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ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE

Art credit: Kinuko Y. Craft

Eleanor of Aquitaine, also called Eleanor of Guyenne, French Éléonore or Aliénor, d’Aquitaine or de Guyenne, (born c. 1122—died April 1, 1204, Fontevrault, Anjou, France), queen consort of both Louis VII of France (1137–52) and Henry II of England (1152–1204) and mother of Richard I (the Lion-Heart) and John of England. She was perhaps the most powerful woman in 12th-century Europe.

—Britannica

Eleanor of Aquitaine (1122-1204) was one of the most powerful and influential figures of the Middle Ages. Inheriting a vast estate at the age of 15 made her the most sought-after bride of her generation. She would eventually become the queen of France, the queen of England and lead a crusade to the Holy Land. She is also credited with establishing and preserving many of the courtly rituals of chivalry.

—History

This mighty medieval woman outwitted and outlasted her rivals. Ruler of two nations, mother to kings and queens, leader of a crusade: Eleanor of Aquitaine was a savvy power player in medieval France and England.

When reviewing the history of medieval Europe, no woman stands out as much as Eleanor of Aquitaine. Once the most eligible woman in Europe, she became queen of two nations, leader of a crusade, mother of kings, and patron of the arts. Her power and prestige earned her enemies in the 12th century, and her critics authored a black legend founded on gossip and rumor that has fueled ideas about her until the present time.

—National Geographic

Eleanor of Aquitaine [...] she was one of the most kick-ass women of the Middle Ages and, you know, she had her own crusade, or she went on crusade rather and she married two kings and then was the mother of several more, she was a great character.

—GRRM

***

The past April I wrote a very long post about the parallels between Good Queen Alysanne and Sansa Stark. Consider this post its continuation, so I highly recommend you to read that post first before continuing reading this one.

As I said before, I discovered that GRRM not only took inspiration from Katharine Hepburn playing Eleanor of Aquitaine in the film ´The Lion in Winter´ for Alysanne’s looks, he also took a lot from Eleanor’s life to write Alysanne, like Eleanor’s second marriage with her cousin Henry II of England with whom she had 8 children (Alysanne/Jaehaerys & their 13 children) and Eleanor’s Court of Love (Alysanne Women’s Courts).

But not only that, I also discovered that Eleanor of Aquitaine shares a lot of similarities with no other than SANSA STARK.

Join me in this new adventure, I assure you, it’s gonna be a blast!

ELEANOR, ALYSANNE AND SANSA

HIGHBORN

Eleanor was born to William X, Duke of Aquitaine and Count of Poitiers, and Aénor, Viscountess of Châtellerault, around 1122, in what is now southwestern France. Eleanor was the oldest of the couple’s three children; she had a younger sister, Petronilla, and a younger brother, William Aigret. Various biographers also report that Eleanor had two bastard half-brothers, William and Joscelin.

Alysanne was born to Aenys Targaryen and Lady Alyssa Velaryon in 36 AC, at King's Landing. Alysanne was the fifth of the couple’s six children; she had four older siblings, Rhaena, Aegon, Viserys and Jaehaerys, and a younger sister, Vaella. Alysanne also had two younger highborn half-siblings, Boremund and Jocelyn Baratheon.

Sansa was born to Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Lady Catellyn Tully of Riverrun in 286 AC, at Winterfell. Sansa was the second of the couple’s five children; she had an older brother, Robb, and three younger siblings, Arya, Bran and Rickon. Sansa also had a bastard half-brother, Jon Snow.

Take note of how similar these ladies’ half-siblings names are: Joscelin, Jocelyn & Jon.

APPEARANCE

Back in 2006, many years before Fire & Blood, GRRM gave us this description of Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen:

You might consider Alysanne as the Eleanor of Aquitaine of Westeros, and model her on Katharine Hepburn’s portrayal of Eleanor in the film THE LION IN WINTER. Tall and straight, unbowed by time, she had high cheekbones, clear blue eyes. Age left crow’s feet around her eyes and laugh lines about her mouth, but her face never lost its strength. She was a fine archer and hunter in her youth, and loved to fly atop her dragon to all the distant parts of the realm. Alysanne was slim of waist and small of breast, with a long neck, a fair complexion, a high forehead. In old age her hair turned white as snow. She wore it in a bun, pulled back and pinned behind her hear. [Source]

There is not a reliable description of Eleanor of Aquitaine true appearance, just various interpretations of her physical features based on old paintings and medieval illuminations that are presumed, by writers and historians, to be of her. Sometimes she is described and/or depicted as black of ayes and hair, others says she was blonde with blue or grey eyes, and in other cases she had auburn hair with green or grey eyes. For more details about Eleanor’s appearance, you can read:

Elizabeth Chadwick’s blog entry: “Eleanor of Aquitaine’s Appearance or not”; and,

Michael R. Evans’ book “Inventing Eleanor: The Medieval and Post-Medieval Image of Eleanor of Aquitaine”

The beautiful art pieces of Eleanor of Aquitaine that I chose to illustrate this post, created by the extraordinaire artist Kinuko Y. Craft, depict a redhead and blue eyed Eleanor. About this choice of the artist, Michael R. Evans tells us this:

Works of fiction are more likely to use modern images of Eleanor, such as Margaret Ball’s ‘Duchess of Aquitaine’, which employs a dynamic painting of Eleanor by the Japanese-American artist Kinuko Y. Craft. The Queen appears on horseback, crowned, with a falcon on her left wrist and long red hair floating behind her. This image matches the modern perception of Eleanor as an active, confident female authority figure. The falcon and the appearance of Eleanor on horseback both recall the Sainte-Radegonde fresco, although Craft states that she was not influenced by it.

As you can see, we can’t make a true parallel between the physical features of Eleanor, Alysanne and Sansa. But what is a certainty is that GRRM took inspiration from Katharine Hepburn playing Eleanor of Aquitaine in the film ´The Lion in Winter´ for Alysanne’s looks:

So, for the ASOIAF universe created by GRRM:

Eleanor (Katharine Hepburn): Reddish brown hair + blue eyes

Alysanne: Honey-colored curls + blue eyes

Sansa: Auburn hair + blue eyes

I see a patter here, auburn is by definition a reddish brown color, and if you googled ‘honey colored hair’ you would see a vast variety of reddish brown or reddish blonde hair colors. Enough said.

NAME

Eleanor is said to have been named for her mother Aénor, Viscountess of Châtellerault, and called Aliénor from the Latin ‘Alia Aenor’, which means ‘the other Aénor’. It became Eléanor in the langues d'oïl of northern France and Eleanor in English.

It’s probable that George played with the Aénor/Aliénor pattern when he created Alysanne’s name, that is very similar to his mother’s name: Alyssa Velaryon.

There is not this pattern in Sansa and Catelyn, Sansa was probably named after the other one Sansa in the whole ASOIAF universe: Sansa Stark, daughter of Rickon Stark, heir to Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, and his wife, Jeyne Manderly. She had an older sister, Serena Stark. She married his half uncle Lord Jonnel Stark.

But the name Alayne it’s a different story. Alayne is certainly closer to Catelyn than Sansa, but most relevant to this post, Alayne is very similar to Alysanne.

In summary:

Aénor/Aliénor

Alyssa/Alysanne

Catelyn/Alayne (Sansa) + Alysanne/Alayne (Sansa)

EDUCATION

Look at these reports about Eleanor’s education:

Their ducal court had a fine reputation as a patron of the arts. Eleanor’s grandfather, William IX, was known as the “troubadour duke,” famous for his poetry and songs about heroism and courtly love. Poets of the time, especially the famous Marcabru, found hospitality at the court of Aquitaine.

Culture and learning were a family tradition for Eleanor, who received the best possible education of the time. She was taught mathematics, astronomy, history, literature, Latin, and music. She also learned arts and crafts: embroidery, needlepoint, sewing, and spinning. Like any daughter of nobility, she danced and sang, as well as rode horses and went hunting. Like many noble daughters, Eleanor would have been raised to be a nobleman’s wife and was probably not expected to play any role in governing.

—National Geographic

By all accounts, Eleanor's father ensured that she had the best possible education. Eleanor came to learn arithmetic, the constellations, and history. She also learned domestic skills such as household management and the needle arts of embroidery, needlepoint, sewing, spinning, and weaving. Eleanor developed skills in conversation, dancing, games such as backgammon, checkers, and chess, playing the harp, and singing. Although her native tongue was Poitevin, she was taught to read and speak Latin, was well versed in music and literature, and schooled in riding, hawking, and hunting.

—Wikipedia

She was well educated by her cultured father, William X, Duke of Aquitaine, thoroughly versed in literature, philosophy, and languages and trained to the rigors of court life when she became her father’s heir presumptive at the age 5. An avid horsewoman, she led an active life until she inherited her father’s title and extensive lands upon his death when she was 15.

—History

Sounds familiar?

No man ever questioned her wits. Later, it would be said of her that she learned to read before she was weaned, and the court fool would make japes about little Alysanne dribbling mother’s milk on Valyrian scrolls as she tried to read whilst suckling at her wet nurse’s teat. Had she been a boy she would surely have been sent to the Citadel to forge a maester’s chain. —Fire & Blood

It is written that the young king and queen were seldom apart during that time, sharing every meal, talking late into the night of the green days of their childhood and the challenges ahead, fishing and hawking together, mingling with the island's smallfolk in dockside inns, reading to one another from dusty leatherbound tomes they found in the castle library, taking lessons together from Dragonstone's maesters (“for we still have much to learn,” Alysanne is said to have reminded her husband). —Fire & Blood

“If I had not become a queen, I might have liked to be a teacher,” she told the Conclave. “I read, I write, I think, I am not afraid of ravens… or a bit of blood. There are other highborn girls who feel the same. Why not admit them to your Citadel? —Fire & Blood

For three days she lost herself in the Citadel’s great library, emerging only to attend lectures on the Valyrian dragon wars, leechcraft, and the gods of the Summer Isles. —Fire & Blood

Once the initial frost had thawed, his lordship took the queen hunting after elk and wild boar in the wolfswood, showed her the bones of a giant, and allowed her to rummage as she pleased through his modest castle library. —Fire & Blood

And here is Sansa:

Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. […] It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward. —AGOT - Arya I

Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. —A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces. —A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. All I could ever do was shout the words.—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

The queen took Sansa’s hand in both of hers. “Child, do you know your letters Sansa nodded nervously. She could read and write better than any of her brothers, although she was hopeless at sums. —AGOT - Sansa IV

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen. —AGOT - Sansa IV

“Do you read well, Alayne?” “Septa Mordane was good enough to say so.” —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

No one ransomed the northmen, though. One fat lordling haunted the kitchens [...] and the clasp that held his cloak was a silver-and-sapphire trident. He belonged to Lord Tywin, but the fierce, bearded young man [...] in a black cloak patterned with white suns had been taken by some hedge knight who meant to get rich off him. Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done. —A Clash of Kings - Arya VII

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons,” [sung in High Valyrian] Ned inspected the bruise himself. “I hope Forel is not being too hard on you,” he said. —AGOT - Eddard VII

Do you hawk, Sansa?" "A little," she admitted. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

The day before last she'd taken Sansa hawking. [...] Sansa's merlin brought down three ducks while Margaery's peregrine took a heron in full flight. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

Sansa can ride despite not enjoying the physical exertion of the activity.

Despite it is said that Sansa is bad with numbers and can’t manage a household, Alayne Stone is doing pretty well as de facto Lady of the Eyrie.

As final note on this section, Eleanor’s grandfather Willian IX being called “the troubadour duke” reminds me of Bael the Bard, being kin with the Starks. The Aquitaine court sounds as magical and cultured as what Sansa once thought the Red Keep court would be, full of musicians and poets and courtly love.

HEIRESS

Eleanor inherited the largest and richest lands of France at a very young age:

Eleanor’s four-year-old brother William Aigret and their mother died at the castle of Talmont on Aquitaine's Atlantic coast in the spring of 1130. Eleanor became the heir presumptive to her father's domains. The Duchy of Aquitaine was the largest and richest province of France. Poitou, where Eleanor spent most of her childhood, and Aquitaine together was almost one-third the size of modern France. (...)

Eleanor, aged 12 to 15, then became the duchess of Aquitaine, and thus the most eligible heiress in Europe. (...)

The death of William, one of the king's most powerful vassals, made available the most desirable duchy in France. While presenting a solemn and dignified face to the grieving Aquitainian messengers, Louis exulted when they departed. Rather than act as guardian to the duchess and duchy, he decided to marry the duchess to his 17-year-old heir and bring Aquitaine under the control of the French crown, thereby greatly increasing the power and prominence of France and its ruling family, the House of Capet. Within hours, the king had arranged for his son Louis to be married to Eleanor.

—Wikipedia

Eleanor was the daughter and heiress of William X, duke of Aquitaine and count of Poitiers, who possessed one of the largest domains in France—larger, in fact, than those held by the French king. Upon William’s death in 1137 she inherited the duchy of Aquitaine. [Source]

Eleanor inherited her father’s title and extensive lands upon his death when she was 15, becoming in one stroke duchess of Aquitaine and by far the most eligible single young woman in Europe. She was placed under the guardianship of the king of France, and within hours was betrothed to his son and heir, Louis. The king sent an escort of 500 men to convey the news to Eleanor and transport her to her new home.

—Britannica

—History

William X [Eleanor’s father] controlled many territories in west and central France including Aquitaine, Poitiers, Gascony, Limousin, and Auvergne. (...)

During the 12th century, monarchies were gaining power and expanding across Europe as alliances formed and linked them together. Powerful aristocracies that fell within their kingdoms still held great influence and needed to be respected. In France the Capetian dynasty ruled a slice of north-central France, the so-called Île-de-France, between the Seine and the Loire. The royal house of France, the Capets, when Eleanor was born, was led by King Louis VI (also known as Louis the Fat).

Much of what is now France was divided up into powerful dukedoms—Normandy, Brittany, and Aquitaine—and large counties—Flanders, Anjou, Lorraine, Champagne, Bourgogne, and Toulouse, some of which were larger and richer than the possessions of the Capetian dynasty. Of the dukedoms, the duchy of Aquitaine was one of the largest, wealthiest, and most influential.

To complicate matters, in 1066 William, Duke of Normandy (also known as William the Conqueror), became king of England. While William was technically a vassal of France on the French side of the English channel, when he was on the other side, he was king of England—the French king’s equal in rank. Who controlled the lands of England and France would lead to many bloody conflicts over the coming centuries as different houses vied for control.

Eleanor played a vital role in these power struggles. Her destiny took a radical turn when her younger brother died in 1130, leaving her the new heiress to her father’s dominions. When her father died unexpectedly in April 1137, while on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, Eleanor was thrust into the world of medieval politics in her early teens.

Shortly before his death, Eleanor’s father had dictated his will and officially named Eleanor as his heir. He appointed King Louis VI as her guardian, and the Capetian king shrewdly saw a way to bring the lands of Aquitaine under his control. He quickly announced the betrothal of Duchess Eleanor to his 17-year-old son, the future Louis VII.

—National Geographic

We can hardly draw a parallel between Eleanor and Alysanne in this regard. Alysanne was never the heir of her father. Alysanne became Queen consort of Westeros due to her marriage with her older brother Jaehaerys. But this is certainly a strong parallel between Eleanor and Sansa.

Sansa Stark, despite the many discussions about the legitimacy of her claim to the North and the secret will of Robb Stark, is considered the heir of the ancestral lands and domains of House Stark, she is called ‘the key to the north’ by Tywin Lannister, the man behind his royals grandsons, King Joffrey and King Tommen Baratheon. The North is the largest region of Westeros, and Sansa Stark’s claim to Winterfell and the Wardenship of the North is coveted by many lords in order to gain political power and influence.

If Eleanor of Aquitaine was the most eligible single young heiress in Europe, we can say the same about Sansa Stark in Westeros. The same way Eleanor played a vital role in Middle Ages European power struggles, Sansa Stark plays a vital role in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros power struggles. If Eleanor was thrust into the world of medieval politics in her early teens, the same is happening to Sansa Starks in the ASOIAF Books.

As I wrote in an unpublished meta:

It is also very interesting that while Sansa is in the south, we witnessed her objectification numerous times, by every character she interacted with. She’s not only being valued in golden dragons, she has been practically transformed into a stone castle, Winterfell, and the North itself, since the one controlling her would obtain all her lands and power. Or, to use the euphemism used in the Books, she is “the key to the north.”

Sansa reflects about this particular objectification in ASOS and elaborates inside her mind one of the saddest lines in ASOIAF, especially for a girl who yearns to be loved and always dreamed of getting married: “No one will ever marry me for love” (because everyone only wants her claim to Winterfell).

I think Sansa Stark being the most eligible single young heiress in Westeros has been explained in the Books twice already, during the development of Sansa’s arc, and in a more subtle and romantic way in “The Hedge Knight” tale.

As I explain in yet another unpublished meta of mine about the Ashford Tourney:

(…) I think the repetition of this pattern in the list of men [Ashford Tourney Champions / Sansa’s Suitors] is accentuating the importance of Sansa and her claim to the North in the political scene of Westeros. After all, all of Sansa’s betrothals were arranged to gain political power through her claim to the North, which is the largest region of Westeros.

Tyrion Lannister, married Sansa following his father’s orders to take control over the North: "The girl's happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark." (…) “When you bring Eddard Stark's grandson home to claim his birthright, lords and little folk alike will rise as one to place him on the high seat of his ancestors. You are capable of getting a woman with child, I hope?"

Joffrey Baratheon, when King Robert proposed Joffrey and Sansa’s betrothal, he was trying to reenact his own betrothal to Lyanna Stark, that was part of the so called Southron Ambitions Theory.

Willas Tyrell, his grandmother Olenna Tyrell secretly arranged his betrothal with Sansa in order to expand their power over another great region of Westeros: “Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It’s your claim they mean to wed.” The Lannisters discovered this secret betrothal (thanks to Dontos and Littlefinger) and Sansa ended up married to Tyrion and Cersei betrothed to Willas.

Harrold Hardyng, when Petyr Baelish proposed Harry and Alayne/Sansa betrothal, he was trying to gain more political power to further his own agenda. “When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon... and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back... why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa... Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell”.

See? Tywin Lannister and Petyr Baelish, and even Olenna Tyrell, were acting exactly like Eleanor’s guardian, King Louis VI of France, betrothing her with his son and heir, the future Louis VII, as a way to bring the lands of Aquitaine under his control.

FIRST MARRIAGE

Eleanor became Queen consort of France due to her first marriage to his cousin Louis VII. This marriage lasted 15 years and only produced two daughters:

Louis and Eleanor were married in July 1137, but had little time to get to know one another before Louis’ father the king fell ill and died. Within weeks of her wedding, Eleanor found herself taking possession of the drafty and unwelcoming Cîté Palace in Paris that would be her new home. On Christmas Day of the same year, Louis and Eleanor were crowned king and queen of France.

—History

The wedding was celebrated in Bordeaux on July 25, 1137. Seven days later, Louis the Fat was dead, leaving the teenagers Louis and Eleanor to rule as king and queen. The two were coronated at Bourges Cathedral later that year on Christmas Day. Despite the marriage, the lands of Eleanor’s family would not come under the control of the Capetian dynasty. According to the terms of her father’s will, Queen Eleanor first had to give birth to a son, who then had to reach the age of majority and become the new duke of Aquitaine before the lands would officially pass to Louis’s family. (…)

The marriage was not a fruitful one. The couple did not have many children. Eleanor only gave birth to two daughters: Marie, countess of Champagne, in 1145, and Alice (or Alix), countess of Blois, around 1150. By most accounts, the marriage’s failure to produce a male heir led to greater tensions between husband and wife.

—National Geographic

The marriage was not a bed of roses:

Louis and Eleanor’s first years as rulers were fraught with power struggles with their own vassals – the powerful Count Theobald of Champagne for one – and with the Pope in Rome. Louis, still young and intemperate, made a series of military and diplomatic blunders that set him at odds with the Pope and several of his more powerful lords. The conflict that ensued culminated in the massacre of hundreds of innocents in the town of Vitry — during a siege of the town, a great number of the populace took refuge in a church, which was set aflame by Louis’s troops. Dogged by guilt over his role in the tragedy for years, Louis responded eagerly to the Pope’s call for a crusade in 1145. Eleanor joined him on the dangerous – and ill fated – journey west. The crusade did not go well, and Eleanor and Louis grew increasingly estranged.

—History

In 1142 Petronilla, Eleanor’s sister, fell in love with the married count of Vermandois, who was married to Eleanor of Champagne, daughter of a powerful French family. The count set aside his wife and married Petronilla. Critics saw Eleanor’s hand in the affair, which may have been a love match, but could have served a strategic purpose of strengthening the bonds between the Capetian crown and the House of Aquitaine.

Petronilla’s marriage led to a war between Louis and the count of Champagne in 1142. In 1143 Louis ordered the burning of the small town of Vitry-en-Perthois, killing as many as 1,500 people. The church condemned the actions of the French crown, which caused the pious Louis deep shame. He vowed to mount a crusade to atone for it. (…)

A series of disastrous military decisions resulted in the failure of the Second Crusade. In 1149 Louis and Eleanor boarded ships to sail back to France in defeat. For Louis VII, the Crusade was a twofold disaster: He had been away from his kingdom for two years, involved in expensive military campaigns the results of which were humiliating, and his marriage had completely broken down.

—National Geographic

As you can see Eleanor’s first marriage was not a successful one, it produce not male heir and it was full of political and religious conflicts. All of that resulted in Eleanor’s decision to seek an annulment. Alysanne only married one man, her older brother Jaehaerys, but she married him twice. The first time Alysanne and Jaehaerys eloped to Dragonstone and the marriage remained unconsummated. That period was the happiest time of her romantic relationship with her husband; she called that time, and Idyll:

“Queen Alysanne, for her part, was in no haste to return to court. “Here I have you to myself, day and night,” she told Jaehaerys. “When we go back, I shall be fortunate to snatch an hour with you, for every man in Westeros will want a piece of you.” For her, these days on Dragonstone were an idyll. “Many years from now when we are old and grey, we shall look back upon these days and smile, remembering how happy we were.”

—Fire & Blood

The period after their second wedding and coronation as King and Queen of Westeros were not as happy as their days at Dragonstone.

Alysanne’s older siblings, Aegon and Rhaena, incestuous marriage originated several problems and conflicts with the Faith of the Seven and their more fervent followers, because the Faith condemned the Targaryen’s brother and sister incest customs. That’s why Alysanne and Jaehareys’ mother, Queen Alyssa, originally planned other betrothals for them. But Alysanne and Jaehaerys eloped and kept their first wedding in secret until Jaehaerys came of age and they were crowned as King and Queen of Westeros. Later the Doctrine of Exceptionalism was invented as justification of the Targaryen’s incest customs. Jaehaerys and Alysanne kept the Great Septon and the Faith’s followers in line thanks to a huge propaganda campaign and their dragons.

Sansa Stark first marriage involved no love between bride and groom. Sansa was forced to marry Tyrion Lannister as a way to give her new husbands’s family, control and power over the North. The marriage was unconsummated and of course produced no male heir or any children, the bride ran away, and Tyrion Lannister was accused of regicide, ruining Tywin Lannister original plans for northern domination.

