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Walking through the seemingly endless rows of tents while ignoring the sound of revelry coming from all around him, Ser Garlen Tyrell kept his hood up as he marched purposefully towards the outskirts of the sea of tents that'd been erected around Harrenhal to house all of those who'd made the trek to either participate or watch perhaps the greatest tournament that had ever been held in all of Westeros. It wasn't that he was trying to hide beneath his hood. It was just easier for one of his rank to make his way through the masses under a veil of anonymity. And because he was able to move about freely through the camp, his mind was able to wander back to the more than slightly strange interaction he'd just witnessed at the welcoming feast.
Honestly, he knew after just a single meeting with the Crown Prince that the future King, and his future good-brother should his father and grandmother have anything to say about it, that the boy wasn't necessarily the sharpest sword in the armory. But he was still young. There was still time for him to learn. But even taking his age into account, he couldn't believe that the Prince would outright challenge the Starks like that…and during a feast where all the Lords and Ladies of the Realm were gathered no less! It was clear that the Prince wished to either discredit or embarrass the Starks. But why? The Starks were quickly racing towards the top of the Great Houses of Westeros. Why would the Crown Prince risk alienating one of his most powerful vassals? Honestly, the move made no sense.
'Unless someone provoked him into going through with the challenge.' A small part of his mind whispered, causing his pace to falter as his mind began running through the scenario. 'Sansa met and exceeded the challenge. Proving the strength of the Starks. Lord Stark isn't one to make a move like that…perhaps Lord Nox? But no, the man had never even met the Crown Prince until just before the feast, he wouldn't have had time to provoke the Prince. And why target Sansa specifically? She's to be the future Lady of the Reach an—'
Garlen came to a full stop. Sansa was to be the future Lady of the Reach. And now everyone knew just how powerful she was and what an asset her gift would be. To the realm…but more specifically to House Tyrell in the future. 'Did grandmother have a hand in this?' he wondered. It would make sense, in a twisted sort of way that only his grandmother could figure out. The King still had strong ties to the Stark, who still had a daughter available. And despite showing off Margaery before the Prince, no formal betrothal discussions had even been hinted at. Perhaps she wanted to try and put a wedge between the Crown and the Starks? Prevent the King, or Lord Stark, from even considering the possibility of betrothing the second daughter, Arya, to the royal line?
'Enough,' Garlen shook himself, trying to remove thoughts of politics and the game from his mind. 'I don't have the mind or patience for the horse shite 'game' my family seems to love to play. Especially not tonight of all nights.'
The style and layout of the tents shifted as Garlen made his way further away from the walls of Harrenhal. Gone were the light fabric tents aligned in straight rows with ornaments and sigils decorating nearly every portion of the fabric. And instead, he found himself amongst a sea of thick wool and fur covered tents that, while not arranged in line either one another, were erected to give as much protection from the wind and cold as possible. 'About what I expected of the North,' Garlen thought with a smile as he walked into the heart of the Northern encampment. 'Practicality and survival above all the unnecessary aspects of—'
His thoughts died as he felt someone press against his back, something hard and sharp as a voice whispered into his ear. "What have we here? A fancy southern knight who dares to wander into the depths of the North yet neglects his surroundings enough to be caught off his guard. Tsk tsk…such a shame. Best be careful, pretty little knight. Men like you might just get stolen around here."
Despite the darkness and the knife against his back, Garlen smiled. A true smile. Not one that he usually forced upon himself when dealing with the simpering nobles and their daughters his father was constantly parading around him. "And what if being stolen, or stealing another, was exactly what I had in mind when I set foot in this camp?" he asked, turning his head just enough to see the face of the one behind him. "What would you say to that then, Karsi?"
Karsi's smirk was vicious, as was the fact that the dagger she held at his back suddenly began pressing just hard enough where it threatened to cut through his cloak and flesh if she pushed just the slightest bit harder. "I would wonder why you haven't stolen a pretty southern lass of yer own yet. Surely there were no shortages of these weak southern 'ladies' vying for yer attention?"
"There are some that have caught my attention, but nothing ever came of it because they all had one thing in common with each other."
One of Karsi's delicate brows rose as the dagger pressed just the slightest bit harder against his back. "And what be that?"
"None of them were you."
