#which means 'protector of men' or 'defender' and I think that fits his character well lol

[atsushis-fangs]

Past Scotland: you know, sometimes, it just feels nice to be wanted. North, gesturing hysterically towards his wanted posters: NOT BY THE LAW.

@winterwrites23 posting this while I should be working on my essay on welfare (something north aint ever gonna get)

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

JON SNOW DAY 15 : Jon & The Smith  (Faith of the Seven)

If you were told to associate Jon Snow with one of the seven deites of the Seven you would probably draw comparisons between him and the Warrior.

When Catelyn prays to the Seven, she sees Jon's face among those who resemble the Warrior.

"The Warrior stands before the foe...[...] He protects the little children"; as a popular song of the seven kingdoms informs us. And what are the Black brothers if not protectors of the realm?

I'm not denying the connection between the Warrior's image and Jon Snow. I just wanted to talk about his less explored connection to the Smith.

So, who is The Smith?

Meribald turned back to Podrick. "I have never known a boy who did not love the Warrior. I am old, though, and being old, I love the Smith. Without his labor, what would the Warrior defend? Every town has a smith, and every castle. They make the plows we need to plant our crops, the nails we use to build our ships, iron shoes to save the hooves of our faithful horses, the bright swords of our lords. No one could doubt the value of a smith, and so we name one of the Seven in his honor, but we might as easily have called him the Farmer or the Fisherman, the Carpenter or the Cobbler. What he works at makes no matter. What matters is, he works.

AFFC, BRIENNE V

According to Septon Meribald, the Smith is someone who works and his labor is used to help other people.

Jon is the only character on a position of power  (being Lord Commander) who has also working experience. Unlike the rest of lordings/kings & queens who simply inherit their title, he had to earn his own. When he first joined the Night's Watch, he had to work, like eveybody else who was a newcomer. Jon being the previous Lord Commander's steward means that he was used to serving - and giving his personal labor- before he started to rule and give orders.

Here are the tasks of the stewards, the order in which Jon belonged before he became Lord Commander:

Chett gave an angry scowl. "I'm a steward. You think it's easy work, fit for cowards? The order of stewards keeps the Watch alive. We hunt and farm, tend the horses, milk the cows, gather firewood, cook the meals. Who do you think makes your clothing? Who brings up supplies from the south? The stewards."

AGOT, JON V

Also, according to Brother Narbert, the Smith gave horses to men in order to help them to do their work:

The jest did not sit well with Brother Narbert. "You are a knight, ser. Driftwood is a beast of burden. The Smith gave men horses to help them in their labors."

Here the Smith is presented as the asoiaf universe Prometheus from greek mythology. Just like Prometheus gave fire to men to aid them, the Smith gave them horses.

Does Jon Snow has any Prometheus - Smith moment? Tha answer to this question is, more than one. At the beginning of the first book, he gave his little sister a sword so she could learn to protect herself. He asked an actual smith to make that sword and when he presented it to Arya, he also gave her the first fighting lesson: stick them with the pointy end. Both the sword and that first lesson are significant on Arya's journey and help her survive (along with the swordsmanship skills she received later on).

During the Night's Watch journey beyond the Wall, Jon found - thanks to his direwolf- dragonglass at The Fist of First Men.  Unlike other Black Brothers who are skeptical of dragonglass, Jon believes that those materials were buried due to their importance and decides to make weapons out of them and give them to his friends and Jeor Mormont. He becomes a sort of literal smith offering weapons to those who are dear to him in order to help them protect themselves.  Sometime later, Sam will use one of those daggers Jon made to kill an Other.  Jon Snow as Prometheus - Smith served his purpose to aid men with his gift.

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Round 1; A bouquet of rainflower, green carnation, camelia, nightshade, mulberry and purple lilac Vs Red Anemone

If you know who they are, or are pretty sure of it, please don't tell until this poll has ended!

First, let's talk about the bouquet of rainflower, green carnation, camelia, nightshade, mulberry and purple lilac

Meaning and why they were chosen: Rainflower- meaning: I must atone for my sins/I love you back. Reason- He tore the entire universe apart and put it back together wrong. Permanently warping and altering reality itself, this of course being a pretty big sin. But he did it in order to save the man he loved, a man he still wholeheartedly loves and adores, yet can no longer even interact with. Serving as a living reminder of the choice he made. Green Carnation- meaning: love between two men. Reason- He is BIG gay. His love for another man re-wrote the whole universe. Camellia- meaning: Unpretending excellence. Reason- This character is a literal genius. An expert in mechanical and biological science, he is objectively too smart and much too qualified to be employed where he is. He is the first- and only- person to have ever performed true necromancy. Nightshade- meaning: Silence or falsehood. Reason- He avoids and even outright lies to the people around him. Especially the love of his life. This is because the knowledge of his actions is enough to physically unmake a person. Mulberry- meaning: I will not survive you. Reason- He lost the man that he loved. And rather than learn to grieve and cope with the loss, learning to survive without the man he loved, he instead decided to alter the fabric of all reality just to revive his love. Purple Lilac- meaning: first love. Reason- He fell in love with hsi best friend since childhood. Every choice he has ever made has been for this boy. Even the choices this character Description: He is an extremely intelligent man. Skilled in both engineering and medical science. He quite literally discovered a way to tear the universe apart and rebuild it- warping and damaging it irreversibly in the process- just to save the man he loved. He then proceeded to constantly ignore and avoid the man he saved, as he couldn’t bring himself to look his greatest sin in the eyes. He was raised Catholic and I’m 85% sure his mother is a serial killer. He loves video games, and is an absolute fucking DWEEB. He is the ultimate failgirl. He is not a good person, he trapped the man he loved in a veritable purgatory- where is is technically neither living nor dead. He IS trying, just maybe not hard enough.

Check their post here

Now, let's talk about the Red Anemone

Meaning and why this flower was chosen: I think its deliciously ironic as this flower represents luck, and greatly resembles the flower they went to pick for their sister! Before falling of a cliff in the attempt. but instead of dying his brain was transferred into the body of a super panther (hard to explain) and later joined there sister in fighting evil Nazi's! Which also fits very well, as Anemone's other meaning is a protector against evil. Description: A defender against evil, this flower is a bit ironic with how unlucky this poor guys life has been. A real softy with a bit of a bite, he fights evil science experiments in the dead of night with the rest of his family.

Check their post here

[dreamwraith]

@floralflowerpower mentioned wanting to read an idea I had, soooo....

Alright, this is largely inspired by the M*A*S*H episode “Who Knew?” It’s a very bittersweet episode. It begins with the news that a nurse died the previous night when she wandered into a minefield. One of the main characters, Hawkeye, was the last one to see her alive. He offers to write her eulogy when no one else steps forward, though he barely knew her himself. He’s stymied by how little anyone can tell him about her, until the priest suggests he reads her diary. He learns who she was through her own words, the person she had hidden beneath a shy exterior that others interpreted as standoffish. She had true feelings for Hawkeye and he never knew. The last entry is how she can’t get Hawkeye out of her thoughts so she’s going to go for a walk. 

As you might guess, my idea starts off with a bittersweet tale. 

Jack and Maddie got the portal working without Danny needing to die, and for two years, Amity Park has been under threat from whatever ghost chooses to try their hand at conquering them. Jack and Maddie are the town’s main defense without Danny Phantom to protect them, and they’re not as skilled or as prompt as canon Danny was at catching ghosts. Sometimes a ghost slips through. Sometimes, people get hurt. 

I don’t have the full details worked out, but in this case, a ghost attacked the school. Danny is almost killed. He’s the son of the town’s defenders, so perhaps he’s an easy, desirable target. One of his classmates saves him by sacrificing himself. He (I’ve been going with the name Alexander in my notes) later dies at the hospital, and Danny, suffering from survivor’s guilt and PTSD, blames himself. He didn’t know his classmate very well, he doesn’t even remember his name right away, he doesn’t understand why Alex saved him. 

He tries to find out more about him, feeling like he owes him that much, but he discovers only superficial information. Alex was a foster of Amity Park; he had no family. No one but Danny is currently mourning him. He’s determined to get answers, though, and that causes him to clash with Dash and teachers when they say things like “Alex was a creep” or “he was a troublemaker; I heard he ran away from his last home.” Danny’s fights get him brought to Lancer’s attention, and it’s during that meeting that Danny is given Alex’s diary. 

Eager but frightened, it takes Danny a long time to work up the courage to begin reading. 

Meanwhile, “Phantom” begins to form in the Ghost Zone. 

Alex hated himself enough that his self-image is dismissed from his spirit, and his last thoughts were of Danny, so when he forms, he takes on a ghostly impression of Danny. It’s an important detail because that’s what makes this pitch pearl, and it’s why Danny doesn’t recognize him. 

He doesn’t have a clearly defined obsession, but he definitely feels a pull toward the human world. Johnny and Kitty help Phantom cross the portal, and that’s when he meets Danny for the first time. Idk why Danny came down to the lab yet, but I know he’s up because of PTSD nightmares/insomnia. Phantom feels his whole being focus on Danny, Danny freezes in place because he had just woken up from a nightmare of a ghost attack, and Johnny and Kitty look between Danny and Phantom, putting two and two together and reaching “Phantom’s purpose”

The three ghosts make a quick escape once protective parents Jack and Maddie come storming down the stairs, but first impressions were made, and now Phantom is determined to find out more about Danny and why his soul is crying out for him. 

Unfortunately, Danny is entangled in Alex’s diary and his own grief. Every effort Phantom makes toward befriending Danny is rebuffed because 1) ghosts can’t be trusted, and 2) Phantom’s resemblance to Danny combined with his interest in him is fucking creepy. In his downward spiral, though, Danny is losing connection with his friends, his grades, his safety, and Phantom isn’t willing to let Danny fade like this. Circumstances change when Phantom saves Danny from a human threat (human crime, let’s goooo) and Danny starts to actually pay attention to him, enough to start letting down his walls at least. 

And just in time for Danny to reach the point in the diary where Alex confesses he had a crush on Danny. Danny’s grief finally breaks, and Phantom comforts him through the loss. Phantom learns about Alex and Danny’s growing feelings for a boy that’s no longer within reach, and reluctantly pushes his own growing feelings for Danny aside. Danny is going through too much to deal with Phantom’s own failings. He needs time to mourn.

A real friendship starts to build.

With his feelings for Danny on hold but satisfied by their friendship, Phantom begins to explore who he is. He begins to take on a protector role, determined to save other humans from feeling the grief Danny is under. He focuses less on fighting and more on saving. A ghost will attack, and he’ll erect a shield around humans to deflect debris or catch someone who is falling or just comfort someone who got hurt. Jack and Maddie are still the ones that ultimately defeat the ghost, but Phantom’s actions begin to catch everyone’s attention. 

He is exactly what they needed, and he begins to be hailed as a guardian.

Danny is happy for him, but something about Phantom’s focus with protection over fighting resonates with Alex’s thoughts in his diary. He begins piecing things together. He proposes his wild idea to Jazz one night, but she warns him not to try to “bring Alex back from the dead” for Danny’s own mental health. 

Danny proposes the idea to Phantom, and at first Phantom thinks it’s nonsense, but Danny insists Phantom read the diary, so Phantom reluctantly (tho he doesn’t understand why he’s so reluctant) humors him. He can only get through five entries before he shoves the diary back into Danny’s hands and refuses to read anymore.

His self-hatred caused him to lose his identity in death, remember? He doesn’t want to remember, it’s painful. He tells Danny to forget about Alex. No one cared about him when he was alive, they won’t care who he was now. But Danny cares, and it tugs at Phantom’s feelings to meet Danny halfway, but does Danny like him because of Alex or because of Phantom, the person he is now?

I don’t have the full details worked out, but I know I want Danny to reveal Phantom’s past as Alex to Amity Park so that they can see their foster son has grown into their defender, savior, protector. He wasn’t loved when he was alive, but they must honor his past because it made him the hero he is now. Amity Park goes wild for the story. They love Phantom all the more, knowing who he was, how he died, and who he became. 

A bittersweet beginning becoming an uplifting, hopeful note, maybe? 

That’s all I have planned :P

I haven’t written anything for it yet because I haven’t figured out how to start. I’m terrible at action scenes, and I feel like I have to describe at least PART of Alex’s sacrifice. But ugh, ghost attack, ugh. Choreography, description, pacing, urgh, I hate action scenes, how do you guys WRITE those, it’s witchcraft I swear

(Side note for the name, Alexander means “defender of men”)

(And because I’m classy as a unripe grape, the story is titled Right Here (Departed) in my folder, which is actually a song by Brandy oiasjdlkfej I song titled it. omg. But listen, listen...it fits)

[strawberry1212]

Kdrama Sexist/Toxic Male Lead Tropes

(originally made this post as part of another post about Run On but it got to be so long I just thought I’d made this list it’s own post)

-Possessive and easily jealous, and this is often played off as romantic. For a large portion of kdrama watchers who are younger, and for the majority of us who aren’t chased all the time by hot men, this toxic trait can easily be sold to us as an exciting and flattering trait. But this is in fact not respectful of the female lead’s autonomy. I enjoy the little humorous jealousy moments, (I am reminded of Crash Landing on You) but too often this leads to the classic “two male leads each grab the innocently wide eyed female lead and glare at each other” trope. Women are not ropes to play tug of war with! If jealousy over the instances like the girl simply having a conversation with another guy rupture into real problems in the relationship it is not romantic, but possessiveness is often mistakenly portrayed as an expression of love, when really possessiveness is just that: possessiveness over an object.

-Uses violence to solve problems. This is another thing that can be easily seen as flattering--someone is willing to go to great lengths to protect you/defend your honor/whatever the reason is for the male lead to use violence. This trope was deconstructed in the American movie 500 Days of Summer, where the male lead punches a guy “to defend the honor” of the female lead, but she when she is upset and embarrassed at the situation, he gets angry at her for not being excited over his violent sacrifice.

-The typical “tsundere” narrative of abusive language, but paired with romantic gestures, usually the Grand Romantic Gesture trope. I see this all the time, where the guy berates the girl, sometimes to point of just full on bullying, but then he throws his jacket at her when she’s cold, holds the umbrella over her while he gets wet, etc., In other words he may be verbally abusive but it doesn’t matter because he Truly Loves her. And that she should accept that and understand that about him and not expect him to be polite and respectful.

-He treats everyone but the female lead like trash. Well...he often treats the female lead like trash at first too, but this quality is also marketed as flattering. He treats everyone badly but you’re different! In reality this is super toxic. In fact, it is essential that a person treats *everyone* with decency if they are to meet the baseline requirements of being a person capable of giving and receiving love in a healthy relationship.

-He chases her one sidedly. Oftentimes he chases her even when she rejects him, which shows that dominating, male persistence is a behavior to be rewarded. Again, this is a fantasy easily marketable when many of us aren’t chased around by hot men. It is flattering for a person to be so interested in us that they are incredibly persistent, but this fantasy had very unhealthy, and even harmful real life connotations. There is a very important line between friendliness/respectful attention/flirting, and creepy and domineering. I think it is also equally important to note that in this toxic trope, it is important to teach both men and women that no means no and yes means yes. Not that you can’t have playful/teasing banter, but playing hard to get when you really want to be gotten, is an unhealthy coping mechanism for cowardice in relationships.

I think for this one as with other tropes on this list, it appeals to our childish, insecure, and relationship-immature side of ourselves that would rather have everything fall into place than be honest, vulnerable, and have agency in our romantic interactions. What I mean is, the fantasy of a hot male lead persistently pursuing us after a destiny meet cute is a fantasy where we don’t ever have to put ourselves out there. Where don’t have to consciously try to meet new people, express interest in others, set boundaries, i.e. do the hard work of negotiating our place within other people’s lives.

The hallmark of a bad drama for me is when the give and take between the male and female lead is: the female lead has to put up with the meanness and constant mistakes of the male lead as he hurts her (usually in tangent with the Noble Idiocy trope, where he breaks up with her and steps all over her “for her own good” for some bs reason), but in return she gets the Grand Romantic Gesture, and the male lead does most of the chasing. In a healthy relationship, there aren’t constant hurtful arguments, and both do an equal share of the “chasing,” or a better term would be meeting each other halfway in expressing interest in the other.

-Power imbalance. It really disturbs me how Kdramas fetishize power imbalances between male and female characters to create the helpless/incompetent/somehow indebted but also plucky/cheerful/abuse-taking female lead. This can manifest itself very overtly in the many Kdramas between CEOs and secretaries, which I still cannot believe are popular in 2021. Secretary Kim did a better spin on the usual trope--the secretary holds the power of being very good at her job, and therefore indispensable and respected in her own right, but it remains a mystery to me why these super narcissistic and childish CEOs are played off as “adorable manchilds” that always need a little soothing of their ego. But to return to the power imbalance, besides obvious power imbalances of wealth/power/etc., oftentimes the guy has supernatural powers, or by nature of his job has abilities that render him the “protector” in the relationship (My love from another star, descendants of the sun), or the girl is infantilized in some way to need to protection from the male lead (legend of the blue sea, she is a mermaid and therefore dependent on the male lead for guidance in the human world, bring it on ghost as well). I think these latter power imbalances are constructed into the setting of the story because more overt forms of power imbalances are frowned upon now, but they serve the same patriarchal purpose. 

This power imbalance inevitably leads to the female lead putting up with some abuse from the male lead because she “needs” him for some other end, and him holding his power over as a way to keep her close. It fits very well into the enemies to lovers trope in this way, especially some contractual enemies to lovers, where due to the power imbalance he is able to exploit/use her in some way, and keeps her close, and she hates him but has to put up with it for her own survival in some way, but they slowly fall in love. It’s super toxic and not at all romantic because they didn’t choose each other at all, they just were pushed together by circumstance, but again it buys into our fantasy of falling in love due to circumstance, rather than our own agency.

-Overly protective (OP) vs respectfully supportive. (RS) Essentially I can divide Kdramas into these two categories, OP and RS. OP romances can commonly be found in love triangles (where jealousy flourishes) and high school romances (where characters usually have less of a personality lol), and RS relationships are more common in working adult romances, where each character is pursuing their career/dreams and they support each other in those dreams. OP relationships infantilize the female character, render her as just an object in need of saving, and power dynamic between the leads is usually he constantly needs to save her, and in return she “softens”/“heals” him which, under deeper analysis, reveals itself to be quite an insidious and harmful stereotype, the kind of psychology that keeps women in domestic violence relationships. RS relationships are also better in that the leads have something going on outside of their romance, and are motivated beyond just ending up together. My favorite of RS relationships are Miss Hammurabi (two judges that work together to confront injustices in the judicial system), Run On (two leads from v different career fields, but they take interest and support each other throughout career ups and downs), and Hello My Twenties (probably my favorite example of an RS male lead--Sungmin supports Song as she uncovers her past traumas and stands up to an abuser, but does so following her lead and not doing her work for her, but rather simply staying by her side supportively).

Conclusion

This is not all the toxicity in the kdrama world--this is just what I can come up with off the top of my head as my least favorite tropes that disempower women and glorify toxic men and toxic relationships. And of course this is not a problem unique to Korea, and is by no means a condemnation of Korean culture, etc., but I simply happen to enjoy the aesthetics and innocence (compared to American shows haha) of Kdramas, so that is the entertainment world I am familiar with, and feel able to comment on.

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

I've really enjoyed your recent meta takes and was wondering if you could elaborate on your thoughts on Mandy + Ian and her going for Lip as a result (from your Ian Relationships meta)? I love reading about M+I and their connection is just so dear to me 😭

(P.S Thank you for being such a beacon of positivity in the Shameless fandom! I only got into the show during lockdown last year but it's become such a comfort so it makes me so happy to see positivity right now. ❤ )

Oh my gosh, thank you so much! You’re seriously too kind! I totally sympathize with you: Shameless has shot straight to the top of my list of comfort media since watching it right around the same time, so I’m really passionate about sharing the love around. 😃🧡 

To me, one of the most important things to look at in this analysis is motives—who each of these characters are, what they desire for themselves, and how those factors fit together like a puzzle.

Mandy is in such a difficult position. It’s not as easy as saying that she’s a victim of abuse and wants nothing more than to get as far from her family as possible, because that’s simply not true. In s1, we see that she’s very comfortable in her house. She and Mickey exhibit your standard sibling animosity (and competition for Ian’s attention, unbeknownst to her), she makes breakfast for Terry even though she’s obviously not super respectful to him as a parent, and she clearly has a solid understanding of where her family stands in the neighborhood. In a way, she thrives on that in the beginning. At but a word, she can do serious damage to somebody without raising a finger herself. Viewing Ian’s lack of response to her advances as an insult, she takes full advantage of that. In s2, we know that she is being abused in such a heinous way. She takes charge of the situation, although not in a manner that would save her from it. She leaves the house for a while to avoid Terry; she holds him at gunpoint and forces him to accept what he already knows so that he won’t hurt Ian. When they talk afterward, she even recounts what happened in a way that makes it sound like no big deal—he was drunk, and he didn’t know who she was, so it’s whatever. (It isn’t. We know it isn’t. If this is going to be her reality, however, then she’s going to own it. No one will look down on her, especially not a Gallagher who’s barely ahead of her in social standing.)

We’ll pause there because so much of how Mandy changed afterward is tied to Lip, but we can already see that Mandy isn’t like Mickey. Mickey stuck it out with his family and very clearly fell into the same trap we’ve heard verbalized by other male characters, namely the notion that men can’t be abused. It doesn’t matter that that is entirely inaccurate—that’s what they’ve been taught in their environment. That’s what’s normal to them. (That’s part of the dramatic irony in this scenario: we can see how damaging and traumatic these events are, but the characters don’t have our perspective. I don’t think Mickey sees what happened to him as rape, just like Ian doesn’t see what happened to him as grooming or assault. That’s for the audience to comprehend in terms of gravity and should add to our sympathy for them.)

Mandy is different. Women are abused all the time in their neighborhood. It’s visible, and it’s pervasive. In s3, Mandy immediately teaches Debbie how to defend herself against it. She didn’t have to learn. Like not seeing themselves as victims is part of the boys’ culture, fighting not to be one is part of the girls’. But there’s a contradiction in her life: the Milkoviches are the neighborhood badasses, and while she shares in that, it’s limited by her sex. There is something she will never be able to overcome in order to see the same return on her reputation that Mickey and Terry do, not unless she gets out, which will be extremely difficult on her own merits. She’s living in poverty and not doing well in school. Her prospects are limited—she told the counselor so. Based on that conversation and her history with boys even before meeting Ian, she clearly sees one surefire avenue to get out of this hole she’s stuck in: a man with the resources to get out and take her with him.  If she’s lucky, it’ll even be a good man with a good heart who wants to do good in the world.

Now, let’s talk about Ian. (See what I did there?) This doesn’t need to be long because I’ve already talked so much about Ian already lately, but let’s wax poetic just a bit. Ian wants to be a good person. He wants to be able to get by, even be successful, without having to do it through scamming and stealing. He has goals and ambitions, and whatever anybody thinks of those ambitions, he did it with the mindset that he would be a hero—a protector. Along with that, he never gives up. When Mandy sets her brothers on him, he doesn’t hide forever—he seeks her out multiple times to fix the situation. When he can’t get into West Point, he doesn’t quit ROTC and ignore his dreams. He keeps going.

Not only is he someone who wants to be good for himself, but he wants to be good for others too. He shows Mandy kindness that she arguably hasn’t seen from anyone else before. He takes care of his family when hers tends to focus on themselves and their own individual survival more of the time. Ian has what she would have seen as the potential to get out, and at the time, that is what he wants. It isn’t as an escape for him, but as a way to facilitate his own dreams.

The problem? Ian is gay. We can see that that bothers her sometimes because she forgets. She goes in for a kiss in s2 and has to reel back, settling for a hug instead. She gets tired of hearing him talk about Kash in s1 and kisses him to shut him up, saying she just wanted to kiss her fake boyfriend. Ian isn’t attainable. If Ian leaves, he won’t take her with him as a partner, and she can’t ask as a friend. How desperate would that seem to someone who refuses to be put in a position where she even slightly perceives him to be pitying her? She can’t ask. Not Ian. She needs someone else, someone who is also good and capable of getting out of here—who can be convinced to even if they don’t want to. Someone she can also trust and has some sort of connection with. Someone who is a fixer, and someone she can draw in with the only thing she thinks she has of any value: her body.

That would be Lip. Not only does he meet all of those criteria at the time, but she knows she can trust him. She trusts Ian, and Ian is closer to Lip than he is to anyone else—even her. No, Lip doesn’t have any convictions or real desire to leave, but he has potential. She can work with that. She’s also there for the entire Karen saga, so she knows that Lip is someone who takes his responsibilities to the people he’s with very seriously and tries so hard to cultivate that connection. (For example, feeding him, making herself sexually available as often as possible, letting him stay with her when he can’t go anywhere else without any conditions, etc. We even begin to see her distancing herself from Ian a little bit by s3, putting all of her energy into what she has with Lip when, a year ago, they were sneaking around because she said she didn’t want Ian to know about them. That isn’t to say that Ian was seeking her out either, being quite distracted with Mickey, but it’s noticeable for me.)

Like Mickey, Mandy also has a very deep capacity for emotion and affection that seems incongruous with her personality a lot of the time. Also like Mickey, nobody brought that out in her—it was always there. As much as she seemed to hope that Lip would take care of her, the process of growing closer to him led to a level of affection. I don’t particularly read their relationship as being a deep one. Both of them were using the other, to an extent, to deal with their trauma in other areas of their lives. But that sort of thing can foster a kinship, a mutual understanding that transcends time and place and even the terrible stuff that people do to one another.

