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theusurpersdog · 5 years

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The Beggar Queen

Following up my post on Daenerys in A Game of Thrones, I also have a lot of thoughts on her arc in A Clash of Kings. In many ways it’s a very unexpected continuation of her story; at the end of A Game of Thrones, she has just hatched three dragons and walked out of a burning pyre, seemingly at the top of the world. Instead of a more typical fantasy story, A Clash of Kings sends Daenerys back down to being powerless. There’s a reality to how GRRM writes the story; sure, she has three dragons, but what good are they in the middle of a vast desert? What good are they when they can’t even fly or breathe fire yet? These are all questions Daenerys has to try and find answers to, while also trying to keep her and her people alive. And she’s also trying to build an army and fleet to take her to Westeros while navigating the wonders and horrors of Qarth.

The Bleeding Star

When Daenerys is about to step into Drogo’s funeral pyre in A Game of Thrones, she looks up to the stars and sees a streaking red comet blazing across the sky, and sees it as a sign of her dragons. That same comet guides her through the Red Waste in A Clash of Kings:

The Dothraki named the comet shierak qiya, the Bleeding Star. The old men muttered that it omened ill, but Daenerys Targaryen had seen it first on the night she had burned Khal Drogo, the night her dragons had awakened. It is a herald of my coming, she told herself as she gazed up into the night sky with wonder in her heart. The gods have sent it to show me the way.

The comet is the connecting thread between everyone in the story. From each point of view character, we learn some new truth or interpretation for what it means:

Cressen had never seen a comet half so bright, nor yet that color, that terrible color, the color of blood and flame and sunsets

- Prologue

That night she lay upon her thin blanket on the hard ground, staring up at the great red comet. The comet was splendid and scary all at once. "The Red Sword," the Bull named it; he claimed it looked like a sword, the blade still red-hot from the forge. When Arya squinted the right way she could see the sword too, only it wasn't a new sword, it was Ice, her father's greatsword, all ripply Valyrian steel, and the red was Lord Eddard's blood on the blade after Ser Ilyn the King's Justice had cut off his head.

- Arya I

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail."

"King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies."

- Sansa I

When Bran repeated that to Osha, she laughed aloud. "Your wolves have more wit than your maester," the wildling woman said. "They know truths the grey man has forgotten." The way she said it made him shiver, and when he asked what the comet meant, she answered, "Blood and fire, boy, and nothing sweet."

- Bran I

All of those descriptions of the comet have one thing in common – Daenerys Targaryen. Whether it be Cressen seeing Fire & Blood in the sky, Arya seeing beauty and horror and Valyrian steel and blood, Sansa calling it the Dragon’s Tail and Arys Oakheart seeing it as the coming of Aegon’s heir, or Osha’s warning to Bran of “blood and fire, and nothing sweet.”, Daenerys is tied to the comet. Because it was meant for her. In the House of the Undying, Daenerys learns that the warlocks sent it to guide her to Qarth so they could feed off her and her dragons.

So, what does it mean, that this comet belongs to Daenerys? I think it’s very similar to how waking the dragon was used in A Game of Thrones. All of our protagonists find horror in the red streak across the sky, where only our antagonists (such as Theon) believe it belongs to them. In one way, all of the ominous foreshadowing for the comet is because the Warlocks were trying to kill Daenerys with it. But, the symbolism of the comet aligns shockingly well with Daenerys’ own path. She thinks it’s a sign of her reign, of her coming glory in the Seven Kingdoms. But instead, it leads her toward ruin; while she narrowly manages to escape the House of the Undying, following the comet almost kills her. The comet is just like the Queenship she’s chasing in Westeros; this thing she can’t let go of, that she’ll follow blindly, until it destroys her.

The comet also allows us to fully understand what Daenerys now represents to the people who saw her step out of Drogo’s Pyre:

"We follow the comet," Dany told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Drogo's people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law.

Daenerys is very far from a normal political figure or leader; she is a messiah figure to her people, the product of hundreds of years of magic and prophecy. Her khalasar will follow her through the desert chasing a comet, because they watched her do the impossible. This kind of relationship she has with her people is crucial to understanding how Daenerys reacts to them. She puts an immense amount of pressure on herself to live up to the legend that made her the Mother of Dragons:

They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo’s queen. She felt older than her fourteen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done.

Daenerys knows her people are the weakest, the oldest and youngest, the outcasts, the people who cannot provide for themselves. So they turned to her, their only chance after the rest of the Dothraki abandoned them. And Daenerys is aware of this, and trying desperately to save her people and herself, but she doesn’t know how. Her dragons are only hatchlings, and all the enemies she made when Drogo died leave her no choice but to take her people through the Red Waste. As we’ll see later, her magical abilities failing her forces her to become a political and practical leader of her people, whether she is capable of that or no.

In later books, Daenerys begins to gather other followers, but in A Clash of Kings, the Dothraki are all she has. And they follow her because might makes right within a khalasar, and no one is mightier than the young girl who walked out of a fire with no burns and three dragons. Later books are much more invested in examining both the good - but especially the bad - that this kind of relationship can cause between a ruler and her people, but that part of Daenerys’ arc is already set up here in A Clash of Kings.

This dynamic does give us a glimpse into the altruistic part of Daenerys that is still there, and especially on display when Doreah dies in her arms:

Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on.

Daenerys gives Doreah some of her own water, knowing that the girl was going to die anyway, just to ease her passing. She holds her hand as she dies, and refused to let Jhogo and the khalasar disrespect Doreah.

Daenerys is aware of the huge sacrifice her few followers made to be with her, and she’s willing to sacrifice tremendously to repay their loyalty.

The Dragons Are All The Difference

In my last meta, I talked a lot about how Daenerys is the truest possible version of what a Targaryen is, Fire & Blood writ large, and how much that has to do with the connection she shares to her dragons; and that theme is built upon even more in this book.

Now she has actually hatched her eggs, but quickly realizes that having dragons doesn’t help you feed your people:

Yet even as her dragons prospered, her khalasar withered and died.

The dragons eat many times their weight a day (and while that doesn’t seem like much since they’re so small, it’s important to remember that Dany’s people are starving to death) and don’t offer anything in return.

This is another case where the dragons function as a stand-in for Daenerys. While she gained tremendously from everything that happened at the end of A Game of Thrones, by becoming a khal and hatching dragons, the people who follow her lost everything. They didn’t even choose to stay with her; the environment she helped create was rejecting of their weakness and left them behind to die with her. And while they have their “freedom” now, it doesn’t mean much when Doreah dies in the Red Waste. Having dragons doesn’t make Daenerys capable of actually saving these people she’s led into the wilderness.

When Daenerys and her khalasar finally find the city they name Vaes Tolorro, at first Daenerys wants to make it their home:

In the coolness of her tent, Dany blackened horse-meat over a brazier and reflected on her choices. There was food and water here to sustain them, and enough grass for the horses to regain their strength. How pleasant it would be to wake every day in the same place, to linger among shady gardens, eat figs, and drink cool water, as much as she might desire.

And later, this happens:

"I've brought you a peach," Ser Jorah said, kneeling. It was so small she could almost hide it in her palm, and overripe too, but when she took the first bite, the flesh was so sweet she almost cried. She ate it slowly, savoring every mouthful, while Ser Jorah told her of the tree it had been plucked from, in a garden near the western wall.

The specific fruit Jorah gives her, a peach, makes this very important. In this same book, Renly tries to get Stannis to enjoy a peach in their last conversation, and Stannis will never stop thinking on what Renly meant by it; to us, it’s quite clear that the peach is the little pleasures in life, joy, happiness, pausing to love the things and people around you. The heartbreak of Stannis as a character is that he will never be able to understand the world in that way; the heartbreak of Daenerys as a character is that a part of her can sit and simply savor a peach, but something pulls her away from it; and, of course, that something is dragons:

She dreamed of Drogo and the first ride they had taken together on the night they were wed. In the dream it was not horses they rode, but dragons.

The next morn, she summoned her bloodriders. “Blood of my blood,” she told the three of them, “I have need of you. Each of you is to choose three horses, the hardiest and healthiest that remain to us. Load as much water and food as your mounts can bear, and ride forth for me.”

And while this choice is fairly reasonable at the time, since she doesn’t know what awaits her in most directions, she thinks later that she could go back to Vaes Tolorro:

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

The dragons always stop her from turning back, from being happy where she is. They are her reason to take the Seven Kingdoms, the motivation she has to restore her family to the glory Aegon the Conqueror raised it to.

A part of Daenerys wanting to turn back to Vaes Tolorro and start her kingdom there, is an interesting contrast to her thoughts on conquering Westeros:

Dany had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.

But before she could do that she must conquer.

She has all these wonderfully idealistic dreams for her kingdom, yet all of them are made meaningless with the line “But before she could do that she must conquer”; while she wants everyone in her kingdom to be happy, she’s going to have to kill their Kings and Lords and many of the people before she can achieve that goal. The fact that she has to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms by nature means she will force many to sup on tears. But Vaes Tolorro gives her an out; a ready-made city, a rich oasis in the desert, where she could be Queen and grow her people.

But that will always be too small for Daenerys Targaryen, seed of Kings and Conquerors. She will never be content with the small matters of Essos, not when the Red Keep and the throne that by right is hers is sat by the Usurper and his dogs. The connection she has to the Targaryens who took their dragons and conquered Westeros is always going to pull her away from the part of her that just wants simplicity.

Daenerys’ understanding of how dangerous her dragons are is also touched on when she is in Qarth:

And they must be trained as well, or they will lay my kingdom to waste.

She thinks a lot about how she wants to go back to Westeros, and how she wants to avoid laying waste to it. It’s very interesting to note just how aware she is of her dragons’ destructive nature this early in the story, because it suggests she is much more culpable in their actions than some people want to admit. A lot of characters in the story make decisions that end up being disastrous, but are too young or had no reasonable way of knowing how tremendous those decisions would turn out being – the two obvious examples being Sansa telling Cersei that Ned intends to leave King’s Landing, and Bran warging Hodor – and most people file Drogon’s murder of Hazzea as a similar accident for Daenerys. Yet she is already aware that without training they will completely devastate the lands of Westeros, and actively thinks she should try and train them to avoid that. So, once they are much bigger and flying around Meereen killing sheep, it seems like willful ignorance on her part not to do something about them. I think this is so important because the line between Daenerys and her dragons has always been thin, and the further the series progresses the more that line blurs, so Daenerys choosing to look passed or ignore how violent her dragons are is very interesting in the context of how she views herself.

Viserys Always Said. . .

One part of Daenerys’ story that isn’t talked about enough, is how devastating Westeros will be to her. In A Game of Thrones, she thinks to herself that all the doors will be red in the Seven Kingdoms. She knows that the house with the red door and lemon tree in Braavos is the last place where she felt at home, and ever since then she’s been running from one place to the next, a guest in the house of strangers trying to take advantage of her and her brother’s name. She watched her brother slowly lose his mind the more they were turned away, and had to suffer through his abuses. But when she marries Khal Drogo and meets Ser Jorah Mormont, all the things her brother said about Westeros are suddenly within her reach. Instead of thinking that a house in Braavos she can never return to is her home, she can tell herself that the Seven Kingdoms are her real home; they are the place where she’ll finally feel as if she belongs. She builds it up in her mind as this place where all the doors could be red, every house a home to her. And all the things Viserys said about how beautiful it is also stay with Dany:

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

And when thinking of Westeros, Daenerys specifically thinks that it is home. Previously in A Game of Thrones, Viserys misunderstands her when she says “home” because Daenerys had never viewed Westeros as her home. But now all of that has changed, and Westeros has become a promise to her. She never feels quite at home with the Dothraki, she certainly does not feel at home in Qarth, but waiting for her across the Narrow Sea is the most beautiful place on earth - and she is going to be the Queen.

But us readers have spent much more time in Westeros than Daenerys has, and we know that almost everything Viserys said wasn’t true. The Red Keep is a beautiful castle, but it has no pools or gardens that could compete with Xaro Xhoan Daxos’ manse. Even at Westeros’ height, it lags behind as far as arts and architecture and all the small beauties Daenerys is so enamored by in Essos. And Westeros is far from its best; while Daenerys sits in Xaro’s pool dreaming of gardens of lavender and mint, the War of the Five Kings is tearing Westeros apart. It was never going to live up to the place Viserys told Daenerys it would be, but the War of the Five Kings leaves it broken and fractured in a way Westeros had never seen before. It is not going to be the home Daenerys needs it to be.

The idea of Westeros being Dany’s house with the red door is something that follows her through the next two books, as well. In A Clash of Kings, Daenerys has firmly rejected any other future she could have to chase the Iron Throne, but she has yet to hit the emotional lows that A Storm of Swords and A Dance with Dragons bring her to. She has almost never felt at home her whole life, and the exclusion she feels from both the Dothraki and the Qartheen pushes her further into the promises of Westeros’ red doors, but she is not hopeless in Essos yet and still enjoys so much of its cities and cultures. The next two books will find her in Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, though, and her hatred of those cities will make her emotional dependence on Westeros grow.

A Horse Girl With A Curious Pet

A huge part of Daenerys arc is how out of place she is. A combination of being the daughter of a disgraced King from a place she’s never set foot, to being a little girl running from place to place never settling, to being sold as a child bride to the Dothraki, Daenerys has never actually had a people or a place where she feels she belongs. A lot of her more problematic characteristics come from the need she has to find a place where she feels at home.

Being a Khaleesi is the closest Daenerys has come to being somewhere she feels she belongs, but the last few chapters of A Game of Thrones saw that completely implode. While she still has a khalasar and her own blood riders, there’s a distance she has from the Dothraki that is heightened in A Clash of Kings. This book is an introduction to a lot of the issues people point to when saying Daenerys is a colonizer and white savior:

She glanced at her bloodriders, their dark almond-shaped eyes giving no hint of their thoughts. Is it only the plunder they see? she wondered. How savage we must seem to these Qartheen.

The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them.

Daenerys does not understand the Dothraki, and is still an outsider among them. When she enters Qarth and sees all the beauty and splendor of the city, she quickly favors their way over that of her khalasar. Daenerys’ thoughts on the Dothraki are far from simple, since she herself is the victim of their more negative views on people and women specifically, but she also refuses to see them in a different light. She doesn’t even consider the possibility that the Dothraki could settle in Westeros and adjust to a more permanent lifestyle; instead she tries to find a new army to take Westeros with.

It’s really hard to find the line on what is reasonable from Daenerys in this situation, and what is her being irrational. She was sold to Khal Drogo as a child bride and brutalized for weeks or months, and then saw her life fall apart when she demanded the Dothraki be more humane in their warfare, so certain misgivings she has are reasonable.

But Daenerys doesn’t acknowledge her own culpability, and how she herself is not that far removed from the “savagery” of the Dothraki. When she thinks on how the Dothraki sack and ruin cities, it is in the context of her using them to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Even though she could take her dragons and khalasar and live a perfect and peaceful life in the Free Cities, Daenerys is choosing to take an army – which she views as savage – and conquer a continent.

And there is a certain dismissiveness she has when addressing their beliefs and customs:

Other searchers returned with tales of other fruit trees, hidden behind closed doors in secret gardens. Aggo showed her a courtyard overgrown with twisting vines and tiny green grapes, and Jhogo discovered a well where the water was pure and cold. Yet they found bones too, the skulls of the unburied dead, bleached and broken. "Ghosts," Irri muttered. "Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place."

"I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts." And figs are more important. "Go with Jhiqui and find me some clean sand for a bath, and trouble me no more with silly talk."

In the above exchange between Daenerys and Irri, she does have a point. If they decide not to stay in Vaes Tolorro, they could die of dehydration and exhaustion; Daenerys does not really have a choice, they must stay in the ghost city. But she has no patience for the religious beliefs of the Dothraki, and how important they are to the culture, referring to it as “silly talk”. As we see in later books, there is often a logic to Dothraki superstition and Daenerys would be better off if she took Irri and Jhiqui’s advice into consideration.

Speaking of how Daenerys overlooks how important some things are to the Dothraki, I think this passage is especially illuminating:

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

This is right before Daenerys going into the House of the Undying, when she is telling her blood riders that she must go alone. One thing that I want to make clear, is that the blood riders are very different from any other type of group sworn to protect their King/Queen; the Knights of the Kingsguard, for example, are sworn to die in defense of their King, but are under no oath to die if their king does, and won’t be punished by death if they save themselves instead of their king. Dothraki blood riders, on the other hand, are sworn to die after they avenge their Khal; so, if Daenerys dies, she has sworn her blood riders to committing suicide. The interesting thing is, Daenerys never really thinks much about that; I think, in her mind, blood riders were something that khals had and so she should have them too, never really thinking further on what she was swearing these men to do. Daenerys builds her brand on being very anti-slavery, and the blood riders live much better lives than chattel slaves, but there is something interesting to the idea that Daenerys has a group of men essentially chained to her – because their lives depend on hers, and as the quote above shows, they actively seek out to be with her when things are most dangerous; not because they want to protect her, but because they are risking their own lives when they let her leave. Of course, she didn’t force them into being her blood riders so they chose this, but Daenerys never thinks on what her choices mean for their lives when she does something risky.

Daenerys’ thoughts on the savagery of the Dothraki leads her to distance herself from the Dothraki when she arrives in Qarth, and she begins acting like the Qartheen to try and win their favor. She dresses in their traditional clothing, lives in Xaro’s palace, does not comment (or think to herself) on the city’s slaves, and tries to use their political systems to buy an army and fleet to sail to Westeros. This leads to some conflict with Jorah, who is instantly distrustful of Pyat Pree and Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Their arguments over the Qartheen are so insightful as far as both of their characters individually, and the relationship they have.

