#i love how angry he was when Jon was spying on him
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I fucking love The Magnus Archives, I love how characters don’t die peacefully, I love how Jon doesn’t get forgiven, I love how characters stay angry, I love how trauma doesn’t get resolved, I love how they don’t get happy endings
I love tma
#tma spoilers#tma 128#i fucking love Tim#I love how he died angry#i love how unstable he was before he died#i fucking love how he never forgave Jon#i love how angry he was when Jon was spying on him#i love how he never let that go#i love tim#tim stoker#melanie king#jarchivist#jonathan sims#tma#the magnus archives
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Jealous Jon's idea: Jon and Dami are best friends and Jon is very proud of this, Jon starts dating first and incentive Dami finds love too (they're good friends, Jon wants to see Dami's happiness)
So Damian starts dating a guy and surprisingly Jon dislikes the guy, no explanation just pure hate. The guy isn't good enough for Damian, Damian deserves something better than this guy (maybe a spy friend of Grayson or a random guy from Gotham who knows)
Somehow when they go on a couple date Jon becomes worse than the bats, always criticizing and full of schism. "what? He doesn't look good enough for Dami, I'm just worried about my best friend's safety"
And Damian is just "oh he's all worried about me, this means he care for me!" And stay happy because he sees this as a symbol of affection and love
Jon still doesn't know how to explain why he is so angry near Damian's boyfriend, why he feels weird every time that Damian smiles for that guy, or their kisses or how the guy hugs Damian. He loves to see how happy Damian is but Jon still hates this guy so much, he wants to punch him in the face when Jon sees him
And then in a family party Damian calls this guy his best friend and love.
Jon loose it
Oh he is not gonna sit there and watch this evil manipulative bitch steal his Damian! Damian is his! And Jon will get Damian back!
(this is also the same night Jon learned that he is in love with Damian all this damn time)
(I'm sorry this has been sitting in my inbox a few weeks 😭)
haha I love jealous jon. especially when like EVERYONE else sees it but him and Damian. and yeah, he's happy damian's happy but so ANGRY that he's not causing that happiness? did he fail? no, it's the rest of them who have failed and are not good enough. They are NOT.
The same night of the family party, one of the batfam (I'm thinking Steph, Tim or Jason) just kinda sidle up and as Jon is just SEETHING at this other partner being called beloved and best friend just sip their drink and go 'so...have you figured out youre in love with him yet?"
and jon's whole world just...embarrassingly collapses because he's a big dumb idiot 😂
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I find it very annoying that sometimes people say that Jonathan didn't fully understand the weight of what the pictures he took (including developing a close-up of Nancy shirtless) because it was the 80s and things like that were viewed differently than today, but those same people will use Steve saying one homophobic thing to Jonathan in a clear attempt to make him angry and retaliate as Steve always being horrible and homophobic? It obviously was but by 80s standards that's nothing? Like even now I view it as Steve saying something hurtful specifically to get a reaction and not necessarily one that reflects all his beliefs? Even in the 2010s people were using gay to mean "uncool".
Saw one saying they weren't defending Jonathan but then went on to justify why he couldn't possibly have known taking pictures of someone's private backyard let alone a topless girl through a window would be seen as the invasion it was until Nancy called him on it (I guess when he was confronted by the others and his camera got broken didn't make it sink in) Idk it's just a double standard where both of them did/said something they knew would be hurtful but only Jonathan gets the consistent defence that it was a different time and he was upset about his brother being missing. (Opposed to it was a different time and Steve wanted to fight he guy he thinks his gf cheated with)
people will watch misogynistic 80s media and think “that peeping tom rapist is the good guy in the movie. spying on women sexually is okay!!”
(also, he clearly knows he’s done something creepy and wrong, and that’s why he tries to hide the pictures from nicole when she comes in)
they love peeping jon so fucking much they bring up sexist talking points to defend him, like? 80s standards only matter when defending jonathan apparently, but steve has to be judged by modern values. because how else can they make him look bad!
#obligatory ‘i don’t hate jonathan i just fucking hate the pictures and i think defending them is disgusting’#anti jonathan byers#steve harrington#stranger things#asks#anon
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Terrible Fic Ideas #17: GOT, but make it Rhaenys
After reading a couple very interesting points about feminism and the patriarchy in House of the Dragon, I got angry - angry in the same way I get when I think about Rhaella and Elia's position as victims in the narrative. Then, when I cooled down, I got a plot bunny:
What if Rhaenys, not Aegon, got the Young Griff narrative in ASOIAF? Or: what if Rhaenys survived the Sack of King's Landing?
Just imagine it:
Jaime kills Aerys just like in canon, but unlike in canon, the shock doesn't set in quite so quickly - or maybe just another form of it does, as instead of staying with the king he killed he rushes to find the king's heir, Prince Aegon. He is the only Kingsguard in King's Landing, after all, and Aegon is the new king.
He finds Aegon dead and Elia three-quarters of the way to dying. He kills Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch, saves Rhaenys, and on her dying mother's wish flees with her to Essos.
Jaime raises Rhaenys like a younger sister, filling much the same role of Jon Connington in the books. The difference is that, while it could be argued that Rhaenys is the rightful queen, Jaime has enough on his plate just keeping them both alive. He raises a girl, not a monarch - which is probably for the best anyway.
Key to this fic is: Rhaenys is just a girl. She's not a skilled warrior, though Jaime teaches her enough of knives to defend herself if necessary. She's not a super spy or spymaster, having somehow inherited the Stark bluntness without any blood relation. She's not a femme fatale, though she could be considered pretty enough when she grows out of her lanky androgynous childhood phase. All she is is a smart, stubborn girl who grows into a thoughtful, determined woman.
The rest of canon continues as before, minus Young and Old Griff. Robert becomes king, is cuckolded by his wife, dies; Ned is executed; Jon Snow is sent to the wall; &c. Very little of this matters at first to Jaime or Rhaenys. They're just trying to survive.
But then it does start mattering. Rhaenys might not be rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms per the Targaryen's agnatic-cognatic succession laws (brothers before daughters) - that would be Viserys. But under normal Westerosi (sons before daughters) and Dornish (eldest child first) succession, she is. Once Viserys dies, Rhaenys claim is absolute. If anyone believes she is who she says she is.
But it only starts mattering after Viserys dies.
More specifically, it only starts mattering after Daenerys decides to imprison her dragons in the Great Pyramid of Meereen. Drogon escapes his brothers' fate - and manages to find Rhaenys in the wilds of Essos. Rhaenys chooses to rename him Balerion and becomes his new dragon rider.
Drogon/Balerion is taken as a sign. Maybe not divine providence, but as proof Rhaenys might be able to pull off reconquering a continent like she's starting to consider. And so... they do.
More specifically, they follow somewhat Daenerys' arc in the final seasons of GoT, hiring the Golden Company and taking over Dragonstone while Stannis is away.
And when newly crowned King Jon Snow comes to parlay? Well, Rhaenys is practical. She's a queen who needs military support to gain her crown, he's a king that needs dragons to save Westeros. They join their crowns like Ferdinand and Isabella did Aragon and Castile. Which is to say, they enter into a dynastic marriage, which offers them both legitimacy, military and economic support for both sides, and the potential for desperately needed heirs. It's definitely not love at first sight, but love grows.
Then they go off and fight the white walkers, because ice zombies bringing the apocalypse is an easy lie to disprove, so why lie about it? The exact details of how don't matter - maybe it goes exactly as in the show, maybe it's quick and easy with a dragon and a queen who was raised by a man who was very clear about her father and grandfather's failings and therefore very little of the Targaryen sense of boundless superiority.
The North secure, they turn their attention to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. It goes better than expected, with the caveat that the southern nobles demand Jon and Rhaenys be crowned monarchs of the Seven Kingdoms together, as even a bastard is better than a woman in many of their eyes. But as Rhaenys is already handling most the day to day running of both their kingdoms while Jon deals with the military, it's one they have no problem agreeing to.
Throughout all of this, no one has any ideas Jon is the son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark, least of all Jon.
It comes out one day - perhaps when Jon and Rhaenys have a purple-eyed child despite taking after their Northern and Dornish heritage respectively; perhaps Bran says something - and they have to contend with the fact that the spouse they've come to care for is actually their half-sibling, but it changes little. Rhaenys rules, Jon is just there to lead the armies and keep the southern lords happy.
Throughout all of this, Daenerys is scheming in the background to get her throne back, assuming Rhaenys is a pretender, but her invasion attempt goes rather sideways when Rhaegal abandons her for Jon during the first battle. Unfortunately, not even the lure of other Targaryens can overcome Daenerys' desire to be queen at this point, and so she's eventually repulsed back to the Essos. She remains a thorn in Rhaenys' side for the the rest of her life, but when Daenerys dies without heirs, Viserion rejoins his brothers at Dragonstone.
Bonuses include: 1) The Dornish throwing their support in with Rhaenys, but Oberyn having difficulty with her ability to forgive feuds he's been nursing for years - she loves Jaime despite his inability to save her mother or brother and is willing to marry a Northerner despite Lyanna shaming her mother; 2) Rhaenys smashing the patriarchy, not by acting as a man, but by just being a competent ruler; and 3) Jon being utterly content to be a house husband after the fighting ends, serving more as the Red Keep's master-at-arms than co-ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.
And that's all I have. It may not be particularly coherent, as it was written over the course of a hectic week, but as always feel free to adopt. Just link back.
Other Jon Snow Headcanons: Aegon the Unyielding | Aemon the Adventurous | Lady Arryn | Lady Baratheon | Lady Lannister | Lady Stark | Prince Consort | Prince of Summerhall | Queen Mother
More Terrible Fic Ideas
#game of thrones#a song of ice and fire#got#asoiaf#plot bunny#fic ideas#rhaenys daughter of elia#jon snow#jon snow is a targaryen#Jon x rhaenys
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ok lol so my asks are always crazily specific but i always get the ideas when i’m at work
🤷🏼♀️ so i was gonna ask for riddler, scarecrow, joker, and two face when their s/o gets revealed to have been sent as a spy for batman or whatever to figure out their whereabouts, etc. like how they react, since their s/o started as kind of a henchperson of theirs, and “organically” got in a relationship with them, how they would find out, react, etc. thanks!! 🫶🏻
This is going to be angsty.
Riddler
They honesty seemed more knowledgeable when it came to Bat so he thought they were useful, letting them tag along
Soon he realized he can hold conversation with them, which became longer and longer
Just kinda fell over time, couldn't believe his luck; but it wasn't only because he thought it was too true
Theu acted strange when he showed affection or talked about, he thought it was because they weren't used to it
He wished he was right but no
One day while fighting Bat they jumped in front of him to protect him
Batman asked why they were doing it, they were supposed to get information from him, what did he done to them
And just like that his heart shattered
He activated trap getting S/O and Batman in it, gave them one last glance before running away
He was so angry, the most intelligent man in Gotham didn't saw it coming; he calls himself moron for the first time in a long time
Just let's himself cry to sleep
And he is still angry but wants S/O back to hug him, to tell him it will be alright
When S/O comes to talk he threatens them with traps while hoping they won't give up
If they don't he would slowly open up but they need to back it up with actions
Scarecrow
He didn't really paid attention to them, just another henchperson
But they seemed to be fascinated by fear toxin, like really interested
So he gives them mission to see how far they'll go
Decides to share of the information about toxin since they succeeded, really tries to ignore how their amazed stare makes him feel
Becomes his right hand person and soon S/O
He loves rambling to them about his research
It feels nice, too nice
S/O took cops somewhere else while he was finishing toxin and after he was done he went to them to help
But he heard them talking to cops like they knew each other
"Y/N stop it."
"Stop what?"
"We all know he didn't give you wrong information. You're covering for him."
"Ha! Don't ridiculous. "
"I don't know what he had showed you but it's nothing good. I gave you this job because I thought you could keep up with Scarecrow, not for you to be fascinated with fear."
He just walks out behind a wall in complete silence
They raise their guns but S/O in between "Jon..."
Just grabs his fear toxin and throws it
He gets out of there as fast as he can, trying to ignore the urge to take S/O and calm their screams
Lays in his house looking at the ceiling, without energy to do anything
Refuses to meet ex-S/O, even other Rogue's feel like he is too quiet
His trust issues might be too strong
Joker
When they showed up he was like "Aight, you can do"
The way that they wanted to spend time with him reminded him of Harley, which was annoying but he needed someone to do his work
Slowly however Y/N gets fun out of it and becomes more cheerful which is more for Joker liking
Decided to show them real fun and soon there's 2 maniacs running around
When cops stop them he separates them and says to S/O
"I knew we shouldn't have send you. There was something wrong with you from the start."
Joker just goes "OOHH! That's explains why you always asked me questions. "
Just zaps cops and takes S/O away,when they ask if he's going to kill them he goes
"Nah, you're fun to have around. "
He honesty doesn't really care about being spy, just don't do that again
Two Face
When they wanted the job he flipped his coin and they got lucky
Harv wasn't in mood for talking and told them to piss off
However they were persistent and make good job so he gave them few words of approval
What got him interested so when they rescued him
They started talking more and he felt warm again
That was until he heard them talking on the phone about how they won't be spying anymore
He felt betrayed and took out his gun
"You either get out or I blow your head off." Harv warned.
Harvey took his other hand on weapon and put it down saying they should go
So they did
Harvey and Harv kept fighting with each other what to do, whether they should allow them to be together
Harvey is just tired and wants someone to love him while Harv is angry
It's all will come to the coin, as always
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Can you describe the batfam by the type of movies or series they like to watch? Also what are the other's reaction whenever they watch it together?
Hell yeah! Tbh I feel like movie nights would be some of the most frustrating nights in Wayne manor, just cause everyone is hella opinionated. Like they take turns letting each other choose movies but even then they fight for at least an hour over what was chosen. But here's what each member typically chooses when it's their turn. Also I briefly mention their reactions in here but I'll probs do a Batfam Movie Night dialogue, fic, series, thingy (??? Idk what to call those things) and I'll link it back to this ask when I do. Link.
Dick:
Genres— Musicals, Rom Coms, Spy Movies
Favorite Movies— Mamma Mia, Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again, The Greatest Showman, Notting Hill, Pretty Woman, A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Kingsman
Basically Dick is guaranteed to pick a musical or a rom com. He loves things that are big and dramatic and beautiful, but also a bit cheesey and silly. Like him.
Everyone groans when Dick chooses the movie because they know it will be a bit cheesey or the stereotypical "Chick Flick". That being said usually what he picks is genuinely good (Mamma Mia and Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again are both masterpieces) and they leave everyone laughing or feeling happy.
Dick does also love classic foreign films (mostly European) because they remind him of movies his parents would sometimes take him to see, this wasn't super common but occasionally the Graysons would find a local theater showing classics.
He used to love the Kingsman movies but stopped liking them after everything that happened with Spyral.
Babs:
Genres— Sci-Fi, Comedy, Rom Coms
Favorite Movies— A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Martian, Star Wars, Star Trek, When Harry Met Sally
Babs is a complete nerd and loves all of the Star Wars and Star Trek movies. She'll occasionally watch Lord of the Rings with Tim but she definitely prefers the nerdy Sci-Fi movies.
She only started liking Rom Coms after dating Dick, he loves them so much that it was pretty difficult for her to not start liking them as well.
When watching one of her favs Babs will be mouthing along the entire time. She also has a lot of cool memorabilia from her favorite franchises.
Jason:
Genres— Classics, Dramas
Favorite Movies— Twelve Angry Men, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, To Kill a Mockingbird
Jason isn't too big on movies. And surprisingly he's not usually super opinionated about movies, he can be pretty opinionated on which movie the family will watch. This is less because he's trying to be combative and more because he's sick of watching his siblings favorite movies, he feels like hes seen them all a million times.
Typically Jason isn't a huge fan of movie adaptations or remakes. They don't bother him and he doesn't care when a new one's released but he's not going to watch it.
Sometimes Jason will accidentally fall asleep during family movie night, these are one of the few nights where he 'cuddles' and honestly it's less cuddling and more 'oops I feel asleep and ended up on someone's shoulder or lap. Whether or not he falls asleep depends on if he's fighting with Bruce or not. If he and Bruce are fighting Jason won't feel comfortable enough to fall asleep (he might even skip movie night), but if they're on good terms he might doze off.
Cass:
Genres— Fantasy, Comedy, Sci-Fi, Horror
Favorite Movies— The Big Sick, The Thing, A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Tangled
Cass mainly knows about movies from her movie nights with Tim, Babs, and Steph, so her tastes have developed based on theirs.
She and Tim frequently watch old B Horror movies together, every once in a while one will quietly sing "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" to the other and they immediately burst out laughing. This is most commonly done at galas.
Tim bought her a sweatshirt with a "horror movie periodic table" on it and she wears it almost constantly.
Tim:
Genres— Fantasy, Classic Horror
Favorite Movies— Lord of the Rings, The Exorcist, The Thing, Stardust
Tim absolutely adores fantasy movies, he's a huge nerd and definitely uses fantasy movies to help him plan his next DnD campaign.
While Tim adores fantasy movies he's more likely to watch movies from his second favorite genre— Classic Horror.
Him, Cass, Steph, and Babs love having movie nights together because they're all major nerds and tend to like a lot of the same movies.
Steph:
Genres— Comedy, Anything Cass recommends
Favorites— Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Big Sick, Palm Springs
Steph is much more outspoken than Tim, Babs, or Jason. This is part of the reason why she is one of the more polarizing siblings on movie night. If she doesn't want to watch something she will let you know.
She can making picking a movie difficult, but every other aspect of movie night is improved by Steph. She gets fun snacks, fuzzy blankets, cool sodas, and she even made them all shirts when they did a Lord of the Rings marathon.
When watching a movie Steph will quietly mimic lines or noises that she likes. She never notices but she does it during every movie. Like during Monty Python she'll whisper 'clip clop, clip clop' when they bang the coconuts together.
Duke:
Genres— Documentary, Mockumentary
Favorites— Darkest Knight: The Truth Behind Gotham's Hero, The Keene Act, America's Most Dangerous City: Gotham, What We Do in the Shadows
Duke loves watching documentaries on Batman just to see how off they are. No one argues when he suggests them for movie nights.
One time he, Jason, and Tim made a 'documentary' about Batman. It looks completely serious to anyone who doesn't know Batman's secret identity.
After making the Batman documentary he decided to make some more on random Gotham villians. He's made about six and all look completely serious to anyone who doesn't know the villian.
In his documentary titled "Riddle Me This" he said that the Riddler gained riddle themed powers after a tragic accident at a riddle book factory. Edward did not appreciate this.
Damian:
Genres— Action, Survival, Documentary
Favorites— John Wick, Riddle Me This, The Keene Act, Jungle, High School Musical
Damian is the absolute worst to watch action movies with, he spends the entire time ripping the movie apart and mocking anything that is even remotely unrealistic.
He and Duke will often talk about their favorite documentaries, he's even started helping Duke make documentaries. Right now they're working on one about the League of Assassins, Tim watched the first cut and almost pissed himself from laughing so hard.
Jon showed him High School Musical and Damian pretended to hate it but secretly he doesn't mind it. Obviously Jon knows this so he showed Damian the entire series, and now it's sort of become their thing.
Bruce:
Genres— Whatever the fuck his kids agree on
Favorites— Please for the love of god let his kids pick a movie
Bruce is tired and just wants to watch a goddamn movie
As always these are all headcannons and have little to no cannonical support. Also all of Dukes movies (except the last one) are documentaries I imagine would exist in the DC universe.
#batfam#headcannons#bruce wayne#batman#nightwing#dick grayson#jason todd#red hood#barbara gordon#oracle#cassandra cain#black bat#tim drake#red robin#stephanie brown#spoiler#batgirl#duke thomas#the signal#damian wayne#robin#favorite movies#mypost#ask
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Tell us about an Artemis Fowl au you've been cooking up, if you'd like!
I’ll admit, the vast majority of my AUs that I’ve been thinking of are either A. Mostly just fun to picture, with little plot (such as a Winged AU), or B. TimSpiro and not much else, lol- however, I will take the opportunity to talk a bit about my Evil Tim AU, since it has lived rent-free in my head for a few weeks now.
So the initial thought of the AU is similar to others I’ve had before: encouraged by newfound ‘friend’ Jon Spiro, Tim tries to put a stop to his family’s fairy shenanigans, Artemis (and Angeline, in this case) go behind his back in an effort to undo the damage, and Tim, overwhelmed with it all, ultimately decides to leave Fowl Manor. He heads to the Needle after Spiro, seeing an opportunity to cause discord (and potentially seeing an ally in Tim) invites him to stay and become his partner-in-crime. All fine and dandy and straightforward- Tim, however, bores of this quickly.
Tim finds that the mafia-and-gang sort of criminal underworld utterly fascinating, the sudden violence and showboating unlike anything from his ‘old-money’ background. Tim finds it... thrilling, and thus begins to push his power around, gathering allies under the table. While he and Spiro are affectionate on the surface, it’s a shallow sort of ‘love’, and soon Tim realizes he’d much rather have it where he’s in charge of it all, fed up with being in the background any longer.
In one fell swoop, Tim takes over the Needle, and, realizing it would be best to have a scapegoat in case things go south, spares Jon, but only in return for the man ceding the power in his business and criminal enterprises. Just like that, Tim has power, wealth, and a brand-new castle- now comfortable in his position, he begins taking over rival forces within Chicago and bending them to his rule, one by one. He decorates himself with iron jewelry, rings and bracelets and even a heavy torc (a sort of necklace), carrying an iron-topped cane with him- a massive spite (and internal superstition) meant to drive away the fairy folk.
Jon is powerless to stop it, held prisoner within the Needle. While the two were once able to coexist peacefully, Tim becomes controlling, manipulative, and in time, incredibly abusive, taking out pent-up frustrations of his former family and his cruel whims out on Jon. While the man makes several attempts to end Tim himself, angry at the position he has found himself in, every time ends in failure, and eventually, Jon decides to turn to an outside source for help when things begin to become physically dangerous- he reaches out to Artemis Fowl, the Second.
Artemis is initially confused by the message- he finds a deep sense of dread within him when, minutes later, it is followed by another:
Stay out of this- Sr.
Uneasy, he debates what to do about it, until Angeline puts her foot down- they’re staying out of this for now. She will not lose Artemis in the same way she has now lost her husband- whatever internal problems are happening at the Needle, they will not take part in it. Ultimately, neither Angeline or Artemis are aware of just how bad things have gotten- Artemis, however, swiftly finds a solution. He summons his dear uncle, Foxy. The only man who can safely approach Fowl Senior in his cruel, quick-tempered state.
Foxy becomes a sort-of spy for Artemis, visiting the Needle often in order to steal away information to later give to his nephew. He, however, is shocked at just how far his brother has fallen, and the now broken-down and sickening state he has left Spiro, his supposed ‘partner’ in. Things spiral from bad to worse when Jon first vanishes from the Needle, followed closely by Foxy from his Norfolk home. Meanwhile, Tim’s power in Chicago, and eventually the region, only grows, and his hatred and anger with it.
Needless to say, nothing good comes of this.
(Also- huge, huge shoutout to @fowl-fox for listening to me ramble about this AU so much and helping me develop it well, well beyond what I initially started with. Go check out his blog if you love awesome AF headcanons and fics, cause his stuff is incredible!)
#artemis fowl#there’s a lot more to this but then the post would be waaaaay too long lol#but it gets rather dark. Tim is very cruel in this AU tbh- he’s convinced himself he’s a supervillain like in old comic books.#his enemies find it difficult to kill him- turns out so much fairy intervention has made him pretty sturdy. almost unnaturally so#(there is also a non-aristocratic version in which Tim is a gangster with a motorcycle and leather jacket)#thanks for the ask!!#asks
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Pet Owners Part 1
Owning pets is rare for nations because a true nation’s pet has a bond with their owners as much as they do the land. Many of their pets don’t really have something they represent inexactness, it's just they were there when the nation was born, and they bonded. No one can really explain how they come to find their owners, both parties just know.
Some nations don’t have the nation pet, but instead either found a mythical creature or own regular pets that will eventually die.
America – A big black shaggy dog. Allen has owned Makwa since he was a small child. No matter where he went Makwa would follow. This mini mammoth is very protective of Allen and has bitten Oliver many times. This dog has even followed Allen into war zones. Their bond is as deep as man and dog can go.
He is Allen’s best friend and more often than not the wall he bounces off of. Whether he is venting, planning, or just sleepy mumbling, Allen takes the time to talk to Makwa.
