to your book. The room fell silent as you sensed him processing everything.

“What kinda world is this?” he said almost horrified as you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Exactly now you see why all this is dying out, won’t be much left of it soon,” You added. “It’s always weird to talk about so thankfully we have a few more generations and it will be gone and I guess well be like your world,” You shrugged.

“Ok that’s enough history and anatomy for today,” Dean shifted uncomfortably and headed towards the bedrooms. You snickered and immersed yourself in research. You hardly noticed the time passes as you tried to find anything to speed up his stay here but came up short. You rested your head on the table stretching out your back and closing your eyes. It didn’t take long, the grandfather clock in here ticking back and forth lulled you to sleep.

It was late and a midnight snack drove Dean from his room he glanced into the library then stopped. That was the strangest position he had ever seen someone sleep in.

“Y/N,” He said gently nudging your shoulder but you didn’t move a muscle breathing softly on your arms. Well he couldn’t leave you like this you would wake up sore. He moved and gently picked you up, your scent hit him hard as he paused what he was doing and took a moment. So that smell was you, and gods you smelled amazing. He couldn’t name a certain smell over another a mix of many things but it was just you and it somehow smelled like home, it was warm and comforting. He shook his head and moved to your room gently setting you in your bed and covering you up. He sat on the edge for a while his hand on your shoulder, for some reason he just couldn’t pull away. He moved a strand of your hair out of your face corner of your mouth turned up in a small smile. When you did smile, your eyes had lit up but he could see you didn’t smile much anymore and that pained him, this could’ve been Sam’s life. He went to stand when your arm darted out and grabbed hold of his arm in an almost death grip. He looked back to your once peaceful looking face and now it was tense frowning. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea, he even knew that but you weren’t letting go of him. “Alright, alright princess you win,” Dean sighed out giving in or lose his arm and possibly wake you. You had let his hand go, but Dean doubt he would’ve made it out the door without you waking up. Dean walked around the bed behind you and moved under the covers as he stared up at the ceiling. Your breathing was soft and peaceful as being near you was apparently enough. Dean let out a small sigh and closed his eyes, your bed was actually pretty comfortable best part was it smelled like you calming his mind as he started to fade into sleep. Your body shifted almost the same time his did as you two just natural curled into each other. Your head moved in the crook of his neck, his head rested softly on yours, arms and legs intertwining as you each breathed in each other scents.

When you awoke that morning, you felt surprisingly well. You hated waking up always tired no matter how long you slept but another exorcism always called. Today you didn’t want to get out of bed for another reason, you were extremely comfortable and that was a bit odd feeling. Your eyes slowly fluttered open before closing again, you were just too warm and comfortable to wake up yet. You tried again with a bit more success your body senses functioning now as you felt someone was next to you, someone had their arms and legs around you protectively. You wanted to react you wanted to panic but your body was still asleep, still allowing you to relax, whoever it was your instincts trusted who ever this was. This time your mind won out as you took in a breath and jerked away suddenly as it was Dean.

“What what’s wrong!” He bolted away as well somehow knowing where you kept a gun as he looked around. Even half asleep, his body reacted to protecting you before his mind caught up not seeing any danger.

“GET OUT!” You shouted at him, you did not need to be around him, it was only a matter of time before something happened and he did not need to even think about being tied down here.

“Alright, alright I’m going!” Dean said as he quickly got up and headed for the door he went to leave and you both hesitated. “Look I wasn’t trying anything funny,” He said softly as he turned and looked back at you. “You just fell asleep in a weird position in the library I couldn’t leave you like that, so brought you back here and you kinda grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go until I stayed,” Dean sighed out looking back at you. You sat in your bed and didn’t say anything, god his scent was everywhere now, you just wanted him to come back into this bed and sleep with you properly as you shook that thought. Dean turned to leave

“Dean?!” You called out wanting to shout it but instead spoke softly.

“Yea princess?” He said. You wanted to smack him for that nickname but at the same time, you liked it.

“Do you want French toast for breakfast or brunch whatever time it is?” You said and his smile about melted all your control.

“Sure,” he smiled heading back to his room. You laid back into the sheets and instinctively moved and hugged his pillow your nose inhaling before you quickly jumped out of bed. Cold shower that’s what you needed….as well as suppressants again.

Breakfast wasn’t as awkward as you thought it would be, you two held a decent conversation about how you got started in all this madness and were pulled back in. It was simple enough you loved school so decided to try a normal life, but even in school the demons and monsters were never too far from your mind. Then you got a call your sister was missing while looking for the demon that killed your parents and that terrified you, you quit school and quickly found her and never looked back.

“It wasn’t all sunshine obviously,” You said taking the dishes and washing them. “We also learned in order to have my sister and I our parents made a deal both their souls for 18 years and two kids, my sister came 9 months later I came four years later,” You said setting the dishes back where they were. “But throughout our life they kept training us, dad would go off on weird trips, mom would stay behind show us how to shoot, what kills werewolves, demons, ghosts, you name it, it was certainly a weird education on top of all the other things we had to learn,” You paused. “Then 18 years later we both came home from school with that bastard standing over their bodies and we never looked back. I had to at least finish high school our Aunt wouldn’t let us out any other way she always knew what we were up to,” You smiled. “So yea…that’s how we started, you probably much the same somehow?” You asked. Dean nodded more or less you couldn’t really tell as he sat quietly. You nodded and headed into the library to try and do more researching.

It was maybe an hour or so you heard the TV in the small living area turn on and that was about all your self-control could take. You physically needed to be near him and besides none of these books were helpful you were just going to have to wait out the next two days. You put back two more suppressant pills before heading into the living space and plopped down on the couch next to him your knees touching.

“Anything?” He asked

“Nope so few days here then we can get you back home, not really into breaking any time rifts” You smiled. It somehow felt like a fake smile and saying the words back and home together was painful. Dean seemed to shift nervously and you both went silent just watching TV. The hours ticked by both of you just sitting watching whatever came on, and both of you knew you weren’t paying much attention to what was on as you talked. About everything, bad hunts, some sibling things, if things were different, it felt odd to talk to someone again like this. Sure, you had other hunter friends but that was all business, you couldn’t get some of them to have a decent conversation about music or cars to save their life. Even with strangers, which he still was but you opened up like it was nothing, like he had been in your life for ages now not a few days. You got up after a while to make food again. You would have to make a trip to town tomorrow, not just cause he was here but you just needed food in general, that was going to be tough.

“Decide yet?” You jumped hearing him right next to you forgetting you had someone here yet again.

“Uh…no…wait yes sorry just need to go into town tomorrow,” You said as you pulled out some meat and set about making burgers.

“Soooo does that mean I get to see your town?” he grinned grabbing a beer.

“Nope means you get to stay right here,” You grinned back. “Seriously you will be walking around like a beacon to everyone unmated it’s not the people I worry about, you can fight them off it’s who knows what creatures,” You said shaping the meat then putting it on the pan washing your hands. “Werewolf, vampire, shifters, and worst of all demons,” You added turning as you crossed your arms to look at him. “And yes I know you probably could take them but they probably work differently here-“

“Different?” Dean asked sitting at the table watching you.

“So myths tell how demons work alone why you only see one name right? I'm assuming that’s how your world works.”

“Yea that’s how it is for us there are certain groups of demons but for the most part they work alone,” Dean said

“Right well here they don’t they work in groups, moving in groups and planning in larger groups, this is why we think Alphas are going extinct these demons are purposely targeting them and eliminating them or using them for meat suits,” You said turning as you flipped the burgers over. You started grabbing a few other things from the fridge; it wouldn’t be a fancy meal but a meal. “They use it to their advantage easily preying on what omegas that are out there and that’s typically who ends up in the paper with some tragic strange accident or just vanishes,” your back was to him as you went about warming the buns.

“So….how do you fight them then?” Dean asked

“Quickly, you have to become the literal hunter take them out one at a time from the group from the shadows, barging in does no good you easily get overwhelmed. No you have to have a plan to take one out at a time and before that one falls your onto the next,” You added serving up the food. You were a bit shocked at yourself for just opening up like this but he had to stay safe. If your lives truly were paralleled then he had to get back to his brother. You had no life here, your life was simple cases close to you then hiding in this safe house, doing what you could to get by. Dating was about impossible no one else could be messed up in your life or die because of you, and you didn’t care for any of the other exorcists you worked for, better to just be alone. Dean sat quietly before he finally looked up,

“Is that how your sister died?” He asked and you about dropped your beer on the table quickly grabbing it.

“Kinda….” You said getting quiet, “She…she went on a hunt alone not super abnormal we did it time to time supposed to be an easy one…next thing I knew I get a call from a mutual saying she was hunting down her own friends. Drove as fast as I could only to see black eyes, and her laughing in my face leaving with a pack of demons. Tracking her down wasn’t fun…that took forever but she slipped up and I managed to get her but by then…she had killed too many exorcists, humans, demons you name it that thing used her abilities for its own purpose. We can’t exorcise demons nothing we have found works without killing the person,” You said suddenly not hungry in the slightest as you stood up and started to clean. “I was going to just keep her locked up forever but somehow that went to hell in a handbasket, she got out…..and well… at least it was me and not someone else at the end,” you said leaving it at that.

“Y/N I’m sorry…..” Dean sighed out

“I got her back in the end once that asshole left her but it was too late, exactly how the Demons wanted it, break us up for good, and they won here I am giant safe house just for one,” You sighed out before getting back to cleaning. You heard Dean stand you felt him moving closer to you, “Don’t…..Dean none of this has anything to do with you, yes our lives are similar but I’m sure in some other time it’s the exact same story,” You said turning as you held your arms out. “None of it is anyone’s fault, Never had the best of luck but I had her while I could we knew something was going to happen sooner or later she may have been the last alpha left so target on her back,” You added moving away from him. Dean seemed to move tracking her with his eyes, “I'm fine, right now I think it be best if we turned in,” You added heading for your room. Dean didn’t seem to get the message, “Alone….right now you are responding to more than just feeling sorry for me and that won’t end well for either of us,” You added shutting your door and locking it tight. You wanted to let him in, god knows he smelled so good right now but he had his brother to get back to, he didn’t need to slip up and be stuck here. Least of all you, you were happy alone it was just easier that way.

Dean wanted to go into your room, he stood by the door leaning onto it staring at the all too familiar pattern, but he seemed to snap out of it as he backed away. What had just happened? One minute he was standing in the kitchen, he was angry at her story he could piece together what happened but at the same time he felt like he needed to comfort you then his body just moved for you. He couldn’t stop himself not till you closed the door, then it was like a swift slap to the face as he headed for his room, well he was heading that way but stopped at her sister’s room. All made sense now, why so much dust was in this room, you never opened it, never looked at these happy memories. You were still not over any of this having to kill your own sister. Sam could’ve very well ended up like this, had they not found those tapes. Dean stood heading into the extra storeroom digging, looking for that file and tape. He had to have pulled that whole room apart but nothing…it wasn’t here why was that erased from your story line, it didn’t make sense. Dean eventually relented heading off to his own room for sleep, didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it when he laid down in the bed.

You awoke early the next morning, no smell of coffee or bacon to wake you this time. Last night had been tough, one night sleeping next to someone you shouldn’t have been so attached but you were. You tossed and turned before letting exhaustion just take you in the end. You stretched your body under the warm covers before your feet touched the cold floor. Throwing on clothes, you fixed your hair and headed out into the kitchen. Quiet as could be when you entered, few papers out in the library Dean must’ve been looking for something last night. You fixed some coffee and it was you this time that started what was left of the bacon and the rest of the eggs. It didn’t take too long after the bacon was starting to cook before you heard a door open and footsteps down the hall. “Morning,” You said as you busied away with fixing breakfast. You got a small grunt from him in response as he got himself a cup of coffee and you could only smile at him. Food was done a few minutes later as you slid a plate in front of him that waking him up a bit more as he ate. You sat next to him eating your breakfast as well. It was early in the afternoon just turning noon when you started cooking and had planned it that way so hopefully not as may people would be out when you shopped. “So I only need a few things from the store just promise you won’t wander away, I know you’re not five and can take care of yourself but just trust me on this.” You sighed out looking at him, last thing you needed was to wander around town trying to find him. It wouldn’t be hard to find him but she didn’t want to have to deal with who else she would find with him.

“Scouts honor no wandering off,” Dean smiled as he stood to grab the plates but you beat him to it.

“I'm ready whenever you are so let me do this while you get what you need,” You added starting to clean everything back up again. As you finished the plates, setting them to dry Dean was ready pulling on his jacket and following after you into the garage. He almost opened the wrong door on your black car but he quickly realized it wasn’t his beloved impala and moved into the passenger’s side. You drove down a few backroads the leaves changing to their beautiful reds, yellows, and oranges on this fall day. The town was small maximum of maybe five stoplights handful of stores all owned locally but a few big named stores as well. “Not much but no one thinks to look for exorcists here,” you added pulling up to a grocery store. This one was smaller but had everything you needed, very few parking places along the road which thankfully were fairly empty. You moved to speak with Dean when he beat you to it,

“Don’t wander off stay close…got it,” Dean smirked.