Sansa’s first marriage caused no problems with the Faith of the Seven, but she is in need of the High Septon’s help to gain the annulment of her marriage with Tyrion Lannister.

MARRIAGE ANNULMENT

Eleanor requested the annulment of her first marriage with her cousin Louis VII of France more than once:

After several fraught years during which Eleanor sought an annulment and Louis faced increasing public criticism, they were eventually granted an annulment on the grounds of consanguinity (being related by blood) in 1152 and separated, their two daughters left in the custody of the king.

—History

From 1147 to 1149 Eleanor accompanied Louis on the Second Crusade to protect the fragile Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, founded after the First Crusade only 50 years before, from Turkish assault. Eleanor’s conduct during this expedition, especially at the court of her uncle Raymond of Poitiers at Antioch, aroused Louis’s jealousy and marked the beginning of their estrangement. After their return to France and a short-lived reconciliation, their marriage was annulled in March 1152.

According to feudal customs, Eleanor then regained possession of Aquitaine.

—Britannica

After the couple returned to Europe, they met with Pope Eugene III who tried to reconcile them—even threatening excommunication. It was no use, the union was doomed: On March 21, 1152, a group of bishops at Beaugency declared Eleanor’s marriage void for reasons of consanguinity. In line with tradition, the daughters remained with their father, and Eleanor retained her duchy in Aquitaine.

—National Geographic

On 21 March, the four archbishops, with the approval of Pope Eugene, granted an annulment on grounds of consanguinity within the fourth degree; Eleanor was Louis' third cousin once removed, and shared common ancestry with Robert II of France. Their two daughters were, however, declared legitimate. […] Custody of them was awarded to King Louis. Archbishop Samson received assurances from Louis that Eleanor's lands would be restored to her.

—Wikipedia

Alysanne never pursued the annulment of her marriage, but she had a lot of tensions and problems with her husband King Jaehaerys, especially because their different views on matters of succession and the sexist and severe treatment that Jaehaerys gave to her daughters.

Sansa Stark is in need of a marriage annulment. The fact that Eleanor obtained the annulment of her first marriage gives me hope that Sansa will get an annulment for herself and then marry another cousin of hers, willingly this time.

Sansa won’t be able to plead consanguinity, as Eleanor did, as a ground for her marriage annulment, but she can allege the no consummation of her first marriage with Tyrion Lannister as the ground for the termination of that forced marriage.

GRRM has discussed with a fan the possibilities for Sansa’s first marriage annulment here.

INCEST

Eleanor married two of her cousins: King Louis VII of France and King Henry II of England. She obtained the annulment of her first marriage with King Louis VII of France on the grounds of consanguinity. Ironically enough, Eleanor was more closely related to her second husband, Henry Plantagenet, Count of Anjou and Duke of Normandy, future Henry II of England, than she had been to her first husband Louis VII of France. Rumours of sexual affairs with two uncles surrounded Eleanor, first with Raymond of Poitiers, Prince of Antioch, and brother of Eleanor’s father; and later with Geoffrey Plantagenet, Count of Anjou, and father of Eleanor’s second husband.

Alysanne married her older brother Jaehaerys Targaryen. When Alysanne was pregnant for the first time, she suffered an attempt of murder at Maidenpool, perpetuated by three women, followers of the Faith of the Seven that reject incest:

“Doctrine of Exceptionalism had won over most of the pious in the realm, but not all. Some of the women who tended Jonquil's Pool believed that the pool's sacred waters would become polluted if the queen, pregnant with the king's "abomination", were to enter the waters. While she was inside, Alysanne was attacked by three of these women with daggers.”

[Source]

Sansa Stark was not directly involved with incest. As it was mentioned before, the first Sansa Stark married her half uncle Lord Jonnel Stark. Sansa’s paternal grandparents were cousins: Lord Rickard and Lady Lyarra Stark.

Sansa also have two cousins, Robert Arryn and Jon Snow, which are subtly and not so subtly linked with her with romantic undertones:

Robert Arryn was named after Robert Baratheon and Jon Snow is the secret son of Rhaegar Targaryen. Robert and Rhaegar fought to death for the love of a Stark girl, Lyanna, the mother of Jon.

Robert Arryn and Jon Snow are surrounded by bird imagery. Robert with Falcons (Arryn sigil) and Robins (Sweetrobin), also with Winged Knights; and Jon with Crows (Night’s Watch/Black Knights) and dragons (winged creatures).

Robert Arryn idolizes Artys Arryn, The Falconknight (usually mixed with the Winged Knight); and Jon Snow idolizes Aemon Targaryen, The Dragonknight.

Sansa thinks about Jon in the Wall and recalled that in the songs the men of the Night’s Watch are called the Black Knights of the Wall.

Alayne is organizing a Tourney to elect the members of Robert Arryn personal guard, named the Brotherhood of the Winged Knights.

Robert Arryn and Jon Snow are surrounded by weirwood imagery. Robert and his weirwood throne and Jon with the Old Gods (literally weirwoods) and Ghost (weirwood’s coloring).

Robert Arryn and Jon Snow are the last males of their respective paternal houses. And both of them will face blonde threats to their claims.

Lysa Arryn intended to betroth Sansa with her son Robert Arryn.

Robert Arryn is infatuated with Alayne Stone (Sansa Stark in disguise) and constantly expressed his desire to marry her. Alayne rejects him every time alleging her bastard status.

Sansa modeled her bastard persona on her bastard half-brother (cousin) Jon Snow. And she is acting as a foster mother for her cousin Robert Arryn.

Sansa’s first crush was a young knight of the Vale of Arryn, Waymar Royce, whose physical features are pretty similar to Jon Snow’s (grey eyes, brown hair, slender bodies, also both Brothers of the Night’s Watch).

The Pact of Ice and Fire could be fulfilled with the marriage of two cousins with Stark Blood. Like Jon and Sansa.

The original outline planned a romance between two cousins with Stark Blood. Like Jon and Sansa (Originally Arya, discarded by GRRM at Balticon 2016).

SECOND MARRIAGE

Eleanor became Queen consort of England due to her second marriage to his cousin Henry Plantagenet, Count of Anjou and Duke of Normandy.

This marriage with the future Henry II of England was way more fruitful than Eleanor’s first marriage. The couple had 8 children, five sons and three daughters.

As Eleanor travelled to Poitiers, two lords —Theobald V, Count of Blois, and Geoffrey, Count of Nantes, brother of Henry II, Duke of Normandy —tried to kidnap and marry her to claim her lands. As soon as she arrived in Poitiers, Eleanor sent envoys to Henry, Duke of Normandy and future king of England, asking him to come at once to marry her. On 18 May 1152 (Whit Sunday), eight weeks after her annulment, Eleanor married Henry "without the pomp and ceremony that befitted their rank."

Eleanor was related to Henry even more closely than she had been to Louis: they were cousins to the third degree through their common ancestor Ermengarde of Anjou, wife of Robert I, Duke of Burgundy and Geoffrey, Count of Gâtinais, and they were also descended from King Robert II of France. A marriage between Henry and Eleanor's daughter Marie had earlier been declared impossible due to their status as third cousins once removed.

—Wikipedia

Duchess Eleanor was only 28, and it did not take long for suitors to begin to pursue her—for her lands and her mind. Theobald V of Blois, six years Eleanor’s junior, tried to kidnap her (he would later marry her daughter, Alice). Eleanor had her eye on a different suitor. From her court at Poitiers, she sent for him in secret. His name was Henry Plantagenet, Duke of Normandy and Count of Anjou. (…)

Less than three months after her divorce from Louis, Eleanor married Henry Plantagenet, nine years her junior, on May 18, 1152. Genealogy shows that the pair were more closely related than Eleanor and Louis, but that did not stand in the way of the union. Henry and Eleanor were masters of Normandy, Anjou, Maine, Touraine, and the Aquitaine, and serious rivals to Louis.

In 1153 Henry crossed the English Channel and was able to secure his position on the throne from the sitting king of England. By the time he and Eleanor were coronated in December 1154, she had already given birth to their first son, William, in August 1153—and was pregnant with their second child. In one bold stroke, the lands of Normandy, Aquitaine, Anjou, and other important French territories came under the control of the English king and queen. Eleanor’s children, as well as her lands, gave her much security.

—National Geographic

Within two months of her annulment, after fighting off attempts to marry her off to various other high-ranking French noblemen, Eleanor married Henry, Count of Anjou and Duke of Normandy. She had been rumored to have had an affair with her new husband’s father, and was more closely related to her new husband than she had been to Louis, but the marriage went ahead and within two years Henry and Eleanor were crowned king and queen of England after Henry’s accession to the English throne upon the death of King Stephen.

Eleanor’s marriage to Henry was more successful than her first, although not lacking in drama and discord. Henry and Eleanor argued often, but they produced eight children together between 1152 and 1166. The extent of Eleanor’s role in Henry’s rule is largely unknown, although it seems unlikely that a woman of her reputed energy and education would have been wholly without influence. Nonetheless, she does not emerge again into a publicly active role until separating from Henry in 1167 and moving her household to her own lands in Poitiers. While the reasons for the breakdown of her marriage to Henry remain unclear, it can likely be traced to Henry’s increasingly visible infidelities.

—History

Two months later she married the grandson of Henry I of England, Henry Plantagenet, Count of Anjou and Duke of Normandy. In 1154 he became, as Henry II, king of England, with the result that England, Normandy, and the west of France were united under his rule. Eleanor had only two daughters by Louis VII, but to her new husband she bore five sons and three daughters. The sons were William, who died at the age of three; Henry; Richard, the Lion-Heart; Geoffrey, duke of Brittany; and John, surnamed Lackland until, having outlived all his brothers, he inherited, in 1199, the crown of England. The daughters were Matilda, who married Henry the Lion, duke of Saxony and Bavaria; Eleanor, who married Alfonso VIII, king of Castile; and Joan, who married successively William II, king of Sicily, and Raymond VI, count of Toulouse. Eleanor would well have deserved to be named the “grandmother of Europe.”

—Britannica

Take note that even as a “divorced” woman, Eleanor still was the most eligible heiress in Europe, and suffered various attempts to kidnap as a way to marry her. This kidnap/marriage attempts against Eleanor reminds me of the Wildling beyond the Wall marriage customs.

The period that started with Alysanne’s second wedding to her older brother Jaehaerys was very similar to Eleanor’s second marriage with Henry II of England:

Henry was in conflict with his uncle Stephen of Blois for the Throne of England. Jaehaerys was in conflict with his uncle Maegor I for the Iron Throne.

Henry and Eleanor had 8 children. Jaehaerys and Alysanne had 13 children.

Henry often traveled to different parts of his realm, and while he was away, Eleanor assumed the role of regent and other political duties. Alysanne’s relationship with Jaehaerys was always very close. She was his most trusted counselor and his right hand: Alysanne remained in the Red Keep, presiding over council meetings in the king’s absence, and holding audience from a velvet seat at the base of the Iron Throne. —Fire & Blood

Eleanor outlived most of her children. Alysanne outlived most of her children.

Eleanor arranged marriages for her children and grandchildren. Alysanne arranged marriages for her children, especially her daughters.

Henry was an unfaithful husband. Jaehaerys was not unfaithful but he was very sexist and constantly wronged her daughters, granddaughter and children from his granddaughter in favor of his male children and grandchildren.

Henry and Eleanor got estranged with time and lived separated for long periods after their quarrels. Jaehareys and Alysanne got estranged with the time and lived separated for long periods after their quarrels.

Eleanor supported her sons’ rebellions against her husband Henry II, and got imprisoned for it. She would remain a prisoner until Henry II’s death in 1189. Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s quarrels happened mostly because their different views on matters of succession and the sexist and severe treatment that Jaehaerys gave to her daughters.

Eleanor died around age 80; she outlived Henry. Alysanne died at 64, leaving Jaehaerys a widower.

Sansa Stark has not married a second time yet. She is betrothed, as Alayne Stone, to Harrold Hardyng, often called Harry the Heir, cousin and heir presumptive of Lord Robert Arryn and would ascend to rule of the Vale as "Harrold Arryn" should Lord Robert die without issue.

Sansa Stark is not a mother yet neither. But GRRM has planted seeds about her fertility and future motherhood, as I earlier speculated in this post. There I talked about Alayne’s location: “The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting”; and Sansa being a half-Tully girl. Tully members are famously fertile; Cat, Lysa and Edmure manage to conceive at the first attempt with Ned, Petyr and Roslin.

CONTRIBUTIONS

Some of Eleanor’s greatest contributions were:

Eleanor of Aquitaine is said to be responsible for the introduction of built-in fireplaces, first used when she renovated the palace of her first husband Louis in Paris. Shocked by the frigid north after her upbringing in southern France, Eleanor’s innovation spread quickly, transforming the domestic arrangements of the time.

—Britannica

While in the eastern Mediterranean, Eleanor learned about maritime conventions developing there, which were the beginnings of what would become admiralty law. She introduced those conventions in her own lands on the island of Oléron in 1160 (with the "Rolls of Oléron") and later in England as well. She was also instrumental in developing trade agreements with Constantinople and ports of trade in the Holy Lands.

—Wikipedia

Eleanor was also an excellent diplomat envoy and a magnificent patron of arts, as it will be explained later.

Some of Alysanne’s contributions to the politics and the welfare of the people of Westeros were:

She helped Jaehaerys to create Westeros’ first unified code of laws.

Alysanne procured clean water for the people of Kingslanding: Queen Alysanne served each of them a tankard of river water at the next council meeting, and dared them to drink of it. The water went undrunk, but the wells and pipes were soon approved. Construction would require more than a dozen years, but in the end “the queen’s fountains” provided clean water for Kingslanders for many generations to come. —Fire & BloodQueen

Alysanne proposed a “New Gift” for the Night’s Watch: The notion did not please Lord Alaric; though a strong friend to the Night’s Watch, he knew that the lords who presently held the lands in question would object to them being given away without their leave. “I have no doubt that you can persuade them, Lord Alaric,” the queen said. And finally, charmed by her as ever, Alaric Stark agreed that, aye, he could. And so it came to pass that the size of the Gift was doubled with a stroke. —Fire & Blood

Alysanne aprocured the promulgation of the Widow’s Law: To rectify these ills, King Jaehaerys in 52 AC promulgated the Widow’s Law, reaffirming the right of the eldest son (or eldest daughter, where there was no son) to inherit, but requiring said heirs to maintain surviving widows in the same condition they had enjoyed before their husband’s death. A lord’s widow, be she a second, third, or later wife, could no longer be driven from his castle, nor deprived of her servants, clothing, and income. The same law, however, also forbade men from disinheriting their children by a first wife in order to bestow their lands, seat, or property upon a later wife or her own children. —Fire & Blood

Alysanne also procured the abolition of the lord’s ancient right to the first night: And so it came to pass that the second of what the smallfolk named Queen Alysanne’s Laws was enacted: the abolition of the lord’s ancient right to the first night. Henceforth, it was decreed, a bride’s maidenhead would belong only to her husband, whether joined before a septon or a heart tree, and any man, be he lord or peasant, who took her on her wedding night or any other night would be guilty of the crime of rape. —Fire & Blood

Sansa is not in a Queen position yet, but the possibilities for her ending the books as a monarch are big. We have books evidence and foreshadowing here and here. We also have the Sansa’s TV adaptation endgame as Queen in the North to support this hypothesis, and GRRM counting Sansa as a major character and also saying the endgame for the major characters would be the same in the Books.

Sansa was already betrothed with the heir to the Iron Throne once, but Joffrey Baratheon was a bastard disguised as a prince; so every time I remember that GRRM wrote a passage when someone called the Red Comet a sign of glory for Sansa’s betrothed, the dragon’s heir, I can’t stop thinking about Sansa being betrothed to the true dragon’s heir, and that that person is a prince disguised as a bastard.

But let’s talk about how good Sansa could be as a Queen. Tyrion Lannister, always praised by GRRM himself for his wits, has something to tell us about the matter:

Tyrion led Sansa around the yard, to perform the necessary courtesies. She is good at this, he thought, as he watched her tell Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, compliment Elinor Tyrell on her gown, and question Jalabhar Xho about wedding customs in the Summer Isles. His cousin Ser Lancel had been brought down by Ser Kevan, the first time he’d left his sickbed since the battle. He looks ghastly. Lancel’s hair had turned white and brittle, and he was thin as a stick. Without his father beside him holding him up, he would surely have collapsed. Yet when Sansa praised his valor and said how good it was to see him getting strong again, both Lancel and Ser Kevan beamed. She would have made Joffrey a good queen and a better wife if he’d had the sense to love her. He wondered if his nephew was capable of loving anyone.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

Despite the popular belief, Sansa Stark actually thinks about the welfare of the smallfolk:

Halfway along the route, a wailing woman forced her way between two watchmen and ran out into the street in front of the king and his companions, holding the corpse of her dead baby above her head. It was blue and swollen, grotesque, but the real horror was the mother’s eyes. Joffrey looked for a moment as if he meant to ride her down, but Sansa Stark leaned over and said something to him. The king fumbled in his purse, and flung the woman a silver stag. The coin bounced off the child and rolled away, under the legs of the gold cloaks and into the crowd, where a dozen men began to fight for it. The mother never once blinked. Her skinny arms were trembling from the dead weight of her son. (…)

From both sides of the street, the crowd surged against the spear shafts while the gold cloaks struggled to hold the line. Stones and dung and fouler things whistled overhead. “Feed us!” a woman shrieked. “Bread!” boomed a man behind her. “We want bread, bastard!” (…)

Tyrion called to her. “Are you hurt, Lady Sansa?” Blood was trickling down Sansa’s brow from a deep gash on her scalp. “They … they were throwing things … rocks and filth, eggs … I tried to tell them, I had no bread to give them”.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

In the Show they translated this Sansa’s line of dialogue to this one: “I would have given them bread if I had it.”

But I think the most telling evidence of how good Sansa could be as a queen is this one:

“The night’s first traitors,” the queen said, “but not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning.” As they left, she turned to Sansa. “Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and you’ll have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

“I will remember, Your Grace,” said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people’s loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I’ll make them love me.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

This is a stark contrast (pun intended) between ruling by fear and violence and ruling by kindness and protection. And we all know that Sansa’s true nature will lead her to choose love over fear.

WIDOWHOOD, REGENCY AND DEATH

When Eleanor became a widow, she not only regained her freedom after 16 years of imprisonment, she also got independency and power over England. She acted as regent in the absent of her son, King Richard I, she also acted as diplomat envoy for England and remained a huge influence in the political scene of Europe:

Upon the death of her husband Henry II on 6 July 1189, Richard I was the undisputed heir. One of his first acts as king was to send William Marshal to England with orders to release Eleanor from prison; he found upon his arrival that her custodians had already released her. Eleanor rode to Westminster and received the oaths of fealty from many lords and prelates on behalf of the king. She ruled England in Richard's name, signing herself "Eleanor, by the grace of God, Queen of England." On 13 August 1189, Richard sailed from Barfleur to Portsmouth and was received with enthusiasm. Between 1190 and 1194, Richard was absent from England, engaged in the Third Crusade from 1190 to 1192 and then held in captivity by Henry VI, Holy Roman Emperor. During Richard's absence, royal authority in England was represented by a Council of Regency in conjunction with a succession of chief justiciars – William de Longchamp (1190–1191), Walter de Coutances (1191–1193), and finally Hubert Walter. Although Eleanor held no formal office in England during this period, she arrived in England in the company of Coutances in June 1191, and for the remainder of Richard's absence, she exercised a considerable degree of influence over the affairs of England as well as the conduct of Prince John. Eleanor played a key role in raising the ransom demanded from England by Henry VI and in the negotiations with the Holy Roman Emperor that eventually secured Richard's release.

—Wikipedia

After Henry’s death in July 1189, Richard the Lion-Hearted became king, and Eleanor gained her complete freedom. Her son restored her lands that had been seized after the 1173 rebellion. Richard appointed her to a government position, and Eleanor traveled the English countryside securing loyalty oaths to her son and his kingdom.

Even in her late 60s, Eleanor continued to follow and often direct the political events of her lands. In 1191 she arranged a marriage for Richard to Berengaria of Navarre. While Richard was crusading in the Holy Land, Eleanor wielded influence over the men ruling in Richard’s absence, including his younger brother, Prince John. Moreover, accused of having ordered the murder of Conrad of Montferrat in the Holy Land, Richard was imprisoned by Holy Roman Emperor Henry VI. Eleanor turned to the pope, Celestine III, to help arrange her son’s release and also secured funds for his ransom.

In her 70s, Eleanor sought to strengthen the bonds between the Plantagenets and the Capets. In 1200 she traveled to the Pyrenees to escort her granddaughter Blanche to marry the son of the French king in a continuing effort to maintain the power of her family.

—National Geographic

On her release, Eleanor played a greater political role than ever before. She actively prepared for Richard’s coronation as king, was administrator of the realm during his Crusade to the Holy Land, and, after his capture by the duke of Austria on Richard’s return from the east, collected his ransom and went in person to escort him to England. During Richard’s absence, she succeeded in keeping his kingdom intact and in thwarting the intrigues of his brother John Lackland and Philip II Augustus, king of France, against him.

In 1199 Richard died without leaving an heir to the throne, and John was crowned king. Eleanor, nearly 80 years old, fearing the disintegration of the Plantagenet domain, crossed the Pyrenees in 1200 in order to fetch her granddaughter Blanche from the court of Castile and marry her to the son of the French king. By this marriage she hoped to ensure peace between the Plantagenets of England and the Capetian kings of France. In the same year she helped to defend Anjou and Aquitaine against her grandson Arthur of Brittany, thus securing John’s French possessions. In 1202 John was again in her debt for holding Mirebeau against Arthur, until John, coming to her relief, was able to take him prisoner. John’s only victories on the Continent, therefore, were due to Eleanor.

She died in 1204 at the monastery at Fontevrault, Anjou, where she had retired after the campaign at Mirebeau. Her contribution to England extended beyond her own lifetime; after the loss of Normandy (1204), it was her own ancestral lands and not the old Norman territories that remained loyal to England.

—Britannica

Henry II died in July 1189 and their son Richard succeeded him; one of his first acts was to free his mother from prison and restore her to full freedom. Eleanor ruled as regent in Richard’s name while he took over for his father in leading the Third Crusade, which had barely begun when Henry II died. On the conclusion of the crusade, Richard (known as Richard the Lionheart) returned to England and ruled until his death in 1199. Eleanor lived to see her youngest son, John, crowned king after Richard’s death, and was employed by John as an envoy to France. She would later support John’s rule against the rebellion of her grandson Arthur, and eventually retire as a nun to the abbey at Fontevraud, where she was buried upon her death in 1204.

—History

Alysanne died before Jaehaerys, but, as it was said before, during their life together she helped him to codified the laws of Westeros, she procured the promulgation of important laws in favor of women rights and gave fresh water to the people of Kings landing.

Alysanne also acted as Jaehaerys representative in an important royal progress through the north, charming all the northern houses, specially the warden of the north, Lord Alaric Stark, and the men of the Night’s Watch, procuring the “New Gift” for them.

Alysanne, in open disagreement with her husband, was in favor of her daughter Daenerys and her granddaughter Rhaenys to be Jaehaerys’ heir to the Iron Throne, following the order of birth, not their sex.

Again, Sansa is not in a Queen position yet, but she has the education and charms to become a great monarch. Her knowledge of history, heraldry and courtesies would also make her a great diplomat and negotiator.