England – Flying Chocolate Bunny (FCB) and Flying Strawberry Bunny (FSB). These mythical evil bunnies are downright monsters. Unlike his 1p that has only one, Oliver has two. Both nations discovered their bunny allies together, but instead of taking just one. Oliver decided to take two. They were found when the nations were about 150 yrs old.
Since mythical creatures have longer lifespans, they aren’t nation pets and die much later than an average pet.
FCB has red beady eyes and is the color of dark chocolate. His wings are shaped more like raptor’s wings and have a white chocolate underside to his wings. FCB often twitches and drools and looks like he is about to eat the nearest piece of flesh. He is known for being wilder and more chaotic, he does some of the dirty work for Oliver by getting physically involved. Scratching and biting Oliver’s victims, slowly driving them mad by wounds made from an unseen force.
FSB on the other hand is much sweeter. She is a light red with small yellow spots. Her wings look like a swan's, and have a light green underwing. Her eyes are small beady and green. FSB looks like a toy rabbit, small and fluffy. She is Oliver’s eyes and ears. She spies on whomever Oliver asks her to and takes the time to ensure that Oliver has whatever information that he needs. When Oliver had many colonies she was the one sent to spy on them. She is quick and knows how to use magic to shorten her fly time.
Oliver loves his bunnies and feeds them a lot of cupcakes and meat. He spoils them with fancy beds and toys. Though he does expect them to earn their keep with various tasks given by him.
Canada – A big white polar bear. Kuma is Canada’s oldest frenemy, over the years they have traded blows and saved each other. The amount of trust these two have is unrivaled by any other nation and their pets. Kuma has been with Canada since he was about a week old. Kuma is a typical adult polar bear with a scar across his left shoulder and it splits his fur.
Canada’s scars on his chest come from Kuma. They got really intense in a fight one day and came at each other for blood. That same fight gave Kuma his scar. Both winded up extremely wounded and ignored each other for a week before making up.
Over the years Kuma mostly follows Matt’s orders. But occasionally Kuma acts like a brat and ignores Canada. Kuma has his own little house outside that Canada built, but he also has a huge mat on the floor inside Matt’s cabin.
Japan – Koi. Like it’s been said before, Japan likes koi. They are beautiful and he owns many. He has been keeping them since he was physically about 12 years old. He has a pond that connects to a tank within his home. It is a huge tank that has all the proper fixings that allow for a comfortable space for his fish.
He invests heavily in the industry and always checks the farms himself when he has the time. Many family farms know of Kurai, at least a fake name he puts out, and newer farms hope to receive his blessings. His name carries a lot of respect and honor for the koi industry and those that don’t meet his standards close shop quickly.
Every so often he will enter his koi in contests. He loves to know that his are the best and has many ribbons from the past ones he has either won or come close to winning.
Germany – A small brown tabby. Luther loves his tiny kitty and spends many a nap with this little baby on his lap. His little tabby is called Winzig and her name is literally her size. Winzig was found by Luther one night after making his way home after a night of drinking about a year ago. She was small and hiding under a box by his apartment. In his drunken stupor, he picked up the kitten without thinking and brought her home. She is actually his third cat.
There were two others he had owned in the past. His first was a calico that was named Schnurrhaare (Whisker). She was very aloof, but they too napped together often. She sadly died in the year 1901. His second cat Axel came to him about 1950 and was a gift from his boss. Axel was a big Mainecoon that looked like a burnt cookie. He acted more like a dog than a cat and Luther loved him. They played fetch together.
None of Luther’s cats have been a true nation pet. So, each one has passed, Winzig is still young and very lively so she has a while still with Luther. Though the other two, Luther has kept their collars and buried them behind his father’s house. He leaves little bits of string on their graves for them.
Rome – This old man had a lion. Not just any lion, the extinct European lion. Mars was the name of this old boy and Rome had him from the time he was a child. At first, Mars was unsure about Rome and chased him. Over time the two became close. Mars didn’t have a huge mane it was more of a gentle fluff around his head and down his chest. His body and head were covered in scars. Mars was known to have a light pale coated rather than the deep dusty color of many of his brethren. He had a regal air about him and Rome cherished his lion a lot.
When Rome passed Mars lived on, but not much longer than Rome. He lived about 5 years while being taken care of by Luciano. Mars being old then, didn’t do much and seemed to enjoy the calm final years that Luciano offered him. He got a bigger and cooler grave than his master did.
Prussia – Alvin is an old destrier and looks like a Percheron. Lightly colored with dark grey boots and muzzle. Alvin has been with Wil since he was born, this stocky little foal just showed up outside and has been with him ever since. Alvin has been Wil’s first pick of steed into every battle that used horses and Alvin like his owner is brave and loyal.
Both master and pet love spending nights together riding through the woods. Prussia gives Alvin lots of training and treats. They are so close that more often than not spend many afternoons together. Alvin is also trained for various horse competitions.
Spain – So we all know this man owns a bull. Idiota is special to Armando even though he won't admit it. When Armando is tending to his fields Idiota is there giving a presentation of an old friend. Many believe that Idiota is a nation pet because of how long he has lived and Spain agrees. As much as he gets angry at his bull being stupid he could never bring himself to part with the bull.
The centuries of being petty with each other make it interesting to both parties. Though in times of danger both have each other's backs. Once during a siege when Spain was young, Idiota was all that stood between him and Rome. Though despite losing, it took Rome impaling the bull and beheading it to keep it from defending a young Spaniard.
Netherland – He has a snake. It’s a simple grass snake that often hangs out with him at home. He loves his little snake and named him Hazel. He says his snake looks like a Hazel. Baas and Hazel go on many adventures when the weather is ok for Hazel. He takes him to the store, to meetings with his boss, and other places. They spend lots of time gathering info on people and just pulling pranks. Baas believes that Hazel enjoys it as much as his master.
Hazel has a huge terrarium with plenty of space, heating lights, and pools of water. It takes up a whole wall in Baas’ home. It also contains fish and other small creatures that make the tank self-sustaining.
Baas relates to his danger noodle; in that, he sees himself almost the same as his snake. Both are hidden predators that take care of nasty rats. Which happens to relate to his favorite thing to do with Hazel, feed him.
Austria – A Greater Mouse-Eared Bat, I mean what could be better for him. Austria found Krampus around Christmas time when he heard some noises coming from his attic. Krampus had found his way into the attic and freaked out trying to get out. This caused a tear in his wing, and Austria being surprised by this tiny nightmare.
Austria feeling the spirit of Christmas was compassionate and took care of the bat. First, he forced his way into a vet clinic and had his little Krampus looked at. Krampus's huge tear would heal, but it makes it difficult for him to fly again. That was the vet’s opinion and then went off to call a sanctuary to come and collect the bat. Well, Jon didn’t like that and ran off with Krampus.
Since then Jon has done a lot to ensure his little friend was becoming better. Eventually, the wing healed, but not well enough for flying. So Jon has a little bat that can glide short distances and has a little cave in his home. Krampus gets all the proper nutrition and cleanings.
Though shortly after bringing Krampus home, Jon did call Matt. Matt had some words for Jon when he found out what he did.
Switzerland – This man loves goat cheese, so obviously he wanted goats. He and his 1p own a small herd together that they both manage. Vash does most of the physical labor while Hans makes them look good for competition and takes care of their papers.
They are all Swiss breeds and earn their keep by giving milk. They have a great life with all the latest things for goat care. Hans even personally watches the new items get installed to ensure that it is done right and that his goats are given something nice.
Hans pets them often and coos to them as he does. He keeps plenty of treats on hand, to the point all the herd runs toward him wanting treats.
Iceland – Mr. Puffin or Puff as Iceland calls him. This is puffin is nothing like his gangster 1p. He wears a small top hat and monocle. He is much more gentlemanly and often speaks about how Iceland could be better behaved. He often says things like stand straight, address the lady with respect, and so on. Unlike most nations and their pets growing up at the same rate, Puff was an adult when he met baby Iceland. Which concerned 2p Norway, because he could have been some kind of monster trying to destroy his new colony. One of the few times Norway showed concern for Iceland.
Though being the typical expectation for nation pets, Iceland loves Puff. They spend time together going about and causing havoc and attempting to win Norway’s attention. Though Puff still tells Iceland that there are better things to do than pursue Norway, but Iceland wants his brother’s love and acceptance.
Puff does his best to keep Iceland under control and professional, but he fails often. Though he refuses to give up and rather would keep on taking care of his young ward.
#2p hetalia#2p headcanons#2p america#2p canada#2p england#2p switzerland#2p iceland#2p netherlands#2p austria#2p spain#2p rome#2p prussia#2p germany#2p japan#2p pets
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Flirt {Ygritte x Female!Reader Oneshot}
Requested by: @starjane312
Wordcount: 2623
Summary: The new boy at camp brings all sorts of trouble.
The new boy was staring. Ever since Ygritte had returned to the camp, bringing this puppy of a man, no, a boy, back with her, he’d been giving her the heart eyes whenever she wasn’t looking. You couldn’t blame him, Ygritte was the most amazing person that you had ever met, and you thanked the old Gods every day that you had been blessed enough to marry her. Same-gender relationships were extremely rare and frowned upon, even for the Wildlings when there was the pressure to have babies, but your father, Mance, had allowed it. So though that was allowed, this boy staring at your wife was not. You poked at the fire with your stick to push some of the wood further in towards the fire, while glaring at the boy. You retraced the story in your head - he had been found, and unfortunately saved, and then brought here. As if he belonged here. Anyone could see that he most certainly didn’t. Except for Ygritte who treated him kindly - or at least her version of kind.
“Yer barely eating,” Ygritte said, pushing a bit more of the bear meat towards you. “Whats a matter which-ya?
“Guess I’m not hungry,” You muttered, finally going from the boy’s dark eyes to Ygritte’s blue gray which rivaled the color of water. “Don’t you worry about me. You go on and eat it. You’re skin n’ bone.”
“Just cause I ain’t got blubber doesn’t mean I’m a guppy,” Ygritte said, reaching out and put a hand on your sturdy thigh. It was true, you weren’t the skinniest of the bunch, you had some meat on your bones. To the point where many of the men could be seen looking at your stomach and licking their lips when food was scarce. If your father wasn’t who he was, you probably would have been killed already. That was just the way that things sometimes went up here. You did what you had to do to survive.
“If you don’t wanna be a guppy, you better eat up then,” You said, pushing the meat right back to her and got up onto your feet. “I’m gonna go have a word with the crow.”
“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Ygritte said, taking the meat in her gloved hand and got up to follow you. You stopped and looked over your shoulder at her, raising an eyebrow.
“I didn’t ask for an audience,” You said.
“I know tha’,” She crossed her arms, still chewing on what was in her mouth. “Tha’s exactly why I’m comin’. I’m not missin’ out on whatever talk that you’re going to give him. Remember the last person we found and rescued? I think ‘is nose is still broken.”
“He grabbed yer arse, you think I was gonna let him get away with that?”
“This one didn’t,” Ygritte said, nodding at new boy. “Besides, not like he’s got anythin’ in that head of his except for the wall. That Jon Snow, he knows nothin’.”
“So I’m gonna make sure that he knows somethin, and it’s to stop makin those goo-goo eyes at my wife,” You said, stepping closer to where the man was. He noticed you coming and seemed to tense up. Good. You stared at him for a moment, and then gave a little growl. He might have a direwolf - but you were the alpha wolf around these parts.
“You gonna scar up his pretty face?” Ygritte asked, nudging you. “Like you did with the others? How many would that be now - five? Ten?”
“I los’ count about a year ago. Guess it’s my own fault then. I just had to go and fall in love with the prettiest lass this side of the Wall,” You grinned. She laughed, but gave your chest a bit of a slap in that way that she did. She was a tough and fearless woman, with a pretty face to boot. Many of the men around here wanted her, and any from outside, like Jon Snow, probably would too. Bastards, all of em.
“Ahh, you big softie, you’re like a gutted pig. All tough on the outside and steamy and warm on the inner,” Ygritte said, which was about as romantic as things tended to get around here. “You gonna go threaten him on my behalf now, wife?”
“Don’t know if I need to now that I’ve already got his attention,” You said, turning your body towards Ygritte. “I’ll just show him what’s what instead of having ta tell him.”
The furs were always something that came between you but with the heavy cold of the everlasting winter, they were something that had to be gotten used to. Still, you brushed up close enough to her to bring her soft, dainty pink lips into a kiss right there, in front of everybody. There were some whoops. Some hollers. Some of the men never got tired of seeing two women kiss, the bloody perverts. You were putting on a bit of a show but it wasn’t for anyone’s amusement. It was a warning.
You had grabby hands, always had, always would, and then went right down to that ass beneath the long fabric of her coat and gave it an audible slap. It was loud enough, sharp enough to sound like a branch breaking. Ygritte never minded when you got a bit rough. Turned her on in fact, something you knew very well. Some might call you a bit possessive, but you considered it your duty to guard the lovely lass who had stolen your heart. Even if she would blacken the eye of anyone else who would dare to call her lovely.
“I love ya,” You said, forgetting about the reason why you were doing this in front of everyone. She had her hands on both of your cheeks, feeling how warm they were, slightly squishing them so that you made a silly face in the way she always found amusing. You laughed, though the inside of your cheeks squished against your teeth.
“And I love ya, y/n Ryder,” She said in return, and pressed another kiss on those puckered lips of yours, right in front of crow-boy and everyone else.
-
The Battle at Castle Black. The name was fitting, because it was a black night for many who were involved. You had your suspicions about Snow since the beginning, though you had hoped that you were wrong. There was something fishy about this Castle Black, and so you had gone with your wife to spy on it, find out how many people were defending it. It was so strange to you, these wardens of the wall, because your father had been one of them and turned his back on it. They had made him give a pledge not to have relationships. These people - they didn’t want you to be born. To have your life.
“I’m havin’ second thoughts abou’ this,” Ygritte said, turning to you. And you had to agree. You were angry at these people, these wardens, but you also didn’t want any more of your people to have to die. It felt like there was a trap afoot. Everyone was preparing for the attack, you had your swords, and your bow at your back, that sick feeling remaining in your stomach. You thought about going to talk to the others about your instincts, but the warg snapped out of his trance at that very second. The signal had been given. It was time to move in.
It was too late to turn back now, so you ran ahead with your wife, sticking together through this. You absolutely refused to be separated. Where she went, you went. Where you went, she went. You both went towards the gate, and using your bows so you could stay a far distance, started to shoot at them. One of your arrows went right through the eye of a man at the gate. And you couldn’t say that you felt bad. They had signed up for this. They didn’t have a wife and kids that you should feel bad for. They made their bed and now they were going to damn well lay in it.
Your wife got some good shots as well, but there was no time to stop and celebrate her accuracy. The battle kept going, and would keep going until there was a victor. It was time to move in, to close the distance.
And what did you see but that stupid crow fighting alongside of his ‘brethren’ rather than the rightful side of the Wildlings. “I told you that boy could not be trusted,” You growled to Ygritte. She looked angry too. She had been taken in by him, had formed a friendship with him during the travels to the wall. Your ‘I told you so’ didn’t help matters much but you felt like it needed to be said. And now, you were determined to take him down.
“Damn traitor ain’t even worth it,” Ygritte said, spitting onto the ground at what she had seen. She took hold of your hand, gave it a squeeze, then went back to preparing her bow to fire again. You took out your sword, getting ready for blade to blade combat against these so called men. You didn’t believe that they were men at all. Your father, Tormund, your friends among the wildlings, those were men. They did what they had to do to survive.
They went down. So did some of your own people. You noticed that some of the crows in their black jackets were running, trying to hide. That alone was a sign of victory. None of your people were trying to hide. None of your people were cowards. Slash, slash, clash of blades, sparks flying from how fast and how hard they hit each other. Stab, stab, cutting through flesh, entering it, becoming a butcher of fine human meat. Groans from the injured, you put them out of their misery.
And then the moment seemed to fall silent as you turned to see that Ygritte had her bow pointed right at Jon Snow, who stood above Styr’s body. You looked at the corpse on the ground, your heart beating fast, rage flooding through your veins. You would never forgive this. You had your blade out and you pointed it towards Jon as well. But this was more so Ygritte’s revenge. Let her kill the traitor, for it was her that he had blinded. You looked about you, refusing to be distracted by the confrontation beside you. You couldn’t let yourself be blinded as well.
You heard the arrow, and your instincts took over. You pushed Ygritte out of the way and caught the arrow yourself, it lodging into your side. It barely penetrated through the thickness of your skin, you could feel that. It was almost like a bug bite. But for Ygritte, calculating by how she had been standing, it might have been fatal. You turned to the boy who fired it, and you charged, pulling the arrow out of the fur and skin, taking it out in one piece, your blood turning the stone on the end a deep red color. Jon was shouting at you to stop. That Olly was just a boy. But Ygritte silenced him with a shouting of her own.
You took hold of the boy, who seemed startled that you had stopped his attack. You held the arrow that he had shot at your wife to the soft underside of his chin. “May you live this moment forever,” You cursed, then thrust the arrow upwards, right into his skull. At that, Jon roared at you. Something about how he was only a kid.
“A killer is a killer,” You said, marching back towards him. As you did, the war kept going on. The death of one didn’t matter much in this war of thousands. But then a weapon was released - a sort of scythe that started to cut through your people. It sent ice into your heart far more effectively than the cold had. You took Ygritte’s hand and she didn’t fight you. “We must go to the meeting spot,” You told her.
“Yeah,” She said, a little shaken at how near death she had gotten, but then her fearless expression came back onto her pale features. She turned her bow towards Jon, arrow still drawn, her fingers trembling to let it go. “If ye even think of followin’ us, traitor, I’ll kill ye where ye stand. I mean it. You deserve worse than that.”
“He sure does,” You grumbled, but then heard more screams of your people. “We gotta go, now,” You said. And you tugged her along, being quite fast despite the bit of fat that you had on your body which people used to make fun of you for. But you were also quite sturdy, able to push people out of the way to get out of Castle Black and make your return to the woods where your father was waiting for you. The Haunted Forest, where you would meet again with your brethren, your family, and speak of the defenses of the crows.
-
Your father was burning. Ygritte and some of the others had to hold you back, hand clamped over your mouth as you cursed the names of Baratheon, of Stark, of Davos, of everyone that was involved in your fathers death. You could feel the heat of the flames over your own body as you were told about it. Your father was strong until the end - he did not bow. He would never kneel. For you were free folk. It was a lesson that many people needed reminding of.
It had a huge effect on you, because as Mance’s daughter, you were the one that they looked at for advice now, for guidance. But also as a woman, they didn’t completely respect the advice that you gave. That didn’t matter. They could listen to you, go along with what had been your father’s plan, or they could die here. They could get killed by the white walkers. It didn’t matter much to you anymore. You were more in this for the fight than the results, which Ygritte saw in you right away. You had that inner fire that was needed to survive in the winter wasteland.
“I’m sorry,” Ygritte said as you took a walk to try to work off this angry energy. “It’s all my fault. I shoulda listened to ya. Ya knew right from the start that he couldn’t be trusted. That he could never be one of us.”
“A lot of people trusted him, not just you,” You said, stopping to turn to her. You could see, and feel, the guilt coming off of her in waves. And the anger. That unstoppable rage that came with redheads. You’d been on the other side of it before, so seeing it now pointed towards those who deserved it - you were sure that you were going to get your revenge. Maybe not tonight, nor tomorrow, but one day. You were going to make sure that your father was not forgotten. You were never going to bend the knee. You were going to be the fire that killed the traitor. And with your wife by your side, you knew, you could do anything.
#Ygritte#Ygritte oneshot#Ygritte x reader#Game of Thrones#Game of Thrones oneshot#Ygritte one shot#Game of Thrones one shot#x reader#oneshot#one shot#request
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Left Found
https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248915
Hunger.
Honed and piercing.
So corrosive and corrupt and consuming it was a wonder it even fit inside him anymore. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want it inside him anymore. Wanted to sweat it out like a fever, burn it out like mold and rot, tear it out of himself with his bitten-short fingernails until he couldn’t hear its constant demands.
It wanted to burst from his throat and it was everything on a good day to keep it inside, away from the others, swallowed down, down, down like acid where it couldn’t bother anybody.
It was hard to know just how much something could hurt until you tried to hide it from the people who once knew you best.
Tim was fixing his lunch in the breakroom. Jon Knew that.
Unbidden, the memories came, unstoppable and swift. The ache grew stronger with each one.
Soft, warm pats on the back, a mutual embrace after completing a difficult deadline. Tim was, used to be, casual touch, easy and affectionate to a little brother replacing the one he’d lost fitting into the space left behind like it was Jon’s place to fit. Comfort and care and Tim could make this stop the ache the hurt the pounding buried in his scarred skin down to the bone.
Tim could be an answer. A balm for the flickering, dying candle flame Jon still cultivated, protected from the rush of an entire ocean filling up his ears as he sank, awful deep, to a place where even sunlight didn’t dare reach its trembling fingers.
Tim doesn’t want to see you.
It was true, but Jon was desperate, needy, on the brink of screaming or tears or both and he needed someone to please help him because surely he was falling apart at his strained and stretched seams, all his dirty, ugly stuffing on display for the Archives to See.
“T’Tim.” Underwater and kilometers away his voice caused Tim to jump, spoon clattering into the sink as he cursed and turned and glared.
“You look shite, Boss.” Jon thought of all the iterations of himself that had come before, that should have prepared him for this moment. He knew more than anything, anyone, how to want without letting anyone know. Knew how to be alone and make it seem as though it had always been his choice to be so. “Seriously, what do you want? If this is more of your paranoid, supernatural rubbish, Jon.” Angry, Tim stalked forward, Jon stepped unsteadily back. Surprised (scared) and still needing.
“I, I, uh, what are you doing?” And instead of easy camaraderie, static rose in his throat, clashed against his teeth and forced its way between pursed lips at the same time red rage rose in Tim’s face as he strained against the compulsion and failed, words so fraught that even if Jon had been paying attention he wouldn’t have understood. Tim’s arms came up to frame Jon’s face as his palms collided heavily with the wall he crowded him against and he couldn’t hide his flinch.
“What. The fuck!?”
“I, I, I--”
“I, I,” he mocked, “Not enough to spy? You need to force it out of me? The fuck!” And Jon flinched again, cowering in the shadow of Tim’s bulk, breath too fast and pulse hammering in his head. “Christ, Jon.” And he hung his head, jaw so tight his molars were grinding together and for a moment Jon was sure he was going to be struck, bracing for it. Instead he stumbled as Tim shoved him roughly away and that was wrong. Tim didn’t do that and here Jon, stupid, stupid, stupid, had pushed him far enough. Another large hand smacked against his shoulder blade and he almost lost his footing, dizzied and sick and grateful when Tim didn’t follow him to his office. It was there he let himself go, let the tears come as he hid his stinging eyes in folded arms. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t...it just slipped out and he was sorry.
He wouldn’t be believed.
The burn of where Tim had pushed him was distracting and disquieting, stealing the stale air from his lungs and binding the too small cage of his ribs in knotted, tangled twine.
Not for the first time, Jon longed for the relief that would accompany his giving in to the monster, gathering up all his multitudinous selves and rejoicing in the hideous nature that would be his and his alone. Leave his friends (not your friends any longer) and embrace this transformation with the finality of the damned. After all, despite inumerable attempts to right all his wrongs, they knew his living in the world brought an irreparable damage. Jon existed at too steep a cost and the debt was becoming so heavy it was crushing his bones to sand in its punishing fist.
For now, he existed in the awful, liminal space between choices, an agony so deep seated and the sheer, impossible need, pulled like taffy in too many directions. Was this the end of things? No more kind touch. No one to be careful with him when he felt already so fragile.
Why did he have to make himself so hard to love?
“Ah!” His tailbone ached as he hit the ground sending sparks of sharp pain up his spine. “I’I’m sorry!”
“Shut your mouth!” Jon raised his arm to shield his face, breath heaving in shuddering gasps. He hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t, he hadn’t. What was wrong with him? “You alright?” Basira looked shaken, eyes just this side of too wide as Daisy ran rough fingers over her cheek, examining her closely, brows furrowed.
“Yeah.” She seemed dazed. He’d done that. Not on purpose. Never on purpose. Not to the people he loved. “Yeah, I’m alright.” Daisy nodded, that same unhinged look in her hard expression.