The pressure on his back was gone almost immediately as the dagger went back to Karsi's waist. Next he knew, Karsi had him on the ground with her hips straddling his own and her lips firmly pressed against his own. It took him all of two heartbeats to process what'd just happened, and when he did he acted on instinct, wrapping his arms around her strong back and pulling her down onto him, attacking her with the same ferocity that she was showing him.
There were more than a few calls and whistles coming from all around them as the need for air eventually drew the two of them apart. "Oh, go fuck yerselves or ye woman or man!" Karsi growled good naturedly at the crowd they had drawn with their antics. Getting to her feet, Karsi held her hand to help him off the ground. "Come, me girls have been wanting to see ya. And…and yer son as well."
A sudden knot formed in his gut with such intensity that he nearly doubled over before Karsi. His son. Their son. A son he'd known existed and had yet to even lay eyes on despite the fact that the boy must be nearing two years by this point. The knot was such that he was rendered completely speechless, able to do little more than follow Karsi like a lost puppy through the rows of Northern tents as she approached what he could only assume was her own tent. "How, um…a – are you participating in the tourney?"
He wanted to kick himself for the question as soon as it left his mouth. That was most certainly not what he wanted to ask her, and judging by the way she turned and looked back at him, she knew that it was not what he meant to ask either. "I was thinkin the dagger throwin. I can't ride one of them horses worth a shite nor do I have the armor like you fancy southern boys. But that really isn't what ya meant to ask me, is it?"
"No," Garlen freely admitted as Karsi slowed her pace and reached out towards a seemingly random fur and leather tent. He could hear laughter and voices coming from within. Two he recognized. The third…the third was the laughter of a child.
Forcing his fear and anxiety to the back of his mind, Garlen gave a quick nod to Karsi, who pulled aside the tent flap allowing the two to enter. "Mother!" Two voices called out as two young girls, whom he recognized as Karsi's girls from before they met.
The two young girls, their dark hair pulled back into simple braids, shot to their feet as they entered. Both took a step towards their mother, but when they saw him behind her, they both stopped. "Helga, Ansa…You both remember—"
"Papa Garlen!" the younger of the two, Ansa, yelled as she ran past her mother and wrapped her arms around his leg. But then, seemingly remembering herself, she pulled herself back, only to throw her little fist right into his gut with as much force as her little body could muster. "Where have ya been! Ya said you would come back to us! An—"
"And he's a southern knight, Ansa," the elder girl, Helga, said eyeing him warily. Though he could see just behind her eyes that she was fighting with herself. "He got what he wanted…and left us."
"Not…Not by choice, girls," Garlen said sadly as he knelt so that he was eye level with them both. "If I had a choice, I would have never left any of you. I swear on my honor and life that I will do better this time. But, if it would make you feel better, Helga…I won't defend myself."
Spreading his arms, Garlen braced himself for whatever the elder girl was about to doll out to him. But instead of hitting him, she ran forward and wrapped him tightly in an embrace. "Me first pa died in the cold in the true north long before we came south of the Wall. Then you…you left us," Helga said, tears breaking her voice as Garlen returned her embrace. "Don't…Don't leave us again like this…not again."
"I won't," he promised, holding out his arm for Ansa, who immediately joined her sister in their shared embrace. "I swear to you both…I will do better this time."
"Ye better," Helga nodded, breaking away from him. "Cause it won't be just 'us' that you'll be abandonin next time."
Looking up, Garlen noticed Karsi standing before him. A small boy in her arms. Rising slowly, Garlen slowly approached the young boy, his son, who seemed to want to shrink into his mother as he approached. "Um, gods…Hello, young man," Garlen said awkwardly. 'Gods…how does one greet their own son after not being there for his birth nor for the first few years of his life?!'
"His name isn't 'young man', it's Garion," Karsi said, hefting the boy up slightly so that he could get a better look at him. The lad had Karsi's hair and pale complexion. But his eyes were all Tyrell.
"Garion," Garlen repeated, almost savoring the name on his lips like it was the finest of wines. "That's…that's a good name. A strong name for a strong lad."
"He takes after his father in that regard…which is why I gave him his name." Karsi said, seemingly apprehensive as she edged their son closer towards him. "Garion, this is your father, Ser Garlen Tyrell of da Reach."