THE COURT OF LOVE

And we finally arrived to the section that will make you realize how much of Eleanor we can find in Sansa. After reading this part of Eleanor's story, I decided to write this post as a continuation of my Alysanne/Sansa post. And after doing some more research on GRRM's words on how much Eleanor has influenced their ASOIAF women, I think I made a good decision.

Eleanor was born in the South of France, in a court that was exactly like the Southern courts that Sansa read in her beloved songs and that she wished to live in:

—National Geographic

Now, lets read one of my favorite Sansa’s passages, one that tell us about her innocent dreams and wishes for a young and handsome singer that would make the walls of Winterfell alive with romantic music:

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. "The man has played us every song he knows thrice over," Lord Eddard told her gently. "I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come."

They hadn't, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent.

But that was when she was a little girl, and foolish. She was a maiden now, three-and-ten and flowered. All her nights were full of song, and by day she prayed for silence.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

Somehow, Eleanor’s story is in reverse, because when she married Louis VII of France and moved to Paris, in the North, she found her new home staid and cold:

Possessing a high-spirited nature, Eleanor was not popular with the staid northerners. […] Much money went into making the austere Cité Palace in Paris more comfortable for Eleanor's sake.

—Wikipedia

Within weeks of her wedding, Eleanor found herself taking possession of the drafty and unwelcoming Cîté Palace in Paris that would be her new home.

—History

By many accounts, Eleanor was a bright and vivacious woman. Life at the Capetian court did not entirely meet the expectations and tastes of the young bride who was used to the court of Aquitaine’s embrace of troubadour poetry, sophistication, extravagance, and a greater freedom of manners. The Parisian court and northern France were more reserved.

—National Geographic

Years later, when Eleanor was Queen of England, she decided to return to her own lands and stablished her own court in Poitiers, when she became a magnificent patron of arts:

In The Art of Courtly Love, Andreas Capellanus, Andrew the chaplain, refers to the court of Poitiers. He claims that Eleanor, her daughter Marie, Ermengarde, Viscountess of Narbonne, and Isabelle of Flanders would sit and listen to the quarrels of lovers and act as a jury to the questions of the court that revolved around acts of romantic love. He records some twenty-one cases, the most famous of them being a problem posed to the women about whether true love can exist in marriage. According to Capellanus, the women decided that it was not at all likely.

—Wikipedia

In this marriage, Eleanor was also able to become a patron of the arts, and at least four writers dedicated their work to her. She famously established the so-called Court of Love at Poitiers between 1168 and 1173. Along with her daughter Marie (from her first marriage), popular accounts describe Eleanor’s court as a flowering of culture where music, poetry, and chivalry took center stage.

—National Geographic

During her childbearing years, she participated actively in the administration of the realm and even more actively in the management of her own domains. She was instrumental in turning the court of Poitiers, then frequented by the most famous troubadours of the time, into a centre of poetry and a model of courtly life and manners. She was the great patron of the two dominant poetic movements of the time: the courtly love tradition, conveyed in the romantic songs of the troubadours, and the historical matière de Bretagne, or “legends of Brittany,” which originated in Celtic traditions and in the Historia regum Britanniae, written by the chronicler Geoffrey of Monmouth sometime between 1135 and 1138.

—Britannica

Eleanor’s time as mistress of her own lands in Poitiers (1168-1173) established the legend of the Court of Love, where she is reputed to have encouraged a culture of chivalry among her courtiers that had far-reaching influence on literature, poetry, music and folklore. Although some facts about the court remain in dispute amidst centuries of accumulated legend and myth, it seems that Eleanor, possibly accompanied by her daughter Marie, established a court that was largely focused on courtly love and symbolic ritual that was eagerly taken up by the troubadours and writers of the day and promulgated through poetry and song. This court was reported to have attracted artists and poets, and to have contributed to a flowering of culture and the arts. But to whatever extent such a court existed, it appears not to have survived Eleanor’s later capture and imprisonment, which effectively removed her from any position of power and influence for the next 16 years.

—History

Now, after reading about Eleanor’s Court of Love, tell if she doesn’t sound exactly like Sansa? And this give me hope about Sansa, once in a position of power and in her own lands, establishing a similar court full of poets and singers to promote chivalry and courtly love, just like in her little girl’s dreams and wishes.

Another customs from the Middle Ages that GRRM introduced in the Books, in line with themes of chivalry courtly love, are the jousting tourneys and the title for the queen of love and beauty. The subject was discussed in this post:

That being said, what they did have in the twelfth century was the idea of the Court of Love, which developed under the aegis of one of my personal favourite medieval figures, Eleanor of Aquitaine, first queen of France, and then queen of England. Eleanor was the daughter and heiress of the duke of Aquitaine, whose court was known as a centre of arts and culture, particularly music and poetry. When she was in charge, she patronized many poets, musicians, and artists, and they of course reciprocated by referring to her as the queen of love. Her daughter, Marie, Countess of Champagne, followed suit, and is best known for having commissioned Chrétien de Troyes to write a romance about Queen Guinevere and thereby introducing the world to Sir Lancelot of the Lake.

—poorshadowspaintedqueens

Eleanor being called the queen of love and beauty by poets and musicians gives me hope about Sansa being crowned queen of love and beauty sometime in the Books.

Alysanne also favored arts and introduced them again in the Red Keep:

Queen Alysanne looked back on the short-lived glories of her father’s court fondly, however, and made it her purpose to make the Red Keep glitter as it never had before, buying tapestries and carpets from Free Cities and commissioning murals, statuary, and tilework to decorate the castle’s halls and chambers. At her command, men from the City Watch combed Flea Bottom until they found Tom the Strummer, whose mocking songs had amused king and commons alike during the War for the White Cloaks. Alysanne made him the court singer, the first of many who would hold that office in the decades to come. She brought in a harpist from Oldtown, a company of mummers from Braavos, dancers from Lys, and gave the Red Keep its first fool, a fat man called the Goodwife who dressed as a woman and was never seen without his wooden “children,” a pair of cleverly carved puppets who said ribald, shocking things.

—Fire & Blood

But I think that GRRM took inspiration from Eleanor’s Court of Love to create Alysanne’s Women Courts:

Since holding the first of her women's courts during the first royal progress Alysanne and Jaehaerys made, the women's courts became an important part of every subsequent royal progress. Only women and girls were allowed to join Alysanne during these courts, regardless of their status of birth. Alysanne encouraged them to speak freely and openly about their fears, concerns, and hopes.

The first of Alysanne's women's courts was held in 51 AC at the town of Duskendale, when King Jaehaerys I Targaryen and Queen Alysanne made their first royal progress. In 52 AC, during Jaehaerys's second royal progress, Alysanne held a women's court at Gulltown, and another at the Gates of the Moon. The things she heard from the women during these two women's courts resulted in her plea to Jaehaerys to protect the widows of the Seven Kingdoms from being cast aside by the children of their late husbands from earlier marriages. In response, Jaehaerys promulgated the Widow's Law.

In 53 AC, when Alysanne was unwilling to join Jaehaerys on his royal progress due to her pregnancy, Lady Jennis Templeton accompanied the king's retinue in order to hold women's courts at Riverrun and Stoney Sept.

In 58 AC while visiting the North, Alysanne held a women's court at White Harbour, where more than two hundred women and girls came before her. When she eventually arrived at the Wall to visit the Night's Watch, she held a women's court in a brothel at Mole's Town. Following their return to King's Landing, Alysanne brought to Jaehaerys's attention the stories she had heard in her women's court at Mole's Town, concerning the right to the first night. As a result, Jaehaerys abolished the lord's right to the first night. These policies, influenced by Alysanne, came to be called Queen Alysanne's laws by the smallfolk.

[Source]

As you can see, these women’s meeting with Alysanne resulted in the promulgation of laws to protect women’s rights against sexual abuse and domestic violence. And let’s also remember that Alysanne, in open disagreement with her husband, was in favor of her daughter Daenerys and her granddaughter Rhaenys to be Jaehaerys’ heir to the Iron Throne, following the order of birth, not their sex.

The most prominent dissenter was Good Queen Alysanne, who had helped her husband rule the Seven Kingdoms for many years, and now saw her son’s daughter being passed over because of her sex. “A ruler needs a good head and a true heart,” she famously told the king. “A cock is not essential. If Your Grace truly believes that women lack the wit to rule, plainly you have no further need of me.”

—Fire & Blood

Now tell if this not sound pretty similar to:

The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

“I will remember, Your Grace,” said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people’s loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I’ll make them love me.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Sansa Stark is Good Queen material. Tyrion Lannister And GRRM agrees.

Queen Alysanne was also fond of singers and gallant knights:

Three of the brothers had been singers before taking the black, and they took turns playing for Her Grace at night, regaling her with ballads, war songs, and bawdy barracks tunes.

—Fire & Blood

Though his castle was small and modest compared to the great halls of the realm, Lord Dondarrion was a splendid host and his son Simon played the high harp as well as he jousted, and entertained the royal couple by night with sad songs of star-crossed lovers and the fall of kings. So taken with him was the queen that the party lingered longer at Blackhaven than they had intended.

—Fire & Blood

One of the Knights of Legends that Sansa idolizes, Ser Ryam Redwyne, crowned Queen Alysanne as the queen of love and beauty:

On the field, the highlight of the competition was the brilliance of Ser Ryam Redwyne, the youngest son of Lord Manfryd Redwyne of the Arbor, Jaehaerys’s lord admiral and master of ships. In successive tilts, Ser Ryam unhorsed Ronnal Baratheon, Arthor Oakheart, Simon Dondarrion, Harys Hogg (Harry the Ham, to the commons), and two Kingsguard knights, Lorence Roxton and Lucamore Strong. When the young gallant trotted up to the royal box and crowned Good Queen Alysanne as his queen of love and beauty, the commons roared their approval.

—Fire & Blood

Back to Sansa, let’s read one of my favorite pieces from last year, written a month before the Show final episode, an interview to GRRM to talk exclusively about the Stark Sisters, Arya and Sansa Stark:

I wanted to read you one of the earliest passages that you wrote about the two of them, if that’s okay.

Sure.

“It wasn’t fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn.”

So what was the glimmer of an idea for these two sisters?

Well you’re taking me back a long, long way. That’s a pretty early chapter … I first began in 1991. I wrote about a hundred pages of it before I got distracted by Hollywood stuff, and then I put it aside for like two years before I got back to it. Those words you read were actually part of the first hundred pages that I was doing there. When I was writing these, and I was creating a family for Lord Eddard Stark … I knew I wanted it to be a fairly large family, with a number of children. I suppose I cheated a little by not having three children who died in infancy in there, which was true of the actual Middle Ages. They had a terrible time with kids who died very young.

So I created Bran and in the very first chapter, I wrote where they find the direwolf pups in the snow. Bran is the viewpoint chapter there, and Robb and Jon and Theon are all with him, they’re the boys who rode out with their father to see the man beheaded. The fact that the boys went out was a reflection of what a patriarchal society it was, as medieval societies often were. I was following history in that regard … But I wanted some girls, too.

And when I actually got to Winterfell in the later chapter, I knew I wanted to deal with the role that women and young girls had in this kind of society. So to show the contrast, [we] have two sisters who were very, very different from each other. The Middle Ages was very patriarchal. I’m a little weary of over-generalizing, since that makes me seem like an idiot — but generally, women didn’t have a lot of rights. They were used to make marriage-alliances; I’m talking high-born women now, of course. Peasant women had even less rights. But I was focusing on a noble family here as the center of the book.

At the same time, this is also the era where courtly romance was born: the gallant Knight, the fair lady, the princess, all of that stuff. That became very big, initially in the courts of France and Burgundy, but it spread all over Europe, including England and Germany. And it still has its roots in a lot of stuff that we follow today. I mean, in some sense the Disney Princess archetype — the whole princess mythos — that we’re all familiar with is a legacy of the troubadours of the romance era of medieval France.

Sansa completely bought into that, loved everything about that. She dreamed of jousts, bards singing of her beauty, fair knights, being the mistress of a castle and perhaps a princess and queen. The whole romantic thing.

And then to have Arya, a girl who did not fit that — and who, from the very beginning, was uncomfortable and chafes at the roles that she was being pushed into. You know, who didn’t wanna sew but wanted to fight with a sword, who liked riding and hunting and wrestling in the mud. A “tomboy” we would call it, I guess. But that phrase, of course, didn’t exist in the Middle Ages, so I don’t think I ever use it in the books, but you know what I mean. So that was the roots to create these two characters who were very different from each other, and who then necessarily chafed against each other in the context of the books.

—GRRM - RollingStone - 2019

Do I need to tell more? It seems to me very obvious that GRRM has translated Eleanor’s Court of Love into Sansa’s love for songs and stories, courtesies and profound beliefs on chivalry and courtly love:

Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor.

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

Also, take note that Sansa loves her courtesies, they are her armor.

But there is more to say about Eleanor of Aquitaine and her influence in the creation of ASOIAF women, especially women profoundly linked and similar to Sansa Stark. Let’s see:

While promoting Fire & Blood, GRRM told us this about Eleanor of Aquitaine:

Question: A lot of your female characters are very empowered and motivated, which other fictional or historical female characters did you drawn inspiration from, if any?

GRRM: Ahhh, well, there was a lot of them, Eleanor of Aquitaine of course was a major one, she was one of the most kick-ass women of the Middle Ages and, you know, she had her own crusade, or she went on crusade rather and she married two kings and then was the mother of several more, she was a great character. There’s also a lot of the... If you read the Italian History, a lot of the... During the Italian Middle Ages and Renaissance period, there were a lot of very powerful and bloody women who controlled various city-states in Italy, and did some amazing things.

—In conversation: George R.R. Martin with Dan Jones FULL EVENT

We already know that Alysanne was called by GRRM, the “Eleanor of Aquitaine of Westeros”:

Alysanne was the queen, consort, and sister of King Jaehaerys I, the Old King, and like him she lived a long life. Since you pictured him as an old man at the end of his reign, I figure it would be most appropriate to do her the same way, rather than as the young woman she was when Jaehaerys first ascended the Iron Throne.

Her relationship with King Jaehaerys was always very close. She was his most trusted counselor and his right hand, and often wore a slimmer, more feminine version of his crown at court. Beloved by the common people of Westeros, she loved them in return, and was renowned for her charities. [Source]

But Alysanne is not the only woman linked and similar to Sansa that was modeled from Eleanor. GRRM has also said that he took inspiration from Eleanor of Aquitaine to create Catelyn Stark and Brienne of Tarth:

Interviewer: One of the strongest female characters is Catelyn Stark, in my point of view.

GRRM: Well, I wanted to make a strong mother character. The portrayal women in epic fantasy have been problematical for a long time. These books are largely written by men but women also read them in great, great numbers. And the women in fantasy tend to be very atypical women… They tend to be the woman warrior or the spunky princess who wouldn’t accept what her father lays down, and I have those archetypes in my books as well.

However, with Catelyn there is something reset for the Eleanor of Aquitaine, the figure of the woman who accepted her role and functions with a narrow society and, nonetheless, achieves considerable influence and power and authority despite accepting the risks and limitations of this society. She is also a mother… Then, a tendency you can see in a lot of other fantasies is to kill the mother or to get her off the stage. She’s usually dead before the story opens… Nobody wants to hear about King Arthur’s mother and what she thought or what she was doing, so they get her off the stage and I wanted it too. And that’s Catelyn.

—Adrias News - 2012

So Catelyn Stark is “the figure of the woman who accepted her role and functions with a narrow society and, nonetheless, achieves considerable influence and power and authority despite accepting the risks and limitations of this society”.

Catelyn Stark, Sansa’s lady mother and role model, the symbol of strength she turned to when she pleaded for her father's life:

Sansa quailed. Now, she told herself, I must do it now. Gods give me courage. She took one step, then another. Lords and knights stepped aside silently to let her pass, and she felt the weight of their eyes on her. I must be as strong as my lady mother. "Your Grace," she called out in a soft, tremulous voice.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Catelyn Stark, the woman whose name Sansa wanted to take as her new identity:

What should you be called?" "I . . . I could call myself after my mother . . ." "Catelyn? A bit too obvious . . . but after my mother, that would serve. Alayne. Do you like it?" "Alayne is pretty." Sansa hoped she would remember.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Catelyn Stark, the mother that Sansa didn’t forget and that reminds inside her to preserve her true identity:

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

That Catelyn Stark is the kind of woman that Sansa Stark will become and surpass in the future. To quote GRRM: “one of the most kick-ass women of the Middle Ages Westeros”.

Here you can read more about Catelyn Stark and Eleanor of Aquitaine parallels.

And this is what GRRM said about who inspired Brienne of Tarth:

“I enjoyed Xena the Warrior Princess a lot but I did not think it was an accurate portrayal of what a women warrior was or would be like, and I sort of created Brienne of Tarth as an answer to that.

I was inspired by people like Eleanor of Aquitaine and not so much Joan of Arc, but the queens of Scottish history, from Lady Macbeth on down - strong women who didn’t put on chain-mail bikinis to go forth into battle, but exercised immense powers by other ways.”

—Pajiba - 2014

That quote was from the Edinburgh International Book Festival 2014. During that event, and even before, there were reports about GRRM saying that: “Brienne is Sansa with a sword”.

Since there was no primary source for this quote (I just found a broken link not longer available), just the fan reports we found in reddit and westeros.org, with the help of some friends, we decided to ask the man himself. We contacted him via email.

And he answered us.

More or less the question was this:

I recently came across a quotation that’s been attributed to you, but unfortunately the original source is no longer available, and I wanted to confirm it’s something you’ve actually said in the past. In 2014 at the Edinburgh Book Festival, multiple fans quoted you as saying that Brienne of Tarth is “Sansa with a sword,” with regards to certain personality traits. Is that an accurate quotation?

And George’s answer was this:

I don’t remember saying that, but it could be. It has been six years. GRRM

¡My friends and I are still ecstatic!

And as I said before, this beautiful quote “Brienne is Sansa with a sword”, also reminds me of this interview:

Game of Thrones Season 4 Premiere:

Interviewer: Is there any character who is morally beyond reproach?

GRRM: Beyon reproach? You mean like good, so good? Probably not.

Interviewer: I was thinking Brienne.

GRRM: Maybe, yes, certainly. She’s up there. She’s very idealistic. At least in the beginning, but you know her journey still has a way to go, and my world has a way of testing one’s ideals, so we’ll see by the end.

That Brienne description sounds pretty much like Sansa, right?

So there you have it, I just love that Catelyn, Brienne and Sansa belong to the Eleanor of Aquitaine’s kick-ass women club.

BAD REPUTATION ¡KICK-ASS REPUTATION!

As you can imagine, through all these years, Eleanor of Aquitaine, for being the woman she was, had also gotten a bad reputation:

At times portrayed as a frivolous young woman or a manipulative schemer, Eleanor was a savvy player on the political stage—unafraid to exercise the power she held; her reputation may have been damaged by her boldness, but her influence on the political and cultural events of the 12th century remains undiminished.

—National Geographic

She has been misjudged by many French historians who have noted only her youthful frivolity, ignoring the tenacity, political wisdom, and energy that characterized the years of her maturity. “She was beautiful and just, imposing and modest, humble and elegant”; and, as the nuns of Fontevrault wrote in their necrology, a queen “who surpassed almost all the queens of the world.”

—Britannica

Indeed, while researching for this post I found awful reports about Eleanor, trying to disqualified her and her achievements, and trying also to demystify her figure calling most of the facts attributed to her, fantasies and fiction. In a state where we don’t even have a reliable source about Eleanor’s true physical features, I think it is more probable that we only knew a few things about her, and knowing so little, she still is “one of the most kick-ass women of the Middle Ages”.

Thanks the Gods, Alysanne never suffered of this bad reputation “phenomenon”, the way other women from Fire and Blood had. You just have to read the things that were told about the first Rhaenys and Rhaena to know that they were the subjects of misogyny and bad propaganda as a way to diminished them and exalt other characters.

I’m not saying that Alysanne didn’t deserve to be called the “Good Queen”, but Jaehaerys used her for his Targaryen supremacy propaganda campaign, and, as you may have already realized, most of the time Alysanne was the real author of the best initiatives and laws of Jaehaerys’ rule:

“Words are wind,” he told his council, “but wind can fan a fire. My father and my uncle fought words with steel and flame. We shall fight words with words, and put out the fires before they start.” And so saying, His Grace sent forth not knights and men-at-arms, but preachers. “Tell every man you meet of Alysanne’s kindness, her sweet and gentle nature, and her love for all the people of our kingdom, great and small,” the king charged them.

—Fire & Blood

But Catelyn and Sansa were not freed of this bad reputation “phenomenon”. Catelyn and Sansa are two of the most hated and insulted characters of ASOIAF, no matter how many times the author himself has defended them of unjust critics and baseless judgments. Just like Eleanor, Catelyn and Sansa are called frivolous, manipulative, schemers; but also, and at the same time, useless and whiny. It’s ridiculous.

Following the "Creating Characters" panel, Linda and I mentioned to George that some people gave Sansa and Catelyn a lot of grief, claiming they "whined" too much.

George was quite adamant that he disagreed with those readers. He pointed out that the problem is that readers often don't seem to make a distinction between internal thought and external speech in a way that an author might prefer. Specifically, in terms of "whining", to him whining is a verbal act -- you actually have to speak to whine. Cat doesn't do that, though -- all her dark, depressed thoughts are kept to herself. Yes, the reader is aware of them, because they read her POV, but she absolutely does not burden other characters with them. Basically, everyone has bad times among the good times, and they think negatively then but just having negative thoughts isn't whining.

[Source]

There you have it haters, GRRM wants for you to know that you can’t read.

So, let’s just change this bad reputation tag for a better one: ¡KICK-ASS REPUTATION!

And to finish this really long post, I will leave you with what I wrote about the l’Armure necklace that Louis Vuitton gave to Sophie Turner for the 71st annual Emmy Awards:

The dazzling piece in question is titled the l’Armure necklace, from Louis Vuitton’s “Riders of the Knights” collection. Made with white gold, 640 diamonds and 305 baguette-cut diamonds, it took over 1,175 hours of work to complete. “The design is inspired by medieval armor,” Louis Vuitton’s jewelry designer Francesca Amfitheatrof told Vogue. [Source]

The Riders of the Knights collection achieves an immersive aesthetic drawn from medieval codes of chivalry and heraldic crests. (…)

With this new collection, the House pays tribute to the powerful vision that impelled so many medieval heroines to transcend their limitations and forge their own destiny. These women made a lasting mark on the man’s world they inhabited, shaping their fate. They are the very embodiment of determination and independence, values that reflect the Louis Vuitton woman. [Source]

Louis Vuitton literally gave Sophie her own armor in the form of a white gold and diamonds necklace, in a very similar fashion to Michele Clapton giving Sansa her Needle necklace and her armor belt and dress, that armored her against all the claimers of her body and ancestral lands.

A beautiful and symbolic way to honor the character Sophie played for about 10 years, Sansa Stark, a medieval heroine that prevailed against the patriarchal Westerosi society, never abandoning her feminine strength and courage, while still believing in chivalry and inspiring true knights along her path.

¡The Queen in the North!