So, it doesn’t work out. Mandy is hurt and does something unforgivable. She then runs from Lip, straight into what she feels is her only alternative now: an abuser. What else is there for a girl in her position? Ian was unattainable because of his sexuality, but to someone beaten down again and again, perhaps she believed he was also unattainable because he was too good a person. Lip was unattainable despite her best efforts to bridge that gap because of what he had with Karen, but to someone beaten down again and again, perhaps she believed he was also unattainable because her position in his life was to give but never to take. With Kenyatta, all she does is give. She’s embraced being beaten down because what else is there? She leaves with him, believing there’s nothing for her there.

When she finally finds her strength, far from home but hopefully under better circumstances than when she lived in Chicago, she still follows the formula that has ruled her decision-making for some time: finding a place where she can have the control over her life that was never there before, but still with the belief that what she has to offer isn’t academic or able to be built or improved upon. Ian has worked past his perception that his body was what he had to offer, that it was what would provide him with the love he was looking for. But of course, he has. He’s had Mickey to love him when he’s healthy and love him when he’s lost a bunch of weight from a depressive episode spent in bed. He’s had his family to mess up here and there but ultimately love him so much.

Mandy doesn’t have that. She didn’t then either. She got what she wanted—she got out. She even implied that that was the most important thing by telling Ian that being born on the South Side doesn’t mean that’s where they have to stay. But Ian “got out” of the spiral of abuse he unknowingly suffered and the mindset that it fostered while Mandy didn’t. This isn’t to say anything negative about sex work, of course, only the mindset that led Mandy to this point in her life. And when she leaves the house for the last time, she looks at Lip after having asked about him, and they acknowledge each other the way that people who once knew each other do.

I’ve made the joke before that to Milkoviches, Gallaghers are like catnip. It’s flippant and funny enough when we consider how many of them have dated at one point or other. I’ve also said the Milkoviches are designed as a foil to the Gallaghers, a juxtaposed image of what they could have been had their situation been altered slightly. In s10, Mickey mentions how the Gallaghers are messed up and he’s never been happier to be a Milkovich, so there’s some awareness there that these are the two notorious families of the neighborhood, albeit for different reasons. For Mandy to see that not one, but two Gallaghers are out of reach? To perhaps feel as though she’s less than even them, or made to feel that way in her interactions with Lip? It’s the ultimate slap in the face.

She trusts Ian more than anyone else in her life, to the point where she will still call him to help her hide a body long after she’s left him and their home behind. But trusting Ian led her to loving Ian, and she couldn’t have him. Trusting Ian led her to meeting Lip, and if Ian was so good and loved Lip so much, he had to be worth it too. And to her, he was. The problem was that she felt that she wasn’t.

Self-fulfilling prophecies suck: when you’re treated like garbage by a neighborhood that sees your family as garbage and repeatedly experience things that will make you feel like garbage around people with the best intentions, you’ll start believing that you are, in fact, garbage. I think what we’ve watched with Mandy is a steady decline from a place of strength in herself and weakness in her environment to an overall place of weakness that she couldn’t escape. Not with Ian and, when she realized that wouldn’t happen, not with the only real alternative she thought she could trust since she trusted Ian so deeply. 

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany and Barristan’s relationship

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

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

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

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

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

~

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

He boasts of bedding me, you mean.

~

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

ADWD The Queen's Hand

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

~

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

~

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

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

~

“They await the Hand’s pleasure below.”

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

~

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

~

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

“Only the queen can do that.”

~

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

“Her Grace is not … she …”

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

ADWD The Kingbreaker

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

No, thought Selmy. “Hizdahr seemed distraught.”

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

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

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

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

~

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

“And when she does return?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was not wrong.”

“I will not permit it.”

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

ADWD The Discarded Knight

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ADWD The Queensguard

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

~

“I have the poisoner.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

“Her poisoner.”

Is he? “Where is your proof?”

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

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

ADWD Daenerys IX

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

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

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

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

“I am one old man, Your Grace.”

“Strong Belwas will be with me as well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

Dany turned. “Why are we stopped?”

Hizdahr stood. “The way is blocked.”

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“Ser Barristan?” she said softly.

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

“How much did you hear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The woman is the worst of all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drinking with his knights.”

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

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

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

~

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

ADWD Daenerys VII

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

“Three knights,” said Selmy.

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

“You know, though. Tell me.”

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

“What happened to this knight?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Gracious queen, well met!”

ADWD Daenerys VI

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

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They are too feeble,” said Symon Stripeback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

“Ser Barristan will show you out.”

~

“You’re hurt,” she gasped.

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

ADWD Daenerys V

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

“And the Stormcrows, Your Grace?”

Daario. “Yes. Yes.” [...]

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

~

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

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

And are my hands any cleaner?

~

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daario is still in the field.”

~

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

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

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

~

“What of these Astapori?”

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

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

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

~

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

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

“My walls are strong, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The gods did not respond.

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

“Your Grace?” Ser Barristan prompted, gently.

A queen belongs not to herself but to her people.

ADWD Daenerys IV

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

~

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

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

~

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

“If that is your command, Your Grace.”

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

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

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

“Your Grace, may I speak frankly?”

“Always.”

“There is a third choice.”

“Westeros?”

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

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

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

“Westeros is far away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A woods witch?” Dany was astonished.

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

“What became of her?”

“Summerhall.” The word was fraught with doom.

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

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

“Who is it?”

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

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

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

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

~

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

“Your Grace? They have only now returned …”

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

“As you say, Your Grace.”

ADWD Daenerys III

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

“You heard Xaro make his offer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

“Your Grace—”

“Magnificence—”

“Your Worship—”

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

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

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

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

~

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

ADWD Daenerys II

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

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

“What did you say?”

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

“My brother Viserys.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think they would harm me?”

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

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

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

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

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

What sort of mother lets her children rot in darkness?

ADWD Daenerys I

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

“He died for me.”

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As Your Grace commands.” Selmy bowed.

~

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

~

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

“Courage, Your Grace?”

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

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

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


“Taint?” Dany bristled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

“Your Grace?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ASOS Daenerys V

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she knew.

ASOS Daenerys IV

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

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

He stiffened. “I did not say that.”

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

~

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

~

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

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

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

“Your Grace is kind to say so.”


“Viserys said that our brother won many tourneys.”

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

“But?” said Dany sharply. “Tell me. I command it.”

“Prince Rhaegar’s prowess was unquestioned, but he seldom entered the lists. He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.”

“He won some tourneys, surely,” said Dany, disappointed.

“When he was young, His Grace rode brilliantly in a tourney at Storm’s End, defeating Lord Steffon Baratheon, Lord Jason Mallister, the Red Viper of Dorne, and a mystery knight who proved to be the infamous Simon Toyne, chief of the kingswood outlaws. He broke twelve lances against Ser Arthur Dayne that day.”

“Was he the champion, then?”

“No, Your Grace. That honor went to another knight of the Kingsguard, who unhorsed Prince Rhaegar in the final tilt.”

Dany did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. “But what tourneys did my brother win?”

“Your Grace.” The old man hesitated. “He won the greatest tourney of them all.”

“Which was that?” Dany demanded.

“The tourney Lord Whent staged at Harrenhal beside the Gods Eye, in the year of the false spring. A notable event. Besides the jousting, there was a mêlée in the old style fought between seven teams of knights, as well as archery and axe-throwing, a horse race, a tournament of singers, a mummer show, and many feasts and frolics. Lord Whent was as open handed as he was rich. The lavish purses he proclaimed drew hundreds of challengers. Even your royal father came to Harrenhal, when he had not left the Red Keep for long years. The greatest lords and mightiest champions of the Seven Kingdoms rode in that tourney, and the Prince of Dragonstone bested them all.”

“But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!” said Dany. “Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?”

“It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother’s heart, Your Grace. The Princess Elia was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate.”

Dany pulled the lion pelt tighter about her shoulders. “Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late.” She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. “If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl.”

“Perhaps so, Your Grace.” Whitebeard paused a moment. “But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

“Not sour, no, but ... there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense ...” The old man hesitated again.

“Say it,” she urged. “A sense ...?”

“... of doom. He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.”

Viserys had spoken of Rhaegar’s birth only once. Perhaps the tale saddened him too much. “It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him, was it not?”

“Yes. And yet Summerhall was the place the prince loved best. He would go there from time to time, with only his harp for company. Even the knights of the Kingsguard did not attend him there. He liked to sleep in the ruined hall, beneath the moon and stars, and whenever he came back he would bring a song. When you heard him play his high harp with the silver strings and sing of twilights and tears and the death of kings, you could not but feel that he was singing of himself and those he loved.”

“What of the Usurper? Did he play sad songs as well?”

Arstan chuckled. “Robert? Robert liked songs that made him laugh, the bawdier the better. He only sang when he was drunk, and then it was like to be ‘A Cask of Ale’ or ‘Fifty-Four Tuns’ or ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair.’ Robert was much—”

ASOS Daenerys III

“Give me all,” she said, “and you may have a dragon.”

There was the sound of indrawn breath from Jhiqui beside her. Kraznys smiled at his fellows. “Did I not tell you? Anything, she would give us.”

Whitebeard stared in shocked disbelief. His hand trembled where it grasped the staff. “No.” He went to one knee before her. “Your Grace, I beg you, win your throne with dragons, not slaves. You must not do this thing—”

“You must not presume to instruct me. Ser Jorah, remove Whitebeard from my presence.”

Mormont seized the old man roughly by an elbow, yanked him back to his feet, and marched him out onto the terrace.

“Tell the Good Masters I regret this interruption,” said Dany to the slave girl.

~

Arstan Whitebeard held his tongue as well, when Dany swept by him on the terrace. He followed her down the steps in silence, but she could hear his hardwood staff tap tapping on the red bricks as they went. She did not blame him for his fury. It was a wretched thing she did. The Mother of Dragons has sold her strongest child. Even the thought made her ill.

Yet down in the Plaza of Pride, standing on the hot red bricks between the slavers’ pyramid and the barracks of the eunuchs, Dany turned on the old man. “Whitebeard,” she said, “I want your counsel, and you should never fear to speak your mind with
me ... when we are alone. But never question me in front of strangers. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said unhappily.


“I am not a child,” she told him. “I am a queen.”

“Yet even queens can err. The Astapori have cheated you, Your Grace. A dragon is worth more than any army. Aegon proved that three hundred years ago, upon the Field of Fire.”

“I know what Aegon proved. I mean to prove a few things of my own.”

ASOS Daenerys II

“Tell her that these have been standing here for a day and a night, with no food nor water. Tell her that they will stand until they drop if I should command it, and when nine hundred and ninety-nine have collapsed to die upon the bricks, the last will stand there still, and never move until his own death claims him. Such is their courage. Tell her that.”

“I call that madness, not courage,” said Arstan Whitebeard, when the solemn little scribe was done. He tapped the end of his hardwood staff against the bricks, tap tap, as if to tell his displeasure. The old man had not wanted to sail to Astapor; nor did he favor buying this slave army. A queen should hear all sides before reaching a decision. That was why Dany had brought him with her to the Plaza of Pride, not to keep her safe. [...]

“Inform the savages that we call this obedience. Others may be stronger or quicker or larger than the Unsullied. Some few may even equal their skill with sword and spear and shield. But nowhere between the seas will you ever find any more obedient.”

“Sheep are obedient,” said Arstan when the words had been translated. He had some Valyrian as well, though not so much as Dany, but like her he was feigning ignorance.

~

“A eunuch who is cut young will never have the brute strength of one of your Westerosi knights, this is true,” said Kraznys mo Nakloz when the question was put to him. “A bull is strong as well, but bulls die every day in the fighting pits. A girl of nine killed one not three days past in Jothiel’s Pit. The Unsullied have something better than strength, tell her. They have discipline. We fight in the fashion of the Old Empire, yes. They are the lockstep legions of Old Ghis come again, absolutely obedient, absolutely loyal, and utterly without fear.”

Dany listened patiently to the translation.
“Even the bravest men fear death and maiming,” Arstan said when the girl was done.

~

“Tell her all their names are such,” Kraznys commanded the girl. “It reminds them that by themselves they are vermin. The name disks are thrown in an empty cask at duty’s end, and each dawn plucked up again at random.”

“More madness,” said Arstan, when he heard. “How can any man possibly remember a new name every day?”

~

Arstan Whitebeard tapped the end of his staff on the bricks as he listened to that. Tap tap tap. Slow and steady. Tap tap tap. Dany saw him turn his eyes away, as if he could not bear to look at Kraznys any longer.

~

She looked at Arstan. “You have lived long in the world, Whitebeard. Now that you have seen them, what do you say?”

“I say no, Your Grace,” the old man answered at once.


“Why?” she asked. “Speak freely.” Dany thought she knew what he would say, but she wanted the slave girl to hear, so Kraznys mo Nakloz might hear later.

“My queen,” said Arstan, “there have been no slaves in the Seven Kingdoms for thousands of years. The old gods and the new alike hold slavery to be an abomination. Evil. If you should land in Westeros at the head of a slave army, many good men will oppose you for no other reason than that. You will do great harm to your cause, and to the honor of your House.”

“Yet I must have some army,” Dany said. “The boy Joffrey will not give me the Iron Throne for asking politely.”

“When the day comes that you raise your banners, half of Westeros will be with you,” Whitebeard promised. “Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

“And my father?” Dany said.

The old man hesitated before saying, “King Aerys is also remembered. He gave the realm many years of peace. Your Grace, you have no need of slaves. Magister Illyrio can keep you safe while your dragons grow, and send secret envoys across the narrow sea on your behalf, to sound out the high lords for your cause.”

“Those same high lords who abandoned my father to the Kingslayer and bent the knee to Robert the Usurper?”

“Even those who bent their knees may yearn in their hearts for the return of the dragons.”

“May,” said Dany. That was such a slippery word, may. In any language.

~

Tap tap tap, Dany heard. Arstan Whitebeard’s face was still, but his staff beat out his rage. Tap tap tap.

~

Dany climbed into her litter frowning, and beckoned Arstan to climb in beside her. A man as old as him should not be walking in such heat.

~

“Bricks and blood built Astapor,” Whitebeard murmured at her side, “and bricks and blood her people.”

“What is that?” Dany asked him, curious.

“An old rhyme a maester taught me, when I was a boy. I never knew how true it was. The bricks of Astapor are red with the blood of the slaves who make them.”

“I can well believe that,” said Dany.

“Then leave this place before your heart turns to brick as well. Sail this very night, on the evening tide.”

Would that I could, thought Dany. “When I leave Astapor it must be with an army, Ser Jorah says.”

“Ser Jorah was a slaver himself, Your Grace,” the old man reminded her. “There are sellswords in Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh you can hire. A man who kills for coin has no honor, but at least they are no slaves. Find your army there, I beg you.”

“My brother visited Pentos, Myr, Braavos, near all the Free Cities. The magisters and archons fed him wine and promises, but his soul was starved to death. A man cannot sup from the beggar’s bowl all his life and stay a man. I had my taste in Qarth, that was enough. I will not come to Pentos bowl in hand.”

“Better to come a beggar than a slaver,” Arstan said.

“There speaks one who has been neither.” Dany’s nostrils flared. “Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and
I ... my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “Your Grace, I did not mean to give offense.”

“Only lies offend me, never honest counsel.” Dany patted Arstan’s spotted hand to reassure him. “I have a dragon’s temper, that’s all. You must not let it frighten you.”

“I shall try and remember.” Whitebeard smiled.

He has a good face, and great strength to him, Dany thought. She could not understand why Ser Jorah mistrusted the old man so. Could he be jealous that I have found another man to talk to?

~

“Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

ASOS Daenerys I

The squire Whitebeard, standing by the figurehead with one lean hand curled about his tall hardwood staff, turned toward them and said, “Balerion the Black Dread was two hundred years old when he died during the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. He was so large he could swallow an aurochs whole. A dragon never stops growing, Your Grace, so long as he has food and freedom.” His name was Arstan, but Strong Belwas had named him Whitebeard for his pale whiskers, and most everyone called him that now. He was taller than Ser Jorah, though not so muscular; his eyes were a pale blue, his long beard as white as snow and as fine as silk.

“Freedom?” asked Dany, curious. “What do you mean?”

“In King’s Landing, your ancestors raised an immense domed castle for their dragons. The Dragonpit, it is called. It still stands atop the Hill of Rhaenys, though all in ruins now. That was where the royal dragons dwelt in days of yore, and a cavernous dwelling it was, with iron doors so wide that thirty knights could ride through them abreast. Yet even so, it was noted that none of the pit dragons ever reached the size of their ancestors. The maesters say it was because of the walls around them, and the great dome above their heads.”

“If walls could keep us small, peasants would all be tiny and kings as large as giants,” said Ser Jorah. “I’ve seen huge men born in hovels, and dwarfs who dwelt in castles.”

“Men are men,” Whitebeard replied. “Dragons are dragons.”

Ser Jorah snorted his disdain. “How profound.” The exile knight had no love for the old man, he’d made that plain from the first. “What do you know of dragons, anyway?”

“Little enough, that’s true. Yet I served for a time in King’s Landing in the days when King Aerys sat the Iron Throne, and walked beneath the dragonskulls that looked down from the walls of his throne room.”

“Viserys talked of those skulls,” said Dany. “The Usurper took them down and hid them away. He could not bear them looking down on him upon his stolen throne.” She beckoned Whitebeard closer. “Did you ever meet my royal father?” King Aerys II had died before his daughter was born.

“I had that great honor, Your Grace.”

“Did you find him good and gentle?”

Whitebeard did his best to hide his feelings, but they were there, plain on his face. “His Grace was ... often pleasant.”

“Often?” Dany smiled. “But not always?”


“He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies.”


“A wise man never makes an enemy of a king,” said Dany. “Did you know my brother Rhaegar as well?”


“It was said that no man ever knew Prince Rhaegar, truly. I had the privilege of seeing him in tourney, though, and often heard him play his harp with its silver strings.”

Ser Jorah snorted. “Along with a thousand others at some harvest feast. Next you’ll claim you squired for him.”

“I make no such claim, ser. Myles Mooton was Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and Richard Lonmouth after him. When they won their spurs, he knighted them himself, and they remained his close companions. Young Lord Connington was dear to the prince as well, but his oldest friend was Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning!” said Dany, delighted. “Viserys used to talk about his wondrous white blade. He said Ser Arthur was the only knight in the realm who was our brother’s peer.”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “It is not my place to question the words of Prince Viserys.”

“King,” Dany corrected. “He was a king, though he never reigned. Viserys, the Third of His Name. But what do you mean?” His answer had not been one that she’d expected. “Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

“Your Grace,” said Whitebeard, “the Prince of Dragonstone was a most puissant warrior, but ...”

“Go on,” she urged. “You may speak freely to me.”

“As you command.” The old man leaned upon his hardwood staff, his brow furrowed. “A warrior without peer ... those are fine words, Your Grace, but words win no battles.”

“Swords win battles,” Ser Jorah said bluntly. “And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one.”


“He did, ser, but ... I have seen a hundred tournaments and more wars than I would wish, and however strong or fast or skilled a knight may be, there are others who can match him. A man will win one tourney, and fall quickly in the next. A slick spot in the grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before. A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory.” He glanced at Ser Jorah. “Or a lady’s favor knotted round an arm.”

Mormont’s face darkened. “Be careful what you say, old man.”

Arstan had seen Ser Jorah fight at Lannisport, Dany knew, in the tourney Mormont had won with a lady’s favor knotted round his arm. He had won the lady too; Lynesse of House Hightower, his second wife, highborn and beautiful ... but she had ruined him, and abandoned him, and the memory of her was bitter to him now. “Be gentle, my knight.” She put a hand on Jorah’s arm. “Arstan had no wish to give offense, I’m certain.”

“As you say, Khaleesi.” Ser Jorah’s voice was grudging.

Dany turned back to the squire. “I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded. There is a tale told of him ... but doubtless Ser Jorah knows it as well.”

“I would hear it from you.”

“As you wish,” said Whitebeard. “As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father’s knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’”

“And he was!” said Dany, delighted.

“He was indeed.” Whitebeard bowed. “My pardons, Your Grace. We speak of warriors, and I see that Strong Belwas has arisen. I must attend him.”

Dany glanced aft. The eunuch was climbing through the hold amidships, nimble for all his size. Belwas was squat but broad, a good fifteen stone of fat and muscle, his great brown gut crisscrossed by faded white scars. He wore baggy pants, a yellow silk bellyband, and an absurdly tiny leather vest dotted with iron studs. “Strong Belwas is hungry!” he roared at everyone and no one in particular. “Strong Belwas will eat now!” Turning, he spied Arstan on the forecastle. “Whitebeard! You will bring food for Strong Belwas!”

“You may go,” Dany told the squire. He bowed again, and moved off to tend the needs of the man he served.

Ser Jorah watched with a frown on his blunt honest face. Mormont was big and burly, strong of jaw and thick of shoulder. Not a handsome man by any means, but as true a friend as Dany had ever known. “You would be wise to take that old man’s words well salted,” he told her when Whitebeard was out of earshot.

“A queen must listen to all,” she reminded him. “The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal. One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found.” She had read that in a book.

“Hear my voice then, Your Grace,” the exile said. “This Arstan Whitebeard is playing you false. He is too old to be a squire, and too well spoken to be serving that oaf of a eunuch.”

That does seem queer, Dany had to admit.

[...] Ser Jorah saved me from the poisoner, and Arstan Whitebeard from the manticore. Perhaps Strong Belwas will save me from the next.

~

“Sit, good ser, and tell me what is troubling you.”

“Three things.” Ser Jorah sat. “Strong Belwas. This Arstan Whitebeard. And Illyrio Mopatis, who sent them.”

Again? Dany pulled the coverlet higher and tugged one end over her shoulder. “And why is that?”

“The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times,” the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other.

“Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.” Dany was not like to forget. “Mirri Maz Duur was the first.”

“Which means two traitors yet remain ... and now these two appear. I find that troubling, yes. Never forget, Robert offered a lordship to the man who slays you.”

Dany leaned forward and yanked Viserion’s tail, to pull him off his green brother. Her blanket fell away from her chest as she moved. She grabbed it hastily and covered herself again. “The Usurper is dead,” she said.

“But his son rules in his place.” Ser Jorah lifted his gaze, and his dark eyes met her own. “A dutiful son pays his father’s debts. Even blood debts.”

“This boy Joffrey might want me dead ... if he recalls that I’m alive. What has that to do with Belwas and Arstan Whitebeard? The old man does not even wear a sword. You’ve seen that.”

“Aye. And I have seen how deftly he handles that staff of his. Recall how he killed that manticore in Qarth? It might as easily have been your throat he crushed.”

“Might have been, but was not,” she pointed out. “It was a stinging manticore meant to slay me. He saved my life.”

“Khaleesi, has it occurred to you that Whitebeard and Belwas might have been in league with the assassin? It might all have been a ploy to win your trust.”

Her sudden laughter made Drogon hiss, and sent Viserion flapping to his perch above the porthole. “The ploy worked well.”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

“I see a fat brown man and an older man with a staff. Which is it?”

“Both of them,” Ser Jorah said. “They have been following us since we left Quicksilver.”

~

The other man wore a traveler’s cloak of undyed wool, the hood thrown back. Long white hair fell to his shoulders, and a silky white beard covered the lower half of his face. He leaned his weight on a hardwood staff as tall as he was. Only fools would stare so openly if they meant me harm. All the same, it might be prudent to head back toward Jhogo and Aggo. “The old man does not wear a sword,” she said to Jorah in the Common Tongue as she drew him away.

~

A Qartheen stepped into her path. “Mother of Dragons, for you.” He knelt and thrust a jewel box into her face.

Dany took it almost by reflex. The box was carved wood, its mother-of-pearl lid inlaid with jasper and chalcedony. “You are too generous.” She opened it. Within was a glittering green scarab carved from onyx and emerald. Beautiful, she thought. This will help pay for our passage. As she reached inside the box, the man said, “I am so sorry,” but she hardly heard.

The scarab unfolded with a hiss.

Dany caught a glimpse of a malign black face, almost human, and an arched tail dripping venom ... and then the box flew from her hand in pieces, turning end over end. Sudden pain twisted her fingers. As she cried out and clutched her hand, the brass merchant let out a shriek, a woman screamed, and suddenly the Qartheen were shouting and pushing each other aside. Ser Jorah slammed past her, and Dany stumbled to one knee. She heard the hiss again. The old man drove the butt of his staff into the ground, Aggo came riding through an eggseller’s stall and vaulted from his saddle, Jhogo’s whip cracked overhead, Ser Jorah slammed the eunuch over the head with the brass platter, sailors and whores and merchants were fleeing or shouting or both ...

“Your Grace, a thousand pardons.” The old man knelt. “It’s dead. Did I break your hand?”

She closed her fingers, wincing. “I don’t think so.”

“I had to knock it away,” he started, but her bloodriders were on him before he could finish.

Aggo kicked his staff away and Jhogo seized him round the shoulders, forced him to his knees, and pressed a dagger to his throat. “Khaleesi, we saw him strike you. Would you see the color of his blood?”

“Release him.” Dany climbed to her feet. “Look at the bottom of his staff, blood of my blood.” Ser Jorah had been shoved off his feet by the eunuch. She ran between them as arakh and longsword both came flashing from their sheaths. “Put down your steel! Stop it!”