“Actually I was going to ask if you wanted anything but ok,” You teased getting out of the car, as you had drilled it into him to not wander away but hadn’t asked if he needed anything.

“Oh….uhh no just beer…and pie I assume they have pie here at least?” Dean asked as his face looked like it would be crushed if they didn’t.

“We have pie Dean don’t worry about that,” You laughed at him shutting the door and walking in with him. You walked into the store and immediately what people were in here were looking at Dean a little surprised. You just grinned, he didn’t believe you, you knew he hadn’t but now it was all coming together as you grabbed a small shopping basket and headed up and down the aisles for what you needed. Dean followed behind you saw he was at least happy to see this was normal but you did catch him looking around as a few people were starting trying to not be obvious but they were.

“Uhhhh Y/N,” Dean said slowly walking back to you as you grabbed a few cans of soup.

“Yes Dean, all omegas all following you around,” You laughed knowing exactly what he was going to ask. “I warned you, 0 alphas,” you added as you moved your hand to grab his arm and drag him with you. It was enough for the others to get he was with you in a nice way.

“So this is just weird can I just say that now?” Dean added staying close to you. “Why did god do this for this world,” he added all you could do was laugh.

“No idea only reason I got is we weren’t populating fast enough then we mutated to betas later on and now everyone else is just dying off since we are sufficiently populated,” She added as she was just about finished with what she needed and headed grabbing a six pack of beer for Dean. “Now pie….what?” You said as he was just staring at you.

“How are you not acting like them? If alphas have that big of an impact on omegas even without the weird hormone thing,” He asked as you just shook your head at him.

“Have you also forgotten I used to live with an alpha? Most have never seen one let alone one that wasn’t mated off…I donno I mean you do affect me but guess I can just have better self-control?” You said shrugging slightly.

“Oh so I do affect you?” he smirked moving in closer. You weren’t going to back away this time as you looked up at those green eyes.

“Yes I am still an omega I’m going to react to you happy? Now let’s get your pie before we get some unwanted company,” You teased shaking your head. You let him pick which one he wanted, not that you ate them often your sister was more obsessed with other baked goods than pie. Pie picked out you headed up the counter to pay Dean just grinning as he stayed closer to you than before getting in the way some as you kept backing into him. You couldn’t help but look at him humoring him as it was keeping everyone fully away now. Here anyways, you knew if he stepped foot in a bar there were far more aggressive omega types there. Groceries purchased you put them in the trunk of your car and Dean once again seemed to be attached to your hip now as he leaned against you slightly when you bent over to put them in.

“So what exactly do I do to you?” He asked finally you shutting your trunk and he was leaning with his arms crossed. God his smile was gorgeous, his green eyes looking at you mischievously. Well that reminded you of something else you forgot,

“How about you wait right here while I run back in and pick up what I forgot then I may tell you on the way back,” you added trying your best to flirt with him some too. Flirting was harmless, he was going back in a day or two so might as well enjoy what it was like to try the dating scene again.

“I…uh…yea I’ll be right here,” He grinned pulling out a pocketknife as he pulled a apple from his pocket. You couldn’t help but shake your head heading back into the store. You were gone maybe a grand total of three minutes as you came back and he was nowhere to be seen.

“Dean? Dean if this is a joke it’s not funny,” You smiled shaking your head moving around to the back of your car. He wasn’t there, “Dean?!” You shouted out looking around, ok now you were worried but the town looked as it always had people walking up and down the streets, cars slowly moving by, nothing seemed out of place accept you panicking. You headed back to the sidewalk, maybe he went to another store? You started to walk when an apple on the ground caught your eye around the corner. You walked over, yea that was the apple Dean had in his hand, you picked it up but then dropped it. Further, down the much quieter street you saw his pocketknife. You rushed over but as you picked it up you could smell the blood before you saw it right next to his pocketknife. It was Deans.

#Dean Winchester X Reader #Alpha!Dean #abo birthday challenge #Dr-dean #Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader #alternate reality #oh gosh #that was alot #now to part two #ugh #hahahaha

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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Dany’s problems and actions in her conquest of the three cities

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

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

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

To justify the existence of this list ... Well, look at the examples of this other list. They justify this one too, lol.

NOTE: This list was tricky to make compared to this one or this one. Originally, it was going to be divided into a list about the problems Dany is facing and another about the actions she took to solve them. However, unlike in ADWD, it is not as clear-and-cut in ASOS.

Take, for example, ASOS Dany II, when Dany arrives in Astapor and negotiates with Kraznys the purchase of the Unsullied. It is easy to say that that's what she did, but there is no single passage that sums it up. Instead, there are lots of descriptions about the Plaza of Pride and exposition about Old Ghis and the Unsullied's training, with the latter being key to understanding why Dany decides to rebel. What do I add? I decided that more is better than less in this particular case.

ASOS Dany IV also informs a lot through dialogue - the assessment of Yunkai's military forces, Dany's meetings with the sellsword captains, Dany's military plan - and so it would be hard to parse out the problem itself from the solution she takes.

I did manage to separate Dany's problems and actions from the advice she receives, though that often overlaps as well.

This is a long-winded way of saying that this list will be bigger than it should for only covering six chapters.

Dany’s problems and the actions she took

ASOS Daenerys I

“These are Illyrio’s ships, Illyrio’s captains, Illyrio’s sailors ... and Strong Belwas and Arstan are his men as well, not yours.”

“Magister Illyrio has protected me in the past. Strong Belwas says that he wept when he heard my brother was dead.”

“Yes,” said Mormont, “but did he weep for Viserys, or for the plans he had made with him?”

“His plans need not change. Magister Illyrio is a friend to House Targaryen, and wealthy ...”

“He was not born wealthy. In the world as I have seen it, no man grows rich by kindness. The warlocks said the second treason would be for gold. What does Illyrio Mopatis love more than gold?”

“His skin.” Across the cabin Drogon stirred restlessly, steam rising from his snout. “Mirri Maz Duur betrayed me. I burned her for it.”

“Mirri Maz Duur was in your power. In Pentos, you shall be in Illyrio’s power. It is not the same. I know the magister as well as you. He is a devious man, and clever—”

“I need clever men about me if I am to win the Iron Throne.”

Ser Jorah snorted. “That wineseller who tried to poison you was a clever man as well. Clever men hatch ambitious schemes.”

Dany drew her legs up beneath the blanket. “You will protect me. You, and my bloodriders.”

“Four men? Khaleesi, you believe you know Illyrio Mopatis, very well. Yet you insist on surrounding yourself with men you do not know, like this puffed-up eunuch and the world’s oldest squire. Take a lesson from Pyat Pree and Xaro Xhoan Daxos.”

He means well, Dany reminded herself. He does all he does for love. “It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. Every man I take into my service is a risk, I understand that, but how am I to win the Seven Kingdoms without such risks? Am I to conquer Westeros with one exile knight and three Dothraki bloodriders?”

His jaw set stubbornly. “Your path is dangerous, I will not deny that. But if you blindly trust in every liar and schemer who crosses it, you will end as your brothers did.”

His obstinacy made her angry. He treats me like some child. “Strong Belwas could not scheme his way to breakfast. And what lies has Arstan Whitebeard told me?”

“He is not what he pretends to be. He speaks to you more boldly than any squire would dare.”

“He spoke frankly at my command. He knew my brother.”

“A great many men knew your brother. Your Grace, in Westeros the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard sits on the small council, and serves the king with his wits as well as his steel. If I am the first of your Queensguard, I pray you, hear me out. I have a plan to put to you.”

“What plan? Tell me.” 

“No.” The coverlet slipped off Dany’s shoulder, and she tugged it back into place.

“The Dothraki charged. The Unsullied locked their shields, lowered their spears, and stood firm. Against twenty thousand screamers with bells in their hair, they stood firm.

“Since that day, the city guard of Qohor has been made up solely of Unsullied, every one of whom carries a tall spear from which hangs a braid of human hair.

There is wisdom in this, yes, Dany thought, but ... “How am I to buy a thousand slave soldiers? All I have of value is the crown the Tourmaline Brotherhood gave me.”

“Dragons will be as great a wonder in Astapor as they were in Qarth. It may be that the slavers will shower you with gifts, as the Qartheen did. If not ... these ships carry more than your Dothraki and their horses. They took on trade goods at Qarth, I’ve been through the holds and seen for myself. Bolts of silk and bales of tiger skin, amber and jade carvings, saffron, myrrh ... slaves are cheap, Your Grace. Tiger skins are costly.”

“Those are Illyrio’s tiger skins,” she objected. “And Illyrio is a friend to House Targaryen.” “All the more reason not to steal his goods.” “What use are wealthy friends if they will not put their wealth at your disposal, my queen? If Magister Illyrio would deny you, he is only Xaro Xhoan Daxos with four chins. And if he is sincere in his devotion to your cause, he will not begrudge you three shiploads of trade goods. What better use for his tiger skins than to buy you the beginnings of an army?”

That’s true. Dany felt a rising excitement. “There will be dangers on such a long march ...”

“There are dangers at sea as well. Corsairs and pirates hunt the southern route, and north of Valyria the Smoking Sea is demon- haunted. The next storm could sink or scatter us, a kraken could pull us under ... or we might find ourselves becalmed again, and die of thirst as we wait for the wind to rise. A march will have different dangers, my queen, but none greater.”

“What if Captain Groleo refuses to change course, though? And Arstan, Strong Belwas, what will they do?”

Ser Jorah stood. “Perhaps it’s time you found that out.”

“Yes,” she decided. “I’ll do it!”

ASOS Daenerys II

“Tell the Westerosi whore to lower her eyes,” the slaver Kraznys mo Nakloz complained to the slave girl who spoke for him. “I deal in meat, not metal. The bronze is not for sale. Tell her to look at the soldiers. Even the dim purple eyes of a sunset savage can see how magnificent my creatures are, surely.”

Kraznys’s High Valyrian was twisted and thickened by the characteristic growl of Ghis, and flavored here and there with words of slaver argot. Dany understood him well enough, but she smiled and looked blankly at the slave girl, as if wondering what he might have said.

‘The Good Master Kraznys asks, are they not magnificent?” The girl spoke the Common Tongue well, for one who had never been to Westeros. No older than ten, she had the round flat face, dusky skin, and golden eyes of Naath. The Peaceful People, her folk were called. All agreed that they made the best slaves.

“They might be adequate to my needs,” Dany answered. It had been Ser Jorah’s suggestion that she speak only Dothraki and the Common Tongue while in Astapor. My bear is more clever than he looks. “Tell me of their training.”

“The Westerosi woman is pleased with them, but speaks no praise, to keep the price down,” the translator told her master. “She wishes to know how they were trained.”

Kraznys mo Nakloz bobbed his head. He smelled as if he’d bathed in raspberries, this slaver, and his jutting red-black beard glistened with oil. He has larger breasts than I do, Dany reflected. She could see them through the thin sea-green silk of the gold- fringed tokar he wound about his body and over one shoulder. His left hand held the tokar in place as he walked, while his right clasped a short leather whip. “Are all Westerosi pigs so ignorant?” he complained. “All the world knows that the Unsullied are masters of spear and shield and shortsword.” He gave Dany a broad smile. “Tell her what she would know, slave, and be quick about it. The day is hot.”

That much at least is no lie. A matched pair of slave girls stood behind them, holding a striped silk awning over their heads, but even in the shade Dany felt light-headed, and Kraznys was perspiring freely. The Plaza of Pride had been baking in the sun since dawn. Even through the thickness of her sandals, she could feel the warmth of the red bricks underfoot. Waves of heat rose off them shimmering to make the stepped pyramids of Astapor around the plaza seem half a dream.

If the Unsullied felt the heat, however, they gave no hint of it. They could be made of brick themselves, the way they stand there. A thousand had been marched out of their barracks for her inspection; drawn up in ten ranks of one hundred before the fountain and its great bronze harpy, they stood stiffly at attention, their stony eyes fixed straight ahead. They wore nought but white linen clouts knotted about their loins, and conical bronze helms topped with a sharpened spike a foot tall. Kraznys had commanded them to lay down their spears and shields, and doff their swordbelts and quilted tunics, so the Queen of Westeros might better inspect the lean hardness of their bodies.

“They are chosen young, for size and speed and strength,” the slave told her. “They begin their training at five. Every day they train from dawn to dusk, until they have mastered the shortsword, the shield, and the three spears. The training is most rigorous, Your Grace. Only one boy in three survives it. This is well known. Among the Unsullied it is said that on the day they win their spiked cap, the worst is done with, for no duty that will ever fall to them could be as hard as their training.”