The things Jorah tells Daenerys about Qarth are not inherently wrong, and he actually gives her good advice. From his perspective, Daenerys has told him she thinks Xaro and Pyat Pree will help her win her crown, but he knows by instinct these men are scheming, so he tries to remind her of the reality of conquering Westeros. But the problem is the way he delivers the advice, and how he assumes Daenerys is much more naïve and stupid than she is:

Sometimes he thinks of me as a child he must protect, and sometimes as a woman he would like to bed, but does he ever truly see me as his queen?

Daenerys is aware of how he views and sexualizes her, but she also notices the way he sometimes treats her as if she’s a child. The way Jorah talks to her makes Daenerys both sad and upset; even her closest advisor doesn’t treat her like a Queen.

But Dany isn’t entirely blameless in why her advisors don’t fully trust her to act as Queen. It becomes much clearer in the Plaza of Punishment, when she doesn’t reveal her plan to Barristan or Jorah for really no particular reason, but she has a problem of communicating with her advisors. Since we are in Dany’s head, we understand that she too is nervous and distrustful of Xaro and Pyat Pree, and is trying to use them just as much as they want to use her. But all she tells Jorah is that she thinks they will help her win her crown, when she is actively taking measures to protect herself from Xaro and Pyat Pree. While she is still outsmarted a bit by the rich merchants of Qarth, Daenerys sees through a huge amount of their lies and flattery. Knowing that Pyat Pree would only show her the parts of Qarth that fit his narrative, Daenerys picked groups of her men to search every street of the city, both day and night. She also keeps guards with her dragons all day and all night, in case someone were to try and steal them.

It says a lot about him that Jorah naturally assumes the least of her, but it becomes a growing problem for Daenerys that she is unwilling to explain her actions to anyone. The reason for that, of course, is that she is Daenerys Targaryen, blood of the dragon, and her word should be law. She has an expectation for how people should treat her as a Targaryen Queen, and I’ll get into that more below, but it is a huge factor in how she interacts with those under her when she disagrees with them. She rarely understands why people don’t jump to follow her.

And as Daenerys grows further from Ser Jorah and the Dothraki, she is trying to win over the people of Qarth. As I said above, she is trying to use them to get to Westeros, so she never invests in them the way she did the Dothraki, but in order to win their favor she has to follow their customs and traditions. And to do that, she takes advantage of Xaro’s own ambition, by living in his palace and using his ideas to make enough money to buy the Thirteen and Pureborn into her favor.

I really want to emphasize how well Daenerys is treated in Qarth, even though they refuse to help her get to Westeros. I titled this “The Beggar Queen”, because Daenerys thinking of herself as one is extremely telling as to her expectations of people around her. Here is how Daenerys lives in Qarth:

Trader captains brought lace from Myr, chests of saffron from Yi Ti, amber and dragonglass out of Asshai. Merchants offered bags of coin, silversmiths rings and chains. Pipers piped for her, tumblers tumbled, and jugglers juggled, while dyers draped her in colors she had never known existed. A pair of Johos Nhai presented her with one of their striped zorses, black and white and fierce. A widow brought the dried corpse of her husband, covered with a crust of silvered leaves; such remnants were believed to have great power, especially if the deceased had been a sorcerer, as this one had. And the Tourmaline Brotherhood pressed on her a crown wrought in the shape of a three-headed dragon; the coils were yellow gold, the wings silver, the headed carved from jade, ivory, and onyx.

Yet this is how she thinks on all of her gifts:

I have become the most splendid beggar in the world, but a beggar all the same.

The people of Qarth are willing to give Daenerys everything the entire world has to offer, except the Iron Throne. And even though Daenerys has received plenty from Qarth, she leaves feeling used:

They never saw me for a queen, she thought bitterly. I was only an afternoon’s amusement, a horse girl with a curious pet.

I think this highlights a certain attitude of entitlement Daenerys has. If you look from the perspective of the Qartheen, they have no incentive to help her reclaim Westeros. She wants to sail immediately, before her dragons could help her with the conquest, and she wants to take their ships and their soldiers to do it. She can’t offer them any improved position, because they are wealthy beyond comprehension, and she can’t offer any improvement in their businesses because they already trade freely with Westeros. The only thing she is offering is the name Daenerys Targaryen, which is meaningless to the Essosi who never loved the Valyrians, and never had any investment in who sat the Iron Throne. Yet Daenerys, even though she has almost nothing to offer, refuses to beg:

“Tell me the words of the Pureborn,” prompted Xaro Xhoan Daxos. “Tell me what they said to sadden the queen of my heart.”

“They said no.” The wine tasted of pomegranates and hot summer days. “They said it with great courtesy, to be sure, but under all the lovely words, it was still no.”

“Did you flatter them?”

“Shamelessly.”

“Did you weep?”

“The blood of the dragon does not weep,” she said testily.

The only gift Daenerys keeps of all the riches she received from men looking to see her dragons, is the crown made to look like a three headed dragon:

“Viserys sold my mother’s crown, and men called him a beggar. I shall keep this crown, and men will call me a queen.” And so she did, though the weight of it made her neck ache.

It’s very symbolic that the crown makes her neck hurt, but it’s also very interesting how she draws parallels between herself and Viserys. Being placed in a position where she is trying to buy and negotiate her way to the Iron Throne, she starts to understand the fevered madness that drove her brother:

She hated it, as her brother must have. All those years of running from city to city one step ahead of the Usurper’s knives, pleading for help from archons and princes and magisters, buying our food with flattery. He must have known how they mocked him. Small wonder he turned so angry and bitter. In the end it had driven him mad. It will do the same to me if I let it.

The idea of being passed over, of being laughed at, is enough to make Daenerys have to pause and check herself. She understands how begging to lesser men, when she is the blood of the dragon, could break her brother.

The rejection from the Qartheen is another step in the long walk Daenerys is taking to isolation and paranoia. A Dance with Dragons is the arc that most focuses on how paranoid and alone Daenerys is becoming, but even back in A Clash of Kings, she is starting to mistrust everyone around her; and for good reason. Daenerys is young and incredibly beautiful, and also has the only three dragons in the entire world. Once she hatches them, it becomes incredibly hard for her to distinguish who follows her or wants to have a relationship with her because of her, or if they simply want her dragons. Xaro Xhoan Daxos tries to trick Daenerys into marrying him, because Qartheen custom would allow him to claim one of her dragons. The warlocks also are trying to use Daenerys for her dragons, as they try and lure her to the House of the Undying to feed off the magical energy she has.

Quaithe is introduced in this book, and from the start she tries to warn and guide Daenerys against people who want her only for her dragons:

From her Dany received only a warning. "Beware," the woman in the red lacquer mask said.

"Of whom?"

"Of all. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power."

All of the elements in Daenerys life start to add up to her feeling alone and cornered; she doesn’t trust the Dothraki to take Westeros, the Qartheen have refused to help her sail the Narrow Sea, she is fighting with her closest companion Jorah, and the mysterious maegi Quaithe is warning her to trust no one. All of this leads to Daenerys going to the House of the Undying for answers, but I’ll get into that more below.

What is very interesting about Daenerys, though, is that after the House of the Undying goes so poorly, she throws herself back into the Dothraki culture. As a show of defiance to the Qartheen who take all of their gifts and kindnesses back after she burns the Warlocks, she searches the docks while clad in the garb of the Dothraki. The lesson she learns from Qarth is that she hates compromise. She tried fitting in with them, to play their games and follow their rules, and they still refused to take her seriously. They accepted her gifts, listened to her case, and politely but unequivocally said no. So, what was the point? Why did Daenerys give up the Dothraki, why did she bother bribing lesser men?

In the following books, she will try exceptionally hard to make compromises to rule cities, but she hates it. Even though she wants to do these things for her people, each and every time it takes a part of her, and she starts to lose sight of why she even wants to help the people she hates and rule a city that is determined to deny her. Compromise does not sit well with Daenerys.

Daughter of Three

The main points of Daenerys’ chapters in this book are foreshadowing and prophecy. I’ve always found A Clash of Kings to be such a great book on its own, but an absolutely amazing second act to A Game of Thrones, because the first book sets up in the very first chapter the high fantasy conflict with the Others, and ends on the incredibly high fantasy aspect of Daenerys walking out of a burning pyre with three dragons; but in between, the story dives deep into the political and personal stories of our protagonists. And while people still argue which element this story is “really about”, I think Clash does a great job in establishing that the answer is both. The War of the Five Kings pulls the political plotlines into harsh focus, with character like Catelyn, Tyrion, and Davos consistently acting and reacting to the respective Kings, and characters like Sansa and Arya who focus on the personal fallout of war; but A Clash of Kings also sends Daenerys and Bran on their magical journeys, and permanently sets them on very high fantasy paths. In the same book that sees the political foregrounded, two of our main characters leap forward in their magical progression. Daenerys in particular highlights the way the political and magical intertwine, and how the two can work together.

The climax of Daenerys’ arc in this book is extremely magical. The rejection of Xaro and the Pureborn leaves her feeling like the answers offered by the Warlocks is her only choice, so she goes to the House of the Undying. Once she’s inside, she sees a whirlwind of visions that give readers a glimpse into the past and the future, as it relates to Daenerys and the rest of our characters. I’m going to try and break all of them down, and what I think they mean and why the Undying choose to show them to her.

There’s two different sets of visions Daenerys sees when she is in the House of the Undying; the first visions she sees as she is trying to find the Undying, and is tempted to look into doors. This is how Pyat Pree describes them:

“Within, you will see many things that disturb you. Visions of loveliness and visions of horror, wonders and terrors. Sights and sounds of days gone by and days to come and days that never were. Dwellers and servitors may speak to you as you go. Answer or ignore them as you choose, but enter no room until you reach the audience chamber.”

The visions Daenerys sees are of the Five Kings tearing Westeros apart, the Red Wedding, Ser Willem Darry in the house with the red door, the Mad King telling his pyromancers to burn King’s Landing, and Rhaegar talking to Elia about the Prince that was Promised. These visions are separate from the prophecies she receives from the Undying, and I don’t think we’re supposed to connect them to Daenerys or to each other. Some of them go together, but some of them simply don’t; I think GRRM intentionally separated them to show these aren’t necessarily about Daenerys, or even connected in any way. I do think the visions connect to Daenerys in thematic ways, though.

The first two she sees, of small men who represent Kings tearing the woman meant to be Westeros apart, and of a dead King with the head of a wolf at a feast, clearly go together. The first she sees is what the Five Kings do to Westeros, and the second is the climax of the war and its technical end, when Robb Stark is killed at the Red Wedding. These two visions don’t connect to Daenerys as much as they are a broad foreshadowing of GRRM’s world and his books to come; but I think it’s interesting that the glimpses Daenerys sees of Westeros are horrific, terrible things. I’ve always found the use of the phrase “mute appeal” to describe how Robb looks at Daenerys to be very interesting; GRRM only uses it twice more in the series, once to describe Ned’s pleading gaze, and then he describes Jinglebell as looking at Catelyn with mute appeal before she kills him. It’s as if Robb is begging Daenerys not to do something.

As Daenerys runs from the horrors of the Red Wedding, she sees her room from the house with the red door:

“Little princess, there you are,” he said in his gruff kind voice. “Come,” he said, “come to me, my lady, you’re home now, you’re safe now.”

Daenerys remembers that Willem Darry is dead right before she enters the room, which Pyat Pree told her she absolutely must not do. But that vision is the one thing that tempts her, brings her right to the threshold. In this case, turning around was the right choice; but I think this vision has broader imagery. Daenerys, so many times, comes so close to turning around and being the “Little Princess” again, an innocent child who didn’t want to conquer a place she’d never been. But she always turns around. She’s tempted the most in A Dance with Dragons, when she thinks of having a house with Daario free of being a Queen, but she can never commit to that kind of life. It’s not her anymore; she can’t go back.

Then she sees her father in the Throne Room, getting ready to burn King’s Landing. On a meta level, this vision exists mostly to set up Catelyn’s last chapter with Jaime, as well as Jaime’s A Storm of Swords arc; but it is also the vision most connected to Daenerys. For the first time, she’s seeing the real version of her father, the truth of the man she wants to remind people in Westeros; and she’s seeing her future, too. Daenerys was right when she thinks the people of King’s Landing will greet her like they did her father, because she’s going to burn the city.

Her last vision before reaching the Undying is of Rhaegar talking to Elia Martell, and naming his son Aegon. This is the only vision that Daenerys understands; she has no idea what the first two are, and doesn’t connect the vision of the Mad King to her father, but she does know Rhaegar. This is the first time she hears the phrase “the dragon has three heads”, which will chase her through Storm and Dance. Rhaegar also says that his son is The Prince that was Promised, and that “his is the song of ice and fire”. A Clash of Kings is the first book that really starts to introduce the overarching prophecies of the series, and it’s interesting to see The Prince that was Promised introduced in this context; Rhaegar knows something that we don’t, something about his son.

When Daenerys finally finds the Undying, she sees a second set of visions, this set all about her. First, she gets her prophecies of three:

. . . three fires must you light. . . one for life and one for death and one to love. . . Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt. . . three mounts must you ride. . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love. . . The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath. . . three treasons will you know. . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love. . .

It’s very interesting that these prophecies end on the note of a treason for love. Someone is going to betray Daenerys for someone they love, and that’s the end; I don’t have a firm grasp on the other treasons, fires, or mounts, but this one, to me, has to be Jon.

Next, Daenerys gets her mother of dragons prophecies; this is the first:

Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth. A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman’s name. . . mother of dragons, daughter of death. . .

The three things connecting Rhaegar, Rhaego, and Viserys seems to be that all three were the Heir to the Iron Throne when they died. Their three deaths help to push Daenerys into taking the Iron Throne. Daenerys having the title daughter of death is extremely fitting with her previous imagery; everything about her life has come from death. Rhaegar dying, the Mad King dying, her father’s fleet being destroyed on the night she was born, Viserys being crowned in molten gold, Drogo and Rhaego’s deaths. She is the product of tragedy.

These are the next visions she sees:

Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies. . .

The first two are clearly Stannis and Young Griff/Aegon VI, and seem pretty straightforward; she slays the lie that Stannis is Azor Ahai, and that Young Griff is Aegon VI. The last one is a lot less clear. I really can’t say what this is. I know some people think the Stone Beast is Jon Connington with Greyscale, but to me that seems meaningless in light of the second lie. Why would both Young Griff and Jon Connington need separate lies? Jon Connington isn’t lying about anything. The imagery of a great stone beast is very prominent in all the books; from the prophecy of Azor Ahai waking dragons out of stone, to Sansa being described as a winged beast escaping the Red Keep, to Davos’ description of Dragonstone. I just can’t quite pin down what GRRM is foreshadowing.

The last prophecy she receives is this:

Her sliver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . mother of dragons, bride of fire. . .

All of these are pretty clear; Drogo was her first fire, then Euron, and finally Jon. The description of Jon “filling the air with sweetness” is very ominous, and just makes me even more confident he is the treason for love. I know there are some great metas that discuss sweetness in Daenerys’ arc, I just can’t think of any right now. But the idea of sweetness being bad, and foreshadowing a treason from Jon, is really highlighted by Daenerys hearing this prophecy in Qarth of all places. Time and again, the city’s exterior of sweet smells and beautiful buildings is used to hide the treachery underneath.

After the prophecies, Daenerys sees a whirlwind of past and future events:

Shadows whirled and danced inside a tent, boneless and terrible. A little girl ran barefoot toward a big house with a red door. Mirri Maz Duur shrieked in the flames, a dragon bursting from her brow. Behind a silver horse the bloody corpse of a naked man bounced and dragged. A white lion ran through grass taller than a man. Beneath the Mother of Mountains, a line of naked crones crept from a great lake and knelt shivering before her, their grey heads bowed. Ten thousand slaves lifted bloodstained hands as she raced by on her silver, riding like the wind. “Mother!” they cried. “Mother, mother!” They were reaching for her, touching her, tugging at her cloak, the hem of her skirt, her foot, her leg, her breast. They wanted her, needed her, the fire, the life, and Dany gasped and opened her arms to give herself to them. . .

The vision of her “Myhsa” moment leads into the realities of the Undying:

The Undying were all around her, blue and cold, whispering as they reached for her, pulling, stroking, tugging at her clothes, touching her with their dry cold hands, twining their fingers through her hair. All the strength had left her limbs.

The wording is intentionally similar, because we’re supposed to connect the Undying feeding off Daenerys, and the reaction she has to “her people”. In A Dance with Dragons, she turns Quentyn Martell and the swords of Dorne away because she’s not going to leave Meereen, maybe ever. Daenerys loves being a savior to the people of Essos, the feeling she gets when they scream “mother!”, the feeling that what she’s doing is right and good. But apart from those incredible highs, when Daenerys has to live in the choices she made to lead the Essosi, she just hates it. In A Storm of Swords, she does give her people fire and life, opening her arms up to them, but it’s not sustainable. Her fire burns out, and she’s left feeling empty and alone and more than anything angry at the people who made her choose to stay.

The Dragons Are Returned

After Pyat Pree and the Warlocks betray Daenerys, she has finally had enough of Qarth; the warlocks hate her for burning down the House of the Undying, Xaro hates her because she turns down his proposals, and the people hate her for all she’s done in Qarth. And if they all hate her, Daenerys is done playing their games.

The next time she goes out, she does so in the traditional garb and sandals of the Dothraki, with a bell in her hair to signify victory against the Warlocks. When Illyrio Mopatis comes through with Arstan Whitebeard and Strong Belwas, Daenerys commands them to name her ships Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion; the world will look upon her ships and know that the dragons are returned. Where she wavered from her the Dothraki, by the end of A Clash of Kings, Daenerys is ready to double down on the “savagery” of them. She’s tired of playing nice, of diplomatically talking and negotiating. This book perfectly sets Daenerys up for the path she decides to take in A Storm of Swords. She’s going to get the army she needs, no matter what.

Even if it means Fire & Blood.