“Your Grace?” Mormont lowered his sword only an inch. “These men attacked you.”

“They were defending me.” Dany snapped her hand to shake the sting from her fingers. “It was the other one, the Qartheen.” When she looked around he was gone. “He was a Sorrowful Man. There was a manticore in that jewel box he gave me. This man knocked it out of my hand.” The brass merchant was still rolling on the ground. She went to him and helped him to his feet. “Were you stung?”

“No, good lady,” he said, shaking, “or else I would be dead. But it touched me, aieeee, when it fell from the box it landed on my arm.” He had soiled himself, she saw, and no wonder.

She gave him a silver for his trouble and sent him on his way before she turned back to the old man with the white beard. “Who is it that I owe my life to?”

“You owe me nothing, Your Grace. I am called Arstan, though Belwas named me Whitebeard on the voyage here.” Though Jhogo had released him the old man remained on one knee. Aggo picked up his staff, turned it over, cursed softly in Dothraki, scraped the remains of the manticore off on a stone, and handed it back.

“And who is Belwas?” she asked.

The huge brown eunuch swaggered forward, sheathing his arakh. “I am Belwas. Strong Belwas they name me in the fighting pits of Meereen. Never did I lose.” He slapped his belly, covered with scars. “I let each man cut me once, before I kill him. Count the cuts and you will know how many Strong Belwas has slain.”

Dany had no need to count his scars; there were many, she could see at a glance. “And why are you here, Strong Belwas?”

“From Meereen I am sold to Qohor, and then to Pentos and the fat man with sweet stink in his hair. He it was who send Strong Belwas back across the sea, and old Whitebeard to serve him.”

The fat man with sweet stink in his hair ... “Illyrio?” she said. “You were sent by Magister Illyrio?”

“We were, Your Grace,” old Whitebeard replied. “The Magister begs your kind indulgence for sending us in his stead, but he cannot sit a horse as he did in his youth, and sea travel upsets his digestion.” Earlier he had spoken in the Valyrian of the Free Cities, but now he changed to the Common Tongue. “I regret if we caused you alarm. If truth be told, we were not certain, we expected someone more ... more ...”

“Regal?” Dany laughed. She had no dragon with her, and her raiment was hardly queenly. “You speak the Common Tongue well, Arstan. Are you of Westeros?”

“I am. I was born on the Dornish Marches, Your Grace. As a boy I squired for a knight of Lord Swann’s household.” He held the tall staff upright beside him like a lance in need of a banner. “Now I squire for Belwas.”

“A bit old for such, aren’t you?” Ser Jorah had shouldered his way to her side, holding the brass platter awkwardly under his arm. Belwas’s hard head had left it badly bent.

“Not too old to serve my liege, Lord Mormont.”

“You know me as well?”

“I saw you fight a time or two. At Lannisport where you near unhorsed the Kingslayer. And on Pyke, there as well. You do not recall, Lord Mormont?”

Ser Jorah frowned. “Your face seems familiar, but there were hundreds at Lannisport and thousands on Pyke. And I am no lord. Bear Island was taken from me. I am but a knight.”

“A knight of my Queensguard.” Dany took his arm. “And my true friend and good counselor.” She studied Arstan’s face. He had a great dignity to him, a quiet strength she liked. “Rise, Arstan Whitebeard. Be welcome, Strong Belwas. Ser Jorah you know. Ko Aggo and Ko Jhogo are blood of my blood. They crossed the red waste with me, and saw my dragons born. [...] Now tell me, what would Magister Illyrio have of me, that he would send you all the way from Pentos?”

“He would have dragons,” said Belwas gruffly, “and the girl who makes them. He would have you.”

“Belwas has the truth of us, Your Grace,” said Arstan. “We were told to find you and bring you back to Pentos. The Seven Kingdoms have need of you. Robert the Usurper is dead, and the realm bleeds. When we set sail from Pentos there were four kings in the land, and no justice to be had.”

Joy bloomed in her heart, but Dany kept it from her face. “I have three dragons,” she said, “and more than a hundred in my khalasar, with all their goods and horses.”

“It is no matter,” boomed Belwas. “We take all. The fat man hires three ships for his little silverhair queen.”

“It is so, Your Grace,” Arstan Whitebeard said. “The great cog Saduleon is berthed at the end of the quay, and the galleys Summer Sun and Joso’s Prank are anchored beyond the breakwater.”

Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. “I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names.”

“As you wish,” said Arstan. “What names would you prefer?”

“Vhagar,” Daenerys told him. “Meraxes. And Balerion. Paint the names on their hulls in golden letters three feet high, Arstan. I want every man who sees them to know the dragons are returned.”

[swordmaid]

Hi! I really value your insight into Brienne, and I would love to pick your thoughts. So I noticed that in response to the parts of the fandom that downplays Brienne gentle, romantic side, Brienne fans have really been emphasising that part of her. However, I feel that it almost gone too far in the other direction, and now there is this attitude that Brienne would have chosen the life of a traditional lady with few, if any, regrets, if she had been beautiful. Here is where I struggle.

Brienne has been alienated from the role of lady due to her looks and size, but her decision to become a knight would have faced no more positive reinforcement. If anything, she would have faced more hostility. Westeros is a patriarchal, militant culture where strength is inherently linked to martial power. In becoming a knight, Brienne challenged masculine power, inciting not just ridicule, but disgust and revulsion, and violence born of anger. Therefore, the school of thought that

Brienne only became a knight because she felt she couldn't be a lady doesn't work because she would have been made to feel equally unfit to be a knight due to her gender. That she fought against these views to be a knight shows she feels a clear affinity for the role. Her match with Wagstaff, where she overcame her shyness to fight for her right to continue baring arms, speaks of that true desire.

So becoming a knight as a consolation prize does not fit Brienne's character, or Westeros as we know it. She truly wants both. Family and romance and music, but also to bear arms and fight for justice. As she feels that in becoming a knight she has lost the chance to be a lady, her sadness over that is more poignant, but her desire to be a knight is evident in her actually living that life, despite the roadblocks in her way. Sorry for the ramble! Would love to hear your thoughts. :)

OH thank you so much for sending! I love any chance where I can talk about Brienne lol. Brienne IS about the duality of being both the knight and the lady first and foremost. Even with imagery behind her: the pink and the blue, sun and the moon--hell, even with the castles in Tarth--Evenfall and Morne--it’s all about  duality co-existing in one space. That is the epitome of Brienne’s character communicated through imagery. She is both the lady and the knight and I believe her personal story is about achieving that imagery because so far she jumps on one side of the spectrum and never anywhere near the middle. 

Rest under the cut because it gets a bit long!

Though I believe that she chose to be a knight because she thought her body would be more fitting for it, there is this quote in her AFFC chapter: ‘[...] but a rose was no good, a rose could not keep her safe. It was a sword she wanted. Oathkeeper’ that I always found rather interesting and if anything, indicates WHY she chose to pursue to leave behind the life of being a lady and pursue being a knight. Brienne is powerless as a lady. She’s already deemed a failure from the start: she’s too big, too ugly, too clumsy, she stumbles over her words, she’s graceless, etc. etc. Society had already deemed her a failure because she fails to live up to the expectation of what a highborn female should look like, and she’s deemed a failure even more when she can’t perform like one. Her encounter with Ronnet and his rose is basically society indicating what happens if she tries to perform that role: after she gets judged for her appearance and mannerisms, she WILL get mocked and humiliated because they already decided from the start that she doesn’t fit that role. And I think Brienne realized that if she can’t be the lady then she’ll be the knight in the songs instead. Hence her training with Goodwin and her using her body for what it’s good for. So the next time around when Wagstaff came along and tried to humiliate her the way Ronnet did, she had something to defend herself with instead of just standing there and accepting their mockery.

I think that’s the biggest point as well, and that’s the difference between her choosing to be the knight than the lady. Because when she’s a knight---even if she gets mocked or ridiculed, she is able to defend and protect herself. The playing field evens out a little bit. When her maidenhood gets turned into a bet, she beats up all those men who played a part in it in the melee. She can defend for herself when she gets thrown into a bear pit, she can defend for herself when she meets the man who captured her before and threatened her with rape. When she was still a lady, she could do none of that; only stand there and accept the humiliation they were giving her.

And it’s just as you said: she’s not FIT to be a knight too, in a sense. Even if she’s a knight, she essentially longs for her home and wonders what her life would be like if she didn’t run off to Renly’s campaign. Even if she’s out there acting as a knight, she’s still very much the lady. Not to mention that her prowess, how she serves, the oaths she takes, etc. they don’t matter because Society still sees her as a woman. Jaime--one the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdom-- hails her as good when he was fighting her but Society doesn’t acknowledge that because her is what they see first. Even when she was in Renly’s campaign she had to WIN her chance of being a part of Renly’s campaign even though she proved that she was better than the knights there. Brienne as a knight has to constantly prove her worth to everyone she meets because her gender is an ever present shroud that clouds the judgement of others, which I find a really interesting contrast to Brienne being the lady who is INSTANTLY judged worthless because her appearance becomes said shroud. She’s not one or the other because Society tells her she doesn’t fit in those roles: She’s too freakish to be a lady, too woman to be a knight. And right now, Brienne is leaning on the ‘knight’ side of the spectrum but she essentially belongs in the middle and I think her personal story is about finding that balance.

Which is why I really like her with Jaime and why my favorite scenes with them is the Bear Pit and the White Tower in ASOS. I like the Bear Pit because it’s essentially boiled down fairy tale trope: lady is being attacked by a monster and the knight comes in to save her but it’s.....twisted and made crude and wrong. Brienne essentially becomes the lady in the songs except it’s made to be a mockery. She gets fitted into an ugly pink dress that doesn’t fit her---mildly unrelated but DON’T get me started on the way george ACTUALLY dressed them to fit the part. Brienne in a dress and Jaime in armor---which is SO significant because before Brienne had always been taking the role of the protector---essentially the knight-- to Jaime especially when they were captured by the Brotherhood. In those parts, Jaime was the lady that was distressed while Brienne was the knight who aids her. Jaime acknowledges her to be his protector, and it is shown in his Weirwood dream where he’s left alone in his doom with no one else but Brienne protecting him. But in the Bear Pit, the roles essentially gets switched--Brienne is the lady, Jaime is the knight who comes to save her but the fairy tale is all so WRONG and it’s so good lol. Jaime tries to defend her but Brienne is still defending him and in the end, they got saved by Steelshanks and his crossbow. On the opposite end with the White Tower Scene, here’s where they actually being the lady and the knight. Unlike the Bear Pit, it’s not made out to be crude or the mockery. It’s a knight and a lady, a sword and a quest. What’s interesting though is that the knight isn’t actively saving the lady, rather, giving her the tool so she’s able to save herself (and she DOES refer to Oathkeeper as sort of her safety blanket. The sword being the very thing that can protect her however it’s meaning gets twisted by the end of feast but I’ll talk about that in a different post because it’s not relevant lol) Jaime is not forcing her to be one or the other; he gives her the dress so she’s able to perform the part of being a lady without the ridicule she usually gets and he gives her the sword and the quest because she is that knight as well. Jaime acknowledges both sides of her and never makes her choose one or the other-- which is so important to her character because she’s always been forced to fill a role and when she does, it doesn’t fit her as well as she would’ve liked. 🥺🥺🥺

And as for the emphasis of Brienne’s more feminine side, I think that’s too contrast the all too familiar characterization of Brienne being just a knight/or just Sansa’s sworn sword. I do believe that if Brienne were--say, beautiful or someone that looks average (less freakish), I don’t think she would’ve pursued the life of a knight because the only reason she did is that she was able to defend herself. Her physique and size is more suited for battle and so she used it accordingly, and she turned out to be really good at it. But even with her prowess, she still has the desires to become a lady though she’s been pushing it away. There’s this part--I forgot which chapter it came from--but a scene where Brienne psyches herself up to ask these people and she mentions something along the lines of, ‘if she was too scared to talk to these people she might as well trade her sword for her knitting needles’. I think that indicates how much she TRIES to fit herself into this role of a knight, and tries to convince herself that the life of being a lady is unattainable because of how much she’s been judged and deemed as a failure by Society. 

I think it’s not really the fact that she wants to be a knight, rather, she wants to live a life where she’s able to defend herself and her own worth. She’s able to do that when she’s a knight but she doesn’t fit in that role exactly. Her ideals of what a true knight should be is very black and white, very based on the songs that she so wants to be a part of. I think her plot with Stoneheart and the reason WHY she’s the one who found out about Jaime’s kingslaying is meant to challenge those ideals but rather than turn her away from the role of the knight, it would allow her to actually understand what being a knight is thus letting her to fit herself on that role more fully because she actually understands what she’s signing up for. And with the presence of Jaime for their recent chapters, I hope the side of Brienne the lady gets explored and fleshed out too because currently it’s being repressed.

[agirlunderarock]

How I accidentally wrote 20 page paper on Boromir for one of my Final Ever University Papers PART 3

 Okay folks so I think we’re a little more than halfway through? I think??? I don’t freaking know this is the exact same feeling I had while writing the paper-

Will I ever come to an end? 

We just don’t know

If you missed Part 1 and Part 2  just click the text and it’ll take you to the link

So where did we leave off last time?

I told you exactly how academics where taking a crap on the goodest boi and so this time I’m going to explain why Faramir is the better character foil. Because instead of using Boromir as foil for say Aragorn or Sam, I say they should be using Faramir. I think specifically I left you guys with this lovely little picture I made myself of their character arcs:

If you can’t read it, I’m sorry its pixilated, thats just how the program gets when you try to make an image that compact to fit on a large presentation poster with an already large image. But anyway the important thing in this image isn’t whether or not you can read the damn thing, no, its that Boromir and Faramir’s character arcs are nearly exactly the same.Boromir and Faramir face political, and familial pressures, and faced with the question of what to do about Frodo and the ring. Both brothers are introduced in places that are supposedly out of their element. Boromir is seemingly described as more prepared for battle and fighting, yet we meet him in a council meeting of all things, and Faramir who is supposed to be #intellectual we meet after he and his men have just conducted a raid on an enemy patrol. They’re later both faced with questions of doubt and what they feel they need to do to protect their people. Denethor asks a lot of them and it takes a toll in some way shape and form. but the main points of their character arc ultimately come down to the conflict of family, country, and the fellowship.

like okay I’m not gonna lie, I really just want to put this picture in here and I have a funny story about how this picture made it in the research project but basically even the movie backs up that Boromir’s real foil is Faramir.

shit what was I saying?

Oh yeah

so basically in this flashback from the two towers we get a good side by side comparison between the brothers. Clearly they look alike, but look at how they’re dressed. Boromir’s in full armor my dudes, sword looks like its partially out of the scabbard- but really the main thing you need to focus on is the costuming in this shot, because the costuming here is, of course a reflection of their roles as military leaders, but also a major reflection of their personalities and really how their character arcs play out as a whole. Boromir is usually on the defensive (note I say defensive not ready to throw down) not just in battle because Mordor is like constantly like “Knock Knock can we come in?” but when he gets the Rivendell too, he’s being defensive because it almost sounds like these people half way across the world are going to forsake his home and the people he loves. So yes, I’d say my boi gets to be a little abrasive and wear emotional armor. He’s got a lot of feelings and he doesn’t get to talk about them because either 1. he’s with his troops or 2 he’s surrounded by people he doesn’t know that well i.e. the fellowship early in the story.

Faramir on the other hand is wearing some pretty light armor. He’s more open than Boromir, and if I remember correctly its said in the book that Faramir had taken to talking with Gandalf often when he was young and stuff- I don’t remember tbh I’m at that point where I haven’t read a book in a year cause I’m so damn tired, and I get canon and fanon mashed up sometimes. But what I’m trying to get at is, Faramir lets himself be open to more ideas, to more people, he’s more trusting of people’s intentions probably that numorian thing that he and Denethor have tbh. So basically what I’m trying to say is the main difference between the two brothers is how they deal with fear and anxiety.

Again Boromir tries to hide and swallow his fear and anxiety- he has to as a military leader shit happens. Faramir, looks for as many plans as he can to relieve some of his fear and anxiety- he’s also a leader shit happens.

So remember back when I said that Aristotle said some bullshit about how betraying your father is like the shittiest thing a person could ever do ever? Or when I said the heroism through obedience is absolute bullshit? If not too bad that was your reminder, though I genuinely don’t remember if I talked about the latter.

Denethor becomes the focal point of how these characters are compared. I say this because there is never a moment in the books were we actually have a conversation with all three of them present, but we know that he makes the same demand of both of his sons, that being find out what Isildure’s Bane is and then find a way to protect Gondor by any means. Not necessarily a bad request, its just HEAVY and the way its delivered in Return of the King is heavy and hurtful. I sir I know your mad stressed but also

YOUR SONS ARE MAD STRESSED SO CAN YOU PLEASE NOT HAVE CONVERSATIONS LIKE THIS:

“‘Your bearing is lowly in my presence, yet it is too long now since you turned from your own way at my counsel. See, you have spoken skillfully, as ever; but I, have I not seen your eye fixed on Mithrandir seeking whether you said well or too much? He has long had your heart in his keeping.

‘My son, your father is old but not yet dotard […]

‘If what I have done displease you, my father,’ said Faramir quietly, ‘I wish I had known your counsel before the burden of so weight a judgement was thrust on me.’

‘Would that have availed to change your judgement?’ said Denethor. ‘You would still have done just so, I deem. I know you well. […]But in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death.’

‘So be it,’ said Faramir.

‘So be it!’ cried Denethor. ‘But not with your death only, Lord Faramir: with the death also of your father, and all your people, whom it is your part to protect now that Boromir is gone.’

‘Do you with then,’ said Faramir, ‘that our places had been exchanged?’

‘Yes, I wish that indeed,’ said Denethor. “For Boromir was loyal to me and no wizard’s pupil.” (Return of the King 794-795).

Like thats a big load for two dudes to carry man

Like I get it but thats heavy and I cri for both my bois having to deal with this war their whole life

 But you see what I’m getting at here. Theres a lot of expectations for these boys, and really they just need hugs, and I need a hug rewriting this part into non academic language because it makes me BIG SAD

But whats interesting about the expectation that his sons only be loyal to him, is that in attempting to obey their father, THEY GET FUCKING WRECKED. Boromir ends up scaring Frodo to the point the Fellowship breaks up, and Faramir ends up like almost dying and gets his men wrecked. Now I’m not saying Aristotle is full of bullshit, but he’s full of shit, and I’m gonna learn you why.

So before I say which critic actually puts everyone else to shame by praising two hobbit bois, let me make this clear: Boromir does not die trying to obey his father, he dies actively disobeying him. Instead of trying to find Frodo and still get the ring like Denethor would have wanted, Boromir goes dies defending Merry and Pippin. HE COULD HAVE LEFT THEM IN FAVOR OF GOING AFTER THE RING BUT HE’S A GOOD MAN WHO WANTED HIS HOBBIT CHILDREN WHO ARE TECHNICALLY JUST AS OLD AS HIM TO GET AWAY AND BE SAFE AND HE DIED. Faramir on the other hand nearly dies while trying to carry out his father’s orders and thats tragic but again- shit happens.

According to no braincells Aristotle, one of these is right, even with the tragic outcome and one is wrong and deserved to die.

WRONG

In Ian Romuald Lakowski’s, "Types of Heroism in The Lord of the Rings," he acknowledges that through Merry and Pippin there is heroism in DISOBEDIENCE. For Boromir and Faramir this means obedience or disobedience is not a simple right or wrong choice, and in both of them being disobedient to their father is a more sure sign of their heroism.

I mean think about it, the very action every critic characterizes Boromir for is based off of his obedience to his father. He’s villainized for trying to take the ring from Frodo, when the reality is, the man was struggling with trying to figure out what the right course of action was. ITS THE SAME REASON FARAMIR TAKES SO DAMN LONG TO FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO WITH FRODO AND SAM. THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

So what ends up happening? Faramir is praised a good guy for disobeying, and really in the end the real Boromir comes back when he disobeys Denethor too.

But we’ll come back to some of that in a bit,

Because STRESS is not enough to bind these two as better foils than other comparison that can be made. Because again, critics like to praise Faramir and elevate him and I’m not about to put them against each other.

Like despite their differences Boromir and Faramir’s relationship with one another isn’t characterized by fear or power or even that #stress but genuine love for one another. And this is important, because though no critics ever sighted a page for their reading of Boromir as a greedy little shit, I believe their interpretation comes from second hand accounts of his character. Instead of actually looking at what he says and does to be his true self.  They characterize Boromir by his single action of trying to take the ring from Frodo instead of looking at him as a whole.

Boromir’s relationship with his brother is incredibly important because given the circumstances and everything that they’ve been through and even though they have very different thought processes, they should have a rocky relationship, but  they don’t. They have a very good relationship.The appendices give a nice description of the things we never got to see happen in the book

“…there was great love, and had been since childhood, when Boromir was the helper and protector of Faramir. No jealousy or rivalry had arisen between them since, for their father’s favour or for the praise of men. It did not seem possible to Faramir that any one in Gondor could rival Boromir, her of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower; and of like mind was Boromir” (1032).

Actually

I take it back

Never say never get to see because in the council of Elrond, Boromir literally shows us his relationship with his brother and what kind of person he is. 

“ Therefore my brother, seeing how desperate was our need, was eager to heed the dream and seek for Imadris; but since the way was fully of doubts and danger, I took the journey upon myself,” showing that he willingly put himself in danger to protect his little brother (The Fellowship of the Ring 239).

The reason I bring this up is because I don’t think critics look at what Boromir actually says and does through out the book. I literally don’t understand where or how they would even perceive this as an ulterior motive or that he does anything with ill intent. AT THIS POINT THERE IS NOTHING THAT SUGGEST HE MIGHT BE. BECAUSE LITERALLY EVERY ACTION BOROMIR TAKES IS TO PROTECT SOMEONE ELSE

 Like maybe they take the first description of Boromir to be negative:

“a tall man fair and noble face, dark-haired and grey-eyed, proud and stern of glance,”

But none of these are inherently negative. Proud and stern aren’t negative words. Proud doesn’t become negative until you pair it with the action of taking the ring from Frodo and THATS ASSUMING that he’s taking it for himself to use and that he himself wants power.

BUT HE DOESN’T- and we’ll get to why later

OR maybe they’re trying to take what Faramir has to say about his brother to the extreme end: 

“‘And this I remember of Boromir as a boy, when we together learned the tale of our sires and the history of our city, that always it displeased him that his father was not king. “How many hundreds of years needs it to make a steward a king, if the king returns not?” he asked. […] Alas poor Boromir. Does that tell you something of him?’

‘It does,’ said Frodo. ‘Yet always he treated Aragorn with honour.’

‘I doubt it not,’ said Faramir. ‘If he were satisfied of Aragron’s claim, as you say, he would greatly reverence him. But the pinch had not yet come. They had not yet reached Minas Tirith or become rivals in her wars” (The Two Towers 655 ).

Which I’m gonna be honest is fair assessment.  But like Boromir’s asking these questions 1. as a kid, and as I myself was a child who hated incompetency, ITS CONFUSING AND FRUSTRATING TO BE DOING ALL THE WORK AND NOT GET THE CREDIT? (RIGHT NOW I’M LOOKING AT PEOPLE WHO REPOST FAN ART WITHOUT THE CREDIT- I WILL FIND YOU AND SMITE YOU)

but anyway, yeah you know what that question about kingship tells me- HE WANTS TO KNOW WHERE THE FUCKING KING IS???? Like thats not inherently a greed thing- Only if you’re looking at it from like a religious standpoint and blah blah blah Catholic teachings about- but again

Then good boy Frodo looking out for him, I’m gonna cry, points out the obvious- that Boromir respected Aragorn, and Faramir has the nerve to say- yeah but wait until the group project falls apart- then see what happens

and let me just say

Faramir

sir

my boi

YOU CLEARLY HAVE BEEN LUCKY ENOUGH TO HAVE A GOOD TEAM FOR YOUR GROUP PROJECT BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU. IF ARAGORN WENT IN THERE AND THINGS STARTED GOING WRONG AND PEOPLE STARTED DYING OF COURSE BOROMIR WAS GOING TO BE PISSED- LIKE THEY WAITED HOW LONG FOR WHAT????

It’d be like if someone you didin’t know came over to your house told you not to make dinner in your own house, that they knew their way around the kitchen- WHEN THEY DON’T KNOW YOUR’RE ALLERGIC TO PEANUTS, proceed to start a fire while trying to fry up some chicken, and then saying they’ve got it under control, but the fire dept can’t put out your oven. I mean thats worst case scenario.

I’m sorry but just the thought of someone I know/am related to coming into my room and touches my goddamn light switch gives me anxiety- BOROMIR HAD TO TRUST THIS STRANGER WITH HIS COUNTRY 

But like the movie tries to get you to agree with the line of thinking, that Boromir is about himself and doing it to glorify himself. take THIS SCENE

You know the one, that shot in Rivendell and Boromir is exploring on his own and casually picks up the sword, you know THE SWORD and kinda low key plays with it for a hot minute- you know, the way you walk by the nerf swords at a walmart and you pick one up to wack your bro with it, but then you remember you’re 23 and he’s 18 and taller than you now so he’ll beat the shit out of you if you start shit. But anyways, Boromir picks up the sword and cuts his finger, is amazed that its still sharp, and then puts it back only to have it teeter off and he walks away quickly like nothing happened. If you’re a small brain critic you’ll see this scene and say “Ah yes, in picking up Narsil Boromir displays a desire for power for himself, and in cutting his finger it shows that this desire is his ultimate demise. He might think he’s ready for power and deserves more, but by walking away he shows that he’s actually irresponsible guffaw” I demand you go back and read that in your guadiest accent. But hear me out. Remember that nerf sword you picked up in the toy aisle, instead of being the grimlin you know you are deep in your soul, you take a few practice swings for your audition fantasy and put it back and start walking away just to realize that the walmart employee had been watching you the whole time and the whole bin of plastic and foam swords comes tumbling down bring with it a Hot Wheels track and collectible cars, and you just look at the employee, and they just look at you, and then you brain just short circuits  and so you keep walking down the aisle away and laugh cry across the store because you don’t know what the fuck just happened. And thtas the energy that scene gives to me.