#Eleanor of Aquitaine #Sansa Stark #Good Queen Alysanne #parallels #grrm #I may or may not be crying while finishing this truly long post #I just love my baby so much #she is my hero

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linlin123sblog · 3 years

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visxionaries · 3 years

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a fortnight had passed since cedric tyrell had returned to highgarden; a fortnight that had stretched to seem to seem almost like months, even years during the darkest moments of his despair. the man had spent many a sleepless night staring at the canopy above as his mind spun; so many decisions, so many possibilities, so many outcomes that could put so many at risk. he thought of the impending battle further north, where the river king’s men awaited support from the reach, stationed at their garrisons along the border of the mountains of the moon. he had heard news that alaric tyrell had split up his men; sending the first ten thousand the week before, and the second half on the crack of dawn. and how little of a surprise that was; for the tyrells had made their allegiances known, and had a long stretch of borders to protect from surrounding enemies. he thought of harlon flowers, a man who had perhaps been the only constant in his entire life up to this moment, understanding of his own detached ways whilst remaining steadfast, loyal, and a visionary; a symbol of what cedric wanted their homeland to someday become once again.

he thought of his sister helena, no doubt suffocating beneath the heavy burden of duty; she was most like a queen when she was aware of all the facts, and could play her cards well; cedric knew his ominous silence since his departure would be unhinging her, day by passing day. but what were he to do if his letters to helena were intercepted, and she were implicated in a plan that could easily be seen as treasonous by their tyrannical brother? he thought of alaric himself, once the golden man of their line; a family orientated man, who balanced the burdens of ambition and honour, long before the dragons sore over their fertile fields. and it was whilst cedric tyrell laid there, staring above at the canopy in the pitch black, did the final thread tying their brotherhood sever; it was not in a dramatic rage fuelled by family tensions and jealousy, but a silent realisation. cedric tyrell had no brother, but a king. a king of thorns.

the strange sense of emptiness seemed to spread and course through his veins as the man raised himself from his restless slumber. their biggest strength in this game of thrones was their bounty; a surplus of harvests, of population, of land. their large army was both a blessing and a curse; depending on where in the great game they were to be stationed. sending ten thousand men to the river king was enough of a throne in his people’s side; not the people of the reach, but the nobles he had come to consider his companions in the months that they had spent together. the likes of the arryns, brynden tully, loreza martell, even the lannisters themselves; for though there was much for tyrin and cedric to discuss once they met again, he would not wish to see the lannister king and his family perish. an extra ten thousand men could prove to be the final nail in their coffins; and for cedric to do nothing, then he may as well send them their accompanying shrouds.

he had not done anything that could be considered impulsive, lest he spur the king of thorns into too grave an action to ever take back; the man had spent the last fortnight making his petitions to see the king, planting his seeds and hoping they would prove fruitful. alas he heard nothing but sorrowful silence; a silence that cedric himself had almost sent himself spiralling into. but now there no time for patience, no time to wait for his seeds to flourish; he had until dawn. the man got himself ready in what felt like a flurry of movement; the guards stationed were in the precarious situation of guarding a prince in his own right - they left him mostly be during the night, remaining in the gathering area of the small, tucked away building cedric called home in the furthest corner of highgarden. upon meeting with the bastard hightower, the conversation was brief - they knew their best course of action, and what each would do to get there.

it took him an hour to figure out the best course of escaping after he slipped through an open window; though in the end he had found himself slipping into a baker’s wagon, leaving the castle after delivering his assigned amount to stock up the kitchens. cedric laid as still as he could behind enormous sacks of flour, watching as they rode past the castle’s three rings of defensive walls; beginning his journey down the hill highgarden was raised atop, toward the fork in the road that would head north to goldengrove, or east to cider hall. as the wagon slowed to a halt, the baker seemed to be engaging in some discussions with a passing merchant, regarding the likes of rising taxation to pay for a war that was not their own. using the opportunity to slide himself from the wagon and onto the pebbled road, wiping some excess flour from his tunic, he managed to sneak from the situation to sit and wait beneath a mighty oak. and wait he did.

he heard them before he saw them, the thunderous sounds of ten thousand feet marching; they were in their regiments, spread over the acres of the field as they started their long journey north. the men flew flags of a thorny, golden rose emblazoned upon a dark green backdrop; though cedric felt less and less like a part of a house that would support such traitorous behaviour. the man remained patient, waiting for their lord commander to come into sight; he was expecting the king of thorns himself, but to his surprise he found himself looking at the sigil of house hightower; a striking white tower, engulfed in red and orange flames. the sight of the lord hightower had somewhat surprised him; they were a house that historically preferred trade over war, and only found themselves roped into conflict when forced. apart from their targaryen queen, who had perhaps caused the dance itself. cedric knew the lord of house hightower well; they had hosted him many a time over his youth when cedric would leave behind highgarden, though since the ten year war, the hightowers had been offended at house tyrell’s mostly neutrality; not when a woman of their own was in the red keep of kings landing.

the conversation was tense as the men stepped aside to talk beneath the old oak tree; cedric knew to throw persuasion aside in this matter, for the man had known him since he was a boy, and there was little use in persuading a man who was admittedly much wiser than he was. “and when the king recovers from his current state of stress and tension, only to find out his council allowed him to be so easily manipulated by the tullys and the riverlands?” cedric questioned the man, his arms over his shoulders; it was the truth, as alaric would turn on his closest nobles should his ventures fail. a madman will never accept his delusion, after all. “i ask you to trust me, lord hightower; if not for the sake of the kingdom, then for yourself, as your fortunes and mine are more tangled than either of us could possibly know.”

house hightower had already taken a blow as the blacks won the dance of dragons; they could not risk falling out of a favour with the tyrell king too, despite the growing tensions between the houses due to alaric tyrell’s neutrality during the ten year war. in the end, the lord commander listened; but only due to the matter of his own personal fortunes. cedric knew that there was no way of stopping the ten thousand men that had already set off for the vale; however as he watched lord hightower begin to command his men to cease walking, there were multiple faces cedric noticed in the crowd, faces of guards and men the man had seen somewhere along his travels in the reach. oldtown, highgarden, brightwater keep, horn hill. cedric bellowed, getting himself onto a horse and riding along the gaps of the regiments..

“your king has realised the manipulation of a pretender and strangers of essos and has sent me to intercede with you for the love he bares his men. since when have us reachmen feared trouts and masked men, and cast aside our honour and patience to the beck and call of a king who dares rob what was never his? since when do we cast aside our virtues of patience, abandoning our families and our abundance of harvest, to run to join a war with tails between our legs? grover tully is a fraud who means to march you all to your deaths. i pray you think, men. in our history, who has ever been able to penetrate the vale?

if you fear the gods, you will honour your oath to love and protect your king from outside forces; just as i protect him, as my only brother. stand with the family who ensured you bowed to no dragon, no lion, no stag, no wolf, none but your own who know the fields and how to reap what we sow, to yield what has long since been planted. the king will know of your honour, and your loyalty should you cast aside your weapons. return home. your women and children will be safe, and you shall be rewarded once this plot has been unravelled.”

the sound of weapons dropping to the floor filled the air, as the men cheered; for it seemed there was a sense of unity once again, that their kingdom was once again whole. but cedric only held the gaze of lord hightower; they both knew this day was only beginning.

#plot update.#drabble tag.#ooc: this is so long but we got progression!

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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Dany being self-critical or at least self-aware

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

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take. (and that's not even considering the double standards and the contradictions with what had been shown from show!Dany up until then, but that's obviously out of the scope of these lists)

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

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend (or even simply explore different facets of) Dany's character in metas or conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find in her chapters, which is no guarantee that the effort was perfectly executed, but I did my best.

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

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

I listed the passages back to front because I felt doing so highlighted Dany's evolution better.

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

To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

[I]f you are the person who has freed countless souls from chains -- when all those people never imagined freedom was a possibility -- you would feel you know better than everyone else what is best for them. (The Take)

And for Dany, the whole concept of "breaking the wheel" was always just about her taking more power so that she could dispense what she believed to be justice. It's a truly terrifying megalomania and one that I think she's had all along, we just didn't always see it. (x)

She wants to rule with love, not fear.

It doesn’t always go that way for her. And when it doesn’t — when the people she would rule don’t adore her — she tends to react fiercely. (x)

But Dany’s arc is not contrived or “coming out of nowhere” or “out of character”. This is precisely the character that she has shown herself to be from as far back as season two. She has made selfish and rash decisions one after another. She has failed to recognize the larger picture and the true needs of the people around her more times than can be chalked up to “youthful” mistakes. The seeds have been laid, the decisions have been made, and her thoughtlessness towards others and zeal for her own destiny have distorted her intentions. (x)

Dany’s true downfall is one of ego, impulse control and rage – and that is a human story, not a gendered story. She has become obsessed with destiny. It seems she doesn’t even have one except in helping set up others, more deserving, to lead. This certainly shows the folly of ego, presumption and dominion without listening and learning. (x)

She always has had a tyrant in the making kind of vibe. In addition to mass genocide, what do tyrants have in common? They all have a big ego, which needs to be massaged every now and then. Noticed how often Danny [sic] tells the story about the time she broke the chains and slaves rose up against their masters? It’s the narcissist in her, who not only loved it when people took her name as she passed through the crowd in Meereen after murdering the masters, but continues to tell that story to boost her own ego. (x)

Does Dany "[feels] [she] know[s] better than everyone else what is best for them"? Does Dany have a "truly terrifying megalomania"? Does Dany tend to "react fiercely" "when the people she would rule don’t adore her"? Are Dany's decisions "selfish and rash" in nature? Does Dany have problems with "ego, impulse control, rage, presumption and dominion without listening and learning"? Is Dany a "tyrant in the making" with a "narcissist in her" whose ego "needs to be massaged every now and then"?

I would argue these claims certainly cannot be made after reading the books (some can't even after watching the show's first 71 episodes, but the show can be all over the place and ... I digress), so take a look at these passages.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

Her tokar and veils she had abandoned in the pit, and her linen undertunic had never been made to withstand the hot days and cold nights of the Dothraki sea. Sweat and grass and dirt had stained it, and Dany had torn a strip off the hem to make a bandage for her shin. I must look a ragged thing, and starved, she thought, but if the days stay warm, I will not freeze.

Dany did not need a glass to know that she was filthy.

Once I dreamed of flying, she thought, and now I’ve flown, and dream of stealing eggs. That made her laugh. “Men are mad and gods are madder,” she told the grass, and the grass murmured its agreement.

If I stay here, I will die. I may be dying now. Would the horse god of the Dothraki part the grass and claim her for his starry khalasar, so she might ride the nightlands with Khal Drogo? In Westeros the dead of House Targaryen were given to the flames, but who would light her pyre here? My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.

You took Meereen, he told her, yet still you lingered. “To be a queen.”

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros. “It is such a long way,” she complained. “I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl.”

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands. In Meereen I was a queen in silk, nibbling on stuffed dates and honeyed lamb, she remembered. What would my noble husband think if he could see me now? Hizdahr would be horrified, no doubt. But Daario ...

Daario would laugh, carve off a hunk of horsemeat with his arakh, and squat down to eat beside her.

ADWD Daenerys IX

Soon Dany was as clean as she was ever going to be.

How queer, the queen thought. They cheer me on the same plaza where I once impaled one hundred sixty-three Great Masters.

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.

“I suppose I must be thankful for small victories,” the queen said.

“One step, then the next, and soon we shall be running. Together we shall make a new Meereen.” The street ahead had finally cleared. “Shall we continue on?”

What could she do but nod? One step, then the next, but where is it I’m going?

Her lord husband stood and raised his hands. “Great Masters! My queen has come this day, to show her love for you, her people. By her grace and with her leave, I give you now your mortal art. Meereen! Let Queen Daenerys hear your love!”

Ten thousand throats roared out their thanks; then twenty thousand; then all. They did not call her name, which few of them could pronounce. “Mother!” they cried instead; in the old dead tongue of Ghis, the word was Mhysa! They stamped their feet and slapped their bellies and shouted, “Mhysa, Mhysa, Mhysa,” until the whole pit seemed to tremble. Dany let the sound wash over her. I am not your mother, she might have shouted, back, I am the mother of your slaves, of every boy who ever died upon these sands whilst you gorged on honeyed locusts. Behind her, Reznak leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Magnificence, hear how they love you!”

No, she knew, they love their mortal art.

Pale Qartheen, black Summer Islanders, copper-skinned Dothraki, Tyroshi with blue beards, Lamb Men, Jogos Nhai, sullen Braavosi, brindle-skinned half-men from the jungles of Sothoros—from the ends of the world they came to die in Daznak’s Pit.

“Magnificence, the people of Meereen have come to celebrate our union. You heard them cheering you. Do not cast away their love.”

“It was my floppy ears they cheered, not me. Take me from this abbatoir, husband.”

In Westeros the septons spoke of seven hells and seven heavens, but the Seven Kingdoms and their gods were far away. If she died here, Dany wondered, would the horse god of the Dothraki part the grass and claim her for his starry khalasar, so she might ride the nightlands beside her sun-and-stars? Or would the angry gods of Ghis send their harpies to seize her soul and drag her down to torment?

[...] In the smoldering red pits of Drogon’s eyes, Dany saw her own reflection. How small she looked, how weak and frail and scared. I cannot let him see my fear.

ADWD Daenerys VIII

No queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. Better a few should die in the pit than thousands at the gates. This is the price of peace, I pay it willingly. If I look back, I am lost.

You saw me as defeated, Dany thought, and who am I to say that you were wrong?

“...Never trust a sellsword.”

Or a queen, thought Dany.

“The dragon has three heads,” Dany said when they were on the final flight. “My marriage need not be the end of all your hopes. I know why you are here.”

“For you,” said Quentyn, all awkward gallantry.

“No,” said Dany. “For fire and blood.”

Her voice echoed off the scorched stone walls. It sounded small—a girl’s voice, not the voice of a queen and conqueror, nor the glad voice of a new-made bride.

She could hear the dragons screaming as she led the boy back to the door, and see the play of light against the bricks, reflections of their fires. If I look back, I am lost.

I should never have taken him into my bed. He was only a sellsword, no fit consort for a queen, and yet …

I knew that all along, but I did it anyway.

“My queen?” said a soft voice in the darkness.

Dany flinched. “Who is there?”

“Only Missandei.” The Naathi scribe moved closer to the bed. “This one heard you crying.”

ADWD Daenerys VII

Meereenese seldom rode within their city walls. They preferred palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs, borne upon the shoulders of their slaves. “Horses befoul the streets,” one man of Zakh had told her, “slaves do not.” Dany had freed the slaves, yet palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs still choked the streets as before, and none of them floated magically through the air.

ADWD Daenerys VI

Their eyes followed her. Those who had the strength called out. “Mother … please, Mother … bless you, Mother …”

Bless me, Dany thought bitterly. Your city is gone to ash and bone, your people are dying all around you. I have no shelter for you, no medicine, no hope. Only stale bread and wormy meat, hard cheese, a little milk. Bless me, bless me.

What kind of mother has no milk to feed her children?

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.[”]

ADWD Daenerys V

The weaver raised her head. “Every day we told each other that the dragon queen was coming back.” The woman had thin lips and dull dead eyes, set in a pinched and narrow face. “Cleon had sent for you, it was said, and you were coming.”

He sent for me, thought Dany. That much is true, at least.

“Others blamed Daenerys,” said the weaver, “but more of us still loved you. ‘She is on her way,’ we said to one another. ‘She is coming at the head of a great host, with food for all.’”

I can scarce feed my own folk. If I had marched to Astapor, I would have lost Meereen.

“Even then some said that you were coming,” said the weaver. “They swore they had seen you mounted on a dragon, flying high above the camps of the Yunkai’i. Every day we looked for you.”

I could not come, the queen thought. I dare not.

“It is good that you have come,” she told the Astapori. “You will be safe in Meereen.”

The cobbler thanked her for that, and the old brickmaker kissed her foot, but the weaver looked at her with eyes as hard as slate. She knows I lie, the queen thought. She knows I cannot keep them safe. Astapor is burning, and Meereen is next.

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? She remembered what Daario had said—that all kings must be butchers, or meat.

“Cleon was the enemy of our enemy. If I had joined him at the Horns of Hazzat, we might have crushed the Yunkai’i between us.”

The Shavepate disagreed. “If you had taken the Unsullied south to Hazzat, the Sons of the Harpy—”

“I know. I know. It is Eroeh all over again.”

Brown Ben Plumm was puzzled. “Who is Eroeh?”

“A girl I thought I’d saved from rape and torment. All I did was make it worse for her in the end. And all I did in Astapor was make ten thousand Eroehs.”

“Your Grace could not have known—”

“I am the queen. It was my place to know.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

“Then heed me now and marry.”

[...] “Tell me, can this king puff his cheeks up and blow Xaro’s galleys back to Qarth? Can he clap his hands and break the siege of Astapor? Can he put food in the bellies of my children and bring peace back to my streets?”

“...In him the prophecies shall be fulfilled, and your enemies will melt away like snow."

He shall be the stallion that mounts the world. Dany knew how it went with prophecies. They were made of words, and words were wind.

“Why would you want to help me? For the crown?”

“...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.”

“Bright queen,” he said, “you have grown more beautiful in my absence. How is this thing possible?”

The queen was accustomed to such praise, yet somehow the compliment meant more coming from Daario than from the likes of Reznak, Xaro, or Hizdahr.

What have I done? she thought, huddled in her empty bed. I have waited so long for him to come back, and I send him away. “He would make a monster of me,” she whispered, “a butcher queen.” But then she thought of Drogon far away, and the dragons in the pit. There is blood on my hands too, and on my heart. We are not so different, Daario and I. We are both monsters.

ADWD Daenerys III

“I want no slave. I free you.” His jeweled nose made a tempting target. This time Dany threw an apricot at him.

Xaro caught it in the air and took a bite. “Whence came this madness? Should I count myself fortunate that you did not free my own slaves when you were my guest in Qarth?”

I was a beggar queen and you were Xaro of the Thirteen, Dany thought, and all you wanted were my dragons. “Your slaves seemed well treated and content. It was not till Astapor that my eyes were opened. Do you know how Unsullied are made and trained?”

“Meereen is a free city of free men.”

“A poor city that once was rich. A hungry city that once was fat. A bloody city that once was peaceful.”

His accusations stung. There was too much truth in them. “Meereen will be rich and fat and peaceful once again, and free as well. Go to the Dothraki if you must have slaves.”

Groleo had been a most unhappy man since they had broken up his ship to build the siege engines that won Meereen for her. Dany had tried to console him by naming him her lord admiral, but it was a hollow honor; the Meereenese fleet had sailed for Yunkai when Dany’s host approached the city, so the old Pentoshi was an admiral without ships.

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. “Reznak, summon Xaro Xhoan Daxos.”

ADWD Daenerys II

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. “I was praying,” she told the Naathi girl. “It will be light soon. I had best eat something, before court.”

She was the blood of the dragon. She could kill the Sons of the Harpy, and the sons of the sons, and the sons of the sons of the sons. But a dragon could not feed a hungry child nor help a dying woman’s pain. And who would ever dare to love a dragon?

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.”

What sort of mother lets her children rot in darkness?

If I look back, I am doomed, Dany told herself … but how could she not look back? I should have seen it coming. Was I so blind, or did I close my eyes willfully, so I would not have to see the price of power?

Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I.

ADWD Daenerys I

A boy came, younger than Dany, slight and scarred, dressed up in a frayed grey tokar trailing silver fringe. His voice broke when he told of how two of his father’s household slaves had risen up the night the gate broke. One had slain his father, the other his elder brother. Both had raped his mother before killing her as well. The boy had escaped with no more than the scar upon his face, but one of the murderers was still living in his father’s house, and the other had joined the queen’s soldiers as one of the Mother’s Men. He wanted them both hanged.

I am queen over a city built on dust and death. Dany had no choice but to deny him. She had declared a blanket pardon for all crimes committed during the sack. Nor would she punish slaves for rising up against their masters.

When she told him, the boy rushed at her, but his feet tangled in his tokar and he went sprawling headlong on the purple marble. [...]“Enough, Belwas,” Dany called. [...] But as he left the boy looked back over his shoulder, and when she saw his eyes Dany thought, The Harpy has another Son.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

When she was dressed, Missandei brought her a polished silver glass so she could see how she looked. Dany stared at herself in silence. Is this the face of a conqueror? So far as she could tell, she still looked like a little girl.

All my victories turn to dross in my hands, she thought. Whatever I do, all I make is death and horror. When word of what had befallen Astapor reached the streets, as it surely would, tens of thousands of newly freed Meereenese slaves would doubtless decide to follow her when she went west, for fear of what awaited them if they stayed ... yet it might well be that worse would await them on the march. Even if she emptied every granary in the city and left Meereen to starve, how could she feed so many? The way before her was fraught with hardship, bloodshed, and danger. Ser Jorah had warned her of that. He’d warned her of so many things ... he’d ... No, I will not think of Jorah Mormont. Let him keep a little longer.

“The city bleeds. Dead men rot unburied in the streets, each pyramid is an armed camp, and the markets have neither food nor slaves for sale. And the poor children! King Cleaver’s thugs have seized every highborn boy in Astapor to make new Unsullied for the trade, though it will be years before they are trained.”

The thing that surprised Dany most was how unsurprised she was. She found herself remembering Eroeh, the Lhazarene girl she had once tried to protect, and what had happened to her. It will be the same in Meereen once I march, she thought. The slaves from the fighting pits, bred and trained to slaughter, were already proving themselves unruly and quarrelsome. They seemed to think they owned the city now, and every man and woman in it. Two of them had been among the eight she’d hanged. There is no more I can do, she told herself.

“I will admit you helped win me this city ...”

Ser Jorah’s mouth tightened. “We won you this city. We sewer rats.”

“Be quiet,” she said again ... though there was truth to what he said.

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

But Daario is right, I shouldn’t have banished him. I should have kept him, or I should have killed him. She played at being a queen, yet sometimes she still felt like a scared little girl. Viserys always said what a dolt I was. Was he truly mad? She closed the book. She could still recall Ser Jorah, if she wished. Or send Daario to kill him.

That night her handmaids brought her lamb, with a salad of raisins and carrots soaked in wine, and a hot flaky bread dripping with honey. She could eat none of it. Did Rhaegar ever grow so weary? she wondered. Did Aegon, after his conquest?

“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

Balerion floated nearest; the great cog once known as Saduleon, her sails furled. Further out were the galleys Meraxes and Vhagar, formerly Joso’s Prank and Summer Sun. They were Magister Illyrio’s ships, in truth, not hers at all, and yet she had given them new names with hardly a thought.

Many of the freedmen believed there was good fortune in her touch. If it helps give them courage, let them touch me, she thought. There are hard trials yet ahead ...

“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.”

ASOS Daenerys III

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.

Dany fed her dragons as she always did, but found she had no appetite herself. She cried awhile, alone in her cabin, then dried her tears long enough for yet another argument with Groleo.

[...] The anger burned the grief and fear from her, for a few hours at the least.

If I look back I am lost, Dany told herself the next morning as she entered Astapor through the harbor gates. She dared not remind herself how small and insignificant her following truly was, or she would lose all courage.

Dany mounted her silver. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She felt desperately afraid. Was this what my brother would have done?

ASOS Daenerys II

“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.

[“]So tell me, why is that ugly harpy not sitting beside the godsway in Vaes Dothrak among the other stolen gods?”