Kraznys mo Nakloz supposedly spoke no word of the Common Tongue, but he bobbed his head as he listened, and from time to time gave the slave girl a poke with the end of his lash. “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. Her bloodriders would do that well enough. Ser Jorah Mormont she had left aboard Balerion to guard her people and her dragons. Much against her inclination, she had locked the dragons belowdecks. It was too dangerous to let them fly freely over the city; the world was all too full of men who would gladly kill them for no better reason than to name themselves dragonslayer.

“What did the smelly old man say?” the slaver demanded of his translator. When she told him, he smiled and said, “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.

Kraznys mo Nakloz showed his big white teeth when that was rendered back to him. “A word from me and these sheep would spill his stinking old bowels on the bricks,” he said, “but do not say that. Tell them that these creatures are more dogs than sheep. Do they eat dogs or horse in these Seven Kingdoms?”

“They prefer pigs and cows, your worship.”

“Beef. Pfag. Food for unwashed savages.”

Ignoring them all, Dany walked slowly down the line of slave soldiers. The girls followed close behind with the silk awning, to keep her in the shade, but the thousand men before her enjoyed no such protection. More than half had the copper skins and almond eyes of Dothraki and Lhazerene, but she saw men of the Free Cities in the ranks as well, along with pale Qartheen, ebon-faced Summer Islanders, and others whose origins she could not guess. And some had skins of the same amber hue as Kraznys mo Nakloz, and the bristly red-black hair that marked the ancient folk of Ghis, who named themselves the harpy’s sons. They sell even their own kind. It should not have surprised her. The Dothraki did the same, when khalasar met khalasar in the sea of grass.

Some of the soldiers were tall and some were short. They ranged in age from fourteen to twenty, she judged. Their cheeks were smooth, and their eyes all the same, be they black or brown or blue or grey or amber. They are like one man, Dany thought, until she remembered that they were no men at all. The Unsullied were eunuchs, every one of them. “Why do you cut them?” she asked Kraznys through the slave girl. “Whole men are stronger than eunuchs, I have always heard.”

“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.

Kraznys smiled again when he heard that. “Tell the old man that he smells of piss, and needs a stick to hold him up.”

“Truly, your worship?”

He poked her with his lash. “No, not truly, are you a girl or a goat, to ask such folly? Say that Unsullied are not men. Say that death means nothing to them, and maiming less than nothing.” He stopped before a thickset man who had the look of Lhazar about him and brought his whip up sharply, laying a line of blood across one copper cheek. The eunuch blinked, and stood there, bleeding. “Would you like another?” asked Kraznys.

“If it please your worship.”

It was hard to pretend not to understand. Dany laid a hand on Kraznys’s arm before he could raise the whip again. “Tell the Good Master that I see how strong his Unsullied are, and how bravely they suffer pain.”

Kraznys chuckled when he heard her words in Valyrian. “Tell this ignorant whore of a westerner that courage has nothing to do with it.”

��The Good Master says that was not courage, Your Grace.”

“Tell her to open those slut’s eyes of hers.” “He begs you attend this carefully, Your Grace.”

Kraznys moved to the next eunuch in line, a towering youth with the blue eyes and flaxen hair of Lys. “Your sword,” he said. The eunuch knelt, unsheathed the blade, and offered it up hilt first. It was a shortsword, made more for stabbing than for slashing, but the edge looked razor-sharp. “Stand,” Kraznys commanded.

“Your worship.” The eunuch stood, and Kraznys mo Nakloz slid the sword slowly up his torso, leaving a thin red line across his belly and between his ribs. Then he jabbed the swordpoint in beneath a wide pink nipple and began to work it back and forth.

“What is he doing?” Dany demanded of the girl, as the blood ran down the man’s chest.

“Tell the cow to stop her bleating,” said Kraznys, without waiting for the translation. “This will do him no great harm. Men have no need of nipples, eunuchs even less so.” The nipple hung by a thread of skin. He slashed, and sent it tumbling to the bricks, leaving behind a round red eye copiously weeping blood. The eunuch did not move, until Kraznys offered him back his sword, hilt first. “Here, I’m done with you.”

“This one is pleased to have served you.”

Kraznys turned back to Dany. “They feel no pain, you see.”

“How can that be?” she demanded through the scribe.

“The wine of courage,” was the answer he gave her. “It is no true wine at all, but made from deadly nightshade, bloodfly larva, black lotus root, and many secret things. They drink it with every meal from the day they are cut, and with each passing year feel less and less. It makes them fearless in battle. Nor can they be tortured. Tell the savage her secrets are safe with the Unsullied. She may set them to guard her councils and even her bedchamber, and never a worry as to what they might overhear.

“In Yunkai and Meereen, eunuchs are often made by removing a boy’s testicles, but leaving the penis. Such a creature is infertile, yet often still capable of erection. Only trouble can come of this. We remove the penis as well, leaving nothing. The Unsullied are the purest creatures on the earth.” He gave Dany and Arstan another of his broad white smiles. “I have heard that in the Sunset Kingdoms men take solemn vows to keep chaste and father no children, but live only for their duty. Is it not so?”

“It is,” Arstan said, when the question was put. “There are many such orders. The maesters of the Citadel, the septons and septas who serve the Seven, the silent sisters of the dead, the Kingsguard and the Night’s Watch ...”

“Poor things,” growled the slaver, after the translation. “Men were not made to live thus. Their days are a torment of temptation, any fool must see, and no doubt most succumb to their baser selves. Not so our Unsullied. They are wed to their swords in a way that your Sworn Brothers cannot hope to match. No woman can ever tempt them, nor any man.”

His girl conveyed the essence of his speech, more politely. “There are other ways to tempt men, besides the flesh,” Arstan Whitebeard objected, when she was done.

“Men, yes, but not Unsullied. Plunder interests them no more than rape. They own nothing but their weapons. We do not even permit them names.”

“No names?” Dany frowned at the little scribe. “Can that be what the Good Master said? They have no names?”

“It is so, Your Grace.”

Kraznys stopped in front of a Ghiscari who might have been his taller fitter brother, and flicked his lash at a small bronze disk on the swordbelt at his feet. “There is his name. Ask the whore of Westeros whether she can read Ghiscari glyphs.” When Dany admitted that she could not, the slaver turned to the Unsullied. “What is your name?” he demanded.

“This one’s name is Red Flea, your worship.”

The girl repeated their exchange in the Common Tongue. “And yesterday, what was it?”

“Black Rat, your worship.”

“The day before?”

“Brown Flea, your worship.”

“Before that?”

“This one does not recall, your worship. Blue Toad, perhaps. Or Blue Worm.”

“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?”

“Those who cannot are culled in training, along with those who cannot run all day in full pack, scale a mountain in the black of night, walk across a bed of coals, or slay an infant.”

Dany’s mouth surely twisted at that. Did he see, or is he blind as well as cruel? She turned away quickly, trying to keep her face a mask until she heard the translation. Only then did she allow herself to say, “Whose infants do they slay?”

“To win his spiked cap, an Unsullied must go to the slave marts with a silver mark, find some wailing newborn, and kill it before its mother’s eyes. In this way, we make certain that there is no weakness left in them.”

She was feeling faint. The heat, she tried to tell herself. “You take a babe from its mother’s arms, kill it as she watches, and pay for her pain with a silver coin?”

When the translation was made for him, Kraznys mo Nakloz laughed aloud. “What a soft mewling fool this one is. Tell the whore of Westeros that the mark is for the child’s owner, not the mother. The Unsullied are not permitted to steal.” He tapped his whip against his leg. “Tell her that few ever fail that test. The dogs are harder for them, it must be said. We give each boy a puppy on the day that he is cut. At the end of the first year, he is required to strangle it. Any who cannot are killed, and fed to the surviving dogs. It makes for a good strong lesson, we find.”

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.

“The Good Master has said that these eunuchs cannot be tempted with coin or flesh,” Dany told the girl, “but if some enemy of mine should offer them freedom for betraying me ...”

“They would kill him out of hand and bring her his head, tell her that,” the slaver answered. “Other slaves may steal and hoard up silver in hopes of buying freedom, but an Unsullied would not take it if the little mare offered it as a gift. They have no life outside their duty. They are soldiers, and that is all.”

“It is soldiers I need,” Dany admitted.

“Tell her it is well she came to Astapor, then. Ask her how large an army she wishes to buy.”

“How many Unsullied do you have to sell?”

“Eight thousand fully trained and available at present. We sell them only by the unit, she should know. By the thousand or the century. Once we sold by the ten, as household guards, but that proved unsound. Ten is too few. They mingle with other slaves, even freemen, and forget who and what they are.” Kraznys waited for that to be rendered in the Common Tongue, and then continued. “This beggar queen must understand, such wonders do not come cheaply. In Yunkai and Meereen, slave swordsmen can be had for less than the price of their swords, but Unsullied are the finest foot in all the world, and each represents many years of training. Tell her they are like Valyrian steel, folded over and over and hammered for years on end, until they are stronger and more resilient than any metal on earth.”

“I know of Valyrian steel,” said Dany. “Ask the Good Master if the Unsullied have their own officers.”

“You must set your own officers over them. We train them to obey, not to think. If it is wits she wants, let her buy scribes.”

“And their gear?”

“Sword, shield, spear, sandals, and quilted tunic are included,” said Kraznys. “And the spiked caps, to be sure. They will wear such armor as you wish, but you must provide it.”

Dany could think of no other questions. 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. She turned back to Kraznys mo Nakloz and his slave girl. “I must consider carefully.”

The slaver shrugged. “Tell her to consider quickly. There are many other buyers. Only three days past I showed these same Unsullied to a corsair king who hopes to buy them all.”

“The corsair wanted only a hundred, your worship,” Dany heard the slave girl say.

He poked her with the end of the whip. “Corsairs are all liars. He’ll buy them all. Tell her that, girl.”

Dany knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. “Remind your Good Master of who I am. Remind him that I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, trueborn queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him.”

Yet her words did not move the plump perfumed slaver, even when rendered in his own ugly tongue. “Old Ghis ruled an empire when the Valyrians were still fucking sheep,” he growled at the poor little scribe, “and we are the sons of the harpy.” He gave a shrug. “My tongue is wasted wagging at women. East or west, it makes no matter, they cannot decide until they have been pampered and flattered and stuffed with sweetmeats. Well, if this is my fate, so be it. Tell the whore that if she requires a guide to our sweet city, Kraznys mo Nakloz will gladly serve her ... and service her as well, if she is more woman than she looks.”

“Good Master Kraznys would be most pleased to show you Astapor while you ponder, Your Grace,” the translator said.

“I will feed her jellied dog brains, and a fine rich stew of red octopus and unborn puppy.” He wiped his lips.

“Many delicious dishes can be had here, he says.”

“Tell her how pretty the pyramids are at night,” the slaver growled. “Tell her I will lick honey off her breasts, or allow her to lick honey off mine if she prefers.”

“Astapor is most beautiful at dusk, Your Grace,” said the slave girl. “The Good Masters light silk lanterns on every terrace, so all the pyramids glow with colored lights. Pleasure barges ply the Worm, playing soft music and calling at the little islands for food and wine and other delights.”

“Ask her if she wishes to view our fighting pits,” Kraznys added. “Douquor’s Pit has a fine folly scheduled for the evening. A bear and three small boys. One boy will be rolled in honey, one in blood, and one in rotting fish, and she may wager on which the bear will eat first.”

Tap tap tap, Dany heard. Arstan Whitebeard’s face was still, but his staff beat out his rage. Tap tap tap. She made herself smile. “I have my own bear on Balerion,” she told the translator, “and he may well eat me if I do not return to him.”

“See,” said Kraznys when her words were translated. “It is not the woman who decides, it is this man she runs to. As ever!”

“Thank the Good Master for his patient kindness,” Dany said, “and tell him that I will think on all I learned here.” She gave her arm to Arstan Whitebeard, to lead her back across the plaza to her litter. Aggo and Jhogo fell in to either side of them, walking with the bowlegged swagger all the horselords affected when forced to dismount and stride the earth like common mortals.

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. She did not close the curtains as they got under way. With the sun beating down so fiercely on this city of red brick, every stray breeze was to be cherished, even if it did come with a swirl of fine red dust. Besides, I need to see.

Astapor was a queer city, even to the eyes of one who had walked within the House of Dust and bathed in the Womb of the World beneath the Mother of Mountains. All the streets were made of the same red brick that had paved the plaza. So too were the stepped pyramids, the deep-dug fighting pits with their rings of descending seats, the sulfurous fountains and gloomy wine caves, and the ancient walls that encircled them. So many bricks, she thought, and so old and crumbling. Their fine red dust was everywhere, dancing down the gutters at each gust of wind. Small wonder so many Astapori women veiled their faces; the brick dust stung the eyes worse than sand.