But I’m getting away from it all because the real arguement against the way this scene is framed is one question he poses right before he attacks Frodo:

“What could not Aragorn do?”  ( The Fellowship of the Ring 389). 

He makes a big speech here about Frodo giving up the ring, but he doesn’t talk about him using it himself, instead he wonders, What would Aragorn be capable of?

Does that sound like a question someone crazed with a drive for power would ask?

I don’t think so

Why even mention Aragorn if he wanted it for himself right?

We’re dissect the fuck out it in the next part don’t you worry.

I think I’m almost done

[brightbeautifulthings]

The Guinevere Deception by Kiersten White

"He had advised her to fight as a queen. But that meant not being able to fight at all in this terrible world of men."

Year Read: 2019

Rating: 5/5

Context: I received a free e-ARC through NetGalley from the publishers at Random House/Delacorte Press. Trigger warnings: death, violence, self-injury, severe injury, blood, poison, bug horror, spiders, abduction, threats, sexism, possible transphobia (characters are never explicitly identified as trans, though interpretations are possible, and one is maligned when their gender is discovered).

About: Princess Guinevere has come to Camelot to marry King Arthur, famed for his goodness and for casting magic out of the fabled city. But magic is difficult to banish for good, and Arthur has kept ties with his old ally, Merlin, who senses an impending magical threat to the kingdom. Guinevere--whose true identity has been kept secret, even from herself--has been sent to protect Arthur and Camelot. Navigating the roles of queen and protector, Guinevere discovers that the restless magic stirring outside the kingdom's borders may not be the biggest threat--it may already be inside the city's walls.

Thoughts: This is my first Kiersten White novel, but it won't be my last. I'm fond of Camelot retellings, but like with Oz stories, I've never found one outside of a TV screen that I found worth coming back to more than once. Thanks to The Guinevere Deception, I stand corrected. In short, I loved everything about it, which means I probably can't be trusted to do anything but gush for the rest of this review. First and foremost, White is a beautiful writer, capable of capturing both the depth of her characters and the quiet loveliness of her world in a way that looks effortless. I loved her style, and I'd read more of her novels just for that. As a whole, I like how much the book emphasizes female characters, how they defend and save each other, and how power isn't limited to physical strength (but some of them have that too!).

I've always thought Guinevere was more complex than most adaptations give her credit for, and White's Guinevere finally brings some well-deserved depth to the character. Her history is appropriately murky, so much that even she doesn't fully understand who she is or where she comes from. Her loyalty to Arthur is admirable, and her commitment to protecting him is no less fierce for having to be kept entirely a secret. I've read some reviews complaining about the crisis of identity she has toward the middle of the novel, but I loved that as well. First, I think it's absolutely necessary to the mythology of the Guinevere character that she tries to fit herself into the role of queen, even at the cost of her own identity. If you've ever tried to fit yourself into a role in which you emphatically didn't belong, then you'll recognize the emptiness that comes from that loss of self. Second, can we just let our female heroes be weak sometimes? Can we let them make mistakes? Particularly when those mistakes are the turning point of some really excellent character development? Of course it's painful to watch. Of course we want better for her. Characters need to struggle, and Guinevere needs that particular struggle to be who she is by the end of the novel--an identity that, I suspect, is only beginning to transform over the course of the series.

If loving Guinevere wasn't enough, the rest of the characters are equally wonderful. This is how I always wanted to see my literary friends in Camelot. Arthur is an easy hero to like, warm and kind and always characterized by the ambivalence of being a good king and a good husband. Above everything, his relationship with Guinevere is a solid friendship, which comes with its own complications. Mordred is basically perfect. He's charming and elusive, always with a hint of darkness, and at any given point in the novel, I never had any idea whose side he was on--as it should be. White gives us just enough to make him likable and just enough to keep us doubting his motives (since Mordred is, traditionally, a villain in the Camelot story), and I was as drawn to him as Guinevere is. White puts her own twists on the Lancelot character as well, and I couldn't have loved it more.

Plot-wise, it's not as fast-paced as one might expect for all the magical threats and sword-fighting. I didn't mind because I was wallowing in character and beautiful sentences, but it might bother readers who prefer more action or suspense. There's a lot of downtime while Guinevere puts up magical protections and tries to unravel plots, but I enjoyed the forays into the magical world-building and all the secrets of Camelot. It's a lush magical world and, like Guinevere, I expect we've only scratched the surface of it. Most of the mysteries are quiet, with no major plot twists, but I prefer consistency to surprises. The ending has a sense of thematic closure, but nothing is really resolved. I wanted much more, and I'll be anxiously awaiting the next book in the trilogy (which doesn't even have a title yet 😭).

[starryeyedkoo]

All Too Familiar - Kim Taehyung

Genre: knight!au, e2l!au, angst, fluff

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: mentions of death and war, mature language, broken family, jealous tae, reader may be a little annoying until character development™

Word Count: 24.5k (i’m so sorry i got carried away)

Funny how the one person you were sure would completely confiscate your freedom brought you the closest you’d ever come to it. 

“What is this?” your father held in his hands a book with worn leather binding and yellowing pages. You felt your heart jump, unsure how he possibly could have found it. You scowled, thinking it must have been one of the servants that ratted you out.

“A book?” you lilted, blinking innocently.

“Yes, of course I know that, (y/n),” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I also know that this book is not from the palace library.” His voice became increasingly more accusing, and you found it harder and harder to keep a straight face, letting your guiltiness be known to the naked eye. “You went out into town again, didn’t you?” he bellowed.

“I wore a cloak and hid my face, and I only went to the little library down in the village. It’s not far from here. I was gone for at most an hour!” you defended. You should have known you would get caught one of these days, but you would rather have to apologize rather than never experience it. The little town outside the walls called to you. You longed for more than these stone walls, yet in all your years, you had only seen a minute fraction of the world outside.

“Do you know how much could happen in an hour? It’s too dangerous! How many times do I have to tell you—”

His lecture was interrupted by a man wearing a knight’s uniform tearing through the entrance to the throne room in a panic. “Your majesty!” he called out, voice strained as he knelt before the king.

“Speak,” your father commanded calmly.

“On behalf of Captain Lee, I must request reinforcements to be sent to the battle at Ambrosia Field,” the soldier explains, still panting from his frantic entrance. Your father’s face became solemn as he contemplated the next step to make. The soldier’s face became worried at his hesitance. “Please, forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Majesty, but our men are getting slaughtered out there as we speak.”

You felt a heavy pit form in your stomach as his voice shook when those words passed his lips. As the princess, you should be able to live on as if the tragedy your people were facing wasn’t happening with the safe and sheltered life you lived within the walls of the castle. You knew that’s what your people thought of you, too, as you heard several times before, some subjects openly expressing their opinions while out in town, but secretly you suffered with them.

“I understand. I will have troops sent for support there.” With that, the soldier bowed and expressed his desperate gratitude before leaving just as distressed as he had entered, rushing to send support to his comrades. Your father turned slowly back to you, the heavy weight of running a kingdom evident in the deep wrinkles engraved into his face. He spoke suddenly, breaking through the solemn silence, “That’s it. It can’t be delayed any longer. You’re no longer safe, (y/n).”

He started out of the room with a quick pace, and you followed behind just as fast. “What? Father, what do you mean?”

“I mean I’m recruiting someone that will serve as protection for you at all times.”

Your eyes became wide and you quickened your steps even more to step into his line of sight. “Father, you can’t do that! I don’t need protection! Please don’t do that!” you begged, but it was too late, for he was no longer listening to you, and your freedom as you knew it was as good as gone.

You felt pain everywhere. In your head as your hair was being pulled far too tightly into a ridiculous braided updo that was always described as “only fit for a royal.” In your abdomen as your ladies in waiting squeezed you into a horrendously tight corset and a constricting dress over the top of it. In your legs as you had been standing for hours to get into this tent of a skirt with a far too uncomfortable cage hanging around your hips to create the rounded shape around your lower half.

You felt pain everywhere. In your mind as you repeated and rehearsed all of the speeches and formalities you would have to give at the ceremony today. In your heart as you felt your last sliver of freedom that you barely had to begin with slipping away between your fingertips.

Today was the day your father would assign your very own appointed night. While it sounds glamorous and exciting to have your own person following you around and ensuring your safety and obeying your every word, you’ve had plenty of these people surrounding you for your entire life, and honestly, you didn’t see why even a single guard was necessary.

“You look beautiful, Your Highness.” One of your ladies stood before you, still making a few adjustments to the hem of your oversized skirt. This particular lady, however, was the closest to your age, only three years older than you, and she was the closest thing you had to a friend.

“I don’t feel beautiful, Jiwoo.” You rolled your eyes at the reflection staring back at your from the other side of your floor length mirror. Luckily, your ladies-in-waiting never tattled to your father when you were being less than pleasant as you were right now, so you were able to voice your frustrations around them. However, you wished they would sometimes speak back to you. It often felt as if you were speaking to a wall when you were talking to them because they were all hesitant to converse so casually with their princess, even Jiwoo most of the time. It was lonely. You continued to complain to them anyways, even if you knew you would get no confirmation that they were even listening in the first place. “Why do I need to have an appointed night? Nothing ever happens here in the castle! The biggest worry I have around here is spilling my drink on one of my favorite dresses!”

“Well, His Majesty believes it is necessary, so it must be done,” Jiwoo speaks carefully as she continues to fiddle with the frills on your sleeve. You only huffed out in annoyance and silently waited to finally step down from the stool on which you were standing to make your way to the ceremony, long-awaited by many—long-dreaded in your case.

The walls of the castle ballroom were ornately decorated for such a special occasion, with banners draped across their gilded lines, and the floor was filled with nobles and visitors lucky enough to see the royal family up close. You weren’t even sure why they bothered to come to a ceremony for something that had absolutely no effect on them. Perhaps for bragging rights to say they were even allowed to attend. Cheerful music played from a group of musicians to your right, in a stark contrast to your sour mood which you had to make an effort to hide from your subjects. You sat in your own throne, positioned to the left, slightly behind your father’s regal throne, which was also about twice the size of yours and much more ornate. After sitting in silence for an agonizing length of time, the royal advisor whispered to your father. The king then stood and all of the excited chatter of the audience died down and directed their undivided attention towards him. “As you all know, our kingdom is at war,” his voice boomed throughout the enormous room, his statement causing a small rise of chatter from the people. “Because times such as these can potentially be dangerous, I have decided to give my daughter, your future queen, a protector that I believe is skilled enough to defeat any who may dare approach her with ill will, and who is loyal enough to lay down his life for his princess. Today,” he paused, looking back to where you sat, motioning with his hand for you to take a place standing beside him, “he will be knighted and assigned as Princess (y/n)’s very own appointed knight.”

Although you couldn’t feel more down as the time continued to approach, you kept your chin held high and maintained your regal image you had been trained for so long to uphold. A short man with a horn then blew to once again silence the growing murmurs of the crowd, all wondering who this knight could be. The same man lowered his trumpet and announced, “Let the procession begin.”

With that, the music resumed, but this time it had a slower, more official tone to it to draw attention to the gravity of the situation. Though people were excited, this was only happening because there was a very real possibility of danger within the walls of the kingdom. One by one, pairs of knights walked in step with one another down the aisle towards you and your father. When they reached the end, they lowered themselves onto one knee and bowed to their ruler before taking their place to the sides of the aisle. Finally, after what must have been at least thirty pairs of knights, a single boy walks down the aisle, a stone cold, stoic expression donned upon his face. To the surprise of everyone who finally caught a glimpse of the to-be-knighted boy, he looked to be almost the same age as you, and he was still dressed in common training garb with dark blond hair and intense eyes.

You had heard things about this boy when you secretly listened into the maids gossip while they worked, believing no one else was around. They had said that he was only a year older than you, and he was still in training to become a knight, but he had shown great potential, so he had been chosen specifically by your father for this position, and they continued to chat about a plethora of other good things about his skill. However, you had also heard that he was rumored to be bold and could even be considered brash by some, and that he really couldn’t take things seriously at times and he really didn’t give a damn about his miraculous swordsmanship in comparison to the other trainees around him.

However, you never could have guessed he would possess these characteristics from the dignified composure he showed. Just as the other knights before him had done, he dropped onto one knee before the king, keeping his head bowed and a hand placed over his heart. You continued to watch the mysterious boy as your father retrieved the Knighting sword, but much to your bewilderment, he had the nerve to lift his gaze from where it focused on the ground to look into your eyes. It was already considered quite rude for a noble of a lower class to make eye contact with you, but for a trainee who had not even been knighted yet, a commoner, to meet your eyes was unheard of. He could be imprisoned just for that if you so wished. You felt your cheeks heat up and hoped it was not visible to him or the countless people watching, who strangely did not seem to notice what scandal had just occurred before their eyes. He simply smirked at your baffled reaction before returning his gaze to the floor as the King faced him with a sword in hand.

Your father then relayed a multitude of oaths that the boy swore by that you didn’t bother to listen to. Instead, you focused on the face of the boy kneeling before you. You would be lying if you said you weren’t offended. It wasn’t that you truly believed that others should be unable to meet your eyes, it was the fact that it was the first time someone had actually done it. It felt so foreign, yet somehow relieving. The more you thought about it actually, the more it intrigued you.

“Then having sworn these solemn oaths, know now that I, the King, by right of arms, do dub you with my sword, and by all that you hold sacred, true, and holy... Once for Honor... Twice for Duty... Thrice for Chivalry... Arise, Sir Taehyung!” your father announced just as an explosion of applause and shouts of excitement arose from the crowd as the new knight stood before them. However, the ceremony was not yet over until he was assigned specifically to you. “Sir Taehyung,” your father took your hand leading you down a step and placing it into your newly appointed knight’s hold, “I hereby declare that you will defend the princess with your life.”

Taehyung lifted your hand in his and placed a chaste and gentle kiss to your knuckles, but once again, he lifted his eyes to meet your own, leaving you breathless as his lips met your hand at the same time as his pupils focused on your own. It only lasted a split second, however, and you were sure no one else had seen once again.

After a beat of intense silence, a unified shout of joy ripped through the crowd in celebration of the exciting news of a new and special type of night. You stayed for a moment, putting on your best smile and gracefully waving to your subjects. Finally, it was time for you to leave. “Sir Taehyung, would you please escort me to my quarters?” you asked, turning towards the excited new knight.

“It would be my pleasure,” he agreed, bowing his head and waiting for you to take the lead. You didn’t even attempt to hide the roll of your eyes, which your father caught, causing him to clear his throat and give you a warning look. You gave a dramatic sigh, losing your regal posture as you slouched your shoulders and walked away with a pout.

The two of you suffered an unbearably silent walk to the other side of the castle where your room was located. When you finally reached your destination, Taehyung stepped in front to open the door for you, and while it seemed as if he may have been trying to act as properly as he could, you could see right through it and your eyes rolled back once more as you brushed past him. He began to laugh, but covered his mouth with his fist, lazily attempting to pass it off as a cough. “Well, Princess, looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“Yes, unfortunately I am,” you muttered under your breath, although you secretly wished that your knight would hear. You faced away from him as he walked through the doorway a few feet behind you, just before you heard the heavy wooden door slam as it did when someone who was unfamiliar with it let it fall behind them. You turned and found him standing in front of it, scanning and observing your room which you were sure was much bigger and more luxurious than any place he had been able to sleep in before. “What are you doing?” you questioned, your eyes flicking between him and the floor between the two of you. “You shouldn’t be in here. These are my private quarters.”

“Well my job is to keep an eye on you at all times, isn’t it?” You scoffed and a very obvious blush grew on your face. “You sure like to let your mind wander, don’t you, Princess?” He said with a smirk evident on his face as he walked the perimeter of your room until he stood before your sizable window, looking out on the expansive castle gardens and the towns just beyond the wall that separated them from the castle’s property. His hands connected behind his back as he observed the sights. “This is a beautiful view,” he mused, suddenly changing the subject.

You were caught off guard by the sudden softness of his voice. You lessened the distance between the two of you so you could see what he was talking about. The garden was in full bloom with a conglomeration of vibrantly colored flowers, and the sun was shining unusually bright. From the feeling it gave off, you never would have guessed there was a war going on just outside the border. “I suppose it is,” you contemplated. “I’ve never really paid much attention to it.”

He gasped. “If I could see something as beautiful as this everyday, I’d never take my eyes off of it.” His sudden sweet words left you speechless for reasons unknown and you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of him. It was just more than anything you would have expected from someone like him. “There wasn’t some type of hidden meaning behind that if that’s what your thinking,” he stated, his smirk returned within seconds after he caught you staring. “I know I’m irresistible, but I’m just your knight. Don’t get the wrong idea, Princess.” He choked back a laugh, and your face flushed with embarrassment which soon turned to anger.

“That is not what I was thinking! Now get out!” you shouted, gripping him by the shoulders and practically dragging him out the door. Just after you slammed the door in his face, which still had no sign of remorse for what he had said, you added through the closed door, “And it’s ‘Your Highness’ to you!” You stomped over to your bed, flopping down face first into a pillow and groaned. You had to get rid of him.

“Father?” You knocked on the large wooden door at the entrance to your father’s quarters. You heard a hum from the other side signalling you to enter. You quietly slid through the door, finally free of your knight who had been following you like a moth to a flame when you told him to wait behind because you were going to speak with the king.

Your father was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, reading a book, turning his head to look at you when you entered. “What is it, (y/n)?”

You took tentative steps toward him, not sure how to begin your appeal. “It’s about Sir Taehyung,” you paused fiddling with your fingers. “I just don’t think he’s the right person for the job. Also, the guards stationed around the palace serve as good protection, so I don’t think having a personal knight is necessary.”

The king sighed, closing the pages of his book and placing it onto the table beside him. “He is a perfectly capable knight, and it calms my heart knowing that you are safer with him around. I’m sorry that you’re unhappy with the arrangement, but it is necessary.”

“But is it?” you talk back.

He gives you a stern glare for your offhand speech with him. “It is. I won’t discuss this any longer.” He picked up his book and began to read once again in attempts to make you give up your attempts to persuade him.

You regretfully made your way outside his room back into the castle corridors, where you found a certain blond-headed boy waiting for you. You paused in your tracks when his gaze met yours. “What are you doing out here? I told you to wait behind,” you reprimanded, crossing your arms as if talking to a child. It was beginning to feel that way, after all.

“I was waiting to escort you to your next destination, Princess—” he cut himself off by clearing his throat, although it was painfully obvious to be fake, “excuse me—Your Highness.” He corrected himself with an exaggerated bow, making your blood boil at his mockery. You chose not to satisfy him by giving him a reaction, so you simply stomped ahead of him and walked ahead. He caught up to just a few steps behind you as he began interrogating you, “So what was that little secret meeting about?”

“It’s private business. You have no need to know.” You turned your chin up at him.

You could practically hear the mischief in his voice when he spoke his next few words, feigning innocence, “You were trying to get rid of me, weren’t you?”

You were unable to hide your eyes widening from shock at his amazing deduction skills. “How did you—?”

He let out a chuckle at your bewilderment. “Those doors may be heavy, but they’re not sound proof.”

Your mouth gaped in shock as you looked bewildered around the room as if asking the nonexistent other people in the hallway, Can you believe this guy? “So you were eavesdropping? On the king? Well! I don’t think he’d be very happy to hear about this, but telling him would simply be the right thing to do, so it must be done!” you reasoned, spinning on your heel, practically sprinting back in hopes you could finally be rid of this leech of a knight.

He was calm, however, not making a move from where he stood, only calling out to you, “Are you sure about that? Don’t want to make dear old dad angry, now do we?” There was a certain bitterness in his voice that drew your attention from your previous excitement, practically giving you whiplash at his sudden 180 degree change of tone. You stopped where you were, only a few steps away from your father’s bedroom door, listening for what else the knight would say. “He gets a little too angry sometimes, doesn’t he?” All jesting nature had disappeared from his once carefree face and your eyebrows raised at his accusation.

“How…” You looked between him and the door. Your lips were parted and ready to speak, but no words came forth. You weren’t sure how he had been able to convince you, but you found yourself heeding his advice and turning away from your father’s quarters, taking only one last glance back to the door. Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you slowly walked back to meet him where he silently waited for you down the hall, eyeing him warily as you passed him by. You had to be careful with this one; not only was he a master with his sword, but it also seemed he was brilliant with his brain.

“I’m going for a ride,” you said to Taehyung over your shoulder from where you sat side-saddled on your horse, reigns already in hand. The sun shone brightly and you wanted nothing more than to breathe in some fresh air, so you decided you would go horseback riding, although since you would have to leave the confines of the guarded walls to do so, you couldn’t even dream of getting away with going without your knight. “Please stay a good distance back if you insist on following me.” And with that you flicked your wrists, causing the horse to take off before Taehyung had even finished mounting.

Once some distance had been made between you and the man following behind, you rubbed your horse’s neck to calm him and slow him to a trot. You took the few moments of silence and solitude to appreciate the landscape around you of the forest, with its green leaves and tangled vines, you had not been allowed to venture into for years now. You suppose that was one perk to having an appointed knight. Despite how pestering it was, it gave you the opportunity to do things you couldn’t before as long as he was with you. When you could finally hear the hooves of Taehyung’s horse, you had your horse speed up a bit once again.

You decided it was best to ignore him, so you continued to enjoy the scenery, from the rushing waters of the creek flowing by to your right to the towering trees above that sheltered you from the harsh summer sun. Above the tranquil sound of water, you heard the sound of a branch of a tree snapping, but didn’t think anything of it until a large branch came falling down just a few feet in front of you and your horse.

Before you had any time to react on your own, your horse did the job for you, abruptly pushing onto its back hooves and you were bucked off, falling to the side as the horse attempted to turn and run the other way, fortunately from the way you were thrown off, you landed feet first and did not have to worry about serious injury to your back or somewhere worse. Unfortunately, after you had a few seconds to process what had just happened and the numbing shock finally wore off, you felt tremendous pain in your left ankle.

Taehyung quickly dismounted from his horse and ran over to help you, calling out in concern, “Princess!” He reached you and grabbed hold of your arm to help you up, but you pushed his hands away and tried to stand on your own, but the feeling in your ankle only became worse and you immediately sat back onto the ground. He crouched down and looked you over. “Are you okay? Is something hurt?”

You gritted your teeth, pointing to where you were injured, “It’s my ankle.” Taehyung looked between you and your foot a few times before placing a hand under your back and beneath your knees to carry you to the royal infirmary.

After the doctor had seen you, informed you it was a sprain, and wrapped your ankle up, you sat dejectedly on the examination table, kicking your uninjured foot back and forth. Taehyung finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual, “We should probably get you back to your room.”

Before he could even make a move, you began to push yourself off the table, willing to land on your wounded ankle if it meant getting out of what you were afraid would happen next, but you weren’t fast enough. “Woah!” Taehyung quickly grabbed your shoulders, pushing you back away from the edge of the table before he began to support your weight.

“It’s alright. I’ll walk by myself,” you insisted, squirming to escape his grasp.

“Sorry, Princess, no can do. The doctor said you can’t put any weight on that ankle for the next several days.” His voice still possessed its signature lightness, but his face contrasted it, lips forming a thin line and brows drawn together in worry. You continued to give him trouble until he finally grabbed both of your wrists and he looked up to you, eyes wide as they met yours accompanied by turned down brows and lips. “Stop,” he chided sternly, the sudden depth in his voice causing a shiver to run down your spine and put a stop to all movement.

When he finally had you under control, he turned his back to you and bent down so he could carry you on his back. His hands slipped under your thighs to support you and suddenly everything felt much more scandalous than it was. You wrapped your arms around his neck and reluctantly rested your head on his shoulder. “I guess I should say thank you,” you sighed. “I made a really dumb decision.”

“Yeah, well, this is what happens when you try to make my job difficult.” You could hear that grin on his face.

Your remorse for the burden of him having to carry you suddenly vanished. “I was just trying to say thank you! Why couldn’t you just say ‘you’re welcome?’” you shouted in irritation, your voice echoing off the walls of the empty corridor.

He turned his head back to you, showing you a cheeky grin. “I guess I like to make things difficult for you, too.” You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the little quirk up of your lips. He was still looking over his shoulder—the one on which you rested your head—and you suddenly realized how uncomfortably close your faces were to each other. You hastily straightened yourself up, jolting so much that Taehyung almost dropped you. Your face burned like never before now and you decided that it would be best to keep your head up for the rest of the walk, or else you may be subjected to the same view of Taehyung’s deep and captivating eyes.