“You have a dragon’s eye, Khaleesi, that’s plain to see.”

“I wanted an answer, not a compliment.”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

Jhiqui had braided her hair Dothraki-fashion, and fastened a silver bell to the end of the braid. “I have won no victories,” she tried telling her handmaid when the bell tinkled softly.

Jhiqui disagreed. “You burned the maegi in their house of dust and sent their souls to hell.”

That was Drogon’s victory, not mine, Dany wanted to say, but she held her tongue. The Dothraki would esteem her all the more for a few bells in her hair.

Pale men in dusty linen skirts stood beneath arched doorways to watch them pass. They know who I am, and they do not love me. Dany could tell from the way they looked at her.

It was not by choice that she sought the waterfront. She was fleeing again. Her whole life had been one long flight, it seemed. She had begun running in her mother’s womb, and never once stopped. How often had she and Viserys stolen away in the black of night, a bare step ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives? But it was run or die. Xaro had learned that Pyat Pree was gathering the surviving warlocks together to work ill on her.

“...Give me a son, my sweet song of joy!”

Give you a dragon, you mean. “I will not wed you, Xaro.” His face had grown cold at that. “Then go.”

“But where?”

“Somewhere far from here.”

Dany would get no help from the Thirteen, the Tourmaline Brotherhood, or the Ancient Guild of Spicers.

Sailors, dockworkers, and merchants alike gave way before her, not knowing what to make of this slim young girl with silver-gold hair who dressed in the Dothraki fashion and walked with a knight at her side.

“Sheath your steel, blood of my blood,” said Dany, “this man comes to serve me. Belwas, you will accord all respect to my people, or you will leave my service sooner than you’d wish, and with more scars than when you came.”

The gap-toothed smile faded from the giant’s broad brown face, replaced by a confused scowl. Men did not often threaten Belwas, it would seem, and less so girls a third his size.

ACOK Daenerys IV

Her voice was no more than a whisper, almost as faint as theirs.

ACOK Daenerys III

The drapes kept out the dust and heat of the streets, but they could not keep out disappointment. Dany climbed inside wearily, glad for the refuge from the sea of Qartheen eyes.

“I see a deep sadness written upon your face, my light of love.” He offered her a goblet. “Could it be the sadness of a lost dream?”

“A dream delayed, no more.” [...] The Pureborn were notorious for offering poisoned wine to those they thought dangerous, but they had not given Dany so much as a cup of water. They never saw me for a queen, she thought bitterly. I was only an afternoon’s amusement, a horse girl with a curious pet.

Yet the men who sat in them seemed so listless and world-weary that they might have been asleep. They listened, but they did not hear, or care, she thought. They are Milk Men indeed. They never meant to help me. They came because they were curious. They came because they were bored, and the dragon on my shoulder interested them more than I did.

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

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

“Did you flatter them?”

“Shamelessly.”

“Did you weep?”

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

Xaro sighed. “You ought to have wept.” The Qartheen wept often and easily; it was considered a mark of the civilized man. “The men we bought, what did they say?”

“Mathos said nothing. Wendello praised the way I spoke. The Exquisite refused me with the rest, but he wept afterward.”

“Alas, that Qartheen should be so faithless.” Xaro was not himself of the Pureborn, but he had told her whom to bribe and how much to offer. “Weep, weep, for the treachery of men.”

Dany would sooner have wept for her gold. The bribes she’d tendered to Mathos Mallarawan, Wendello Qar Deeth, and Egon Emeros the Exquisite might have bought her a ship, or hired a score of sellswords.

The crown was the only offering she’d kept. The rest she sold, to gather the wealth she had wasted on the Pureborn. Xaro would have sold the crown too—the Thirteen would see that she had a much finer one, he swore—but Dany forbade it. “Viserys sold my mother’s crown, and men called him a beggar. I shall keep this one, so men will call me a queen.” And so she did, though the weight of it made her neck ache.

Yet even crowned, I am a beggar still, Dany thought. I have become the most splendid beggar in the world, but a beggar all the same. She hated it, as her brother must have. All those years of running from city to city one step ahead of the Usurper’s knives, pleading for help from archons and princes and magisters, buying our food with flattery. He must have known how they mocked him. Small wonder he turned so angry and bitter. In the end it had driven him mad. It will do the same to me if I let it. Part of her would have liked nothing more than to lead her people back to Vaes Tolorro, and make the dead city bloom. No, that is defeat. I have something Viserys never had. I have the dragons. The dragons are all the difference.

“The Arbor makes the best wine in the world,” Dany declared. Lord Redwyne had fought for her father against the Usurper, she remembered, one of the few to remain true to the last. Will he fight for me as well? There was no way to be certain after so many years.

“I mean to sail to Westeros, and drink the wine of vengeance from the skull of the Usurper.”

[...] “Will nothing turn you from this madness?”

“Nothing,” she said, wishing she was as certain as she sounded.

Even so, it would be years before they were large enough to take to war. And they must be trained as well, or they will lay my kingdom waste. For all her Targaryen blood, Dany had not the least idea of how to train a dragon.

ACOK Daenerys II

Dany felt shabby and barbaric as she rode past them in her lionskin robe with black Drogon on one shoulder. Her Dothraki called the Qartheen “Milk Men” for their paleness, and Khal Drogo had dreamed of the day when he might sack the great cities of the east. She glanced at her bloodriders, their dark almond-shaped eyes giving no hint of their thoughts. Is it only the plunder they see? she wondered. How savage we must seem to these Qartheen.

“...The Thirteen will come to do you homage, and all the great of Qarth.”

All the great of Qarth will come to see my dragons, Dany thought, yet she thanked Xaro for his kindness before she sent him on his way.

The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise, Mormont had said. Robert had slain her gallant brother Rhaegar, and one of his creatures had crossed the Dothraki sea to poison her and her unborn son. They said Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. And with him stood the great lords her brother had named the Usurper’s dogs, cold-eyed Eddard Stark with his frozen heart, and the golden Lannisters, father and son, so rich, so powerful, so treacherous.

How could she hope to overthrow such men? When Khal Drogo had lived, men trembled and made him gifts to stay his wrath. If they did not, he took their cities, wealth and wives and all. But his khalasar had been vast, while hers was meager. Her people had followed her across the red waste as she chased her comet, and would follow her across the poison water too, but they would not be enough. Even her dragons might not be enough. Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king ... but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things.

Her doubts made her shiver.

“The high lords have always fought. Tell me who’s won and I’ll tell you what it means. Khaleesi, the Seven Kingdoms are not going to fall into your hands like so many ripe peaches. You will need a fleet, gold, armies, alliances—”

“All this I know.” She took his hands in hers and looked up into his dark suspicious eyes.

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

ACOK Daenerys I

“...Ten thousand warriors went with him. You have a hundred.”

No, Dany thought. I have four. The rest are women, old sick men and boys whose hair has never been braided.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys X

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

AGOT Daenerys VIII

Trembling, her eyes full of sudden tears, Dany turned away from them. He fell from his horse! It was so, she had seen it, and the bloodriders, and no doubt her handmaids and the men of her khas as well. And how many more? They could not keep it secret, and Dany knew what that meant. A khal who could not ride could not rule, and Drogo had fallen from his horse.

“We must bathe him,” she said stubbornly. She must not allow herself to despair.

“I will not leave him,” she said stubbornly, miserably. She took his hand again. “I will not.”

“That one means you no good, Princess,” Mormont said. “The Dothraki say a man and his bloodriders share one life, and Qotho sees it ending. A dead man is beyond fear.”

“No one has died,” Dany said. “Ser Jorah, I may have need of your blade. Best go don your armor.” She was more frightened than she dared admit, even to herself.

AGOT Daenerys VI

Dany was near tears as they carried her back. The taste in her mouth was one she had known before: fear. For years she had lived in terror of Viserys, afraid of waking the dragon. This was even worse. It was not just for herself that she feared now, but for her baby. He must have sensed her fright, for he moved restlessly inside her. Dany stroked the swell of her belly gently, wishing she could reach him, touch him, soothe him.

AGOT Daenerys IV

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

AGOT Daenerys III

“Hit her, Mormont. Hurt her. Your king commands it. Kill these Dothraki dogs and teach her.”

The exile knight looked from Dany to her brother; she barefoot, with dirt between her toes and oil in her hair, he with his silks and steel. Dany could see the decision on his face. “He shall walk, Khaleesi,” he said.

“Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!”

Dany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here. Viserys was soiled and stained in city silks and ringmail.

Her supper was a simple meal of fruit and cheese and fry bread, with a jug of honeyed wine to wash it down. “Doreah, stay and eat with me,” Dany commanded when she sent her other handmaids away. The Lysene girl had hair the color of honey, and eyes like the summer sky. She lowered those eyes when they were alone. “You honor me, Khaleesi,” she said, but it was no honor, only service. Long after the moon had risen, they sat together, talking.

AGOT Daenerys II

There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her brother, though she did not dare say it aloud.

“What should I do?” she asked Illyrio.

It was Ser Jorah Mormont who answered. “Take the reins and ride. You need not go far.”

Nervously Dany gathered the reins in her hands and slid her feet into the short stirrups. She was only a fair rider; she had spent far more time traveling by ship and wagon and palanquin than by horseback. Praying that she would not fall off and disgrace herself, she gave the filly the lightest and most timid touch with her knees.

And for the first time in hours, she forgot to be afraid. Or perhaps it was for the first time ever.

AGOT Daenerys I

Her brother held the gown up for her inspection. “This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric.”

Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. “Is it really mine?”

“A gift from the Magister Illyrio,” Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. “The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess.”

A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known. “Why does he give us so much?” she asked. “What does he want from us?” For nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister’s house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos.

“Illyrio is no fool,” Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale lilac eyes. “The magister knows that I will not forget my friends when I come into my throne.”

Dany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and other, less savory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and even beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside the Jade Sea. It was also said that he’d never had a friend he wouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price. Dany listened to the talk in the streets, and she heard these things, but she knew better than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it “waking the dragon.”

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

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

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

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

She did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper’s brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. [...]

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

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

Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs.

“Now you look all a princess,” the girl said breathlessly when they were done. Dany glanced at her image in the silvered looking glass that Illyrio had so thoughtfully provided. A princess, she thought, but she remembered what the girl had said, how Khal Drogo was so rich even his slaves wore golden collars. She felt a sudden chill, and gooseflesh pimpled her bare arms.

Dany could smell the stench of Illyrio’s pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.

Her brother, sprawled out on his pillows beside her, never noticed. His mind was away across the narrow sea. “We won’t need his whole khalasar,” Viserys said. His fingers toyed with the hilt of his borrowed blade, though Dany knew he had never used a sword in earnest. “Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers. The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?”

“They are your people, and they love you well,” Magister Illyrio said amiably. “In holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of your return from across the water.” He gave a massive shrug. “Or so my agents tell me.”

Dany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the narrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio’s sweet words as she mistrusted everything about Illyrio. Her brother was nodding eagerly, however. “I shall kill the Usurper myself,” he promised, who had never killed anyone, “as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And Lannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father.”

“That would be most fitting,” Magister Illyrio said. Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing around his full lips, but her brother did not notice. Nodding, he pushed back a curtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the Trident once again.

Magister Illyrio’s words were honey. “Many important men will be at the feast tonight. Such men have enemies. The khal must protect his guests, yourself chief among them, Your Grace. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head.”

“Oh, yes,” Viserys said darkly. “He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives follow us everywhere. I am the last dragon, and he will not sleep easy while I live.”

The palanquin slowed and stopped. The curtains were thrown back, and a slave offered a hand to help Daenerys out. His collar, she noted, was ordinary bronze.

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

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lesbiansforboromir · 5 years

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Do you have any thoughts and/or feelings about Theoden? Also, I really enjoy reading your posts about Denethor!

OOOhhh anon, ohhHHHhhh anon oh... oh I have... so many feelings about Theoden. SO many ohh... oh where to begin... Lets begin at the end.

'What burden do you bear, Men of Rohan?' [Prince Imrahil] cried. 'Théoden King,' they answered. 'He is dead. But Éomer King now rides in the battle: he with the white crest in the wind.' Then the prince went from his horse, and knelt by the bier in honour of the king and his great onset; and he wept.

Imrahil cries at Theoden’s death, he mourns, they knew each other. Piece through the historical-document-language here, Imrahil cries out his question, in shock, in grim horror, no it cannot be! But it is, and Imrahil throws himself from his horse to drop at Theoden’s side! Imagine him taking his hand, looking into his lifeless face, breaking into sobs as he covers his eyes and battle-sweated locks of hair tumble about his bowed head- I’m getting ahead of myself and outing another ship I might have- the point is that Theoden was known by Imrahil as a friend.

And lets take the run of that logic, if Theoden knows Imrahil this well, then Denethor (his peer, Imrahil’s brother in law and lord of Minas Tirith which is a much faster ride from Edoras than Dol Amroth) is also likely his friend.

The picture I’m trying to build for you here is four powerful, unique, skillful and hopeful Lords of men, all coming into their power and rulership together in the midst of war’s sudden increase. There is Denethor, the elder of them all, commanding and analytical and with a snappingly sharp wit, an iron grip around everyone except his three strange friends who just know him so well.

Thorongil, the prideful peacock and resolute charmer, completely at ease in his command and skill. If Denethor is a panther, Thorongil is a Stag, head held tall like he was born with a crown. He and Denethor are constantly butting heads, always at each other’s throats, and yet sometimes it appears more a game, as though they fully come alive when contending with each other. The other two laugh it away or take bets on the victor even whilst often becoming lost in the wickedly sharp back and forth.

Imrahil, the baby of the group, only recently out from under Denethor’s wing as his squire, finally in command of the Swan Knights. Loveable, emotive, cleverly kind, but still with his own pride and strength that allows him to stand at the sides of these giants, call them friends, and not feel a hair out of place. He accepts teasing about his beauty with happy good humour and a bright laugh.

And Theoden, the enigma. Born and raised in Gondor, only taken to Rohan reluctantly a little after his grandfather’s death, never having learned Rohirric as his Father had never done, speaking Sindarin and Westron only. And yet holding far more pride in his heritage than Thengel ever did, earning the loyalty of the Thanes with action and heart. Warm, bold and booming in his laughter, there is a reason the Lords of Rohan held to their fealty for so long, despite Theoden’s crumbling mental state.

But this man in this time is young. He doesn’t know his father will be dead before the end of the year, a golden haired prince full of hope despite his heartbreaks, who’s wide heart can love both Gondor and Rohan with unlimited passion. He happily rides to her aide when called on and throws big arms around his three friends, even prickly Denethor has a smile for him, knowing well Theoden is much more than a loud boar. He has seen the unique wisdom of this bridge between worlds, managing to tilt his manners perfectly for both Gondorian and Rohir company. And he knows too that this brightness is a mask he wears, having known and seen him at his lowest, mourning Elfhild with silent tears as he holds his little baby boy in his arms like the most priceless treasure. They both came into fatherhood together and Theoden can allow Denethor to show him help and understanding when he needs it.

Thorongil knows Theoden well from their adventures together in the Mark, they greet one another as old comrades, a warmth between them that will become mournful and somewhat sour when Thorongil vanishes into the night in a few years to come.

Imrahil finds his teasing voice under Theoden’s tuteladge, discovering a wicked tongue for japes and jokes at all of their expense, a fact that shocks almost everyone to their core, Denethor most of all. But Theoden is not shocked, he’s delighted. The first time Imrahil repels his joking with a cutting taunt of his own Theoden laughs so hard he cries and from then on they are forever bouncing off one another’s humour, to Denethor and Thorongil’s dismay.

And yet Theoden is also the confident heart, the equal who knows when a quiet hand on a weary shoulder is as good as a week of sleep. He knows when to intercede in Thorongil and Denethor’s fights, and has the balls to do it, Imrahil still not quite grown into his strength or tenacity. He weeps with Imrahil too, when all the loss and all the death just seems endless, inconceivable. He’s the HEART of them, of this daunting and daring group of young captains, who all grasp at their duties with sturdy grips and swear on wine and graves that they will be the ones to end these dark days. Their children will not be yet more casualties to this impossible fight, no more despair. Together... they’ll win.

And, in many vital ways, they did.

#theoden #denethor #thorongil #imrahil #gondor #rohan #tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings #erran vs tolkien #chats #the image here is.... me choking back tears as my fingers stall on the keyboard #anyway this would have been a far less stressful tv series concept Amazon you VILLAINS!!#Anonymous

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littlemessyjessi · 5 years

Text

Tolkien/Middle Earth Headcanons: Winter and Snow!

Tolkien Headcanons/Imagines: Snow

Plus Size Reader, PS Reader Tolkien Character, Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit

Winter Activities!

Legolas: The prince of the Woodland Realm is all about hunting this time of year. Yes, it's cold. Yes, it's dreary. But man, the game is truly spectacular. To be honest, he usually does his ACTUAL hunting when you're not with him. It's not because you can't keep up because you're awesome and can slay like no one's business. But if Legolas has managed to get you out away from the kingdom...in the privacy of the woods...with the possibly of getting you cold and letting him warm you up? Well, he's not an idiot. He doesn't squander such lovely opportunities.

Aragorn: Lol, 10/10 you're out riding horses. Probably scouting but just using it as an excuse to get in a ride. You most definitely did not throw that snow ball that hit him smack dab in the face. And he most definitely didn't pull your ass off your horse by the leg. And ya'll most certainly didn't have it out in the snow. No, never you two. Noooooooo. ;)

Frodo: Sweet Frodo Baggins reads you a book as you mill about outside. You're a busy little bee and while he likes to take him time and relax, he sure does enjoy accompanying you on whatever it is that you've decided to do at that moment in time. Even if what that is, is probably going to get you both in trouble. Frodo is in love with The Shire but it pales in comparison to his love for you.

Sam: An exciting trip to the market! It's lively even in the cold of winter! Everyone is out and about with harvest from the summer! Dried fruits and vegetables! Jars of preserves! And possibly his favorite! The fresh food! Fires blazing with pots of soups and stews bubbling away for sale! Hot mead and spiced cider! Sam either offers you his arm or holds it snugly around you the entire time! The two of you keep warm but cozying up and filling your bellies! You return home to your cottage with full bellies, baskets of food and ready to snuggle up by the fireplace!

Merry: Merry probably takes you for a date at the Prancing Pony! The two of you take Bucklebury Ferry across the Brandywine River to Buckland and then on to the Pony. You probably have a nice meal there with a pint of ale. Merry had arranged a room for the two of you for the night just so you can get away for a bit. You probably mill about town the next day, collecting this and that before heading back home to The Shire. Adventures don't always have to be half way across the world, you know. ;)

Pippin: Oh, Pippin, lol. You are the spark to his flame so whenever Gandalf is near he gets as many fireworks as he can. Pippin probably gets you all cozied up for winter temperatures and prepares a picnic. You argue with him about how impractical it is to have a picnic in the dead of winter. However, you go because you love him. When you reach your destination and he builds a small fire to keep you toasty. You admit it's nice. Eventually darkness is on the horizon and you pack up to go back home but he's disappeared. Not in the mood for his games, you almost throw a fit. However, you nearly jumped out of your knickers when you heard an explosion. You search it out only to find your crazy love. Soot on his face and hair a mess. The poor fireworks exploded in his face, lol.

Boromir: Ah, the Captain. There he was with his men in a very important meeting when something hit the window. At first, he ignored it but then again...and again. Eventually he checked it out only to see your cheeky grin as you teased him. He scolds you but you only shake your bottom at him and run away. He shakes his head but returns to him men with a much merrier look to him.

Thorin: Without a doubt, he's working the iron. Before the journey back to Erebor whilst he worked as a talented blacksmith...you were his ever faithful wife. On cold winter days, like this one, you made sure your duties were finished rather quickly and you took him lots of snacks. The forge was warm from the roaring fires and he usually ended up with his shirt open a little. You'd sit, wrapped up in furs, watching the sweat roll of your beast of a husband and you can bet your sweet ass that you weren't cold anymore. Also, Thorin - the cheeky shit- knows this. It's why he kisses you sinfully on those days. Like a mouse to cheese he leads you to him. He quite enjoys watching his little wife all hot bothered for him. Makes it even better when he takes you at the end of the day.

Dwalin: Dwalin is out chopping wood to feed the fires necessary for winter. And you? You follow him...because that's just how you are. And also because you would rather DIE than miss watching your husband's muscles ripple. He tells you if you're going to come along then you're going to hurt. You and he both know perfectly well that you're more than capable of cutting wood. And damn good at it. However, you fake it everytime just so he'll stand behind you and 'show' you what to do. It's become quite a routine for the two of you now.

Bilbo: You and Mr. Baggins enjoy some pipeweed on the front stoop for a while before retiring inside to enjoy some delicious meals and perhaps a bit of song if he feels inclined. Also note: when Bilbo's been on the pipeweed, he's a little handsy. Think about the lovey dovey potheads you might know. That. It's literally that, lol.

Bard: Bard watches from the window as you play with his children out in the snow. Snowmen, snowball fights and just flat out chasing each other until you all fall down out of breath and make snow angels. You grin up at him and his eyes twinkle from pure adoration.

Thranduil: The King of Mirkwood takes you for a ride on his elk. The forest is absolutely spectacular and it twinkles from icicles shining in the sun! The guard is near but he doesn't care for their eyes so he snatches you around in front of him for a bit more privacy. He simply shrugged when you give him a look. "I wanted a little more privacy for us." he simply replied and the two of you kept riding on.

Fili: The young King in Training was in meetings with his uncle and the advisors all day. Kili was supposed to be there but he'd snuck away. The two of you waited until they all got inside before you pressed your noses up against the window. Fili nearly spit out his tea when he saw your ridiculous face. However, he lost it when Kili's tongue got stuck to the metal framing of the window.

Kili: Target practice. Effing target practice. In the freezing freaking rain. "Kili, I'm freezing!" "Good, because when it matters you'll already be frozen. It'll be deadly temperatures and it'll be raining so hard that you won't even be able to see your hand in front of you face." "If I die from the sickness, I'm haunting you forever." "Good." he said. "I'll make sure to play all your most hated music then." You had to resist the urge to shoot him in the foot. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you beneath your earlobe. "Now what?!" You exasperated. "You hit this target, in the rain, freezing, with me lighting you up....and I swear I'll sharpen and clean your weapons for a month." You'd never loosed an arrow so quick in your life. And hit the target on the first try. Also, Kili had never rushed you back to the room and peeled your clothes off so fast in HIS life.

Heeey, smoochies! I hope you enjoyed this bonus content for Smoochmas! ! If ya like it, please be sure to let me know in the comments and check out my masterlist! Link on profile!

Love, Mama Kennysaurus

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Love, Kenny

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draculalive · 4 years

Text

Mina Harker's Journal.

I am more than ever sure that I am right. My new conclusion is ready, so I shall get our party together and read it. They can judge it; it is well to be accurate, and every minute is precious.

Mina Harker's Memorandum.

(Entered in her Journal.)

Ground of inquiry. -- Count Dracula's problem is to get back to his own place.

He must be brought back by some one. This is evident; for had he power to move himself as he wished he could go either as man, or wolf, or bat, or in some other way. He evidently fears discovery or interference, in the state of helplessness in which he must be -- confined as he is between dawn and sunset in his wooden box.