#anti daenerys #asoiaf meta #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #daenerys targaryen

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amaximumtastemakercollection · 5 years

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I always thought that it was forbidden to carry a blade in Vaes Dothrak and to shed the blood of a man, but that wasn’t quite right.

As each rider swung down from his saddle, he unbelted his arakh and handed it to a waiting slave, and any other weapons he carried as well. Even Khal Drogo himself was not exempt. Ser Jorah had explained that it was forbidden to carry a blade in Vaes Dothrak or to shed a free man’s blood.

That one word ‘free’ makes all the difference. I assume that means that if the Dothraki wanted to shed the blood of slaves, women and children the women of the Dosh Khaleen would have no problem with it - charming! (not)

Why is there such a taboo against spilling blood in Vaes Dothrak when, as was shown when Khal Drogo killed Viserys, they have no problem with killing people in Vaes Dothrak. Maybe this could be a clue to the endgame, maybe the answer is in the blood. But whose blood I have no idea, my guess would be either Jon, Dany or Bran. It could also mean that if somebody’s blood needs to be shed to defeat the Night King it does not necessarily mean that they have to die. After all, in the real world thousands of people make blood sacrifices every day - it’s called being a blood donor.

#got #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

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applesanddragons · 2 years

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Dothraki Superstition: A Sacred City

Excerpt from the essay Dothraki Superstition by Apples and Dragons

I think A Song of Ice and Fire challenges the reader to look at things from the perspectives of different characters. So this essay is part of an on-going exploration of Daenerys when she is viewed from the perspectives of other characters, in this case the Dothraki characters.

A Sacred City

As the Dothraki arrive at Vaes Dothrak, Dany learns about a Dothraki superstition.

A small army of slaves had gone ahead to prepare for Khal Drogo’s arrival. As each rider swung down from his saddle, he unbelted his arakh and handed it to a waiting slave, and any other weapons he carried as well. Even Khal Drogo himself was not exempt. Ser Jorah had explained that it was forbidden to carry a blade in Vaes Dothrak, or to shed a free man’s blood. Even warring khalasars put aside their feuds and shared meat and mead together when they were in sight of the Mother of Mountains. In this place, the crones of the dosh khaleen had decreed, all Dothraki were one blood, one khalasar, one herd. (AGOT Daenerys IV)

Vaes Dothrak is a sanctuary city in which all of the warring Dothraki tribes can come together peacefully and share in one culture. To facilitate peace, it is forbidden to carry a blade or shed blood in the city. Even the mighty Khal Drogo observes the custom and voluntarily surrenders his weapons before entering the city. I get the sense that this superstition is deeply rooted.

[Daenerys to Jorah] …the Usurper in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head. “You ought to have gone with him, to keep him safe. You are his sworn sword.”

“We are in Vaes Dothrak,” he reminded her. “No one may carry a blade here or shed a man’s blood.”

“Yet men die,” she said. “Jhogo told me. Some of the traders have eunuchs with them, huge men who strangle thieves with wisps of silk. That way no blood is shed and the gods are not angered.” (AGOT Daenerys V)

During Dany’s time with the Dothraki, Jorah becomes increasingly insolent regarding Viserys, and so he isn’t very concerned with protecting him. This Dothraki superstition seems to be a convenient excuse for Jorah to forego the company of Viserys in favor of the company of Daenerys.

Jhogo has provided Dany with a little more information about the belief. The Dothraki believe that the gods are angered when the blood of a free man is shed in Vaes Dothrak.

What is the real intention behind the belief? Is it to keep the city peaceful, or to prevent the wrath of the gods? The thriving culture and marketplace might suggest the former, while the wisps-of-silk loophole might suggest the latter.

Whether the superstition is being imposed by the people or by the gods, the wisps-of-silk loophole shows me that it is applied rather technically. Strangling thieves with silk is apparently permissible because, technically, strangling doesn’t shed blood. Bloodshed of a free man is explicitly forbidden, but murder is not.

“I had Doreah sew it specially for you,” she told him, wounded. “These are garments fit for a khal.”

“I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not some grass-stained savage with bells in his hair,” Viserys spat back at her. He grabbed her arm. “You forget yourself, slut. Do you think that big belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”

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

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

Viserys scrambled back to his feet. “When I come into my kingdom, you will rue this day, slut.” He walked off, holding his torn face, leaving her gifts behind him.

Drops of his blood had spattered the beautiful sandsilk cloak. Dany clutched the soft cloth to her cheek and sat cross-legged on her sleeping mats. (AGOT Daenerys IV)

In this scene, Dany shed the blood of a free man.

Drops of his blood had spattered the beautiful sandsilk cloak.

Of course, I’m sympathetic to Dany, because she didn’t intend to draw blood and Viserys deserved it anyway. But notably, my attempts to defend Dany on the grounds that her situation is sympathetic stand feebly against the inescapable technicality that Dany shed a free man’s blood in Vaes Dothrak.

It is only when I look at the situation from a Dothraki perspective, and suppose that their long-held beliefs might be more than the silly superstitions of savages, that I’m left with a foreboding sense that Dany has earned the anger of the gods.

I don’t suppose that any gods will appear in the story at any point to involve themselves directly with the events or characters, but that instead the anger of the gods can play out metatextually, where the progression of events and the fates of characters will reflect the story’s themes, or deeper meanings, and that those meanings constitute a final judgement of events and characters.

Main blog: applesanddragons.home.blog

#asoiaf #asongoficeandfire #agameofthrones #literature #daenerys #khaldrogo #dothraki #georgerrmartin #fantasy #literaryanalysis #viserys #targaryen

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lawonderlandwriter · 6 years

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On Daenerys’s “So-Called” Entitlement (pt 1)

A quick (or maybe not so quick - yeah it won’t be quick, Imma spread this out into parts because it makes me so mad) meta about how Dany is not in fact, an entitled brat like the antis want to believe. For this I will be using SHOW evidence only (though book evidence would help more) simply because we’ll get our endgame from the show first and the show actually casts Dany in a harsher light than the books so challenge accepted.

Let’s start with Game of Thrones Season One.

All her life Dany has been told a story by her brother Viserys of how they are (he is) the rightful ruler(s) of the Seven Kingdoms and that the Usurper took everything from them and how their father was killed. She is called Princess Daenerys, as she’s her brother’s heir (he has no kids of his own yet) and that Essos is not their home. The Seven Kingdoms are their home and the only way they can get back is with an army.

Dany becomes a Khaleesi. She goes from timid exiled princess with no real power to someone who, she learns, actually has influence over others now. “You’re starting to sound like a queen.” “Not a queen, a Khaleesi.” - This is said when she stops the khalasar after she sees one of the men whipping a slave.

Dany embraces her new culture. “These are my people now. You shouldn’t call them savages.” She didn’t choose this culture but because she is now a part of it, she respects the Dothraki and their traditions. She participates in the heart-eating ceremony, changes the way she dresses and does her hair. She rides a horse throughout their journey though in the beginning it is difficult (the Dothraki believe a Khal who cannot ride is no Khal).

Because of Dany’s acceptance and embracing of her new culture, she EARNS the love of the people. “They love her.”

As the khalasar continues to travel, Dany realizes she can use her status as a Khaleesi to help people. She sees men from her khalasar having their way with some Lhazareen women from a tribe they’ve raided and she brings them under her protection, much to the irritation of the men in the khalasar. Dany knows what it is like to be taken advantage of (the beginning of her relationship with Drogo) so she wants to help those in the same situation. This is when she starts to feel a sense of responsibility to protect others.

And lastly we have Drogo’s death. As a Khaleesi, Dany should have gone back to Vaes Dothrak to live amongst the Dosh Khaleen but she didn’t. Why? Because she was now responsible for people. She had earned their respect and trust and love and she knew she needed to protect them. Before she steps into the flames she releases them all saying they didn’t have to follow her if they didn’t wish - many leave, but some stay. She then walks into the pyre and emerges unburnt with the world’s first dragons in a hundred and fifty years. This is a crucial moment. Dany, someone who began her story with no power, suddenly finds power in herself - ability to inspire and lead people and the magic that happened when she hatched her dragons.

Based on Season 1 alone, it is impossible to argue Dany is entitled. She was forced into her position as a Khaleesi. She didn't ask for that marriage. But she accepted it, embraced it, and then learned to use her position to help others. And these other people she was helping were not even “her” people - the people of the Seven Kingdoms. These were people a world away from the place she had grown up being told was her home. And again, she gives them the choice to follow her and allows those who do not wish to, safe leave of her.

And now, because I fucking know this argument will come up and I hate it, I will address the Viserys issue as a kind of afterward.

So, Viserys. Many (if not most) Dany-antis point to her allowing Drogo to kill her brother as proof of what a horrible, terrible, heartless person she is. So I will list all the events that led Viserys to his own demise.

Viserys arranging a marriage for his sister so HE can have the throne. He is not the one making any kind of sacrifice in this exchange. He loses nothing. He gains everything. AND to make matters even worse, he does so with absolutely no regard for his sister’s wants, wellbeing or safety. “I don’t want to be his queen.” ... “I would let his whole tribe fuck you and their horses too if that’s what it took.” He clearly doesn’t care if harm comes to his sister. As long as he gets his crown. “Make him happy.” - he tells her before Drogo takes her away to consummate the marriage. Again, no personal sacrifice for him. It’s all Dany who has to give up everything so He can have his crown.

Viserys attacks Dany after she tells the khalasar to halt their journey. Dany just wanted to stop to take in the beauty of the scenery for a moment and Viserys turns it into her commanding him and comes after her, sword in hand. He grabs her by the neck and calls her a SLUT before men from the khalasar come to her aid. Dany stands up for him saying she doesn’t want him killed even though by Dothraki standards, he should for attacking her.

Again, Viserys turns a simple moment into Dany commanding him when she sends Doreah to invite him to dinner so she can give him gifts she’s gotten for him. Viserys is offended as he wants no part of the Dothraki culture (though he certainly wants their armies). Again he physically threatens Dany (knowing she’s pregnant no less!), slaps her across the face, tackles her to the ground, tries to hit her again when she finally is able to defend herself by hitting him with the gold belt. She gives him a warning here saying the next time he raises a hand to her will be the last time he has hands.

During the horse heart ceremony Viserys becomes bitter that the people love Dany and he has never had that kind of reception before (he hasn’t EARNED it like she has, hasn’t embraced the culture of this army he wants so badly). He later tries to steal her dragon eggs in order to sell them for a ship and an army. “What’s hers is mine.” - Jesus if anyone is entitled, it’s Viserys. Jorah stops him. He returns to a feast later, drunk and with sword in hand. Again, Viserys is completely disregarding and disrespecting Dothraki culture because they are not suppose to carry blades in Vaes Dothraki as it’s a sacred place. He then threatens Dany once again. “He can have the child. I’ll cut it out and leave it for him.” - Yeah, this isn’t the 21st century people. Highly unlikely Dany would survive this if he had done it. “He bought you. But he never paid for you.” To Viserys, Dany is nothing but a good to be sold or traded at his whim “I’m taking you back.” She’s not a sister, someone to protect and care for. So Drogo ends this.

Visery’s downfall was quick and his punishment earned. Some argue Dany should have asked for mercy but after seeing him threaten his wife and unborn child, it is highly unlikely Drogo would have listened to her anyway. He was concerned for her safety (as her brother should have been, but again, in his later years where we catch up with them, Viserys saw her as nothing but currency). And Dany in turn realizes this. She sees that she has never been anything to him but a good. Her own brother, her flesh and blood was willing to cut out her unborn child thereby killing it and her. She owed him nothing in that moment. She didn’t ask Drogo to kill Viserys. She didn’t nod her head and approve of what was about to happen (go back and watch the scene, there is no exchange between her and Drogo before he kills Viserys). She just didn't stop it. And for all the antis who say she was emotionless/heartless in that scene watching her brother die in such a way, again, he had just threatened her life and her child’s life. She had become completely disillusioned with Viserys. He was her brother by blood only at that point. He was a desperate, entitled, and dangerous man and she knew it needed to happen and had accepted it.

Part II to follow. Will link it when I finish it.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys defense squad #anti daenerys #anti Daenerys bullshit #dany is not entitled #I'm ready to defend my girl #don't like it don't watch it #dany is queen #dany is awesome #if it were Sansa you'd support her you know you would don't fucking argue #fuck Viserys #viserys is the worst brother ever #viserys deserved what he got #daenerys targaryen meta #got meta

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buirbaby · 3 years

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The Wardens: Honor of a Man

Rating: M + Language, nudity, themes, and violence.

Masterlist | First

She knew that everything wasn't going to go without a hitch. Taliya had put up too much of a stink that afternoon, spoken too brazenly to Viserys, and even openly to Daenerys. When night fell and Viserys finally wandered back into camp, she knew that Khal Drogo would hear about the turn of events and her own impudence to act in the stead of his bloodriders. They were around to protect Dany for a reason and her own sword was not necessary, especially when women were viewed as inferior and weak. She was nearly chewing on her nails when Jhogo arrived, his youthful face not as tight or unfriendly as she was accustomed to. Instead, he appeared almost guilty, if not sparing a modicum of pity as he told her that the Khal wished to see her.

"Do you think it has to do with what happened earlier?" Ben asked, gripping her arm before she joined the young man.

"What else would he be summoning me for?" Tali retorted hoarsely, her voice cracking and betraying the fear she had in facing the Khal.

"You protected the Khaleesi, you will not be in trouble," Ben insisted, his own confidence in the matter shadowing over hers.

But she had seen Jhogo's face as he called for her and she had no doubt that this would not be a simple or amicable meeting. No, there was more to it and her skin crawled as she wondered how she might be shamed that evening. There was no rebuffing or declining the Khal's invitation and so she brushed out of her partner's hold and set her jaw, nodding as Jhogo as she followed behind him. Benjen followed as far as he was allowed to, which was up until the entrance of the great tent that belonged to Drogo and Daenerys, so large that an elephant could fit inside with ease.

Two bloodriders stood outside, giving discreet jerks of their head to Jhogo as he escorted her in, but Ben was barred outside. Within was not a welcoming sight. Daenerys was there, but seated beside her husband with a tight expression. Khal Drogo's dark eyes burned a trail after Tali as she approached where he lounged. Strangely, they did not disarm her before the Khal, but Jhogo delivered her as asked and stepped aside so that she stood in front of the imposing man. She nearly locked her knees in an effort to keep them from quaking, aware she might pass out if she did so. That didn't assist her at all, the worry bobbing in her throat in the form of the inability to swallow the tacky, dry taste in her mouth.

"Taliya Sand," Khal Drogo began, her Dornish name rolling around strangely on his tongue as he spoke it aloud for the first time. "Today, you defended my wife, the Khaleesi, from her brother. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"That I would do it again if it prevented Viserys from laying a hand on her," Taliya answered in Dothraki, her speech having improved significantly over the weeks.

"To what end?" Khal Drogo challenged. "Jhogo was hooves behind you and yet you interfere. It is not your place. You are a woman. I have tolerated you playing pretend and wearing your weapon, as my wife expresses that your people--the Dornish--allow it. We do not allow it. A woman such as yourself would better serve my own men in the manner you were born to accomplish."

"Jhogo would not have gotten to the Khaleesi in time," Taliya asserted obstinately. "If I were a man, you would be rewarding me for this service. Yet, because I am a woman, I am being questioned as if it was I who attacked the Khaleesi?" Her bitter fury was getting the better of her, barring the silence she should have bequeathed the Khal, but instead she lashed out at him. Her cheeks were burning and she was insensed by the fact that he was not appreciative of her deed.

"Watch your tongue, witch," Cohollo snarled, baring broken teeth at Taliya as she scowled.

Khal Drogo waved his bloodrider back and sat up in his seat. "If you would like to defend my wife, perhaps I should give you more of a challenge to prove your worth than the Sorefoot King. You wear a sword, but can you use it? Jhogo says you struck the boy with your arm, but did not draw a blade."

"There was no reason to draw my sword. Not immediately," Taliya remarked, her pulse tensing at the thought of having to fight any of his bloodriders or maybe even Drogo himself. She was going to die.

"Those that fear to draw their blades die cowards," Khal Drogo insisted.

"If I must prove that I can use the sword that I carry, I will fight," Taliya conceded, already backed into a proverbial wall. She couldn't deny the Khal, not without castrating herself and her liberties. She carried a sword, she was just as challenging as any man in the camp and she had to own up to that. This didn't mean she was a stalwart wall of resolve and confidence. She had seen some of the men fight during the wedding and spar during their free time. They were dervishes, berserkers, and she did not have their years of expertise beneath her silk sash belt. "But if I win, I will be treated as an equal and I will serve the Khaleesi if she should have me."

Khal Drogo thundered with laughter, clutching his stomach at her demands, but there was an admiring glimmer within the depths. Even if he openly chuckled, she knew that his honor dictated giving her what she wanted. The only issue was surviving the fight in the first place.

Lord of Light, please don't kill me right here. I've really come to like living again, Taliya pleaded silently, making what peace she could with the fact that she'd have a new dance partner that wasn't Ben. The Dothraki in the tent were getting worked up, excited to see how this would pan out, if not craving her blood be spilled upon the dirt so that they could chortle about how absurd it had been that a woman was pretending to be a warrior.

Ushered out into the brisk evening air, she caught Benjen standing beside Jorah. He uncrossed his arms, about to open his mouth to question what had happened within the tent when the Dothraki began to hoot and holler, calling for others to join the spectacle, for them all to witness the brutalizing about to occur. Their rallying cries were echoed and warriors poured out of the nooks and crannies like mites, clustering and muttering as Khal Drogo made his grand appearance, giving her a pious look before announcing to the crowd.

"The woman believes she can fight and do a Dothraki's job in defending the Khaleesi. So the woman shall fight and prove herself or die trying," his voice boomed, echoing above the cacophony as their voices grew louder and more spiteful. Even the female Dothraki hissed and lobbed insults in her direction, the muddling of words like whore, witch, slut, and other unsavory names becoming lost amongst the thirst of the mob.