You were scratching an ink pen across some parchment while seated at your desk, sipping on a cup of warm tea and thoroughly relishing in the silence of just you and the soft rain against the window. It was the late afternoon, just dark enough to rely on candlelight to work at your desk with the wonderful burning scent permeating the air of the large room. It felt as if recently you had been getting less and less time to have for yourself, which usually wouldn’t bother you so much since you were always cooped up in your room when you were younger, but you had no time to destress, so you used your time to relieve all the tension you’ve been feeling recently thanks to a certain someone. You heard a knock on the door, which you purposely ignored in hopes that the visitor would get the message and go away. Without bothering to wait for a response, however, said person waltzed through the door without a care in the world, revealing himself to be none other than Sir Taehyung. “Good afternoon, Princess. Sorry I wasn’t around all morning, I had some mandatory training.”

“Don’t be sorry. It was extremely pleasant,” you mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear, gathering your pile of papers into a messy stack and shoving them hurriedly into your desk drawer as he neared you, peering over your shoulder.

He brushed off your blow to his ego with ease, instead changing the subject, “What have you got there?” His eyes followed the nervous movement of your hands.

“It’s nothing,” you explained curtly, not bothering to try hiding your annoyance. “Please just mind your own business.” You waved him off, locking your drawer and creating distance between the two of you as you felt him hovering, although still limping on your injured ankle.

He became strangely serious in a mere few seconds, his brows furrowing and the edges of his lips turning downwards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Princess.”

“Yeah, well you sure have a knack for that,” you retorted sarcastically taking a seat on the edge of your bed. You glanced to Taehyung and he now seemed pretty peeved, and you began to wonder if you were taking things too far.

“Look, I’m just trying to be friendly,” he justified.

You should take that as a valid reason to lay off of him, but for some reason you were so angry. Maybe you weren’t necessarily angry at him, but you were angry with your situation, and he was the easiest to blame, so that’s exactly what you did. “Well, stop. I don’t want to be friends. I don’t want you around at all.”

As you felt the air in the room suddenly become strained, this time, Taehyung remained silent, which was a rare occurrence since he always had to have the last word. You easily could have stopped there, but there was no telling when you would be able to shut yourself up now. “But no. You’re always around, trying to make my life miserable, I’m sure. I can’t stand it!”

He scoffed, finally losing the last bit of his cool composure, becoming angry. You should have known his facade would come crashing down sooner or later since this was the only manner in which you had spoken to him since he was knighted a little over two weeks beforehand, and he was probably getting a little tired of it by now. “How do you think I feel? The only reason I’m even here is because I’m just doing my job! I miss my friends back in the barracks. I’d much rather spend my days with them than with a stuck up princess like you!”

“Stuck up?” you questioned, offended, whether you had a right to be or not, you dismissed.

He took a step forward, letting his sincerity be shown. “Yes. You’re a stuck up brat. You get anything you could possibly want, and yet the only words I’ve ever heard from you are complaints! Trust me, no one would willingly spend any time around you!” You couldn’t hide the fact that what he just said had actually hurt you. It all went back to the fact that the townspeople frequently badmouthed you, and your ladies-in-waiting never spoke back. Was he right? “Do you know how difficult you are to put up with?” His voice becoming louder by the second, only making your desire to fight back even stronger.

“Well, same goes to you! You’re a handful yourself, with your nosiness and all that!” you shouted back at him, pointing a finger at his face to stress your annoyance. “I’m glad there’s at least one thing we can agree on!”

“Yeah? What’s that?” he sarcastically expressed wonder, although he truly didn’t what the two of you could possibly share.

“We both hate this arrangement!” you yelled.

“Yeah alright, whine all you want, but you have no idea what actual hardships are! You’ve been served on a silver platter your entire life! You’ve never had to do a goddamn thing for yourself! I’m surprised you even know how to breathe without someone helping you do that, too!” You defensively crossed your arms over your chest. You really did have everything handed to you, though not necessarily by choice. “I’ve had to work so hard to get where I am today!”

“Oh, please. Everyone knows you’re a prodigy.”

“You know nothing!” You wanted to throw his insults back at him, but with the way his breathing became uneven, you decided that retorting might be a mistake. “My father was one of the most skilled and most noble knights anyone had ever known. I admired him and I wanted to be just like him. So badly. All I ever wanted was to make him proud, so I worked my ass off day and night to even be considered as a trainee. Then, you know what? Your fool of a father sent him off to war and got him killed!” he bellowed in rage, causing you stop short at his sudden violent shout.

He was seething and his hands were tightly clenched at his sides as he no longer looked you in the eye, his eyes instead focusing on the far corner of the room. “And now he’ll never see his son be just like him.” His face softened and his hands let loose as the tension in his muscles began to dissolve.

You were frozen in place, already beginning to feel terribly guilty for blaming him for your troubles when it wasn’t even his fault, and then you had to discover this tragic past of his. You knew you shouldn’t speak and just let Taehyung have some space to think, but you couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth. “I… I’m sure he’s very proud of you… wherever he is.” Your voice was small and timid, but you hoped maybe he would find some sort of comfort in your words.

Instead, his expression hardened once again, forcing a cold stare to meet your gaze. “Yeah, well, he’s not here, so I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?” His intimidating eyes didn’t leave yours for a few moments until he finally turned on his heel without a word and left, slamming the door behind him.

Four tense days had passed since Taehyung lost his composure in front of you like that, and you hadn’t seen much of him since. You couldn’t blame him, after all, since all you had been trying to do since he was assigned to you was just that: drive him away. Now he hadn’t spoken a word to you recently, instead opting for sitting outside your bedroom door and keeping a good distance away from you at all times when he had to accompany you somewhere, which was only around the palace so far since you couldn’t even think about asking him to take you anywhere else with the stiff and strained atmosphere that followed wherever the both of you went. Now that he wasn’t around anymore and you had finally achieved your initial goal, you realized how big of a mistake that was. You were never looking for it to become this bad, and as much as you hate to admit it, you miss his teasing and his jokes and his sly remarks. As much as they made your blood boil then, you never took the time to realize that it was a breath of fresh air, as no one else would even dare speak to you the way he did. And it was… freeing. Funny how the one person you were sure would completely confiscate your freedom brought you the closest you’d ever come to it.

These thoughts had been occupying your mind for days now, but at this point, they were keeping you awake. You had been pacing throughout your room, your limp finally manageable enough to get around easily on your own, lower lip caught between your teeth, for what felt like an hour contemplating whether you should sneak out to get some air like you were so tempted to do. Finally, you came to the conclusion you weren’t getting any sleep anyway, so you threw on your cloak and a pair of shoes. You tiptoed over to you door and carefully pulled it open, wincing at the way it creaked as you tried to open it slowly and silently in hopes of not waking you night guard who usually fell asleep on the job. When you peaked out of the crack of the door, you saw no one. Your eyes scanned downward as they sensed a presence from below and you found your guard sitting against the wall. Except it wasn’t your night guard. It was Taehyung.

His head still rested against the wall, but his eyes slid over to you now standing just outside your room, drooping as he fought against what seemed like extreme drowsiness to keep them open. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you sleeping?” you whispered. Taehyung was your knight during the day, but at night, he still went back to sleep in the barracks. He was human. He couldn’t be around at all times. So why was he here now?

“Your night guard got thrown out after he was caught sleeping on the job, so I’m taking his position until he is replaced,” he mumbled. You almost laughed at how predictable the termination of your night guard’s job was. Dismissing that, you knelt down next to him and he gave a curious look.

“You must be exhausted,” you sympathized, unable to hide the worry in your voice.

He breathed out a heavy sigh, standing up, surprising you with his sudden energy. “No, not really. I’m okay.” He gave a tight smile. “Now what are you doing up so late? And where were you going dressed like that?” he interrogated, giving a pointed look at your cloak and shoes, making it obvious you were planning to leave the building.

“Nowhere!” you fibbed, a tight smile stretching across your face. Taehyung saw right through it though, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows knowingly. “Alright, fine. I was going to sneak out tonight. I couldn’t sleep and I needed some air.” You chose to leave out the man in front of you was the very reason for your sleeplessness and anxieties, especially because you weren’t even sure why. An idea popped into your head while examining his face, which he probably caught you doing, but you changed the subject quickly. “I’d still like to go. That is, if you’re willing to accompany me.”

He looked bewildered at your ridiculous idea. “Now? At this time of night? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he worried, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“Please? I just want to go for a walk in the garden. We won’t even be leaving the castle walls!” you begged, but he still looked unconvinced, probably affected by how much he’d rather be sleeping at the moment. “Come on. It’ll be fine,” you grabbed his hand and pulled him after you, and to your surprise, he went along silently.

After cautiously sneaking past more guards who would completely disapprove of your little midnight escapade and convincing the more lenient ones to let you pass, you finally reached the entrance to the royal garden, marked by an impressive flowering archway.

The night air possessed a bit of a chill, causing Taehyung to dig his hands into the pockets of his pants while you wrapped your cloak around you tighter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would be cold. We can go back inside if you want,” you suggested catching the slight chatter of his teeth.

“No, it’s alright,” he insisted, shaking his head. “I’ve never been here before anyway, so I’d like to see it.”

Your surprise was easily showcased in your expression, causing Taehyung to chuckle at the comic widening of your eyes. It never occurred to you that most people didn’t have the pleasure of wandering these gardens like you often did, and quite frankly, took advantage of. You forced yourself to return to a neutral state, calmly glancing at your surroundings, characterized with patches of multicolored flowers lining the stoney walkways. “Well, I’m glad that I’m the one who has the honor to show you around.” You flashed him a quick smile before picking up your pace and tilting your head to have him follow along.

Although you were slowed down by your still-healing ankle, Taehyung was patient and let you lead the way, completely endeared by your childlike enthusiasm. You led him along the widest cobblestone path to a wooden bridge stretching from one side of a creek running through the garden to the other. When the both of you reached the middle of the bridge, you sighed leaning on your elbows on the railing, looking over into the water below. “Welcome to my favorite part of this garden.”

Taehyung would be lying if he said it wasn’t a little… underwhelming, but he assumed there must be a reason it gave you that sparkling, dreamlike look in your eyes. He followed your lead and leaned over the railing as well, looking down and being met with both of your reflections in the rippling water, easy to be seen thanks to the bright moonlight. After he was done studying the mirror image of the both of you side-by-side, he turned his attention to the several flowers resting atop the surface of the water. “Water lilies,” you spoke softly as he looked up to you meeting your gaze as you had already been looking for his reaction. “I know this really isn’t much, but I really love those flowers, so this bridge just became my favorite place.”

Taehyung continued to observe the scenery. “No, I think I get it,” he contemplated. “There’s something special about them, and that’s why you love them.” He let his gaze wander back to you, once again staring down at the white and pink petals in the water, and finished his thought without thinking, “They’re different… like you.”

Your face contorted into a hesitant laugh as you weren’t sure whether that was meant to be one of his jokes he often throws at you or not. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Taehyung tried to hide the panic he felt after letting his words slip, and he covered it up with a lighthearted chuckle. “Come on. We both know you’re not normal, Princess.”

If it had been a few days ago, you would have gotten angry with him because of a remark like that, but today, you were only able to laugh along with him, feeling relieved that you didn’t have to be upset with him all the time. However, one thing he said bothered you. “(Y/n),” you corrected softly.

Taehyung only tilted his head and slightly squinted his eyes, a question obviously on the tip of his tongue. “Call me (y/n) from now on.” His eyes shook with surprise. “The title princess really is just too much for me. I’m tired of being the princess. I want to be just (y/n) for once.”

He gave you what you thought was the first genuine smile you’d ever seen from him as he quietly agreed, “Okay.” You felt weight float off your shoulders knowing that right there, right then, you didn’t have any expectations to meet. It was just you, and him, and the moonlight’s beams on your favorite flowers below.

You shifted uncomfortably, hating to bring up the subject, but you knew you had to say it at some point. “I’m sorry for all the horrible things I’ve said to you by the way.” Taehyung shifted, resting his chin in his palm and facing you a bit more, a smile still dancing on his face despite you becoming more solemn. “I was never actually angry with you. I just thought I was.” There was so much more you wished to say, but the words wouldn’t form, so you let silence take the lead.

Taehyung didn’t respond verbally, but he gave a nod and an understanding smile that gave you enough assurance that you were forgiven.

You wanted to ask about one more thing that had been weighing heavily on you mind ever since you had argued with Taehyung. “By the way… did you mean what you said the other day?” he gives you a questioning look, signaling you to clarify. “That no one would actually willingly spend time with me? I guess that makes sense since the only person around here that I consider a friend… isn’t really a friend… and I don’t really talk to anyone.” You couldn’t prevent the tears that began to pool in your eyes as you finally acknowledge out loud the loneliness you’d just simply become accustomed to. “Well, except for you.” You let out a weak chuckle, the squint of your eyes pushing a stray tear to roll down your cheek.

Feeling guilty at his words whether he meant them that night or not, Taehyung reached out to you,  contemplating whether to wipe your tears, or grab your hand, or maybe that was too much. He retracted his hand. “No. I didn’t mean that. I was just angry. I’m sorry,” he spoke firmly but genuinely, hoping that you would believe him.

The two of you let silence fill the space between you, which, you both noted, had somehow decreased exponentially from when you first arrived on the bridge. Hearing Taehyung let out another shiver, the cold of night still present, you suggested with a shy smile, still sniffling, “Let’s go back inside.”

You two successfully snuck yourselves back to the hallway just outside your bedroom door and you opened the door, prepared to be welcomed by the inviting comfort of your bed, but you stopped as Taehyung slumped against the wall once again, ready to resume his night guard duties. You wanted to slap yourself for the words that were about to escape you, but you couldn’t bare to leave him out there while you slept the rest of the night away. “Why don’t you come inside and get some sleep?” He gave you look to let you know you were just as insane as you sounded.

“Do you know what could happen to me if I got caught staying in the princess’ bedroom over night?”

You rolled your eyes, but also felt a blush creep onto your cheeks at the implications. “You can just sleep on the window seat—which is super comfortable by the way— and no one would ever know. And even if someone did find out, I could easily explain the situation. There’s no way you can be expected to stay out there all night with no sleep.”

While Taehyung’s rational side was giving him every signal for no, the soft call of sleep was louder than any alarm going off in his head, so he finally accepted your offer. You led him over to lay on the window seat, then you brought him a few extra pillows and a blanket. “Wait,” he suddenly voiced, causing you to stop in your tracks on the way to your own bed in search of sleep. “What if someone comes after you and I’m not awake to notice?” he worried, eyes widened.

You had to laugh at his innocence. “First of all, that won’t happen, but if it does, I’m sure you’ll wake up to protect me.” you smiled down at him, seemingly calming his nerves. You finally reached your soft mattress, tucking yourself into the silky sheets and resting your head on the fluffy pillows. “Goodnight,” you called across the room as you blew out the candle on your desk.

“Goodnight,” you heard him softly echo, sounding as if he’s already on the brink of sleep. You watched his outline lit up by the moonlight finally still and turned yourself over once you assumed Taehyung had gotten some rest for himself, eyes fluttering shut now that you finally had some peace of mind.

You had just finished up with a dress-fitting that you were suddenly called to early in the morning, which confused you since there was usually a reason for these things, but as far as you knew there was nothing special to have a new dress made for. Your ladies walked you back to your bedroom since you decided it would probably be a little inappropriate if Taehyung was around while you were being fitted. You reached your room and dismissed the two women following just behind you with a small nod and a polite smile.

You found Taehyung already waiting for you, sitting on the bench at the foot of your mattress, examining the cover of a book. “A Lover’s Temptation,” he drawled out, reading its title before giving you an openly judgmental stare. You gasped, rushing over to where he sat as he choked back a laugh at your blushing cheeks, wrestling the book from his hands as he fought to lift it out of your reach. You knew the two of you had become more comfortable around each other since that night in the garden, but this was just a bit too much. You finally pried it from his grip and playfully smacked him with it on the shoulder with a “Hey!” feigning annoyance, but giving him a genuine smile nonetheless. He mirrored with a gleaming grin of his own, leaning back onto his hands looking up at you.

You tucked the book back into its place in your mahogany shelves, turning around defensively crossing your arms over your chest with a pout. “Listen, I know it’s cheesy,” you defended, “but I was running out of things to read.”

“Running out?” he questioned with doubt, eyes traveling up and down your towering shelf filled to its full capacity with tightly-squeezed books, almost to the point that it looked as if it would fall apart if one more page were to be added. “You sure like reading, don’t you?”

“I do! And yes, I’ve already read all of those,” you stated matter-of-factly. “It’s easy when you spend as much time trapped in this castle as I do.”

The edges of Taehyung’s lips turned down in sympathy as he could hear the bitterness behind the laugh you covered it up with. “What about the palace library? Don’t they have anything to read?” he suggested.

“Oh, there’s plenty of books in there, alright,” you mused, “but they’re no good. Most of them are just historical records of the royal family.” You swiftly turned back to the shelf, searching through the multitude of titles. “Although, there was one book that I found in the library. It’s actually my favorite! It’s this tragic love story about—” you began veering off on a tangent until Taehyung cut it short.

The term “tragic love story” setting off an alarm in his head, causing him to cut you off, he groaned, “Please tell me it’s not Romeo and Juliet.”

“No way,” you laughed in disbelief, turning around with the book you were searching for in hand, cradled tightly to your chest. “That book is so unrealistic. It’s impossible to fall in love in one night. Love is patient. It takes time.” You let a shy smile slowly grow on your face, a gleam in your eye as you pondered about the realness and rawness of true love, the type you always dreamed about, reflected in your many hours invested in reading romance novels, cheesy or not. You hadn’t noticed it, Taehyung hadn’t even realized himself, but he couldn’t take his eyes off your beautiful lips and the way they formed your smile, and without knowing, it became one of his favorite sights.

You snapped out of your thoughts, blinking slowly and returning your attention to your conversation with Taehyung. “Anyways, it’s a story written hundreds of years ago by a court poet within this very castle. He fell in love with his princess, and she loved him back, but they couldn’t be together because she had to marry a prince. He wrote about his heartbreak and the pains of falling in love, and I can’t help but hurt every time I read it,” you explained sadly, knowing that one day you yourself would marry a prince, and now more than ever for some reason, you feared the prospect of falling in love with someone else. “Despite that, though, it’s a fantastic book. You really should read it.” You held the book out to him, a hopeful smile suddenly on display.

He waved his hand dismissively, not wanting to be rude, but completely uninterested. He’d much rather hear you talk about it once more. “Actually, I don’t read much.”

“Well, then, this is the perfect way to start! It’s simple and easy to understand, and it’s not long!” you insisted. Taehyung shook his head once more, trying to resist even though your excitement made it extremely difficult. “Please?” you asked one last time.

He sighed, finally giving in and taking the book you held out for him, “Fine.” Since when did he become so easily swayed by you? Of course, he wasn’t actually going to read it. He just said he would to see that smile on your face one more time.

Your father called you for a meeting in the throne room early in the morning only a few days after Taehyung had come to realize just how much that smile meant to him. He had tried his best calming your nerves on the way there as you knew that meetings so early in the morning never brought the best of news. Now you stood before your father, seated in his throne before you as per usual, however, what was out of the ordinary, were the several unfamiliar men standing to the side of him, seemingly waiting as well for your arrival. Taehyung, who had been close by your side just on the other side of the door, moved away from you and took his place standing by the door, waiting until you were ready to leave the room once again. You walked further into the room, but cast a glance back to him over your shoulder, and he smiled encouragingly, sensing your hesitance.

You finally stopped once you were standing before the steps up to the throne, nervously gazing up to your father, but still taking quick glances at the three men standing around him. He cleared his throat before speaking, “(Y/n), you’re 21 years of age now, and as you know, you have some responsibilities to fill now that you have come of age.” Suddenly your mouth ran dry in realization. This was why you were woken up so early without notice and forced into an unusually tight and uncomfortable dress. This was why you suddenly had so much more official work and training to complete. This was why you were mysteriously fitted for a new dress. For a ball. For a suitor’s ball. These men were suitors.

“One of those duties is marriage. I have chosen these three princes as candidates for you to marry. I expect you to treat them with hospitality during their stay here.” You always thought that when this moment came, you would only feel numb because you had imagined this scenario so many times in your head, but in actuality, it hurt and you wanted to scream and cry because for some reason you let yourself hope for one second that love might come to you instead of being forced into it. You had to hold your breath to keep from letting out a sob. You couldn’t lose your composure in front of these suitors, or else it could ruin everything. Instead, you took shallow breaths and kept your bottom lip between your teeth to hide its quivering. You only nodded. That was all you could bring yourself to do.

“These young men are princes from neighboring kingdoms. First is Prince Seokjin from the Kim Kingdom.” The tallest of the three, with wide shoulders and a handsome face, stepped forward, a polite and well-trained neutral expression on his features. He seemed several years older than you. As tradition goes, you held out your hand for him to press a kiss to your knuckles, despite how difficult it was to release the tight grip you had on your skirt that surely crumpled the expensive material.

“Next is Prince Yoongi of the Min Kingdom.” The man in the middle, the shortest of the three, stepped forward and did the same, pressing his lips to your knuckles, but his face was mysterious and unreadable.

“Lastly, Prince Hoseok from the Jung Kingdom.” The last man swiftly stepped forward and took your hand, holding a bit longer than the two princes before had done, stopping to look into your eyes, giving a charming smile. However there was a hint of worry or sympathy or something you couldn’t quite place in his eyes, and you assumed he could see right through your facade, making you wonder if it was as obvious to the other princes as well. He pressed a kiss to the top of your hand as well and stepped back, keeping his careful eyes trained on you.

“We will have a ball tomorrow night in order for you to meet them properly. After that, it is up to you to get to know them and make a decision,” your father concluded.

You breathed deeply through your nose hoping desperately that your voice would come across as steady. “I understand, Father. I will do so.” You forced a tight smile and nodded to each of the suitors before hastily turning on your heel, letting restrained tears fall just as your face had escaped their line of sight.

You saw Taehyung still waiting in his place, hands clasped behind his back and his usual stone cold expression donned on his face when working in front of your father. Whether it was to maintain an air of professionalism or to mask his secret hatred for your father, you weren’t sure, but you do know that today was the first time you saw the stone crack, his lips parting and his eyes following you intently as he observed the glistening on your cheeks.

You pushed the doors open yourself and walked up the stairs and through the lengthy hallways with silent tears, Taehyung following closely behind, not sure how to make it better. He knew it wasn’t part of his job to make it better, but he didn’t care because you weren’t just a job anymore. He cared about you, but that didn’t mean anything because he was just your knight and as much as it hurt him to accept, there was no way he could help you. All he could do was watch as his favorite smile crumbled before him, eroded away and replaced by bitter tears.

You reached your room and melted down, sitting on the soft mattress of your bed that usually brought comfort, but instead today, it felt as if you were falling straight through to the ground. Now that you were alone in your bedroom, just you and your loyal knight who still stood right beside you, yet not making a move, you could finally stop hiding. Letting go, a sob ripped through your chest so violently that you doubled over, hands gripping at the hair in the back of your head.

You felt a hesitant touch on your back and your hands came down and rested on your knees as you sat upright again. Before you knew it, the comfort of the warm palm was gone again. “Please don’t cry,” Taehyung whispered. He knew that’s not what you needed to hear, but that was all he said. That was all he could say for he felt he was already overstepping the boundary between princess and knight. Suddenly, his breath hitched in his throat as he felt your head nuzzle into his chest as you continued to cry, desperately gripping onto the material of his shirt. He knew he shouldn’t do what he so badly wished to do, but he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, so he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you even closer, trying his best just to do his job which was to protect you from the evil in this world, even if this evil was inescapable.

It was all far too familiar. The way you were constricted in a tight dress in a way that showed off your body in order to somehow impress while also staying modest. The way you looked at yourself in the mirror and saw the ghost of your hope hovering like a rain cloud over your head, occupied by miserable and tired eyes. It had been this way before, when you were preparing for Taehyung’s knighting ceremony, but somehow this was worse. Before, you were scared of losing freedom that you never really had. Now, you knew that after finally feeling liberation in the form of deep brown eyes and a rectangular smile, everything would really be snatched from right before your eyes. You weren’t exactly sure why your mind lingered on your knight when anxiety about your future marriage ensued. Taehyung was your friend. Surely, he would still be there after it was all over, right?

Speaking of the knight, you would not be seeing him until you arrived at the ball, and even when you were there, he would be serving as a regular guard since your father thought it be a bad idea to have someone lingering around while you were supposed to be spending time with the suitors. The thought made your frown deepen as you realized you would be stuck for hours making small talk with people you had no desire to know. However, Taehyung had promised you he would be there for you to go to when you were feeling anxious, which you were sure would happen in several instances tonight.

Jiwoo helped you down from the step stool, smoothing out the wide skirt of your gown one last time before leading you to the ballroom along with your other ladies-in-waiting. The ball had already started, but of course, you were going to arrive a bit late in order to make a grand entrance. This just so happened to be the exact opposite of what you wanted, knowing the moment you step foot inside the dance hall, all eyes would be on you, criticizing every move you made.

As the grand doors swung open and your presence was announced by the man with the staff by the door, it played out just as you expected. All heads turned towards you, scrutinizing gazes picking apart every part of your wardrobe, your actions, your composure. You gave a regal wave and carefully descended the stairs, met at the bottom by a gloved hand stretched out to take yours in its grasp. Your eyes followed the fingertips up to the face of the body they belonged to, finding the charming face of Prince Seokjin, smiling up at you as he helped you down the last few steps. He leaned in close, whispering in your ear, “Good evening, Princess. You look wonderful tonight.” You were still jittery from seeing the attendees had still not lost interest in your arrival, but the prince’s sudden proximity did nothing to help your nerves. “May I have this dance?” he requested, already leading you to the center of the marble floors.