Garlen stared down at his son, his son! The boy was clearly unsure, but also curious as he slowly reached out for Garlen. "Da…Daddy?"
And with that one word, Garlen's world as he knew it ended. Forget his family's politics. Forget those simpering 'Ladies' that were trying desperately for his attention. None of them meant anything to him anymore. The only thing that mattered was Karsi, her daughters, and their son in her arms. "That's right, Garion," Garlen smiled, holding out his hands, to which Garion immediately pushed himself into allowing Garlen to hold him for the first time. "I'm your father, lad…and I'm not going anywhere."
Each step her horse took was near agony at this point. But as Dany rode behind her husband at the head of their khalasar she kept her head held high and the pain off her face. Soon. It had to be soon. She could feel her son moving almost constantly now. And he'd shifted, sitting more on her hips, a sign she was told that spoke of his imminent arrival according to her handmaidens. 'But not imminent enough,' Dany cursed as her horse bounced slightly, causing a jolt of pain to race through her. 'I swear…Drogo will be spilling his seed outside of me from here on out! I do not know if I ever want to go through this again!'
Feeling a new pain race through, one that had her gasping for breath and cradling her womb, Dany stared down with wide eyes. 'That…That was no bump in the road!' Feeling another tightening of pain, Dany nearly fell from her saddle as she grasped the saddle horn for dear life. "My sun and stars!" she gasped, holding her stomach and looking up towards her husband's strong back. "We need to stop a—"
Her words faded as her husband, the great Khal Drogo, slumped forward in his saddle and fell face first onto the dirt road.
Dany was in such shock at seeing her husband, the great Khal Drogo, fall from his saddle that she didn't remember jumping from her own until her feet touched the ground. But before she could even take a single step towards her sun and stars, her body betrayed her as she felt her body convulse, causing her to nearly double over as pain raced through her accompanied by the sudden feeling of wetness running down her thighs.
She was vaguely aware of several people surrounding her, holding onto her and supporting her as more than one voice called out for a tent to be set up immediately for both herself and her husband. Dany tried to clear her head, tried to figure out what was going on, but she could not think through the pain pulsing through her body. "The child is coming."
She wanted to laugh and scold the one who said something so obvious. But again her pain prevented her from doing anything more than crying out in agony as she was led inside a hastily erected tent and laid down on several mats that'd been thrown on the ground for her. She felt her leggings being removed and her legs bent and set so that she was exposed to any and all within the tent. Her world faded into a haze of pain that seemed to last an eternity…or maybe a few hours. It was hard to tell for certain after the first ten or so minutes. But through the pain, she could see her handmaidens, her friends, surrounding her and giving her smiles of support as they told her to breathe and push.
More pain pulsed within her as she gripped tightly onto the hands of her handmaidens and cried out as a new pain, a pressure, unlike any she'd ever felt pressed against her opening. "The child, it's head is coming."
Looking down, she saw the old woman who'd seen to the treatment of her husband sitting between her legs with Irri next to her. But something was…Something was not right. She…The old woman…She felt…conviction. Pleasure, well…Maybe not pleasure but…but she was pleased to see her in…in pain? No…No, that couldn't… But then, in a brief moment of lucidity, Dany felt it. The anger. The hate. The darkness within the woman. And…And her intent. She didn't know how but…Dany knew that this woman intended harm upon both herself and her child fighting to enter the world.
"Out! Away!" She screamed, trying to back away from the old woman.
"Khaleesi! Please, breathe—"
"Get her out!" Dany screamed, the Force reacting to her will as the old woman was flung backwards and nearly out of the tent. "Hold her an—ah! Do–Do not let her – let her leave!"
Wailing, Dany's head lulled back as she felt her child press against her again and again as it fought it's way into the world. Just as Dany thought the pain couldn't get any worse, she felt all the pressure and pain within her leave at once. Then there was nothing but darkness.
Robb knew the moment he'd awoken with his arms around Talisa and his front pressed tightly against her back that his sisters and Lord Nox were no longer within the confines of Harrenhal. Of course, he knew well beforehand that Nox was going to the Isle of Faces, it was why he'd insisted on bringing along the last memento from Bran the Builder as apparently he'd managed to decipher that the Founder of House Stark's last creation was somewhere on the small island. He also knew that Nox was planning on putting the girls and Gendry through their Trials soon. He just hadn't put together that his Master would think to do both at the same time and all at once! Let alone the day after the welcoming feast and the supposed start of the greatest tournament Westeros had ever seen!