“Bas--”
“I said. Shut. Your mouth.” And he swallowed another apology, lurching to his feet and fleeing before Daisy could hit him again. Clumsy, he rushed through narrow corridors, colliding at the corners in his attempt to put more distance between them until he finally began to flag. He’d made it into the stacks, surrounded by boxes of statements like beacons begging him to look inside. Find the real ones. Read them. Taste them.
Consume.
He deserved this.
Jon didn’t know how long he sat there curled around his knees before Martin found him, but he was stiff and hurting, head pounding and stomach rolling from the heat buried in his skin, trying to claw its way out.
“Jon?” He must’ve looked up, because he was looking straight at Martin with the sudden realization that he had him boxed in between the shelves. “Hey,” calm, soft, talking down a wild animal but there were only the two of them here. “You don’t look well.” What was he talking about?
“M’fine.” His tongue was thick in his mouth, words of treacle and like a tide, Martin drifted in and out, Jon’s head was too heavy for his own neck.
“Jon?” Suddenly, a pale hand was reaching for him and he panicked. “Jon!” Shouting and loud and angry(?).
“Go away!” Static and bitterness flooded Jon’s throat, rushed to strangle him, and he coughed, sputtering, black coating his fingers as he tried to stop another accidental compulsion. He couldn’t bear to look up and witness the betrayal he knew he’d placed there and instead leaned forward to lose the ink threatening to choke him, watching it pool like an oil slick around his fingers.
“Jon!”
I’m sorry.
“Jon?”
I’m scared.
“Leave me alone!”
“Jon!” Fading, being carried away by struggling steps. “Jon!!” He clapped sticky hands over his ears until he was alone again.
Martin is kind to you.
Because he fears you.
Even if you let him help, he’ll leave you. Hurt you. You’ve ruined everything, you always do. You’re hurting them. You keep hurting them.
He wrapped his arms so tightly around himself, until his fingers were dug into his flesh, sucking down a heaving lung full of air because he’d forgotten how to breathe with all his wanting. Cracking apart, letting things in that he kept trying desperately to keep out, out, out.
Exhaustion caught him up despite how fast he ran from it, trapped him in a current he couldn’t control. Whirling eddies and rip tides left him gasping, sore all over from failing to hold on to something, anything to steady himself. Just get to the next second. One at a time. Unable to think of the full moment.
And he looked up into a kind and familiar face creased in concern.
Martin.
“Hullo, Jon.” Soft, so soft. Kneeling beside him. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m not angry with you.” He kept quiet. The buzzing was there, the Eye was demanding he ask, tell, order.
“Martin?” Shaky and small and closing his eyes against the touch of a palm against his forehead.
“You’re burning up.” The clot of fear, ink and ash, stopped up his voice box and kept him silent, barely clinging to the shreds of whatever he had left. Jon wanted to take Martin’s soft attention and turn his focus elsewhere, at someone more deserving than he could ever be. “You need to rest. You’re not well.”
Not well.
A cool flannel swept over his face leaving bliss in its wake before moving to envelop each finger, rid it of the tacky, drying blotches. Wary, he watched Martin’s deft hands fold the cloth to hide the mess, setting it aside.
“I’m going to take you home. You shouldn’t be alone, not right now.”
“M’m…” He wasn’t safe, he couldn’t control the Beholding. Even now it was feeding him information, rooting around in Martin’s head for things that didn’t belong to it. Luckily, Jon couldn’t hold on to any of it as he was, wearied and wasted.
“You didn’t mean it. You aren’t thinking clearly, not with a fever like that.” The words washed over him, soothing and soft. Martin shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be kind to him like this when Jon would only take it and twist it into something terrible. But he was being lifted to his feet, the rest of the world following along a beat behind in his crowded vision, and Martin had to catch him when his knees buckled under him. “Alright, steady, I’ve got you.” With Martin doing the majority of the work, they waded through pools of emergency lighting between empty desks, everyone long gone home by now. He didn’t remember the cab ride, now standing cold and shivering at the bottom of the set of stairs leading up to Martin’s flat. Glancing up, overwhelmed and overwrought, the thought of climbing them drew a sob from his tight chest.
Warmth at his elbow made him balk, eyes wide and searching when Martin held up his hands in a placating gesture, moving slowly and with calm, obvious intent. He was speaking. Jon could see his lips moving, but it didn’t make any sense and when the Eye reached blindly for it an icepick lodged itself firmly behind his ear. The next time Martin went to touch him, the effort he put in to avoid it ended with him twisting up his feet together and all he could do was watch the ground rise up to meet him. If he hit the floor he didn’t remember, prying apart heavy lids to take in unfamiliar walls.
Not alone.
Before he could panic, Martin crouched beside where he was laid out on a sofa, removing his shoes and smiling gently when he caught him staring.
“It’s okay.” Calm. Quiet. “It’s okay.” Again. Infinitely softer. The backs of steady fingers brushing against his forehead and when Jon closed his eyes against his kindness, tears slipped down his cheeks. “It’s okay.” And he let himself believe it, the relief heady and stealing away the last of his resolve. “Let’s get you tucked up and warm, hm? Slow now, that’s good.” The babble was comforting, easy to drift along in the current, and he let Martin tell him what to do, accepting the water, the tablets, and drinking both down. Allowing Martin to manhandle him into soft clothes to replace his stained ones. “Lay back, try to sleep.”
Martin’s bed.
Before he himself knew he’d moved, the sleeve of Martin’s jumper was tight in his trembling grip. He could feel it, his expression twisting up, ugly and disgusting, lips pressed tightly together to keep his begging in, to trap the want. Trap it behind teeth and tongue until Martin realized what he’d done and kicked him out.
Then he could let go again. Where no one could see how badly he needed.
“It’s okay.” The soft pass through his sweat damp and tangled curls undid the rest of him. “What do you need?” A sob, a laugh, a burst of static that made both of them wince. Desperate. And his crying stopped all else. A stillness descending so thick and deep it felt like drowning, throat blocked up with ink and sorrow and impossible agony.
Arms wrapped around him. Tight, hot bands of iron and despite the strength with which he was held it became easier to breathe and he gulped down air sweeter than anything he’d known in a long time.
It was dark. Darker than it had been before and he was something far beyond tired. Wrung out and stretched thin, unspooled like fine wire. Gradually, sensation trickled in. The scent of tea from the breakroom. Wash worn wool. Gentle hands. He was moving, just slightly. Swaying.
Small sounds he couldn’t parse fell like rain, soft and warm.
Laid carefully down, like he was a precious, breakable thing. Wrapped up, legs and limbs and warm, warm, warm. Greedy, selfish, he drank it in, clinging to Martin in the velvet dark, hand to hand, skin to skin, and it still wasn’t enough. How could it be when he’d gone so long without. When he’d never known anything else.
Hunger. Always there.
Even before he’d been cursed with this awful gift.
Gnawing and persistent but quieting in the wake of the grounding beat of Martin’s heart, everywhere and all around. In his own pulse, his blood, his body. His touch was fire to his frostbite; painful and so very good.
He wanted it. Wanted so badly to be warm again.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Jon buried his nose in Martin’s throat, shuddering under his hands. “Rest, Jon.”
Apricot light seeped between his lashes, lifting him up and out of sleep. His cheek was pillowed on Martin’s chest, the man’s fingers still buried in his hair.
It was gentle here. The static muted and buried under the quilts, no longer lurking, waiting for its chance to take.
“Fever’s down some.” But all the same he pressed him with more medicine before excusing himself to put the kettle on. Jon curled up in the warmth he left behind, clear headed and wondering, waking when Martin came back with tea and toast. “You should eat a little something.” Wordlessly, Jon opened his mouth. Closed it, worried that all he had left inside was the ability to compel, to steal. Martin busied himself with the meticulous application of jam on his toast and Jon appreciated the space. The patience he didn’t really deserve.
“Th’thank you. Martin.”
“How long have you been ill?” Jon shrugged one shoulder, forgoing his own toast and sipping on the tea instead.
“Thought.” What had he thought? He only remembered wanting. “I. I don’t know. It’s all…” he tried to gesture in a way that explained how twisted things had been with the fever and the hunger and the fog. It was lacking. “I’m sorry for--I, I didn’t m’mean to. I.”
Couldn’t control it.
Jon thought he could taste the ink threatening to make a reappearance and took another swallow. He felt somewhat better, still sick. Still worried.
“I’m not angry with you.” Jon stared into his tea. “Hey, look at me.” Martin lifted his chin with a touch. “I see you. I see you trying.” Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over only for Martin to brush them away. Jon set the cup aside and let himself fall into the broad chest, melt beneath the heavy hand cradling his head.
Safe.
Sated.
#TMA#the magnus archives#jon sims#martin blackwood#mental health issues#touch starved#tears#crying#accidental compulsion#fever#sickfic
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Hi! Did you knew about the paragraph where ygritte got angry and tell Jon that he was one of them and forcibly kissed him? Jon wanted to tell her about he was spy but got afraid after this situation.
Hi anon!
Oh yes, that one, where the show took a line from a deeply complex situation and turned it into a romantic "daily affirmations" poster quote.
Wildlings fought like heroes or demons, depending on who you talked to, but it came down to the same thing in the end. They fight with reckless courage, every man out for glory. "I don't doubt that you're all very brave, but when it comes to battle, discipline beats valor every time. In the end Mance will fail as all the Kings-beyond-the-Wall have failed before him. And when he does, you'll die. All of you."
Ygritte had looked so angry he thought she was about to strike him. "All of us," she said. "You too. You're no crow now, Jon Snow. I swore you weren't, so you better not be." She pushed him back against the trunk of a tree and kissed him, full on the lips right there in the midst of the ragged column. Jon heard Grigg the Goat urging her on. Someone else laughed. He kissed her back despite all that. When they finally broke apart, Ygritte was flushed. "You're mine," she whispered. "Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first we'll live."
"Yes." His voice was thick. "First we'll live."
She grinned at that, showing Jon the crooked teeth that he had somehow come to love. Wildling to the bone, he thought again, with a sick sad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. Would she betray him if he sat her down and told her that he was still Ned Stark's son and a man of the Night's Watch? He hoped not, but he dare not take that risk. Too many lives depended on his somehow reaching Castle Black before the Magnar . . . assuming he found a chance to escape the wildlings.
(ASOS, Jon V)
Look how he's totally lost in the passion and romance of it all and not at all hyperaware of his surroundings. He's deeply touched by her loving and not at all creepily possessive assertation that he's hers. His voice is thick because her words are so inspiring and don't at all remind him how he's lying to her while she is happy in her illusion as she marches toward certain doom. He is not at all contemplating their fundamental differences and his potential escape because he totally knows why and how he has come to "love" her somehow, and it's totally got nothing to do with a psychological defense mechanism.
Yikes.
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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic
Tumblr tag || Also on AO3
Chapter 45: Martin Prime
“I Spy, with my mental eye, something that begins with…C.”
“Croft?”
“N—yes. Wait, how did you know that?” Jon sounded slightly indignant. “I didn’t even know you knew that word.”
Martin snorted. “Then you’re cheating.”
Jon sighed theatrically. “All right, fine, but which croft?”
“Hmm.” Martin pursed his lips thoughtfully. “The one two hills over, with the stone fence that was falling down in places. The one you had a hard time not seeing as sinister.”
“Well done.” Jon cupped Martin’s cheek in his hand and gave him a gentle kiss. “Right, your turn. Let’s go with…hmm. Let’s say Gertrude’s storage unit.”
It was a silly and relatively pointless game, but Martin loved Jon so much for coming up with it. They’d played I Spy several times when they were in Scotland because Jon had misunderstood Martin’s attempt to explain the one helpful thing he’d been given during his brief stint in therapy, but it had helped both of them, so Martin hadn’t told Jon until much, much later that it wasn’t what he’d meant. Still, it had been fun to play, and it had given them a brief moment of levity during their trek through the fearscapes between their tiny haven of sanctuary in Scotland and their ultimate destination in London. Martin had joked about playing it at Christmas, and Jon had apparently taken that to heart.
He’d come up with this variant not long after, and they’d played it a few times since. One of them would select a location they were both familiar with, and the other had to try and remember what it looked like, then pick something to “spy”. One part game, one part memory exercise, it was a continual surprise to Martin how many little details he could still picture in his head.
He sometimes suspected Jon of changing his answers solely so Martin could be “correct,” in the same way that Martin had never had a favorite color until Jon had guessed it to be green, but at least it was a fun exercise.
“Right,” he said, trying to cast his mind back over the storage unit. That one would be trickier. There’d just been so much crammed into a relatively small space, and Martin had admittedly been a little distracted by relief over having Jon back and talking to him, seeming to actually enjoy his company. It was hard to focus on details beyond the plastic explosives crammed in the hard case.
“I Spy, with my mental eye—” he began.
Jon’s fingers suddenly touched Martin’s lips as he hissed a warning to stay quiet. Martin froze and held his breath, and then he heard what Jon did—voices in the corridor. They were muffled but distinct, which did at least mean it wasn’t someone who didn’t need to be down there, but…
After a moment, though, Martin caught a laugh that sounded familiar and relaxed. “It’s them.”
“That’s…not good. It’s the middle of the day.” There was a rustle as Jon got to his feet. “God, what happened now?”
Martin bit his lip. Being blind and living essentially underground meant his internal clock was a bit off, but he trusted Jon. If it was midday, that meant it was Wednesday; Past Jon had been gone less than two days. He was probably still in Beijing. Nothing bad had happened to Jon while he was in China, unless there was something he hadn’t told Martin, and he probably hadn’t even had time to get into Pu Songling yet. Which meant something had happened to one of the others. Best case scenario, they’d uncovered a statement that bothered them or they wanted clarification on. Worst-case…
The door opened, and Past Martin’s voice came in, obviously in the middle of a sentence. “—like I’m offering to show you a pipe of Amontillado we’re keeping down here, it’s—oh, hey, you’re up already, that’s good.”
“What’s happened? Did something go wrong?” Jon asked urgently.
“Depends on your definition of ‘wrong,’ I suppose.”
There was a slight, nearly imperceptible creak as the door opened wider, and then a short pause before a female voice that sounded rather familiar spoke. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
Martin sat up a little straighter. “Melanie?”
He felt a surprising mix of delight and regret. He’d come to like the feisty firebrand in the short time they’d actually been able to get to know each other, despite the strain of the world having ended, and one thing he’d privately lamented when they’d made the decision to come back in time was that he wouldn’t get the chance to talk with her again, so having the opportunity was an unexpected pleasure. On the other hand, the fact that she was here and being brought down probably meant that she’d been trapped into working at the Institute, and that sent a stab of aching melancholy through his heart. They’d wanted so badly to keep her from turning bitter and angry…
She didn’t sound angry, though, at least not yet. Then again, their Melanie hadn’t at first either. “Are you clones or—you knew my name. What are you?”
Martin couldn’t help the grin that curled across his mouth, even as he got to his feet. “Me? Oh, I’m the Antichrist’s plus-one.”
The surprised laugh sounded like Tim’s. Melanie actually sounded delighted. “Does that mean he’s the Antichrist?”
“Assuming you’re pointing to Jon, yes.”
“Melanie.” Jon sounded like he was struggling to keep his composure. “It’s—it’s good to see you. What are you doing here?”
“Getting initiated. Or hazed, maybe. Depends on how you want to call it.” There was a rustle of fabric, and Martin guessed Melanie had just folded her arms across her chest. “You’re looking at the newest Archival Assistant.”
“Oh, Melanie,” Jon murmured, his voice full of regret.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, evil fear things, spooky stories, you can check out any time you like but you can never leave, today we are canceling the Apocalypse, blah blah blah.”
“Any other pop culture references you want to throw out there?” Martin asked dryly.
He could imagine Melanie shrugging. “I mean, you might have to give me a minute to come up with a few. But they told me all about the crap they have to put up with. We have to put up with, I guess.” She paused. “So, neither of you really answered my question.”
“Melanie King, meet the Primes,” Tim said. “Jon and Martin, meet the crazy woman who knew what she was getting into and did it anyway. Ow!” he added, punctuated by the dull, wet smack of somebody being punched in the side. “Jeez, what were you, a boxer in another life?”
“You say that like I’m not a boxer in this one,” Melanie grumbled. “I just don’t compete is all. Prime whats?”
“So you know those pop culture references?” Past Martin said. “Here’s one more. They’re—they’re Jon and me, from the future. They’re the reason we’re trying to stop the Apocalypse. The reason we know we need to stop the Apocalypse,” he corrected himself. “Tim calls them the Primes, like—”
“Like Spock Prime. Got it. Okay.” Martin could picture Melanie’s scowl pretty clearly; it had been more or less her default expression for a while. “Well, then. Unless one of you can mind-meld, you’re going to have to prove that some other way.”
“No, fortunately, the ability to plant thoughts and memories in someone’s head is one I was spared.” Jon sighed heavily. “I—I don’t know if there’s anything I can…m-most of what I know about, about your future counterpart are things that haven’t happened yet, o-or the others could have told us.”
Martin pursed his lips as a thought occurred to him. “I can think of one thing, but you probably don’t want it bruited about.”
“I seriously doubt that there’s anything you can come up with I wouldn’t want them knowing.” There was a challenging edge to Melanie’s voice that was all too familiar.
“Melanie—” Sasha began. Great, everyone was there.
“No. You think you know some big secret about me, something I wouldn’t have told you until later? Fine. Say it. I look forward to being able to look you in the eye and tell you you’re wrong.”
Martin sighed in exasperation. “You got shot by a ghost while you were in India. In the leg. You told the doctors it was a—a mugging, right? They couldn’t find anything in the scans, but trust me when I say it’s probably still in there.”
There was another one of those long pauses. “Fuck.”
“I did warn you,” Martin pointed out.
“You did, and I should have listened.” Melanie snorted. “I mean, obviously. I’ve only been working here for three hours and I already know that’s the number one Archives rule: Always listen to Martin.”
“Excellent life advice, both in the Archives and out,” Tim agreed.
“Both of you shut up,” Past Martin muttered, but without a lot of heat behind it.
Martin laughed. “It really is good to—we have missed you, Melanie.”
“You guys must have had a really rough few years if we’ve known each other long enough for you to miss me,” Melanie said, but he could hear the smile in her voice anyway. “For what it’s worth, it’s good to meet you.”
There was a bit of an expectant silence before Jon made a flustered-sounding noise of surprise and tapped Martin’s arm. “She wants to shake.”
“He’s not an idiot,” Melanie snapped. “If he doesn’t—”
“No, I’m blind. Sorry, should have warned you.” Martin reached out and found Melanie’s outstretched hand.
“Oh.” The slight pull against Martin’s arm was the only clue he got before Melanie—at least he assumed it was Melanie—surged forward and hugged him instead. In his ear, she said, “You look like you need it.”
“Well, I’ll never say no.” Martin didn’t need physical contact quite the same way Jon did, but it did give him comfort to feel a friendly touch once in a while. And it was substantially more important now that he was blind to have a tactile connection to the world around him. He was just momentarily caught off-guard; he’d forgotten how much shorter than him Melanie was.
After a moment, Melanie pulled back. “Right. Do I get an explanation or is it ‘you’re from the future’ and we leave it at that?”
“We can explain. Right, Jon?” Martin added, raising an eyebrow in his fiancé’s direction.
“Right. Of course. Ha-have a seat.” Jon sounded like the entire situation had put him off balance. “We’ll see what we can do.”
In a lot of ways, it was easier than when they’d told their story to the crew the first time, close to a year ago now. First of all, the team was aware now of a lot of things they’d had to explain, and Melanie had lived through at least some of it, so there was less to catch up on. Second of all, Tim, Sasha, and Past Martin were able to help fill in a lot of details. Including some things even Jon and Martin hadn’t been aware of.
“And then the world ended,” Jon concluded, much as he had the previous year. “And Martin and I…well, eventually we decided to try and put it back.”
“By coming back in time? How’d you even know you could do that?” Melanie asked. “Is it in one of those statements up there?”
“No. N-no, I don’t—I don’t think so. I don’t know how the Keeper found out about that passage back. That wasn’t our original plan,” Jon said slowly. “I’m not completely sure we had a plan, come to think of it.”
“Head to London, kill Jonah Magnus, and hope for the best,” Martin said with a shrug. “Push the big red reset button. I don’t know. I think we were still figuring it out when we got there.”
He could hear the frown when Melanie spoke next. “Sorry, I’m new to all this, I’m sure you’ve been over it a lot, but—how did you know you could? Can’t imagine the big scary fear god that thinks it’s won just…giving you a map to all its vulnerable spots or whatever. How did you know there was even a way to fix it?”
“We didn’t,” Martin said simply. He felt Jon lean against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him. “But we had to try.”
There was another long pause before Melanie spoke again, her voice almost too soft to be audible. “Who else survived? Besides you two?”
“What?” Jon asked with a frown.
Martin realized she had almost been too soft to be heard; he’d only caught it because he had to concentrate so hard. “You, Georgie, and Basira. And the Admiral. But in our timeline…Sasha’d been gone for years at that point, she died when Jane Prentiss attacked us. And our Tim died in the Unknowing. Once Daisy went over to the Hunt, we were the only ones left.”
“The whole rest of the world died?” Melanie demanded.
“No,” Jon said quickly. “No, not—not yet. They would have. Eventually. But no. After the Fears came through…the world divided largely into two categories. Watcher or Watched. You were either trapped in a fear’s domain or—or observing one.”
“So which one was I?”
“Neither. You and Georgie, you were both sort of…outside it. I don’t know that you were the only ones, either, but you were the only ones we knew about.” Jon paused, then added, “You kept going into domains and—rescuing people, actually. Or trying to. These tunnels are a blind spot, and that didn’t change even when the Institute became the literal center of the world. You and Georgie would run into a domain, get someone out, and bring them down here.”
“And inadvertently started a cult,” Martin added. He couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at his mouth. “You hated it.”
“God, yeah, I would have. I swear, the worst part of Ghost Hunt UK is dealing with the fans. I just got into it to investigate the paranormal, not to be famous doing it.” Melanie sighed heavily. Martin felt bad for her. “So what happened to us? After you left. Did you erase the whole future timeline so none of it ever happened, or did the three of us have to either fix it ourselves or live in a post-apocalyptic hellscape for the rest of our natural lives?”
“I—I don’t know.” Jon sounded incredibly shaken.
Martin rubbed comfortingly at Jon’s shoulder. “We left before…we didn’t get to tell them we were going. The Keeper—the one who helped us get back in time—he promised he’d let them know what was going on, he said they’d be safe. As far as I know, we didn’t…that timeline still continued to its end. I just don’t know when its end was. And unfortunately, we never will. Personally, I think what would have happened is that when the Keeper told everyone that our plan went to hell and Jonah got away, your counterpart would have said ‘fuck this’, got a knife, and gone after him herself. She kept trying to kill him in our timeline and he saw her every time. I don’t doubt for a minute that she’d take advantage of the fact that he literally wouldn’t have been able to see her.”
“Why not?”
“Same reason he can’t see me. Because she was blind, she was immune to the Eye. And as hard as she was working on her anger, I think she knew how to turn it into a weapon. Also, she hated Jonah.” Martin sighed. “So yeah. We don’t know what happened to everybody in our timeline, but if anyone could fix it, it’d be our Melanie. Correcting the Apocalypse with a knife and sheer spite.”
“Damn right,” Melanie said. Someone turned a laugh into a hacking cough.
Jon sighed and leaned against Martin’s shoulder. Martin shifted slightly to settle him into a more comfortable position. After all these months, the movement was as natural as breathing. “I’m so sorry, Melanie. We—we’d hoped we could keep you out of all this.”
“Hey, don’t take away my right to choose. I knew what I was getting into.”
“Did he ask?” Jon asked. “Or did he just hire you?”
“Of course he asked.” Melanie sounded exasperated. She dropped her voice to a lower register and did a very poor, mocking imitation of Elias’ drawl. “‘I understand that your show is on a hiatus, and with Jon off traveling, I’m sure Martin and the others could use some assistance. Jon spoke quite highly of your research abilities. Would you be interested in a paid position here in the Archives?’ I could have told him to fuck off if I’d really wanted to.”
Martin replayed the words in his head a couple of times. “Yeah, sounds like he flattered and dangled bait in front of you, but didn’t actually force you. Very carrot and stick.”
“So why did you say yes?” Sasha asked, sounding curious. “Knowing what you were getting into, more or less?”