"Taliya!"

Her head turned slowly to gaze over at her friend, his dark brows pushed together and his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. He was worried, using his every fiber to not break forward and put an end to this mess, but she shook her head at him. There would be no use. He'd only get overwhelmed and killed. What good would he be then? If at least one of them survived, then they could continue on their sacred mission. She let out a low breath, praying again to the Lord of Light for guidance. Never once in her life, here or on earth, had she ever felt so helpless or without guidance. Since arriving here, the Lord of Light had only whispered a few things in the fire, but never anything directly. Was this his will?

God was a fickle subject to her. Her family had been religious, Catholic, and thus she had been raised that way. Truthfully, she never really believed in any of it. Now? She was fervently praying to R'hllor in hopes that He wouldn't toss her aside. Gods, she was so terrified as Khal Drogo picked out a Dothraki warrior from the crowd, deciding that his own bloodriders were too much of a challenge for her. She was thankful for that spark of pity, because that might be the difference between death and life.

Another tremulous breath parted her lips, but she reminded herself that this was not the first life she had taken. Taliya--no, Tabitha, had killed before. It hadn't been intentional, she hadn't even been in a combat unit. They were ambushed after an IED went off and she had no choice but to fight back. Her rifle had been thrown aside and all she'd had was her knowledge in Krav Maga and a knife. She had walked away from that fight, but the jihad had not. He too had doubted that a woman could fight.

The Dothraki was shorter than her. Taliyah was a tall woman, but she wasn't as robust as he was. He drew his arakh, the curved blade glistening in the fire light that illuminated the camp and chased long shadows across the khalasar. He grinned and she knew that immediate death would not be in the cards should she fail to defend herself. No, they would embarrass the woman who believed she could fight. They would take everything from her before killing her. She had more to lose than her life.

Her hand went to her sword, utilizing the grip she'd become more dexterously familiar with: the icepick grasp. Fate was shorter than most longswords and the movement felt more natural. The Valyrian steel caught the moonlight and glimmered with the darkened ripples, drawing attention from those that had never seen such steel before.

"Once I mount you, I'll kill you and take that pretty sword," the man told her, pointing his arakh toward her menacingly. For all his talk, he was not as terrifying as the Other in the haunted forest.

"Once I kill you, I'll turn you into a gelding and shove your balls into that filthy mouth of yours," Taliya retorted snidely, not one for playing nice when it came to her life hanging in the balance. The brief moment she had before the collision, her eyes went over toward Daenerys, the braziers on either side of her climbing high toward the sky and that's when she saw it. He was watching.

The arakh collided with Fate, the curved blade screeching against her own steel. Taliya did not remain fast in the position that would sap her energy. Instead, the parry was glanced, as she knew that the Dothraki were quick, but went for killing blows rather than continuing playing between blades. After all, an arakh was a tool for carving, not for the finesse and elegance of a dance. That did not mean she was in any advantage, in fact, if the arakh caught Fate just right, he could rip the sword out of her hands.

The best defense would be her offense and her speed. Her stout opponent would try to overpower her, but his confidence exuded from each swing. She ducked beneath the next, bent down and grabbed a palm full of sand with her free hand, before throwing it up into his face. The man sputtered as she darted forward, his arakh barely coming up in time to defend the jab she'd aimed for him.

His fervor redoubled and through angry, reddened eyes, she battered her back, each clang of his crescent blade forcing her another step until she was getting too close to the crowd of onlookers. Weighing her options, she turned the next strike and drove back toward him. Her reach was longer with the longsword and her arms, she forced him two steps, and then made a grievous mistake. The curve of the arakh collided with the sword, squealing down the fuller as it locked and a devilish smile unfurled on his face. She knew what this meant.

Rather than give him the satisfaction of tearing the sword from her hand, she spat in his face and threw Fate as hard as she could before barreling into the Dothraki like a linebacker trying to defend his quarterback. They fell to the ground in a scuffle, both blades skittering away as they collided with the earth. She had not noticed the Dothraki utilizing hand to hand combat or not much of it. They were mounted warriors. They fought in the saddles more often than naught. Here, she had the advantage and the man had yet to realize it.

But she worked like a serpent, fighting for the dominant position, blocking his strikes as she straddled him and palmed his nose, the cartilage crunching beneath her hand, blood spurting in a crimson river as he groaned. He threw a punch that jerked her head back with a snap, but she did not give up her position, even as they rolled and the shouting around them reached a fever pitch. She had him in a choke, the man lifting in a futile attempt to smash her into the ground. She was winded by the effort, but he was weakening by the second. Enough that she was able to reach to her belt and retrieve her dagger.

The Dothraki were screaming now, warning him of the danger, calling him a failure for allowing himself to be wrapped up by her like prey to a cobra, but Taliya did not hear. This was the same position that she had killed the jihad in, strangling him from behind before she took her knife and dragged it deep across his throat, giving him a second smile. Blood beaded between her hands, slickening the knife as the man garbled, jerking in her grasp before going limp.

For a crowd that had been harkening her rape and death, they grew eerily quiet as she shoved his corpse to the ground and stood, her hands soaked in the blood of the Dothraki warrior and her silks stained with the life she had taken. Raising her knife in victory, she bent down, eying Khal Drogo openly as she grabbed the man's nearly decapitated head and cut off his braid. It was nowhere near as long or as impressive as Drogo's, but she threw it down in his direction, spitting a mouthful of her own blood on the ground. Her lip was busted from the punch, but at least she had all her teeth.

Taliya retrieved her sword, shoving it back into the scabbard, before glancing at the body and feeling... nothing. Just like on deployment, she had felt no pity for the man that had tried to kill her. The only difference here was that she had understood the filthy words that had come from the Dothraki's mouth.

"The woman has won," Khal Drogo deemed, his face unreadable. Whether or not he was impressed, she could not say. "If she is really a woman."

Tailya frowned, her adrenaline still surging through her veins as these words escaped his mouth. What did that mean? She had won! She had won with her bare hands! The Lord of Light had blessed her fight, He had been watching and deemed her worthy! "This was not part of the deal!" she snarled, glaring at Cohollo and Haggo as they erred closer to her.

"I will keep my end of the bargain," Khal Drogo insisted. "But my khalasar will not believe this fight was won by a woman unless they see for themselves. Even I doubt it."

Taliya reached for her sword, but knew she would not beat the both of them. Khal Drogo was still keeping his oath, but he was still taking something precious from her. No. She would not allow it. "You wish to see that I am a woman?" Taliya snarled, throwing her dagger into the dirt in front of her. "Fine. But I will show you myself," she snapped, fumbling the silks and leathers that she wore. She would not be stripped by the bloodriders, she would not be embarrassed by their hands.

Working piece by piece, she glared openly at them all, each layer that came off causing her fingers to shake even more. Finally, when she'd reached the blouse that hit her breasts, she swallowed hard and yanked it off. Taliya was not big breasted, she was athletic, thus she knew that given her stature, she would have to do more than remove her top. She kicked her harem trousers off and then the thin string for underwear she'd donned until she was standing as naked as the day she'd been born.

She hated it. The roaming eyes, the gesticulating, and the faces of those who would prefer to put hands on the honed, muscular woman who stood openly before them. But if this were to happen anywhere, the Dothraki was the best scenario. How could she face anyone in Westeros if she'd been forced to stand in front of them all like this? Just as Cersei would have to march through King's Landing?

"She is a woman," Khal Drogo agreed, his eyes lingering on her mound, before he waved his bloodriders back. "This woman has proven she can fight. There is a first for everything." He turned his back and receded into his tent, sweeping Daenerys along with him.

Taliya's eyes burned, but she knew that she would not cry, she could not. She had proven that she was strong and that would all be lost if she started blubbering. Crouching down, as to protect the last shreds of her modesty as she grabbed her shirt and thrust it back over her head with shaking hands, she drew a shuddering breath on the cusp of breaking down. How many erections had she noticed pressed within the leathers? How many men imagining fucking her out in the open despite the throat she'd just opened?

"Taliya-" The last voice she wanted to hear because of how mortified she was. Ben knelt beside her, his cloak falling around her shoulders as she fumbled her belongings on the ground, her fingers still stained red from the blood she had spilled.

"I hope you enjoyed the show," she hissed through her clenched teeth, managing to get her pants on before bundling the rest up in her arms and gripping her sword scabbard tight in her fist.

"Tali, I..." but he was at a loss for words as she got to her feet and started to storm away toward the outskirts of the khalasar where they'd pitched their tents. She drew in his cloak, her resolve crumbling with each step, carrying herself further than the tent and out into the brush with only the stars for company. Well, at least she'd thought that until she heard him pursuing her. Crouching back down amongst the tall grass, Taliya drew in toward herself, shuddering as she lost control of her tightly reigned emotions. "Tali!"

"Go away, do I look like I want to be bothered right now?" she asked hoarsely, unable to stop the tears from falling out of her eyes. "I came out here to be alone!"

But he did not leave her alone, much to her disdain. She felt Balerion probing, the griffin not too far, but at a great enough length that it would take him a few minutes to reach them. She denied his request, feeling bad for keeping him at a distance for so long, but they were safer this way. She pressed her face into her knees, sitting in the dirt, crying like a child. She was deserving of a good cry and this one had rushed up to meet her all at once.

A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked it away. What repulsive thoughts did he have of her now? In Westeros, a lady would never bear herself like that. The Dothraki would have done it for her, turned her into a victim, but she had refused to let herself be belittled. If they wanted to see her vagina, she was going to show it herself and not have the choice taken from her. Still, it didn't make her feel much better. She was disgusted with herself and even if she knew their harsh words weren't true, they still bit into her skin as if they were.

"Shh, shh," Benjen knelt beside her, smoothing her hair back as she wept, the motion astonishingly soothing for a man who'd spent little time occupying it with the opposite gender. She supposed he had nieces to look after once in a while, but was still affronted with her own lewd display.

"I thought I told you to go away," she sniffled indignantly.

"And miss you shedding tears? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I thought you did not have the ability to for the longest time," Benjen remarked glibly, deserving of a subconscious thwap of the back of her knuckles to his knee. "I should have done something-"

"You couldn't. There was no way that it would have turned out well for either of us had you stepped up to defend me," Taliya reminded him, clearing her throat as she tried to stop the watershow. "It's not like I'm some dainty lady with honor to defend anyways."

"Is that what you really believe?" Ben inquired quietly.

"I'm no one, Ben. I have no noble name to protect me."

"That's not true. You are a Warden. The First Warden. There's only two of us. That makes you more important than the majority of nobility in Westeros... in the world. What makes you think otherwise?"

"Because it will always come down to titles and blood. Even if I help fix the world, save those marked for slaughter, it will always come back to the fact that I'm no one," she rebuffed, brushing the hand on her shoulder away. "I shouldn't be crying over this. I won, I'm alive, and I proved that a woman can have enough skill to best a man. I just-" she lifted her face, her voice cracking under the strain as she tried to piece her shattered resolve back together.

"You are human, Tali. I think I would be more worried if you had not reacted at all to what just happened," Ben reminded her.

"I could've handled it better. Now I'm a mess, I've got blood all over me and it's mixed with tears. I'm going to need new clothes."

"That's what you are worried about?" Ben muttered in disbelief.

She was deflecting, but it seemed easier to do that than to face that fact that he'd watched her strip in front of hundreds of people until she was naked. "I liked these silks," she complained.

Managing a glance up at him, she saw the shadowed countenance of her companion. Despite his warm words to her, she knew that he was bothered by the situation and how out of hand it had gotten in a matter of moments. It had been out of his control and the lack thereof perturbed him. It was admirable that he worried for her, but Taliya tried not too much too much worth into it, lest to save them both from eventual heartbreak.

She moved to stand up, drawing in the cloak once again, when a hand steadied her. Even in the darkness, the golden warmth of his eyes blazed like a beacon--like the sun itself. "You are not alone in this, Tali. You are never alone. We... are all we have. Even when we return to Westeros, I am not certain what my family will think of what has become of me. I am not certain I can return, as Starks take oaths very seriously. To the grave."

"You took yours to the grave, Ben," she reminded him.

"They might not understand, but you do. It's not as if I can explain it to them, you know how we are prohibited from talking to outsiders about our gifts," Ben sighed, having time to contemplate how fathomable resuming a normal life in Westeros would be once they did return. Taliya's gaze softened, not the whip sharp glare, the resting bitch face she typically wore, and she stifled a deep breath as she felt herself calming down. It still hurt, like a knife in her belly, twisting her entrails and causing pain, but he was right. At least she was not alone. Even Daenerys had not put in a word for her or tried to stop her husband, bringing color to her tanned cheeks as she thought in shame of how she'd overstepped her boundaries. But she was the First Warden, just as Benjen insisted. She was more important than any of them, wielding the knowledge to shape the world. One day her work would pay off and they'd all see it, that a woman could pull strings behind the scenes and achieve spectacular things. This was her origin and she had to combat the fact that she was no one. At least, she did not have to do it alone. Between Balerion, Torrhen, and Benjen-she knew she had people she could put her trust in, if only she could let them in.

Tabitha, her real name not the alias she'd taken, had always been reclusive. Since leaving the Army, finding new friends had been hard and she was often seen as standoffish, bossy, and a bit of a bitch. Assimilation into civilian life had been difficult, especially working in customer service where she had to slap a smile on despite not wanting to roll out of bed some days. War had been tough on her and the day to day environment of carefree civilian life had grated on her, weathering down her patience. Perhaps she should have never left the military and she wouldn't have spiralled, but her family had needed her as her contract had ended. The promising track she had been set on, especially after getting her degree, started to evaporate as she put her dreams on hold. Now, they'd never come to fruition, her dreams of being a blackhawk pilot dashed. Ironically, she was a different kind of pilot now, her skillset between her hobbies and what the military had taught her becoming pivotal in helping her in this new world.

"Last time I had people I could trust, I watched a handful of them get blown up," Taliya told him, finally breaking the silence as she snapped out of her daze. "Should have been a routine patrol. Road had been swept in the morning. Turns out we had a mole... someone who fed information to the other side, a traitor. Two of the soldiers were kids, just out of training, thrown onto a deployment in the desert. Hell of a first time getaway from home. Two 19 year olds with their whole lives ahead of them. Explosion killed Gabini immediately, concussed me, and maimed Brown. By the time I came to, they were finishing Brown off with a rusted knife, sawing it-" she swallowed hard, blinking back the repulsive memories. "They thought I was dead or were finishing the others to save me for last... Unfortunate for them. Shot the first, slit the throat of the other. When I got back home they gave me a shiny medal like that could make up for what was lost. If I could, I would have given my life in exchange for theirs.

"Then I get here and it's like everything I was, everything I worked for... It means nothing because I'm a woman or I'm common born. I'm not trying to sound arrogant, but I've better wits than the majority of the population and yet in an instant, I can be degraded without a choice. I was a sergeant, Ben. I was important, I had soldiers beneath me. I-" she shook her head. She had never talked about any of this. Always holding it in, repressing the fact that these deaths burned a hole in her heart. It was why she'd preferred the solitude with Balerion. Balerion would never hurt her.

"Losing men is never easy," Ben admitted, undoubtedly losing many of his brothers to the cold or wildlings. She felt a bit stupid mentioning it to him, someone who had probably seen many come and go over his years on the Wall. "I always did suspect you were prior military. Some of your mannerisms... and behavior."

"Never really goes away," she snorted. "Look, I didn't mean to be... emotional. Today has been absolute dog shit."

"Understandably," Ben agreed as they turned toward the khalasar, beginning to walk back to their camp. "I like to think we are friends, despite the circumstances that brought us together."

She was thankful for the cover of darkness as the corners of her mouth turned up. "Me, friends with a noble? Lord up above, I really must be something special to have impressed you, wolf-boy."

"You had me at 'chuckle-fuck' beyond the Wall," Ben informed her.

Taliya chortled, bringing her hand to her mouth to prevent the ugly noise from escaping her lips. "I do... have a colorful way of describing things."

"Especially under pressure. What was it again that you threatened that Dothraki with? Something about castrating him and then-"

"I'm no lady," Taliya broke in before he could finish.

"Perhaps not, but you're still a woman. At least I'm certain of that now."

Taliya glared at him, but the brightness in the Stark's eyes were not as mirthfilled as the Dothraki. Had it been anyone else, she might've punched them... Actually, she was still fully contemplating it. "Hope you got a good look. It's the only one you're ever going to get."

It was difficult to fall asleep at first, still restless from the evening that had battered her around like meat being tenderized. Once she did, she tumbled within a dream, so vivid that Tali remembered every fine detail. Darkness pooled around her, tendrils reaching out like hands, pulling at the sunset silks she was adorned in. While there seemed to be no ground, each step brought her forward in the shadow realm which she tread. Where was she going? She wandered aimlessly for a long time until her hip grew hot, Fate humming at her belt, growing red. Logic dictated that when she touched it, she should have been burned.

However, as her palm grazed the pommel, she only felt the warmth blistering metal, but was not injured as she ought to be. Taking the sword from the scabbard, the Valyrian steel burst into flames, just as some priests of R'hllor could manage. She wondered if Valyrian steel could take the heat of the magic over and over again, holding the sword in front of her face as it illuminated the abyss surrounding her. When she finally looked around, her skin crawled as the shadows took silhouettes and shape, just like the one that Melisandre would birth from Stannis. They pawed at the light, but did not approach.

Taliya continued down the trail with Fate as her beacon. Another light, wreathed in golden flame attracting her attention. Finally, when she reached it, she realized it was not an 'it' so much as it was a person. A statue of Ben stood before her, wielding a glorious longsword, a halo of sunlight blooming around his crown as if he were a saint. Weapon raised toward the sky, she saw the finer details of a full suit of armor and thought he looked rather akin to a paladin, a holy knight. Inscribed on the plinth below: Ser Benjen Stark, Champion of R'hllor, Warden of Light, Savior of Westeros.