The people watched for the first few steps of your dance before eventually returning to their own agendas, leaving just a few select eyes on you. As Prince Seokjin began to make small talk with you, you looked around observing the gazes you still felt were those of your father, of course, the two other princes observing closely from the edge of the room, and a few other extraneous sets of eyes from other partygoers. Seokjin talked about his and your kingdom's respective economies and how your marriage could possibly benefit the both of them while you scanned the room for one particular person, and finally you found him. He had been leaning against a decorative pillar and you could have sworn you caught his eyes flick away when you had found him. He looked bored, even borderline irritated, which you couldn’t blame him for as you were feeling the same way yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Seokjin, he had a pleasant air about him and a wonderful, regal smile. It was the fact that you knew just by how he spoke that he wasn’t interested in marrying you for love, but because it was his duty as soon-to-be-king of his land.

The song finally ended and the two of you parted after he gave a deep bow which you returned with a polite curtsy. You turned on your heel in order to make it to where you saw Taehyung standing before, but he was no longer there when you searched once again. Refraining from letting a confused pout show itself in front of all these important people, you decided to take a walk around and greet some guests. You conversed with some older dukes and duchesses, them asking about your plans for the future and you answering with a very complex and diplomatic version of ‘I don’t know.’

You began wandering around through the crowd once more, still keeping an eye out for your knight when the hem of your dress was suddenly caught behind you, making you stumble backwards as you continued to move forward. You felt a hand on your shoulder helping to steady you, and you followed it to find the face of Prince Yoongi. “My apologies, Princess,” he spoke softly once he helped you to stand up straight once again.

“That’s alright,” you insisted with a warm smile. “I’m surprised you’re the first to do that tonight. This dress is a bit difficult to avoid.” You gave a friendly laugh despite the atmosphere soon becoming awkward and stiff as the prince said nothing else even though you stood, expecting something more.

“I’m not going to ask you to dance, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” Your smile faltered, taken aback by his bluntness. “I don’t think either of us really want that.” He turned and ambled away while you mutter a soft and confused ‘thank you,’ although you weren’t really sure whether you should be thankful for that.

You sighed and finally gave in to going over to the food table, secretly hoping Taehyung maybe started camping out there halfway through the night when he inevitably got bored. He wasn’t there either, though, and you couldn’t help but let the fact that your heart sunk in your chest become evident in your entire body expression. After all, he had promised he would be there for you tonight, but here he was, nowhere to be seen when truly you needed him. You took a few glances around to make sure no one was looking before quickly downing a large gulp of one of the glasses of wine they had set out for guests, needing something to lift your spirits.  

“Hello, Princess!” Just as you thought you were safe, you heard a cheerful greeting from your right, causing you to choke on the drink you had hoped no one who catch you with. You put a hand over your mouth, ungracefully coughing as you turned to find Prince Hoseok beaming at you. He quickly began to look worried however, tentatively placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?”

You cleared your throat one last time before grinning up at him, unable to stop yourself from laughing at your own embarrassment, which he soon joined once he knew that you were okay. “I’m alright. I just can’t believe I got caught.”

“I can’t blame you. These things do tend to get a little boring,” he sympathized. “I’ve noticed you don’t seem to like crowds too much, either.”

“No, I can’t say that I do. These big formal events have never really been my thing,” you explained, earning an understanding nod from Hoseok.

“In that case, I’ll do you a favor and not ask you to dance.”

“You’re the second person to tell me that tonight!” you laughed. “I guess no one wants to dance with me,” you said, faking a pout.

Hoseok’s face became panicked and he quickly took back his statement. “No, I didn’t mean that! I’d love to dance with you, really! I just thought—”

You stopped him short in his frantic apology, laughing, “I was kidding! Please don’t make me dance.”

His tensed shoulders released as he mirrored your chuckle once again. “You had me worried there,” he sighed. “I thought I had really lost my chances of winning your heart there for a second.” You had completely forgotten that you were supposed to be deciding who you would marry and that this man was one of the candidates, which you supposed was a good thing, that he could take your mind off of it, but you weren’t sure how to interpret the intentions behind the fact that he brought up the subject so casually. Luckily, you were able to have comfortable conversation with Hoseok for the rest of the night without mentioning the dreaded subject of the future again.

You trudged back to your bedroom with your heels in hand since your feet were in stinging pain after having to stand for hours on end at the ball. You were so exhausted, you felt as if you could barely push the door open, but when you finally were able to, you wished you didn’t. You found Taehyung standing at your dresser just beside the drawer observing the little jewelry music box that had been sitting there untouched for years. “Oh, you’re back,” he acknowledged, opening the box to reveal the tiny figurine of a dancing girl and twisting the silver handle on the side of the box, filling the room with its twinkling melody.

You couldn’t hide your annoyance at him as you shut the door behind you a bit harder than usual and drowsily stomped in his direction. “So this is where you’ve been all night?” you questioned, slamming the music box closed and abruptly halting its tune as you passed by, not sparing the knight a glance.

“No, not all night. I went on duty outside for a little while, then I went by the barracks. Now I’m here.” He spoke so casually it boiled your blood even more, which he seemed to finally pick up on. “Are you upset?”

You gave an obvious sigh to point out your exasperation. “Yes, I am upset. Why weren’t you there tonight?” you asked him, letting him know full well that you were angry.

“What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t stand watching you talk with all those princes that only want to marry you.” His voice came out stronger than intended.

You froze, narrowing your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitated, eyes widening in regret of his previous words before stuttering out, “I-I felt bad for you. You looked so awkward and miserable from what I saw. It was hard to watch.”

“Well, I’m sorry my struggles are so offensive to you,” you scoffed, anger returning when his explanation was nowhere near what you hoped it would be. “That’s why I needed you, though, and you weren’t there! And I’ll have you know that once you left I had a much better time. It turns out Prince Hoseok is quite the conversationalist.”

He felt jealousy bubble up within him and a bitter scowl crept onto his lips. “Then it sounds like you didn’t need me,” he defended, finally turning to face you.

“Yes, but the point is that you promised me you would be there, but you weren’t.” You finally broke the facade of anger and revealed your true disappointment to him, crossing your arms over your chest.

His face softened and he closed the large gap across the room between you until he only stood a few feet away. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have left you when you needed me. I promise it won’t happen again,” he admitted remorsefully, looking down at the ground between you. You could tell his apology was genuine, although you still hadn’t completely forgiven him, you gave him a small smile, reaching out and taking his hand into your own. The way your fingers laced together and your eyes locked with each other’s felt a bit too intimate to be friendly, but that’s all it was. You were just friends.

The next day you awoke to the news that Prince Seokjin had asked you to join him for lunch and a walk through the garden, so you were promptly pampered and prepared for your date that afternoon. You hated that it was referred to as a date, making it feel as if it were something completely different than what was basically a mandatory business meeting. You and Seokjin enjoyed a lovely meal made by your finest chefs and discussed topics ranging from weather to possible battle strategies as he offered his larger army for aid in the war. Once the both of you began your stroll through the garden, Taehyung had the job of trailing far behind, only barely close enough to ensure your safety. You had been feeling his eyes on you every so often throughout your travels, but when Seokjin led you on top of the bridge with the water lilies, stopping to look down at the water with you, you were sure you were feeling his gaze burning into the back of your head.

Before parting ways, you gave Prince Seokjin a curtsy before heading straight away to your poor lonely knight. Although you were both mentally and physically tired, you playfully bounced over to where he stood, examining a particular flower very closely for some reason. He leisurely turned to meet your gaze, however his mood clearly did not match your own, his smile clearly seeming forced upon his lips as it did not travel to his eyes. Your lips immediately turned down in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He let out a weak and once again facetious chortle, insisting, “Nothing. I just don’t particularly enjoy following you and your prince around on your romantic outings.”

You choked back an obnoxious laugh at his interpretation of the date with Seokjin. “Trust me, that was anything but romantic.” You paused in reflection of all that you had conversed about. “I do suppose Prince Seokjin is the most practical choice for marriage, however, considering his ability to turn the tides of this war,” you sighed, trying to rationalize your thoughts into something close to a decision, even though you knew you were still far from making up your mind.

He arched a brow and wore a smug face. “You don’t need some prince and his army to save this kingdom. I can save you and everyone here single-handedly,” he boasted, gesturing to himself in a grand way.

You laughed as what you assumed was a joke and gave him a pat on the shoulder saying “I’m sure you could.” Little did you know, however, it really hadn’t been a joke on Taehyung’s part. He was just envious that you thought you had to depend on anyone besides him. You noticed his still somewhat sour mood, still not believing his response was truthful when you asked him if he was alright, so you suggested something that would hopefully give both of you an opportunity to have some peaceful time together away from the castle. “I need you to accompany me somewhere. We’re leaving the palace grounds,” you requested bluntly, already heading to get your cloak.

“Leaving the palace? I don’t think we can do that,” he warned, eyeing you with uncertainty as you clasped the front of the dark material together and placed the hood over your head.

You grasped him by the elbow and childishly pulled him along with you, taking several tugs before you finally were able to make him budge. “Sure we can. As long as you’re with me, everything should be just fine.” After offering him a cheeky smile, he finally caved in with a dramatic sigh, letting you pull him excitedly in the direction of the elaborate iron entrance gate.

Taehyung, the ever-alert and observant knight he was, felt a pair of eyes following your path as you dragged him outside the walls towards the town. He looked around behind him and found Prince Yoongi staring with his lips pressed together tightly, forming a thin line of suspicion, from a balcony on the second floor, before he slowly sunk back into his room, hands folded behind his back.

Both of you made it to the heart of the town where the lives of the people buzzed most energetically, everyone bustling through the square to finish their many errands before the sun goes down. You smiled brightly and clasped your hands together as you watched a young giggling boy dash past you as several other children chased after him. Taehyung had to remind himself that this perfectly normal lifestyle, one that he used to be a part of before training to become a knight and still returns to when he visits his mother living on the other side of town, was completely foreign to you, so you were bound to be entertained by little things like a game of tag. You took a moment to take in the world around you, stopping in your tracks in the middle of the crowded street. Even though you had been to the village several times before, it never ceased to amaze you. The crescendo of loud voices and the occasional laughter as you went further into its hearth made you feel like you lived in silence back in the palace.

Taehyung suddenly jerked you quickly to the side of the pathway, mumbling a shy apology to the man with the cart filled with pastries glaring at you as you blocked his path. “No offense, (y/n), but I don’t think you’re fit for this town,” Taehyung laughed, gazing down at you. You faked a scowl as you began once again leading him to your desired destination.

You finally stood before a humble little building with an obviously handmade sign above the door displaying its use. Taehyung breathed in deeply before sighing, “Really? Out of all the places we could have gone, you chose the library?”

You rolled your eyes at him, pushing the door open. “Come on, just let me have my fun.”

A bell rung as the door opened and a man emerged from a door behind the desk in the corner of the shop. “Your highness! It’s been a while since I’ve seen your beautiful face around here,” he welcomed you, a dimpled smile on his face.

“Nice to see you, Namjoon! I’ve been dying to get back here to find something new to read.” You return his smile before excitedly rushing over to the opposite wall made up entirely of shelves filled with books. “And, of course, to see you again,” you added with a teasing smile. You often spoke in this flirtatious manner with him, but you were nothing more than simple friends. It was easy to befriend him quickly because he didn’t know your true identity when you visited his library the first few times, so you could have a normal conversation with him, but even when he discovered you were the princess, he treated you no differently and you both remained friends, just as before. Both of you knew that, too. However, Taehyung didn’t.

Taehyung narrowed his eyes in distaste as Namjoon laughed at your comment wondering why you were suddenly so bold with this man he’d never even heard of before. “Who’s this?” Namjoon wondered, staring pointedly at Taehyung, his eyebrows subconsciously furrowing when he caught Taehyung’s scowl.

You tore your eyes away from the row of titles you were inspecting to answer him. “This is Taehyung. He was appointed as my knight. Luckily, with him around, I have a lot more freedom to come here more often,” you explained turning back to continue your search. Taehyung wasn’t sure he wanted that.

“Ah, yes, well you should still be careful, your highness. It’s dangerous out there these days,” he warned.

Your scanning eyes faltered for a moment. “Yes, I’ve heard,” you spoke solemnly.

Namjoon seemed to notice the dip in your mood at the mention of the war, so he attempted to lift your spirits once again. “I have new arrivals by the way!” he piped up, grabbing several books from behind his desk. “They’re all written by people of this town. We’ve got some talented writers in this kingdom.” He held them out for you, putting the remaining away as you chose one to take back home with you. “Hopefully, some day, I’ll have a book of yours on these shelves,” he sighed. “How’s the writing going, anyway?”

A blush spread across your cheeks at the mention of your writing, a subject you discussed with no one except for Namjoon. You glanced out of the corner of your eye in embarrassment to find Taehyung staring in curiosity. “Don’t get your hopes up,” you laughed bashfully. “I’ve gotten nowhere.”

You finally checked out your book of choice and talked a bit more with Namjoon before it was time to leave. You gave a quick goodbye and had to remind Taehyung to say something as well, wondering why he was being so abnormally quiet.

Once you stepped outside, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky an orange-pink color. You took note that the streets had emptied considerably as most probably huddled inside their homes to eat dinner with their families at this time. You would be worried that your father would be angry that you skipped on supper, but luckily for you, family dinners didn’t really exist anymore for the two of you, one of the many things that changed after your mother’s passing. You enjoyed the fading sounds of the town as you walked away from it, quickly becoming covered up by the buzz of cicadas. The tranquil environment was joined by the deep, rumbling voice of Taehyung, complimenting the sounds of nature perfectly. “So, you write books?” he questioned, staring ahead. “You’ve never told me anything about that.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest when you began to feel the night’s chill. “I don’t really tell anyone about that.”

Taehyung’s lips turned down in confusion and, there it was again, jealousy. “Well, you told Namjoon about it.”

“Yeah, that’s because—” you cut yourself off, squinting your eyes for better vision in the darkening night while getting a few steps in front of Taehyung for a better view of his face. “Wait… Are you jealous?”

Taehyung said nothing. He only continued walking back to the castle, eyes set on the now-visible gates and hands stuffed in his pockets. You couldn’t take that as a definitive answer, but you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face, secretly liking the idea of Taehyung getting jealous over you. “Well, you should let me read what you’ve got sometime,” he suggested, a smile ghosting his lips.

You shook your head in embarrassment. “No way. It’s not good, and I don’t even have time to do it. It’s just a stupid idea.”

Taehyung spoke seriously once again, finally turning to face you with sincerity in his eyes. “Don’t say that, (y/n). It’s about damn time you do something for you and no one else.” You hated to admit that he almost induced tears with how much you resonated with what he said. He added lightheartedly with a smirk, “Besides, I’m sure anything you write can be better than that other book you gave me.”

“Hey, that’s my favorite book you’re talking about!” you scolded him. You paused in realization for a moment before a huge smile spread across your face as you realized his true intention behind what he said. “You actually read the book! You were just too shy to actually say it!” you teased.

“I’m not shy,” he mumbled through a smile, his ears burning red. You hummed in response, although you made it be known you were not convinced. “Just don’t tell my friends, okay? They’ll think I’m a softie.”

You laughed, endeared by his stubbornness. The fact that he actually listened to you and was interested in what you liked made your heart thump in your chest. He was making your heart beat like this far too often recently, and you know it should be worrying, but it just felt too good to care.

‘Another day, another date’ was becoming your motto these days as every morning for the past five days you woke up to hearing you had an outing planned with one of the princes. So far, Prince Hoseok was the easiest to get along with while Prince Seokjin was the most practical choice. Today was only your first interaction with Prince Yoongi, however, and you dreaded it due to how your first official meeting at the ball went. You were told he would meet you in the ballroom, which you already found odd since that room was only ever used for public events.

You entered through the formal entrance and found Yoongi sitting at the grand piano on the far side of the room. You had to walk down the stairs to reach him and you felt so wrong descending without wearing one of your elaborate and expensive ball gowns. Instead you wore one of your casual dresses, which contrary to what one would believe, still lacked comfortability and functionality. As you crossed the expansive room, you looked down at your reflection in the marble while listening to the melody that Yoongi played. It was soft and sweet, but there was a melancholic tinge in its minor chords. His eyes were closed and he was focused solely on the notes the ivory keys played. You cleared your throat timidly when you reached him and his eyes finally fluttered open. “Have a seat.” He patted the spot next to him on the bench before returning his hands to the keys.

You awkwardly sat as close to the edge as possible, still confused as to what exactly you were doing here. “So, what’s the plan for today?” you wondered, a tight smile tugging at your lips. He said nothing and only shrugged with a slight shake of his head. “Are we just sitting here while you play the piano? I suppose I wouldn’t mind that, actually…” you trailed off thoughtfully.

“I had a feeling,” he mumbled. His hands began to slow down, the melodic piece coming to an end and you were surprisingly disappointed.

“So, what was this for exactly?” You curiously eyed him, waiting for some sort of explanation although you weren’t sure of you would get one since it seems he’s a man of few words.

Surprisingly, however, he gave you the answer you were seeking. “I just thought I’d give you a break from the whole speed dating scene. I know it’s not what you want.” You wanted to thank him, but it worried you that he acknowledged that you didn’t want to get married since this knowledge may cause problems. “Also, I’ve been wanting to use this piano for days, but I thought it would look bad if I came in here on my own,” he admitted. You deadpanned at first, but then you saw the shy smile displayed on his face and marveled at the contrast between the two different sides of him you had seen.

You beamed, continuing to talk about the piano, hoping it would keep him in a light mood, “Yeah, it seems you’re passionate about it.”

Luckily, it seemed to work and his smile, while softer, remained. “It would be nice if I had more time to invest in music, though. Instead, I’ve got a kingdom to run in a few years.” He trailed off, running his hands along the keys. “I know it’s a dumb thing to want, but…”

“No, I get it! I have this crazy dream of being an author,” you tried to relate to him. “As if that could ever work,” you laughed, yet it was void of genuine humor.

You felt him eyeing you from the side before he spoke up, “I knew you weren’t a normal princess.” He smirked and stood from the bench, rounding the piano and heading towards the exit.

“What do you mean by that?” you questioned, hesitantly following him.

“Well, you just aren’t typical, I suppose. You don’t exactly try too hard to be ‘proper.’” You weren’t sure if you were supposed to take that as an insult or not. “You actually have a passion for something, unlike most of the other boring princesses I’ve ever met.” You supposed that was at least slightly true. You had met with other princesses when you were younger and it felt like you were talking to a machine sometimes with how trained and robotic their conversation skills were. “Not to mention, you ate of the forbidden fruit and fell in love with a non-royal.”

Your mouth dropped open as your mind desperately grasped for some sort of explanation to his final claim. He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the clicking of your heels stop behind him. His face was casual, and his voice at first seemed the same way, but if you listened closer, there was a warning nature present in the rumble of his words. “Don’t act so surprised. It wasn’t hard to discover those feelings you have for that knight of yours. You’re a brave one,” he drawled, continuing his nonchalant steps to the door. He spoke over his shoulder one last time, his voice taking on a somber feel this time, “Don’t worry, though. Your secret is safe with me.” With that, he left. You stood in the center of the empty dance floor, physically winded by his revelation. You hadn’t even acknowledged your feelings before for yourself, but when you heard it aloud, you knew it could not be denied. You were left standing, dumbfounded, and even worse, terrified to be in love. True love was a luxury that rarely persisted in this suffocating lifestyle you were born into.

Tonight, Prince Hoseok had invited you on a late-night horseback riding trip on the outskirts of the castle wall. Because he was well trained in swordsmanship, he was able to convince the king to send you out with only him and no knights to accompany you. While you were glad it gave Taehyung a much needed evening off, things became all the more nerve wracking for you when it was just you alone with the prince. Hoseok, you observed throughout your several outings with him, was skilled in keeping the conversation topic from straying to something that might make you uncomfortable or upset, which often stunted the productivity of these outings’ true objectives, but you were thankful nonetheless. However, as time ticked by and weeks passed without any real progress, and all the princes and the king could easily see that was so, Hoseok had no choice but to finally bring up those dreaded topics. He pulled back on his horse’s reins to slow down its speed, and as you noticed him falling behind, you did the same. He wore a gentle smile, just as he always did, but this time there was a hint of guilt behind it. “Princess, I’m aware you don’t like talking about your marriage in the future, but I think it’s time we discuss it.”

You were sure your disappointment was obvious to him, but you were actually having a nice time with him, so you were disheartened to see that hope slip away so easily with only a few words. You had to at least try to act like a proper princess, though, so you lied and agreed, “Of course. You’re right. This can’t be avoided forever.” You turned your steed around and guided him back closer to the prince.

“I’ve been thinking, (y/n)...” You were taken aback for a moment at the sudden use of your name. You felt guilty for becoming somewhat angry since he was such a wonderful person as you had come to know, but for some reason it just sounded wrong coming from him. It only felt right when it was vocalized in Taehyung’s deep and comforting octave. “I don’t want to make the decision for you, but I think we should be married.”

This time you made no effort to hide your bewilderment. Prince Hoseok had never been so forward and now he practically proposed to you with no problem at all. He reached out for you with shaking hands as he tried to support his claim. “I know! I know it sounds crazy, but if you’ll just hear me out,” he said carefully before lowering his hands and pausing, waiting for your reaction. When you said nothing, he continued, swallowing as he observed that your face was still displeased. “Although we haven’t gotten very much time to know each other, I really do enjoy your company. I know that all of this is not at all what you want, but if we have to do this, then I think I can see a future for us where I can make you happy… if you let me.” He had stumbled over his words several times, but that only went to further attest to what you were sure was sincerity.

You knew you should have taken that much more to heart, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t handle any of this right now. Your head was spinning and you were far too overwhelmed. You didn’t want to come to terms with your future if the one person you imagined it with couldn’t be a part of it. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, eyes unfocused. “I don’t think this is a good time to talk about this.”

Before he was able to say another word, you had your horse sprint off and hoped he wouldn’t follow. He didn’t. You couldn’t do it. You had always been terrified of the day this would come, but now that it was here, you couldn’t even bring yourself to accept it.

Without thinking, you rode over to the knights and trainees’ barracks, dismounting from your horse and leaving him at the front gate. You received many shocked reactions, most of them never having seen their princess in the flesh before, and knights whispering to one another as you passed them by. You hated that you had to speak to these strangers while your voice still quivered, but you knew there was no way you would be able to find Taehyung on your own in this mess of people.

You approached a group of men who had been engrossed in their own conversation and had not noticed your presence until you spoke to them. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Sir Taehyung. Do you know where he could be?” Before you had finished speaking all three of them dropped to their knees before you. Feeling frustrated you begged for them to stand back up, tears pricking your eyes as you felt more isolated than ever when you looked around as all those who gave confused and panicked faces before followed them and dropped to their knees as well.

Your breathing felt constricted as you became suffocated by the panic that continued to build up within you. As you desperately searched for one person near you that wasn’t bowing, you suddenly spotted a head of dirty blond hair, being the only one who remained standing. “Taehyung!” you exclaimed to yourself, hoping it wasn’t loud enough for others to hear your lack of formalities. You ran to him and wanted nothing more than to throw your arms around him and cry into his chest like he’s let you do before, but with all these eyes on you, you had to be very careful what you did, so you skidded to a stop only a few steps ahead of him. It didn’t take him long to notice the tears plaguing your eyes, giving a worried look and reaching out to you before forcing his face back to a neutral position and bringing his hands back to his sides as he glanced around at his colleagues.

You heard heavy footsteps from behind you accompanied by a vaguely familiar voice bellowing, “Is everything alright, Your Highness?” You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes, though you were sure it would not do much help, and turned slowly to be faced with an older bearded man that you had seen at several meetings your father held with high officials and military leaders. You never learned his name, but you knew he was a high ranking captain in your kingdom’s army, and you also knew he had an affinity for sucking up to your father in order to move his way up the ranks. You had a feeling that extended to the princess as well.

“Yes, captain, everything is fine,” you insisted, struggling to keep your words steady. “I was just looking for my knight here.” You gestured back to Taehyung who remained emotionless, wary of his authority. He only hummed, glancing between the both of you before you decided to put an end to whatever thoughts he was processing. “Please, resume your duties. I’ve gotten what I was looking for.” You locked eyes with Taehyung and gave him a plea for help to which he gave a minute nod and led you away from all the onlookers.

You followed him silently while you still felt the wary eyes of the captain locked onto your trail. Taehyung brought you to one of the many small barracks held up by worn wooden planks. He quietly opened the door before letting you in behind him, waving you in when you hesitated for fear of being seen following your knight into his sleeping quarters. As Taehyung carefully pushed the door shut behind him, he turned around at the alarm of your gasp.

Suddenly, there were two boys about the same age as Taehyung hopping off of their beds and kneeling on the wooden floor before you. You looked back to Taehyung in shock, thinking no one else would be around. “What are you guys doing here? You said you would be out in town tonight!” Taehyung fulminated between clenched teeth staring down at the two men he shared his barrack with.

The smaller of the two answered Taehyung quietly, head still facing the ground. “We decided not to. We didn’t realize we would have royal company tonight.”

The other slowly lifted his head up, eyes wide as he looked to Taehyung, making sure his eyes never landed on even a single thread of your clothing. He mumbled shyly, “If you don’t mind me asking, what is Her Highness doing here?” He accidentally let his innocent eyes wander over to your face before taking in a sharp breath through his teeth when he realized his mistake.