Melanie sighed heavily—Martin was incredibly familiar with that sound—but to his mild surprise, it was Past Martin who answered. “She told us that, Sasha. Or at least indirectly. She—you said you started Ghost Hunt UK to investigate. And when we were having lunch before you left for India…I saw how animated you got when you were talking about that student film you did. The supernatural, the paranormal, it’s genuinely something you’re interested in. You agreed to join the Institute because it lets you do all that and get paid for it, with the added bonus of not having to deal with people if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah, basically. And, you know, if I can help save the world, that’s a nice little plus, too.”
Martin heard the rustling of fabric, but he honestly couldn’t have said if it was a hug or a light shove or what, and Tim’s next words made him none the wiser. “Thought you couldn’t read minds.”
“I can’t. I just know people.” Past Martin’s voice softened. “I promise, Tim. I’m not developing any new abilities.”
From the way he said that, Martin could picture quite vividly what Tim’s face had to look like. It was probably somewhere between the way he’d looked when he’d brought Sasha her coffee after she’d been attacked by Michael and the way he’d looked when telling Martin what had happened to his brother—a mixture of concern and fear and maybe a little bit of heartbreak. Tim really did worry about the others developing powers from the Eye, but there was probably an additional layer here because it was Past Martin.
Martin did know people. He had a fairly intuitive sense for the mood of a room and the way people interacted. In his timeline it had led him to play peacemaker, or try to, attempting to mediate between Jon and their Tim. In this…go-round, he supposed…it mostly meant he was picking up on a lot of things that weren’t being said, or at least weren’t being said aloud. He’d heard the fabric rustling, the lighthearted banter, the genuine laughter. He’d picked up on the gentleness in Past Jon’s voice that reminded him of the way Jon had spoken to him so often after Prentiss attacked, after he’d been accused of murder, and especially during those agonizing months he’d been working with Peter Lukas and they’d been so close and yet so far apart. He’d noted the affection in Tim’s voice, the way he’d tried so hard to control his anger and fear and actually talk to them. And of course he knew himself, and by extension his past self, knew what he sounded like when he was trying to navigate a simple conversation without wearing his heart on his sleeve, when he was trying to throttle back an emotion he desperately wanted to express but didn’t think would be welcome…or safe.
He knew love when he heard it, and dear God, if it had been that obvious to him for so long, he was already mentally betting with himself against how long it would take Melanie to call them out on it. Because he also knew hidden love, and he was willing to venture that they weren’t trying to hide their relationship because they thought it was inappropriate in the workplace. He was willing to bet all three of them thought it was unrequited on their part and that they had to keep it hidden from the others lest they be shot down.
He’d never really thought about polyamory himself, but in retrospect, yeah, maybe he had had a bit of a crush on their Tim. At least for a while. That would never have gone anywhere, though.
“Do we need to get out of here?” Melanie asked. “I mean, is Big Nose McCreepy going to notice we left the Archives essentially abandoned?”
“No, we’ve got a bit,” Sasha said. “He’s supposed to be meeting some of the Institute donors for a lunch of some kind. He’s not on site and he’s going to be occupied for a good while. I’m kind of hoping he gets a little tipsy, too. Anyway, he thinks he’s got us over a barrel right now. He thinks he trapped you into the Institute, so he’s feeling smug enough that he’s not going to pay attention to us for a while. His plan is to give us the rest of the week, at least, to let you ‘settle in’ before—”
“Sasha!” Jon said sharply. He sat up so suddenly it almost pulled Martin off-balance.
“Oh. Oh, shit.” Sasha inhaled abruptly. “I swear that wasn’t on purpose.”
“That’s—Christ, Sasha, you shouldn’t be able to do that from down here—”
“I didn’t—I Knew that before we came down. I’m pretty sure.” Sasha took another deep breath. “Right, okay. I don’t know who’s nominally in charge while Jon’s away, but—I think maybe I should take tomorrow off? Just to…recalibrate. Ground myself. Get some distance.”
“Take the rest of the week,” Tim suggested. “I don’t know who’s nominally in charge either, but—”
“I’ll stand in for your Jon,” Jon said. “Tim’s right. Take a good long weekend. Don’t think about the Institute, or the Archives, or the Fears. Just…I know it’s easier said than done, but try to distract yourself.”
“I think I have a way of doing that.” Sasha sounded thoughtful. Martin was pretty sure it was sincere.
“What do you do?” There was a hint of a challenge in Melanie’s voice, but also a good deal of curiosity. She was genuinely asking. “When it gets too much. What do you have that keeps you from—doing whatever it is you shouldn’t do?”
“Going out and pouncing random people to draw their traumas out of them,” Jon said dryly. “And I have Martin. He’s been my anchor for…much longer than I realized at the time. We’ll read or—or talk, or take a walk or something. We played cards a lot when we were in Scotland.”
“We were playing I Spy earlier,” Martin added.
Sasha snorted, but Past Martin seemed to actually understand. “Like a memory game type version?”
“Basically, yes. We pick someplace we both know—or knew—think about what was in it, and pick something for the other to try and guess. Five tries or less. And no mind-reading.”
“It’s still your turn,” Jon reminded him. “The storage unit.”
“Hmm.” Martin thought for a moment, then smiled as he remembered the one thing he’d fixated on while they were there. “I Spy, with my mental eye, something…brown.”
Jon made an exasperated noise. “I swear that must have been her favorite color. That could be anything.”
“Well, then, you’d best get guessing.”
“Fine.” Jon sighed heavily. “The…box full of dolls.”
“Nope. Guess again.”
“The book? The one we didn’t know what it was?”
“That was black.”
“It was—never mind.” Jon sighed again. “The notebook?”
Martin shook his head. “Come on, Jon, think. This is me we’re talking about. What would I have been looking at?”
“The…the frame on the painting with the dogs in it.”
“One guess left.”
“Give me one more hint.”
“It was the first thing that gave me hope in weeks.”
Jon was silent for a long while. Finally, he said, “I give up. I honestly, genuinely cannot think of anything that was brown that might fit the criteria you’ve given me. What do you spy?”
Martin’s smile widened. “Your eyes.”
There was a chorus of awws and exaggerated gagging sounds in equal measure from the other four, but from the way Jon took his face in both hands and kissed him, tenderly but thoroughly, Martin could tell that his choice had had the effect he wanted.
#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic#tma#the magnus archives#jonmartin#jonmartim
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Lex Luthor: I actually really like him and Supergirl made me mad
So, Lex Luthor is a very interesting, sometimes thought provoking, but most of all very enjoyable character.
Lex is many things, a classic egomaniacal villain, an example of what lies can do to a relationship, a walking, talking red flag, a warning of how hubris and jealously can destroy you, and much, much more. He is not the typical strain of insane— if crazy at all, highly competent, and best of all knows every one of Superman’s buttons and exactly how to press them.
I love watching Lex in every media I’ve ever seen him in going back to the original Christopher Reeve Superman. Every media, that is, except Supergirl. Why?
Because she isn’t fucking Superman.
Obviously, I love Supergirl— I run a blog with her in my icon— but there are certain things she is not and was never meant to be. Nemesis to Lex Luthor is right up there with a mass-murdering nazi (which is why the multiverse exists-- so that you can make her the first super on earth, Lex Luthor’s ex-friend, and not completely ignore the foundation of who they are as characters)
Lex is fun because he’s so smart, but also because of the personal stake he has with Superman. Lex felt jealous. In many cases, he felt betrayed. He let that fester into mania and then he built an evil radioactive robo-suit and committed mass murder. You know, like reasonable people do.
Lex was Superman’s friend and that gives his hatred of Kryptonians not only purpose, but emotional weight. Their relationship has that itching tension of painful history. In addition, Lex is extremely prideful. To him, Supergirl would be second class, she’s backup. And there is a story there: a story when Lex has a breakdown when backup knocks him into the sun, or the (in my opinion, less entertaining) version where Superman shows up to save her, reaffirming Lex’s worldview that he’s everything and defeating Superman means that Lex is the greatest and smartest, and even more stories beyond those that still adhere to its core principles— Kara and Lex as characters.
But Supergirl chose neither. Instead they chose another recycle Superman plot. And then another. And another.
I should make time to say that I like Jon Cryer; I think he’s doing a great job with what he’s been given. He’s got the charisma. He’s got the smarmy self-congratulating swagger down perfectly. The scenes where the real Lex pokes its ugly head through his facade are just great. I think in anything else he would have made an excellent Lex Luthor, but not here.
I was… disappointed with season 4. I liked 4x20– Kara and Lena investigating was fun at worst and at best had some really good edge of my seat moments. I thought that 4x16 “The House of L” was one of the best episodes of supergirl in a very long time and it still holds its place at least in my top 10, probably my top 5. But you will notice Lex wasn’t even in 4x20 and his places in 4x16 I actually enjoyed could easily have been occupied by any other intelligent villainous character. From a very basic point of view Col. Haley would have fit the mold of the manipulator training the compassionate but confused alien to kill— Wouldn’t have been her first time.
The later usages of Lex in Supergirl are also attempting a common Superman plot. Lex “redeems” himself, tricks the public into trusting him again by framing Superman for something, and eventually is once again revealed to be evil. It sounds like a repetitive, boring plot that would lose the audience suspension if belief after a few tries— “Seriously, this again. How are they not expecting this by now?” And that complaint works for Supergirl. Because Supergirl isn’t Superman.
Clark Kent was Lex Luthor’s best friend. Clark Kent ignored every warning sign and red flag waved in his face because Lex Luthor was his best friend. Clark Kent harbors a deep, abiding hurt and resentment from Lex’s betrayal. He has no trust for Lex, just like any hero would, but he also has the built up anger from repeated clashes with Lex and the initial betrayal. So when Lex returns, once again proclaiming he’s changed his ways, Superman’s response is a very public, very obviously bitter “yeah, right.” When Lex lays one of his traps for Superman, Clark is a little too rash. Lex Luthor knows how to push all of Clark’s buttons, even if he doesn’t know that they’re Clark’s. Lex can play him like a fiddle, and as for the general populace— would you be so steadfast in your trust of the invulnerable alien that could laser you in half in the blink of an eye and seems to be getting a little too comfortable in his role as peacekeeper? Would you, when even the slightest chance could slaughter your entire planet and you would have nothing and no one would could stop him— except, of course, Lex Luthor?
We’ve been shown through many media that when Lex can’t manipulate his opponent, when villain comes that is simply too big for him to work on, he is at incredible risk. There are several stories I can think of of the top of my head where Lex becomes a temporary ally of the heroes simply because he realizes he can’t manipulate this new, powerful player and that therefore they are a risk to him (I actually really like those stories because the dynamics between him and the heroes are incredibly fun and interesting— you start to get an idea of who Lex is underneath all of the wit and ego).
This is Supergirl’s great failure with Lex. The show understands that he is a genius— makes a great fuss about it. They understand that he is a manipulator— it’s his entire plot line with Lena. But they fail to understand that Lex’s ploys don’t work because he’s just so smart like the smartest ever. They work because he knows Superman and he knows that people are afraid of him— even the ones who trust and love him live with the knowledge that if he gets mind controlled or goes crazy, he could kill them all with ease, and that it’s happened before.
Supergirl wasn’t around for Lex’s turn. This Supergirl wasn’t even in that steady of contact with Clark. She has no stinging betrayal, no anger and bitter history to make her rash and predictable. Certainly by now, two seasons into Lex’s placement in the show, she is angry— but by all the evidence we’ve been given, Kara’s anger just makes her more volatile, unpredictable and sometimes genuinely down for murder, which is definitely not something Lex needs. We have seen her both let Lex “fall to his death” (when she wasn’t all that angry— she just accepted his suicide without trying to force him into prison) and nearly shoot him with laser vision (this time she was angry and emotionally unstable after the death of Argo and the more Lex centered anger that he revealed her identity and destroyed her relationship with Lena. There is no question that she would have killed-- or at the very least maimed-- him if The Monitor hadn’t intervened). If Superman just murdered Lex when he got angry, he would have died a dozen times over.
Lex doesn’t even have a basic understanding of Kara’s mindset. He can’t. Superman was raised by American humans in Kansas— he has a worldview that Lex could easily pick up on because it is at least based on watching most of the same events unfold as they grew up— and that’s if they had never met before they started fighting. Sure, he could assume Superman had some quirks from being an alien, but the base Americanized cultural standpoint was already affecting Lex’s machinations because he was an American. He’s familiar with the culture and values Superman follows— not so with Kara. I don’t even know if it was possible for him to obtain information on her religion, let alone the cultural views on justice. His research on her past fights would have been choppy at best, given that there are so many things that only Kara or the other Superfriends were there for. He can’t have the information about that fight on Mars where Kara literally disintegrated at least 3 white martians. He can’t know what happened with Reign beyond “she’s not going to be a problem anymore”. He might have more information about the Daxamite invasion through government records and his mother but the information is still limited. As for Non and Myriad, we don’t even know what happened to Non, and did they report to the DEO that J’onn literally tore Indigo in half (very graphically I might add). Or did they just say “They won’t be a problem anymore.” Lex may have been spying on Kara since Season 2, but how much is watching her civilian life going to help him understand her, when Kara’s civilian life was constructed to hide? Kara Danvers doesn’t say a lot of what she thinks to avoid notice, and even Supergirl keeps her mouth shut a lot of the time to try and maintain human-alien relations. The episodes where she squabbles with the Col. Haley and President Baker are full of her smiling and gritting her teeth through statements that clearly make her very angry.
Lex “falling to his death” and then getting shot at the end of season 4 was a great moment— it fit with the characters motivations, but it also unfortunately illustrated the problem with Supergirl characters interacting with Lex. J’onn was a soldier who kills people. Kara has killed people. Alex has killed people. This scene was not the first time we watched Lena try to murder someone with that gun. They are not restricted by the moral code Superman uses, which makes it both more difficult and more dangerous for Lex to try manipulating them— so he doesn’t and instead they skip the intermediary and rely wholly on him being able to manipulate the public. This works to an extent with Red Daughter, but only because anti-alien sentiment was at an all time high with the Children of Liberty, and because Lex lucked into an amnesiac supergirl clone. So little of the heavy lifting was actually done by Lex it feels less like his accomplishment and more like he cheated off of 3 different people and then bragged about his math skills. I said it before and I’ll say it again. The season 4 villain could have been anyone with moderate intelligence and resources. After crisis, the excuses just get weaker and weaker. I mean come on, he confessed to trying to mind control the whole world in front of the jury while screaming vile things at his sister who’s sitting there visibly flinching at his words and they unanimously voted not-guilty? Are you kidding? (Also after watching all the courtroom scenes in Supergirl... do they know how courtrooms work? I mean, I laughed as hard as anyone at the “I plead the 5th” line, but seriously. Do they?)
And Crisis was… a choice. I personally hated that they brought Lex back to life— more so because the in-universe reasoning was so weak. Lex Luthor does not face a whole lot of consequences, it’s true, but that’s because he has the genius, guile, and money to avoid them. To give him such an unearned out— especially after all the damage he’d done by dying— really hurt the both the stakes and the character. Lex is a human, and he fights Superman by taking advantage of very human things: corruption, anger, and fear as well as ingenuity and resourcefulness. He loads the deck in his favor— he doesn’t win on luck. And Lex in the CW Supergirl, seems to only win on luck. First he finds Red Daughter right when anti-alien sentiment is blowing up, then he is resurrected, then he finds out the crisis world loves him. He has had exactly 1 major victory based on his own work— manipulating Brainy. A manipulation which was really hard to believe when Brainy was, in canon, much, much smarter than Lex, familiar with his tactics, lying to the superfriends for no reason, and had no emotional reaction to cloud his judgement.
And even so, this one plot line was one of the more interesting ones in season 5 and the most Lex Luthor-like plot line the show has had. Even when I felt my suspension of disbelief slipping, it wasn’t entirely in tatters. Lex’s win felt somewhat earned.
He has been in the show for 2 1/2 seasons and he has had 1 major victory that felt at all earned. 2 and 1/2 seasons. That’s currently around 45% of the show’s run time.
All in all, we have 4 deeply related problems that plague the CW Supergirl Lex Luthor:
Lex Luthor’s plans rely as much on effective manipulation of Superman as they do on his own genius. Without that manipulation, his victories rely much more on happenstance and luck, making them feel less earned.
Lex Luthor cannot effectively manipulate Supergirl— at the very least, not in the beginning of their relationship, which CW Supergirl focuses on— nor does he try to manipulate her or much of the cast beyond Lena and once with Brainy.
Supergirl kills people. Supergirl has killed Lex. Superman doesn’t kill people.
Lex fighting Supergirl does not have the kind of inherent emotional weight that Lex fighting Superman does.
There are some other issues I have with the CW supergirl version of Lex, but I think if it was a Superman show I wouldn’t have minded. The large amount of screen time dedicated to him would make sense there, and the fact that he’s a cockroach seemingly impervious to any plot consequences would also fit more in line with Superman’s increasing frustration and make his manipulations more effective.
The only problem I have that wouldn’t been solved purely by making it about Superman is the crowding problem. In season 1, Non and the DEO were highly connected and fed each other as villains. Season 2 also fit that same block of alien vs. anti alien. Both of those secondary villains (the army/DEO in s1 and Cadmus in s2) were very much not as big a villain as the main. Season 3 sort of had a secondary villain with Morgan Edge, but he was mostly just a Lena problem. All of these seasons had a good balance between the villains screen time and also between the villains and heroes. It got a little more complicated with the extra world killers in s3, but still functioned fairly smoothly with focus on Reign. This is one of the main reasons that seasons 1 and 3 are my favorites. S4, however, got more cluttered. A lot more cluttered. Manchester Black, the Children of Liberty, Lex Luthor, Red Daughter, and Eve Tessmacher were all villains with multi-episode arcs handled directly by Supergirl herself. There was too much to cover, not enough connection, and not enough time— plus 2 new main cast members (Look, I love Nia and Brainy but that season had way too much going on). Season 5 had Leviathan, Lena Luthor, Lex Luthor and 2 new mains. Each of those villain arcs had their own distinct plot from one another and screen time started to become more choppy and spread out. Season 6 now has so far Lex Luthor, the phantom zone, and Nyxly, as well as the Zor-El mini-arc, and while I’ll give them some leeway for Melissa Beniost’s maternity leave, there is again too much in too little time. Villains are underdeveloped or not given weighty closures, each main gets less and less personal screentime, and every shot that doesn’t serve a good or entertaining purpose feels like pouring out water from a canteen in the desert, especially now in the last season. Lex has greatly suffered for this both in the rage at how much screen time he gets compared to other characters, Kara in particular, and because of how his arcs are still hobbled by the lack of it.
I just find myself wishing they’d restricted Lex to a 3 or 4 episode mini-arc, or just season 4 and saved him for the Superman and Lois show. They could have played the crisis resurrection as just an unfortunate coincidence of fate and had it be Superman’s problem from there on.
To Jon Cryer, may you never see this. It’s so very not your fault.
If anyone actually reads this whole thing and I got something wrong let me know. I’d love to discuss it. Today, I’m just trying to isolate the main issues I have with Lex in Supergirl.
#i spent way too long on this#And I'm pretty sure I still have typos and fragmented sentences#but im not spending another minute editing#so here you go#Supergirl#Lex Luthor
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Dany and Jorah’s relationship
This is a list of all the passages from the books featuring key moments in Dany and Jorah's relationship.
Thanks to that show, a lot of people misunderstand Jorah's character and the nature of his relationship with Dany.
In the books, he is a predator trying to groom a teenager who is three times younger than he is. In order to do so, he undermines her authority, tries to make her distrust other men and violates her boundaries several times (e.g. forcing a kiss on her, looking at her breasts, etc).
In the show, he's a Good Guy who we are meant to empathize with; as Benioff describes, "part of Jorah's tragedy is that he was in love with a woman who couldn't love him back".
That change is pretty disgusting, and look how it shaped the general audience's opinion:
I think Dany is ultimately selfish and unfeeling. I'm not sure she actually ever loved Jon at all, and her affection for Ser Jorah Mormont strikes me as more utilitarian than compassionate. Dany is concerned with herself and her dragons and little more. If she doesn't back Jon despite his superior claim to the Iron Throne, that's all the proof I need that she is rotten to the core. (x)
~
What would Jorah (Iain Glen) think of Dany's turn? Would he love her still? Would he have been able to do the deed? In a sense, I wish it had been him instead of Jon. Jorah has loved her for so much longer. But he died defending his queen, and perhaps he would have forgiven her even this atrocity. (x)
~
Her charm, beauty and overall skill in luring people to her cause, whether genuine or not, has always been about creating a facade, someone you wouldn't mind seeing win even if they lose the plot and go crazy. And everyone Dany's recruited along the way has been nothing more than a pawn.
Just look at how she sent away her lover, Daario Naharis, for fear he'd stunt her march on the throne, or exiled Jorah for being a spy. (x)
~
28 Reasons Jorah Mormont Was The Best Man In Westeros (x)
Thankfully, for all his faults, I think GRRM is framing the story the way it should be:
“Will Jorah ever get out of the friendzone?” (side-eyeing the person who asked this). GRRM: “I would not bet on it.” (x)
I really want to get a tattoo of this response, lol.
A Dance with Dragons
ADWD Daenerys X
Daenerys Targaryen was no stranger to the Dothraki sea, the great ocean of grass that stretched from the forest of Qohor to the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. She had seen it first when she was still a girl, newly wed to Khal Drogo and on her way to Vaes Dothrak to be presented to the crones of the dosh khaleen. The sight of all that grass stretching out before her had taken her breath away. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and I was full of hope. Ser Jorah had been with her then, her gruff old bear. She’d had Irri and Jhiqui and Doreah to care for her, her sun-and-stars to hold her in the night, his child growing inside her. Rhaego. I was going to name him Rhaego, and the dosh khaleen said he would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Not since those half-remembered days in Braavos when she lived in the house with the red door had she been as happy.
~
Meereen would always be the Harpy’s city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.
Never, said the grass, in the gruff tones of Jorah Mormont. You were warned, Your Grace. Let this city be, I said. Your war is in Westeros, I told you.
The voice was no more than a whisper, yet somehow Dany felt that he was walking just behind her. My bear, she thought, my old sweet bear, who loved me and betrayed me. She had missed him so. She wanted to see his ugly face, to wrap her arms around him and press herself against his chest, but she knew that if she turned around Ser Jorah would be gone. “I am dreaming,” she said. “A waking dream, a walking dream. I am alone and lost.”
Lost, because you lingered, in a place that you were never meant to be, murmured Ser Jorah, as softly as the wind. Alone, because you sent me from your side.
“You betrayed me. You informed on me, for gold.”
For home. Home was all I ever wanted. “And me. You wanted me.” Dany had seen it in his eyes.
I did, the grass whispered, sadly. “You kissed me. I never said you could, but you did. You sold me to my enemies, but you meant it when you kissed me.”
I gave you good counsel. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, I told you. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and go west, I said. You would not listen.
“I had to take Meereen or see my children starve along the march.” Dany could still see the trail of corpses she had left behind her crossing the Red Waste. It was not a sight she wished to see again. “I had to take Meereen to feed my people.”
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.”
No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words.
“Fire and Blood,” Daenerys told the swaying grass.
A stone turned under her foot. She stumbled to one knee and cried out in pain, hoping against hope that her bear would gather her up and help her to her feet. When she turned her head to look for him, all she saw was trickling brown water ... and the grass, still moving slightly.
ADWD Daenerys IX
Dany had once eaten a stallion’s heart to give strength to her unborn son … but that had not saved Rhaego when the maegi murdered him in her womb. Three treasons shall you know. She was the first, Jorah was the second, Brown Ben Plumm the third. Was she done with betrayals?
ADWD Daenerys VI
Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust? What good are prophecies if you cannot make sense of them? If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace?
ADWD Daenerys V
Afterward, Ser Barristan told her that her brother Rhaegar would have been proud of her. Dany remembered the words Ser Jorah had spoken at Astapor: Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.
~
Daario should be here, and my bloodriders, she thought. If there is to be a battle, the blood of my blood should be with me. She missed Ser Jorah Mormont too. He lied to me, informed on me, but he loved me too, and he always gave good counsel.
ADWD Daenerys III
“Barristan the Old, did you say? Your bear knight was younger, and devoted to you.”
“I do not wish to speak of Jorah Mormont.”
“To be sure. The man was coarse and hairy.”
~
“You heard Xaro make his offer?”
“I did, Your Grace.” The old knight took pains not to look at her bare breast as he spoke to her.
Ser Jorah would not turn his eyes away. He loved me as a woman, where Ser Barristan loves me only as his queen. Mormont had been an informer, reporting to her enemies in Westeros, yet he had given her good counsel too.