Was this the future? Even if it was not her, she couldn't help but admire the beauty of the marble and how it captured her friend's features. If anyone deserved to be commemorated, Benjen certainly had her vote. But as she glanced around, she wondered why there was nothing about her. Taliya didn't need to be remembered, but she supposed that if Ben had gotten a statue, why wouldn't she? He was the sword, but she was the brains.

The shadows had lifted half of their shade and she was walking in a city... King's Landing? It was difficult to tell by the unnatural darkness that coated the city in an effervescent haze. No people milled around, but she saw the long shadows of the dark beings from her path. They stayed away from the light which she held, but followed her as she ascended up stairs toward a temple. The Sept of Baelor? No, the towers were missing, the beautiful stained glass removed. This was where the sept should have been, but in its place blazed a Red Temple with a great brazier and fire.

There cannot be light without shadow.

She tilted her head, looking for where the deep voice came. A shiver raked down her spine, the queer sound of the leagues deep voice echoing with the voices of many. The voice was masculine, but those that echoed it were legion. Continuing her path toward the Temple, Taliya leveled her eyes. Thus far, the Lord of Light had not made His intentions clear. She and Ben knew that it was He that had raised them, given them their fiery eyes, and tasked them with altering the future. Why he had done this, despite the fact that the Great Other would likely be defeated, Taliya could not say. Did He wish for different people to survive? Did He wish for dragons to live or Daenerys not to perish as a result of her descent into madness? There were no answers. They were champions without the word of their God telling them what to do.

There is no shadow without light to cast it.

Fate's light flickered and the shadows crept closer. They wouldn't attack her, would they? They were servants to the Lord, just as she was. But when she glanced at them, their black faces, she had a feeling they did not care who she was. Quickening her step, she hurried toward the Temple, Fate's brilliance continuing to fate. Her strides lengthened until she was running, banging up against the door to the temple as she tried to force it open. It was no use, the doors were locked.

Fate guttered out and Taliya turned, her heart in her throat as the shadow figures stood up. The only light she could see was the halo of Ben's statue, which was too far for salvation. Even the Red Temple seemed to forsake her, as if to cast her from her divine position and relinquish her to the abyss. She swiped her sword, the blade passing through the shadows without harming them... because they were shadows. A scream never parted her lips or if it did, there was no one to hear it. They fell on top of her, smothering her, ripping her away from King's Landing and tearing at her every fiber.

Shadow and light. They are both tools of the Lord. Two sides to the same coin.

Shadow. You are shadow.

Taliya awoke with a start, her fingers gripping her throat where she'd felt shadowy hands snared and pushing down into belly to eviscerate her insides, to tear away the light in her heart and replace it with shadow. The Lord of Light had yet to speak openly to her, but she wondered if that dream was His first attempt to press upon His will. They were Wardens, gifted with partners and flight, but was that all? Melisandre could conjure flame, she would raise Jon Snow, she could consume poison and live, and birth monstrosities. Could the Wardens do things?

She thought of the statue, how Ben had looked the part of the holy warrior, but she had been missing entirely. Would that be her future? Hidden in the shadows and forgotten for everything she'd forged? Tali was not jealous of Ben, it was a man's world, but it still stung to think that the Lord of Light would prefer him over her: The First Warden. What had He said... That had been the Lord, hadn't it? The deep, echoing of many voices in the shadow city, telling her that shadow and light were but two sides of the same coin... She was shadow.

Was Ben light?

Taliya dressed, her attire still blood stained, and her face still raw from where she'd been punched. Her split lip was crusty and she knew she had an ugly bruise radiating from mouth to the left side of her jaw. Fortunately, nothing was broken, but it still hurt like a bitch. Brushing her fingers through her hair, she noticed it was getting longer, but didn't take a knife to it just yet as she dragged herself out of bed.

The sun was bright, forcing her to shield her eyes as she stepped out and rolled her shoulders. What she wouldn't do for a bath or a shower. Pentos had been the last place such had been afforded and it hadn't even been a bath, it'd just been a basin filled with clean water and a rag. She was about to start making breakfast when a slender figure approached her anxiously, twisting her fingers into her skirts, long blonde hair glistening in the morning light.

Doreah finally found the courage to speak. "Khaleesi requests your company."

Great. That's just who she wanted to see after the girl had let her husband embarrass her before the Khalasar. Even if she wasn't to be petulant about it, she knew that it wasn't a request and a demand. Grumbling to herself, she pushed up to her feet, leaving behind the embers she had started to stoke. What did the child want? To apologize? To tell Taliya that she shouldn't have been such a brash fool? No, maybe Daenerys would agree with her husband and see nothing wrong with what had happened.

Rubbing her aching face, Taliya followed the Lyseni handmaiden across the camp. Oddly enough, she had expected the Dothraki to point and laugh at her, to continue to insult her further after the fiasco last night. However, she was astonished to see their gazes were not impish, but full of regard, as if they were seeing her for the first time. Nudity to the Dothraki was not as taboo as it was to Westerosi and other cultures. She had taken her fate into her own hands. Did they respect her?

That was wishful thinking. Maybe they were just afraid that she'd wrestle them to the ground and slit their throat like a goat as she'd done to one of their warriors.

The behavior change in the Dothraki was not the only thing that she noticed. In fact, there was a strange hum in her bones each time she glanced towards shade, where the sunlight did not strike. The shadows seemed to lengthen, to beckon toward her like a lurid lover. Perhaps she was dehydrated or had a concussion, because the shadows had never played around as they did now. She brushed away the words of R'hllor that buzzed in her ears like gnats: You are shadow.

Khal Drogo was not in the tent. It was only Daenerys and her handmaidens, to include Irri and Jhiqui. A hand rested gently on the girl's abdomen, which made Taliya wonder if the girl had discovered she was pregnant. The thought of someone so little, so young, being with child made her want to yak up a breakfast she hadn't had the chance to eat.

"Taliya," Daenerys entreated, but remained where she was sitting as she spoke her name.

"Khaleesi," she returned indifferently.

"My husband was impressed with your skill. He wonders where you learned to fight with your hands like that," Daenerys remarked.

"I told you that I served as a sellsword. I learned in Yi Ti," she lied simply.

Daenerys sighed, dropping her hand from her stomach, her eyes softening. "No woman should be shamed like that."

"Do the Dothraki see it as shame?" Taliya glanced toward Irri and Jhiqui, trying to gauge their reactions. They balked under her fiery gaze, averting their eyes as if they'd be burned if they stared for too long.

"They needed proof," Daenerys replied.

"You're becoming quite good with politics, Khaleesi. Answering, but still avoiding the original question. Tell me, is it you who feels shame or the Dothraki? Because on my walk here, they did not jeer, point, or laugh. Yet, I stand before you and I see pity in your eyes," Taliya countered sternly, daring to overstep the boundary between ranks as she bared her disdain over the girl's lack of reaction the evening before.

Daenerys' cheeks flushed at the insinuation. "Nothing I said could have changed what happened."

"No, I doubt it could, but you also have more power than you believe you do. I don't need an apology or your pity. I made my decision last night and I stand by it. I am not a dainty lady from Westeros, I am a warrior. It may not have been easy to do what I did, but don't assume that I feel sullied because of it. I could care less who saw me naked," Taliya rebuffed.

Silence hung between them, the girl contemplating her words at Taliya stood erect like a soldier at attention, her spine rigid and her jaw level. She didn't need the child throwing her a pity parade, coddling her because she'd neglected to do anything. Daenerys needed to know what a strong woman looked like. One who didn't let the opinions of others drown her. Even if it had hurt, Taliya would not show it.

"Drogo intends to keep his promise. If you wish to serve beneath me still," Daenerys told her.

Taliya had the royal flush, the cards were stacked against Daenerys, the guilt weighing on the girl's conscience. Drawing in a deep breath, she released her sigh and relaxed her imposing posture. She was a head taller than any of the women in there, even if she was slouching. "Is that what you want? Do you still feel comfortable with me around after everything that happened?"

"I feel comfortable around you, but I-" she paused, her brows snaring together in irritation. "You have been a good companion and I did nothing but watch. What if I do it again? What if you die because of it?"

"People die, Khaleesi. The world is a cruel place. We all learn from our mistakes and you're still growing up. Your brother... that was not the first time he's raised a hand to you, is it?" She knew the answer, but she wanted the girl to give it to her.

Daenerys shook her head. "Viserys has always been... stern. I just thought it was the way things were, but when after hearing you tell me otherwise during our conversations... It made me think about how I'm treated here, my people he sees as barbarians, when they treat me better than he ever has and he's my blood."

"There is a quote I know: The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. It means that the blood shed in battle, bonds people together more than the familial bonds. Of course, family is important, but there becomes a point when you must question if that family has the best intentions in mind for you. Do you think that Viserys does?"

Daenerys contemplated before speaking, "He is still my brother and I do love him."

"I am not saying to forsake him, only that sometimes family shouldn't be the most important thing in your life, especially if they've done little to prove their care for you is not materialistic and a means to an end. Khal Drogo cares deeply for you, the weight of his love should rival that of your brother. If Viserys truly loved you, he would not hit you," Taliya explained carefully. "Only a coward strikes those that cannot fight back. Punish me if you must for speaking out of turn, but your brother is a coward."

"I know," Daenerys agreed miserably. "I do want you here, Tali. Your wisdom has helped me immensely and I appreciate your honesty. The Dothraki are often honest, but it's not the same. Because you're-"

"Dornish? Westerosi? Too wry for my own good?" Taliya filled in mischievously.

"I can relate to you more... And you are a piece of the home I have never known."

"Home isn't an exact place, Khaleesi. It is often a person. I would say that your home is with Khal Drogo, no matter where in Essos he takes you," Taliya informed her, feeling the tension in her shoulders beginning to evaporate as the walls between them fell.

"Then... perhaps until now, I have not known a home."

"Khaleesi, if you would have me still, the offer stands. However, after last night, I think the terms in which I stand by have shifted. As you probably noticed, I have a certain set of skills and I have more I can offer depending on what your intentions are for the future. I have connections in Westeros, eyes and ears that report to me. If your intentions are to go there eventually, an army is not the only thing you will need."

"Taliya, you have always spoken openly before. What is it that you want?"

"I want the position as Mistress of Whisperers. I will also promise you my sword, but I am no knight. I am a hidden blade. Give me time and I have no doubt I'll be able to acquire information in more methods than just the contacts I have in Westeros."

Daenerys leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees as she contemplated the offer. "If we go to Westeros, these connections would be paramount. Are you asking for titles as well?"

"No, I do not care for titles other than the position I've requested. I don't need land, nor castles. I am asking for this as a commoner with the interest of the common folk in my heart."

"You are aware that if we go, the common folk will get caught in between regardless. The Dothraki will wish to loot as they do here," Daenerys reminded her.

"Which is why I'll continue to be that pesky fly in your ear, reminding you when I see injustices, but it will be up to you to change the way in which the Dothraki think. So far, it seems they've come to acknowledge that a woman can fight. Perhaps they can give up their pillaging."

Since the dream, the shadows always beckoned, especially when the night came and they deepened into an abyss that Taliya felt she could step into and vanish. It had taken the fight with the Dothraki warrior for her to come to realize that she had talents in another form of fighting. Hand to hand combat and knives. Both times she had killed, it had been with a knife in her hand. Fate had served her well, but it had never been quite right. Once she found a proper forge, she intended on having the steel split into two daggers to better serve her skills. But amongst the Dothraki Sea, the opportunity to find a smith was slim to none. They would need to get to a city and she had high hopes that Vaes Dothrak might have a vendor who had the skill.

Daenerys had granted her request, though the position of Mistress of Whisperers wasn't official. It banked on Drogo deciding they'd go to Westeros, in which advisors would be necessary for the assault. Still, the seed was planted and Taliya had already hewn the niche that she would fill. Queen's Guard was not where she would be suited best, it would be pulling strings and working alongside Varys. With the passing evenings, she worked heavily on her close combat skills, sparring with Ben and relying upon her knowledge in Krav Maga and knife combat to marry her experience with a sword. At first, it was difficult to get past the guard of an expert swordsman, but with each hour devoted, Taliya improved.

She took to throwing knives, collecting more and more blades by the day, and studied the plants of the Sea. The Dothraki were more willing to talk to her, even the women who had once called her a whore would impart their wisdom of what certain herbs would do. She kept her notes in a book and also recorded what she knew of poisons. While there weren't any readily available poisons for her to harvest, there were plenty of venomous snakes which she could take glands from and coat blades in. They would not be as instant as Tears of Lys or the strangler, but it would kill eventually, as few people knew how to create antivenoms.

The question of what the Lord of Light had meant by the dream He had imparted, left her interpreting His will as she was a shadow. She already tugged strings behind the scenes and given the vision, she suspected that she was not destined to be the face of the Wardens. As a woman and without a noble birth to draw upon, her talents were best utilized from anonymity. Any idle dreams of being a lady-knight were dashed from her mind and she acknowledged that perhaps that was the best. After all, she wouldn't have liked the limelight or attention. She preferred to do her work and remain unbothered by the intricacies of posturing and sniveling nobility.

Their weeks of travel finally resulted in the anticipated destination of Vaes Dothrak, guarded by the Horse Gate, a pair of rearing stallions whose hooves reached a hundred feet. The sacred city had no walls, but who would be foolish enough to attack it? Unless they wanted the wrath of all the Dothraki khalasar in the Sea to fold upon them, the hallowed ground remained unscathed, filled to the brim with the monuments that the Dothraki had sacked over the long years.

Taliya gazed amongst the throng that she traveled with and then to those that filed behind them. When she had begun this journey, she was a woman who carried a sword, but still a woman. Though it had been earned in exchange for her modesty, the Dothraki gazed at her through different eyes. Still, there were many who were wary, but she had asserted her dominance in the field of combat and there were some of the younger warriors that were more keen to talk to her, to learn. Jhogo had been one of those who decided to speak first. He did not apologize, as it is not custom for Dothraki to do so, but she suspected the young man still felt a bit guilty that all that had transpired had to do with him reporting it to Khal Drogo. There were others who were more interested in occupying her time in other manners, liking what they saw when she'd been bare, but they did not attempt to take her lest they wanted their hands gone as she'd threatened before.

Taliya was no Khaleesi, but she was a servant to their queen and she had earned their respect. Many had even given her a name since that day: Geshah Gezri--The Sand Cobra. It had become an affectionate term, if not a title, a way to describe what fate another man might meet if they crossed her, wrapped up in her constricting embrace before fangs would end their life. She preened in what they had given her.

What she found most amusing was Viserys' stupidity. For as long as they had been amongst the Dothraki, the young man had made no effort to learn their language. Why he'd neglected to do so bespoke of his own arrogance and expectations that he was safe, which was quite a misplaced idea. Now, he rode in a cart after Khal Drogo had offered it, deep in the belief that the Khal was now treating him as he was supposed to when it was actually the opposite.

"How dense do you have to be to be so ignorant to the fact that your goodbrother is insulting you right to your face?" Ben speculated, though the prince had now been given his horse back after being confined to the cart for some weeks.

"Well, when you believe the entire world bends a knee to you and that you're the most clever creature there is, it's impossible to think that barbarians might be intelligent enough to slight you," Taliya answered, shaking her head in disdain. "You ought to think knowing their language would be the best way to know they're not making fun at your expense."

"Why would you do that when there's so many translators available?" Ben scoffed. "Who most certainly will not lie to you?"

"Ah, you're right. I obviously was not thinking," Taliya remarked.

"Careful, speak any louder and he might grow suspicious," Jorah canted his horse closer, his voice deadpanned as he flanked them.

Taliya threw a glance back to where Viserys was riding beside his sister. Why Daenerys still let him occupy her time, she could not say, but the girl had become shrewder with her brother after his actions. She didn't dart as carefully around his emotions and often spared glances at Tali when she dared raise her voice. Even if he wasn't the brightest, Viserys wasn't stupid enough to attack Daenerys in front of the Dothraki. Still, watching from the shadows, she knew that he hadn't mustered the courage to do what he'd done again. Instead, he filled his time with lounging, calling Doreah into his tent, and gossiping to the servant as if she'd not repeat his disgusting words to Taliya in full. Doreah feared the woman she'd seen strangle a man to the princeling who couldn't lift the sword he carried.

"Mm, he seems a bit preoccupied," she commented, steering her gelding a little closer to try and overhear what he was talking about. By the animated expressions and maddened glimmer in his eyes, she knew he was ranting on about Vaes Dothrak.

"They cannot speak the language of civilized men," Viserys decided, rolling his eyes in the direction of the nearest Dothraki as if they could not comprehend him. The number that could speak Common had been increasing with Ben's assistance, not that the prince had cared to take notice. These were not people who were intelligent enough to learn. Not to him. "I grow tired of waiting for my army. He should give me what is rightfully mine. What I paid for."

Paid for. Taliya wrinkled her nose at his ignorance, the way he bartered Daenerys' hand as if she were a gift cow. "The Khal will honor his promise in his own time," Taliya spoke up, drawing closer and watching as a sneer unfolded on his lips. The young man had heard of the fight, though he'd not been given the luxury of watching her strip. She was thankful for that. Just as she was amused that he'd watched her throw knives for practice with increasing precision. The boy feared her and for good reason. For all the ilk in his body, he was biding his time with the belief he'd get to repay her for the bruise she'd given him for attempting to touch Daenerys.

Still, he didn't like to be around her and she acted as a natural deterrent for the brat. He reined his horse and turned away, leaving Taliya with the Khaleesi and her handmaidens. Her gaze swept to Jhogo, who comprehended the pointed words and insults that the Targaryen had lobbed at his people.

"He grows more impatient with each passing day," Daenerys sighed.