Pressing a kiss to his wife's bare shoulder, Robb's body betrayed him as it immediately responded to the light moan that left her as he trailed his lips from her shoulder and to her neck. "I would've thought you had your fill of me last night, Robb." Talisa said throatily as she reached behind herself, her fingers entangling in his hair as he continued pressing light kisses to her skin.
"I can never get enough of you." Robb breathed heavily, fully intending on picking up exactly where they left off the previous night but was ultimately stopped as he heard his father's voice call for him from outside his tent.
"Robb, Talisa. Make yourselves ready. The King has summoned us. I will go ahead to see what the matter is, but your presence is expected soon."
Groaning, Robb let his head drop as Talisa laughed lightly while working her way out from under him. "There will be time for this later, Robb," his wife said, rising from their shared cot and picking through her clothes and finding something that she deemed acceptable for an audience with the King. "Your King, much like my father, is not one to be kept waiting."
Conceding her point, Robb quickly got up and went about getting dressed. Once they were both ready, with Talisa taking a moment to straighten his hair, the two set out arm in arm from his tent and out into the sea of tents and people that'd made camp around Harrenhal. Technically with their position as Wardens of the North, House Stark had been permitted rooms within the halls of Harrenhal, but his father had declined their usage. Starks always stayed with the men and women of the North whether they were going to war or to a fanciful southern tourney. Almost immediately, a pair of Stark guards flanked Robb and Talisa, trailing the two as they made their way into the mass of bodies on their way towards Harrenhal.
Robb was, frankly, very near the edge of being overwhelmed by everything going on around him. Merchants were out selling everything from food, wine, horses, armor and more. Carriers were out in mass, trying to gain the people's attention for one reason or another. Fools and mummers were out in mass trying their best to entertain the masses in hopes of earning a few coins. And despite the day just barely beginning whores, both men and women, were already standing beside various tents, flaunting their 'wares' in hopes of enticing a patron or two.
"A bit much for your delicate Northern sensibility, my love?" Talisa teased him good naturedly as they daftly sidestepped a painted fool who was walking on his hands much to the joy of a few children that were watching him.
"Just a bit," Robb nodded.
Smiling, Talisa leaned into him. "Such sights and liveliness are almost daily occurrences in Volantis, provided you know where to go. But don't worry. When we go to Volantis I'll do my utmost to make sure you are not overwhelmed by the sights and sounds."
"'When we go'?" Robb questioned, repeating what Talisa had just said to him.
"Aye. When we go," she nodded. "I…have my problems with my homeland. And I know you will as well. But it is still my place of birth. And I will not have you…nor our children…remain completely ignorant of my place of birth."
The thought of traveling to Volantis and dealing with Essos was completely put aside when Talisa mentioned children. Their children. Children they'd yet to have, though not for lack of trying on their part. And while both of them did want children, and not only because it was part of their duty to provide the next generation of Starks, they were not necessarily in a hurry to have them. At seven-and-ten he knew that there were many out there that already had a child…but still. It was… It was a lot to think about. To be responsible for helping to bring a new life into the world? To helping to raise them and see them to adulthood? Gods…how did his father handle it? How did any parent handle it?
Thoughts of children and their future disappeared as Robb felt something from the Force. Without looking, he raised his hand in defense of his wife, and his open palm was struck with something soft and warm. 'What the…shit? Who the?' Completely dumbfounded, Robb could do little more than stare at his shit covered hand.
"Blasphemer! Heretic! Sorcerer uses his vile powers to protect his foreign heathen whore of a wife!"
Blinking, Robb looked up at the sound of the voice, and found a man wearing the robes of a Septon glaring at him from a short distance away. A small crowd was gathered around him, each of them looking at him with contempt. Robb's vision went dark as he lowered his hand. A rage he had only felt when his mother was assassinated consuming him as he advanced on the Septon and the crowd surrounding him. "Look! His eyes! Truly a heathen demon from the Seven Hells! A blasphemer against the true gods! The Seven-Who-Are-One!" the Septon cried as Robb quickly advanced on the crowd, the other small folk all but tripping over themselves as they tried to clear a path between himself and the Septon.