ADWD Daenerys I
Dragons are fire made flesh. She had read that in one of the books Ser Jorah had given her as a wedding gift.
~
The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?
A Storm of Swords
ASOS Daenerys VI
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.
~
Dany shifted uncomfortably on the ebony bench. She dreaded what must come next, yet she knew she had put it off too long already. Yunkai and Astapor, threats of war, marriage proposals, the march west looming over all ... I need my knights. I need their swords, and I need their counsel. Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she’d swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly. I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears.
~
Ser Jorah cleared his throat. “Khaleesi ...”
She had missed his voice so much, but she had to be stern. “Be quiet. I will tell you when to speak.”
~
“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.
[...]“You helped win this city,” she repeated stubbornly. “And you have served me well in the past. Ser Barristan saved me from the Titan’s Bastard, and from the Sorrowful Man in Qarth. Ser Jorah saved me from the poisoner in Vaes Dothrak, and again from Drogo’s bloodriders after my sun-and-stars had died.” So many people wanted her dead, sometimes she lost count. “And yet you lied, deceived me, betrayed me.”
[...] The other will be harder. When Ser Barristan was done, she turned to Jorah Mormont. “And now you, ser. Tell me true.”
The big man’s neck was red; whether from anger or shame she did not know. “I have tried to tell you true, half a hundred times. I told you Arstan was more than he seemed. I warned you that Xaro and Pyat Pree were not to be trusted. I warned you—”
“You warned me against everyone except yourself.” His insolence angered her. He should be humbler. He should beg for my forgiveness. “Trust no one but Jorah Mormont, you said ... and all the time you were the Spider’s creature!”
“I am no man’s creature. I took the eunuch’s gold, yes. I learned some ciphers and wrote some letters, but that was all—”
“All? You spied on me and sold me to my enemies!”
“For a time.” He said it grudgingly. “I stopped.”
“When? When did you stop?”
“I made one report from Qarth, but—”
“From Qarth?” Dany had been hoping it had ended much earlier. “What did you write from Qarth? That you were my man now, that you wanted no more of their schemes?” Ser Jorah could not meet her eyes. “When Khal Drogo died, you asked me to go with you to Yi Ti and the Jade Sea. Was that your wish or Robert’s?”
“That was to protect you,” he insisted. “To keep you away from them. I knew what snakes they were ...”
“Snakes? And what are you, ser?” Something unspeakable occurred to her. “You told them I was carrying Drogo’s child ...”
“Khaleesi ...”
“Do not think to deny it, ser,” Ser Barristan said sharply. “I was there when the eunuch told the council, and Robert decreed that Her Grace and her child must die. You were the source, ser. There was even talk that you might do the deed, for a pardon.”
“A lie.” Ser Jorah’s face darkened. “I would never ... Daenerys, it was me who stopped you from drinking the wine.”
“Yes. And how was it you knew the wine was poisoned?”
“I ... I but suspected ... the caravan brought a letter from Varys, he warned me there would be attempts. He wanted you watched, yes, but not harmed.” He went to his knees. “If I had not told them someone else would have. You know that.”
“I know you betrayed me.” She touched her belly, where her son Rhaego had perished. “I know a poisoner tried to kill my son, because of you. That’s what I know.”
“No ... no.” He shook his head. “I never meant ... forgive me. You have to forgive me.”
“Have to?” It was too late. He should have begun by begging forgiveness. She could not pardon him as she’d intended. She had dragged the wineseller behind her horse until there was nothing left of him. Didn’t the man who brought him deserve the same? This is Jorah, my fierce bear, the right arm that never failed me. I would be dead without him, but ... “I can’t forgive you,” she said. “I can’t.”
“You forgave the old man ...”
“He lied to me about his name. You sold my secrets to the men who killed my father and stole my brother’s throne.”
“I protected you. I fought for you. Killed for you.”
Kissed me, she thought, betrayed me.
“I went down into the sewers like a rat. For you.”
It might have been kinder if you’d died there. Dany said nothing. There was nothing to say.
“Daenerys,” he said, “I have loved you.”
And there it was. Three treasons will you know. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love. “The gods do nothing without a purpose, they say. You did not die in battle, so it must be they still have some use for you. But I don’t. I will not have you near me. You are banished, ser. Go back to your masters in King’s Landing and collect your pardon, if you can. Or to Astapor. No doubt the butcher king needs knights.”
“No.” He reached for her. “Daenerys, please, hear me ...”
She slapped his hand away. “Do not ever presume to touch me again, or to speak my name. You have until dawn to collect your things and leave this city. If you’re found in Meereen past break of day, I will have Strong Belwas twist your head off. I will. Believe that.” She turned her back on him, her skirts swirling. I cannot bear to see his face. “Remove this liar from my sight,” she commanded. I must not weep. I must not. If I weep I will forgive him. Strong Belwas seized Ser Jorah by the arm and dragged him out. When Dany glanced back, the knight was walking as if drunk, stumbling and slow. She looked away until she heard the doors open and close. Then she sank back onto the ebony bench. He’s gone, then. My father and my mother, my brothers, Ser Willem Darry, Drogo who was my sun-and-stars, his son who died inside me, and now Ser Jorah ...
“The queen has a good heart,” Daario purred through his deep purple whiskers, “but that one is more dangerous than all the Oznaks and Meros rolled up in one.” His strong hands caressed the hilts of his matched blades, those wanton golden women. “You need not even say the word, my radiance. Only give the tiniest nod, and your Daario shall fetch you back his ugly head.”
“Leave him be. The scales are balanced now. Let him go home.” Dany pictured Jorah moving amongst old gnarled oaks and tall pines, past flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, and little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. She saw him entering a hall built of huge logs, where dogs slept by the hearth and the smell of meat and mead hung thick in the smoky air.
~
She found herself reading the same passage half a dozen times. Ser Jorah gave me this book as a bride’s gift, the day I wed Khal Drogo. 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.
~
Distant torches glimmered red and yellow where her sentries walked their rounds, and here and there she saw the faint glow of lanterns bobbing down an alley. Perhaps one was Ser Jorah, leading his horse slowly toward the gate. Farewell, old bear. Farewell, betrayer.
ASOS Daenerys V
The eunuch wrenched the blade loose and parted the hero’s head from his body with three savage blows to the neck. He held it up high for the Meereenese to see, then flung it toward the city gates and let it bounce and roll across the sand.
“So much for the hero of Meereen,” said Daario, laughing.
“A victory without meaning,” Ser Jorah cautioned. “We will not win Meereen by killing its defenders one at a time.”
“No,” Dany agreed, “but I’m pleased we killed this one.”
~
“...Already we’ve had reports of sickness in the camps, fever and brownleg and three cases of the bloody flux. There will be more if we remain. The slaves are weak from the march.”
“Freedmen,” Dany corrected. “They are slaves no longer.”
~
“Then what do you advise, Ser Jorah?”
“You will not like it.”
“I would hear it all the same.”
“As you wish. I say, let this city be. You cannot free every slave in the world, Khaleesi. Your war is in Westeros.”
“I have not forgotten Westeros.” Dany dreamt of it some nights, this fabled land that she had never seen. “If I let Meereen’s old brick walls defeat me so easily, though, how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros?”
“As Aegon did,” Ser Jorah said, “with fire. By the time we reach the Seven Kingdoms, your dragons will be grown. And we will have siege towers and trebuchets as well, all the things we lack here ... but the way across the Lands of the Long Summer is long and grueling, and there are dangers we cannot know. You stopped at Astapor to buy an army, not to start a war. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, my queen. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and march west for Pentos.”
“Defeated?” said Dany, bristling.
~
“Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west, how can I feed my freedmen?”
“You can’t. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, yes. That will be hard, but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us.”
~
And Daario Naharis made her laugh, which Ser Jorah never did.
Dany tried to imagine what it would be like if she allowed Daario to kiss her, the way Jorah had kissed her on the ship. [...] Could I love Daario? What would it mean, if I took him into my bed? Would that make him one of the heads of the dragon? Ser Jorah would be angry, she knew, but he was the one who’d said she had to take two husbands. Perhaps I should marry them both and be done with it.
~
“I had a look at the river wall,” Ser Jorah started. “It’s a few feet higher than the others, and just as strong. And the Meereenese have a dozen fire hulks tied up beneath the ramparts—”
She cut him off. “You might have warned me that the Titan’s Bastard had escaped.”
He frowned. “I saw no need to frighten you, Your Grace. I have offered a reward for his head—”
“Pay it to Whitebeard. Mero has been with us all the way from Yunkai. He shaved his beard off and lost himself amongst the freedmen, waiting for a chance for vengeance. Arstan killed him.”
Ser Jorah gave the old man a long look. “A squire with a stick slew Mero of Braavos, is that the way of it?”
“A stick,” Dany confirmed, “but no longer a squire. Ser Jorah, it’s my wish that Arstan be knighted.”
“No.”
The loud refusal was surprise enough. Stranger still, it came from both men at once.
Ser Jorah drew his sword. “The Titan’s Bastard was a nasty piece of work. And good at killing. Who are you, old man?”
“A better knight than you, ser,” Arstan said coldly.
Knight? Dany was confused. “You said you were a squire.”
[...] “I have told you no lies, my queen. Yet there are truths I have withheld, and for that and all my other sins I can only beg your forgiveness.”
“What truths have you withheld?” Dany did not like this. “You will tell me. Now.”
He bowed his head. “At Qarth, when you asked my name, I said I was called Arstan. That much was true. Many men had called me by that name while Belwas and I were making our way east to find you. But it is not my true name.”
She was more confused than angry. He has played me false, just as Jorah warned me, yet he saved my life just now.
Ser Jorah flushed red. “Mero shaved his beard, but you grew one, didn’t you? No wonder you looked so bloody familiar ...”
“You know him?” Dany asked the exile knight, lost.
“I saw him perhaps a dozen times ... from afar most often, standing with his brothers or riding in some tourney. But every man in the Seven Kingdoms knew Barristan the Bold.” He laid the point of his sword against the old man’s neck. “Khaleesi, before you kneels Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who betrayed your House to serve the Usurper Robert Baratheon.”
The old knight did not so much as blink. “The crow calls the raven black, and you speak of betrayal.”
“Why are you here?” Dany demanded of him. “If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?” He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood
aside ... “I want the whole truth now, on your honor as a knight. Are you the Usurper’s man, or mine?”
“Yours, if you will have me.” Ser Barristan had tears in his eyes. “I took Robert’s pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King’s Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, it shames me to admit. But when he took the cloak that the White Bull had draped about my shoulders, and sent men to kill me that selfsame day, it was as though he’d ripped a caul off my eyes. That was when I knew I must find my true king, and die in his service—”
“I can grant that wish,” Ser Jorah said darkly.
“Quiet,” said Dany. “I’ll hear him out.”
“It may be that I must die a traitor’s death,” Ser Barristan said. “If so, I should not die alone. Before I took Robert’s pardon I fought against him on the Trident. You were on the other side of that battle, Mormont, were you not?” He did not wait for an answer. “Your Grace, I am sorry I misled you. It was the only way to keep the Lannisters from learning that I had joined you. You are watched, as your brother was. Lord Varys reported every move Viserys made, for years. Whilst I sat on the small council, I heard a hundred such reports. And since the day you wed Khal Drogo, there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises.”
He cannot mean ... “You are mistaken.” Dany looked at Jorah Mormont. “Tell him he’s mistaken. There’s no informer. Ser Jorah, tell him. We crossed the Dothraki sea together, and the red waste ...” Her heart fluttered like a bird in a trap. “Tell him, Jorah. Tell him how he got it wrong.”
“The Others take you, Selmy.” Ser Jorah flung his longsword to the carpet. “Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”
“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”
“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.
I was going to take you home! Her dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame. I should say the word and burn the two of them. Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe? “Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you two? Get out, before my dragons roast you both. What does roast liar smell like? As foul as Brown Ben’s sewers? Go!”
Ser Barristan rose stiff and slow. For the first time, he looked his age. “Where shall we go, Your Grace?”
“To hell, to serve King Robert.” Dany felt hot tears on her cheeks. Drogon screamed, lashing his tail back and forth. “The Others can have you both.” Go, go away forever, both of you, the next time I see your faces I’ll have your traitors’ heads off. She could not say the words, though. They betrayed me. But they saved me. But they lied. “You go ...” My bear, my fierce strong bear, what will I do without him? And the old man, my brother’s friend. “You go ... go ...” Where?
And then she knew.
ASOS Daenerys IV
Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged.
~
“I will like the taste of your tongue, I think.”
She could sense Ser Jorah’s anger. My black bear does not like this talk of kissing.
~
“To be sure, I am only a young girl and know little of war. What do you think, my lords?”
“I think you are Rhaegar Targaryen’s sister,” Ser Jorah said with a rueful half smile.
“Aye,” said Arstan Whitebeard, “and a queen as well.”
~
“My sword is yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command, fair queen.”
“Then live,” Dany said, “and fight for me tonight.”
“That would not be wise, my queen.” Ser Jorah gave Daario a cold, hard stare. “Keep this one here under guard until the battle’s fought and won.”
She considered a moment, then shook her head. “If he can give us the Stormcrows, surprise is certain.”
“And if he betrays you, surprise is lost.”
~
Ser Jorah Mormont lingered. “Your Grace,” he said, too bluntly, “that was a mistake. We know nothing of this man—”
“We know that he is a great fighter.”
“A great talker, you mean.”
“He brings us the Stormcrows.” And he has blue eyes.
“Five hundred sellswords of uncertain loyalty.”
“All loyalties are uncertain in such times as these,” Dany reminded him. And I shall be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love.
“Daenerys, I am thrice your age,” Ser Jorah said. “I have seen how false men are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Even his beard wears false colors.”
That angered her. “Whilst you have an honest beard, is that what you are telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust?”
He stiffened. “I did not say that.”
“You say it every day. Pyat Pree’s a liar, Xaro’s a schemer, Belwas a braggart, Arstan an assassin ... do you think I’m still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words?”
“Your Grace—”
She bulled over him. “You have been a better friend to me than any I have known, a better brother than Viserys ever was. You are the first of my Queensguard, the commander of my army, my most valued counselor, my good right hand. I honor and respect and cherish you—but I do not desire you, Jorah Mormont, and I am weary of your trying to push every other man in the world away from me, so I must needs rely on you and you alone. It will not serve, and it will not make me love you any better.”
Mormont had flushed red when she first began, but by the time Dany was done his face was pale again. He stood still as stone. “If my queen commands,” he said, curt and cold.
Dany was warm enough for both of them. “She does,” she said. “She commands. Now go see to your Unsullied, ser. You have a battle to fight and win.”
When he was gone, Dany threw herself down on her pillows beside her dragons. She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon.
He will forgive me, she told herself. I am his liege. Dany found herself wondering whether he was right about Daario. She felt very lonely all of a sudden. Mirri Maz Duur had promised that she would never bear a living child. House Targaryen will end with me. That made her sad. “You must be my children,” she told the dragons, “my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead.”
ASOS Daenerys III
Afterward she called her bloodriders to her cabin, with Ser Jorah. They were the only ones she truly trusted.
[...] Ser Jorah soon joined her by the rail. He is never far, Dany thought. He knows my moods too well.
“Khaleesi. You ought to be asleep. Tomorrow will be hot and hard, I promise you. You’ll need your strength.”
“Do you remember Eroeh?” she asked him. “The Lhazareen girl?”
“They were raping her, but I stopped them and took her under my protection. Only when my sun-and-stars was dead Mago took her back, used her again, and killed her. Aggo said it was her fate.”
“I remember,” Ser Jorah said.
“I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”
“Some kings make themselves. Robert did.”
“He was no true king,” Dany said scornfully. “He did no justice. Justice ... that’s what kings are for.”
Ser Jorah had no answer. He only smiled, and touched her hair, so lightly. It was enough.
ASOS Daenerys II
“They might be adequate to my needs,” Dany answered. It had been Ser Jorah’s suggestion that she speak only Dothraki and the Common Tongue while in Astapor. My bear is more clever than he looks.
~
Ser Jorah Mormont she had left aboard Balerion to guard her people and her dragons.
~
She made herself smile. “I have my own bear on Balerion,” she told the translator, “and he may well eat me if I do not return to him.”
“See,” said Kraznys when her words were translated. “It is not the woman who decides, it is this man she runs to. As ever!”
~
“Then leave this place before your heart turns to brick as well. Sail this very night, on the evening tide.”
Would that I could, thought Dany. “When I leave Astapor it must be with an army, Ser Jorah says.”
“Ser Jorah was a slaver himself, Your Grace,” the old man reminded her. “There are sellswords in Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh you can hire. A man who kills for coin has no honor, but at least they are no slaves. Find your army there, I beg you.”
~
He has a good face, and great strength to him, Dany thought. She could not understand why Ser Jorah mistrusted the old man so. Could he be jealous that I have found another man to talk to? Unbidden, her thoughts went back to the night on Balerion when the exile knight had kissed her. He should never have done that. He is thrice my age, and of too low a birth for me, and I never gave him leave. No true knight would ever kiss a queen without her leave. She had taken care never to be alone with Ser Jorah after that, keeping her handmaids with her aboard ship, and sometimes her bloodriders. He wants to kiss me again, I see it in his eyes.
What Dany wanted she could not begin to say, but Jorah’s kiss had woken something in her, something that been sleeping since Khal Drogo died. Lying abed in her narrow bunk, she found herself wondering how it would be to have a man squeezed in beside her in place of her handmaid, and the thought was more exciting than it should have been. Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow.
~
Ser Jorah Mormont stood waiting for her. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head. “The slavers have come and gone. Three of them, with a dozen scribes and as many slaves to lift and fetch. They crawled over every foot of our holds and made note of all we had.” He walked her aft. “How many men do they have for sale?”
“None.” Was it Mormont she was angry with, or this city with its sullen heat, its stinks and sweats and crumbling bricks? “They sell eunuchs, not men. Eunuchs made of brick, like the rest of Astapor. Shall I buy eight thousand brick eunuchs with dead eyes that never move, who kill suckling babes for the sake of a spiked hat and strangle their own dogs? They don’t even have names. So don’t call them men, ser.”
“Khaleesi,” he said, taken aback by her fury, “the Unsullied are chosen as boys, and trained—”
“I have heard all I care to of their training.” Dany could feel tears welling in her eyes, sudden and unwanted. Her hand flashed up and cracked Ser Jorah hard across the face. It was either that, or cry.
Mormont touched the cheek she’d slapped. “If I have displeased my queen—”
“You have. You’ve displeased me greatly, ser. If you were my true knight, you would never have brought me to this vile sty.” If you were my true knight, you would never have kissed me, or looked at my breasts the way you did, or ...
“As Your Grace commands. I shall tell Captain Groleo to make ready to sail on the evening tide, for some sty less vile.”
“No,” said Dany. Groleo watched them from the forecastle, and his crew was watching too. Whitebeard, her bloodriders, Jhiqui, every one had stopped what they were doing at the sound of the slap. “I want to sail now, not on the tide, I want to sail far and fast and never look back. But I can’t, can I? There are eight thousand brick eunuchs for sale, and I must find some way to buy them.” And with that she left him, and went below.
~
There was a soft step behind her. “Khaleesi.” His voice. “Might I speak frankly?”
Dany did not turn. She could not bear to look at him just now. If she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness. “Say what you will, ser.”
“When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done.”
Blood and fire, thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She had known them all her life. “The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight thousand strangled dogs.”
“Your Grace,” said Jorah Mormont, “I saw King’s Landing after the Sack. Babes were butchered that day as well, and old men, and children at play. More women were raped than you can count. There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. The scent of blood is all it takes to wake him. Yet I have never heard of these Unsullied raping, nor putting a city to the sword, nor even plundering, save at the express command of those who lead them. Brick they may be, as you say, but if you buy them henceforth the only dogs they’ll kill are those you want dead. And you do have some dogs you want dead, as I recall.”
The Usurper’s dogs. “Yes.” Dany gazed off at the soft colored lights and let the cool salt breeze caress her. “You speak of sacking cities. Answer me this, ser—why have the Dothraki never sacked this city?” She pointed. “Look at the walls. You can see where they’ve begun to crumble. There, and there. Do you see any guards on those towers? I don’t. Are they hiding, ser? I saw these sons of the harpy today, all their proud highborn warriors. They dressed in linen skirts, and the fiercest thing about them was their hair. Even a modest khalasar could crack this Astapor like a nut and spill out the rotted meat inside. So tell me, why is that ugly harpy not sitting beside the godsway in Vaes Dothrak among the other stolen gods?”
“You have a dragon’s eye, Khaleesi, that’s plain to see.”
“I wanted an answer, not a compliment.”
“There are two reasons. Astapor’s brave defenders are so much chaff, it’s true. Old names and fat purses who dress up as Ghiscari scourges to pretend they still rule a vast empire. Every one is a high officer. On feastdays they fight mock wars in the pits to demonstrate what brilliant commanders they are, but it’s the eunuchs who do the dying. All the same, any enemy wanting to sack Astapor would have to know that they’d be facing Unsullied. The slavers would turn out the whole garrison in the city’s defense. The Dothraki have not ridden against Unsullied since they left their braids at the gates of Qohor.”
“And the second reason?” Dany asked.
“Who would attack Astapor?” Ser Jorah asked. “Meereen and Yunkai are rivals but not enemies, the Doom destroyed Valyria, the folk of the eastern hinterlands are all Ghiscari, and beyond the hills lies Lhazar. The Lamb Men, as your Dothraki call them, a notably unwarlike people.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but north of the slave cities is the Dothraki sea, and two dozen mighty khals who like nothing more than sacking cities and carrying off their people into slavery.”
“Carrying them off where? What good are slaves once you’ve killed the slavers? Valyria is no more, Qarth lies beyond the red waste, and the Nine Free Cities are thousands of leagues to the west. And you may be sure the sons of the harpy give lavishly to every passing khal, just as the magisters do in Pentos and Norvos and Myr. They know that if they feast the horselords and give them gifts, they will soon ride on. It’s cheaper than fighting, and a deal more certain.”
Cheaper than fighting, Dany thought. Yes, it might be. If only it could be that easy for her. How pleasant it would be to sail to King’s Landing with her dragons, and pay the boy Joffrey a chest of gold to make him go away.
“Khaleesi?” Ser Jorah prompted, when she had been silent for a long time. He touched her elbow lightly.
Dany shrugged him off. “Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar ...”
“I remember, Daenerys.”
“Your Grace,” she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”
“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone.”
“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or ‘Go forth and defend them’? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?” Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for an answer.
“My queen,” the big man said slowly, “all you say is true. But Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost the kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.”
ASOS Daenerys I
Yet even so, it was noted that none of the pit dragons ever reached the size of their ancestors. The maesters say it was because of the walls around them, and the great dome above their heads.”
“If walls could keep us small, peasants would all be tiny and kings as large as giants,” said Ser Jorah. “I’ve seen huge men born in hovels, and dwarfs who dwelt in castles.”
“Men are men,” Whitebeard replied. “Dragons are dragons.”
Ser Jorah snorted his disdain. “How profound.” The exile knight had no love for the old man, he’d made that plain from the first.
~
“A warrior without peer ... those are fine words, Your Grace, but words win no battles.”
“Swords win battles,” Ser Jorah said bluntly. “And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one.”
~
“...A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory.” He glanced at Ser Jorah. “Or a lady’s favor knotted round an arm.”
Mormont’s face darkened. “Be careful what you say, old man.”
Arstan had seen Ser Jorah fight at Lannisport, Dany knew, in the tourney Mormont had won with a lady’s favor knotted round his arm. He had won the lady too; Lynesse of House Hightower, his second wife, highborn and beautiful ... but she had ruined him, and abandoned him, and the memory of her was bitter to him now. “Be gentle, my knight.” She put a hand on Jorah’s arm. “Arstan had no wish to give offense, I’m certain.”
~
Ser Jorah watched with a frown on his blunt honest face. Mormont was big and burly, strong of jaw and thick of shoulder. Not a handsome man by any means, but as true a friend as Dany had ever known. “You would be wise to take that old man’s words well salted,” he told her when Whitebeard was out of earshot.
~
“Sit, good ser, and tell me what is troubling you.”
“Three things.” Ser Jorah sat. “Strong Belwas. This Arstan Whitebeard. And Illyrio Mopatis, who sent them.”
Again? Dany pulled the coverlet higher and tugged one end over her shoulder. “And why is that?”