"Let him," Tali shrugged, waving her hand dismissively. "He is not in charge here, which he often seems to forget. You would think he'd have picked up on some Dothraki customs by now. Your hand was not considered a trade, but a gift. Eventually, your husband will give a gift in return, but rushing him is not wise."

"When has Viserys ever been wise?" Daenerys inquired. "He was just telling me that he believes that he can sweep the Seven Kingdoms with 10,000 Dothraki."

"You sound unconvinced, Khaleesi."

"I have started to take everything that comes from his mouth with a grain of salt. There are many things he does not consider and he sees only numbers. Ben was telling me of the numbers that different houses possess and if they were to take the field against us, they'd outnumber 10,000 easily. Not to mention the lack of a home field advantage, possibility of siege which the Dothraki are not trained in, and other tacticians who have more years of experience than I have been alive," Daenerys considered carefully, surprising Tali. She seemed to have thought this through, weighing the strength of her new people against what she had learned of Westeros.

"Sounds as if Ben has been giving you some good lessons," Taliya remarked, impressed by her understanding. If the Dothraki were going to commit to warfare against a foreign country, it was reasonable that Daenerys take their wellbeing into consideration and what difficulties they might face. She was not as fanciful as Viserys in the fact that sheer numbers would be enough to win, which made her realize that Daenerys was changing. Was this better? The girl was becoming more well versed with the chess board she'd need to play, advisors subconsciously slipping into place and filling her ears with the knowledge she needed to be a successful conqueror.

"You each give me many things to contemplate. The world is certainly more complex than I originally thought," Daenerys smiled faintly, but it was clear the girl was exhausted from her progressing pregnancy.

"Better to be aware of the complexities than to be surprised by them," Tali quipped. "Westeros will not be won by a fatal sweep across the entire Seven Kingdoms. Acquiring allies to make up for where the Dothraki lack will be necessary. The biggest players in each region are where you need to start looking, but also consider those that will never bow to you. The Baratheons and Lannisters hold the Crown, they will fight for it. However, Dorne still remembers the injustice of Elia Targaryen and could make a good ally."

"And what do you think of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms? Ben believes we can sway House Stark and Tully, but I believed that Lord Eddard Stark was good friends with the Usurper."

"There's also House Tyrell to consider as well. The Reach has one of the biggest cavalries and army's and flanks the Westerlands. With how much time we have between now and when we might embark for Westeros, things can change. Already there is disquiet in King's Landing. The Crown is in severe debt to the Iron Bank," Taliya informed the girl, letting her soak in the information like a sponge.

"What do you think they would want in exchange for fealty?"

There was no way to reveal that dragons would be rather convincing in swaying them to join forces, but Taliya simply smiled. "The threat of a foreign army can be quite convincing, but it is likely that a promise of marriage to your unborn child will be your biggest bargaining tool."

Daenerys caressed her stomach gently, but nodded in comprehension. This was the price of royalty, just as they'd discussed before, was the lack of freedom or love. In order to receive the assistance they needed, it would come at a hefty price and it wouldn't be in coin. Not when a house like Tyrell had plenty of income.

"But take things a day at a time, Khaleesi. You are here at Vaes Dothrak with an important quest to accomplish. Focus your mind on the present," Tali urged, aware that the task of eating the horse heart was not going to be easy on her nauseous, pregnant stomach. She knew some days it made it difficult for the child to eat.

Their conversation tapered off as they arrived within the city. Buildings of various makes made up the center and while it was a buzzing hive of activity, nearly all of the folks there now were not permanent residents. Only the dosh khaleen, the widows of khals, lived there continuously. The merchants and their slaves would pick up and depart when it was quiet. However, with a khalasar as large as Khal Drogo's approaching, they were abuzz with activity, leaving her to hope that she might be able to acquire what was on her list while within the confines of the sacred city.

Upon approaching the eastern market, the riders started to dismount, unbuckling belts and passing their weapons to slaves that were waiting. She almost groaned, but knew that it was not allowed for any man to carry steel or spill blood. Throwing an impish look over at Jhogo, she asked him, "Tat yer shillolat rek anha zin ven jin mahrazh?" (Do you think I count as a man?)

"Yer iffi rek chomokh," (You won that honor) Jhogo rebuffed lightly, handing his arakh and whip over to a slave.

"Anha zhorre ale san vov," (I have too many weapons) she complained, stepping up and handing Fate off before going through her entire ensemble, removing more than a dozen knives that she had hidden over her body from tit to boot.

"Geshah Gezri et sanekhi ki gomma," (The Sand Cobra has many fangs) he mused.

The slaves would look after their steel, keeping it in their charge as they were not considered men by the Dothraki. Upon their entrance, she spared Ben a long look before turning back to the market. Civilization felt a long while off and her clothing was still bloodstained. She had been eager to get here and to finally acquire more supplies to replace those that had been weathered through the Dothraki Sea. Khal Drogo was to go up to the Mother Of Mountains that evening, leaving the khalasar to get rest and enjoy the afternoon before tomorrow's main event.

Within Vaes Dothrak, there was no fear of being attacked, lest any of the merchants wished to tempt the rage of the Dothraki who would make examples of any who spat on their traditions.

Tali would be lying if she wasn't vibrating with excitement to finally have a shopping day, to get the opportunity to trade in her dirty, travel worn silks for something new. Whether or not Ben felt the same, she intended on dragging him up and down the market until she was pleased with her purchases.

"Sometimes you astound me. For someone who claims to be the least feminine woman in existence, you do get rather excited to shop for clothes," Ben poked as they continued through the eastern market.

"I never claimed to be not feminine!" she scoffed indignantly. "I said that I'm no lady. And who wouldn't be excited to get fresh clothing? You would have me believe that you are comfortable in your sweat stained attire?"

"I could use a second set so that I might have the chance to clean these," Ben admitted with a grin. "You know, your hair is getting quite long."

"Ooh, perhaps I'll chop it all off so I can look less feminine and more like a man," Taliya proposed impishly, glancing over at the man to see his reaction. Just as she expected, he was unphased and had his stupid, wildling wolf-boy grin. Where Ned was described as being cold and aloof, Ben had all the markers of the Stark wildness.

"You'll have to wait until we leave Vaes Dothrak. Or do you think there are barbers in the city?"

"What use would Vaes Dothrak have for a barber? If I were a barber, I'd stay as far away as I could from Vaes Dothrak. Imagine accidentally cutting a little too much off the end? Taking the whole braid by accident?" she drew a line across her throat, making a silly face at the speculation of why there weren't any barbers in the city.

"Are you really thinking of cutting it?" Ben asked as she stopped in front of a silk vendor.

"Why, jealous that I can have long hair and it'll look too suspicious on you?" she prodded, pulling some of the teal fabric between her fingertips.

"It suits you."

"Mm, careful there or I might think you're giving me a compliment," she retorted, nodding to the vendor who spooled the silk back.

"You make it sound as if you're undeserving of the occasional compliment," he chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving a friendly squeeze. "You have been doing quite well with daggers. They suit you more than the sword."

"Lord of Light," she sighed, turning around and leaning against the table. "What has gotten into you? Are you fishing, hoping I'll compliment you in return?"

"I know it's a vain hope," he smiled, removing his hand. "A friend can give a compliment, can they not?"

Taliya gave him a begrudging look, hoping that he wasn't playing at more than a friendly exchange. They were close, afterall, but sometimes she felt as if his gestures and the grazes of his hands were more than just a friend reassuring her. Not that she didn't enjoy the attention, since aside from Ben she was basically starved for human affection, even before her death on earth. She didn't want to get her hopes up and ruin what they had, which made these tart words fall from her lips in an effort to continue their companionship. Yet, it was moments like this that she questioned if Ben had the same ambitions as her or if he wanted more.

Turning her attention back to what she had been doing, she gave her measurements to the merchant and paid the deposit for the new attire. Milling between stalls, she picked out a few other items, even sparing a moment to eye a few baubles and the exorbitant amount of gold that seemed to be more common than spices amongst the stalls. If there was anywhere she wished to acquire desert rarities, here would probably be the cheapest. She did not need it, but she had not given herself anything since arriving, devoting herself solely to her mission. Maybe just this once she'd indulge in her whims when she could afford it.

While she was able to afford a few delicate chains, new sandals, and golden bands for her biceps she had to turn her head to the golden feather pins that would have made her growing hair easier to manage. She couldn't spend all the coin she had on her.

A crimson glint caught her eye, her head lifting as she noticed a young boy in blood red robes peeking out from behind a merchant stall. He tilted his head, staring at her, before darting into a narrow alley.

"I'll... be right back. Return to the khalasar, I will meet you there," she told Ben, her feet dragging her toward the curious sight.

Within the confines of a dusty causeway, she saw the boy, who had tucked his arm into his robes and eyed her. "I have something for you," the boy spoke in Common, trotting forward to reveal a roll of parchment small enough to fit in his palm.

"You must be a little mouse," Taliya realized, impressed that Varys had managed to get word out to her here. "Will I be able to find you in a day or two?"

The boy nodded, passing the parchment over before giving an expectant look. Taliya removed a few Braavosi coins from her pocket and gave them to him, the child scampering off down the alley before vanishing from few entirely. Unfurling the note, her eyes raked over the cordial letter that would have seemed depressingly boring to those who didn't know how to crack the complex code that they communicated in. Given her lack of communication over the months, a lot had been developing in Westeros in the meanwhile.

Her eyes widened at the news. An investigation into the death of Jon Arryn had been opened and Lysa Arryn's fleeing to the Eyrie was being scrutinized by a handful of heads of houses. It was no secret that she had not been fond of her late husband, despite the shrieking all the way back to the Vale that her husband had been murdered by Lannisters. Even armed with the knowledge that the Baratheon children were bastards, the Lannisters had too much sway with the Crown's debt for the secret to truly harm them. The Head Wolf seemed to comprehend this as well, which was news to her.

Robert Baratheon was growing fatter and demanding the head of a little girl and her brother after learning that she had married Khal Drogo. A warning to be wary of wine merchants in Vaes Dothrak had been issued, which made her smile, because it meant that Varys trusted her.

With everything shifting, she knew that Varys had to keep putting pressure on Baelish in order for the investigation to pull into the right hemisphere. Lysa would be nearly impossible to reach or siege. She would not answer to any royal summons. On the other hand, keeping Catelyn Stark from acting on Baelish's words and kidnapping Tyrion would be another thing she hoped to avoid as it would spur on Ned's arrest. Catelyn has to be suspicious of anything that came out of that man's mouth, especially with her sister facing scrutiny. They were unaware of why the assassin had attacked Bran or that he had witnessed the Lannister twins together.

However, this was all up to Varys to orchestrate. Distracting Baelish would be his best bet and threatening his influx of coin would most certainly vex the Master of Coin. During her last letter she had already begun expressing business opportunities that would put strain on the man while attracting his own workers to quit and move to a new location. Now, would be the time to put it into effect, to open the gambling dens and brothels under the management of the Dark Lady. Varys would manage it in her stead for now, but both establishments would be perfect spots to acquire more information from travelers and those that needed a soft pillow to rest their head on and the company of a woman to ease away their pains. She knew that Varys wasn't fond of the idea, but she insisted that the workers would be paid fair wages, treated well, and protected-which cost good coin and would mean the profit margin was smaller for the owner. A cost she didn't mind, since she'd be paying off debt to Varys for a while for the loan on the locations.

She needed a letter to reach him as soon as possible, her legs already churning so that she could return to the khalasar and begin coding her own response to her penpal.

What took her aback was that Doreah found her, smiling gently as she spoke. "This way, the hollow hills make for better arrangements while we are in Vaes Dothrak. One has been spared for you and your companion." The young woman led her to what Tali would describe as a permanent yurt. There were ones much larger, the sizes of enormous houses, but this was a huge improvement compared to her triangular, one person tent.

"Thank you, Doreah. Tell the Khaleesi that we appreciate her thoughtfulness," Tali insisted, giving a tight smile to the handmaiden before entering. With enough room to walk and not have to stoop, she let out a thankful sigh and glanced over at the set of cots which were a nice upgrade to her bed roll. A glint caught her eye on one of the cots, causing her to pause as she approached the wooden table to begin working on her letter.

When she approached the cot she noticed that a small bundle had been left, the glimmering gold attracting her eye like a crow to something shiny. Unfurling the parcel, sitting in front of her was the set of feather clips that she had been eying in the market. She licked her lips, pursing them as she drew a deep breath and wondered if Ben had really purchased these for her or if one of the Dothraki had noticed her staring. While she was thrilled to have them, she also worried that it was her friend that had given them to her.

"Lord, you idiot," she muttered, mostly to herself, because she knew that she couldn't return them because she really did love them.

#asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #freeform #BAMF female OC #reincarnation insert #added lore #the ability to change the future but with a twist #benjen stark #buirbaby writes #the wardens

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ladyninjaa · 7 years

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Melodies

Imagine: Being the younger sister of Daenerys and impressing Jon Snow. (Not apart of the Warmth series.)

With the destruction of the Greyjoy ships and the loss of alliance from Dorne…your older sister wasn’t happy. You did your part by teaming up with Tyrion and trying to plan for future attacks or tragedies’. A few days ago Jon Snow the proclaimed King of the North had arrived with a small group of Northern men and that meeting only served to dampen your sister’s already foul mood.

She had been clearly instructed by her sister to keep her distance because she didn’t quite trust these men yet. You were her treasure, just like her dragons, and she would fight to protect you at any costs.

You were bore though—while these Northern men were allowed to roam the castle while you were stuck in certain rooms deep within the castle. “I want to be out in the fields with the dragons,” You complained to your sister in the strategy room, “Why are you so intent on keeping me in the dark?” Your sister was staring down hard at the wooden table silent as she thought. Tyrion was nearby drinking some wine and watching your sister with curious eyes.

“I don’t trust them completely.” She replied in a quiet voice.

“I’m not some caged bird, you know.” You easily accused.

“You’re a dragon.” She corrects with some hard to hear sarcasm.

You’re eyebrow twitches with irritation. Your sister had some shit timing with her humor. “Are we really going to have this argument?” You coolly demanded with a serious face.

She sighs and finally looks up at you, “Not today.”

You huff and cross your arms over your chest, “I am not some caged beast, Dany. You always say that a dragon is not a slave well, I certainly feel like one. We’re on our home island, the dragons are constantly flying ahead, and we have a rather large army willing to die for the both of us here.”

Dany looks like she will not budge but you know your sister very well. “We are safe here. No one is brave or dumb enough to even come near the island especially with Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal in the air.” You urge her knowing it would be the final push for her to grant you your freedom.

She pursues her lips, deep in thought, and answered back, “Fine, I will grant you your freedom and in return you have to play the piano for me.” She smirks slowly and you try not to groan. You hated playing that bloody thing but Dany loved it. You only did it for her because you liked seeing the peaceful expression on her face whenever you played. Dany always told you that Mother played as well and would always play for her and Viserys.

Viserys had forced you to learn since, well, you looked the most like mother. Dany was a combination of father and mother but you were the spitting image of Rhaella Targaryen. Perhaps that was the reason why Viserys was always gentler to you and preferred you over Dany…so much to the point where Viserys had told Dany that you were meant to marry him to keep the Targaryen blood line alive.

You loved your brother but the idea of marrying him was disgusting.

You often did miss him though.

“Ah, will I finally hear you play?” Tyrion brightened up—the last few weeks had been rough for the Lannister.

He always pestered you to play just a little something for him.

You sigh knowing it was a small sacrifice to pay for your freedom, “Fine.”

Dany smiled and nodded, “Go on and break your fast with Tyrion. I will call you to the throne room after.” She instructed looking very eager to hear you play. It had been a very long time since you last played and you almost felt guilty for not playing earlier to bring some comfort to your sister.

Tyrion was at your side as they both of you made way to the dining room to eat. “Why are you so eager anyway?” Tyrion questioned once the both of you were a safe distance from Daenerys.

“I want to go to the beach and collect sea-shells.” You admit brightly.

Tyrion let out a loud laugh, “Is that what all your fussing is for? You want sea-shells?” He looks greatly amused and even surprised by such an innocent motive. It has been a very long time since he’s seen such innocence and it reminded him a lot of Myrcella.

You nod not feeling offended by his amusement, “I had planned on sewing a new gown for my sister and I wanted to add sea-shells.” You explained vaguely.

Tyrion chuckled shaking his head, Ah, Y/N, you are a rather odd Targaryen.”

You giggled and took that as a compliment.

Breaking fast with Tyrion was always enjoyable. It wasn’t long until you were making way towards the throne room. Tyrion matching your step looking extremely eager to hear you play the piano. Even Tyrion knew that a piano was extremely rare and for a woman to play was rarer. Viserys managed to convince some rich lord into giving you piano lessons. It wasn’t long until the lord had been so impressed with your skill that he offered the instrument to you with no strings attached.

“It would only sit here collecting dust and being sad,” You remember him saying with even some woe, “When you play it, it comes alive.”

You always wondered what became of him. He was perhaps dead by now. It had been such a long time since that happened. Dany was sitting on her throne speaking with Varys and the piano that your mother used to play sat elegantly in the middle. Your father had given your mother this as a wedding gift.

Despite the mutual dislike your parents had…Rhaella loved this instrument. You were glad that King Stannis had enough sense not to mess with such a rare instrument. It looked well cared for despite the years it had been since Rhaella last played it.

“I have an audience.” You take note of Missandei walking in hurriedly with a smile of excitement.

“It is not everyday we hear you play.” The former slave smiled gently at you.

You chuckle softly as Tyrion joins Varys and Missandei. You take your seat in front of the piano. You have seen only two pianos before but this one was…the fairest of them all. It was made of white wood with the Targaryen sigil on the top and the keys were of some sort of black and red porcelain.

A lot of gold went into this lovely instrument and it showed.