You approached the both of them without getting too close for fear of accidentally scaring the poor boy out of his wits. “Please, stand up. You don’t have to bow. Any friend of Taehyung’s is a friend of mine,” you gently commanded, giving them a warm smile when they both finally lifted their heads.

The first of the boys to speak let a tentative grin show itself, questioning you just as you had caught your own mistake, “No formalities? You guys must be pretty close, huh?”

To your surprise, Taehyung didn’t deny like you thought he would, making you think he must trust these guys. “You could say that,” he agreed, biting back a proud smile. The shorter boy gave Taehyung a knowing glance for a reason you couldn’t decipher. Taehyung then cleared his throat directing his attention to you. “(Y/n), these are my roommates and friends, Jimin,” he motioned to the shorter boy who gave you a small nod which you returned, “and Jungkook.” He gestured to the taller boy who still couldn’t meet your eyes when you tried to greet him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Your Highness. We’ve heard so much about you.” Jimin wore a devious smirk. You caught Taehyung reaching to give him a blow to the back of the head, but when he caught your gaze on him, he grudgingly stopped himself and dropped his arm back to his side. You giggled as Jimin smacked him in the back playfully.

You wanted to fish some more information out of Jimin, but you were interrupted by Jungkook’s quiet voice. “Forgive me for prying, Your Highness, but are you alright? You look like you’ve been crying,” he observed with worry in those big eyes of his. For a moment, you had forgotten the reason you had come in the first place, but you were sure your eyes were still red and puffy from your previous panicking.

The smile fell from your face for a moment and you glanced over to Taehyung who was watching you worriedly before you assured him you were fine. “We should go. Come on, (y/n).” Taehyung was already back to the door leading you out, and you were upset that you were already having to say goodbye to his friends. You wanted to get to know the people that Taehyung liked and you wanted to know what they heard about you, but you knew the longer you stayed, the more chance you had of getting yourself into trouble.

He brings you around to the side of the building in hopes of achieving a little more privacy. “I’m sorry about that, (y/n), I planned to talk to you about whatever happened, but then they were there and messed up everything.”

“Don’t say that. It was nice to see the people you spend time with,” you cheered him up despite your low mood. “Now it’s late, though, and I really should get back to the castle.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there tomorrow morning and you can talk to me about anything you need to,” he reassured you with an encouraging smile, grazing his fingertips over your forearms and pulling away just as they reached your wrists before he would become tempted to take hold of your hand. You only stared at him, prolonging your visit, your feelings taking control much easier now that you had acknowledged their existence. “Go!” he laughed, shooing you away. “This isn’t the place for a beautiful princess. It’s for gross and sweaty guys, none of which deserve you.” If he had lumped himself in with that group, then he was sorely mistaken, you thought.

You began to return to the castle before you stopped to look back at him once more. He rolled his eyes and began to wave you away again, but you stopped him, pulling his hands down from where they motioned in front of your face. “Okay, I’ll go! Just—” You cut yourself off by wrapping your arms tightly around Taehyung’s torso and pulled yourself closer to him. His eyes were wide and his reaction was delayed.

You backed away and hurried back to the castle without another word, leaving Taehyung behind confused and calling after you, “What was that for?”

You both knew there was something between the two of you that was being left unsaid. Something that both scared and excited you, and Taehyung came to realize both his dream and nightmare could be coming to fruition. That initiation would be coming sooner than he ever imagined when his keen eyes missed the forbidding gaze of the captain hidden just out of sight.

Little did either of you know that someone had witnessed it all. The way a knight called his princess by her name, how the knight looked into his princess’ eyes so fondly and called her beautiful as if he could say it a thousand times more, how the princess and her knight had embraced lovingly without even knowing when the princess was meant to be betrothed to another.

The rough man’s heavy boots pounded into the ground as he followed not far behind you to the castle to request a seeing with the king. He was sure the princess’ father would be entirely thankful to hear of his daughter’s betrayal from his most trusted military leader.

“Your Majesty,” he bowed at the king’s feet. “There is something about the princess that you should know. I believe there is something quite... concerning going on between the princess and that knight of hers.”

The king gave the captain his full attention as he described what he had allegedly seen in the training camp that evening. The king’s hands gripped tightly onto the gilded arm rests of his throne and his forehead creased in worry. “I see. I will have eyes on her tomorrow. If someone reports to me with the same accusation, I will have no choice but to believe it. Thank you.” He buried his face into his palm, dismissing the captain with his free hand. If what the captain said was true, the king would have to put an immediate stop to it somehow. He couldn’t hand you his kingdom he had worked so hard to build only for your delusions of love to throw it all away, for love doesn’t exist and believing only leads to destruction.

Taehyung had already arrived by the time you woke up the next morning with a hot cup of tea for the both of you and an open heart to listen to all of your deepest anxieties that you were anxiously waiting to pour out to him. You both went to sit in the window seat, backs against the adjacent walls of the alcove with your legs pulled up just barely enough to keep from touching as you faced each other, the sun shining in a beautifully painted backdrop.

Taehyung didn’t rush you, but instead waited patiently as whatever had happened last night seemed to still be difficult to bring up. “Your friends seem really nice,” you said with a smile, eyes focused on your hands clasped around your knees bringing them closer to your chest. “I wish I had someone like them.”

“You have me.” There was no hint of a joke in his answer making it feel all the more genuine and comforting as the softness of his voice caressed your ears.

You bit back a smile and looked up to find his intense gaze already on you, though it softened with one glance at your shining eyes. “Yeah, I do.” The moment began to feel too tender, too raw, and you became too scared to look deeper into his eyes, fearing you would fall into them with no way out if you stayed a moment longer. You tore away and your eyes traveled to the floor just beside you as you sighed, “I wish the princes were as easy to talk to as you.” You were searching for a way to break the news of what Prince Hoseok had asked you the night before, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it on your own. “I don’t know how I’ll ever choose from people that I really just don’t know.”

Taehyung heard your voice begin to waver and he quickly wanted to put a smile on your face, so in a panic he tried to joke, “Well, you should choose soon before they all run away.” He immediately regretted what he said and was sure it was a mistake, but his heart was calmed when he saw you crack a smile.

“Hey!” you shouted at him, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it at him in retaliation. You laughed as his eyes were widened with surprise at the hefty blow from such a soft pillow before he joined in your laughter, relieved he hadn’t made the situation exponentially worse. He took a moment to examine the pillow, picking it up from where it landed beside him. He pulled at the loose fabric, questioning, “Why is there a huge hole in this pillow?”

You chuckled and snatched it back with a devious glint in your eye, giving Taehyung high expectations for your explanation. “That’s where I used to hide my books from Namjoon’s library when I was sneaking out into town before you came along.”

“That was probably the most anticlimactic excuse I’ve ever heard,” Taehyung deadpanned, although he should have seen it coming from a princess with such a sheltered life as you had always lived. Things like that were exciting, despite how boring they seemed to the average man. You threw your head back laughing, nodding in acknowledgement of his point as you realized it really was as boring as he made it out to be. Taehyung’s boxy smile appeared as he admired the genuine joyful stretch of your lips that he had been deprived of for the past few weeks due to the immense amount of stress you were under.

You suddenly stopped and zeroed in on the top of Taehyung’s head finding a small piece of stuffing from the pillow resting on top of his hair. He frantically questions you as you lean over and reach you hand out, his head flinching away in confusion from your sudden action. You ran your fingers through the strands of his hair to brush it out, secretly admiring the softness of it beneath your touch, a feeling you were always curious to discover. After that, you couldn’t resist letting your eyes get lost in the beautiful landscape of his face, the deep brown of his eyes drawing you in once again. Luckily, he didn’t catch it, however, because he himself was occupied with doing the same, entranced in the way your lips parted innocently and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to feel the way they moved with his own. His tongue poked out to run across his dry lips as his eyes went to meet yours while yours flicked down to follow the action. He wouldn’t have to wonder what your lips would taste like for much longer as you both inched closer, completely forgetting about who you were and instead only thinking about who you wanted to be.

You were mere centimeters apart before you gasped, finally coming back to your senses and hastily pushing yourself away from him. You stood up and worriedly straightened out your dress as you paced further away from him. You couldn’t believe you let yourself cave in and slip up so badly. If anyone had seen, you would be in deep trouble, and Taehyung would be killed. But everything is alright because no one saw and no one knew. And no one would ever find out. Only you and Taehyung would know. Just the two of you. But also the knight that had been standing guard outside your door who was ordered to keep an eye on you, and when the voices in the room disappeared and it was eerily quiet, he silently opened the door, and saw what no one was ever supposed to see.

And because of that, the one person that had the power to ruin everything would come to know of your horrible mistake as well.

After the almost-kiss you and Taehyung shared only a day before, you were faced with great difficulty in being in the same space as each other. There were too many words that needed to be said that were being pushed away as if they had no meaning. If only you had swallowed your fears and confessed to him all that you desperately needed to say before it was too late.

You spent a sleepless night, switching back and forth several times between lying in bed and sitting back in your place at the window, replaying the scene that prevented your sleep over and over in your hyperactive mind. You finally woke up only slightly before midday, regretfully pushing yourself up into a sitting position to scan the room in hopes of finding Taehyung somewhere within it, ignoring the fluttering of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. Your head ticked to the side when you saw he was nowhere to be found, so you threw the blankets off of you and forced yourself into the unwelcoming day.

You hurriedly dressed yourself without waiting for the presence of your ladies-in-waiting and quietly creaked open the door, finding Taehyung was not standing outside as you had hoped for either. A frown overtook your softly hopeful features as you ventured out into the hallways of the palace. You noticed each time you passed a maid or servant they would glare timidly at you until you were out of sight around the corner of the hall, only for you to encounter the same actions from other workers in the castle.

Without realizing it, your feet had led you all the way to the barracks, still in search of your knight, although you weren’t quite sure where this confidence had originated from considering you were practically praying for Taehyung to leave just yesterday. You didn’t mind the knights that stopped and dropped to their knees at the sight of you this time, setting yourself on autopilot towards the barrack you made sure to remember the path towards. You found yourself hesitating just before you reached the door, unsure why your fearlessness wavered, only a wave of uncertainty flushing through you for a moment, but you pushed onward and gave the worn down door a firm knock.

You were met with the same big and timid eyes of Jungkook as he opened the door for you, hurriedly letting you in with a clearly alarmed demeanor. You assumed that was just him acting like himself, but you realized something was wrong when Jimin’s familiar face was unrecognizably tensed. “I-I came looking for Taehyung,” you stuttered, suddenly overcome with a very bad feeling.

Jimin’s eyes widened more than they already had been, walking over to you with concern. “Have you not heard? He was put in the front lines of the troops at Ambrosia Field.” The words terrified you as soon as they left his mouth. You remembered from that time before you had even met Taehyung that things were ugly and the fearful soldier that came to your father for help claiming your kingdom’s men were being slaughtered there. And now, Taehyung was thrown full force into the mess of it all.

You felt as if the breath was knocked out of your lungs with the blow of the news and you began to assume the worst. “The front lines?” you gasped in horror. “But... He could get hurt!” You couldn’t bear the picture that painted itself in your mind, overpowered by shades of crimson as you imagined Taehyung leading the troops in battle. Your hands came to grip at your hair harshly as you felt guilt flow all the way to your fingertips. He must have lost his place as your knight because he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. “This is all my fault… Someone must have seen. This is all my fault!”

Jungkook immediately rushed to your side as you dropped to the floor, gravity becoming too harsh a competitor to deal with on top of the fear within your heart. Jimin followed his younger friend, attempting to calm you and asking, “What did someone see?”

You finally regained control of yourself, though still unable to pinpoint the origin of your sudden composure. You dropped your hands back to your sides and stared vacantly ahead. “We almost kissed.”

Suddenly you were running back to the castle. You weren’t even sure how it happened, and you didn’t even remember saying goodbye to the boys and for all you knew, maybe you didn’t. The only thing you were positive of was that you looked just as much of a mess as your mind was in the moment.

You wasted no time in flinging open the doors of the throne room, screaming without hesitance, “How could you?”

Your father looked to be expecting your arrival, awaiting your reaction with a stern and stubborn stature, already pushing himself up from his throne. “(Y/n), I should be furious with you. Do you want to throw away all in this kingdom that I’ve built up for you? Your childish actions are completely unacceptable!”

You scoffed, trying your best to hide your tears in front of this man you could no longer call your father, who you had been forcing yourself to call father for years. You knew he was corrupt, but because he was your father by blood, you felt as if you owed it to him to always take his side, even when it wasn’t right. “I’ve done nothing wrong!” you shouted, though your voice wavered and you became even more enraged because of it.

“What’s done is done. End of discussion.” The king’s hardened glare bore into you, mocking you while you struggled to stand your ground, this being the first time in your life you’ve ever gone against him. “And because of your immature decisions, I don’t think you’re capable of choosing a suitor for yourself, so I have decided you will marry Prince Hoseok.”

You wanted nothing more than to lash out, to protest and save yourself from this vicious cycle repeated throughout history, but your feet carried you away before you could do anything. You were still young and you still had many fears, one of them being your father, and even now, standing in front of him made you feel small and helpless and insignificant, just as always. So you ran.

Your tears were uncontrollable, blurring your vision as you desperately needed to get out of the corridor with so many gazes witnessing you at your lowest. Perhaps you weren’t the strong princess and soon-to-be-queen, you realized, as all of your grip on this twisted reality disintegrated before you, and as you reached out to catch its ashes, you gripped onto the sleeve of someone blocking your way. Holding you steady after your harsh collision was Hoseok. You looked up to him, pieces arranging back together as you were pulled back down to earth, and seeing his face made your sobs become even more violent. “I’m sorry, but you are one of the last people I want to see right now.”

He held you back from trying to push past him, lowering himself to eye level with you. “(Y/n), what’s wrong? Is it because your father told you about our engagement?” His face harbored hurt as he assumed this reaction was because you were afraid to spend the rest of your life with someone you would never love.

You ignored his question, sobbing into his arm while Hoseok wrapped the other around you in attempts to comfort you. “He’s going to die.”

Hoseok immediately lifted you up, concern evident, “Who? Who’s going to die?”

You tried to push past him once again, but it was only in vain since your energy quickly depleted due to your panic. You didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore, realizing the tears suddenly stopped flowing. Finally saying the words you feared to voice finally out loud made your anxiety become an empty feeling. “Taehyung.”

Hoseok’s brows creased in thought, and also due to your sudden calmness. “Who is—Isn’t that your knight?”

You gave a weak nod, not worrying about keeping this a secret any longer, for it would be something you would never move past, and you both would be living together for the rest of your lives, after all. “My father sent him to die… because I loved him.”

Hoseok looked hollow for a second, and you almost mustered up the strength to feel guilty when you knew he had expressed his feelings for you before, and this proved there must have been some authenticity to them. Suddenly, you had a realization. This was all too familiar. Your mother had told you a story when you were young, and she had made sure this recounting was kept secret from your father. It was a story of a prince who fell in love with a princess, but the princess was in love with a swordsman. Your father was the prince, your mother was the princess, and the knight was…

The blank ceiling of your bedroom suddenly displayed abstract shapes that your dried eyes tricked themselves into seeing. There was a good chance you had been staring for several hours, but you weren’t entirely sure. The sleepless night dragged on for what felt like a century. Though you could not actually bring yourself to sleep, your eyes drooped as it had been a week since you could sleep properly. After all, on nights like these, you would pass the time with the gentle voice of Taehyung, but instead he was the very reason for your sleeplessness. Well… not exactly him, but something far stranger that scared you to your wit’s end. If your theory was correct, your suspicions of your father would be proven correct.

There’s no better time like the present, so you decided it’s time to find out the truth once and for all. This meant you would have to face your father, even though you knew his was the last face you want to see now. Your feet stomped across the expensive carpets in determination, destination set to the throne room where you would once again find your father. Just before you rounded the last corner to enter the main hall, you heard the voice of one of the old maids speaking hushedly with another while they cleaned the unnoticeable dust on the floorboards for the fourth time this week. “Did you hear? The princess’s knight is back from battle.”

Already thumping in anticipation of your interrogation of your father, your heart rate increased dangerously, whether in excitement or fear, you weren’t sure. You hadn’t even registered that you were running in the opposite direction of the throne room. This conversation—anything—could wait until after you finally see Taehyung. Your fear of never seeing him again that persisted all the time he was away was finally dissipating before your eyes. You dodged a door opening just in front of your path, but then you collided with the person who had just come from within that room, and after a moment of inspection, you recognized the familiar features of Jiwoo.

Her eyebrows shot up at your disheveled and breathless form, immediately querying, “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

You nodded excitedly, a wide smile spread across your face while you held onto her arm to steady you. “Sir Taehyung is back from battle!” You loosened your grip on her arm and turned to continue on your path, but before you could take another step, you felt her fingers slip down to grip your wrist before you could tug it away. You turned back and the smile on your face faltered at her uncertain features. “What is it?”

She swallowed tightly, brows still weighed down with concern. “Your Highness, haven’t you heard?” Her head shook in disbelief. “Sir Taehyung is… unwell.” You could feel your heart drop to your stomach. She was vague and clearly had much more to say than she let on, but you got the message loud and clear. Taehyung didn’t come back safely like you had wished for every night before bed, looking out over the expanse of trees where you were sure he would be, leading the troops like the hero he is. You should have known, otherwise he wouldn’t have returned so soon. Without another word, you yanked your wrist free from her grasp and rushed to find Taehyung, changing your destination to the infirmary camp, a ways outside the walls of the castle.

Much to the confusion and dismay of the young stable boy who knew you weren’t supposed to ever take your horse on a ride on your own, you quickly lifted yourself up onto your steed’s back and took off, leaving a few guards who had caught you leaving in the dust. You rode for a few minutes before you finally saw the large white tent with overworked nurses going in and out in a frenzy. You carelessly jumped from your saddle onto the ground, not caring about the splatters of mud that lined the bottom of your skirt. You entered the tent, bumping into a few women in white carrying handfuls of bandages and medicines, who were so busy they probably didn’t even have the time to register you were the princess.

You were horrified at the sights you were met with inside the infirmary tent. There were at least a hundred men splayed out on hospital beds, either covered in blood or coughing it up. Some had missing limbs, and tears sprung to your eyes as you looked closely at some who seemed they may not have been breathing anymore. You were terrified, inspecting every single agonized face, and you never felt more guilty for having the sheltered life you lived, safe and sound inside the walls of the palace while these men fought to the death for you and your kingdom.

As you made your way further into the infirmary, several beds with patients currently being treated were closed off by curtains and it was getting increasingly difficult to find the face of the man you were looking for. Finally, you caught sight of a blond head of hair from behind a curtain that had not been closed all the way. Your hand visibly shook as you pushed the curtain aside to see the face that belonged to the blond-headed man.

And sure enough, there he was, torso and arms wrapped heavily in bandages that were stained red. Completely overwhelmed by the pain you knew he must be suffering, you fell to your knees and buried your face in your hands on the sheets of the bed beside his arm. You heard shuffling from behind and looked to see two nurses returned to his sectioned off area, stopping short in their tracks as they saw you on the ground beside Taehyung’s bed and bow their heads in respect for their princess. You wasted no time and frantically questioned, “Will he be alright? Is he going to be okay?” You had always been taught to keep yourself calm and composed in front of your subjects, but you had thrown all rules you had known to the wind because of your worry for your dear knight.

The nurses glanced warily to each other and one timidly spoke up, knowing you would be unhappy with the answer, “He is in... very poor condition, Your Highness.”

Your breath felt caught in your throat at their confirmation of his fragile state and you could only slowly turn your face back to observe his own, pain evident on his paled face even while slept. “Please leave us for a moment,” you ordered quietly to the nurses while still keeping your gaze locked on Taehyung. They bowed their heads once more before quickly scurrying behind the curtain. “Taehyung...” the sound barely escaped your lips in a shaky breath as you ghosted your fingertips over the back of his hand, desperately wishing you could grasp it and never have to worry about being seen and frowned upon. You saw his fingers twitch ever-so-slightly in response to your touch.

He pushed out a labored sigh and winced at the movement of his abdomen. “Well, hello there, Princess,” he attempted to speak casually, but the pain in his voice gave him away. His eyes were focused solely on you, though they were half-lidded. He gives a weak smile to reassure you, though the absence of its boxy shape that you had become so fond of makes it more difficult to comfort you.

At the pitiful sound of his voice, you let tears finally escape your eyes and cascade down your cheeks, but you still managed to send a pained smile to your lips. “How can you speak so casually? You could have died.” You chose to ignore the fact that death could still be a possibility. There was no way you would accept that he wasn’t home to stay, especially because, somewhere along the way, he had become home to you. The castle you lived in was merely a building, but he was the safe space that you never were allowed in the palace, the place where you could be wholeheartedly you.

“It would be an honor to die while protecting my princess.” His smile grew as he spoke, into a more genuine one and you felt as if your heart were being pulled in your chest, knowing that he would so willingly give himself up for you. He heaved in another painful breath before asking with hopeful eyes, “Did you find my gift?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, straightening yourself up in confusion. “No. What gift?”

“I left something for you to find in your room before I left, but I had to hide it. If someone else had seen it, I could have easily been beheaded,” he explains, laughing weakly, yet his reasoning left you with several frantic questions. “You should go look for it.”

“I don’t want to leave you.” You mentally cursed yourself for sounding so weak in front of him when he needed you to be strong for him in the moment.

The nurses who had disappeared before pulled back the curtain with medical equipment in hand. “We’re sorry, Your Highness, but he really needs to be treated again.”

You hurriedly wiped your tears, giving Taehyung’s hand a squeeze before standing and preparing to leave. “I understand. Please take good care of him.” You looked back down to where he lied one last time before letting the nurses take over.

You went back to the castle slowly and solemnly, choosing instead to walk beside your horse and lead him by the reins to prolong your journey back. You finally reached the inside of the building, then you ascended the first, then the second staircase up to you bedroom. You finally stopped to take a breath after holding it for far too long just after you had slammed the doors shut behind you, locking the door to prevent anyone else from entering.

Your tired eyes carefully scanned your room in thought, everything looking as pristine as always. Suddenly, it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you. You had to know what it was that he left for you. You began to tear the place apart, ripping the pillows and blankets from your bed, throwing aside all of the expensive dresses hanging in your closet, but wherever you looked, there was nothing unusual there. Where would Taehyung have put something that he only wanted you to find? What’s a special place in this room that only you would think to look? Your eyes that wandered around the room eventually fell on the window seat, where the both of you had sat and talked and reminisced and quarreled and experienced so many emotions together. It had to be there somewhere. You checked all corners and underneath each pillow, but saw nothing. As you threw down the last pillow you had lifted, it made an unusually loud thud as it came into contact with the wooden floor. As you examined closer, you found it had been the ripped pillow, the one with the hole in its seam. The one with a hole big enough to hide something in it! You scooped up the pillow once more and tore out all of its stuffing, finally finding the source of the loud sound the pillow had produced. When you finally fished it from the remains of the pillow, you pulled out a simple leather bound book. You carefully untied the strap holding it closed. You flipped slowly through the first few pages, then quickly through the rest as you discovered it was simply empty, and you almost missed the note written on the very last page of the book. It read:

I’m sorry this was all I could give you as a possible forever-parting gift. I know how much you love books, so I gave you an empty one where you could fill it up with your own story, just as you’ve always dreamed. It doesn’t matter that it’s not what you should be doing, but you should do it because it’s what you love. Promise me you will live your life without hesitations from now on. I don’t want you to be sad anymore. If I haven’t come back to you by the time you have found this, that probably means I won’t be coming back, but don’t be sad for me. I don’t want to see you cry from where I am looking down on you. Just know that I’m with my father again, and I’m telling him all about you and how much I loved you. I wish you nothing but happiness for the rest of your life, as much happiness as you were able to give me.

-Taehyung

You had trouble reading the last few sentences as your tears had partially blinded you. He really thought there was a chance he would never see you again, and this was all he was able to do to say goodbye. Most importantly, though… he said he loved you. Now, after days and weeks of agonizing over these feelings that confused you and that you were so sure you were definitely not allowed to feel, you knew now that there was no denying that you loved him, too.

Days had passed and you were still visiting Taehyung everyday in the infirmary. You had to request something extremely important of him before time ran out since the wedding seemed to be fast approaching, but you couldn’t let anything weigh heavily on his heart until he had healed a considerable amount. Taehyung finally was back to his alert and spirited self, although still bedridden, and you decided it was time to finally push the pressing issue to him. Your hands trembled and he noticed, reaching up to steady them within his own.

“I can’t live like this, Taehyung. I can’t stay here and live without the person I love. Run away with me.” He had told you he loved you in the message he left for you, so why were you so afraid he would turn you away? You anxiously scanned his features for any hint of a response. The sharp motion of his eyes had nearly given you a heart attack, yet they were still soft. He was shocked to say the least, but his wide eyes soon left the gaze of your own as they slid to focus behind you. You heard the clearing of a throat from just a few feet behind you and you jumped, seeing the unexpected visitor. “Prince Hoseok! What are you doing here?”

He had an small, ingenuine smile dancing across his lips, signaling he had definitely heard your request for Taehyung. “They told me I would probably find you here.”

He trailed off and the silence became tense. “...I’m sorry.” It was all you could say. You knew it must be hurting him, but he was a dear friend and nothing more.