“The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times,” the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other.
“Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.” Dany was not like to forget. “Mirri Maz Duur was the first.”
“Which means two traitors yet remain ... and now these two appear. I find that troubling, yes. Never forget, Robert offered a lordship to the man who slays you.”
Dany leaned forward and yanked Viserion’s tail, to pull him off his green brother. Her blanket fell away from her chest as she moved. She grabbed it hastily and covered herself again. “The Usurper is dead,” she said.
“But his son rules in his place.” Ser Jorah lifted his gaze, and his dark eyes met her own. “A dutiful son pays his father’s debts. Even blood debts.”
“This boy Joffrey might want me dead ... if he recalls that I’m alive. What has that to do with Belwas and Arstan Whitebeard? The old man does not even wear a sword. You’ve seen that.”
“Aye. And I have seen how deftly he handles that staff of his. Recall how he killed that manticore in Qarth? It might as easily have been your throat he crushed.”
“Might have been, but was not,” she pointed out. “It was a stinging manticore meant to slay me. He saved my life.”
“Khaleesi, has it occurred to you that Whitebeard and Belwas might have been in league with the assassin? It might all have been a ploy to win your trust.”
Her sudden laughter made Drogon hiss, and sent Viserion flapping to his perch above the porthole. “The ploy worked well.”
The exile knight did not return her smile. “These are Illyrio’s ships, Illyrio’s captains, Illyrio’s sailors ... and Strong Belwas and Arstan are his men as well, not yours.”
“Magister Illyrio has protected me in the past. Strong Belwas says that he wept when he heard my brother was dead.”
“Yes,” said Mormont, “but did he weep for Viserys, or for the plans he had made with him?”
“His plans need not change. Magister Illyrio is a friend to House Targaryen, and wealthy ...”
“He was not born wealthy. In the world as I have seen it, no man grows rich by kindness. The warlocks said the second treason would be for gold. What does Illyrio Mopatis love more than gold?”
“His skin.” Across the cabin Drogon stirred restlessly, steam rising from his snout. “Mirri Maz Duur betrayed me. I burned her for it.”
“Mirri Maz Duur was in your power. In Pentos, you shall be in Illyrio’s power. It is not the same. I know the magister as well as you. He is a devious man, and clever—”
“I need clever men about me if I am to win the Iron Throne.”
Ser Jorah snorted. “That wineseller who tried to poison you was a clever man as well. Clever men hatch ambitious schemes.”
Dany drew her legs up beneath the blanket. “You will protect me. You, and my bloodriders.”
“Four men? Khaleesi, you believe you know Illyrio Mopatis, very well. Yet you insist on surrounding yourself with men you do not know, like this puffed-up eunuch and the world’s oldest squire. Take a lesson from Pyat Pree and Xaro Xhoan Daxos.”
He means well, Dany reminded herself. He does all he does for love. “It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. Every man I take into my service is a risk, I understand that, but how am I to win the Seven Kingdoms without such risks? Am I to conquer Westeros with one exile knight and three Dothraki bloodriders?”
His jaw set stubbornly. “Your path is dangerous, I will not deny that. But if you blindly trust in every liar and schemer who crosses it, you will end as your brothers did.”
His obstinacy made her angry. He treats me like some child. “Strong Belwas could not scheme his way to breakfast. And what lies has Arstan Whitebeard told me?”
“He is not what he pretends to be. He speaks to you more boldly than any squire would dare.”
“He spoke frankly at my command. He knew my brother.”
“A great many men knew your brother. Your Grace, in Westeros the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard sits on the small council, and serves the king with his wits as well as his steel. If I am the first of your Queensguard, I pray you, hear me out. I have a plan to put to you.”
“What plan? Tell me.”
“Illyrio Mopatis wants you back in Pentos, under his roof. Very well, go to him ... but in your own time, and not alone. Let us see how loyal and obedient these new subjects of yours truly are. Command Groleo to change course for Slaver’s Bay.”
Dany was not certain she liked the sound of that at all. Everything she’d ever heard of the flesh marts in the great slave cities of Yunkai, Meereen, and Astapor was dire and frightening. “What is there for me in Slaver’s Bay?”
“An army,” said Ser Jorah. “If Strong Belwas is so much to your liking you can buy hundreds more like him out of the fighting pits of Meereen ... but it is Astapor I’d set my sails for. In Astapor you can buy Unsullied.”
“The slaves in the spiked bronze hats?” Dany had seen Unsullied guards in the Free Cities, posted at the gates of magisters, archons, and dynasts. “Why should I want Unsullied? They don’t even ride horses, and most of them are fat.”
“The Unsullied you may have seen in Pentos and Myr were household guards. That’s soft service, and eunuchs tend to plumpness in any case. Food is the only vice allowed them. To judge all Unsullied by a few old household slaves is like judging all squires by Arstan Whitebeard, Your Grace. Do you know the tale of the Three Thousand of Qohor?”
“No.” The coverlet slipped off Dany’s shoulder, and she tugged it back into place.
“It was four hundred years ago or more, when the Dothraki first rode out of the east, sacking and burning every town and city in their path. The khal who led them was named Temmo. His khalasar was not so big as Drogo’s, but it was big enough. Fifty thousand, at the least. Half of them braided warriors with bells ringing in their hair.
“The Qohorik knew he was coming. They strengthened their walls, doubled the size of their own guard, and hired two free companies besides, the Bright Banners and the Second Sons. And almost as an afterthought, they sent a man to Astapor to buy three thousand Unsullied. It was a long march back to Qohor, however, and as they approached they saw the smoke and dust and heard the distant din of battle.
“By the time the Unsullied reached the city the sun had set. Crows and wolves were feasting beneath the walls on what remained of the Qohorik heavy horse. The Bright Banners and Second Sons had fled, as sellswords are wont to do in the face of hopeless odds. With dark falling, the Dothraki had retired to their own camps to drink and dance and feast, but none doubted that they would return on the morrow to smash the city gates, storm the walls, and rape, loot, and slave as they pleased.
“But when dawn broke and Temmo and his bloodriders led their khalasar out of camp, they found three thousand Unsullied drawn up before the gates with the Black Goat standard flying over their heads. So small a force could easily have been flanked, but you know Dothraki. These were men on foot, and men on foot are fit only to be ridden down.
“The Dothraki charged. The Unsullied locked their shields, lowered their spears, and stood firm. Against twenty thousand screamers with bells in their hair, they stood firm.
“Eighteen times the Dothraki charged, and broke themselves on those shields and spears like waves on a rocky shore. Thrice Temmo sent his archers wheeling past and arrows fell like rain upon the Three Thousand, but the Unsullied merely lifted their shields above their heads until the squall had passed. In the end only six hundred of them remained ... but more than twelve thousand Dothraki lay dead upon that field, including Khal Temmo, his bloodriders, his kos, and all his sons. On the morning of the fourth day, the new khal led the survivors past the city gates in a stately procession. One by one, each man cut off his braid and threw it down before the feet of the Three Thousand.
“Since that day, the city guard of Qohor has been made up solely of Unsullied, every one of whom carries a tall spear from which hangs a braid of human hair.
“That is what you will find in Astapor, Your Grace. Put ashore there, and continue on to Pentos overland. It will take longer, yes ... but when you break bread with Magister Illyrio, you will have a thousand swords behind you, not just four.”
There is wisdom in this, yes, Dany thought, but ... “How am I to buy a thousand slave soldiers? All I have of value is the crown the Tourmaline Brotherhood gave me.”
“Dragons will be as great a wonder in Astapor as they were in Qarth. It may be that the slavers will shower you with gifts, as the Qartheen did. If not ... these ships carry more than your Dothraki and their horses. They took on trade goods at Qarth, I’ve been through the holds and seen for myself. Bolts of silk and bales of tiger skin, amber and jade carvings, saffron, myrrh ... slaves are cheap, Your Grace. Tiger skins are costly.”
“Those are Illyrio’s tiger skins,” she objected.
“And Illyrio is a friend to House Targaryen.”
“All the more reason not to steal his goods.”
“What use are wealthy friends if they will not put their wealth at your disposal, my queen? If Magister Illyrio would deny you, he is only Xaro Xhoan Daxos with four chins. And if he is sincere in his devotion to your cause, he will not begrudge you three shiploads of trade goods. What better use for his tiger skins than to buy you the beginnings of an army?”
That’s true. Dany felt a rising excitement. “There will be dangers on such a long march ...”
“There are dangers at sea as well. Corsairs and pirates hunt the southern route, and north of Valyria the Smoking Sea is demon- haunted. The next storm could sink or scatter us, a kraken could pull us under ... or we might find ourselves becalmed again, and die of thirst as we wait for the wind to rise. A march will have different dangers, my queen, but none greater.”
“What if Captain Groleo refuses to change course, though? And Arstan, Strong Belwas, what will they do?”
Ser Jorah stood. “Perhaps it’s time you found that out.”
“Yes,” she decided. “I’ll do it!” Dany threw back the coverlets and hopped from the bunk. “I’ll see the captain at once, command him to set course for Astapor.” She bent over her chest, threw open the lid, and seized the first garment to hand, a pair of loose sandsilk trousers. “Hand me my medallion belt,” she commanded Jorah as she pulled the sandsilk up over her hips. “And my vest—” she started to say, turning. Ser Jorah slid his arms around her.
“Oh,” was all Dany had time to say as he pulled her close and pressed his lips down on hers. He smelled of sweat and salt and leather, and the iron studs on his jerkin dug into her naked breasts as he crushed her hard against him. One hand held her by the shoulder while the other slid down her spine to the small of her back, and her mouth opened for his tongue, though she never told it to. His beard is scratchy, she thought, but his mouth is sweet. The Dothraki wore no beards, only long mustaches, and only Khal Drogo had ever kissed her before. He should not be doing this. I am his queen, not his woman.
It was a long kiss, though how long Dany could not have said. When it ended, Ser Jorah let go of her, and she took a quick step backward. “You ... you should not have ...”
“I should not have waited so long,” he finished for her. “I should have kissed you in Qarth, in Vaes Tolorru. I should have kissed you in the red waste, every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well.” His eyes were on her breasts.
Dany covered them with her hands, before her nipples could betray her. “I ... that was not fitting. I am your queen.”
“My queen,” he said, “and the bravest, sweetest, and most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Daenerys—”
“Your Grace!”
“Your Grace,” he conceded, “the dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here’s your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders.”
“Yes,” said Dany, “but my brothers are dead.”
“Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon’s wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands. And I tell you truly, Daenerys, there is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me.”
A Clash of Kings
ACOK Daenerys V
Ser Jorah would sooner have tucked her inside her palanquin, safely hidden behind silken curtains, but she refused him. She had reclined too long on satin cushions, letting oxen bear her hither and yon. At least when she rode she felt as though she was getting somewhere.
~
But where am I to go? Ser Jorah proposed that they journey farther east, away from her enemies in the Seven Kingdoms. Her bloodriders would sooner have returned to their great grass sea, even if it meant braving the red waste again. Dany herself had toyed with the idea of settling in Vaes Tolorro until her dragons grew great and strong. But her heart was full of doubts. Each of these felt wrong, somehow ... and even when she decided where to go, the question of how she would get there remained troublesome.
~
“The dragon has three heads,” she sighed. “Do you know what that means, Jorah?”
“Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black.”
“I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons.”
“The three heads were Aegon and his sisters.”
“Visenya and Rhaenys,” she recalled. “I am descended from Aegon and Rhaenys through their son Aenys and their grandson Jaehaerys.”
“Blue lips speak only lies, isn’t that what Xaro told you? Why do you care what the warlocks whispered? All they wanted was to suck the life from you, you know that now.”
“Perhaps,” she said reluctantly. “Yet the things I saw ...”
“A dead man in the prow of a ship, a blue rose, a banquet of blood ... what does any of it mean, Khaleesi? A mummer’s dragon, you said. What is a mummer’s dragon, pray?”
“A cloth dragon on poles,” Dany explained. “Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight.”
Ser Jorah frowned.
Dany could not let it go. “His is the song of ice and fire, my brother said. I’m certain it was my brother. Not Viserys, Rhaegar. He had a harp with silver strings.”
Ser Jorah’s frown deepened until his eyebrows came together. “Prince Rhaegar played such a harp,” he conceded. “You saw him?”
She nodded. “There was a woman in a bed with a babe at her breast. My brother said the babe was the prince that was promised and told her to name him Aegon.”
“Prince Aegon was Rhaegar’s heir by Elia of Dorne,” Ser Jorah said. “But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall.”
“I remember,” Dany said sadly. “They murdered Rhaegar’s daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon’s sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?”
“It’s no song I’ve ever heard.”
“I went to the warlocks hoping for answers, but instead they’ve left me with a hundred new questions.”
ACOK Daenerys IV
“What power can they have if they live in that?”
~
Ser Jorah Mormont gave the merchant prince a sour look. “Your Grace, remember Mirri Maz Duur.”
“I do,” Dany said, suddenly decided. “I remember that she had knowledge. And she was only a maegi.”
~
Ser Jorah Mormont knelt beside Dany in the cool green grass and put his arm around her shoulder.
ACOK Daenerys III
Ser Jorah she had left behind today, to guard her other dragons; the exile knight had been opposed to this folly from the start. He distrusts everyone, she reflected, and perhaps for good reason.
~
Xaro’s flowery protestations of passion amused her, but his manner was at odds with his words. While Ser Jorah had scarcely been able to keep his eyes from her bare breast when he’d helped her into the palanquin, Xaro hardly deigned to notice it, even in these close confines.
~
Ser Jorah Mormont came to her as the sun was going down. “The Pureborn refused you?”
“As you said they would. Come, sit, give me your counsel.” [...]
“You will get no help in this city, Khaleesi.” Ser Jorah took an onion between thumb and forefinger. “Each day I am more convinced of that than the day before. The Pureborn see no farther than the walls of Qarth, and Xaro ...”
“He asked me to marry him again.”
“Yes, and I know why.” When the knight frowned, his heavy black brows joined together above his deep-set eyes.
“He dreams of me, day and night.” She laughed.
“Forgive me, my queen, but it is your dragons he dreams of.”
“Xaro assures me that in Qarth, man and woman each retain their own property after they are wed. The dragons are mine.” She smiled as Drogon came hopping and flapping across the marble floor to crawl up on the cushion beside her.
“He tells it true as far as it goes, but there’s one thing he failed to mention. The Qartheen have a curious wedding custom, my queen. On the day of their union, a wife may ask a token of love from her husband. Whatsoever she desires of his worldly goods, he must grant. And he may ask the same of her. One thing only may be asked, but whatever is named may not be denied.”
“One thing,” she repeated. “And it may not be denied?”
“With one dragon, Xaro Xhoan Daxos would rule this city, but one ship will further our cause but little.”
Dany nibbled at an onion and reflected ruefully on the faithlessness of men. “We passed through the bazaar on our way back from the Hall of a Thousand Thrones,” she told Ser Jorah. “Quaithe was there.” She told him of the firemage and the fiery ladder, and what the woman in the red mask had told her.
“I would be glad to leave this city, if truth be told,” the knight said when she was done. “But not for Asshai.”
“Where, then?”
“East,” he said.
“I am half a world away from my kingdom even here. If I go any farther east I may never find my way home to Westeros.”
“If you go west, you risk your life.”
“House Targaryen has friends in the Free Cities,” she reminded him. “Truer friends than Xaro or the Pureborn.”
“If you mean Illyrio Mopatis, I wonder. For sufficient gold, Illyrio would sell you as quickly as he would a slave.”
“My brother and I were guests in Illyrio’s manse for half a year. If he meant to sell us, he could have done it then.”
“He did sell you,” Ser Jorah said. “To Khal Drogo.”
Dany flushed. He had the truth of it, but she did not like the sharpness with which he put it. “Illyrio protected us from the Usurper’s knives, and he believed in my brother’s cause.”
“Illyrio believes in no cause but Illyrio. Gluttons are greedy men as a rule, and magisters are devious. Illyrio Mopatis is both. What do you truly know of him?”
“I know that he gave me my dragon eggs.”
He snorted. “If he’d known they were like to hatch, he would have sat on them himself.”
That made her smile despite herself. “Oh, I have no doubt of that, ser. I know Illyrio better than you think. I was a child when I left his manse in Pentos to wed my sun-and-stars, but I was neither deaf nor blind. And I am no child now.”
“Even if Illyrio is the friend you think him,” the knight said stubbornly, “he is not powerful enough to enthrone you by himself, no more than he could your brother.”
“He is rich,” she said. “Not so rich as Xaro, perhaps, but rich enough to hire ships for me, and men as well.”
“Sellswords have their uses,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but you will not win your father’s throne with sweepings from the Free Cities. Nothing knits a broken realm together so quick as an invading army on its soil.”
“I am their rightful queen,” Dany protested.
“You are a stranger who means to land on their shores with an army of outlanders who cannot even speak the Common Tongue. The lords of Westeros do not know you, and have every reason to fear and mistrust you. You must win them over before you sail. A few at least.”
“And how am I to do that, if I go east as you counsel?”
He ate an olive and spit out the pit into his palm. “I do not know, Your Grace,” he admitted, “but I do know that the longer you remain in one place, the easier it will be for your enemies to find you. The name Targaryen still frightens them, so much so that they sent a man to murder you when they heard you were with child. What will they do when they learn of your dragons?”
ACOK Daenerys II
My great bear, Dany thought. I am his queen, but I will always be his cub as well, and he will always guard me. It made her feel safe, but sad as well. She wished she could love him better than she did.
~
“Ser Jorah, find the docks and see what manner of ships lay at anchor. It has been half a year since I last heard tidings from the Seven Kingdoms.[”] [...]
The knight frowned. [...] “My place is here at your side.”
“Jhogo can guard me as well.[”] [...]
Reluctantly, the exile nodded. “As you say, my queen.”
~
“Khaleesi,” the knight said when they were alone, “I should not speak so freely of your plans, if I were you. This man will spread the tale wherever he goes now.”
“Let him,” she said. “Let the whole world know my purpose. The Usurper is dead, what does it matter?”
“Not every sailor’s tale is true,” Ser Jorah cautioned, “and even if Robert be truly dead, his son rules in his place. This changes nothing, truly.”
“This changes everything.”
~
“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? “I am not the frightened girl you met in Pentos. I have counted only fifteen name days, true ... but I am as old as the crones in the dosh khaleen and as young as my dragons, Jorah. I have borne a child, burned a khal, and crossed the red waste and the Dothraki sea. Mine is the blood of the dragon.”
“As was your brother’s,” he said stubbornly.
“I am not Viserys.”
“No,” he admitted. “There is more of Rhaegar in you, I think, but even Rhaegar could be slain. Robert proved that on the Trident, with no more than a warhammer. Even dragons can die.”
“Dragons die.” She stood on her toes to kiss him lightly on an unshaven cheek. “But so do dragonslayers.”
ACOK Daenerys I
The knight’s face was grey and exhausted. The wound he had taken to his hip the night he fought Khal Drogo’s bloodriders had never fully healed; she could see how he grimaced when he mounted his horse, and he seemed to slump in his saddle as they rode. “Perhaps we are doomed if we press on . . . but I know for a certainty that we are doomed if we turn back.”
Dany kissed him lightly on the cheek. It heartened her to see him smile. I must be strong for him as well, she thought grimly. A knight he may be, but I am the blood of the dragon.
~
“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. “Tell me the name of your ghost, Jorah. You know all of mine.”
His face grew very still. “Her name was Lynesse.” “Your wife?”
“My second wife.”
It pains him to speak of her, Dany saw, but she wanted to know the truth. “Is that all you would say of her?” The lion pelt slid off one shoulder and she tugged it back into place. “Was she beautiful?”
“Very beautiful.” Ser Jorah lifted his eyes from her shoulder to her face. “The first time I beheld her, I thought she was a goddess come to earth, the Maid herself made flesh. Her birth was far above my own. She was the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower of Oldtown. The White Bull who commanded your father’s Kingsguard was her great-uncle. The Hightowers are an ancient family, very rich and very proud.”
“And loyal,” Dany said. “I remember, Viserys said the Hightowers were among those who stayed true to my father.”
“That’s so,” he admitted.
“Did your fathers make the match?”
“No,” he said. “Our marriage . . . that makes a long tale and a dull one, Your Grace. I would not trouble you with it.”
“I have nowhere to go,” she said. “Please.”
“As my queen commands.” Ser Jorah frowned. “My home . . . you must understand that to understand the rest. Bear Island is beautiful, but remote. Imagine old gnarled oaks and tall pines, flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. The hall of the Mormonts is built of huge logs and surrounded by an earthen palisade. Aside from a few crofters, my people live along the coasts and fish the seas. The island lies far to the north, and our winters are more terrible than you can imagine, Khaleesi.”
“Still, the island suited me well enough, and I never lacked for women. I had my share of fishwives and crofter’s daughters, before and after I was wed. I married young, to a bride of my father’s choosing, a Glover of Deepwood Motte. Ten years we were wed, or near enough as makes no matter. She was a plain-faced woman, but not unkind. I suppose I came to love her after a fashion, though our relations were dutiful rather than passionate. Three times she miscarried while trying to give me an heir. The last time she never recovered. She died not long after.”
Dany put her hand on his and gave his fingers a squeeze. “I am sorry for you, truly.”
Ser Jorah nodded. “By then my father had taken the black, so I was Lord of Bear Island in my own right. I had no lack of marriage offers, but before I could reach a decision Lord Balon Greyjoy rose in rebellion against the Usurper, and Ned Stark called his banners to help his friend Robert. The final battle was on Pyke. When Robert’s stonethrowers opened a breach in King Balon’s wall, a priest from Myr was the first man through, but I was not far behind. For that I won my knighthood.”
“To celebrate his victory, Robert ordained that a tourney should be held outside Lannisport. It was there I saw Lynesse, a maid half my age. She had come up from Oldtown with her father to see her brothers joust. I could not take my eyes off her. In a fit of madness, I begged her favor to wear in the tourney, never dreaming she would grant my request, yet she did.”
“I fight as well as any man, Khaleesi, but I have never been a tourney knight. Yet with Lynesse’s favor knotted round my arm, I was a different man. I won joust after joust. Lord Jason Mallister fell before me, and Bronze Yohn Royce. Ser Ryman Frey, his brother Ser Hosteen, Lord Whent, Strongboar, even Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard, I unhorsed them all. In the last match, I broke nine lances against Jaime Lannister to no result, and King Robert gave me the champion’s laurel. I crowned Lynesse queen of love and beauty, and that very night went to her father and asked for her hand. I was drunk, as much on glory as on wine. By rights I should have gotten a contemptuous refusal, but Lord Leyton accepted my offer. We were married there in Lannisport, and for a fortnight I was the happiest man in the wide world.”
“Only a fortnight?” asked Dany. Even I was given more happiness than that, with Drogo who was my sun-and-stars.
“A fortnight was how long it took us to sail from Lannisport back to Bear Island. My home was a great disappointment to Lynesse. It was too cold, too damp, too far away, my castle no more than a wooden longhall. We had no masques, no mummer shows, no balls or fairs. Seasons might pass without a singer ever coming to play for us, and there’s not a goldsmith on the island. Even meals became a trial. My cook knew little beyond his roasts and stews, and Lynesse soon lost her taste for fish and venison.”
“I lived for her smiles, so I sent all the way to Oldtown for a new cook, and brought a harper from Lannisport. Goldsmiths, jewelers, dressmakers, whatever she wanted I found for her, but it was never enough. Bear Island is rich in bears and trees, and poor in aught else. I built a fine ship for her and we sailed to Lannisport and Oldtown for festivals and fairs, and once even to Braavos, where I borrowed heavily from the moneylenders. It was as a tourney champion that I had won her hand and heart, so I entered other tourneys for her sake, but the magic was gone. I never distinguished myself again, and each defeat meant the loss of another charger and another suit of jousting armor, which must needs be ransomed or replaced. The cost could not be borne. Finally I insisted we return home, but there matters soon grew even worse than before. I could no longer pay the cook and the harper, and Lynesse grew wild when I spoke of pawning her jewels.”
“The rest . . . I did things it shames me to speak of. For gold. So Lynesse might keep her jewels, her harper, and her cook. In the end it cost me all. When I heard that Eddard Stark was coming to Bear Island, I was so lost to honor that rather than stay and face his judgment, I took her with me into exile. Nothing mattered but our love, I told myself. We fled to Lys, where I sold my ship for gold to keep us.”