Your mother sat here…stroke these keys. You weren’t sure what you were feeling…grief? Was it excitement? Or was it some feeling of somberness? “Mother played while she was pregnant with you.” Dany murmured—her voice bouncing off the stone walls.

You nodded though you barely heard her—you were too focused on staring at the black and red keys. It was such a dark contrast against the white wood. You straighten your back and you hover your delicate fingers over the dark keys. You breathed in and out before letting your fingers stroke the keys expertly and with care.

The large room is filled with soft, delicate sounds.

You play Viserys favored melody. Daenerys’s face softened at the sound because she knew. Your brother died in a horrible way but his greed blinded him and bound him to his fate. You remember that night vividly; that night, so long ago, was meant to celebrate that Dany was with child—the future of the tribe and your precious niece or nephew.

You and Dany had thrived with the Dothraki but Viserys didn’t and it showed.

You remember him barging in, Jorah attempting to subdue him, and Viserys pulling his sword. You were terrified because you had never seen him so…crazed and lustful towards something so mundane. You attempted to calm him as he wielded the blade towards your sister and her unborn child but he cut your cheek and threw you to the side yelling that you should learn your place.

“Your place, you whore, is beside me your future husband!”

Your eyes flashed with sorrow as he threatened to take Dany from Drogo and even threaten the unborn child inside of her. You were so disgusted towards him…more then ever. You hated him at that point. How low could he scope to threaten his own flesh and blood?

You remember the fury brewing behind Drogo’s calm façade. You remember one of his blood-riders gently grabbing you and placing you far away from your deranged brother. One of the women had pressed a wet cloth to your cheek and even asked if you were alright.

Even now, you could feel the sting from his blade.

Drogo spoke and his words were directed towards your sister and you—asking for permission for something…you dreaded. Daenerys was staring at your brother and gave her answer to him—that he would get his crown and men would tremble before it.

His face…you mentally shook your head. His face washed with relief and joy. A crown was all he ever wanted. It was then that the great Khal rose to his feet as Viserys lowered his weapon and backed away with a smile.

Drogo and Dany exchanged glances before your sister looked to you.

You had tears in your eyes but inside you just knew it had to be done. You couldn’t risk him having another deranged episode and actually killing the unborn child inside of her. She looked back up at the Khal and it was done.

You would never forget his screams.

Your fingers paused and the melody was broken.

“Do you regret killing Viserys?”

It was Dany who asked. She knew you too well.

You shook your head, “No, it was either him or your child.”

She was quiet because she, too, was haunted by the screams of Viserys dying. You straighten your back and resume the melody that your sister loved. It was a whimsical and gentle melody that always left your sister with a gentle smile on her face—a rare sight.

“She’s a natural.” Tyrion praised letting the angelic melody flood his ears.

“And yet she hates to play.” Dany mused.

“Well, she was forced by your brother to learn.” Varys commented.

When you were finished, you smiled up at your sister. She smiled back at you because she knew you hated to play but only did so for her. It was then that the great room was echoing with the sound of hands clapping. All attention was turned to the entrance of the throne room where Ser Davos stood with his King.

Your eyes landed on this King of the North and you felt your heart stutter at his rugged beauty. He looked so odd to the men you grew up around. You were used to darker, tanned skin not this pale flesh you saw on this man.

His eyes were a dark color—you could not see his pupils or the white in his eyes. He had a scar over his right eye and his hair was pulled up but a few of his curly locks fell around his head. He was the most exquisite man you had ever seen.

He was the one who was clapping.

“Jon.” Your sister’s voice was sharp and you could tell she was tensed. Your existence was always a top priority for your sister. Not many knew of the existence of a younger Targaryen—not even Robert Baratheon or Tywin Lannister.

“Forgive me,” Jon says thickly with an almost awed look on his brooding face, “I know I wasn’t meant to intrude but I just had to see what was making such beautiful noise.”

His words were enough to make you blush.

“My aunt had one,” His eyes jerked to the piano, “Given it was uglier.”

You couldn’t help but to smile and his eyes seem to light up when he saw that radiant smile on your face, “I thought I was hearing angel choir.” His eyes solely on you—he was entranced.

“Thank you, my lord.” You continue to smile and bow your head slightly.

“If I might ask—“ Jon was cut off by your sister.

“Can I trust you, Jon?” Her voice was the calm before the storm and there was no nonsense in her tone.

Jon knew this and looked up at your sister. His eyes rested on hers as he pondered his answer. It didn’t take him long to answer, “Of everything we’ve heard about the Targaryen’s…we never heard of a younger on being born after you. It is easy to see that you’ve done a good job in hiding her existence and very wise.” Jon speaks with a nod of approval, “Yes, you can trust me.”

It wasn’t about the war or about him bending the knee, no; it was about keeping your existence a secret. Daenerys stared at Jon Snow intently, “This is my baby sister, Y/N.” She finally relents.

Jon looks at you—still seated at the piano looking nothing sort of a fallen angel. “Y/N.” He repeats gently.

Your heart almost melted.

Perhaps you would play the piano more often now.

This was a request made by a anon. There will be no other parts.

Also, if you are curious to hear the melody that I pictured in my head that the reader was playing for Dany (Dany’s favored melody) listen to BTS Butterfly (Piano cover) by lilyloo it is such an amazing and beautiful cover!

For Viserys favored song…I imagined Abandoned by Lucas King. Listen to both because they are lovely.

#game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #jon snow imagine #got imagine #viserys targaryen

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nobodysuspectsthebutterfly · 7 years

Note

Do you think Khal Drogo could have faced any reprocussions for his murder of Viserys Violating the spirit of Vaes Dothrak's mandatory peace or do you think the Dothraki see a serious difference between a bloodless death and a bloody one?

It literally says right there in the book that they know the difference?

“He has no gold to pay soldiers. What if he’s betrayed?” Caravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head. “You ought to have gone with him, to keep him safe. You are his sworn sword.”“We are in Vaes Dothrak,” he reminded her. “No one may carry a blade here or shed a man’s blood.”“Yet men die,” she said. “Jhogo told me. Some of the traders have eunuchs with them, huge men who strangle thieves with wisps of silk. That way no blood is shed and the gods are not angered.”

Dany looked down the length of the long, roofless hall and there he was, striding toward her. From the lurch in his step, she could tell at once that Viserys had found his wine… and something that passed for courage.He was wearing his scarlet silks, soiled and travel-stained. His cloak and gloves were black velvet, faded from the sun. His boots were dry and cracked, his silver-blond hair matted and tangled. A longsword swung from his belt in a leather scabbard. The Dothraki eyed the sword as he passed; Dany heard curses and threats and angry muttering rising all around her, like a tide.

Her brother drew his sword.The bared steel shone a fearful red in the glare from the firepits. “Keep away from me!” Viserys hissed. Ser Jorah backed off a step, and her brother climbed unsteadily to his feet. He waved the sword over his head, the borrowed blade that Magister Illyrio had given him to make him seem more kingly. Dothraki were shrieking at him from all sides, screaming vile curses.Dany gave a wordless cry of terror. She knew what a drawn sword meant here, even if her brother did not.

“The blade … you must not,” she begged him. “Please, Viserys. It is forbidden. Put down the sword and come share my cushions. There’s drink, food… is it the dragon’s eggs you want? You can have them, only throw away the sword.”“Do as she tells you, fool,” Ser Jorah shouted, “before you get us all killed.”Viserys laughed. “They can’t kill us. They can’t shed blood here in the sacred city… but I can.” He laid the point of his sword between Daenerys’s breasts and slid it downward, over the curve of her belly.

When the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames, snatched out the pot. “Crown!” he roared. “Here. A crown for Cart King!” And upended the pot over the head of the man who had been her brother.The sound Viserys Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was like nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed, stopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk to smoldering… yet no drop of blood was spilled.

#luck-wraith #asoaf #viserys targaryen #khal drogo #daenerys targaryen #vaes dothrak #the dothraki #wall-o-text

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reactingtosomething · 7 years

Text

Recasting Game of Thrones

The Setup: The three of you who read our Baby Driver reaction may remember that in response to our mixed (okay, mostly negative) feelings about Jon Hamm being romantically paired with a (good!) actress two decades his junior, we ended up recasting most of the movie just for kicks.

This is of course a time-honored Fun Thing to Do in pop culture fandom, and since we said we wanted to do it again and possibly even regularly, Kris thought the end of Game of Thrones’s seventh season was as good an occasion as any.

Over the next week or two we hope to post a handful of these. Partly as a demonstration for the sake of some of the folks he’s invited to pitch in, below is the first of two recasts from Kris.

So for my money, one of the simplest, biggest missed opportunities in Game of Thrones casting has been the whiteness of non-Westerosi characters. Yeah, we have Grey Worm and Missandei, and they’re great, and so was Khal Drogo. (Not great: it sure looks like most of the Dothraki right now aren’t actually played by extras of color.) But you know who else is originally from various places in Essos? Varys, the Spider. Syrio Forel, the former First Sword of Braavos. The master of the House of Black and White, formerly known as Jaqen H’ghar. Daario Naharis of the Second Sons. The Red Woman Melisandre, and her fellow R’hlloran priest, Thoros of Myr. All of these characters are played by actors of European descent.

Now, I’m not saying that everyone in Essos should be non-white, or appear non-European, any more than I would say that everyone in Westeros should be white. (Also, I’ve enjoyed all of the performances mentioned above, especially Conleth Hill as Varys and Miltos Yerolemou as Syrio; the latter’s introduction remains my very favorite scene in the entire show.) But to the extent that Game of Thrones has seemed to want to simplistically suggest that everyone “native” to (north-of-Dorne) Westeros is white, then making more non-Westerosi characters people of color would have been an easy, intuitive way for the producers to demonstrate the wokeness they like to pat themselves on the back for pretty hard.

With that in mind, after the jump you’ll find my suggestions for a Game of Thrones lineup that assumes everyone I don’t recast is still played by the mostly white actors we already know and (maybe) love. This will not be the case for a longer recast I’ll post after some of the others have chimed in. But until then:

John Cho as Varys

I don’t actually have to explain this, do I? He’s John Cho. I could’ve named him for any of a dozen characters and it would probably make sense. I picked Varys because the pragmatic spymaster is one of my favorite supporting characters, or at least he is when he has things to do and say. If I needed a quietly dangerous, unsentimental advisor to deliver difficult truths occasionally leavened by dry wit, and I wasn’t too bothered by his suspicious knack for outliving several employers, I could do a lot worse than one played by John Cho.

Elodie Yung as Thoros of Myr

Yung is probably best known to you as Netflix-Marvel’s Elektra Natchios. If she’s best known to you as, like, Hathor from Gods of Egypt, get the fuck out of my sight and watch season 2 of Daredevil. As Thoros hails from one of the Free Cities of Essos, it seems to me he could just as easily be a she, or a they, and the hard-drinking Red Priest would let Yung unleash all of the Fun Elektra energy The Defenders squandered.

Plus, Yung could do a lot of her own fighting, and in this alternate universe I would have her live through “Beyond the Wall” to continue kicking ass and taking names. (I mean, hopefully in this alternate universe something as stupid as “Beyond the Wall” wouldn’t have happened, but I’m trying not to be too greedy here.) Instead of killing Thoros, I’d give Beric Dondarrion the last stand he seemed to want, and let him take one of the lesser White Walkers down with him. That way we’d also get to avoid a deeply silly “Is Jon dead? Of course he’s not” beat, so everyone wins.

Sofia Boutella as Syrio Forel

(You’re welcome, Miri. Also sorry, Miri.)

You know Sofia Boutella as Gazelle, the blade-legged killer in Kingsman; Jaylah, the marooned martial arts and engineering savant in Star Trek Beyond; and possibly Delphine, the closest thing Atomic Blonde has to a “cinnamon roll” character. I always thought there might have been an element of condescension in Ned Stark’s allowing Arya to be trained by Syrio Forel. Like, “He calls himself a ‘water dancer,’ how intense can this be”, you know? That’s a reading that could be amplified if Syrio is a woman. Doubly so for Meryn Trant’s sneering dismissal. And it seems like Braavos is a pretty socially permissive place.

Again, Miltos Yerolemou’s Syrio Forel is a favorite of mine; I don’t know the guy’s training but he brought a unique quality of movement to those lesson and fight scenes, a grace beyond martial efficiency. Boutella, a trained dancer, could do the same.

Aldis Hodge as Daario Naharis

Aldis Hodge might be a little on the young side for a veteran mercenary captain, but not so young that I absolutely couldn’t buy it in the world of Game of Thrones. For a guy like Daario, a strong arm counts for a lot and you probably expect to die young anyway. Maybe you’ve seen Hodge do comedy (and crime) in Leverage, or drama (and action) in Underground. He also makes watches? He seems to be one of those infuriating people who’s good at everything he glances at and decides “Hey, I’ll give that a shot.” I haven’t disliked either Daario, but I love Hodge, and think he could bring a lot of life to a kinda boring character sketch.

Ruth Negga as Jaqen H’ghar

Jaqen H’ghar isn’t really a character I’m invested in -- partly because I'd been hoping from the first time he said “just so” in A Clash of Kings that he’d turn out to be Syrio Forel -- but Ruth Negga (of Agents of SHIELD, Loving, and currently AMC’s Preacher) definitely has the right smoldering charisma, and capacity for surprising hardness, to pull off the assassin/death priest who trains Arya to be the terrifying little sociopath a lot of us got tired of this season. Plus, the Faceless Men seemed like a super obvious opportunity for another gender-swap.

Gemma Chan as Melisandre

Chan is an actor whose work I wish I knew better; she’s very good in a pretty difficult part in the first season of Humans -- an android slowly (re)gaining full sentience, oscillating between warmth and distance, subservience and toughness -- and at some point I should get around to watching the second. She’s also been cast in Mary, Queen of Scots.

Melisandre’s supposed to be from the “far East,” and doesn’t “exotic beauty” seem like exactly the kind of Problematic that this show would trip on in casting this character? All the way around I don’t really understand how Carice van Houten happened. I like her a lot, don’t get me wrong! And on some level, as an Asian American I’m relieved that we didn’t get this show’s take on the “exotic” trope here. Whatever her ethnicity, Melisandre’s a character who would be easy to mishandle. But even in the single performance I’ve seen, Chan demonstrates the range and the subtlety to get it right.

Hope you enjoyed this first installment of what I guess we’ll think of as “Reacting to Something Recasts...” I’m not sure which Reactor or Guest Reactor will send in their thoughts next, but I’m looking forward to it.

#Game of Thrones #genderswap #John Cho #Elodie Yung #Sofia Boutella #Aldis Hodge #Ruth Negga #Gemma Chan #RtS recasts #Kris

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vitriolo · 7 years

Photo

Ser Jorah Mormont drew her aside as the sun was creeping toward its zenith. “Princess …” he began.

“Why do you call me that?” Dany challenged him. “My brother Viserys was your king, was he not?”

“He was, my lady.”

“Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is mine now.”

“My … queen,” Ser Jorah said, going to one knee. “My sword that was his is yours, Daenerys. And my heart as well, that never belonged to your brother. I am only a knight, and I have nothing to offer you but exile, but I beg you, hear me. Let Khal Drogo go. You shall not be alone. I promise you, no man shall take you to Vaes Dothrak unless you wish to go. You need not join the dosh khaleen. Come east with me. Yi Ti, Qarth, the Jade Sea, Asshai by the Shadow. We will see all the wonders yet unseen, and drink what wines the gods see fit to serve us. Please, Khaleesi. I know what you intend. Do not. Do not.”

“I must,” Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. “You do not understand.”

“I understand that you loved him,” Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. “I loved my lady wife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me to stand aside as you climb on Drogo’s pyre. I will not watch you burn.”

“Is that what you fear?” Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead. “I am not such a child as that, sweet ser.”

“You do not mean to die with him? You swear it, my queen?”

“I swear it,” she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers.

The third level of the platform was woven of branches no thicker than a finger, and covered with dry leaves and twigs. They laid them north to south, from ice to fire, and piled them high with soft cushions and sleeping silks. The sun had begun to lower toward the west by the time they were done. Dany called the Dothraki around her. Fewer than a hundred were left. How many had Aegon started with? she wondered. It did not matter.

“You will be my khalasar,” she told them. “I see the faces of slaves. I free you. Take off your collars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. If you stay, it will be as brothers and sisters, husbands and wives.” The black eyes watched her, wary, expressionless. “I see the children, women, the wrinkled faces of the aged. I was a child yesterday. Today I am a woman. Tomorrow I will be old. To each of you I say, give me your hands and your hearts, and there will always be a place for you.” She turned to the three young warriors of her khas. “Jhogo, to you I give the silver-handled whip that was my bride gift, and name you ko, and ask your oath, that you will live and die as blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”

Jhogo took the whip from her hands, but his face was confused. “Khaleesi,” he said hesitantly, “this is not done. It would shame me, to be bloodrider to a woman.”

“Aggo,” Dany called, paying no heed to Jhogo’s words. If I look back I am lost. “To you I give the dragonbone bow that was my bride gift.” It was double-curved, shiny black and exquisite, taller than she was. “I name you ko, and ask your oath, that you should live and die as blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”

Aggo accepted the bow with lowered eyes. “I cannot say these words. Only a man can lead a khalasar or name a ko.”

“Rakharo,” Dany said, turning away from the refusal, “you shall have the great arakh that was my bride gift, with hilt and blade chased in gold. And you too I name my ko, and ask that you live and die as blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.”

“You are khaleesi,” Rakharo said, taking the arakh. “I shall ride at your side to Vaes Dothrak beneath the Mother of Mountains, and keep you safe from harm until you take your place with the crones of the dosh khaleen. No more can I promise.”

She nodded, as calmly as if she had not heard his answer, and turned to the last of her champions. “Ser Jorah Mormont,” she said, “first and greatest of my knights, I have no bride gift to give you, but I swear to you, one day you shall have from my hands a longsword like none the world has ever seen, dragon-forged and made of Valyrian steel. And I would ask for your oath as well.”