“It’s alright. I had suspected something between the two of you for a while.” His eyes flicked over to Taehyung’s form still laying on the bed, watching the both of you closely. “I know that you’ll never be able to love me like I had hoped, but I want to help you. I want you to be happy, (y/n).”

You entered through the large doors of the throne room just behind Hoseok who had led the way with determined eyes, yet secretly still with a heavy heart. “Prince Hoseok. This was unexpected of you,” your father acknowledged him before shifting his gaze to you just behind the prince, a limping Taehyung with his arm hooked around your neck. You insisted that he should stay in the infirmary, but he stood firm in his claim that he should be there for you when you finally stood up to the king. Said man’s brows turned down in anger at the sight of Taehyung’s grimacing face. “Why is he here?” he spoke now directly to you, slowly so that he could vainly attempt to conceal his rage.

Hoseok put a stop to the thick tension in the room by directing the king’s attention back to himself. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I need to let you know about this sudden change of plans.” Your father’s eyebrows shot up. “I cannot marry your daughter if I cannot make her happy. I’m afraid I must call off the marriage.”

Your father quickly rose from his seated position. “She has to marry you. That isn’t her choice. It’s for the good of the kingdom!” his fist was now tightly enclosed and shaking wildly in the air in your direction.

“I love Sir Taehyung, Father.” You had not spoken with nearly enough courage, your voice coming out as meek as a mouse in the presence of your vicious feline of a father. His panicked eyes were on you once again in a mere moment, causing you to jump. Taehyung straightened himself up at your sudden jolt and placed a protective and comforting hand on the small of your back.

With a pretentious laugh, the king spat contemptuously, “Are you really going to tear down this kingdom I’ve worked all my life to improve upon because you think you’re in love? You don’t even know what love is, (y/n)!”

Before you could shrink any further you straightened yourself and attacked him with the words you had been waiting for him to hear for a while now. “No, you are the one with no capacity to love. You thought you loved mother, but you made her suffer by murdering the man she really loved, didn’t you? He had already moved on and started a family, but you knew mother still didn’t love you, so you did the only thing you could think of and sent him to die!” you screamed at your father. Taehyung’s hand had slid down into yours and squeezed it tightly. You looked over to his face which showcased all of the fresh scars of his past still burning deeply as they were brought up in front of him, and finally your suspicions were confirmed. “That was Taehyung’s father, wasn’t it? And you were going to take Taehyung’s life in just the same way, by having him slaughtered on the battlefield!” You desperately didn’t want Taehyung around while you dug up these buried griefs and practically threw them back in his face, but your father needed to know that you weren’t ignorant. Rage for your mother, Taehyung, Taehyung’s father, and everyone your father had ever hurt, everyone these horrific laws ever damaged burned within you. “You are a murderer!”

Your father’s confidence had disappeared only several words into your accusations and he was now the most humiliated and vulnerable you had ever seen him before, the large man you once looked up to as an ignorant child now shrunk into his seat in shame. He swallowed, slowly letting his eyes fall to the ground just before your feet. “How did you know about that?”

“Mother’s stories,” you finally breathed out the air that had been encased in your dry mouth. “It took me a long time to understand fully what she had been telling me and to piece it all together, but I think I put the pieces together pretty perfectly, didn’t I?” Your father was speechless. He eyed the prince that now stood shocked at the revelation of the king’s dark past. Taehyung breathed slowly out through his nose, the tightened hold on your fingers finally loosening. “Please father,” your voice had softened again. “You say you loved mother, but you made her suffer. If you really love me, let me find happiness. Don’t make the same mistakes again. Our kingdoms have been doing that for far too long.” The king slumped back into his throne, suddenly seeming much less brilliant than it had just months ago, before you had been so exposed to the true light of the world. His knuckles paled as he gripped the arms of the chair for dear life, lost in thought.

...and the crooked-crowned puppet with a stitched smile finally broke free from its strings. The puppet master's control was now nullified and his routines he had performed countless times since its genesis had now come to a close with the red velvet curtains.

The soft brush of lips on your shoulder elicited a soft gasp and the drop of the inky quill from your scribbling hand. As the lips traveled up to your collarbone then to your neck, the girlish giggle that escaped your lips morphed into a satisfied sigh. “Hello, Queen (y/n),” the deep voice rumbled against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Prince Consort Taehyung,” you greeted. He finally pulled away, causing you to frown up at him from the desk chair you were still seated at. Taehyung gave you a warm smile before examining the mess of your desk in front of you. You saw his eyes stop on the paragraphs written in the notebook and his grin widened, happy that his gift was being put to good use. He saw another book propped up with its old cover on display in the corner and he picked it up, examining it in thought. “Why is this out?”

Reaching out for it with a smile, only for him to pull away from your stretched hand, you chuckled, “No reason. Just some reminiscing, I suppose.”

“You’re not still letting this story get you down, are you?” he questioned worriedly, turning his back to you and heading for the wooden bookcase.

You laughed and stood from the chair to follow close behind him before placing your hands on his shoulders and peeking on your tiptoes at the old book that held a different, but still special, meaning to you. “Of course not. My fear of history repeating itself was definitely not what made it my favorite book.”

He gave you one last glance over his shoulder and a smile he was holding back was all too evident in his eyes. “You’ll never have to worry about this happening to you ever again. You know that, right?” He placed the book back in its place on the shelf, then he turned around, snaking his arms around your waist while yours encircled his neck. “I’m not going anywhere.” You squinted at him in distaste for his sudden cheesiness, but still swooned nonetheless. His eyes flicked suddenly just behind you and with a lick of his lips, he retracted his statement. “Actually, I will go somewhere. To that bed. With you.”

He quickly pulled you along with him to where he sat at the edge of the bed and you stood between his legs, looking down at him with the sparkle of newly found happiness in your eyes. He peered up at you in admiration, bringing you even closer to himself with a tug of your hips. “I love you so much, (y/n).”

You trailed your hands up his chest to rest on his cheeks as you lifted his face to press a kiss to his lips, begging for more as soon as you had to pull away. “I love you, too.” Your eyes crinkled in the corners, giddiness swelling within you at the words that you had heard many times by now but still could never get enough of. With a sigh, Taehyung pulls you down on top of him and pulls the blanket over the two of you just after he hears a knock at the door and the voice of one of your ladies-in-waiting calling out for you.

“I’m sorry, but the queen is extremely busy at the moment and will most likely be occupied until the morning. Please come back at a later time,” Taehyung called out in response. Immediately understanding his implications, your face reddened and you slapped his chest with a slack jaw before you buried your face into him to hide, although there was no need to since it was just the two of you in your own little world beneath the sheets. Taehyung’s mouth became boxy once more before intertwining your fingers with his while connecting your lips together in a passionate embrace once more.

You were simply a hollow, breathing breathing body before you had met him, but he was able to introduce you to depth and genuine life. Although it was safe and comfortable, you were sick of the life you had lived, and Taehyung was the one to show you there was more to the world than jealousy of those who roamed it freely. You didn’t think you wanted what he had to offer and it made you scared that he came in and turned everything upside down, for you didn’t know all of it would work towards the better. And yet here you were, smiling like an idiot, wrapped in the warmth of his arms where you finally felt at home.

[downtowns-universe]

The Castaway

Character: Eyrian

Words: 3966

A salvo of laughter rose from the back of the tavern, where the better part of Eyrian’s crew had gathered around the rickety, beer-stained tables. Eyrian observed them from across the room, where he’d been catching up with another captain who had since left, and wondered if he should go and join them. They seemed to be in a good mood. No wonder, since their pockets were heavy with gold. They wouldn’t be for long – he knew most of them would probably spend it all on women, drinks and gambling, and when the time came to leave the harbour they would be as broke as before they’d sailed. This was how these things went. Eyrian knew there was no talking sense into them, and he had long since stopped caring what they spent their money on.

He let a coin play between his fingers. You couldn’t tell from the outside, but this was blood money. Gold earned over the backs of thousands of slaves shipped off to the colonies to be sold. Gold representing the darkest side of humanity. Gold that, because of him, would now never reach its rightful – or should he say unrightful – owners.

“Gold is gold” was the saying going around in these circles, and while Eyrian had found it to be true, there was still the question of how to go about coming by it. Their ship attacked all kinds of merchants whenever encountered – most surrendered, or were allowed to escape with their lives after a brief battle. But whenever they would spot a slaver, he would offer no mercy. They had chosen their side and they had chosen wrong.

When they carried slaves, he would free them, give them command over the ship that imprisoned them. The ship they had taken most recently had been on its way back, light on the water, having already delivered its cargo. The crew, who preferred them this way, had cheered, knowing what this meant. They were about to become rich men.

Eyrian enjoyed the thrill and freedom his ship brought him, but the irony of his situation wasn’t lost on him. In the past, he would never have even considered becoming a pirate. He had fought against them to defend the several Mediterranean towns he’d called home over the years. These pirates raided coastal settlements wherever they went and took its inhabitants captive to be sold as slaves. They were cruel and took from people who had nothing, and he despised them. Even during his time with the merfolk they’d caused him trouble.

When the colonial trade started to develop, at first Eyrian had been excited. The prospect of seeing new lands and the adventures that came with it appealed to him, just like it had to many others. But soon he realised everything wasn’t as beautiful as it seemed. Life on the ships was rough, the captains cruel and the pay minimal. And things on the shore weren’t much better. The riches that were spoken of remained with the governors and plantation owners, or were shipped back to Europe. And the way those riches came to be… So when pirates had chased down their vessel, Eyrian realised he could probably hold them off, using his talents. But did he want to? He didn’t have to think long.

Surprisingly, business aboard a pirate vessel was arranged a lot fairer than one might think. The ship’s articles contained behavioural rules and their punishments, as well as regulations about pay. Furthermore the crew was able to vote on certain matters. If they didn’t like the way a captain treated them, they had the power to depose him. It hadn’t taken Eyrian long to climb the ranks and arrange a ship and captaincy for himself. Although he was now technically a criminal in the eyes of the world, his position had remained the same as it had been in the past: he still fought against cruelty and exploitation. And he had to admit: it was a lucrative business to be in. He realised his actions could not change the world, but being a thorn in these mighty empires’ sides was the next best thing.

“Captain?”

A hand touched his shoulder.

Eyrian looked up to see a crewmate standing over him. From the look in his eyes he could tell this wasn’t the first time he’d tried to catch his attention.

“Will you join us?”

Eyrian looked at the gathering of men, their number steadily growing as some kind of game was being played now. A cheer rose at one of the tables as one of them gathered up his winnings.

“Another time perhaps. I’m tired.”

He emptied the tankard in front of him.

“I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

“Alright,” his crewmember shrugged.

As he stood up, Eyrian gave him a slap on the back.

“Try not to lose all of your money just yet.”

“Aye, captain,” the man grinned.

 Even though the sun had set hours ago, it was still warm outside. The air was heavy and humid, like a storm was brewing. Yet there was absolutely no wind, which only added to the stuffy atmosphere. Eyrian wandered the streets of the shanty town he’d come to call home of late. It wasn’t much, as most of its inhabitants were pirates, the decent people long having fled to other parts of the island. They were an odd bunch, and things got rough sometimes, but overall things always seemed to work out in the end.

It didn’t take him long to notice he was being followed. This street was quieter than the ones surrounding the tavern, and whoever was following him did not appear to be very good at it. He quietly slipped a blade into his hand and turned a corner, waiting for his pursuer to catch up. When they appeared he stepped out, blocking their path, and in a fluid motion pushed them up against the wall. They let out a small yelp and stared at him with wide eyes. Their gaze quickly shifted to the knife held against their throat. Upon closer inspection Eyrian noticed gills flaring in surprise. His pursuer was merfolk.

They seemed paralysed with fear, looking at him with pleading eyes. The young mer did not seem to be carrying any weapons and, judging by their physique, didn’t really pose a threat to him, so Eyrian lowered the blade and stepped back.

“What do you want?” he sighed.

The mer hesitated, glancing around to make sure it was safe to speak.

“I couldn’t help but notice…”

They gestured in his direction, and Eyrian immediately knew what they were referring to. The tattoo wrapped around his upper arm was easy to see, since he was wearing a sleeveless tunic. To others it would simply be a tattoo, but the merfolk would know its significance.

“Your sage, where is she?”

The question felt like a kick to the gut.

“I would like to speak with her, if that’s alright,” they continued.

Eyrian avoided their gaze and involuntarily reached for the tattoo, his fingers moving across its surface. He could still clearly picture Melenna applying it to him, her hands gentle, her face serious with concentration.

He pushed the thought from his mind.

“Sorry, I can’t help you.”

“But…”

He started to walk away, not wanting to get into this.

The mer took a couple of hesitant steps in his direction.

“Please. You can trust me, I promise.”

Eyrian whipped around – perhaps a tad more aggressive than he’d meant to, since the mer backed away.

“She’s not here, okay?”

That’s as far as he was willing to explain himself. They’d better not be pushing this any further.

He could understand their confusion. A protector never strayed far from their sage’s side. Under normal circumstances, she should be around. But his circumstances were far from normal, and he really didn’t feel the need to explain himself here, especially to a stranger.

The mer stood there looking a little lost. Eyrian estimated they couldn’t be much older than their early twenties. Their long hair was tangled and messy, their clothes ill-fitting. The loose shirt they were wearing almost seemed like a dress. Their pants, being held in place by a length of rope as a makeshift belt, were torn, allowing a glimpse of scales to be seen underneath. They’d clearly grabbed whatever clothes they could find off of someone’s clothesline. But the clothes were dirty, so this must have been a while ago. They also appeared as if they hadn’t slept in days.

Eyrian, finding himself unable to turn away, sighed again.

“…What do you need?”

“I need to get home.”

They stared at their boots, seeming to shrink even smaller as they said it.

“And where’s that?” Eyrian asked.

They were quiet for a bit, but just as Eyrian thought they weren’t going to answer, they shrugged.

“I don’t know,” they said, barely audible.

Eyrian considered this.

“Do you mean you don’t know where it is, or you just don’t know how to get there?”

“Oh, I know where it is. I’m just stuck here! In this…” they gestured around them, “this shithole!”

“Hey now, this “shithole” happens to be my home.”

They looked at him questioningly.

“You live here?” A pause. “…Alone?”

Eyrian sighed.

“…Yes.”

They crossed their arms and studied him.

“You don’t have a sage, do you?”

“Will you shut up about it!?” Eyrian snapped. “What would you need her for, anyway?”

“Like I said: I’m stuck here. I can’t transform. I was hoping she’d be able to help, somehow.”

“Wait, you’re stuck in human form?”

“Yes, how else would I be stuck? I can’t exactly walk into the ocean now, can I?”

Quite an attitude emerged from behind the mer’s timid façade, Eyrian noticed. They must be relieved to finally have found someone who understood the trouble they were going through. He also realised this was far from a safe place to discuss such matters. The occasional passer-by regarded them with curiosity, and perhaps even suspicion. The old man dozing in front of a building down the street might in fact be listening to their every word.

“Not to mention how hard it is to get your hands on a bloody map around here,” the mer continued. “You people really do only care about gold.”

Eyrian raised a hand to stop them.

“We need a safe place to talk.”

“I wasn’t aware this place had any,” they remarked. “Especially if you can’t pay. Needless to say, I haven’t had much sleep these last couple of days.”

Eyrian smiled.

“Follow me.”

They walked the docks in silence. Eyrian noticed the mer stuck close to him, their recently found courage having quickly vanished. He understood this fear all too well. Being humanborn, his form adjusted quickly to life on land, his scales having disappeared in just a few weeks. But for true merfolk things were different. They needed water around to survive. Even in human form their skin needed to be hydrated regularly, and their scales always stayed visible. He remembered Melenna always being very anxious about covering them up, afraid to be found out.

Being discovered wasn’t just harmful for a mer themselves: it could possibly put their entire culture in danger. If the existence of merfolk became widely known, humans might go on the hunt for them – as they did with everything they considered different from them. And with humans exploring more and more of the oceans, that risk had grown larger than ever.

 “Here we are.”

Eyrian gestured to the ship docked on their right, at the end of the pier. The mer looked up, their mouth falling open as they admired the tall masts.

“All of this is yours?”

“Yep. Ain’t she a beauty?”

“You know, when you said you lived here I pictured a house,” they remarked.

Eyrian grinned.

“One day, perhaps. If the situation allows it.”

In the lantern light he could see the two guards he had left with the ship. As he stepped upon the gangplank they sat up a little straighter, quickly putting something out of sight. Eyrian suspected they’d been drinking.

“Come on, it’s alright,” he invited the mer, who was still standing hesitantly on the dock, trying to make sure it really wasn’t a trap. From their previous experiences on ships, he really couldn’t blame them.

He stepped up to the guards, who were playing cards, he could now see.

“Go have fun with the others, we’ll be alright here,” he nodded.

They glanced around him, peering curiously at the stranger now stepping aboard, then looking back at Eyrian.

“We have important business to talk about,” he explained.

The both of them shot a glance at each other, then grinned and got up from their seats.

“Alright. Have a nice “talk”, captain,” one of them said, slapping his shoulder as he passed.

Eyrian watched them disappear from view, hastily making their way down the gangplank.

If only they were that fast when there was work to be done, he thought, shaking his head.

“Looks like I’m not the first person being brought up here,” the mer said, a smirk on their face.

“Shut up.”

He opened the door to his cabin and lit one of the lanterns inside.

“Come in.”

He grabbed a bottle and two glasses while the mer took in the room.

“Where are my manners?” Eyrian grinned, handing them a glass. “I haven’t even asked your name yet.”

“It’s Arani,” they responded, inspecting the contents of the glass suspiciously.

“Eyrian. Don’t call me that when the crew’s around, though. They know me as Edward Taylor – but mostly they just call me captain.”

“A fake name? How very pirate-like.”

“Having an English-sounding name is convenient, pirate or not,” he explained.

“You’re not from around here, then.”

“You could say that. What about you, Arani, how did you end up here?”

They sighed.

“It’s a long story.”

“Then we’d better sit down.”

Eyrian pulled out a chair and started clearing some space on his desk, rolling up a map that was spread out there.

“Can I see that, actually?” Arani said, stepping in closer.

“Of course.”

Arani leaned over the map, their finger lingering above the American coastline.

“Where are we now?”

Eyrian pointed out Nassau.

Arani studied the map with a frown.

“That far?” they muttered under their breath.

“My school is located somewhere here,” they said, pointing at a spot in the Atlantic to the southeast of New York.

“And you were captured there?” Eyrian guessed.

They nodded.

“I was curious and got too close to a ship. A stupid mistake. Before I knew it I was taken aboard and locked in the hold.”

“What kind of ship was it?”

“Just some fishermen. They don’t usually come this far our way, that’s why I went to check it out.”

“And they took you to port?”

“They did. I’m not sure where. They thought I would fetch a pretty penny. Weren’t so happy to find out I’d transformed in the meantime.”

They absentmindedly rubbed their arm.

“I was just thinking my escape chances would be bigger if I could – you know – walk. Didn’t know it’d…”

They didn’t finish the sentence.

“They still managed to get someone interested, though. Eccentric fellow, a collector of some kind, or perhaps a smuggler. Told me I was going to make him very rich. Pretty sure he was already richer than I could imagine. He transferred me to another ship, heading south – I presume, since I‘m here now. They didn’t let me go on deck, so I couldn’t see a thing.”

Arani took a small, careful sip of rum, clearly not being used to the taste.

“He tried to get me to change back almost every day. When asking didn’t work, well…”

They looked away.

“He hurt you,” Eyrian concluded.

They nodded.

He felt anger welling up inside him. This was exactly the kind of thing he feared would happen if the merfolk became known to humans. He was also painfully aware that he could do nothing to stop it from happening eventually.

“Do you know where they were taking you? What port?”

They shook their head.

“They never said. Don’t you have an idea? You’re familiar with the region, at least.”

“Could have been anywhere, really,” Eyrian shrugged. “Big ports are where people have money, while small, shady ports are where things like this can happen more easily.”

“Either way, I never arrived there. While a storm kept everyone busy I managed to slip away unnoticed.”

Arani rubbed their arm again. Eyrian now noticed scarring, it seemed to be recent.

“That’s when I found out I couldn’t turn back. It’s like…”

They gestured desperately, looking for words.

“…Like whatever I did before to set things in motion just… isn’t there anymore, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know, it’s hard to put into words,” they sighed.

“No, I think I know what you mean. It was impossible for me to even figure out what to do when I first learned it. It’s… instinctive, I guess. To be honest, I would probably have a hard time trying to do it now,” Eyrian admitted. “It’s been too long. I suppose you could say we’re in the same boat, in that regard.”

“Perhaps…” Arani considered, “but not exactly. You’ve been taught how to do it, however difficult it might have been. For me it’s a part of who I am, and always has been. And now that it’s gone, I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for it.”

They took another sip.

“I tried, after escaping. Then I just tried to get by, but it’s hard to be out in the middle of the ocean when your body doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. So I waited around for the first ship to pass by and climbed aboard, hiding in the hold until we reached land. That’s how I ended up here.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A little over a week. I’ve been trying to find someone who could help – and someone I could trust – but that’s easier said than done. Most people here are anything but trustworthy.”

Eyrian chuckled.

“They’re about as trustworthy as you’ll find anywhere else.”

“But they’re pirates!” Arani protested.

“So? In the end, people are just people, no matter their circumstance. There’s good ones and bad ones, just like anywhere. Believe it or not, most of them came here to be free of the bad ones that mistreated them.”

They considered this.

“What about you? How did you end up here, anyway?”

“That’s a long story,” Eyrian smiled.

“Was it before or after you were turned?”

“After. I mean, I was a sailor before I was ever merfolk – I suppose that’s how it usually goes. But I arrived here far after that.”

“It can’t have been that long ago,” Arani remarked, studying his face. “Couple of years, perhaps? And you already forgot how to transform?”

“…I may be a little older than I look.”

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s a story for later, perhaps. Let’s focus on you now.”

“No, no – it’s a story for now. If I’m going to trust you, I want to at least know more about you.”

“Fair enough,” Eyrian sighed.

“Alright…”

Arani pulled their legs up on the chair, getting comfortable.

“So, how old are you, exactly? What school are you from? Why did you leave? Where’s –”

They hesitated for a second.

“What happened to your sage?”

“Not so fast, one question at a time,” Eyrian said, gesturing for them to slow down. “Why don’t I just start at the beginning?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Alright.”

Eyrian poured himself another glass of rum.

“I’m from a place where some people get to live for a very long time because of magical swords.”

“Magical swords?” Arani scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re a fish person, and magical swords are where you draw the line? Really?”

“I’ve never heard of this place, is all I’m saying,” they shrugged.

“Good. I intend to keep it that way.”

Arani glanced at the sword hilt at Eyrian’s hip.

“Is that it?”

“No.”

“Can I see it?”

“Will that make you shut up?”

“Perhaps.”

Eyrian let out a deep sigh and held out a hand, focusing on his connection. His fist closed around the familiar grip of the hilt as it materialised in front of him. He twirled the blade once before laying it on display on his desk.

“Alright, that looks pretty magical to me,” Arani nodded. “Can I – ”

“No.”

“Fine,” they sulked.

“Anyway,” Eyrian continued, “The swords make it so you don’t age – don’t interrupt me – causing some people to live hundreds of years. Staying in the same place for so long is incredibly boring, so I left for the sea. Long story short, eventually I ended up with the merfolk and became the sage’s protector. I stayed by her side until–”

He was hoping to get through it quickly, but his voice let him down.

“–Until the end, then returned to land and eventually ended up here.”

Arani blinked, seeming a little disappointed at the brevity of the story.

“I see…” they pondered. “Nice story – you’ve answered none of my questions, though.”

“I’ve summarised the important parts,” Eyrian shrugged.

“Not all of them. How old are you, exactly?”

“Three hundred years, give or take.”

“Wh–? Uh, okay.”

They seemed a little thrown off by the answer, or perhaps by the off-handed way in which he’d given it.

“Where was your school?”

“The Mediterranean. I don’t suppose you’re familiar.”

They shook their head.

“Bit of a swim. This is actually the furthest I’ve ever been from home.”

They took another tiny sip of rum and made a face.

“I don’t understand how you can drink this stuff.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Eyrian grinned. “I do have water if you prefer.”

“Yes, please. I could also do with a swim,” they said, rubbing their arms, which were starting to dry out.

“Speaking from experience, I wouldn’t recommend the harbour. The water here is filthy.”

“Why would I want to go in the water in full view of everyone anyway?”

“That too. We could go to a beach not far from here. It’s usually quiet, especially at this hour.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll take a swim.”

“No, I mean: where do we go from here? Can you help me?”

Eyrian considered his options for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Like I said: transformation is not my strong suit. The best I can do is take you to the nearest school. Perhaps they will know what to do.”

They were visibly relieved at this news.

“Thank you. That would already be so much better than I’d be able to do on my own. I wouldn’t even know where to look for them.”

“I just have to figure out what to tell the men. It would probably mean a slight detour and a stop at a nearby island. But I suppose I have a while to think about it.”

“How long?”

Eyrian did the math in his head.

“We’ll need a few days before heading out again, then it’s a few days of sailing, so I’d say about two weeks until we get there.”

Arani nodded.

“Not the longest I’ve spent hiding aboard a ship,” they shrugged.

“Who said you’ll be hiding?” Eyrian grinned. “I intend to make a proper pirate out of you.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I don’t blend in as well as you do.”

“You’ll be just fine,” he said reassuringly. “But first…”

He moved towards a trunk in the corner and opened it.

“…You’re going to need some proper clothes.”