How is he to be taken? -- Here a process of exclusions may help us. By road, by rail, by water?

By Road. -- There are endless difficulties, especially in leaving the city.

There are people; and people are curious, and investigate. A hint, a surmise, a doubt as to what might be in the box, would destroy him.

There are, or there may be, customs and octroi officers to pass.

His pursuers might follow. This is his highest fear; and in order to prevent his being betrayed he has repelled, so far as he can, even his victim -- me!

By Rail. -- There is no one in charge of the box. It would have to take its chance of being delayed; and delay would be fatal, with enemies on the track. True, he might escape at night; but what would he be, if left in a strange place with no refuge that he could fly to? This is not what he intends; and he does not mean to risk it.

By Water. -- Here is the safest way, in one respect, but with most danger in another. On the water he is powerless except at night; even then he can only summon fog and storm and snow and his wolves. But were he wrecked, the living water would engulf him, helpless; and he would indeed be lost. He could have the vessel drive to land; but if it were unfriendly land, wherein he was not free to move, his position would still be desperate.

We know from the record that he was on the water; so what we have to do is to ascertain what water.

The first thing is to realise exactly what he has done as yet; we may, then, get a light on what his later task is to be.

Firstly. -- We must differentiate between what he did in London as part of his general plan of action, when he was pressed for moments and had to arrange as best he could.

Secondly we must see, as well as we can surmise it from the facts we know of, what he has done here.

As to the first, he evidently intended to arrive at Galatz, and sent invoice to Varna to deceive us lest we should ascertain his means of exit from England; his immediate and sole purpose then was to escape. The proof of this, is the letter of instructions sent to Immanuel Hildesheim to clear and take away the box before sunrise. There is also the instruction to Petrof Skinsky. These we must only guess at; but there must have been some letter or message, since Skinsky came to Hildesheim.

That, so far, his plans were successful we know. The Czarina Catherine made a phenomenally quick journey -- so much so that Captain Donelson's suspicions were aroused; but his superstition united with his canniness played the Count's game for him, and he ran with his favouring wind through fogs and all till he brought up blindfold at Galatz. That the Count's arrangements were well made, has been proved. Hildesheim cleared the box, took it off, and gave it to Skinsky. Skinsky took it -- and here we lose the trail. We only know that the box is somewhere on the water, moving along. The customs and the octroi, if there be any, have been avoided.

Now we come to what the Count must have done after his arrival -- on land, at Galatz.

The box was given to Skinsky before sunrise. At sunrise the Count could appear in his own form. Here, we ask why Skinsky was chosen at all to aid in the work? In my husband's diary, Skinsky is mentioned as dealing with the Slovaks who trade down the river to the port; and the man's remark, that the murder was the work of a Slovak, showed the general feeling against his class. The Count wanted isolation.

My surmise is, this: that in London the Count decided to get back to his castle by water, as the most safe and secret way. He was brought from the castle by Szgany, and probably they delivered their cargo to Slovaks who took the boxes to Varna, for there they were shipped for London. Thus the Count had knowledge of the persons who could arrange this service. When the box was on land, before sunrise or after sunset, he came out from his box, met Skinsky and instructed him what to do as to arranging the carriage of the box up some river. When this was done, and he knew that all was in train, he blotted out his traces, as he thought, by murdering his agent.

I have examined the map and find that the river most suitable for the Slovaks to have ascended is either the Pruth or the Sereth. I read in the typescript that in my trance I heard cows low and water swirling level with my ears and the creaking of wood. The Count in his box, then, was on a river in an open boat -- propelled probably either by oars or poles, for the banks are near and it is working against stream. There would be no such sound if floating down stream.

Of course it may not be either the Sereth or the Pruth, but we may possibly investigate further. Now of these two, the Pruth is the more easily navigated, but the Sereth is, at Fundu, joined by the Bistritza which runs up round the Borgo Pass. The loop it makes is manifestly as close to Dracula's castle as can be got by water.

When I had done reading, Jonathan took me in his arms and kissed me. The others kept shaking me by both hands, and Dr. Van Helsing said:---

"Our dear Madam Mina is once more our teacher. Her eyes have been where we were blinded. Now we are on the track once again, and this time we may succeed. Our enemy is at his most helpless; and if we can come on him by day, on the water, our task will be over. He has a start, but he is powerless to hasten, as he may not leave his box lest those who carry him may suspect; for them to suspect would be to prompt them to throw him in the stream where he perish. This he knows, and will not. Now men, to our Council of War; for, here and now, we must plan what each and all shall do."

"I shall get a steam launch and follow him," said Lord Godalming.

"And I, horses to follow on the bank lest by chance he land," said Mr. Morris.

"Good!" said the Professor, "both good. But neither must go alone. There must be force to overcome force if need be; the Slovak is strong and rough, and he carries rude arms." All the men smiled, for amongst them they carried a small arsenal. Said Mr. Morris:---

"I have brought some Winchesters; they are pretty handy in a crowd, and there may be wolves. The Count, if you remember, took some other precautions; he made some requisitions on others that Mrs. Harker could not quite hear or understand. We must be ready at all points." Dr. Seward said:---

"I think I had better go with Quincey. We have been accustomed to hunt together, and we two, well armed, will be a match for whatever may come along. You must not be alone, Art. It may be necessary to fight the Slovaks, and a chance thrust -- for I don't suppose these fellows carry guns -- would undo all our plans. There must be no chances, this time; we shall, not rest until the Count's head and body have been separated, and we are sure that he cannot re-incarnate." He looked at Jonathan as he spoke, and Jonathan looked at me. I could see that the poor dear was torn about in his mind. Of course he wanted to be with me; but then the boat service would, most likely, be the one which would destroy the ... the ... the ... Vampire. (Why did I hesitate to write the word?) He was silent awhile, and during his silence Dr. Van Helsing spoke:---

"Friend Jonathan, this is to you for twice reasons. First, because you are young and brave and can fight, and all energies may be needed at the last; and again that it is your right to destroy him -- that -- which has wrought such woe to you and yours. Be not afraid for Madam Mina; she will be my care, if I may. I am old. My legs are not so quick to run as once; and I am not used to ride so long or to pursue as need be, or to fight with lethal weapons. But I can be of other service; I can fight in other way. And I can die, if need be, as well as younger men. Now let me say that what I would is this: while you, my Lord Godalming and friend Jonathan go in your so swift little steamboat up the river, and whilst John and Quincey guard the bank where perchance he might be landed, I will take Madam Mina right into the heart of the enemy's country. Whilst the old fox is tied in his box, floating on the running stream whence he cannot escape to land -- where he dares not raise the lid of his coffin-box lest his Slovak carriers should in fear leave him to perish -- we shall go in the track where Jonathan went, -- from Bistritz over the Borgo, and find our way to the Castle of Dracula. Here, Madam Mina's hypnotic power will surely help, and we shall find our way -- all dark and unknown otherwise -- after the first sunrise when we are near that fateful place. There is much to be done, and other places to be made sanctify, so that that nest of vipers be obliterated." Here Jonathan interrupted him hotly:---

"Do you mean to say, Professor Van Helsing, that you would bring Mina, in her sad case and tainted as she is with that devil's illness, right into the jaws of his death-trap? Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!" He became almost speechless for a minute, and then went on:---

"Do you know what the place is? Have you seen that awful den of hellish infamy -- with the very moonlight alive with grisly shapes, and every speck of dust that whirls in the wind a devouring monster in embryo? Have you felt the Vampire's lips upon your throat?" Here he turned to me, and as his eyes lit on my forehead he threw up his arms with a cry: "Oh, my God, what have we done to have this terror upon us!" and he sank down on the sofa in a collapse of misery. The Professor's voice, as he spoke in clear, sweet tones, which seemed to vibrate in the air, calmed us all:---

"Oh, my friend, it is because I would save Madam Mina from that awful place that I would go. God forbid that I should take her into that place. There is work -- wild work -- to be done there, that her eyes may not see. We men here, all save Jonathan, have seen with their own eyes what is to be done before that place can be purify. Remember that we are in terrible straits. If the Count escape us this time -- and he is strong and subtle and cunning -- he may choose to sleep him for a century, and then in time our dear one" -- he took my hand -- "would come to him to keep him company, and would be as those others that you, Jonathan, saw. You have told us of their gloating lips; you heard their ribald laugh as they clutched the moving bag that the Count threw to them. You shudder; and well may it be. Forgive me that I make you so much pain, but it is necessary. My friend, is it not a dire need for the which I am giving, possibly my life? If it were that any one went into that place to stay, it is I who would have to go to keep them company."

"Do as you will," said Jonathan, with a sob that shook him all over, "we are in the hands of God!"

#dracula #draculalive #vampires

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xathia-89 · 5 years

Text

An Angel’s Touch

Nobunaga was barely sleeping. He kept calling me to his chambers at all hours, usually disturbing my sleep nearly as much as his own pattern. After a few nights, I was undoubtedly barely able to keep myself going during the day, and in desperation began to scour the archive for the children’s fairy stories that I was able to read at least. Mitsunari was nothing like his lord, Hideyoshi, and always seemed to have an angelic smile on his face whenever I appeared. He had gone out of his way to help me with my reading and teaching me the rules of the game ‘Go’, which Nobunaga was apparently a master of and had played me a few times over his sleepless nights. I was trying to stifle a yawn as I found the book in question, and stood on my tiptoes to get it. I was engulfed in some warmth the second I felt like I was losing my balance, and found myself swimming in the concerned gaze of Mitsunari. Time froze as I got lost in his amethyst eyes, before sharply realising that I was now staring, and also held against his surprisingly muscular body. “Are you okay?” He gently asked, unwavering in his hold on me, and bringing the fairy tales down to my height. “You look as though you haven’t been sleeping well, Hideyoshi will lecture you if you aren’t careful,” he smiled. Mitsunari was blissfully unaware of most things around him, including that holding a woman against you could give someone the very wrong impression as Ieyasu came barging into the library. The tousled blonde stared at us before I began to try and pry myself free of the misleadingly strong Mitsunari. Ieyasu was glaring daggers at me before shortly informing Mitsunari that he was required at a meeting and promptly left the room. “It must be getting serious,” the purple eyed strategist sighed. “My apologies, I am afraid I cannot stay to help you today.” He beamed and left with a slight bow, and completely missed the bright flush on my cheeks. Wandering the corridors whilst trying to go over some of the things that needed to be done in the castle, I managed to walk into my ‘boss’. Literally straight into his back. “Hm? Do you need something?” Oda was able to live off no sleep, that much I did know as I was rubbing my eyes to drag myself back to the present. “No, nothing. I was thinking and not paying attention to where I was going, sorry,” I waved my hand and went to sidestep Nobunaga, only for his hand to clasp my wrist smoothly. “Apparently the question was meant for me to ask you if you wanted something,” I sharply added, giving the black haired male a warning look. Hideyoshi was looking down at me like the mother hen he played to everyone else. “My lord, if I may be so bold, I think our chatelaine needs a little retreat,” he suggested surprisingly, his tone of concern rather than reprimand. “I also know that Mitsunari needs to return home for a few days for some research.” “Good idea, you can accompany Mitsunari to his estate,” it was the smile that put me on edge, the warlords could gossip like old maids at any point, and I was suddenly thinking that Ieyasu had said his piece on the scene he had interrupted. I was riding astride Mitsunari, Nobunaga had kept me up for most of the previous night demanding fairy tales as I combed through his hair in an attempt to get him to sleep. It looked terrible in the morning, I had woken up in Oda’s futon whilst he was out on the balcony and Mitsuhide had a snake like smile on his face upon seeing me leave the tenshu to pack my things. There was no need for forced conversation, the silence was comfortable between us, though I was highly uncertain as to what the strategist had been told was the cause for me to accompany him home. I was rather surprised to learn that his manor was well kept, and the maids were as surprised to see that the Princess had accompanied their lord home as I was to find out that not every room had an avalanche of books in it. Mitsunari immediately headed to his library whilst the maids chased me off to the hot springs in the back, having been informed I was to relax. It was mid morning and as lovely as it had been, having nothing to do was not much amusement in my world. I set about to locate the library, and caught a few books before Mitsunari received a concussion. “Hm?” The model beauty looked amazed to see me as I plucked the book from his hand, and then noticed the pile behind him. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings, and I am almost willing to bet my kimono on the fact that you have been here in that spot since we arrived,” I semi-chastised, and spied the foul attempts at tea that Mitsunari was famous for never being able to do. “A stretch of your legs and something to eat and drink before you resume,” I ordered, practically dragging the warlord out of the library. My arm was linked through his as a deterrent to stop him from wandering back to the library before he was sorted. Even though it was fuelling the gossiping maids like nothing else before had. I was virtually certain that a report of it would make its way back to Azuchi before we would. The maids were graceful in accepting some help to look after Mitsunari, since it wasn’t uncommon for him to be awake for days at a time in a trance and studying. At least keeping him company in the library and taking him out on occasions would give me something a little different to do. Even if I just felt as though it was more of a plan of Hideyoshi to send someone along with his vassal to make sure that he would actually come back to Azuchi alive and well. The days were peaceful if nothing else, but I was glad to be riding back to Azuchi. Mitsunari had packed his horse with the required scrolls, but his mind was very clearly elsewhere as I used my horse to stop his from diving headfirst into a rapid stream. “Hm?” The angelic beauty looked startled to see me glaring at him, and that we were off course. “This is not the quickest route to Azuchi.” “You lead us this way, I was beginning to wonder if you had a reason for it, but apparently I shouldn’t have trusted you this far,” I sighed. “There is something that has you deep in thought, would you care to share the burden?” I offered, knowing that he would likely just give me that heart melting smile of his and decline. The smile sent my heart into overdrive. “I am just concerned about the strategies our enemies appear to be pursuing in light of Honno-ji, and I am struggling to come up with the answers as quickly. It is an unusual situation for me, and it appears to have gotten the better of our situation.” “Then maybe you need to look for the differences instead of the similarities when we return?” I replied as the horses were turned about to find the well travelled route. Mitsunari looked stunned and then smiled even brighter as I had to tell my heart to calm itself. “That never occured to me, thank you,” he beamed. It was just after dusk on our return to the castle, and Hideyoshi was impatiently waiting at the gates before whisking Mitsunari off to a meeting with Nobunaga presumably. I shook my head before greeting the staff and looking to return to my own room. One of the maids was swift to find me, and practically bursting at the seams to tell me something. “My lady! Is it true?” She exclaimed, excitedly grabbing hold of my kimono sleeve before I could get to my room. “You and Lord Mitsunari-” I laughed and gently released her grip. “Went back to his manor so I could recuperate in the hot springs that was all,” I smiled gently. “Though I suspect it was also because Hideyoshi believed that Mitsunari would perish without someone checking in on him regularly.” The rumours around the castle made me smile. Apparently the maids’ reports from our break had made it back quicker than we could, especially given the detour that had occured, and made it look as though we had drawn out the journey on purpose. Masamune was looking a little sulky at times at the sight of Mitsunari, and Ieyasu had become even more prickly towards us both as I dropped in on the library to ensure that Mitsunari hadn’t buried himself in books. “-so the reports are false?” Hideyoshi was sounding strict as I approached the room. “What reports?” Mitsunari sounded startled. “That you and her are a couple?” His master’s voice was a little strained. “I don’t understand,” the vassal replied, confusion rife as I sadly smiled to myself. It would always be one sided with the way he smiled at me. I entered the library as I would normally, and smiled extra brightly at them both. “Good morning!” I went to pass Hideyoshi to get to the fanciful books, only for his hand on my shoulder to stop me. I looked up at the man in surprise, and tilted my head in question. “The maids gave reports saying that you were linked in arms and would spend most of the day together in a way that left no questions as to the situation,” he firmly stated, mostly glaring at me. “Some books nearly fell on him the first day I was there, I was making sure he didn’t get hurt, and the arm leading was to also make sure he had some proper food to eat and not just what he tries to pass as tea,” I sighed calmly, trying to stop myself hurting at the bluntness of the words. “I figured the maids would misinterpret, but I am also too aware of how easily distracted Mitsunari can be around books, so I was just making sure for myself he couldn’t get away from the important parts.” Hideyoshi seemed to accept that answer and left us both promptly. The air was a little stale as I went to throw open the shutters, but then there was an enticing warmth surrounding me. His smell was too good to ignore, and I automatically returned his embrace, my head buried in the crook of his neck. His heart was racing, I could feel it through his haori. “Just let me do this, I don’t think I could ever miss the heart wrenching look on your face when you were trying to pass it off as nothing,” Mitsunari’s voice was sultry, and make my hairs stand on edge. I couldn’t get any words out as I gently tightened the embrace around him.

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #Ikémen Sengoku #mitsunari ishida

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kivaember · 6 years

Text

AO3 Prompt: Aymeric Meets WoL’s Family Pt. 1

(Prompt from AO3 comments! This was split into two parts because it, uh, got too long. This one is pre-family meeting and is just shameless, self-indulgent Aymeric/WoL fluff and so much lore bending i’m surprised it didn’t snap)

The first time Aymeric laid eyes on the Azim Steppes, he was stunned speechless.

Being the tail end of the rainy seasons, the plain was alive with green. The grass rippled like calm waves on the sea when the wind gusted over them, and far in the horizon the Steppe was ringed with towering, dark grey peaks that put the Coerthas Highlands to shame. The Tall Mountains indeed, he thought absently, trying to catch all the details he could see from the mouth of the Ruby Sea tunnel they had just left from.

Close by was a group of heavyset, shaggy beasts that Aymeric didn’t recognise, mooing lowly to each other and guarded by a distant figure sitting on their horse beneath a lone tree. A well-packed, dirt track led from the tunnel to a settlement less than a malm away, and beyond that he could see the land swell in a large, yet gently sloped hill. Further than that, he could see some greyish structure that looked like a bowl, but it was too far away to make out any details. It was all just… breath-taking.

“That’s Reunion,” Aza said beside him, breaking him out of his awed staring. His partner was pointing at the settlement which from this distance looked like little pointed shapes with a squat wall surrounding it. Smoke was rising from the various shapes, presumably from fires. Despite the clear skies and bright sunlight, the wind carried a sharp chill not unlike Ishgard.

“Reunion,” Aymeric repeated, “Ah, that is the… ‘Qestir’ village you told me about?”

Aza laughed quietly, “It’s not a village exactly. It’s a trading hub run by the Qestir. It’s friendly to foreigners… so long as you’re polite.”

“I’m always polite,” Aymeric quipped, “I never forget my manners.”

Aza rolled his eyes, but his mouth was curved into a smile. Aymeric found himself admiring him instead, despite the beautiful and foreign landscape around him. They were both riding horses – Lord Hien had insisted on them enjoying the ‘full Othard experience’ when they left Doma and loaned them a pair of horses – and Aza looked utterly comfortable in the saddle. Whilst Aymeric was trying to adjust to sitting on a four-legged creature, instead of the more compact, two-legged Chocobo, Aza just oozed confidence and experience. He had even taken the stirrups off, complaining that he found them distracting more than useful and kept the reins somewhat slack.

“Aym,” Aza said, and Aymeric blinked out of admiring how his partner’s well-muscled thigh gripped his horse’s side to glance up at him, “C’mon, you have lovely scenery to admire and you stare at my boot instead?”

“Leg, actually,” Aymeric said with mock-innocence, “And it’s a very lovely leg. It just draws my eye.”

“Flirt,” Aza said fondly, and with a subtle press of his heels, his mount started at a comfortable walk. Aymeric followed suit, albeit with less grace.

The dirt path was well worn, so their horses easily found their footing on the uneven, undulating path. Aymeric’s gaze trailed over to the heavyset creatures dawdling next to the path. He didn’t realise how big they were until he passed one and was glad they seemed relatively placid. None of the odd creatures paid them any mind whatsoever, though he noticed the lone guard watching them intently.

“They’re Dzo,” Aza explained, catching his interest. The foreign word rolled off his tongue with ease, “They’re like, um, Wisent? Bison? Whatever Eorzeans call them.”

“I see,” Aymeric said. Their fur was shaggy and coarse looking – were they used for clothing, like Karakuls? Perhaps meat too. He reluctantly turned away and to his partner, focusing on more important matters than curious wildlife, “What are the Qestir like?”

“Nice enough,” Aza said, “They don’t talk, but so long as you know Qestiri you get along okay. It’s usually foreigners that struggle with them, unless a Xaela is willing to act as interpreter for them.”

“Qestiri?” Aymeric repeated, wondering how they had a language if they didn’t speak, “What is…”

Aza smiled at him, then gently tucked his horse’s reins into the edge of his saddle. Easily steering his mount with his legs, Aza lifted his hands and began moving them in strange ways, making shapes with his fingers and hands as he said slowly, each shape matching his words, “Qestiri is language of hands. Actions are considered purer than mere words by them.”

Oh, now that was fascinating. Sign language? Ishgard had a rudimentary form of it, militarised of course, but no one thought to base an entire language on it. He leaned towards Aza slightly in his saddle, tucking his own reins into his saddle as he lifted his hands, ready to imitate, “So, if I wanted to greet someone…?”

“You would talk,” Aza said, “Non-Qestir’s aren’t expected to speak with their hands. But knowing what they’re saying stops the conversation being one-sided, so… okay. Watch my hands. This is a greeting for friendly strangers…”

----

Aymeric was a terrifyingly quick study, Aza found. Almost at the gate to Reunion, and Aymeric already picked up a rough idea on how to identify the most common nouns and verbs. He’d probably mess up and confuse Qestir if he tried communicating with his hands, but he knew enough to kind of understand if the Qestir he was speaking to was annoyed or amicable towards him… or throwing insults, because of course Aza taught him the naughty gestures.

“So, this means ‘you’re like a dry cunt’,” Aza said, “You use it mostly for bitter people who suck all the happiness out of everyone around them to make them just as miserable.”

“Oddly specific description,” Aymeric said, looking thoroughly delighted and amused as he keenly watched Aza sign the insult, “I can think of several that fits it, though.”

“Yeah, like a good half of the House of Lords.”

“Half? You’re being kind. I’d say two thirds, myself.”

Aza laughed quietly, reluctantly putting a stop to his game of ‘teaching Aym foul Qestiri curses’ when they reached the outskirts of Reunion. The dirt path had widened into a large, flat patch of churned up earth, and a few people with their horse-driven carts stood around near the open gate. Reunion didn’t have strict immigration rules like Ishgard – foreigners could come and go as they pleased, with the implicit understanding that if they wandered off and got eaten by a pack of Gedan, it was their own fault – but the trading settlement had limited space, so they needed to stagger those that came to trade so a steady rotation of merchants switched in and out throughout the day.

The Qestir were known to be fair in their dealings, so the mood was relaxed, the merchants knowing their turn would come up at some point. Aymeric and Aza dismounted, leading their horses by the reins through the cluster of carts and restless horses towards the gate.

Two Qestir stood by it, dressed in their traditional wear and sporting their colours. Their faces and hair were covered by colourful shawls, leaving only their almond, dark eyes peeking out. Aza knew foreigners were intimidated by them, as their loose-fitting clothes and hidden faces made them inscrutable and difficult to understand – but Aza had been dealing with them for almost twenty years now, so he knew their ways well enough. People complained that they were stoic and cold, but honestly, they were one of the few most expressive people he’d ever known. You just needed to know where and how to look.