“You have it, my queen,” Ser Jorah said, kneeling to lay his sword at her feet. “I vow to serve you, to obey you, to die for you if need be.”

“Whatever may come?”

“Whatever may come.”

“I shall hold you to that oath. I pray you never regret the giving of it.” Dany lifted him to his feet. Stretching on her toes to reach his lips, she kissed the knight gently and said, “You are the first of my Queensguard.”

She could feel the eyes of the khalasar on her as she entered her tent. The Dothraki were muttering and giving her strange sideways looks from the corners of their dark almond eyes. They thought her mad, Dany realized. Perhaps she was. She would know soon enough. If I look back I am lost.

(...)

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. The godswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.

Another step, and Dany could feel the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet, even through her sandals. Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets over her cheeks, where tears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions and great yellow serpents and unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and bright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, a great grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my love, my sun-and-stars, yes, mount now, ride now.

Her vest had begun to smolder, so Dany shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. The painted leather burst into sudden flame as she skipped closer to the fire, her breasts bare to the blaze, streams of milk flowing from her red and swollen nipples. Now, she thought, now, and for an instant she glimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. He smiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.

She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass began to shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showered with ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at her feet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled the world, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.

Only death can pay for life.

And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirled around her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children.

The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away … yet she was unhurt.

The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.

Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.

And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

Daenerys X, A Game of Thrones.

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Daenerys

Daenerys Targaryen wed Khal Drogo with fear and barbaric splendor in a field beyond the walls of Pentos, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man's life must be done beneath the open sky. Drogo had called his khalasar to attend him and they had come, forty thousand Dothraki warriors and uncounted numbers of women, children, and slaves. Outside the city walls they camped with their vast herds, raising palaces of woven grass, eating everything in sight, and making the good folk of Pentos more anxious with every passing day. "My fellow magisters have doubled the size of the city guard," Illyrio told them over platters of honey duck and orange snap peppers one night at the manse that had been Drogo's. The khal had joined his khalasar, his estate given over to Daenerys and her brother until the wedding. "Best we get Princess Daenerys wedded quickly before they hand half the wealth of Pentos away to sellswords and bravos," Ser Jorah Mormont jested. The exile had offered her brother his sword the night Dany had been sold to Kbal Drogo; Viserys had accepted eagerly. Mormont had been their constant companion ever since. Magister Illyrio laughed lightly through his forked beard, but Viserys did not so much as smile. "He can have her tomorrow, if he likes," her brother said. He glanced over at Dany, and she lowered her eyes. "So long as he pays the price." Illyrio waved a languid hand in the air, rings glittering on his fat fingers. "I have told you, all is settled. Trust me. The khal has promised you a crown, and you shall have it." "Yes, but when?" "When the khal chooses," Illyrio said. "He will have the girl first, and after they are wed he must make his procession across the plains and present her to the dosh khaleen at Vaes Dothrak. After that, perhaps. If the omens favor war." Viserys seethed with impatience. "I piss on Dothraki omens. The Usurper sits on my father's throne. How long must I wait?" Illyrio gave a massive shrug. "You have waited most of your life, great king. What is another few months, another few years?" Ser Jorah, who had traveled as far east as Vaes Dothrak, nodded in agreement. "I counsel you to be patient, Your Grace. The Dothraki are true to their word, but they do things in their own time. A lesser man may beg a favor from the khal, but must never presume to berate him." Viserys bristled. "Guard your tongue, Mormont, or I'll have it out. I am no lesser man, I am the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon does not beg." Ser Jorah lowered his eyes respectfully. Illyrio smiled enigmatically and tore a wing from the duck. Honey and grease ran over his fingers and dripped down into his beard as he nibbled at the tender meat. There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her brother, though she did not dare say it aloud. Yet that night she dreamt of one. Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked, clumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell. "You woke the dragon," he screamed as he kicked her. "You woke the dragon, you woke the dragon." Her thighs were slick with blood. She closed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone, great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was the dragon. It turned its great head slowly. When its molten eyes found hers, she woke, shaking and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She had never been so afraid . . .. . . until the day of her wedding came at last. The ceremony began at dawn and continued until dusk, an endless day of drinking and feasting and fighting. A mighty earthen ramp had been raised amid the grass palaces, and there Dany was seated beside Khal Drogo, above the seething sea of Dothraki. She had never seen so many people in one place, nor people so strange and frightening. The horselords might put on rich fabrics and sweet perfumes when they visited the Free Cities, but out under the open sky they kept the old ways. Men and women alike wore painted leather vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings cinched by bronze medallion belts, and the warriors greased their long braids with fat from the rendering pits. They gorged themselves on horseflesh roasted with honey and peppers, drank themselves blind on fermented mare's milk and Illyrio's fine wines, and spat jests at each other across the fires, their voices harsh and alien in Dany's ears. Viserys was seated just below her, splendid in a new black wool tunic with a scarlet dragon on the chest. Illyrio and Ser Jorah sat beside him. Theirs was a place of high honor, just below the khal's own bloodriders, but Dany could see the anger in her brother's lilac eyes. He did not like sitting beneath her, and he fumed when the slaves offered each dish first to the khal and his bride, and served him from the portions they refused. He could do nothing but nurse his resentment, so nurse it he did, his mood growing blacker by the hour at each insult to his person. Dany had never felt so alone as she did seated in the midst of that vast horde. Her brother had told her to smile, and so she smiled until her face ached and the tears came unbidden to her eyes. She did her best to hide them, knowing how angry Viserys would be if he saw her crying, terrified of how Khal Drogo might react. Food was brought to her, steaming joints of meat and thick black sausages and Dothraki blood pies, and later fruits and sweetgrass stews and delicate pastries from the kitchens of Pentos, but she waved it all away. Her stomach was a roil, and she knew she could keep none of it down. There was no one to talk to. Khal Drogo shouted commands and jests down to his bloodriders, and laughed at their replies, but he scarcely glanced at Dany beside him. They had no common language. Dothraki was incomprehensible to her, and the khal knew only a few words of the bastard Valyrian of the Free Cities, and none at all of the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms. She would even have welcomed the conversation of Illyrio and her brother, but they were too far below to hear her. So she sat in her wedding silks, nursing a cup of honeyed wine, afraid to eat, talking silently to herself. I am blood of the dragon, she told herself. I am Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror. The sun was only a quarter of the way up the sky when she saw her first man die. Drums were beating as some of the women danced for the khal. Drogo watched without expression, but his eyes followed their movements, and from time to time he would toss down a bronze medallion for the women to fight over. The warriors were watching too. One of them finally stepped into the circle, grabbed a dancer by the arm, pushed her down to the ground, and mounted her right there, as a stallion mounts a mare. Illyrio had told her that might happen. "The Dothraki mate like the animals in their herds. There is no privacy in a khalasar, and they do not understand sin or shame as we do." Dany looked away from the coupling, frightened when she realized what was happening, but a second warrior stepped forward, and a third, and soon there was no way to avert her eyes. Then two men seized the same woman. She heard a shout, saw a shove, and in the blink of an eye the arakhs were out, long razor-sharp blades, half sword and half scythe. A dance of death began as the warriors circled and slashed, leaping toward each other, whirling the blades around their heads, shrieking insults at each clash. No one made a move to interfere. It ended as quickly as it began. The arakhs shivered together faster than Dany could follow, one man missed a step, the other swung his blade in a flat arc. Steel bit into flesh just above the Dothraki's waist, and opened him from backbone to belly button, spilling his entrails into the dust. As the loser died, the winner took hold of the nearest woman—not even the one they had been quarreling over—and had her there and then. Slaves carried off the body, and the dancing resumed. Magister Illyrio had warned Dany about this too. "A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is deemed a dull affair," he had said. Her wedding must have been especially blessed; before the day was over, a dozen men had died. As the hours passed, the terror grew in Dany, until it was all she could do not to scream. She was afraid of the Dothraki, whose ways seemed alien and monstrous, as if they were beasts in human skins and not true men at all. She was afraid of her brother, of what he might do if she failed him. Most of all, she was afraid of what would happen tonight under the stars, when her brother gave her up to the hulking giant who sat drinking beside her with a face as still and cruel as a bronze mask. I am the blood of the dragon, she told herself again. When at last the sun was low in the sky, Khal Drogo clapped his hands together, and the drums and the shouting and feasting came to a sudden halt. Drogo stood and pulled Dany to her feet beside him. It was time for her bride gifts. And after the gifts, she knew, after the sun had gone down, it would be time for the first ride and the consummation of her marriage. Dany tried to put the thought aside, but it would not leave her. She hugged herself to try to keep from shaking. Her brother Viserys gifted her with three handmaids. Dany knew they had cost him nothing; Illyrio no doubt had provided the girls. Irri and Jhiqui were copper-skinned Dothraki with black hair and almond-shaped eyes, Doreah a fair-haired, blue-eyed Lysene girl. "These are no common servants, sweet sister," her brother told her as they were brought forward one by one. "Illyrio and I selected them personally for you. Irri will teach you riding, Jhiqui the Dothraki tongue, and Doreah will instruct you in the womanly arts of love." He smiled thinly. "She's very good, Illyrio and I can both swear to that." Ser Jorah Mormont apologized for his gift. "It is a small thing, my princess, but all a poor exile could afford," he said as he laid a small stack of old books before her. They were histories and songs of the Seven Kingdoms, she saw, written in the Common Tongue. She thanked him with all her heart. Magister Illyrio murmured a command, and four burly slaves hurried forward, bearing between them a great cedar chest bound in bronze. When she opened it, she found piles of the finest velvets and damasks the Free Cities could produce . . . and resting on top, nestled in the soft cloth, three huge eggs. Dany gasped. They were the most beautiful things she had ever seen, each different than the others, patterned in such rich colors that at first she thought they were crusted with jewels, and so large it took both of her hands to hold one. She lifted it delicately, expecting that it would be made of some fine porcelain or delicate enamel, or even blown glass, but it was much heavier than that, as if it were all of solid stone. The surface of the shell was covered with tiny scales, and as she turned the egg between her fingers, they shimmered like polished metal in the light of the setting sun. One egg was a deep green, with burnished bronze flecks that came and went depending on how Dany turned it. Another was pale cream streaked with gold. The last was black, as black as a midnight sea, yet alive with scarlet ripples and swirls. "What are they?" she asked, her voice hushed and full of wonder. "Dragon's eggs, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai," said Magister Illyrio. "The eons have turned them to stone, yet still they burn bright with beauty." "I shall treasure them always." Dany had heard tales of such eggs, but she had never seen one, nor thought to see one. It was a truly magnificent gift, though she knew that Illyrio could afford to be lavish. He had collected a fortune in horses and slaves for his part in selling her to Khal Drogo. The khal's bloodriders offered her the traditional three weapons, and splendid weapons they were. Haggo gave her a great leather whip with a silver handle, Cohollo a magnificent arakh chased in gold, and Qotho a double-curved dragonbone bow taller than she was. Magister Illyrio and Ser Jorah had taught her the traditional refusals for these offerings. "This is a gift worthy of a great warrior, O blood of my blood, and I am but a woman. Let my lord husband bear these in my stead." And so Khal Drogo too received his "bride gifts." Other gifts she was given in plenty by other Dothraki: slippers and jewels and silver rings for her hair, medallion belts and painted vests and soft furs, sandsilks and jars of scent, needles and feathers and tiny bottles of purple glass, and a gown made from the skin of a thousand mice. "A handsome gift, Khaleesi," Magister Illyrio said of the last, after he had told her what it was. "Most lucky." The gifts mounted up around her in great piles, more gifts than she could possibly imagine, more gifts than she could want or use. And last of all, Khal Drogo brought forth his own bride gift to her. An expectant hush rippled out from the center of the camp as he left her side, growing until it had swallowed the whole khalasar. When he returned, the dense press of Dothraki gift-givers parted before him, and he led the horse to her. She was a young filly, spirited and splendid. Dany knew just enough about horses to know that this was no ordinary animal. There was something about her that took the breath away. She was grey as the winter sea, with a mane like silver smoke. Hesitantly she reached out and stroked the horse's neck, ran her fingers through the silver of her mane. Khal Drogo said something in Dothraki and Magister Illyrio translated. "Silver for the silver of your hair, the khal says." "She's beautiful," Dany murmured. "She is the pride of the khalasar, " Illyrio said. "Custom decrees that the khaleesi must ride a mount worthy of her place by the side of the khal." Drogo stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her up as easily as if she were a child and set her on the thin Dothraki saddle, so much smaller than the ones she was used to. Dany sat there uncertain for a moment. No one had told her about this part. "What should I do?" she asked Illyrio. It was Ser Jorah Mormont who answered. "Take the reins and ride. You need not go far." Nervously Dany gathered the reins in her hands and slid her feet into the short stirrups. She was only a fair rider; she had spent far more time traveling by ship and wagon and palanquin than by horseback. Praying that she would not fall off and disgrace herself, she gave the filly the lightest and most timid touch with her knees. And for the first time in hours, she forgot to be afraid. Or perhaps it was for the first time ever. The silver-grey filly moved with a smooth and silken gait, and the crowd parted for her, every eye upon them. Dany found herself moving faster than she had intended, yet somehow it was exciting rather than terrifying. The horse broke into a trot, and she smiled. Dothraki scrambled to clear a path. The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. She sent it into a gallop, and now the Dothraki were hooting and laughing and shouting at her as they jumped out of her way. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. They were hemmed in on either side, with no room to stop. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head. The silver horse leapt the flames as if she had wings. When she pulled up before Magister Illyrio, she said, "Tell Khal Drogo that he has given me the wind." The fat Pentoshi stroked his yellow beard as he repeated her words in Dothraki, and Dany saw her new husband smile for the first time. The last sliver of sun vanished behind the high walls of Pentos to the west just then. Dany had lost all track of time. Khal Drogo commanded his bloodriders to bring forth his own horse, a lean red stallion. As the khal was saddling the horse, Viserys slid close to Dany on her silver, dug his fingers into her leg, and said, "Please him, sweet sister, or I swear, you will see the dragon wake as it has never woken before." The fear came back to her then, with her brother's words. She felt like a child once more, only thirteen and all alone, not ready for what was about to happen to her. They rode out together as the stars came out, leaving the khalasar and the grass palaces behind. Khal Drogo spoke no word to her, but drove his stallion at a hard trot through the gathering dusk. The tiny silver bells in his long braid rang softly as he rode. "I am the blood of the dragon," she whispered aloud as she followed, trying to keep her courage up. "I am the blood of the dragon. I am the blood of the dragon." The dragon was never afraid. Afterward she could not say how far or how long they had ridden, but it was full dark when they stopped at a grassy place beside a small stream. Drogo swung off his horse and lifted her down from hers. She felt as fragile as glass in his hands, her limbs as weak as water. She stood there helpless and trembling in her wedding silks while he secured the horses, and when he turned to look at her, she began to cry. Khal Drogo stared at her tears, his face strangely empty of expression. "No," he said. He lifted his hand and rubbed away the tears roughly with a callused thumb. "You speak the Common Tongue," Dany said in wonder. "No," he said again. Perhaps he had only that word, she thought, but it was one word more than she had known he had, and somehow it made her feel a little better. Drogo touched her hair lightly, sliding the silver-blond strands between his fingers and murmuring softly in Dothraki. Dany did not understand the words, yet there was warmth in the tone, a tenderness she had never expected from this man. He put his finger under her chin and lifted her head, so she was looking up into his eyes. Drogo towered over her as he towered over everyone. Taking her lightly under the arms, he lifted her and seated her on a rounded rock beside the stream. Then he sat on the ground facing her, legs crossed beneath him, their faces finally at a height. "No," he said. "Is that the only word you know?" she asked him. Drogo did not reply. His long heavy braid was coiled in the dirt beside him. He pulled it over his right shoulder and began to remove the bells from his hair, one by one. After a moment Dany leaned forward to help. When they were done, Drogo gestured. She understood. Slowly, carefully, she began to undo his braid. It took a long time. All the while he sat there silently, watching her. When she was done, he shook his head, and his hair spread out behind him like a river of darkness, oiled and gleaming. She had never seen hair so long, so black, so thick. Then it was his turn. He began to undress her. His fingers were deft and strangely tender. He removed her silks one by one, carefully, while Dany sat unmoving, silent, looking at his eyes. When he bared her small breasts, she could not help herself. She averted her eyes and covered herself with her hands. "No," Drogo said. He pulled her hands away from her breasts, gently but firmly, then lifted her face again to make her look at him. "No," he repeated. "No," she echoed back at him. He stood her up then and pulled her close to remove the last of her silks. The night air was chilly on her bare skin. She shivered, and gooseflesh covered her arms and legs. She was afraid of what would come next, but for a while nothing happened. Khal Drogo sat with his legs crossed, looking at her, drinking in her body with his eyes. After a while he began to touch her. Lightly at first, then harder. She could sense the fierce strength in his hands, but he never hurt her. He held her hand in his own and brushed her fingers, one by one. He ran a hand gently down her leg. He stroked her face, tracing the curve of her ears, running a finger gently around her mouth. He put both hands in her hair and combed it with his fingers. He turned her around, massaged her shoulders, slid a knuckle down the path of her spine. It seemed as if hours passed before his hands finally went to her breasts. He stroked the soft skin underneath until it tingled. He circled her nipples with his thumbs, pinched them between thumb and forefinger, then began to pull at her, very lightly at first, then more insistently, until her nipples stiffened and began to ache. He stopped then, and drew her down onto his lap. Dany was flushed and breathless, her heart fluttering in her chest. He cupped her face in his huge hands and looked into his eyes. "No?" he said, and she knew it was a question. She took his hand and moved it down to the wetness between her thighs. "Yes," she whispered as she put his finger inside her.

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