Robb had no idea what he was going to do when he reached the Septon, but his rage would not be denied! He could handle insults thrown at himself…but this…this man insulted his wife! The woman he loved! He, or one of his followers, threw literal shit at her! They – They would pay! He would cut them down one by one! Raise their severed heads high as a show of what happened when you tried to—
His actions were halted as he reached for his lightsaber at his hip, only to find Talisa's hand already there. Turning, he found his wife staring at him unblinkingly. "This is what he wants, Robb," Talisa said lowly enough so that only the two of them could hear. "Do not be the monster he claims you to be. Be the man, the good man, that I know you are."
Her words cleared the raged-induced fog that'd settled over his mind. He was still angry. Hells, he was pissed. But her words were helping him think clearly now through his rage. Stepping up to the Septon, Robb was mildly impressed as the older man held his ground. Raising his hand, the crowd drew a collective breath, no doubt expecting him to strike the man, but instead all he did was use the man's robes to clean the shit off his hand. "Say what you will about myself…but insult my wife again and I will take this matter before the King," Robb said calmly, far calmer than he'd thought possible considering how furious he was at the man. "And should the King hear of your actions…I promise you…you will face Northern justice."
Turning his back on the Septon was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he knew that right then, it was the right thing to do. Especially as he saw the look of respect and awe that were present on most, if not all, of the smallfolks' faces surrounding them. "You – You see! The – The heathen is but a coward in the face of the Seven! In the face of the true go—"
Robb blocked the man's ranting as he retook Talisa's arm and made his way away from the ranting Septon and towards the towering walls of Harrenhal. "You did the right thing, Robb," Talisa commented as they entered the overly excessive keep. "That Septon was trying to goad you into doing something reckless. He had the crowd worked up, and had you done anything to him, he would've used your actions to further cast the North and her people in an ill light."
"I know…at least now I do." Robb admitted as he turned his gaze towards his wife. "Thank you, for stopping me. If he'd managed to hit you with that shit, I – gods… I don't even want to think what I would've done if not for you."
Talisa favored him with a smile as the two entered the main keep of Harrenhal. Almost immediately, the two were met by a member of the Kingsguard that Robb didn't recognize before being escorted out of the great hall and towards the back where Robb assumed the royal chambers lay. After escorting them to a set of large double doors, where two more Kingsguard were located including the legendary Ser Barristan Selmy, they were immediately ushered through the doors and into the room beyond. Inside the room, Robb found himself immediately the target of five sets of eyes. His father's. The King's. Lord Tywin Lannister's, a still pacing Lord Gerion Lannister. And the sole woman in the room, Lady Nyra Nox. "Well Ned, here's your boy," the King said with a wave of his hand. "Now will you tell us where the fuck the Sorcerer and the kids disappeared to before Gerion here paces a fucking hole into the ground?"
Lord Gerion immediately came to a stop, but Robb could tell the man was very, very agitated. "Forgive me, your grace…but I have not seen my daughter for near a year's time. And now after only spending one night with her, I wake to find her missing with no explanation as to her whereabouts."
"I understand your frustration, my Lord," Robb said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. "Lord Nox has taken your daughter, and his other acolytes including my sisters, to the Isle of Faces so that they can participate in their Trials."
"Trials?" Lord Tywin asked first, the older man's hard gaze was almost enough to make Robb uneasy. "I have heard the term before in terms of an aspect of your training, but nothing of substance. Perhaps you might enlighten us as to what these 'Trials' are, Lord Robb, seeing as how you and your brother are the only two known to have completed them."
Robb glanced towards his father, who gave him the briefest of nods, before answering Lord Tywin's question. "The Trials determine whether an Acolyte is ready to become a full Apprentice, my Lord. Think of it like raising a Page to the position of a Squire. As for what the Trials themselves entail…that varies based on the person undergoing them."
"So Nox crafts each of these 'Trials' for each Acolyte then eh?" The King asked, to which Robb shook his head.
"No, your grace. Well, perhaps slightly. But it is in fact the will of the Force that determines one's Trials." Robb could tell that the other men in the room did not necessarily believe his words, but he didn't care. He knew that his words were true. And if they didn't want to believe him, then that was on them.
"Are these Trials…dangerous?" Lord Gerion asked tentatively, seemingly afraid of the answer.