“Altana,” Aza greeted cheerfully, recognising the lithe Qestir on the left. She was a little taller than him but a lot more delicate looking, even beneath his billowing clothes. Aza knew she was a fast fucker and could kick like a mule. He continued in Steppe-Common, a rougher version than the Eorzean one; “You’re still on guard duty? What, did you punch a Buduga again? I thought you completed your remedial mediating training this time?”

Altana – actually Altantsetseg – lifted her shoulders in a shrug, her dark eyes squinting in mirth. The Qestir on the other side of the gate, a towering, broad-shouldered man that Aza didn’t recognise, mock-sighed, then lazily flicked his fingers in slang-Qestiri.

“Oh, Oronir. My mistake,” Aza chuckled, then turned to Aymeric who was watching the whole exchange with open fascination and curiosity. Unlike most Eorzeans, who tended to get mulish over other cultures, Aymeric was incredibly open-minded and eager to learn. It was why he loved the man, sometimes, “Tribal disputes.”

“I see,” Aymeric hummed, “That language…”

“Steppe-Common. I know, it’s a bit different to Eorzean but it’s quick to pick up,” Aza said, then turned back to Altana. She was giving Aymeric a curious look, “Oh. Uh, this is my, um, partner. Life partner. Taking him to see family.”

Altana brightened, then clapped her hands together in a very Eorzean expression of happiness. Her male companion quickly imitated her and even gave him the stupidest thumbs up he’d ever witnessed. Gods, they were making Aza feel a bit flustered.

“Yes! Okay! It’s good, um, so, we’ll be passing through now!”

-----

Reunion was very different to anything Aymeric had ever seen before.

The closest comparison he could make was Tailfeather, but that hunting encampment had a very Ishgardian flair that Aymeric had recognised despite the towering forest shielding the camp from the sky above. It was a dash of familiarity in what should have been an adventure, whereas Reunion was entirely foreign. He loved it. The stalls, the foreign wares, the cacophony of dialects and accents and languages being tossed between merchants and customers. Aymeric felt like he couldn’t take in all the details fast enough, and if it weren’t for Aza holding his hand and pulling him along, he would’ve long since walked into someone staring at the fascinating scenery around him.

“Focus, Aym,” Aza chuckled, “Your head’s gonna fly off with how fast you’re spinning it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” he trailed off a bit sheepishly, “Amazed. This place is fascinating and so lively! I’m curious to see how the Qestir run this trading hub, it looks so well managed…”

Aza rolled his eyes, “Only you would come here sightseeing and ask about their economics.”

“Understanding how other lands conduct their business is vital to shaping the most effective society for Ishgard,” Aymeric said with mock-primness, then admitted, “In short, I need to steal as many good ideas as I can from other city states, even if I’m only sightseeing.”

“You’re shameless,” Aza sighed, but he couldn’t hide his smile, “Well, you’ll have to wait until the return trip to terrorise the Qestir on their socioeconomics. We’ve got a schedule to keep, remember? We need to ride the rest of the day to the West, camp out under the stars, and reach home by noon!”

“Quite the distance,” Aymeric remarked, not at all put off by the thought of it. He wondered if they would go by that odd grey bowl structure in the distance. He wanted to know what it was – and no, it wouldn’t be the same if Aza just told him. He wanted to find out himself, “I thought you said your tribe visited Reunion often. Yet you’re oddly far away…”

“It’s rainy season still,” Aza said, “Our camp’s normally in this valley not far from here, just on the edge of Nhaama’s Desert, which floods a lot during this season. So, we move off into the mountains further West until the dry season kicks in. It’s a longer distance to travel for trading, but least we won’t drown from flash floods.”

“Desert?”

“Oh, right,” Aza pointed to the West, “That way is Nhaama’s Desert. A few tribes live in there… one of them, the Bairon, can live off their own bodily fluids to survive in the desert without water.”

“Bodily fluids such as… urine?”

“Well,” Aza coughed, “No one really specifies, but… yeah, I’d assume so.”

Between dying of thirst in a desert or surviving by drinking one’s urine, Aymeric supposed the choice wasn’t a difficult one to make, “What about the other tribes?”

“Well…”

----

It rained when they made camp, of course.

Thankfully Aza had found them a cluster of rocks hidden in the shadow of a round hill that acted as a shallow cave. It was one of the few shelters that littered the various travel routes across the Steppes. There weren’t any roads like in Eorzea, but there were routes that naturally followed along the bottom of the Steppes’ hills and rocky ledges. The one they were on would take them close to the Oronir and the Buduga, much too close for Aza’s comfort, but it would be the easiest one to reach the Western mountains and with his status as Khagan, he doubted they would harass him and his partner too much.

The Sun Throne was just an indistinct shape in the distance, practically invisible in the gloom the heavy rains brought, but it still made Aza feel tense. The cluster of rocks – slabs of smooth stone that were dark as granite – kept the water off, and though it was cramped and cold, Aza and Aymeric set up camp in their little shelter, their mounts huddled near the mouth of the cave with a spare tarp acting as extra shelter. Everyone was as dry as they were going to be, but with the icy rain and the lack of sun, the Steppe’s temperature plummeted.

Hien had enough foresight to gift them with horse rugs, having had first hand experience in the Steppe weather himself and understanding that Doman horses were not the hardy Steppe ponies with their thick, shaggy fur. The horses seemed fine anyway, and Aza was more concerned with his very achy joints that the chill aggravated.

The bedrolls kept them warm from the hard, ice-cold floor, and they doubled up on their blankets, Aymeric curled around him and radiating pleasant warmth. All Aza could hear was his partner’s even breaths, the dull roar of rain hammering against their shelter, the horses occasionally whickering softly. He could smell ozone and grass and Aymeric, and even if he was a little cold and lying on a hard, unyielding ground, he was… content. Happy.

“You’re purring,” Aymeric murmured into his ear, his voice low and warm. Aza shivered at the sound, curling his tail around his partner’s thigh and pressing back against his warm body with a smile.

“I’m happy,” he said, “And you’re warm. Mm, very warm.”

“Warm enough for you, I hope,” Aymeric said, and pressed a kiss against the back of his ear. Aza hummed vaguely, feeling his partner’s fingers skin, lightly, over his stomach beneath his silken undershirt, fingernails dragging gently over his abdominals. He shivered again, “Cold, love?”

“A little,” Aza whispered, his breath visible as white mist. He rolled over in Aymeric’s arms, wriggled until he was almost nose to nose with him. His partner looked lovely – the chill brought a faint flush to his cheeks, the tip of his nose a little pink, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark but warm, his lips slightly parted, his dark hair inky black and soft and…

“Aza,” Aymeric rumbled, his fingers trailing feather-light along his hip, his voice lilting almost mischievously; “Want me to warm you up?”

“Yes,” Aza murmured, pressing in close. Aymeric’s fingers gripped his hip, pulling him forwards a fraction – he slid his leg over his partner’s hip, close, and warm, and…

He kissed him. Aymeric returned it eagerly.

It was slow and unhurried, but no less passionate. Aymeric swallowed up the soft, pleased noises he whined in the back of his throat, his hands lightly touching, exploring – his sides, his belly, the small of his back, the base of his tail, his thighs, base of his tail again, rubbing slow, maddeningly circles until Aza was panting hard against his mouth, groaning when Aymeric teased his bottom lip between his teeth, soothing the dull, bruising ache with his tongue and, and, and..

“Aym, I want- want… please…” he moaned breathlessly, as he was pushed onto his back, Aymeric kissing him almost sweetly on his chin, then his clever, fiendish mouth followed the vulnerable curve of his throat, lingered at his rabbit-quick pulse point, his fingers curling into the collar of his undershirt to nip, playfully, at his collarbone. Aza soaked up these touches with eager, quiet noises, the cave echoing them back to him, amplifying almost, and Gods, it was driving him crazy and…

And Aymeric went lower and lower, pushing his silken undershirt up to expose his belly, the warm blankets hiding him from view so he was nothing more than a shifting lump beneath them, and Aza blindly reached down, feeling his fingers curl into that soft hair, shivering and arching to the touch, belly tight with anticipation, biting his bottom kiss-bruised lip and…

And Aym pulled his breeches down and-

---

The morning brought with it a fresh, clean morning. The smell of ozone was strong, but the sky was clear of clouds and the sun was brightly shining, reflecting off the dew clinging to the grass so it looked as if the stars had been caught in those gently swaying stalks. Despite the lingering chill, Aza was in a glorious mood, a pleasant ache against the inside of his thighs where Aymeric had marked him over and over. He couldn’t stop smiling, heart brimming with total satisfied contentment.

They were still curled into each other, despite being an hour behind schedule, and Aza nosed against Aymeric’s jaw, breathing in his scent and wishing that they could have this more often. That they could just wander into the middle of nowhere and just… be together without the weight of Lord Commander or Warrior of Light crushing them back into reality. Aymeric made a quiet, sleepy noise at Aza’s nudging, and buried his face into his hair, reluctantly stirring awake.

“Aym,” Aza laughed, “S’time to get up.”

“Mm, no, I’m fine like this,” Aymeric mumbled into his hair, “One more hour.”

Aza was too weak-willed to argue that. He made a show of huffing in annoyance but knew Aymeric could feel his smile as he nuzzled into the crook of his neck, his lips finding the gentle curve of where his neck sloped into his shoulder.

Nothing wrong in selfishly enjoying this, Aza told himself. Besides, it was a good way to procrastinate from the family visit. Despite his excitement for it, he was also nervous. Dad would be easy to win over, he was soft as anything, but Mom… she was overprotective and could be a little intense. She was like Bluebird times a thousand, and Aza was worried she’d get carried away with her shovel talk, or too pointed in her interrogation or…

Aza flicked his ear, dismissing those worries and snuggled closer against his partner. He’ll worry about that later. For now, he was going to cuddle his partner, maybe rouse him for a fortifying round of ‘good luck sex’ and bully him out of the bedroll. If he imagined it hard enough, he could even believe that this was them being simple adventurers together… oh, wouldn’t that be amazing?

He pressed a kiss to Aymeric’s throat and settled, smiling as he let that little fantasy carry him off into a gentle doze.

#ffxiv #fanfic #aymeric de borel #warrior of light #also why don't line breaks work on mobile #that's so dumb

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nobodysuspectsthebutterfly · 7 years

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Why did Ned not research Joffrey for Sansa the way the Tyrells did for Margaery?

1-O asked:

Hey! I’m sure this must have been asked but I can’t find it, sorry. If the Tyrells didn’t hesitate (apparently) to kill Joffrey because he could harm Margaery, how come that Ned was ok with him marrying Sansa? Did he take any measure to protect her? Arya, Bran, Robb and Jon disliked Joffrey already at Winterfell and after the incident at the Trident it was sure he was a danger; sure it was difficult to cancel a betrothal with the prince but if someone could have talked to Robert (who already knew his son was a jerk) it was Ned. Why didn’t he at least inform himself better about Joffrey’s character before accepting? Thanks a lot!

Much of your question can be answered if you examine the sequence of events. Joffrey’s character, while openly bratty and obnoxiously privileged and aristocratically violent, was not truly revealed until after he became king and had Ned executed despite the agreement worked out by the Small Council that he would confess to treason and take the black. That’s when Sansa realized the truth about his character, that’s when Tywin realized the truth, presumably that’s when the Tyrells and many other lords of Westeros realized the truth.

And even they didn’t know the whole truth – while Sansa learned Joffrey was a monster when he had her father killed, she didn’t know he would ever have the Kingsguard abuse her until the moment it happened. Nobody knew that Joffrey would resolve quarrels brought to the king by having the llitigants fight to the death until it happened. Nobody knew Joffrey would threaten Sansa with a crossbow (that he’d been learning how to use by killing cats) and have her stripped in public until it happened. Nobody admitted Joffrey was getting off on Sansa’s humiliation, except Tyrion, and he was ignored. (And even he thought Joffrey could get it out of his system if he got laid.)

That’s why the Tyrells were willing to marry Margaery to Joffrey to make her queen… at least until Petyr Baelish put his little finger in the pie:

“The old woman is not boring, though, I’ll grant her that. A fearsome old harridan, and not near as frail as she pretends. When I came to Highgarden to dicker for Margaery’s hand, she let her lord son bluster while she asked pointed questions about Joffrey’s nature. I praised him to the skies, to be sure… whilst my men spread disturbing tales amongst Lord Tyrell’s servants. That is how the game is played. […] Lady Olenna was not about to let Joff harm her precious darling granddaughter, but unlike her son she also realized that under all his flowers and finery, Ser Loras is as hot-tempered as Jaime Lannister. Toss Joffrey, Margaery, and Loras in a pot, and you’ve got the makings for kingslayer stew. The old woman understood something else as well. Her son was determined to make Margaery a queen, and for that he needed a king… but he did not need Joffrey.”

–ASOS, Sansa V

Without the truthful rumors Littlefinger spread about Joffrey in Highgarden, Olenna wouldn’t have known to ask Sansa about the “troubling tales” she had heard about him, to confirm that he had indeed sadistically abused Sansa and probably would do the same to other women, to hear that he’d betrayed a promise to save Ned, to hear about the Trident, to hear that Sansa thought he was a monster.

Furthermore, note that it’s Olenna and Margaery who handled the interview with Sansa and confirmed the truth about Joffrey’s character. And they were the ones to handle the poisoning plot to remove Joffrey, as well. Mace Tyrell, who actually made the betrothal and was determined to have a queen daughter and king grandson, likely didn’t have anything to do with it and never knew what Joffrey was truly like.

Also, it was not certain to Ned after the Trident that Joffrey was a danger to Sansa. He had been aristocratically violent to a peasant (in a sadistic manner tbf), he fought with Arya after she whacked him over the head to stop him from hurting her friend, but Joffrey didn’t do anything to Sansa personally except take her on a long horse ride (without guards) and get her drunk. The only sign of his future danger to Sansa was when she tried to help him after his injury and he looked at her with loathing and “the vilest contempt” – and do you think Sansa told her father about that when she couldn’t even admit it to herself at the time? I most sincerely doubt it.

Joffrey’s sadism and psychopathy, before he became king, wasn’t obvious like Prince Aerion the Monstrous, breaking a woman’s fingers before a crowd, or deliberately killing a horse in a tourney in order to injure his opponent (with plausible deniability). The incident with the pregnant cat when Joffrey was a child was closely held among the witnesses (Robert, Cersei, and Stannis), and for sure Ned never heard a word of it. The incident with Joffrey killing and skinning Tommen’s pet fawn was also closely held (Tommen is the only one who ever talked about it, and only once), and again, nothing Ned would know about. The Trident incident was waved off as a “boys will be boys”, as children fighting, and left Ned with more anger towards Robert and Cersei than Joffrey.

Most importantly, Ned didn’t research Joffrey’s character before the betrothal because his best friend, his ward-brother, Robert, the king, asked him. The king, asking him to marry his daughter to the crown prince. And even so, Ned wasn’t quite sure:

He hesitated. “These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife…” “Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must.” The king reached down, clasped Ned by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. “Just don’t keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men.”

–AGOT, Eddard I

But as you can see, Robert didn’t give him much time to decide. And then after Ned and Catelyn received Lysa’s secret letter where she claimed the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn, he felt he had no choice:

“Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds to suspect our devotion.” –Ned, AGOT, Catelyn II

Also, while Robert knew his son was bad news, he never told Ned that until it was far too late:

“You know what stops me [from abdicating]? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing behind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?” “He’s only a boy,” Ned said awkwardly. He had small liking for Prince Joffrey, but he could hear the pain in Robert’s voice. “Have you forgotten how wild you were at his age?” “It would not trouble me if the boy was wild, Ned. You don’t know him as I do.” He sighed and shook his head. “Ah, perhaps you are right. Jon despaired of me often enough, yet I grew into a good king.”

–AGOT, Eddard VII

And Robert still isn’t telling Ned why he’s troubled by Joffrey, he doesn’t mention the cat or any other incidents of sadism or other things that make him fear Joffrey’s rule. He never mentions anything that might lead Ned to believe Joffrey would hurt Sansa.

Joffrey’s behavior is excused as “he’s only a boy” (Tyrion reacts that way too, for a while), the wildness and mistakes of youth, not recognized for what it would come to be. Not recognized as something that would be dangerous to Sansa. Not recognized as grounds to break a betrothal with a crown prince. The only thing that made Ned finally decide to stop the marriage was discovering that Joffrey isn’t Robert’s son after all. (Which is also something the Tyrells knew when they made their betrothal.)

So, to sum up, Olenna understanding that Joffrey could harm Margaery and doing something about it, while Ned did not do the same for Sansa, was based on knowledge and events that did not happen until Ned was already dead. And Ned had no chance to research Joffrey’s character before acceding to the will of the king, and likely would not have found anything that would make him fear for Sansa even if he had tried, as most of those truly troubling events did not happen until after he was dead. I hope that clears things up for you.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #joffrey baratheon #sansa stark #ned stark #olenna tyrell #margaery tyrell #mace tyrell #petyr baelish #littlefinger #tyrion lannister #robert baratheon #abuse tw #squinting so hard at this ask #'how come ned didn't do what other people did after they were told about things that happened after he died?' what?#mfw #submission #the tyrell poisoning plot

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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Dany’s appreciation (and criticism) of the Dothraki and Viserys

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

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

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

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

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

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

To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

Would Dany’s return actually be good for the realm? She offers a fairly similar vision of Westeros to the Dothraki that her late husband Khal Drogo did back in season one, but for the common folk of Westeros, that would likely mean their homes and livelihood being destroyed by nomadic invaders with a penchant for violence. (x)

The problem is that Daenerys has come of age with Viserys and then the Dothraki: two parties who only ever cared about conquest. Maybe it’s too sweeping to say that conquest is always wrong. But, perhaps Daenerys needs to realize that war is rarely justified when it is just for one person’s glory. And I’m not sure that that will ever happen. (x)

Bonus from the same source linked above: Fundamentally, Daenerys has a good heart – and maybe Jon can show her the way.

Is Dany so lacking in moral conscience and critical thinking that she can't discern what's good and what's bad from the Dothraki and Viserys's influence? I would argue that the books tell a different story.

Also, fuck that person for saying that maybe Jon can show her the way (to goodness or peace or whatever). FUCK THAT PERSON.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

Dany set off through the tall grass at a brisk pace. The earth felt warm between her toes. The grass was as tall as she was. It never seemed so high when I was mounted on my silver, riding beside my sun-and-stars at the head of his khalasar.

Only the birth of her dragons amidst the fire and smoke of Khal Drogo’s funeral pyre had spared Dany herself from being dragged back to Vaes Dothrak to live out the remainder of her days amongst the crones of the dosh khaleen.

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

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

A few bright stars lingered in the cobalt sky. Perhaps one of them is Khal Drogo, sitting on his fiery stallion in the night lands and smiling down on me.

Would the horse god of the Dothraki part the grass and claim her for his starry khalasar, so she might ride the nightlands with Khal Drogo? In Westeros the dead of House Targaryen were given to the flames, but who would light her pyre here? My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.

She dreamt of her dead brother.

Viserys looked just as he had the last time she’d seen him. His mouth was twisted in anguish, his hair was burnt, and his face was black and smoking where the molten gold had run down across his brow and cheeks and into his eyes.

“You are dead,” Dany said.

Murdered. Though his lips never moved, somehow she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear. You never mourned me, sister. It is hard to die unmourned.

“I loved you once.”

Once, he said, so bitterly it made her shudder. You were supposed to be my wife, to bear me children with silver hair and purple eyes, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. I took care of you. I taught you who you were. I fed you. I sold our mother’s crown to keep you fed.

“You hurt me. You frightened me.”

Only when you woke the dragon. I loved you. “You sold me. You betrayed me.”

No. You were the betrayer. You turned against me, against your own blood. They cheated me. Your horsey husband and his stinking savages. They were cheats and liars. They promised me a golden crown and gave me this. He touched the molten gold that was creeping down his face, and smoke rose from his finger.

“You could have had your crown,” Dany told him. “My sun-and-stars would have won it for you if only you had waited.”

I waited long enough. I waited my whole life. I was their king, their rightful king. They laughed at me.

“You should have stayed in Pentos with Magister Illyrio. Khal Drogo had to present me to the dosh khaleen, but you did not have to ride with us. That was your choice. Your mistake.”

Do you want to wake the dragon, you stupid little whore? Drogo’s khalasar was mine. I bought them from him, a hundred thousand screamers. I paid for them with your maidenhead.

“You never understood. Dothraki do not buy and sell. They give gifts and receive them. If you had waited ...”

I did wait. For my crown, for my throne, for you. All those years, and all I ever got was a pot of molten gold. Why did they give the dragon’s eggs to you? They should have been mine. If I’d had a dragon, I would have taught the world the meaning of our words.

One rider, and alone. A scout. He was one who rode before the khalasar to find the game and the good green grass, and sniff out foes wherever they might hide. If he found her there, he would kill her, rape her, or enslave her. At best, he would send her back to the crones of the dosh khaleen, where good khaleesi were supposed to go when their khals had died.

ADWD Daenerys IX

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.

ADWD Daenerys VII

Dany envied the Dothraki maids their loose sandsilk trousers and painted vests. They would be much cooler than her in her tokar, with its heavy fringe of baby pearls. “Help me wind this round myself, please. I cannot manage all these pearls by myself.”

“Have my silver saddled. I would not go to my lord husband upon the backs of bearers.”

ADWD Daenerys V

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.”

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.

ADWD Daenerys IV

“Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him. If that’s the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr.”

Her anger flashed. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No. Have you?”

Viserys would have his head off for that insolence. “I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons.” When Dany stood, the lion pelt slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the ground. “Leave me.”

ADWD Daenerys III

“Dothraki make slaves, Ghiscari train them. And to reach Qarth, the horselords must needs drive their captives across the red waste. Hundreds would die, if not thousands … and many horses too, which is why no khal will risk it. And there is this: Qarth wants no khalasars seething round our walls. The stench of all those horses … meaning no offense, Khaleesi.”

“A horse has an honest smell. That is more than can be said of some great lords and merchant princes.”

ADWD Daenerys I

Dothraki were wise where horses were concerned, but could be utter fools about much else.

Daenerys pushed her hair back. “Find these cowards for me. Find them, so that I might teach the Harpy’s Sons what it means to wake the dragon.”

“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?” [...]

“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.” Dothraki fought from horseback. Mounted men were of more use in open fields and hills than in the narrow streets and alleys of the city.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“When I sent you down into the sewers, part of me hoped I’d seen the last of you. It seemed a fitting end for liars, to drown in slavers’ filth. I thought the gods would deal with you, but instead you returned to me. My gallant knights of Westeros, an informer and a turncloak. My brother would have hanged you both.” Viserys, would have, anyway. She did not know what Rhaegar would have done.

Irri helped her slip from her court clothes and into more comfortable garb; baggy woolen breeches, a loose felted tunic, a painted Dothraki vest.

ASOS Daenerys V

High on the walls of Meereen, the jeers had grown louder, and now hundreds of the defenders were taking their lead from the hero and pissing down through the ramparts to show their contempt for the besiegers. They are pissing on slaves, to show how little they fear us, she thought. They would never dare such a thing if it were a Dothraki khalasar outside their gates.

“What if we were to build siege towers? My brother Viserys told tales of such, I know they can be made.”