“Make way!” Jhogo shouted as he rode before her litter. “Make way for the Mother of Dragons!” But when he uncoiled the great silverhandled whip that Dany had given him, and made to crack it in the air, she leaned out and told him nay. “Not in this place, blood of my blood,” she said, in his own tongue. “These bricks have heard too much of the sound of whips.”

The streets had been largely deserted when they had set out from the port that morning, and scarcely seemed more crowded now. An elephant lumbered past with a latticework litter on its back. A naked boy with peeling skin sat in a dry brick gutter, picking his nose and staring sullenly at some ants in the street. He lifted his head at the sound of hooves, and gaped as a column of mounted guards trotted by in a cloud of red dust and brittle laughter. The copper disks sewn to their cloaks of yellow silk glittered like so many suns, but their tunics were embroidered linen, and below the waist they wore sandals and pleated linen skirts. Bareheaded, each man had teased and oiled and twisted his stiff red- black hair into some fantastic shape, horns and wings and blades and even grasping hands, so they looked like some troupe of demons escaped from the seventh hell. The naked boy watched them for a bit, along with Dany, but soon enough they were gone, and he went back to his ants, and a knuckle up his nose.

An old city, this, she reflected, but not so populous as it was in its glory, nor near so crowded as Qarth or Pentos or Lys.

Her litter came to a sudden halt at the cross street, to allow a coffle of slaves to shuffle across her path, urged along by the crack of an overseer’s lash. These were no Unsullied, Dany noted, but a more common sort of men, with pale brown skins and black hair. There were women among them, but no children. All were naked. Two Astapori rode behind them on white asses, a man in a red silk tokar and a veiled woman in sheer blue linen decorated with flakes of lapis lazuli. In her red-black hair she wore an ivory comb. The man laughed as he whispered to her, paying no more mind to Dany than to his slaves, nor the overseer with his twisted five-thonged lash, a squat broad Dothraki who had the harpy and chains tattooed proudly across his muscular chest.

[...]Aggo helped Dany down from her litter. Strong Belwas was seated on a massive piling, eating a great haunch of brown roasted meat. “Dog,” he said happily when he saw Dany. “Good dog in Astapor, little queen. Eat?” He offered it with a greasy grin.

“That is kind of you, Belwas, but no.” Dany had eaten dog in other places, at other times, but just now all she could think of was the Unsullied and their stupid puppies. She swept past the huge eunuch and up the plank onto the deck of Balerion.

Ser Jorah Mormont stood waiting for her. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head. “The slavers have come and gone. Three of them, with a dozen scribes and as many slaves to lift and fetch. They crawled over every foot of our holds and made note of all we had.” He walked her aft. “How many men do they have for sale?”

“None.” Was it Mormont she was angry with, or this city with its sullen heat, its stinks and sweats and crumbling bricks? “They sell eunuchs, not men. Eunuchs made of brick, like the rest of Astapor. Shall I buy eight thousand brick eunuchs with dead eyes that never move, who kill suckling babes for the sake of a spiked hat and strangle their own dogs? They don’t even have names. So don’t call them men, ser.”

“Khaleesi,” he said, taken aback by her fury, “the Unsullied are chosen as boys, and trained—”

“I have heard all I care to of their training.” Dany could feel tears welling in her eyes, sudden and unwanted. Her hand flashed up and cracked Ser Jorah hard across the face. It was either that, or cry.

Mormont touched the cheek she’d slapped. “If I have displeased my queen—”

“You have. You’ve displeased me greatly, ser. If you were my true knight, you would never have brought me to this vile sty.” If you were my true knight, you would never have kissed me, or looked at my breasts the way you did, or ...

“As Your Grace commands. I shall tell Captain Groleo to make ready to sail on the evening tide, for some sty less vile.”

“No,” said Dany. Groleo watched them from the forecastle, and his crew was watching too. Whitebeard, her bloodriders, Jhiqui, every one had stopped what they were doing at the sound of the slap. “I want to sail now, not on the tide, I want to sail far and fast and never look back. But I can’t, can I? There are eight thousand brick eunuchs for sale, and I must find some way to buy them.” And with that she left him, and went below.

[...] Dusk had begun to settle over the waters of Slaver’s Bay before Dany returned to the deck. She stood by the rail and looked out over Astapor. From here it looks almost beautiful, she thought. The stars were coming out above, and the silk lanterns below, just as Kraznys’s translator had promised. The brick pyramids were all glimmery with light. But it is dark below, in the streets and plazas and fighting pits. And it is darkest of all in the barracks, where some little boy is feeding scraps to the puppy they gave him when they took away his manhood.

There was a soft step behind her. “Khaleesi.” His voice. “Might I speak frankly?”

Dany did not turn. She could not bear to look at him just now. If she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness. “Say what you will, ser.”

Blood and fire, thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She had known them all her life. “The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight thousand strangled dogs.”

“Your Grace,” said Jorah Mormont, “I saw King’s Landing after the Sack. Babes were butchered that day as well, and old men, and children at play. More women were raped than you can count. There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. The scent of blood is all it takes to wake him. Yet I have never heard of these Unsullied raping, nor putting a city to the sword, nor even plundering, save at the express command of those who lead them. Brick they may be, as you say, but if you buy them henceforth the only dogs they’ll kill are those you want dead. And you do have some dogs you want dead, as I recall.”

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

“You have a dragon’s eye, Khaleesi, that’s plain to see.”

“I wanted an answer, not a compliment.”

“There are two reasons. Astapor’s brave defenders are so much chaff, it’s true. Old names and fat purses who dress up as Ghiscari scourges to pretend they still rule a vast empire. Every one is a high officer. On feastdays they fight mock wars in the pits to demonstrate what brilliant commanders they are, but it’s the eunuchs who do the dying. All the same, any enemy wanting to sack Astapor would have to know that they’d be facing Unsullied. The slavers would turn out the whole garrison in the city’s defense. The Dothraki have not ridden against Unsullied since they left their braids at the gates of Qohor.”

“And the second reason?” Dany asked.

“Who would attack Astapor?” Ser Jorah asked. “Meereen and Yunkai are rivals but not enemies, the Doom destroyed Valyria, the folk of the eastern hinterlands are all Ghiscari, and beyond the hills lies Lhazar. The Lamb Men, as your Dothraki call them, a notably unwarlike people.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but north of the slave cities is the Dothraki sea, and two dozen mighty khals who like nothing more than sacking cities and carrying off their people into slavery.”

“Carrying them off where? What good are slaves once you’ve killed the slavers? Valyria is no more, Qarth lies beyond the red waste, and the Nine Free Cities are thousands of leagues to the west. And you may be sure the sons of the harpy give lavishly to every passing khal, just as the magisters do in Pentos and Norvos and Myr. They know that if they feast the horselords and give them gifts, they will soon ride on. It’s cheaper than fighting, and a deal more certain.”

Cheaper than fighting, Dany thought. Yes, it might be. If only it could be that easy for her. How pleasant it would be to sail to King’s Landing with her dragons, and pay the boy Joffrey a chest of gold to make him go away.

“Khaleesi?” Ser Jorah prompted, when she had been silent for a long time. He touched her elbow lightly.

Dany shrugged him off. “Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar ...”

“I remember, Daenerys.”

“Your Grace,” she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or ‘Go forth and defend them’? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?” Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for an answer.

“My queen,” the big man said slowly, “all you say is true. But Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost the kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.”

ASOS Daenerys III

“All?” The slave girl sounded wary. “Your Grace, did this one’s worthless ears mishear you?”

[...]“Your ears heard true,” said Dany. “I want to buy them all. Tell the Good Masters, if you will.”

She had chosen a Qartheen gown today. The deep violet silk brought out the purple of her eyes. The cut of it bared her left breast. While the Good Masters of Astapor conferred among themselves in low voices, Dany sipped tart persimmon wine from a tall silver flute. She could not quite make out all that they were saying, but she could hear the greed.

Each of the eight brokers was attended by two or three body slaves ... though one Grazdan, the eldest, had six. So as not to seem a beggar, Dany had brought her own attendants; Irri and Jhiqui in their sandsilk trousers and painted vests, old Whitebeard and mighty Belwas, her bloodriders. Ser Jorah stood behind her sweltering in his green surcoat with the black bear of Mormont embroidered upon it. The smell of his sweat was an earthy answer to the sweet perfumes that drenched the Astapori.

“All,” growled Kraznys mo Nakloz, who smelled of peaches today. The slave girl repeated the word in the Common Tongue of Westeros. “Of thousands, there are eight. Is this what she means by all? There are also six centuries, who shall be part of a ninth thousand when complete. Would she have them too?”

“I would,” said Dany when the question was put to her. “The eight thousands, the six centuries ... and the ones still in training as well. The ones who have not earned the spikes.”

Kraznys turned back to his fellows. Once again they conferred among themselves. The translator had told Dany their names, but it was hard to keep them straight. Four of the men seemed to be named Grazdan, presumably after Grazdan the Great who had founded Old Ghis in the dawn of days. They all looked alike; thick fleshy men with amber skin, broad noses, dark eyes. Their wiry hair was black, or a dark red, or that queer mixture of red and black that was peculiar to Ghiscari. All wrapped themselves in tokars, a garment permitted only to freeborn men of Astapor.

It was the fringe on the tokar that proclaimed a man’s status, Dany had been told by Captain Groleo. In this cool green room atop the pyramid, two of the slavers wore tokars fringed in silver, five had gold fringes, and one, the oldest Grazdan, displayed a fringe of fat white pearls that clacked together softly when he shifted in his seat or moved an arm.

“We cannot sell half-trained boys,” one of the silver-fringe Grazdans was saying to the others.

“We can, if her gold is good,” said a fatter man whose fringe was gold.

“They are not Unsullied. They have not killed their sucklings. If they fail in the field, they will shame us. And even if we cut five thousand raw boys tomorrow, it would be ten years before they are fit for sale. What would we tell the next buyer who comes seeking Unsullied?”

“We will tell him that he must wait,” said the fat man. “Gold in my purse is better than gold in my future.”

Dany let them argue, sipping the tart persimmon wine and trying to keep her face blank and ignorant. I will have them all, no matter the price, she told herself. The city had a hundred slave traders, but the eight before her were the greatest. When selling bed slaves, fieldhands, scribes, craftsmen, and tutors, these men were rivals, but their ancestors had allied one with the other for the purpose of making and selling the Unsullied. Brick and blood built Astapor, and brick and blood her people.

It was Kraznys who finally announced their decision. “Tell her that the eight thousands she shall have, if her gold proves sufficient. And the six centuries, if she wishes. Tell her to come back in a year, and we will sell her another two thousand.”

“In a year I shall be in Westeros,” said Dany when she had heard the translation. “My need is now. The Unsullied are well trained, but even so, many will fall in battle. I shall need the boys as replacements to take up the swords they drop.” She put her wine aside and leaned toward the slave girl. “Tell the Good Masters that I will want even the little ones who still have their puppies. Tell them that I will pay as much for the boy they cut yesterday as for an Unsullied in a spiked helm.”

The girl told them. The answer was still no. 

Dany frowned in annoyance. “Very well. Tell them I will pay double, so long as I get them all.” 

“Double?” The fat one in the gold fringe all but drooled.

“This little whore is a fool, truly,” said Khaznys mo Nakloz. “Ask her for triple, I say. She is desperate enough to pay. Ask for ten times the price of every slave, yes.”

The tall Grazdan with the spiked beard spoke in the Common Tongue, though not so well as the slave girl. “Your Grace,” he growled, “Westeros is being wealthy, yes, but you are not being queen now. Perhaps will never being queen. Even Unsullied may be losing battles to savage steel knights of Seven Kingdoms. I am reminding, the Good Masters of Astapor are not selling flesh for promisings. Are you having gold and trading goods sufficient to be paying for all these eunuchs you are wanting?”

“You know the answer to that better than I, Good Master,” Dany replied. “Your men have gone through my ships and tallied every bead of amber and jar of saffron. How much do I have?”

“Sufficient to be buying one of thousands,” the Good Master said, with a contemptuous smile. “Yet you are paying double, you are saying. Five centuries, then, is all you buy.”

“Your pretty crown might buy another century,” said the fat one in Valyrian. “Your crown of the three dragons.”

Dany waited for his words to be translated. “My crown is not for sale.” When Viserys sold their mother’s crown, the last joy had gone from him, leaving only rage. “Nor will I enslave my people, nor sell their goods and horses. But my ships you can have. The great cog Balerion and the galleys Vhagar and Meraxes.” She had warned Groleo and the other captains it might come to this, though they had protested the necessity of it furiously. “Three good ships should be worth more than a few paltry eunuchs.”