His voice was thick with grief, and Dany was reluctant to press him any further, yet she had to know how it ended. “Did she die there?” she asked him gently.
“Only to me,” he said. “In half a year my gold was gone, and I was obliged to take service as a sellsword. While I was fighting Braavosi on the Rhoyne, Lynesse moved into the manse of a merchant prince named Tregar Ormollen. They say she is his chief concubine now, and even his wife goes in fear of her.”
Dany was horrified. “Do you hate her?”
“Almost as much as I love her,” Ser Jorah answered. “Pray excuse me, my queen. I find I am very tired.”
She gave him leave to go, but as he was lifting the flap of her tent, she could not stop herself calling after him with one last question. “What did she look like, your Lady Lynesse?”
Ser Jorah smiled sadly. “Why, she looked a bit like you, Daenerys.” He bowed low. “Sleep well, my queen.”
Dany shivered, and pulled the lionskin tight about her. She looked like me. It explained much that she had not truly understood. He wants me, she realized. He loves me as he loved her, not as a knight loves his queen but as a man loves a woman. She tried to imagine herself in Ser Jorah’s arms, kissing him, pleasuring him, letting him enter her. It was no good. When she closed her eyes, his face kept changing into Drogo’s.
[...] She had heard the longing in Ser Jorah’s voice when he spoke of his Bear Island. He can never have me, but one day I can give him back his home and honor. That much I can do for him.
A Game of Thrones
AGOT Daenerys X
“Princess ...” he began.
“Why do you call me that?” Dany challenged him. “My brother Viserys was your king, was he not?”
“He was, my lady.”
“Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is mine now.”
“My ... queen,” Ser Jorah said, going to one knee. “My sword that was his is yours, Daenerys. And my heart as well, that never belonged to your brother. I am only a knight, and I have nothing to offer you but exile, but I beg you, hear me. Let Khal Drogo go. You shall not be alone. I promise you, no man shall take you to Vaes Dothrak unless you wish to go. You need not join the dosh khaleen. Come east with me. Yi Ti, Qarth, the Jade Sea, Asshai by the Shadow. We will see all the wonders yet unseen, and drink what wines the gods see fit to serve us. Please, Khaleesi. I know what you intend. Do not. Do not.”
“I must,” Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. “You do not understand.”
“I understand that you loved him,” Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. “I loved my lady wife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me to stand aside as you climb on Drogo’s pyre. I will not watch you burn.”
“Is that what you fear?” Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead. “I am not such a child as that, sweet ser.”
“You do not mean to die with him? You swear it, my queen?”
“I swear it,” she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers.
~
She nodded, as calmly as if she had not heard his answer, and turned to the last of her champions. “Ser Jorah Mormont,” she said, “first and greatest of my knights, I have no bride gift to give you, but I swear to you, one day you shall have from my hands a longsword like none the world has ever seen, dragon-forged and made of Valyrian steel. And I would ask for your oath as well.”
“You have it, my queen,” Ser Jorah said, kneeling to lay his sword at her feet. “I vow to serve you, to obey you, to die for you if need be.”
“Whatever may come?”
“Whatever may come.”
“I shall hold you to that oath. I pray you never regret the giving of it.” Dany lifted him to his feet. Stretching on her toes to reach his lips, she kissed the knight gently and said, “You are the first of my Queensguard.”
~
“Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind her to the pyre.”
“To the ... my queen, no, hear me ...”
“Do as I say.” Still he hesitated, until her anger flared. “You swore to obey me, whatever might come. Rakharo, help him.”
~
Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. [...] She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE?
~
When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away ... yet she was unhurt.
The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.
Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.
And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.
AGOT Daenerys IX
Ser Jorah Mormont lifted her in his arms and carried her back to her sleeping silks, while she struggled feebly against him. Over his shoulder she saw her three handmaids, Jhogo with his little wisp of mustache, and the flat broad face of Mirri Maz Duur. “I must,” she tried to tell them, “I have to ...”
“ ... sleep, Princess,” Ser Jorah said.
“No,” Dany said. “Please. Please.”
“Yes.” He covered her with silk, though she was burning. “Sleep and grow strong again, Khaleesi. Come back to us.”
~
“I want Ser Jorah,” she said, standing.
~
Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing over the other dragon’s eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as hot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange. “Ser Jorah, come here,” she said. She took his hand and placed it on the black egg with the scarlet swirls. “What do you feel?”
“Shell, hard as rock.” The knight was wary. “Scales.”
“Heat?”
“No. Cold stone.” He took his hand away. “Princess, are you well? Should you be up, weak as you are?”
“Weak? I am strong, Jorah.” To please him, she reclined on a pile of cushions. “Tell me how my child died.”
“He never lived, my princess. The women say ...” He faltered, and Dany saw how the flesh hung loose on him, and the way he limped when he moved.
“Tell me. Tell me what the women say.”
He turned his face away. His eyes were haunted. “They say the child was ...”
She waited, but Ser Jorah could not say it. His face grew dark with shame. He looked half a corpse himself.
“Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous. “Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I touched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and the stink of corruption. He had been dead for years.”
Darkness, Dany thought. The terrible darkness sweeping up behind to devour her. If she looked back she was lost. “My son was alive and strong when Ser Jorah carried me into this tent,” she said. “I could feel him kicking, fighting to be born.”
“That may be as it may be,” answered Mirri Maz Duur, “yet the creature that came forth from your womb was as I said. Death was in that tent, Khaleesi.”
“Only shadows,” Ser Jorah husked, but Dany could hear the doubt in his voice. “I saw, maegi. I saw you, alone, dancing with the shadows. “
“The grave casts long shadows, Iron Lord,” Mirri said. “Long and dark, and in the end no light can hold them back.”
Ser Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty, yet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the darkness. He knew it too; the grey face, the hollow eyes, the limp. “The shadows have touched you too, Ser Jorah,” she told him. The knight made no reply. Dany turned to the godswife. “You warned me that only death could pay for life. I thought you meant the horse.”
“No,” Mirri Maz Duur said. “That was a lie you told yourself. You knew the price.”
Had she? Had she? If I look back I am lost. “The price was paid,” Dany said. “The horse, my child, Quaro and Qotho, Haggo and Cohollo. The price was paid and paid and paid.” She rose from her cushions. “Where is Khal Drogo? Show him to me, godswife, maegi, bloodmage, whatever you are. Show me Khal Drogo. Show me what I bought with my son’s life.”
“As you command, Khaleesi,” the old woman said. “Come, I will take you to him.” Dany was weaker than she knew. Ser Jorah slipped an arm around her and helped her stand. “Time enough for this later, my princess,” he said quietly.
“I would see him now, Ser Jorah.”
AGOT Daenerys VIII
“Khaleesi,” he said, “the Andal is come, and begs leave to enter.”
“The Andal” was what the Dothraki called Ser Jorah. “Yes,” she said, rising clumsily, “send him in.” She trusted the knight. He would know what to do if anyone did.
Ser Jorah Mormont ducked through the door flap and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. In the fierce heat of the south, he wore loose trousers of mottled sandsilk and open-toed riding sandals that laced up to his knee. His scabbard hung from a twisted horsehair belt. Under a bleached white vest, he was bare-chested, skin reddened by the sun. “Talk goes from mouth to ear, all over the khalasar,” he said. “It is said Khal Drogo fell from his horse.”
“Help him,” Dany pleaded. “For the love you say you bear me, help him now.”
The knight knelt beside her. He looked at Drogo long and hard, and then at Dany. “Send your maids away.”
Wordlessly, her throat tight with fear, Dany made a gesture. Irri herded the other girls from the tent.
When they were alone, Ser Jorah drew his dagger. Deftly, with a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he began to scrape away the black leaves and dried blue mud from Drogo’s chest. The plaster had caked hard as the mud walls of the Lamb Men, and like those walls it cracked easily. Ser Jorah broke the dry mud with his knife, pried the chunks from the flesh, peeled off the leaves one by one. A foul, sweet smell rose from the wound, so thick it almost choked her. The leaves were crusted with blood and pus, Drogo’s breast black and glistening with corruption.
“No,” Dany whispered as tears ran down her cheeks. “No, please, gods hear me, no.”
Khal Drogo thrashed, fighting some unseen enemy. Black blood ran slow and thick from his open wound.
“Your khal is good as dead, Princess.”
“No, he can’t die, he mustn’t, it was only a cut.” Dany took his large callused hand in her own small ones, and held it tight between them. “I will not let him die ...”
Ser Jorah gave a bitter laugh. “Khaleesi or queen, that command is beyond your power. Save your tears, child. Weep for him tomorrow, or a year from now. We do not have time for grief. We must go, and quickly, before he dies.”
Dany was lost. “Go? Where should we go?”
“Asshai, I would say. It lies far to the south, at the end of the known world, yet men say it is a great port. We will find a ship to take us back to Pentos. It will be a hard journey, make no mistake. Do you trust your khas? Will they come with us?”
“Khal Drogo commanded them to keep me safe,” Dany replied uncertainly, “but if he dies ...” She touched the swell of her belly. “I don’t understand. Why should we flee? I am khaleesi. I carry Drogo’s heir. He will be khal after Drogo ...”
Ser Jorah frowned. “Princess, hear me. The Dothraki will not follow a suckling babe. Drogo’s strength was what they bowed to, and only that. When he is gone, Jhaqo and Pono and the other kos will fight for his place, and this khalasar will devour itself. The winner will want no more rivals. The boy will be taken from your breast the moment he is born. They will give him to the dogs ...”
Dany hugged herself. “But why?” she cried plaintively. “Why should they kill a little baby?”
“He is Drogo’s son, and the crones say he will be the stallion who mounts the world. It was prophesied. Better to kill the child than to risk his fury when he grows to manhood.”
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. “I will order my khas to keep him safe, and Drogo’s bloodriders will—”
Ser Jorah held her by the shoulders. “A bloodrider dies with his khal. You know that, child. They will take you to Vaes Dothrak, to the crones, that is the last duty they owe him in life ... when it is done, they will join Drogo in the night lands.”
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.”
~
“No? You say me no? Better you should pray that we do not stake you out beside your maegi. You did this, as much as the other.”
Ser Jorah stepped between them, loosening his longsword in its scabbard. “Rein in your tongue, bloodrider. The princess is still your khaleesi.”
~
She saw Ser Jorah Mormont, wearing mail and leather now, sweat beading on his broad, balding forehead. He pushed his way through the Dothraki to Dany’s side. When he saw the scarlet footprints her boots had left on the ground, the color seemed to drain from his face. “What have you done, you little fool?” he asked hoarsely.
“I had to save him.”
“We could have fled,” he said. “I would have seen you safe to Asshai, Princess. There was no need ...”
“Am I truly your princess?” she asked him.
“You know you are, gods save us both.”
“Then help me now.”
Ser Jorah grimaced. “Would that I knew how.”
~
An arm went under her waist, and then Ser Jorah was lifting her off her feet. His face was sticky with blood, and Dany saw that half his ear was gone. She convulsed in his arms as the pain took her again, and heard the knight shouting for her handmaids to help him.
[...] “Come here. Fetch the birthing women.”
“They will not come. They say she is accursed.”
“They’ll come or I’ll have their heads.”
AGOT Daenerys VII
Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver’s Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.
“I’ve told the khal he ought to make for Meereen,” Ser Jorah said. “They’ll pay a better price than he’d get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them.”
Behind them, the girl being raped made a heartrending sound, a long sobbing wail that went on and on and on. Dany’s hand clenched hard around the reins, and she turned the silver’s head. “Make them stop,” she commanded Ser Jorah.
“Khaleesi?” The knight sounded perplexed.
[...] 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.”
[...] “I will not have her harmed,” Dany said. “I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal Drogo will know the reason why.”
[...] The knight gave her a curious look. “You are your brother’s sister, in truth.”
“Viserys?” She did not understand.
“No,” he answered. “Rhaegar.” He galloped off.
~
Each time Dany reined up, sent her khas to make an end to it, and claimed the victim as slave. One of them, a thick-bodied, flat-nosed woman of forty years, blessed Dany haltingly in the Common Tongue, but from the others she got only flat black stares. They were suspicious of her, she realized with sadness; afraid that she had saved them for some worse fate.
“You cannot claim them all, child,” Ser Jorah said, the fourth time they stopped, while the warriors of her khas herded her new slaves behind her.
“I am khaleesi, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of the dragon,” Dany reminded him. “It is not for you to tell me what I cannot do.” Across the city, a building collapsed in a great gout of fire and smoke, and she heard distant screams and the wailing of frightened children.
AGOT Daenerys VI
“My princess. How may I serve you?”
“You must talk to my lord husband,” Dany said. “Drogo says the stallion who mounts the world will have all the lands of the earth to rule, and no need to cross the poison water. He talks of leading his khalasar east after Rhaego is born, to plunder the lands around the Jade Sea.”
The knight looked thoughtful. “The khal has never seen the Seven Kingdoms,” he said. “They are nothing to him. If he thinks of them at all, no doubt he thinks of islands, a few small cities clinging to rocks in the manner of Lorath or Lys, surrounded by stormy seas. The riches of the east must seem a more tempting prospect.”
“But he must ride west,” Dany said, despairing. “Please, help me make him understand.” 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.
“The Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons,” the knight answered. “Have patience, Princess. Do not make your brother’s mistake. We will go home, I promise you.”
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?
Ser Jorah must have seen the sadness on her face. “A great caravan arrived during the night, Khaleesi. Four hundred horses, from Pentos by way of Norvos and Qohor, under the command of Merchant Captain Byan Votyris. Illyrio may have sent a letter. Would you care to visit the Western Market?”
Dany stirred. “Yes,” she said. “I would like that.”
~
“If you would pardon me for a time, I will seek out the captain and see if he has letters for us.”
“Very well. I’ll help you find him.”
“There is no need for you to trouble yourself.” Ser Jorah glanced away impatiently. “Enjoy the market. I will rejoin you when my business is concluded.”
Curious, Dany thought as she watched him stride off through the throngs. She didn’t see why she should not go with him. Perhaps Ser Jorah meant to find a woman after he met with the merchant captain. Whores frequently traveled with the caravans, she knew, and some men were queerly shy about their couplings. She gave a shrug.
~
She did not realize that Ser Jorah had returned until she heard the knight say, “No.” His voice was strange, brusque. “Aggo, put down that cask.”
Aggo looked at Dany. She gave a hesitant nod. “Ser Jorah, is something wrong?”
“I have a thirst. Open it, wineseller.”
The merchant frowned. “The wine is for the khaleesi, not for the likes of you, ser.”
Ser Jorah moved closer to the stall. “If you don’t open it, I’ll crack it open with your head.” He carried no weapons here in the sacred city, save his hands—yet his hands were enough, big, hard, dangerous, his knuckles covered with coarse dark hairs. The wineseller hesitated a moment, then took up his hammer and knocked the plug from the cask.
“Pour,” Ser Jorah commanded. The four young warriors of Dany’s khas arrayed themselves behind him, frowning, watching with their dark, almond-shaped eyes.
“It would be a crime to drink this rich a wine without letting it breathe.” The wineseller had not put his hammer down.
Jhogo reached for the whip coiled at his belt, but Dany stopped him with a light touch on the arm. “Do as Ser Jorah says,” she said. People were stopping to watch.
The man gave her a quick, sullen glance. “As the princess commands.” He had to set aside his hammer to lift the cask. He filled two thimble-sized tasting cups, pouring so deftly he did not spill a drop.
Ser Jorah lifted a cup and sniffed at the wine, frowning.
“Sweet, isn’t it?” the wineseller said, smiling. “Can you smell the fruit, ser? The perfume of the Arbor. Taste it, my lord, and tell me it isn’t the finest, richest wine that’s ever touched your tongue.”
Ser Jorah offered him the cup. “You taste it first.”
“Me?” The man laughed. “I am not worthy of this vintage, my lord. And it’s a poor wine merchant who drinks up his own wares.” His smile was amiable, yet she could see the sheen of sweat on his brow.
“You will drink,” Dany said, cold as ice. “Empty the cup, or I will tell them to hold you down while Ser Jorah pours the whole cask down your throat.”
The wineseller shrugged, reached for the cup ... and grabbed the cask instead, flinging it at her with both hands. Ser Jorah bulled into her, knocking her out of the way. The cask bounced off his shoulder and smashed open on the ground. Dany stumbled and lost her feet. “No,” she screamed, thrusting her hands out to break her fall ... and Doreah caught her by the arm and wrenched her backward, so she landed on her legs and not her belly.
The trader vaulted over the stall, darting between Aggo and Rakharo. Quaro reached for an arakh that was not there as the blond man slammed him aside. He raced down the aisle. Dany heard the snap of Jhogo’s whip, saw the leather lick out and coil around the wineseller’s leg. The man sprawled face first in the dirt.
A dozen caravan guards had come running. With them was the master himself, Merchant Captain Byan Votyris, a diminutive Norvoshi with skin like old leather and a bristling blue mustachio that swept up to his ears. He seemed to know what had happened without a word being spoken. “Take this one away to await the pleasure of the khal,” he commanded, gesturing at the man on the ground. Two guards hauled the wineseller to his feet. “His goods I gift to you as well, Princess,” the merchant captain went on. “Small token of regret, that one of mine would do this thing.”
Doreah and Jhiqui helped Dany back to her feet. The poisoned wine was leaking from the broken cask into the dirt. “How did you know?” she asked Ser Jorah, trembling. “How?”
“I did not know, Khaleesi, not until the man refused to drink, but once I read Magister Illyrio’s letter, I feared.” His dark eyes swept over the faces of the strangers in the market. “Come. Best not to talk of it here.”
AGOT Daenerys V
“Where is my brother?” Dany asked. “He ought to have come by now, for the feast.”
“I saw His Grace this morning,” he told her. “He told me he was going to the Western Market, in search of wine.”
“Wine?” Dany said doubtfully. Viserys could not abide the taste of the fermented mare’s milk the Dothraki drank, she knew that, and he was oft at the bazaars these days, drinking with the traders who came in the great caravans from east and west. He seemed to find their company more congenial than hers.
“Wine,” Ser Jorah confirmed, “and he has some thought to recruit men for his army from the sellswords who guard the caravans.” A serving girl laid a blood pie in front of him, and he attacked it with both hands.
“Is that wise?” she asked. “He has no gold to pay soldiers. What if he’s betrayed?” Caravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head. “You ought to have gone with him, to keep him safe. You are his sworn sword.”
“We are in Vaes Dothrak,” he reminded her. “No one may carry a blade here or shed a man’s blood.”
“Yet men die,” she said. “Jhogo told me. Some of the traders have eunuchs with them, huge men who strangle thieves with wisps of silk. That way no blood is shed and the gods are not angered.”
“Then let us hope your brother will be wise enough not to steal anything.” Ser Jorah wiped the grease off his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned close over the table. “He had planned to take your dragon’s eggs, until I warned him that I’d cut off his hand if he so much as touched them.”
For a moment Dany was so shocked she had no words. “My eggs ... but they’re mine, Magister Illyrio gave them to me, a bride gift, why would Viserys want ... they’re only stones ...”
“The same could be said of rubies and diamonds and fire opals, Princess ... and dragon’s eggs are rarer by far. Those traders he’s been drinking with would sell their own manhoods for even one of those stones, and with all three Viserys could buy as many sellswords as he might need.”
Dany had not known, had not even suspected. “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.”
~
Ser Jorah had made his way to Dany’s side. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Turn away, my princess, I beg you.”
“No.” She folded her arms across the swell of her belly, protectively.
AGOT Daenerys IV
After the day in the grass when she had left him to walk back to the khalasar, the Dothraki had laughingly called him Khal Rhae Mhar, the Sorefoot King. Khal Drogo had offered him a place in a cart the next day, and Viserys had accepted. In his stubborn ignorance, he had not even known he was being mocked; the carts were for eunuchs, cripples, women giving birth, the very young and the very old. That won him yet another name: Khal Rhaggat, the Cart King. Her brother had thought it was the khal’s way of apologizing for the wrong Dany had done him. She had begged Ser Jorah not to tell him the truth, lest he be shamed. The knight had replied that the king could well do with a bit of shame ... yet he had done as she bid.
~
“I pray that my sun-and-stars will not keep him waiting too long,” she told Ser Jorah when her brother was out of earshot.
The knight looked after Viserys doubtfully. “Your brother should have bided his time in Pentos. There is no place for him in a khalasar. Illyrio tried to warn him.”
“He will go as soon as he has his ten thousand. My lord husband promised a golden crown.”
Ser Jorah grunted. “Yes, Khaleesi, but ... the Dothraki look on these things differently than we do in the west. I have told him as much, as Illyrio told him, but your brother does not listen. The horselords are no traders. Viserys thinks he sold you, and now he wants his price. Yet Khal Drogo would say he had you as a gift. He will give Viserys a gift in return, yes ... in his own time. You do not demand a gift, not of a khal. You do not demand anything of a khal.”
“It is not right to make him wait.” Dany did not know why she was defending her brother, yet she was. “Viserys says he could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers.”
Ser Jorah snorted. “Viserys could not sweep a stable with ten thousand brooms.”
Dany could not pretend to surprise at the disdain in his tone. “What ... what if it were not Viserys?” she asked. “If it were someone else who led them? Someone stronger? Could the Dothraki truly conquer the Seven Kingdoms?”
Ser Jorah’s face grew thoughtful as their horses trod together down the godsway. “When I first went into exile, I looked at the Dothraki and saw half-naked barbarians, as wild as their horses. If you had asked me then, Princess, I should have told you that a thousand good knights would have no trouble putting to flight a hundred times as many Dothraki.”
“But if I asked you now?”
“Now,” the knight said, “I am less certain. They are better riders than any knight, utterly fearless, and their bows outrange ours. In the Seven Kingdoms, most archers fight on foot, from behind a shieldwall or a barricade of sharpened stakes. The Dothraki fire from horseback, charging or retreating, it makes no matter, they are full as deadly ... and there are so many of them, my lady. Your lord husband alone counts forty thousand mounted warriors in his khalasar.”
“Is that truly so many?”
“Your brother Rhaegar brought as many men to the Trident,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but of that number, no more than a tenth were knights. The rest were archers, freeriders, and foot soldiers armed with spears and pikes. When Rhaegar fell, many threw down their weapons and fled the field. How long do you imagine such a rabble would stand against the charge of forty thousand screamers howling for blood? How well would boiled leather jerkins and mailed shirts protect them when the arrows fall like rain?”
“Not long,” she said, “not well.”
He nodded. “Mind you, Princess, if the lords of the Seven Kingdoms have the wit the gods gave a goose, it will never come to that. The riders have no taste for siegecraft. I doubt they could take even the weakest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, but if Robert Baratheon were fool enough to give them battle ...”
“Is he?” Dany asked. “A fool, I mean?”
Ser Jorah considered that for a moment. “Robert should have been born Dothraki,” he said at last. “Your khal would tell you that only a coward hides behind stone walls instead of facing his enemy with a blade in hand. The Usurper would agree. He is a strong man, brave ... and rash enough to meet a Dothraki horde in the open field. But the men around him, well, their pipers play a different tune. His brother Stannis, Lord Tywin Lannister, Eddard Stark ...” He spat.
“You hate this Lord Stark,” Dany said.
“He took from me all I loved, for the sake of a few lice-ridden poachers and his precious honor,” Ser Jorah said bitterly. From his tone, she could tell the loss still pained him. He changed the subject quickly. “There,” he announced, pointing. “Vaes Dothrak. The city of the horselords.”
~
“Your brother had part of the truth,” Ser Jorah admitted. “The Dothraki do not build. A thousand years ago, to make a house, they would dig a hole in the earth and cover it with a woven grass roof. The buildings you see were made by slaves brought here from lands they’ve plundered, and they built each after the fashion of their own peoples.”
Most of the halls, even the largest, seemed deserted. “Where are the people who live here?” Dany asked. The bazaar had been full of running children and men shouting, but elsewhere she had seen only a few eunuchs going about their business.
“Only the crones of the dosh khaleen dwell permanently in the sacred city, them and their slaves and servants,” Ser Jorah replied, “yet Vaes Dothrak is large enough to house every man of every khalasar, should all the khals return to the Mother at once. The crones have prophesied that one day that will come to pass, and so Vaes Dothrak must be ready to embrace all its children.”