"They are," Robb answered almost without thought.
As soon as the words left him, Robb realized his mistake as a haunted look passed over Lord Gerion's face and the King's face went hard. But before he could correct himself, Lady Nox stepped forward to reassure the King and the two Lords. "My husband may be many things your grace, my Lords. But he is not a cruel nor wasteful man. And he cares for his Acolytes as much as any parent would care for their children. He would not put anyone on the path to their Trials if he did not believe they could succeed. Lord Stark's daughters, Lord Gerion's daughter, his grace's niece and…and his grace's bastard son will return. And they will return as full Force Apprentices. We need only wait."
The King and the two Lannister Lords all shared a look with one another. "How long till they return?" The King asked.
"I cannot answer that truthfully, your grace." Robb answered. "My own Trial took near a sennights time. But most of that was spent traversing the length of the Wall on my own. While my brother's Trial took less than half a day at best. But if I were pressed to say…I would expect Lord Nox and the newly made Apprentices to return within a few days' time at the longest."
"Good," the King said with a nod. "Gives me time to kill some things in a hunt then while we wait for the rest of the slow fuckers to get their asses here. Ned, Gerion. You two are coming with me. Hunting, killing and drinking will help take your minds off of this 'Trial' shit until your girls and my…well until they all return."
His father and Lord Gerion both nodded mildly uncomfortably. While normally one could turn down such an offer, when the demand to go hunting came from the King, you went hunting regardless if you wanted too or not. Curiously enough, Lord Tywin didn't seem to mind being left out of the hunt. Though honestly the man could probably give even Robb's own father lessons on impersonating a stone for all the emotions he was giving off. Both on his face and through the Force. Gods. The only other man Robb had ever met that had such control over himself was Lord Nox! If Robb didn't already know from his father to be wary of Lord Tywin, he knew it now.
Awareness slowly came back to Dany as she fought against the darkness clouding her vision. Blinking her eyes, she stared up at the canvased tent directly above her. 'How did I get here?' she wondered, moving slightly to stretch her body. 'By the gods…what happened to me? Everything is sore an—'
"Khaleesi! Oh, thank the great stallion you are awake!"
Blinking, Dany tilted her head to the side, just barely able to make out the blurred form of Irri, who was kneeling by her side with a wet cloth in her hand. "Irri?" she croaked. By gods her throat was dry. "W—Water."
Irri nodded as she immediately set about gathering a cup before helping Dany sit up so that she could drink. By the Force! Why did she feel so…weak? "Drink Khaleesi. It was a tough birth, but you proved yourself strong."
Birth? Her hands went to her stomach. The swell of her child was gone. Shaking and near frantic, Dany looked about the tent. "Rhaego! Where's my son?! Where is—?!"
"He is here, Khaleesi."
Turning, the mere act of which made Dany lightheaded to the point of nearly collapsing again. Dany saw Doreah sitting behind her, a bundle of cloths in her arms. Everything faded from Dany's sight, save for the small bundle in Doreah's arms. The child, her child, her son, was sleeping soundly within the warmth of the clothes covering him. Taking him gently from Doreah, Dany immediately felt a…it…well it was hard to describe what she felt. But she knew beyond a doubt that she loved this small bundle in her arms more than anything else in the entire world at this moment. As if he felt the movement, her son blinked and opened his eyes. His dark eyes moved around almost randomly before settling on her and only her. "Rhaego…my son," Dany was near in tears as she held her son. "Your father must be so proud." Drogo…her husband. Her sun and stars. Why was he not here holding their son? He was perhaps even more excited about his impending birth than she had been.
Tearing her eyes off her son, a feat that was far harder than she could've ever thought possible, she turned her attention to her two handmaidens. Neither of whom were looking at her or her son as they seemed to find the studying of their hands extremely important. "Doreah. Irri." Dany said clearly, eyeing the two women. "Where is my husband, your Khal?"
Getting to their feet, Doreah and Irri came up to either side of her and helped her rise to her feet while still holding onto her son. "It…It would be far easier to show you, Khaleesi," Irri said sadly, and in a tone that made Dany suddenly extremely wary.
"No." she said, taking a step back from the two and glaring at them. "Where. Is. Drogo?"
"Khaleesi…my lady…Dany," the last made Dany blink, Doreah had never used her actual name before. "The great Khal…your husband…has passed on to the realm of the gods."