The fat Grazdan turned to the others. They conferred in low voices once again. “Two of the thousands,” the one with the spiked beard said when he turned back. “It is too much, but the Good Masters are being generous and your need is being great.”

Two thousand would never serve for what she meant to do. I must have them all. Dany knew what she must do now, though the taste of it was so bitter that even the persimmon wine could not cleanse it from her month. She had considered long and hard and found no other way. It is my only choice. “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. “Tell them I await their answer.”

She knew the answer, though; she could see it in the glitter of their eyes and the smiles they tried so hard to hide. Astapor had thousands of eunuchs, and even more slave boys waiting to be cut, but there were only three living dragons in all the great wide world. And the Ghiscari lust for dragons. How could they not? Five times had Old Ghis contended with Valyria when the world was young, and five times gone down to bleak defeat. For the Freehold had dragons, and the Empire had none.

The oldest Grazdan stirred in his seat, and his pearls clacked together softly. “A dragon of our choice,” he said in a thin, hard voice. “The black one is largest and healthiest.”

“His name is Drogon.” She nodded.

“All your goods, save your crown and your queenly raiment, which we will allow you to keep. The three ships. And Drogon.”

“Done,” she said, in the Common Tongue. 

“Done,” the old Grazdan answered in his thick Valyrian.

The others echoed that old man of the pearl fringe. “Done,” the slave girl translated, “and done, and done, eight times done.”

“The Unsullied will learn your savage tongue quick enough,” added Kraznys mo Nakloz, when all the arrangements had been made, “but until such time you will need a slave to speak to them. Take this one as our gift to you, a token of a bargain well struck.”

“I shall,” said Dany.

The slave girl rendered his words to her, and hers to him. If she had feelings about being given for a token, she took care not to let them show.

Dany fed her dragons as she always did, but found she had no appetite herself. She cried awhile, alone in her cabin, then dried her tears long enough for yet another argument with Groleo. “Magister Illyrio is not here,” she finally had to tell him, “and if he was, he could not sway me either. I need the Unsullied more than I need these ships, and I will hear no more about it.”

The anger burned the grief and fear from her, for a few hours at the least. Afterward she called her bloodriders to her cabin, with Ser Jorah. They were the only ones she truly trusted.

The red brick streets of Astapor were almost crowded this morning. Slaves and servants lined the ways, while the slavers and their women donned their tokars to look down from their stepped pyramids. They are not so different from Qartheen after all, she thought. They want a glimpse of dragons to tell their children of, and their children’s children. It made her wonder how many of them would ever have children.

“Here they are.” He looked at Missandei. “Tell her they are hers ... if she can pay.”

“She can,” the girl said.

Ser Jorah barked a command, and the trade goods were brought forward. Six bales of tiger skins, three hundred bolts of fine silk. Jars of saffron, jars of myrrh, jars of pepper and curry and cardamom, an onyx mask, twelve jade monkeys, casks of ink in red and black and green, a box of rare black amethysts, a box of pearls, a cask of pitted olives stuffed with maggots, a dozen casks of pickled cave fish, a great brass gong and a hammer to beat it with, seventeen ivory eyes, and a huge chest full of books written in tongues that Dany could not read. And more, and more, and more. Her people stacked it all before the slavers.

While the payment was being made, Kraznys mo Nakloz favored her with a few final words on the handling of her troops. “They are green as yet,” he said through Missandei. “Tell the whore of Westeros she would be wise to blood them early. There are many small cities between here and there, cities ripe for sacking. Whatever plunder she takes will be hers alone. Unsullied have no lust for gold or gems. And should she take captives, a few guards will suffice to march them back to Astapor. We’ll buy the healthy ones, and for a good price. And who knows? In ten years, some of the boys she sends us may be Unsullied in their turn. Thus all shall prosper.”

Finally there were no more trade goods to add to the pile. Her Dothraki mounted their horses once more, and Dany said, “This was all we could carry. The rest awaits you on the ships, a great quantity of amber and wine and black rice. And you have the ships themselves. So all that remains is ...”

“ ... the dragon,” finished the Grazdan with the spiked beard, who spoke the Common Tongue so thickly.

“And here he waits.” Ser Jorah and Belwas walked beside her to the litter, where Drogon and his brothers lay basking in the sun. Jhiqui unfastened one end of the chain, and handed it down to her. When she gave a yank, the black dragon raised his head, hissing, and unfolded wings of night and scarlet. Kraznys mo Nakloz smiled broadly as their shadow fell across him.

Dany handed the slaver the end of Drogon’s chain. In return he presented her with the whip. The handle was black dragonbone, elaborately carved and inlaid with gold. Nine long thin leather lashes trailed from it, each one tipped by a gilded claw. The gold pommel was a woman’s head, with pointed ivory teeth. “The harpy’s fingers,” Kraznys named the scourge.

Dany turned the whip in her hand. Such a light thing, to bear such weight. “Is it done, then? Do they belong to me?”

“It is done,” he agreed, giving the chain a sharp pull to bring Drogon down from the litter.

Dany mounted her silver. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She felt desperately afraid. Was this what my brother would have done? She wondered if Prince Rhaegar had been this anxious when he saw the Usurper’s host formed up across the Trident with all their banners floating on the wind.

She stood in her stirrups and raised the harpy’s fingers above her head for all the Unsullied to see. “IT IS DONE!” she cried at the top of her lungs. “YOU ARE MINE!” She gave the mare her heels and galloped along the first rank, holding the fingers high. “YOU ARE THE DRAGON’S NOW! YOU’RE BOUGHT AND PAID FOR! IT IS DONE! IT IS DONE!”

She glimpsed old Grazdan turn his grey head sharply. He hears me speak Valyrian. The other slavers were not listening. They crowded around Kraznys and the dragon, shouting advice. Though the Astapori yanked and tugged, Drogon would not budge off the litter. Smoke rose grey from his open jaws, and his long neck curled and straightened as he snapped at the slaver’s face.

It is time to cross the Trident, Dany thought, as she wheeled and rode her silver back. Her bloodriders moved in close around her. “You are in difficulty,” she observed.

“He will not come,” Kraznys said.

“There is a reason. A dragon is no slave.” And Dany swept the lash down as hard as she could across the slaver’s face. Kraznys screamed and staggered back, the blood running red down his cheeks into his perfumed beard. The harpy’s fingers had torn his features half to pieces with one slash, but she did not pause to contemplate the ruin. “Drogon,” she sang out loudly, sweetly, all her fear forgotten. “Dracarys.”

The black dragon spread his wings and roared.

A lance of swirling dark flame took Kraznys full in the face. His eyes melted and ran down his cheeks, and the oil in his hair and beard burst so fiercely into fire that for an instant the slaver wore a burning crown twice as tall as his head. The sudden stench of charred meat overwhelmed even his perfume, and his wail seemed to drown all other sound.

Then the Plaza of Punishment blew apart into blood and chaos. The Good Masters were shrieking, stumbling, shoving one another aside and tripping over the fringes of their tokars in their haste. Drogon flew almost lazily at Kraznys, black wings beating. As he gave the slaver another taste of fire, Irri and Jhiqui unchained Viserion and Rhaegal, and suddenly there were three dragons in the air. When Dany turned to look, a third of Astapor’s proud demon-horned warriors were fighting to stay atop their terrified mounts, and another third were fleeing in a bright blaze of shiny copper. One man kept his saddle long enough to draw a sword, but Jhogo’s whip coiled about his neck and cut off his shout. Another lost a hand to Rakharo’s arakh and rode off reeling and spurting blood. Aggo sat calmly notching arrows to his bowstring and sending them at tokars. Silver, gold, or plain, he cared nothing for the fringe. Strong Belwas had his arakh out as well, and he spun it as he charged.

“Spears!” Dany heard one Astapori shout. It was Grazdan, old Grazdan in his tokar heavy with pearls. “Unsullied! Defend us, stop them, defend your masters! Spears! Swords!”

When Rakharo put an arrow through his mouth, the slaves holding his sedan chair broke and ran, dumping him unceremoniously on the ground. The old man crawled to the first rank of eunuchs, his blood pooling on the bricks. The Unsullied did not so much as look down to watch him die. Rank on rank on rank, they stood.

And did not move. The gods have heard my prayer.

“Unsullied!” Dany galloped before them, her silver-gold braid flying behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. “Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see.” She raised the harpy’s fingers in the air ... and then she flung the scourge aside. “Freedom!” she sang out. “Dracarys! Dracarys!”

“Dracarys!” they shouted back, the sweetest word she’d ever heard. “Dracarys! Dracarys!” And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire.

ASOS Daenerys IV

Her Dothraki scouts had told her how it was, but Dany wanted to see for herself. Ser Jorah Mormont rode with her through a birchwood forest and up a slanting sandstone ridge. “Near enough,” he warned her at the crest.

Dany reined in her mare and looked across the fields, to where the Yunkish host lay athwart her path. Whitebeard had been teaching her how best to count the numbers of a foe. “Five thousand,” she said after a moment.

“I’d say so.”

“Are those slave soldiers they lead?”

“In large part. But not the equal of Unsullied. Yunkai is known for training bed slaves, not warriors.”

“What say you? Can we defeat this army?” “Easily,” Ser Jorah said.

“But not bloodlessly.” Blood aplenty had soaked into the bricks of Astapor the day that city fell, though little of it belonged to her or hers.

“We might win a battle here, but at such cost we cannot take the city.”

“That is ever a risk, Khaleesi. Astapor was complacent and vulnerable. Yunkai is forewarned.”

Dany considered. The slaver host seemed small compared to her own numbers, but the sellswords were ahorse. She’d ridden too long with Dothraki not to have a healthy respect for what mounted warriors could do to foot. The Unsullied could withstand their charge, but my freedmen will be slaughtered. “The slavers like to talk,” she said. “Send word that I will hear them this evening in my tent. And invite the captains of the sellsword companies to call on me as well. But not together. The Stormcrows at midday, the Second Sons two hours later.”

“As you wish,” Ser Jorah said. “But if they do not come—”

“They’ll come. They will be curious to see the dragons and hear what I might have to say, and the clever ones will see it for a chance to gauge my strength.” She wheeled her silver mare about. “I’ll await them in my pavilion.”

When she had commanded the Unsullied to choose officers from amongst themselves, Grey Worm had been their overwhelming choice for the highest rank. Dany had put Ser Jorah over him to train him for command, and the exile knight said that so far the young eunuch was hard but fair, quick to learn, tireless, and utterly unrelenting in his attention to detail.

One of the first things Dany had done after the fall of Astapor was abolish the custom of giving the Unsullied new slave names every day. Most of those born free had returned to their birth names; those who still remembered them, at least. Others had called themselves after heroes or gods, and sometimes weapons, gems, and even flowers, which resulted in soldiers with some very peculiar names, to Dany’s ears. Grey Worm had remained Grey Worm. When she asked him why, he said, “It is a lucky name. The name this one was born to was accursed. That was the name he had when he was taken for a slave. But Grey Worm is the name this one drew the day Daenerys Stormborn set him free.”

Within the perimeter the Unsullied had established, the tents were going up in orderly rows, with her own tall golden pavilion at the center. A second encampment lay close beyond her own; five times the size, sprawling and chaotic, this second camp had no ditches, no tents, no sentries, no horselines. Those who had horses or mules slept beside them, for fear they might be stolen. Goats, sheep, and half-starved dogs wandered freely amongst hordes of women, children, and old men. Dany had left Astapor in the hands of a council of former slaves led by a healer, a scholar, and a priest. Wise men all, she thought, and just. Yet even so, tens of thousands preferred to follow her to Yunkai, rather than remain behind in Astapor. I gave them the city, and most of them were too frightened to take it.

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver’s armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst.

Arstan Whitebeard stood outside the entrance of her tent, while Strong Belwas sat crosslegged on the grass nearby, eating a bowl of figs. On the march, the duty of guarding her fell upon their shoulders. She had made Jhogo, Aggo, and Rakharo her kos as well as her bloodriders, and just now she needed them more to command her Dothraki than to protect her person. Her khalasar was tiny, some thirty-odd mounted warriors, and most of them braidless boys and bentback old men. Yet they were all the horse she had, and she dared not go without them. The Unsullied might be the finest infantry in all the world, as Ser Jorah claimed, but she needed scouts and outriders as well.

“Yunkai will have war,” Dany told Whitebeard inside the pavilion.