ASOS Daenerys IV

She had made Jhogo, Aggo, and Rakharo her kos as well as her bloodriders, and just now she needed them more to command her Dothraki than to protect her person. Her khalasar was tiny, some thirty-odd mounted warriors, and most of them braidless boys and bentback old men. Yet they were all the horse she had, and she dared not go without them.

ASOS Daenerys III

Today she rode her silver, clad in horsehair pants and painted leather vest, a bronze medallion belt about her waist and two more crossed between her breasts. Irri and Jhiqui had braided her hair and hung it with a tiny silver bell whose chime sang of the Undying of Qarth, burned in their Palace of Dust.

ASOS Daenerys II

The old man had not wanted to sail to Astapor; nor did he favor buying this slave army. A queen should hear all sides before reaching a decision. That was why Dany had brought him with her to the Plaza of Pride, not to keep her safe. Her bloodriders would do that well enough.

And some had skins of the same amber hue as Kraznys mo Nakloz, and the bristly red-black hair that marked the ancient folk of Ghis, who named themselves the harpy’s sons. They sell even their own kind. It should not have surprised her. The Dothraki did the same, when khalasar met khalasar in the sea of grass.

Aggo and Jhogo fell in to either side of them, walking with the bowlegged swagger all the horselords affected when forced to dismount and stride the earth like common mortals.

She set her mouth grimly and gave her head a shake, and the bell in her braid chimed softly.

“You speak of sacking cities. Answer me this, ser—why have the Dothraki never sacked this city?” She pointed. “Look at the walls. You can see where they’ve begun to crumble. There, and there. Do you see any guards on those towers? I don’t. Are they hiding, ser? I saw these sons of the harpy today, all their proud highborn warriors. They dressed in linen skirts, and the fiercest thing about them was their hair. Even a modest khalasar could crack this Astapor like a nut and spill out the rotted meat inside. So tell me, why is that ugly harpy not sitting beside the godsway in Vaes Dothrak among the other stolen gods?”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

She was breaking her fast on a bowl of cold shrimp-and-persimmon soup when Irri brought her a Qartheen gown, an airy confection of ivory samite patterned with seed pearls. “Take it away,” Dany said. “The docks are no place for lady’s finery.”

If the Milk Men thought her such a savage, she would dress the part for them. When she went to the stables, she wore faded sandsilk pants and woven grass sandals. Her small breasts moved freely beneath a painted Dothraki vest, and a curved dagger hung from her medallion belt. Jhiqui had braided her hair Dothraki-fashion, and fastened a silver bell to the end of the braid. “I have won no victories,” she tried telling her handmaid when the bell tinkled softly.

Jhiqui disagreed. “You burned the maegi in their house of dust and sent their souls to hell.”

That was Drogon’s victory, not mine, Dany wanted to say, but she held her tongue. The Dothraki would esteem her all the more for a few bells in her hair.

She chimed as she mounted her silver mare, and again with every stride [...] At least when she rode she felt as though she was getting somewhere.

Well, perhaps it was time. The people of her khalasar had welcomed the chance to recover from the ravages of the red waste, but now that they were plump and rested once again, they began to grow unruly. Dothraki were not accustomed to staying long in one place. They were a warrior people, not made for cities.

“I smell it, Khaleesi,” he called. “The poison water.” The Dothraki distrusted the sea and all that moved upon it. Water that a horse could not drink was water they wanted no part of. They will learn, Dany resolved. I braved their sea with Khal Drogo. Now they can brave mine.

ACOK Daenerys IV

Aggo put a hand on his arakh. “Khaleesi, it is said that many go into the Palace of Dust, but few come out.”

“It is said,” Jhogo agreed.

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

“Some places even a khal must walk alone,” Dany said.

The blood of the dragon must not be afraid. Dany said a quick prayer, begging the Warrior for courage and the Dothraki horse god for strength. She made herself walk forward.

ACOK Daenerys III

“A firemage, Khaleesi.”

“I want to see.”

“Then you must.” The Dothraki offered a hand down. When she took it, he pulled her up onto his horse and sat her in front of him, where she could see over the heads of the crowd. The firemage had conjured a ladder in the air, a crackling orange ladder of swirling flame that rose unsupported from the floor of the bazaar, reaching toward the high latticed roof.

Most of the spectators, she noticed, were not of the city: she saw sailors off trading ships, merchants come by caravan, dusty men out of the red waste, wandering soldiers, craftsmen, slavers. Jhogo slid one hand about her waist and leaned close. “The Milk Men shun him. Khaleesi, do you see the girl in the felt hat? There, behind the fat priest. She is a—”

“—cutpurse,” finished Dany. She was no pampered lady, blind to such things. She had seen cutpurses aplenty in the streets of the Free Cities, during the years she’d spent with her brother, running from the Usurper’s hired knives.

ACOK Daenerys II

The thought of home disquieted her. If her sun-and-stars had lived, he would have led his khalasar across the poison water and swept away her enemies, but his strength had left the world. Her bloodriders remained, sworn to her for life and skilled in slaughter, but only in the ways of the horselords. The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.

But before she could do that she must conquer.

[...]When Khal Drogo had lived, men trembled and made him gifts to stay his wrath. If they did not, he took their cities, wealth and wives and all. But his khalasar had been vast, while hers was meager. Her people had followed her across the red waste as she chased her comet, and would follow her across the poison water too, but they would not be enough. Even her dragons might not be enough. Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king ... but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things.

Her doubts made her shiver.

ACOK Daenerys I

“Your hair is coming back, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui said as she scraped sand off her back. Dany ran a hand over the top of her head, feeling the new growth. Dothraki men wore their hair in long oiled braids, and cut them only when defeated. Perhaps I should do the same, she thought, to remind them that Drogo’s strength lives within me now. Khal Drogo had died with his hair uncut, a boast few men could make.

“My handmaids say there are ghosts here.”

“There are ghosts everywhere,” Ser Jorah said softly. “We carry them with us wherever we go.”

Yes, she thought. Viserys, Khal Drogo, my son Rhaego, they are with me always.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys X

Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and look for the first star.

When a horselord dies, his horse is slain with him, so he might ride proud into the night lands. The bodies are burned beneath the open sky, and the khal rises on his fiery steed to take his place among the stars. The more fiercely the man burned in life, the brighter his star will shine in the darkness.

Jhogo spied it first. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in the east. The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail. She could not have asked for a stronger sign.

AGOT Daenerys IX

“It was her fate, Khaleesi,” said Aggo. 

If I look back I am lost. “It was a cruel fate,” Dany said, “yet not so cruel as Mago’s will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh.”

The memory of their first ride was with her when she led him out into the darkness, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done beneath the open sky. She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai. The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. She took that for an omen.

No soft blanket of grass welcomed them here, only the hard dusty ground, bare and strewn with stones. No trees stirred in the wind, and there was no stream to soothe her fears with the gentle music of water. Dany told herself that the stars would be enough. “Remember, Drogo,” she whispered. “Remember our first ride together, the day we wed. Remember the night we made Rhaego, with the khalasar all around us and your eyes on my face. Remember how cool and clean the water was in the Womb of the World. Remember, my sun-and-stars. Remember, and come back to me.”

AGOT Daenerys VIII

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

Dany did not want to go back to Vaes Dothrak and live the rest of her life among those terrible old women, yet she knew that the knight spoke the truth. Drogo had been more than her sun-and-stars; he had been the shield that kept her safe. “I will not leave him,” she said stubbornly, miserably. She took his hand again. “I will not.”

“Khaleesi,” he pleaded, “you must not do this thing. Let me kill this maegi.”

“Kill her and you kill your khal,” Dany said.

“This is bloodmagic,” he said. “It is forbidden.”

“I am khaleesi, and I say it is not forbidden. In Vaes Dothrak, Khal Drogo slew a stallion and I ate his heart, to give our son strength and courage. This is the same. The same.”

Mirri Maz Duur had no use for the carcass. “Burn it,” Dany told them. It was what they did, she knew. When a man died, his mount was killed and placed beneath him on the funeral pyre, to carry him to the night lands. The men of her khas dragged the carcass from the tent.

AGOT Daenerys VII

Ser Jorah said the people of this country named themselves the Lhazareen, but the Dothraki called them haesh rakhi, the Lamb Men. Once Dany might have taken them for Dothraki, for they had the same copper skin and almond-shaped eyes. Now they looked alien to her, squat and flat-faced, their black hair cropped unnaturally short. They were herders of sheep and eaters of vegetables, and Khal Drogo said they belonged south of the river bend. The grass of the Dothraki sea was not meant for sheep.

“Jhogo, Quaro, you will aid Ser Jorah. I want no rape.”

The warriors exchanged a baffled look.

Jorah Mormont spurred his horse closer. “Princess,” he said, “you have a gentle heart, but you do not understand. This is how it has always been. Those men have shed blood for the khal. Now they claim their reward.”

Across the road, the girl was still crying, her high singsong tongue strange to Dany’s ears. The first man was done with her now, and a second had taken his place.

“She is a lamb girl,” Quaro said in Dothraki. “She is nothing, Khaleesi. The riders do her honor. The Lamb Men lay with sheep, it is known.”

“It is known,” her handmaid Irri echoed.

“It is known,” agreed Jhogo, astride the tall grey stallion that Drogo had given him. “If her wailing offends your ears, Khaleesi, Jhogo will bring you her tongue.” He drew his arakh.

“I will not have her harmed,” Dany said. “I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal Drogo will know the reason why.”

“Ai, Khaleesi,” Jhogo replied, kicking his horse. Quaro and the others followed his lead, the bells in their hair chiming.

Dany heard Jhogo shout. The rapers laughed at him. One man shouted back. Jhogo’s arakh flashed, and the man’s head went tumbling from his shoulders. Laughter turned to curses as the horsemen reached for weapons, but by then Quaro and Aggo and Rakharo were there. She saw Aggo point across the road to where she sat upon her silver. The riders looked at her with cold black eyes. One spat. The others scattered to their mounts, muttering.

All the while the man atop the lamb girl continued to plunge in and out of her, so intent on his pleasure that he seemed unaware of what was going on around him. Ser Jorah dismounted and wrenched him off with a mailed hand. The Dothraki went sprawling in the mud, bounced up with a knife in hand, and died with Aggo’s arrow through his throat.

A mounted warrior rode up and vaulted from his saddle. He spoke to Haggo, a stream of angry Dothraki too fast for Dany to understand. The huge bloodrider gave her a heavy look before he turned to his khal. “This one is Mago, who rides in the khas of Ko Jhaqo. He says the khaleesi has taken his spoils, a daughter of the lambs who was his to mount.”

Khal Drogo’s face was still and hard, but his black eyes were curious as they went to Dany. “Tell me the truth of this, moon of my life,” he commanded in Dothraki.

Dany told him what she had done, in his own tongue so the khal would understand her better, her words simple and direct.

When she was done, Drogo was frowning. “This is the way of war. These women are our slaves now, to do with as we please.”

“It pleases me to hold them safe,” Dany said, wondering if she had dared too much. “If your warriors would mount these women, let them take them gently and keep them for wives. Give them places in the khalasar and let them bear you sons.”

Qotho was ever the cruelest of the bloodriders. It was he who laughed. “Does the horse breed with the sheep?”

Something in his tone reminded her of Viserys. Dany turned on him angrily. “The dragon feeds on horse and sheep alike.”

Khal Drogo smiled. “See how fierce she grows!” he said. “It is my son inside her, the stallion who mounts the world, filling her with his fire. Ride slowly, Qotho ... if the mother does not burn you where you sit, the son will trample you into the mud. And you, Mago, hold your tongue and find another lamb to mount. These belong to my khaleesi.”

AGOT Daenerys VI

She had never seen the Seven Kingdoms either, no more than Drogo, yet she felt as though she knew them from all the tales her brother had told her. Viserys had promised her a thousand times that he would take her back one day, but he was dead now and his promises had died with him.

Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door ... was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? When she looked at the crones of the dosh khaleen, was she looking at her future?

The day was warm and cloudless, the sky a deep blue. When the wind blew, she could smell the rich scents of grass and earth. As her litter passed beneath the stolen monuments, she went from sunlight to shadow and back again. Dany swayed along, studying the faces of dead heroes and forgotten kings. She wondered if the gods of burned cities could still answer prayers. If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old ... and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman ... but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.

AGOT Daenerys V

A procession followed them out onto the godsway, the broad grassy road that ran through the heart of Vaes Dothrak, from the horse gate to the Mother of Mountains. The crones of the dosh khaleen came first, with their eunuchs and slaves. Some supported themselves with tall carved staffs as they struggled along on ancient, shaking legs, while others walked as proud as any horselord. Each of the old women had been a khaleesi once. When their lord husbands died and a new khal took his place at the front of his riders, with a new khaleesi mounted beside him, they were sent here, to reign over the vast Dothraki nation. Even the mightiest of khals bowed to the wisdom and authority of the dosh khaleen. Still, it gave Dany the shivers to think that one day she might be sent to join them, whether she willed it or no.

“He has no gold to pay soldiers. What if he’s betrayed?” Caravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head.

“Then ... he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother ... and my true king.”

“He is your brother,” Ser Jorah acknowledged.

“You do not understand, ser,” she said. “My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have.” “Once,” said Ser Jorah. “No longer, Khaleesi. You belong to the Dothraki now. In your womb rides the stallion who mounts the world.”

AGOT Daenerys IV

Beyond the horse gate, plundered gods and stolen heroes loomed to either side of them. The forgotten deities of dead cities brandished their broken thunderbolts at the sky as Dany rode her silver past their feet. Stone kings looked down on her from their thrones, their faces chipped and stained, even their names lost in the mists of time. Lithe young maidens danced on marble plinths, draped only in flowers, or poured air from shattered jars. Monsters stood in the grass beside the road; black iron dragons with jewels for eyes, roaring griffins, manticores with their barbed tails poised to strike, and other beasts she could not name. Some of the statues were so lovely they took her breath away, others so misshapen and terrible that Dany could scarcely bear to look at them. Those, Ser Jorah said, had likely come from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai.

“So many,” she said as her silver stepped slowly onward, “and from so many lands.”

Viserys was less impressed. “The trash of dead cities,” he sneered. He was careful to speak in the Common Tongue, which few Dothraki could understand, yet even so Dany found herself glancing back at the men of her khas, to make certain he had not been overheard. He went on blithely. “All these savages know how to do is steal the things better men have built ... and kill.” He laughed. “They do know how to kill. Otherwise I’d have no use for them at all.”

“They are my people now,” Dany said. “You should not call them savages, brother.”

“The dragon speaks as he likes,” Viserys said ... in the Common Tongue. He glanced over his shoulder at Aggo and Rakharo, riding behind them, and favored them with a mocking smile. “See, the savages lack the wit to understand the speech of civilized men.”

Every khal had his bloodriders. At first Dany had thought of them as a kind of Dothraki Kingsguard, sworn to protect their lord, but it went further than that. Jhiqui had taught her that a bloodrider was more than a guard; they were the khal’s brothers, his shadows, his fiercest friends. “Blood of my blood,” Drogo called them, and so it was; they shared a single life. The ancient traditions of the horselords demanded that when the khal died, his bloodriders died with him, to ride at his side in the night lands. If the khal died at the hands of some enemy, they lived only long enough to avenge him, and then followed him joyfully into the grave. In some khalasars, Jhiqui said, the bloodriders shared the khal’s wine, his tent, and even his wives, though never his horses. A man’s mount was his own.

Daenerys was glad that Khal Drogo did not hold to those ancient ways. She should not have liked being shared. And while old Cohollo treated her kindly enough, the others frightened her; Haggo, huge and silent, often glowered as if he had forgotten who she was, and Qotho had cruel eyes and quick hands that liked to hurt. He left bruises on Doreah’s soft white skin whenever he touched her, and sometimes made Irri sob in the night. Even his horses seemed to fear him.

Yet they were bound to Drogo for life and death, so Daenerys had no choice but to accept them. And sometimes she found herself wishing her father had been protected by such men. In the songs, the white knights of the Kingsguard were ever noble, valiant, and true, and yet King Aerys had been murdered by one of them, the handsome boy they now called the Kingslayer, and a second, Ser Barristan the Bold, had gone over to the Usurper. She wondered if all men were as false in the Seven Kingdoms. When her son sat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him against treachery in his Kingsguard. ~

“I will give my brother his gifts tonight,” she decided as Jhiqui was washing her hair. “He should look a king in the sacred city. Doreah, run and find him and invite him to sup with me.”

[...] While her handmaids prepared the meal, Dany laid out the clothing she’d had made to her brother’s measure: a tunic and leggings of crisp white linen, leather sandals that laced up to the knee, a bronze medallion belt, a leather vest painted with fire-breathing dragons. The Dothraki would respect him more if he looked less a beggar, she hoped, and perhaps he would forgive her for shaming him that day in the grass. He was still her king, after all, and her brother. They were both blood of the dragon.

She was arranging the last of his gifts—a sandsilk cloak, green as grass, with a pale grey border that would bring out the silver in his hair—when Viserys arrived, dragging Doreah by the arm.

“Look. These are for you.”

Viserys frowned suspiciously. “What is all this?”

“New raiment. I had it made for you.” Dany smiled shyly.

He looked at her and sneered. “Dothraki rags. Do you presume to dress me now?”

“Please ... you’ll be cooler and more comfortable, and I thought ... maybe if you dressed like them, the Dothraki ... ” Dany did not know how to say it without waking his dragon.

“Next you’ll want to braid my hair.”

“I’d never ... ” Why was he always so cruel? She had only wanted to help. “You have no right to a braid, you have won no victories yet.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Fury shone from his lilac eyes, yet he dared not strike her, not with her handmaids watching and the warriors of her khas outside. Viserys picked up the cloak and sniffed at it. “This stinks of manure. Perhaps I shall use it as a horse blanket.”

“I had Doreah sew it specially for you,” she told him, wounded. “These are garments fit for a khal.” “I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not some grass-stained savage with bells in his hair,” Viserys spat back at her. He grabbed her arm. “You forget yourself, slut. Do you think that big belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”

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

AGOT Daenerys III

“Wait here,” Dany told Ser Jorah. “Tell them all to stay. Tell them I command it.”

The knight smiled. Ser Jorah was not a handsome man. He had a neck and shoulders like a bull, and coarse black hair covered his arms and chest so thickly that there was none left for his head. Yet his smiles gave Dany comfort. “You are learning to talk like a queen, Daenerys.”

“Not a queen,” said Dany. “A khaleesi.” She wheeled her horse about and galloped down the ridge alone.

The descent was steep and rocky, but Dany rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of it were a song in her heart. All her life Viserys had told her she was a princess, but not until she rode her silver had Daenerys Targaryen ever felt like one.

From that hour onward, each day was easier than the one before it. Her legs grew stronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened, supple as leather.

The khal had commanded the handmaid Irri to teach Dany to ride in the Dothraki fashion, but it was the filly who was her real teacher. The horse seemed to know her moods, as if they shared a single mind. With every passing day, Dany felt surer in her seat. The Dothraki were a hard and unsentimental people, and it was not their custom to name their animals, so Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved anything so much.

As the riding became less an ordeal, Dany began to notice the beauties of the land around her. She rode at the head of the khalasar with Drogo and his bloodriders, so she came to each country fresh and unspoiled. Behind them the great horde might tear the earth and muddy the rivers and send up clouds of choking dust, but the fields ahead of them were always green and verdant.

By then her agony was a fading memory. She still ached after a long day’s riding, yet somehow the pain had a sweetness to it now, and each morning she came willingly to her saddle, eager to know what wonders waited for her in the lands ahead. She began to find pleasure even in her nights, and if she still cried out when Drogo took her, it was not always in pain.

At the bottom of the ridge, the grasses rose around her, tall and supple. Dany slowed to a trot and rode out onto the plain, losing herself in the green, blessedly alone. In the khalasar, she was never alone. Khal Drogo came to her only after the sun went down, but her handmaids fed her and bathed her and slept by the door of her tent, Drogo’s bloodriders and the men of her khas were never far, and her brother was an unwelcome shadow, day and night. Dany could hear him on the top of the ridge, his voice shrill with anger as he shouted at Ser Jorah. She rode on, submerging herself deeper in the Dothraki sea.

The green swallowed her up. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the smell of horseflesh and Dany’s sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells. They seemed to belong here. Dany breathed it all in, laughing. She had a sudden urge to feel the ground beneath her, to curl her toes in that thick black soil. Swinging down from her saddle, she let the silver graze while she pulled off her high boots.

“Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!”

“Take his horse,” Dany commanded Ser Jorah. Viserys gaped at her. He could not believe what he was hearing; nor could Dany quite believe what she was saying. Yet the words came. “Let my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.” Among the Dothraki, the man who does not ride was no man at all, the lowest of the low, without honor or pride. “Let everyone see him as he is.”

“He could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one,” Dany said. “He has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The Dothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.”

“Wise child.” The knight smiled.

“I am no child,” she told him fiercely. Her heels pressed into the sides of her mount, rousing the silver to a gallop. Faster and faster she raced, leaving Jorah and Irri and the others far behind, the warm wind in her hair and the setting sun red on her face. By the time she reached the khalasar, it was dusk.

There is no privacy in the heart of the khalasar. Dany felt the eyes on her as she undressed him, heard the soft voices as she did the things that Doreah had told her to do. It was nothing to her. Was she not khaleesi? His were the only eyes that mattered, and when she mounted him she saw something there that she had never seen before. She rode him as fiercely as ever she had ridden her silver, and when the moment of his pleasure came, Khal Drogo called out her name.

AGOT Daenerys II

She was a young filly, spirited and splendid. Dany knew just enough about horses to know that this was no ordinary animal. There was something about her that took the breath away. She was grey as the winter sea, with a mane like silver smoke.

Hesitantly she reached out and stroked the horse’s neck, ran her fingers through the silver of her mane. Khal Drogo said something in Dothraki and Magister Illyrio translated. “Silver for the silver of your hair, the khal says.”

“She’s beautiful,” Dany murmured. 

“She is the pride of the khalasar,” Illyrio said. “Custom decrees that the khaleesi must ride a mount worthy of her place by the side of the khal.”

Drogo stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her up as easily as if she were a child and set her on the thin Dothraki saddle, so much smaller than the ones she was used to. Dany sat there uncertain for a moment. No one had told her about this part. “What should I do?” she asked Illyrio.

It was Ser Jorah Mormont who answered. “Take the reins and ride. You need not go far.”

And for the first time in hours, she forgot to be afraid. Or perhaps it was for the first time ever.

The silver-grey filly moved with a smooth and silken gait, and the crowd parted for her, every eye upon them. Dany found herself moving faster than she had intended, yet somehow it was exciting rather than terrifying. The horse broke into a trot, and she smiled. Dothraki scrambled to clear a path. The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. She sent it into a gallop, and now the Dothraki were hooting and laughing and shouting at her as they jumped out of her way. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. They were hemmed in on either side, with no room to stop. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.

The silver horse leapt the flames as if she had wings.

When she pulled up before Magister Illyrio, she said, “Tell Khal Drogo that he has given me the wind.” The fat Pentoshi stroked his yellow beard as he repeated her words in Dothraki, and Dany saw her new husband smile for the first time.

The last sliver of sun vanished behind the high walls of Pentos to the west just then. Dany had lost all track of time.

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