~
As each rider swung down from his saddle, he unbelted his arakh and handed it to a waiting slave, and any other weapons he carried as well. Even Khal Drogo himself was not exempt. Ser Jorah had explained that it was forbidden to carry a blade in Vaes Dothrak, or to shed a free man’s blood. Even warring khalasars put aside their feuds and shared meat and mead together when they were in sight of the Mother of Mountains. In this place, the crones of the dosh khaleen had decreed, all Dothraki were one blood, one khalasar, one herd.
AGOT Daenerys III
“I warned him what would happen, my lady,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “I told him to stay on the ridge, as you commanded.”
“I know you did,” Dany replied, watching Viserys. He lay on the ground, sucking in air noisily, red-faced and sobbing. He was a pitiful thing. He had always been a pitiful thing. Why had she never seen that before? There was a hollow place inside her where her fear had been.
“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.”
“No!” Viserys screamed. He turned to Ser Jorah, pleading in the Common Tongue with words the horsemen would not understand. “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. He took her brother’s horse in hand while Dany remounted her silver.
Viserys gaped at him, and sat down in the dirt. He kept his silence, but he would not move, and his eyes were full of poison as they rode away. Soon he was lost in the tall grass. When they could not see him anymore, Dany grew afraid. “Will he find his way back?” she asked Ser Jorah as they rode.
“Even a man as blind as your brother should be able to follow our trail,” he replied.
“He is proud. He may be too shamed to come back.”
Jorah laughed. “Where else should he go? If he cannot find the khalasar, the khalasar will most surely find him. It is hard to drown in the Dothraki sea, child.”
Dany saw the truth of that. The khalasar was like a city on the march, but it did not march blindly. Always scouts ranged far ahead of the main column, alert for any sign of game or prey or enemies, while outriders guarded their flanks. They missed nothing, not here, in this land, the place where they had come from. These plains were a part of
them ... and of her, now.
“I hit him,” she said, wonder in her voice. Now that it was over, it seemed like some strange dream that she had dreamed. “Ser Jorah, do you think ... he’ll be so angry when he gets back ... She shivered. “I woke the dragon, didn’t I?”
Ser Jorah snorted. “Can you wake the dead, girl? Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, and he died on the Trident. Viserys is less than the shadow of a snake.”
His blunt words startled her. It seemed as though all the things she had always believed were suddenly called into question. “You ... you swore him your sword ...”
“That I did, girl,” Ser Jorah said. “And if your brother is the shadow of a snake, what does that make his servants?” His voice was bitter.
“He is still the true king. He is ...”
Jorah pulled up his horse and looked at her. “Truth now. Would you want to see Viserys sit a throne?”
Dany thought about that. “He would not be a very good king, would he?”
“There have been worse ... but not many.” The knight gave his heels to his mount and started off again.
Dany rode close beside him. “Still,” she said, “the common people are waiting for him. Magister Illyrio says they are sewing dragon banners and praying for Viserys to return from across the narrow sea to free them.”
“The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,” Ser Jorah told her. “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.” He gave a shrug. “They never are.”
Dany rode along quietly for a time, working his words like a puzzle box. It went against everything that Viserys had ever told her to think that the people could care so little whether a true king or a usurper reigned over them. Yet the more she thought on Jorah’s words, the more they rang of truth.
“What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?” she asked him.
“Home,” he said. His voice was thick with longing.
“I pray for home too,” she told him, believing it.
Ser Jorah laughed. “Look around you then, Khaleesi.”
But it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King’s Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind’s eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind’s eye, all the doors were red.
“My brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms,” Dany said. She had known that for a long time, she realized. She had known it all her life. Only she had never let herself say the words, even in a whisper, but now she said them for Jorah Mormont and all the world to hear.
Ser Jorah gave her a measuring look. “You think not.”
“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.
AGOT Daenerys II
“Best we get Princess Daenerys wedded quickly before they hand half the wealth of Pentos away to sellswords and bravos,” Ser Jorah Mormont jested. The exile had offered her brother his sword the night Dany had been sold to Kbal Drogo; Viserys had accepted eagerly. Mormont had been their constant companion ever since.
~
Ser Jorah Mormont apologized for his gift. “It is a small thing, my princess, but all a poor exile could afford,” he said as he laid a small stack of old books before her. They were histories and songs of the Seven Kingdoms, she saw, written in the Common Tongue. She thanked him with all her heart.
~
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.”
AGOT Daenerys I
“Those three are Drogo’s bloodriders, there,” he said. “By the pillar is Khal Moro, with his son Rhogoro. The man with the green beard is brother to the Archon of Tyrosh, and the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont.”
The last name caught Daenerys. “A knight?”
“No less.” Illyrio smiled through his beard. “Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself.”
“What is he doing here?” she blurted.
“The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.”
“I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done,” her brother said. Dany found herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and balding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather. His tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on two legs.
She was still looking at this strange man from the homeland she had never known when Magister Illyrio placed a moist hand on her bare shoulder.
#daenerys targaryen#dany passages#dany relationships#valyrianscrolls#a dance with dragons#a storm of swords#a clash of kings#a game of thrones#jorah mormont
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Why Renly didn't know about the incest.
A popular theory is that Renly Baratheon knew about the incest all along. It's so popular it's treated as fact.
But I maintain that he didn't know, and I think the text supports my assertion.
Here I've listed the common arguments for why he knew, and my rebuttal to them.
It's impossible for Robert to set Cersei aside without the incest
Then why do all these people think he can?
He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?
( A Game of Thrones, Bran II)
"He was a wretched king . . . vain, drunken, lecherous . . . he would have set your sister aside, his own queen . . . please . . . Renly was plotting to bring the Highgarden maid to court, to entice his brother . . . it is the gods' own truth . . ."
"And what was Lord Arryn plotting?"
"He knew," Pycelle said. "About . . . about . . ."
"I know what he knew about," snapped Tyrion, who was not anxious for Shagga and Timett to know as well.
(A Clash of Kings, Tyrion VI)
Both Pycelle and Cersei think that Robert could set Cersei aside if he wanted to. You can argue that Cersei is paranoid and not well versed in politics, but Pycelle? Pycelle is a maester who would have an in depth knowledge of Westeros history.
Pycelle says Renly was plotting to bring Margaery to court so that Cersei would be set aside, and that Jon Arryn knew about the incest, but he doesn't seem to think Renly knew. Tyrion, a very well read person, does not express surprise or disbelief at Renly's scheme, but takes it in stride.
And there's that word: "put aside". If Renly was planning to use the incest, Cersei would be executed, not put aside.
The Knight of Flowers writes Highgarden, urging his lord father to send his sister to court. The girl is a maid of fourteen, sweet and beautiful and tractable, and Lord Renly and Ser Loras intend that Robert should bed her, wed her, and make a new queen. Littlefinger … the gods only know what game Littlefinger is playing. Yet Lord Stark's the one who troubles my sleep. He has the bastard, he has the book, and soon enough he'll have the truth.
(A Game of Thrones, Arya III)
Varys also doesn't seem to think Renly knew. He's afraid of Ned revealing the truth but doesn't imply that Renly was planning to reveal the incest in his scheme. Why?
“I had never suspected you were so clever, Stannis. Were it only true, you would indeed be Robert’s heir.”
“Were it true? Do you name me a liar?”
“Can you prove any word of this fable?”
Stannis ground his teeth.
“We both know your wedding was a mummer’s farce. A year ago you were scheming to make the girl one of Robert’s whores.”
“A year ago I was scheming to make the girl Robert’s queen,” Renly said.
(A Clash of Kings, Catelyn III)
At the parley between Renly and Stannis, Renly denies knowledge of the incest while freely admitting he was planning on making Margaery queen. If the incest was necessary to make Margaery queen, why doesn't Stannis accuse him of knowing about it and using it in his scheme? If the Margaery plan was so impossible, why does Catelyn not think about that when Renly tells the everyone present at the parley about it?
Also, are we supposed to believe that Renly was so careless with his Margaery scheme half the court knew about it, but not a whiff about him supposedly knowing about the incest?
He had to know, otherwise the Tyrells wouldn't agree
I have a counter to that as well:
1) It's not known if the Tyrells did agree. We only hear of Renly and Loras urging Mace to bring Margaery to court, but we don't know if he was going to or if the letter had even been sent (Varys might have prevented it).
2) Margaery being queen would still be a huge coup.
Plans had been under way for some time for the two of them to make another progress the following year, returning to the westerlands for the first time in twenty years. Shortly after their falling out, the queen informed Jaehaerys that he should go alone. She was going back to Dragonstone, alone, to grieve for their dead daughters.
...By that time, the queen’s absence had been noticed, and His Grace would oft find himself seated next to some lissome maid or handsome widow at feasts, or riding beside them when hawking or hunting, but he took no notice of any of them. At Bandallon, when Lord Blackbar’s youngest daughter was so bold as to seat herself in his lap and attempt to feed him a grape, he brushed her hand aside and said, “Forgive me, but I have a queen, and no taste for paramours.”
(Fire and Blood, Jaeherys and Alysanne: The Long Reign)
We know that even being the king's mistress is very desirable based on how many girls were trying to seduce Jaeherys at his first progress without Alysanne.
Aegon IV also had many paramours. With their influence on the king they were able to get their family wealth and power. Robert could hand out council positions, lands, castles and favours to the Tyrells.
Robert still also has many years to live, so the Tyrells could also exert their influence on Joffrey and his siblings, to make sure by the time Joffrey ascends the throne all the gains aren't reversed.
There's no precedent!
That isn't quite true either.
"Wars are bad for trade," said Lord Dorian Hightower, when he set aside his wife of twenty years, the mother of his children, to take an Andal princess as his bride.
(The World of Ice and Fire - The Reach: Oldtown)
Garth the Great extended the borders of his realm northward, winning Old Oak, Red Lake, and Goldengrove with pacts of friendship and mutual defense. Garland accomplished the same in the south, bringing Oldtown into his kingdom by wedding his daughter to Lymond (the Sea Lion) of House Hightower, whilst putting his own wives aside to marry Lord Lymond's daughter.
(The World of Ice and Fire - The Reach: The Gardener King)
Beldon tells us that in 239 AC, Ellyn Reyne was accused of bedding Tytos Lannister, urging him to set aside his wife and marry her instead.
(The World of Ice and Fire - The Westerlands: House Lannister Under the Dragons)
Daemon found the Vale of Arryn boring (“In the Vale, the men fuck sheep,” he wrote. “You cannot fault them. Their sheep are prettier than their women.”), and soon developed a mislike of his lady wife, whom he called my bronze bitch, after the runic bronze armor worn by the lords of House Royce. Upon the accession of his brother to the Iron Throne, the prince petitioned to have his marriage set aside. Viserys denied the request but did allow Daemon to return to court".
(Fire and Blood: Heirs of the Dragon)
A fortnight later, Alyn Velaryon and Baela Targaryen were married in the sept on Dragonstone. The bride was sixteen, the groom nearly seventeen.
Several of the regents, outraged, urged Ser Tyland to appeal to the High Septon for an annulment, but the Hand’s own response was one of bemused resignation.
(Fire and Blood: The Hooded Hand)
The marriage took place without the leave, knowledge, or presence of King Aenys. When it became known, the two half-brothers quarreled bitterly. Nor was His Grace alone in his wroth. Manfred Hightower, father of Lady Ceryse, made protest to the king, demanding that Lady Alys be put aside.
Vexed and angry, King Aenys gave his brother a choice: put Alys Harroway aside and return to Lady Ceryse, or suffer five years of exile.
(Fire and Blood: The Sons of the Dragon)
Assuming the throne in 209 AC, Daeron’s second son, Aerys, had never imagined he would be king, and was singularly ill suited to sit the Iron Throne. Aerys was learned, in his way, though his interests were largely to do with dusty tomes concerned with ancient prophecy and the higher mysteries. Wed to Aelinor Penrose, he never showed an interest in getting her with child, and rumor had it that he had even failed to consummate the marriage. His small council, at their wits’ ends, hoped it was simply some dislike of her that moved him, and thus they urged him to put her aside to take another wife. But he would not hear of it.
(The World of Ice and Fire - The Targaryen Kings: Aerys I)
As can be seen, there have been marriages which have been put aside or which have been petitioned to be put aside, which tells us it's possible. It's also worth keeping in mind that no one hearing of Renly's scheme questions it.
We also know Renly doesn't care about precedents:
"Tell me, what right did my brother Robert ever have to the Iron Throne?" He did not wait for an answer. "Oh, there was talk of the blood ties between Baratheon and Targaryen, of weddings a hundred years past, of second sons and elder daughters. No one but the maesters care about any of it. Robert won the throne with his warhammer."
(A Clash of Kings, Catelyn II)
It's very in-character for him to concoct a scheme without keeping in mind legalities.
Everyone else in the Small Council knew
Barristan didn't know.
Littlefinger has a spy network.
Varys also has a spy network.
Stannis only found out after 12 years of being in the capital, and it's also hinted that someone told him.
"He accuses my brother and sister of incest. I wonder how he came by that suspicion."
"Perhaps he read a book and looked at the color of a bastard's hair, as Ned Stark did, and Jon Arryn before him. Or perhaps someone whispered it in his ear." The eunuch's laugh was not his usual giggle, but deeper and more throaty.
"If you were not this whisperer, who was?"
"Some traitor, doubtless."
Varys tightened the cinch.
"Littlefinger?"
"I named no name."
(A Clash of Kings, Tyrion III)
Then Stannis went to Jon Arryn:
“Lord Stannis,” [Catelyn] asked, “if you knew the queen to be guilty of such monstrous crimes, why did you keep silent?”
“I did not keep silent,” Stannis declared. “I brought my suspicions to Jon Arryn.”
(A Clash of Kings, Catelyn III)
They investigated, Jon Arryn looking up genealogies in the book and he and Stannis looking up Robert's bastards.
However no one even hints at Renly knowing about the incest. Neither does anyone mention Renly investigating things in the capital.
Keep in mind that Renly was only around 20 in A Game of Thrones. It's safe to assume he became Master of Laws only when he was 16, so that's only around 4 years in King's Landing.
Why was Renly so scared of Cersei when Robert's dying? It makes no sense unless he knew about the incest!
That's patently untrue.
Consider what kind of person Cersei is. Cruel, and very overprotective of her children's rights.
She wanted Arya to lose a hand for striking Joffrey:
Ned Stark's daughter had run off after her wolf savaged Joff, you'll recall. My sister wanted the girl to lose a hand. The old penalty, for striking one of the blood royal. Robert told her she was cruel and mad. They fought for half the night . . . well, Cersei fought, and Robert drank.
(A Feast for Crows, Jaime IV)
Let's think about another protective mother, Catelyn:
Catelyn said nothing. Let Ned work it out in his own mind; her voice would not be welcome now. Yet gladly would she have kissed the maester just then. His was the perfect solution. Benjen Stark was a Sworn Brother. Jon would be a son to him, the child he would never have. And in time the boy would take the oath as well. He would father no sons who might someday contest with Catelyn’s own grandchildren for Winterfell.
(A Game of Thrones, Catelyn I)
That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell."
(A Storm of Swords, Jon XII)
Catelyn wanted Jon gone because he or his children could threaten her children's claim to Winterfell. The same would hold true for Renly, being the uncle of Cersei's children, he could challenge their claim on the Iron Throne. He could even be made Regent to the children, which would ensure a bitter power struggle between him and Cersei. There's no need for Renly to know of the incest to fear Cersei.
The Lannisters are regarded to be treacherous:
"Not our men," Ned said patiently. "Lannister men. The lion of Lannister flew over the ramparts, not the crowned stag. And they had taken the city by treachery."
(A Game of Thrones, Eddard II)
He swore to trade her for his brother," she said numbly. "Sansa and Arya both. We would have them back if we returned his precious Jaime, he swore it before the whole court. How could he marry her, after saying that in sight of gods and men?"
"He's the Kingslayer's brother. Oathbreaking runs in their blood." Robb's fingers brushed the pommel of his sword.
(A Storm of Swords- Catelyn IV)
So more than enough reason for Renly to fear Cersei even without the incest.
In my opinion, Renly's suggestion to Ned supports the argument that Renly didn't know.
Lord Renly took a step back, taut as a bowstring. "Every moment you delay gives Cersei another moment to prepare. By the time Robert dies, it may be too late … for both of us.
(A Game of Thrones, Eddard X)
When Robert is dying, Renly asks Ned to sieze the Regency and take Cersei's children in hand. He is genuinely scared of Cersei siezing power.
So why then didn't he tell Ned about the incest?
Cersei would be executed, and her children as well. One can say: Because Ned wouldn't believe him. But in that very instance he was planning on storming the Red Keep and potentially dying. If he thought that risk was worth it, why not this one? One can say: Because Stannis would be king. But again, storming the Red Keep is much more dangerous than assassinating Stannis once he comes to the capital.
Alternatively, he could have told Robert on his deathbed, like Ned planned to do but which he could not make himself do.
So that's my argument for why Renly didn't know about the incest. Since it's so widely accepted as fact that he did know, I had to put it out there.
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Daminette December Day 1: "Just A Friend"
Here we go my darlings! Hope you like this and a giant thanks to @little-kitty-kanny for being awesome and beta reading this <3
Ao3 - Masterlist
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When the new french student arrived in their class at Gotham Academy, Jon had made it his mission to befriend her before anyone else, and unfortunately for Damian, he had dragged him along. It wasn’t really that hard. Once she found out they spoke French as well as English, she was much more willing to engage in conversation with them. Had it not been for the Wayne boy dragging both of the giggling idiots back to class after lunch, they would’ve probably missed it altogether.
After that first day, wherever Jon and Damian went, so did Marinette. She was joined at the hip to the boy who looked so much like her that everyone took to calling them twins (not that they were aware of it since they kept to themselves, mostly for Damian’s sake).
Weeks went by as they explored this new found dynamic between them. Jon, being observant as he was, found it more and more amusing to witness what he was very sure was his best friend falling in love with their new friend.
The blue-eyed boy took it upon himself to get them together because, even if he would tease Damian mercilessly about it, the truth was he was worried about how closed off his friend still was, despite having lived away from his mother for the better part of 5 years already. Hell, he was not about to disregard this opportunity, seeing as how comfortable the pair were together effortlessly. Marinette had been drawing out a side of Damian that he hadn’t ever seen before. He was laughing openly in the cafeteria. If the looks everyone was throwing at their table were anything to go by, they were all as baffled as he was.
The next day, Operation “Oblivious Idiots” was a go. The first phase was set to start immediately.
Jon began discreetly giving them more and more space, making excuses to leave before lunch ended to see if they could work it out by themselves. If he was honest, he didn’t think he was lucky enough for the operation to be done before phase two, but Jon could at least hope he would have to do the least work possible.
After a week, he had to admit his current plan was going nowhere. With a defeated sigh from behind the pillar he was using as a cover to spy on his friends, he mentally kept the tally: phase two takes off right now. With that, he put on a smug expression and sat next to Marinette, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leaning into her side. “Hey, my dad just needed to ask me something, so I’m back to bless you both with my presence.” Mari’s smile could have eclipsed the sun as she snuggled against his side comfortably under the scrutiny of Damian’s eyes, who looked ready to murder his best friend. He couldn’t have known that was exactly what Jon wanted.
Superboy would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying riling up Robin. Just watching as his face contorted, while trying to hide the fact that he was very much bothered about how close and touchy Jon and Marinette had been the last few days, was incredibly entertaining in and of itself. With each passing day Jon tried to lay it on thicker and thicker each passing lunch, until one day, Damian finally reached his limit. He had been trying to keep his touches platonic enough to not make Mari uncomfortable but not innocent enough that his best friend would ignore it. This day in particular, he had started to feel a bit frustrated. It seemed like he would have to start planning out a phase three if the two dumbasses he called friends decided to keep ignoring their feelings, so he decided to just land a low blow as a last resort.
It hadn’t been a grand gesture like he had done a couple days prior, just a sassy comment whispered in Marinette’s ear that made her laugh and a soft kiss to her temple. Nevertheless, it was more than enough for Damian to scoff and take a quick leave in the direction of the stairs that led to the roof. Jon saw him leave with a little smile. ‘How predictable.’
“You should go see what’s wrong. He usually trusts you to talk about these things.” With a nod and worry etched into every nook and cranny of her face, she got up and followed in Damian’s footsteps, leaving Jon to silently root for her.
By the time Mari reached the roof, he was leaning over the railing with a scowl on his face. She wasn’t completely sure why that was, like sure, Jon had been acting sweeter to her that week, but it wasn’t really that strange. A lot of her friends back in Paris were just like that. Damian seemed angry at something, which made her approach him the way one would a sleeping bear, careful not to poke it with a stick.
“Dami?” Her soft voice made him glance at her, and for just a second she could see the anger dissolve into something she didn’t want to put her hopes on. “Are you okay?” Marinette walked closer and leaned on the railing next to him, not wanting to invade his personal space right now.
“I’m perfectly fine. Don’t worry.” He tried to make it sound nonchalant, but she could see his white knuckles as he was gripping the railing, as well as his furrowed brow. Gathering courage from the deepest parts of herself, she gently ran her fingers over his clenched fists trying to get them to relax. “I don’t believe you.” Once she felt his hands give way, she wrapped them in hers, not caring how this could come across, as long as it helped calm down the boy she had fallen for during the course of the months since she came to Gotham. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed something has had you on edge the whole week, Dames. What is it? Maybe I can help.”
Green eyes met blue ones, and he didn’t know how to explain it to her. The word jealous was something he would never acknowledge could apply to him, but seeing the worry and need to help the tiny French girl was harbouring within herself made him feel guilty about it. She wanted answers, and he wasn’t about to back out like a coward.
“You’ve been awfully close to Jon.”
Once blurted out, the words hung out in the space between them, freezing them for a moment. Damian could see a shadow of confusion clouding her eyes and could only sigh before elaborating. “He’s always touching and hugging you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of you.”
Marinette’s face quickly morphed from confusion, to understanding, to (surprisingly) smugness. “Damian Wayne, are you jealous?” A smirk wormed its way to her lips as Damian’s brain short circuited, supplying only the thoughts of ‘Danger’, and ‘That’s...kinda hot’. However, his face remained stoic as ever out of sheer muscle memory.
“I am absolutely not jealous about whatever little thing you and Jon have got going on. It just annoys me that I have to spend my lunch watching you two make googly eyes at each other and clinging to whatever body part you can.”
A flash of hurt across her face was all it took for Damian to want to hit himself for being an idiot. “No, wait, I didn’t mean-”
“Then, you probably don't mean that if the situation was reversed you wouldn’t mind it if it was you clinging to me?” ‘Wait what.’ Damian was left reeling in an uncharacteristic manner while Marinette looked like she was about to hit him. “Tell me Dami, would you still be complaining if you were the one that got to hug me?”
Despite the bravado display on the outside, she was positively terrified on the inside. What if he really was just annoyed at her hogging his best friend all to herself? If she went through with her plan and messed it up… There would be hell to pay. But, she wasn’t willing to back off now, and she held onto whatever confidence she had left.
Hearing a mumbled no fall from his lips made her incredibly relieved and made her giggle. “Are you laughing at me, Dupain-Cheng?” His remark only made her giggle more as she looked at his rosy cheeks. That was new.
“Maybe” she chuckled. “I only wish you had told me before, it might not have taken me so long to do this.”
Damian had a grand total of 0.5 seconds to register how Marinette stood on her toes, reaching to cup his face and gently pressing her lips to his. Once he did, though, his possessive side appeared. He pulled the girl closer by the waist and pressing their foreheads together the moment they had to break the kiss to breathe. The boy knew the nagging in the back of his mind wouldn’t cease until he cleared his doubts, so he stared into Marinette’s eyes as he asked. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you and Jon?”
She looked extremely amused at this. “100% He’s just a very good friend to me, almost like a brother. Now, you on the other hand…” She just had to blush and avert her eyes, didn’t she? As if the overload of cute would help Damian organize his jumbled thoughts.
When the duo came back down from the roof, lunch had finished, as well as the class they were supposed to attend after it. Jon was waiting for them next to the doors with the biggest grin he could muster. “You’re very welcome you two. Now I’ll be happy to accept ice cream, and an invitation to your wedding as payback, if you don’t mind.”
-
Woo! And there you have it. I am planning to write at least something short for each day and maybe swap out some prompts I don't feel too confident in doing so look forward to that! Also if anyone wants to be tagged in whatever I make during this month feel free to ask. Much love <3
@daminette-december2019
#daminette#daminette december#damian x marinette#maribat#miraculous ladybug#jon kent#day 1#marinette dupain cheng#marinette dupain-cheng#ml x dc
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