Ser Jorah Mormont returned an hour later, accompanied by three captains of the Stormcrows. They wore black feathers on their polished helms, and claimed to be all equal in honor and authority. Dany studied them as Irri and Jhiqui poured the wine. Prendahl na Ghezn was a thickset Ghiscari with a broad face and dark hair going grey; Sallor the Bald had a twisting scar across his pale Qartheen cheek; and Daario Naharis was flamboyant even for a Tyroshi. His beard was cut into three prongs and dyed blue, the same color as his eyes and the curly hair that fell to his collar. His pointed mustachios were painted gold. His clothes were all shades of yellow; a foam of Myrish lace the color of butter spilled from his collar and cuffs, his doublet was sewn with brass medallions in the shape of dandelions, and ornamental goldwork crawled up his high leather boots to his thighs. Gloves of soft yellow suede were tucked into a belt of gilded rings, and his fingernails were enameled blue.

But it was Prendahl na Ghezn who spoke for the sellswords. “You would do well to take your rabble elsewhere,” he said. “You took Astapor by treachery, but Yunkai shall not fall so easily.”

“Five hundred of your Stormcrows against ten thousand of my Unsullied,” said Dany. “I am only a young girl and do not understand the ways of war, yet these odds seem poor to me.”

“The Stormcrows do not stand alone,” said Prendahl.

“Stormcrows do not stand at all. They fly, at the first sign of thunder. Perhaps you should be flying now. I have heard that sellswords are notoriously unfaithful. What will it avail you to be staunch, when the Second Sons change sides?”

“That will not happen,” Prendahl insisted, unmoved. “And if it did, it would not matter. The Second Sons are nothing. We fight beside the stalwart men of Yunkai.”

“You fight beside bed-boys armed with spears.” When she turned her head, the twin bells in her braid rang softly. “Once battle is joined, do not think to ask for quarter. Join me now, however, and you shall keep the gold the Yunkaii paid you and claim a share of the plunder besides, with greater rewards later when I come into my kingdom. Fight for the Wise Masters, and your wages will be death. Do you imagine that Yunkai will open its gates when my Unsullied are butchering you beneath the walls?”

“Woman, you bray like an ass, and make no more sense.”

“Woman?” She chuckled. “Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.” Dany met his stare. “I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, khaleesi to Drogo’s riders, and queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.”

“What you are,” said Prendahl na Ghezn, “is a horselord’s whore. When we break you, I will breed you to my stallion.”

Strong Belwas drew his arakh. “Strong Belwas will give his ugly tongue to the little queen, if she likes.”

“No, Belwas. I have given these men my safe conduct.” She smiled. “Tell me this—are the Stormcrows slave or free?”

“We are a brotherhood of free men,” Sallor declared.

“Good.” Dany stood. “Go back and tell your brothers what I said, then. It may be that some of them would sooner sup on gold and glory than on death. I shall want your answer on the morrow.”

The Stormcrow captains rose in unison. “Our answer is no,” said Prendahl na Ghezn. His fellows followed him out of the tent ... but Daario Naharis glanced back as he left, and inclined his head in polite farewell.

Two hours later the commander of the Second Sons arrived alone. He proved to be a towering Braavosi with pale green eyes and a bushy red-gold beard that reached nearly to his belt. His name was Mero, but he called himself the Titan’s Bastard.

Mero tossed down his wine straightaway, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leered at Dany. “I believe I fucked your twin sister in a pleasure house back home. Or was it you?”

“I think not. I would remember a man of such magnificence, I have no doubt.” “Yes, that is so. No woman has ever forgotten the Titan’s Bastard.” The Braavosi held out his cup to Jhiqui. “What say you take those clothes off and come sit on my lap? If you please me, I might bring the Second Sons over to your side.”

“If you bring the Second Sons over to my side, I might not have you gelded.”

The big man laughed. “Little girl, another woman once tried to geld me with her teeth. She has no teeth now, but my sword is as long and thick as ever. Shall I take it out and show you?”

“No need. After my eunuchs cut it off, I can examine it at my leisure.” Dany took a sip of wine. “It is true that I am only a young girl, and do not know the ways of war. Explain to me how you propose to defeat ten thousand Unsullied with your five hundred. Innocent as I am, these odds seem poor to me.”

“The Second Sons have faced worse odds and won.”

“The Second Sons have faced worse odds and run. At Qohor, when the Three Thousand made their stand. Or do you deny it?”

“That was many and more years ago, before the Second Sons were led by the Titan’s Bastard.”

“So it is from you they get their courage?” Dany turned to Ser Jorah. “When the battle is joined, kill this one first.”

The exile knight smiled. “Gladly, Your Grace.”

“Of course,” she said to Mero, “you could run again. We will not stop you. Take your Yunkish gold and go.”

“Had you ever seen the Titan of Braavos, foolish girl, you would know that it has no tail to turn.”

“Then stay, and fight for me.”

“You are worth fighting for, it is true,” the Braavosi said, “and I would gladly let you kiss my sword, if I were free. But I have taken Yunkai’s coin and pledged my holy word.”

“Coins can be returned,” she said. “I will pay you as much and more. I have other cities to conquer, and a whole kingdom awaiting me half a world away. Serve me faithfully, and the Second Sons need never seek hire again.”

The Braavosi tugged on his thick red beard. “As much and more, and perhaps a kiss besides, eh? Or more than a kiss? For a man as magnificent as me?”

“Perhaps.” “I will like the taste of your tongue, I think.”

She could sense Ser Jorah’s anger. My black bear does not like this talk of kissing. “Think on what I’ve said tonight. Can I have your answer on the morrow?”

“You can.” The Titan’s Bastard grinned. “Can I have a flagon of this fine wine to take back to my captains?”

“You may have a tun. It is from the cellars of the Good Masters of Astapor, and I have wagons full of it.”

“Then give me a wagon. A token of your good regard.”

“You have a big thirst.”

“I am big all over. And I have many brothers. The Titan’s Bastard does not drink alone, Khaleesi.”

“A wagon it is, if you promise to drink to my health.”

“Done!” he boomed. “And done, and done! Three toasts we’ll drink you, and bring you an answer when the sun comes up.”

The man on the white camel named himself Grazdan mo Eraz. Lean and hard, he had a white smile such as Kraznys had worn until Drogon burned off his face. His hair was drawn up in a unicorn’s horn that jutted from his brow, and his tokar was fringed with golden Myrish lace. “Ancient and glorious is Yunkai, the queen of cities,” he said when Dany welcomed him to her tent. “Our walls are strong, our nobles proud and fierce, our common folk without fear. Ours is the blood of ancient Ghis, whose empire was old when Valyria was yet a squalling child. You were wise to sit and speak, Khaleesi. You shall find no easy conquest here.”

“Good. My Unsullied will relish a bit of a fight.” She looked to Grey Worm, who nodded.

Grazdan shrugged expansively. “If blood is what you wish, let it flow. I am told you have freed your eunuchs. Freedom means as much to an Unsullied as a hat to a haddock.” He smiled at Grey Worm, but the eunuch might have been made of stone. “Those who survive we shall enslave again, and use to retake Astapor from the rabble. We can make a slave of you as well, do not doubt it. There are pleasure houses in Lys and Tyrosh where men would pay handsomely to bed the last Targaryen.”

“It is good to see you know who I am,” said Dany mildly.

“I pride myself on my knowledge of the savage senseless west.” Grazdan spread his hands, a gesture of conciliation. “And yet, why should we speak thus harshly to one another? It is true that you committed savageries in Astapor, but we Yunkai’i are a most forgiving people. Your quarrel is not with us, Your Grace. Why squander your strength against our mighty walls when you will need every man to regain your father’s throne in far Westeros? Yunkai wishes you only well in that endeavor. And to prove the truth of that, I have brought you a gift.” He clapped his hands, and two of his escort came forward bearing a heavy cedar chest bound in bronze and gold. They set it at her feet. “Fifty thousand golden marks,” Grazdan said smoothly. “Yours, as a gesture of friendship from the Wise Masters of Yunkai. Gold given freely is better than plunder bought with blood, surely? So I say to you, Daenerys Targaryen, take this chest, and go.”

Dany pushed open the lid of the chest with a small slippered foot. It was full of gold coins, just as the envoy said. She grabbed a handful and let them run through her fingers. They shone brightly as they tumbled and fell; new minted, most of them, stamped with a stepped pyramid on one face and the harpy of Ghis on the other. “Very pretty. I wonder how many chests like this I shall find when I take your city?”

He chuckled. “None, for that you shall never do.”

“I have a gift for you as well.” She slammed the chest shut. “Three days. On the morning of the third day, send out your slaves. All of them. Every man, woman, and child shall be given a weapon, and as much food, clothing, coin, and goods as he or she can carry. These they shall be allowed to choose freely from among their masters’ possessions, as payment for their years of servitude. When all the slaves have departed, you will open your gates and allow my Unsullied to enter and search your city, to make certain none remain in bondage. If you do this, Yunkai will not be burned or plundered, and none of your people shall be molested. The Wise Masters will have the peace they desire, and will have proved themselves wise indeed. What say you?”

“I say, you are mad.”

“Am I?” Dany shrugged, and said, “Dracarys.”

The dragons answered. Rhaegal hissed and smoked, Viserion snapped, and Drogon spat swirling red-black flame. It touched the drape of Grazdan’s tokar, and the silk caught in half a heartbeat. Golden marks spilled across the carpets as the envoy stumbled over the chest, shouting curses and beating at his arm until Whitebeard flung a flagon of water over him to douse the flames. “You swore I should have safe conduct! “ the Yunkish envoy wailed.

“Do all the Yunkai’i whine so over a singed tokar? I shall buy you a new one ... if you deliver up your slaves within three days. Elsewise, Drogon shall give you a warmer kiss.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’ve soiled yourself. Take your gold and go, and see that the Wise Masters hear my message.”

Grazdan mo Eraz pointed a finger. “You shall rue this arrogance, whore. These little lizards will not keep you safe, I promise you. We will fill the air with arrows if they come within a league of Yunkai. Do you think it is so hard to kill a dragon?”

“Harder than to kill a slaver. Three days, Grazdan. Tell them. By the end of the third day, I will be in Yunkai, whether you open your gates for me or no.”

“Ser Jorah,” she said, “summon my bloodriders.” Dany seated herself on a mound of cushions to await them, her dragons all about her. When they were assembled, she said, “An hour past midnight should be time enough.”

“Yes, Khaleesi,” said Rakharo. “Time for what?” 

“To mount our attack.” 

Ser Jorah Mormont scowled. “You told the sellswords—”

“—that I wanted their answers on the morrow. I made no promises about tonight. The Stormcrows will be arguing about my offer. The Second Sons will be drunk on the wine I gave Mero. And the Yunkai’i believe they have three days. We will take them under cover of this darkness.”

“They will have scouts watching for us.”

“And in the dark, they will see hundreds of campfires burning,” said Dany. “If they see anything at all.”

“Khaleesi,” said Jhogo, “I will deal with these scouts. They are no riders, only slavers on horses.”

“Just so,” she agreed. “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.”

“My sword is yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command, fair queen.”

“Then live,” Dany said, “and fight for me tonight.”

“That would not be wise, my queen.” Ser Jorah gave Daario a cold, hard stare. “Keep this one here under guard until the battle’s fought and won.”

She considered a moment, then shook her head. “If he can give us the Stormcrows, surprise is certain.”

“And if he betrays you, surprise is lost.”

Dany looked down at the sellsword again. He gave her such a smile that she flushed and turned away. “He won’t.”

“How can you know that?”

She pointed to the lumps of blackened flesh the dragons were consuming, bite by bloody bite. “I would call that proof of his sincerity. Daario Naharis, have your Stormcrows ready to strike the Yunkish rear when my attack begins. Can you get back safely?”

“If they stop me, I will say I have been scouting, and saw nothing.” The Tyroshi rose to his feet, bowed, and swept out.

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 tent flap pushed open, and Ser Jorah Mormont entered. He was dusty, and spattered with blood, but otherwise none the worse for battle. The exile knight went to one knee before Dany and said, “Your Grace, I bring you victory. The Stormcrows turned their cloaks, the slaves broke, and the Second Sons were too drunk to fight, just as you said. Two hundred dead, Yunkai’i for the most part. Their slaves threw down their spears and ran, and their sellswords yielded. We have several thousand captives.”

“Our own losses?” 

“A dozen. If that many.”

Only then did she allow herself to smile. “Rise, my good brave bear. Was Grazdan taken? Or the Titan’s Bastard?”

“Grazdan went to Yunkai to deliver your terms.” Ser Jorah got to his feet. “Mero fled, once he realized the Stormcrows had turned. I have men hunting him. He shouldn’t escape us long.”

“Very well,” Dany said. “Sellsword or slave, spare all those who will pledge me their faith. If enough of the Second Sons will join us, keep the company intact.”

The next day they marched the last three leagues to Yunkai. The city was built of yellow bricks instead of red; elsewise it was Astapor all over again, with the same crumbling walls and high stepped pyramids, and a great harpy mounted above its gates. The wall and towers swarmed with crossbowmen and slingers. Ser Jorah and Grey Worm deployed her men, Irri and Jhiqui raised her pavilion, and Dany sat down to wait.

On the morning of the third day, the city gates swung open and a line of slaves began to emerge. Dany mounted her silver to greet them. As they passed, little Missandei told them that they owed their freedom to Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and Mother of Dragons.

ASOS Daenerys V

Behind them, huge against the sky, could be seen the top of the Great Pyramid, a monstrous thing eight hundred feet tall with a towering bronze harpy at its top.

“The harpy is a craven thing,” Daario Naharis said when he saw it. “She has a woman’s heart and a chicken’s legs. Small wonder her sons hide behind their walls.”

But the hero did not hide. He rode out the city gates, armored in scales of copper and jet and mounted upon a white charger whose striped pink-and-white barding matched the silk cloak flowing from the hero’s shoulders. The lance he bore was fourteen feet long, swirled in pink and white, and his hair was shaped and teased and lacquered into two great curling ram’s horns. Back and forth he rode beneath the walls of multicolored bricks, challenging the besiegers to send a champion forth to meet him in single combat.

Her bloodriders were in such a fever to go meet him that they almost came to blows. “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.”

Ser Jorah snorted. “And if our champion were to lose, what sort of seed would that plant?”

“A man who fears battle wins no victories, ser.”

“We’re not speaking of battle. Meereen’s gates will not open if that fool falls. Why risk a life for naught?”

“For honor, I would say.”

“I have heard enough.” Dany did not need their squabbling on top of all the other troubles that plagued her. Meereen posed dangers far more serious than one pink-and-white hero shouting insults, and she could not let herself be distracted. Her host numbered more than eighty thousand after Yunkai, but fewer than a quarter of them were soldiers. The rest ... well, Ser Jorah called them mouths with feet, and soon they would be starving.

The Great Masters of Meereen had withdrawn before Dany’s advance, harvesting all they could and burning what they could not harvest. Scorched fields and poisoned wells had greeted her at every hand. Worst of all, they had nailed a slave child up on every milepost along the coast road from Yunkai, nailed them up still living with their entrails hanging out and one arm always outstretched to point the way to Meereen. Leading her van, Daario had given orders for the children to be taken down before Dany had to see them, but she had countermanded him as soon as she was told. “I will see them,” she said. “I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their faces. And I will remember.”

By the time they came to Meereen sitting on the salt coast beside her river, the count stood at one hundred and sixty-three. I will have this city, Dany pledged to herself once more.

The pink-and-white hero taunted the besiegers for an hour, mocking their manhood, mothers, wives, and gods. Meereen’s defenders cheered him on from the city walls. “His name is Oznak zo Pahl,” Brown Ben Plumm told her when he arrived for the war council. [...]

They watched Oznak zo Pahl dismount his white charger, undo his robes, pull out his manhood, and direct a stream of urine in the general direction of the olive grove where Dany’s gold pavilion stood among the burnt trees. He was still pissing when Daario Naharis rode up, arakh in hand. “Shall I cut that off for you and stuff it down his mouth, Your Grace?” His tooth shone gold amidst the blue of his forked beard.

“It’s his city I want, not his meager manhood.” She was growing angry, however. If I ignore this any longer, my own people will think me weak. Yet who could she send? She needed Daario as much as she did her bloodriders. Without the flamboyant Tyroshi, she had no hold on the Stormcrows, many of whom had been followers of Prendahl na Ghezn and Sallor the Bald.

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

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

“It will be.” Dany said, as the hero tucked his penis away again. “Tell Strong Belwas I have need of him.”

[...] Oznak zo Pahl lowered his lance and charged.

Belwas stopped with legs spread wide. In one hand was his small round shield, in the other the curved arakh that Arstan tended with such care. His great brown stomach and sagging chest were bare above the yellow silk sash knotted about his waist, and he wore no armor but his studded leather vest, so absurdly small that it did not even cover his nipples. “We should have given him chainmail,” Dany said, suddenly anxious.

“Mail would only slow him,” said Ser Jorah. “They wear no armor in the fighting pits. It’s blood the crowds come to see.”

Dust flew from the hooves of the white charger. Oznak thundered toward Strong Belwas, his striped cloak streaming from his shoulders. The whole city of Meereen seemed to be screaming him on. The besiegers’ cheers seemed few and thin by comparison; her Unsullied stood in silent ranks, watching with stone faces. Belwas might have been made of stone as well. He stood in the horse’s path, his vest stretched tight across his broad back. Oznak’s lance was leveled at the center of his chest. Its bright steel point winked in the sunlight. He’s going to be impaled, she thought ... as the eunuch spun sideways. And quick as the blink of an eye the horseman was beyond him, wheeling, raising the lance. Belwas made no move to strike at him. The Meereenese on the walls screamed even louder. “What is he doing?” Dany demanded.

“Giving the mob a show,” Ser Jorah said.

Oznak brought the horse around Belwas in a wide circle, then dug in with his spurs and charged again. Again Belwas waited, then spun and knocked the point of the lance aside. She could hear the eunuch’s booming laughter echoing across the plain as the hero went past him. “The lance is too long,” Ser Jorah said. “All Belwas needs do is avoid the point. Instead of trying to spit him so prettily, the fool should ride right over him.”

Oznak zo Pahl charged a third time, and now Dany could see plainly that he was riding past Belwas, the way a Westerosi knight might ride at an opponent in a tilt, rather than at him, like a Dothraki riding down a foe. The flat level ground allowed the charger to get up a good speed, but it also made it easy for the eunuch to dodge the cumbersome fourteen-foot lance.

Meereen’s pink-and-white hero tried to anticipate this time, and swung his lance sideways at the last second to catch Strong Belwas when he dodged. But the eunuch had anticipated too, and this time he dropped down instead of spinning sideways. The lance passed harmlessly over his head. And suddenly Belwas was rolling, and bringing the razor-sharp arakh around in a silver arc. They heard the charger scream as the blade bit into his legs, and then the horse was falling, the hero tumbling from the saddle.

A sudden silence swept along the brick parapets of Meereen. Now it was Dany’s people who were screaming and cheering.

Oznak leapt clear of his horse and managed to draw his sword before Strong Belwas was on him. Steel sang against steel, too fast and furious for Dany to follow the blows. It could not have been a dozen heartbeats before Belwas’s chest was awash in blood from a slice below his breasts, and Oznak zo Pahl had an arakh planted right between his ram’s horns. The eunuch wrenched the blade loose and parted the hero’s head from his body with three savage blows to the neck. He held it up high for the Meereenese to see, then flung it toward the city gates and let it bounce and roll across the sand.

“So much for the hero of Meereen,” said Daario, laughing.

“No,” Dany agreed, “but I’m pleased we killed this one.”

The defenders on the walls began firing their crossbows at Belwas, but the bolts fell short or skittered harmlessly along the ground. The eunuch turned his back on the steel- tipped rain, lowered his trousers, squatted, and shat in the direction of the city. He wiped himself with Oznak’s striped cloak, and paused long enough to loot the hero’s corpse and put the dying horse out of his agony before trudging back to the olive grove.

Only then did she lead her captains and commanders inside her pavilion for their council.

“I must have this city,” she told them, sitting crosslegged on a pile of cushions, her dragons all about her. Irri and Jhiqui poured wine. “Her granaries are full to bursting. There are figs and dates and olives growing on the terraces of her pyramids, and casks of salt fish and smoked meat buried in her cellars.”

“And fat chests of gold, silver, and gemstones as well,” Daario reminded them. “Let us not forget the gemstones.”

“I’ve had a look at the landward walls, and I see no point of weakness,” said Ser Jorah Mormont. “Given time, we might be able to mine beneath a tower and make a breach, but what do we eat while we’re digging? Our stores are all but exhausted.”

“No weakness in the landward walls?” said Dany. Meereen stood on a jut of sand and stone where the slow brown Skahazadhan flowed into Slaver’s Bay. The city’s north wall ran along the riverbank, its west along the bay shore. “Does that mean we might attack from the river or the sea?”

“With three ships? We’ll want to have Captain Groleo take a good look at the wall along the river, but unless it’s crumbling that’s just a wetter way to die.”

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

“From wood, Your Grace,” Ser Jorah said. “The slavers have burnt every tree within twenty leagues of here. Without wood, we have no trebuchets to smash the walls, no ladders to go over them, no siege towers, no turtles, and no rams. We can storm the gates with axes, to be sure, but ...”

“Did you see them bronze heads above the gates?” asked Brown Ben Plumm. “Rows of harpy heads with open mouths? The Meereenese can squirt boiling oil out them mouths, and cook your axemen where they stand.”

Daario Naharis gave Grey Worm a smile. “Perhaps the Unsullied should wield the axes. Boiling oil feels like no more than a warm bath to you, I have heard.”

“This is false.” Grey Worm did not return the smile. “These ones do not feel burns as men do, yet such oil blinds and kills. The Unsullied do not fear to die, though. Give these ones rams, and we will batter down these gates or die in the attempt.”

“You would die,” said Brown Ben. At Yunkai, when he took command of the Second Sons, he claimed to be the veteran of a hundred battles. “Though I will not say I fought bravely in all of them. There are old sellswords and bold sellswords, but no old bold sellswords.” She saw that it was true.

Dany sighed. “I will not throw away Unsullied lives, Grey Worm. Perhaps we can starve the city out.”

Ser Jorah looked unhappy. “We’ll starve long before they do, Your Grace. There’s no food here, nor fodder for our mules and horses. I do not like this river water either. Meereen shits into the Skahazadhan but draws its drinking water from deep wells. Already we’ve had reports of sickness in the camps, fever and brownleg and three cases of the bloody flux. There will be more if we remain. The slaves are weak from the march.”

“Freedmen,” Dany corrected. “They are slaves no longer.”

“Slave or free, they are hungry and they’ll soon be sick. The city is better provisioned than we are, and can be resupplied by water. Your three ships are not enough to deny them access to both the river and the sea.”

“Then what do you advise, Ser Jorah?”

“You will not like it.” 

“I would hear it all the same.”

“As you wish. I say, let this city be. You cannot free every slave in the world, Khaleesi. Your war is in Westeros.”

“I have not forgotten Westeros.” Dany dreamt of it some nights, this fabled land that she had never seen. “If I let Meereen’s old brick walls defeat me so easily, though, how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros?”

“As Aegon did,” Ser Jorah said, “with fire. By the time we reach the Seven Kingdoms, your dragons will be grown. And we will have siege towers and trebuchets as well, all the things we lack here ... but the way across the Lands of the Long Summer is long and grueling, and there are dangers we cannot know. You stopped at Astapor to buy an army, not to start a war. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, my queen. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and march west for Pentos.”

“Defeated?” said Dany, bristling.

“When cowards hide behind great walls, it is they who are defeated, Khaleesi,” Ko Jhogo said.

Her other bloodriders concurred. “Blood of my blood,” said Rakharo, “when cowards hide and burn the food and fodder, great khals must seek for braver foes. This is known.”

“It is known,” Jhiqui agreed, as she poured.

“Not to me.” Dany set great store by Ser Jorah’s counsel, but to leave Meereen untouched was more than she could stomach. She could not forget the children on their posts, the birds tearing at their entrails, their skinny arms pointing up the coast road. “Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west, how can I feed my freedmen?”

“You can’t. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, yes. That will be hard, but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us.”

Dany had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. “No,” she said. “I will not march my people off to die.” My children. “There must be some way into this city.”

“I know a way.” Brown Ben Plumm stroked his speckled grey-and-white beard. “Sewers.” “Sewers? What do you mean?”

“Great brick sewers empty into the Skahazadhan, carrying the city’s wastes. They might be a way in, for a few. That was how I escaped Meereen, after Scarb lost his head.” Brown Ben made a face. “The smell has never left me. I dream of it some nights.”

Ser Jorah looked dubious. “Easier to go out than in, it would seem to me. These sewers empty into the river, you say? That would mean the mouths are right below the walls.”

“And closed with iron grates,” Brown Ben admitted, “though some have rusted through, else I would have drowned in shit. Once inside, it is a long foul climb in pitch-dark through a maze of brick where a man could lose himself forever. The filth is never lower than waist high, and can rise over your head from the stains I saw on the walls. There’s things down there too. Biggest rats you ever saw, and worse things. Nasty.”

Daario Naharis laughed. “As nasty as you, when you came crawling out? If any man were fool enough to try this, every slaver in Meereen would smell them the moment they emerged.”

Brown Ben shrugged. “Her Grace asked if there was a way in, so I told her ... but Ben Plumm isn’t going down in them sewers again, not for all the gold in the Seven Kingdoms. If there’s others want to try it, though, they’re welcome.”

Aggo, Jhogo, and Grey Worm all tried to speak at once, but Dany raised her hand for silence. “These sewers do not sound promising.” Grey Worm would lead his Unsullied down the sewers if she commanded it, she knew; her bloodriders would do no less. But none of them was suited to the task. The Dothraki were horsemen, and the strength of the Unsullied was their discipline on the battlefield. Can I send men to die in the dark on such a slender hope? “I must think on this some more. Return to your duties.”

South of the ordered realm of stakes, pits, drills, and bathing eunuchs lay the encampments of her freedmen, a far noisier and more chaotic place. Dany had armed the former slaves as best she could with weapons from Astapor and Yunkai, and Ser Jorah had organized the fighting men into four strong companies, yet she saw no one drilling here.

“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.”

“I had a look at the river wall,” Ser Jorah started. “It’s a few feet higher than the others, and just as strong. And the Meereenese have a dozen fire hulks tied up beneath the ramparts—”

She cut him off. “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.

ASOS Daenerys VI

No one was calling her Daenerys the Conqueror yet, but perhaps they would. Aegon the Conqueror had won Westeros with three dragons, but she had taken Meereen with sewer rats and a wooden cock, in less than a day. Poor Groleo. He still grieved for his ship, she knew. If a war galley could ram another ship, why not a gate? That had been her thought when she commanded the captains to drive their ships ashore. Their masts had become her battering rams, and swarms of freedmen had torn their hulls apart to build mantlets, turtles, catapults, and ladders. The sellwords had given each ram a bawdy name, and it had been the mainmast of Meraxes—formerly Joso’s Prank—that had broken the eastern gate. Joso’s Cock, they called it. The fighting had raged bitter and bloody for most of a day and well into the night before the wood began to splinter and Meraxes’ iron figurehead, a laughing jester’s face, came crashing through.

Dany had wanted to lead the attack herself, but to a man her captains said that would be madness, and her captains never agreed on anything. Instead she remained in the rear, sitting atop her silver in a long shirt of mail. She heard the city fall from half a league away, though, when the defenders’ shouts of defiance changed to cries of fear. Her dragons had roared as one in that moment, filling the night with flame. The slaves are rising, she knew at once. My sewer rats have gnawed off their chains.

When the last resistance had been crushed by the Unsullied and the sack had run its course, Dany entered her city. The dead were heaped so high before the broken gate that it took her freedmen near an hour to make a path for her silver. Joso’s Cock and the great wooden turtle that had protected it, covered with horsehides, lay abandoned within. She rode past burned buildings and broken windows, through brick streets where the gutters were choked with the stiff and swollen dead. Cheering slaves lifted bloodstained hands to her as she went by, and called her “Mother.”

In the plaza before the Great Pyramid, the Meereenese huddled forlorn. The Great Masters had looked anything but great in the morning light. Stripped of their jewels and their fringed tokars, they were contemptible; a herd of old men with shriveled balls and spotted skin and young men with ridiculous hair. Their women were either soft and fleshy or as dry as old sticks, their face paint streaked by tears. “I want your leaders,” Dany told them. “Give them up, and the rest of you shall be spared.”

“How many?” one old woman had asked, sobbing. “How many must you have to spare us?”

“One hundred and sixty-three,” she answered.

She had them nailed to wooden posts around the plaza, each man pointing at the next. The anger was fierce and hot inside her when she gave the command; it made her feel like an avenging dragon. But later, when she passed the men dying on the posts, when she heard their moans and smelled their bowels and blood ...

Dany put the glass aside, frowning. It was just. It was. I did it for the children.

“Flies are the dead man’s revenge.” Daario smiled, and stroked the center prong of his beard. “Corpses breed maggots, and maggots breed flies.”

“We will rid ourselves of the corpses, then. Starting with those in the plaza below. Grey Worm, will you see to it?”

“The queen commands, these ones obey.”

“Best bring sacks as well as shovels, Worm,” Brown Ben counseled. “Well past ripe, those ones. Falling off those poles in bits and pieces, and crawling with ...”

“He knows. So do I.” Dany remembered the horror she had felt when she had seen the Plaza of Punishment in Astapor. I made a horror just as great, but surely they deserved it. Harsh justice is still justice.

“Your Grace,” said Missandei, “Ghiscari inter their honored dead in crypts below their manses. If you would boil the bones clean and return them to their kin, it would be a kindness.”

The widows will curse me all the same. “Let it be done.”

She stood. “When I sent you down into the sewers, part of me hoped I’d seen the last of you.[”] [...] “I will admit you helped win me this city ...”

Ser Jorah’s mouth tightened. “We won you this city. We sewer rats.”

“Be quiet,” she said again ... though there was truth to what he said. While Joso’s Cock and the other rams were battering the city gates and her archers were firing flights of flaming arrows over the walls, Dany had sent two hundred men along the river under cover of darkness to fire the hulks in the harbor. But that was only to hide their true purpose. As the flaming ships drew the eyes of the defenders on the walls, a few half- mad swimmers found the sewer mouths and pried loose a rusted iron grating. Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, Strong Belwas, and twenty brave fools slipped beneath the brown water and up the brick tunnel, a mixed force of sellswords, Unsullied, and freedmen. Dany had told them to choose only men who had no families ... and preferably no sense of smell.

They had been lucky as well as brave. It had been a moon’s turn since the last good rain, and the sewers were only thigh-high. The oilcloth they’d wrapped around their torches kept them dry, so they had light. A few of the freedmen were frightened of the huge rats until Strong Belwas caught one and bit it in two. One man was killed by a great pale lizard that reared up out of the dark water to drag him off by the leg, but when next ripples were spied Ser Jorah butchered the beast with his blade. They took some wrong turnings, but once they found the surface Strong Belwas led them to the nearest fighting pit, where they surprised a few guards and struck the chains off the slaves. Within an hour, half the fighting slaves in Meereen had risen.

ADWD Daenerys II

“[...] Will you hear my friends? There are seven of them as well.” He brought them forth one by one. “Here is Khrazz. Here Barsena Blackhair, ever valiant. Here Camarron of the Count and Goghor the Giant. This is the Spotted Cat, this Fearless Ithoke. Last, Belaquo Bonebreaker. They have come to add their voices to mine own, and ask Your Grace to let our fighting pits reopen.”

Dany knew his seven, by name if not by sight. All had been amongst the most famed of Meereen’s fighting slaves … and it had been the fighting slaves, freed from their shackles by her sewer rats, who led the uprising that won the city for her. She owed them a blood debt. “I will hear you,” she allowed.

The advice she received

ASOS Daenerys I

“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.”

[...] “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.”

[...] “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.”

[...] “These are Illyrio’s ships, Illyrio’s captains, Illyrio’s sailors ... and Strong Belwas and Arstan are his men as well, not yours.”

[...] “He was not born wealthy. In the world as I have seen it, no man grows rich by kindness. The warlocks said the second treason would be for gold. What does Illyrio Mopatis love more than gold?”

[...] “He is not what he pretends to be. He speaks to you more boldly than any squire would dare.”

[...] “Illyrio Mopatis wants you back in Pentos, under his roof. Very well, go to him ... but in your own time, and not alone. Let us see how loyal and obedient these new subjects of yours truly are. Command Groleo to change course for Slaver’s Bay.”

[...] “Dragons will be as great a wonder in Astapor as they were in Qarth. It may be that the slavers will shower you with gifts, as the Qartheen did. If not ... these ships carry more than your Dothraki and their horses. They took on trade goods at Qarth, I’ve been through the holds and seen for myself. Bolts of silk and bales of tiger skin, amber and jade carvings, saffron, myrrh ... slaves are cheap, Your Grace. Tiger skins are costly.”

[...] “What use are wealthy friends if they will not put their wealth at your disposal, my queen? If Magister Illyrio would deny you, he is only Xaro Xhoan Daxos with four chins. And if he is sincere in his devotion to your cause, he will not begrudge you three shiploads of trade goods. What better use for his tiger skins than to buy you the beginnings of an army?”

[...] “There are dangers at sea as well. Corsairs and pirates hunt the southern route, and north of Valyria the Smoking Sea is demon-haunted. The next storm could sink or scatter us, a kraken could pull us under ... or we might find ourselves becalmed again, and die of thirst as we wait for the wind to rise. A march will have different dangers, my queen, but none greater.”

ASOS Daenerys II

“Tell her that these have been standing here for a day and a night, with no food nor water. [...] Such is their courage. Tell her that.”

“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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

“Khaleesi,” he said, taken aback by her fury, “the Unsullied are chosen as boys, and trained—”

ASOS Daenerys III

ASOS Daenerys IV

Ser Jorah pointed. “Those are sellswords on the flanks. Lances and mounted bowmen, with swords and axes for the close work. The Second Sons on the left wing, the Stormcrows to the right. About five hundred men apiece. See the banners?”

Yunkai’s harpy grasped a whip and iron collar in her talons instead of a length of chain. But the sellswords flew their own standards beneath those of the city they served: on the right four crows between crossed thunderbolts, on the left a broken sword. “The Yunkai’i hold the center themselves,” Dany noted. Their officers looked indistinguishable from Astapor’s at a distance; tall bright helms and cloaks sewn with flashing copper disks. “Are those slave soldiers they lead?”

“In large part. But not the equal of Unsullied. Yunkai is known for training bed slaves, not warriors.”

“What say you? Can we defeat this army?” “Easily,” Ser Jorah said.

“But not bloodlessly.” Blood aplenty had soaked into the bricks of Astapor the day that city fell, though little of it belonged to her or hers.

“We might win a battle here, but at such cost we cannot take the city.”

“That is ever a risk, Khaleesi. Astapor was complacent and vulnerable. Yunkai is forewarned.”

“Missandei, what language will these Yunkai’i speak, Valyrian?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the child said. “A different dialect than Astapor’s, yet close enough to understand. The slavers name themselves the Wise Masters.”

“Wise?” Dany sat crosslegged on a cushion, and Viserion spread his white-and-gold wings and flapped to her side. “We shall see how wise they are,” she said as she scratched the dragon’s scaly head behind the horns.

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. What of the Stormcrows, is there any hope there?”

“No,” Ser Jorah said bluntly. “That Prendahl is Ghiscari by blood. Likely he had kin in Astapor.”

“A pity. Well, perhaps we will not need to fight. Let us wait and hear what the Yunkai’i have to say.”

ASOS Daenerys V

“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.”

Ser Jorah snorted. “And if our champion were to lose, what sort of seed would that plant?”

“A man who fears battle wins no victories, ser.”

“We’re not speaking of battle. Meereen’s gates will not open if that fool falls. Why risk a life for naught?”

“For honor, I would say.”

“I have heard enough.” Dany did not need their squabbling on top of all the other troubles that plagued her.

“It’s his city I want, not his meager manhood.”

“No weakness in the landward walls?” [...] “Does that mean we might attack from the river or the sea?”

“With three ships? We’ll want to have Captain Groleo take a good look at the wall along the river, but unless it’s crumbling that’s just a wetter way to die.”

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

“From wood, Your Grace,” Ser Jorah said. “The slavers have burnt every tree within twenty leagues of here. [...] [”]

Daario Naharis gave Grey Worm a smile. “Perhaps the Unsullied should wield the axes. Boiling oil feels like no more than a warm bath to you, I have heard.”

Dany sighed. “I will not throw away Unsullied lives, Grey Worm. Perhaps we can starve the city out.”

Ser Jorah looked unhappy. “We’ll starve long before they do, Your Grace. There’s no food here, nor fodder for our mules and horses. I do not like this river water either. Meereen shits into the Skahazadhan but draws its drinking water from deep wells. Already we’ve had reports of sickness in the camps, fever and brownleg and three cases of the bloody flux. There will be more if we remain. The slaves are weak from the march.”

“Freedmen,” Dany corrected. “They are slaves no longer.”

“Then what do you advise, Ser Jorah?”

“You will not like it.”

“I would hear it all the same.”

“As you wish. I say, let this city be. You cannot free every slave in the world, Khaleesi. Your war is in Westeros.”

“Defeated?” said Dany, bristling.

“When cowards hide behind great walls, it is they who are defeated, Khaleesi,” Ko Jhogo said.

Her other bloodriders concurred. “Blood of my blood,” said Rakharo, “when cowards hide and burn the food and fodder, great khals must seek for braver foes. This is known.”

“It is known,” Jhiqui agreed, as she poured.

[...] “There must be some way into this city.”

“I know a way.” Brown Ben Plumm stroked his speckled grey-and-white beard. “Sewers.” “Sewers? What do you mean?”

Ser Jorah looked dubious. “Easier to go out than in, it would seem to me. These sewers empty into the river, you say? That would mean the mouths are right below the walls.”

Daario Naharis laughed. “As nasty as you, when you came crawling out? If any man were fool enough to try this, every slaver in Meereen would smell them the moment they emerged.”

#daenerys targaryen #valyrianscrolls #a storm of swords #a dance with dragons #dany passages

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