"What?" Dany breathed, unable or unwilling to believe what she was hearing. "How…That can't…He couldn't…"
"It was the wound, Khaleesi," Irri said slowly as Dany felt her world crumble around her and her son. "It…festered and fevered. When he fell from his horse, the fever had taken too strong of a hold. And with you on the birthing bed…there was nothing anyone could do, Khaleesi. The Great Stallion came and claimed the great Khal. And now the khalasar has broken as a new Khal attempts to take the place of a man who cannot be replaced."
Dany felt her knees go weak, and if it were not for the quick actions of Doreah and Irri, she would've collapsed right there and then. 'Drogo…no. My…My sun and stars…We were going to remake Essos…Rebuild what was lost. And now, now is it all lost without you? Your bloodriders…Your brothers…Our khalasar that was going to reshape Essos…Broken and fighting amongst themselves before your body was even cold.' Hearing a cry from her arms, Dany looked down at her son. Their son. Her last link to her husband. 'No.' Dany thought, feeling a steely resolve come over her as she gently cooed and rocked her son. 'No. This is not the end. I will not let it be the end! I will rebuild what was lost…what was taken from me! I will not let my dream…our dream…die with you, my sun and stars. I will rebuild that which was lost! By blood and fire…I will reclaim that which was lost! But first…'
"How many are left?" Dany asked, her voice sounding far calmer than she felt.
"Barely two dozen, Khaleesi," Doreah answered. "Rakharo is the only one of your bloodriders who survived as many sought to bring you back to Vaes Dothrak as Dosh Khaleen, despite you still being on the birthing bed. Ser Jorah the Andal remains. The old bear felled twice the number as Rakharo in his defense of you and the khalakka. Besides them, there are few who know how to fight. Most who stayed are amongst those you claimed from the Lhazareen village that was taken."
"I see," Dany thought. Far less than what she'd hoped for. But far more than what she'd had before her marriage to Drogo. "And the one who said that she could heal my husband? The one I banished from aiding my son being born?"
"The witch, Mirri Maz Dur she calls herself," Irri answered, hatred clear in her voice. "She attempted to flee after you threw her from the tent. But Ser Jorah the Andal stopped her and had her bound and gagged."
Nodding, Dany motioned for Irri and Doreah to help her to her feet. "Take me to her. Now."
Irri left her side to hold open the tent, leaving Doreah to be the only support Dany had. Which, much to her shame, she admittedly needed as each step was like walking through thick mud with each twitch of her legs causing a dull ache near her core. Walking out into the sun, Dany immediately spotted Ser Jorah and Rakharo, both men standing guard just outside her tent with their hands firmly attached to the hilt of their weapons. "Khaleesi," both men breathed, bowing their heads to her as she stepped forward with Doreah's silent aid.
Dany nodded to both men as her gaze swept over those who remained with her. Doreah was right. Perhaps two dozen at most remained. And that was all. "Ser Jorah, Rakharo. I, and my son, owe you both for standing vigil while we were at our weakest," Dany said to the both of them in Dothraki, given that Rakharo's understanding of the common tongue was still minimal at best. "Merely name your desire, and I will see it done."
Ser Jorah immediately went a knee before her and drew his sword, placing the tip in the ground. "I merely wish to serve at the Khaleesi's side, from this day to my last."
Accepting the offer, Dany turned to Rakharo. "I'm not as…good with words as the Andal here. But Rahkaro will stay by the Khaleesi's side, no matter where she goes."
"I…Your offer is accepted. Both of you." Dany said, stumbling for a moment as she'd forgotten one of the first things she'd learned about the Dothraki language, that they did not have a word for 'thank you'. "Now…where is the witch?"
Ser Jorah silently led her over to another tent. Holding the flap aside for her, Dany saw that the old woman she'd claimed was sitting in the center of the tent, bound with multiple lengths of rope tied so tightly she doubted the woman could move. Ducking her head, she entered the tent with Ser Jorah and Doreah flanking her and her son still in her arms. The moment she entered; the old woman looked up at her. Her eyes glanced first to Dany, then to the bundle in her arms. Anger and…disappointment rolled off the woman so thickly it almost threatened to choke Dany. Turning, she handed Rhaego off to Doreah and began to slowly circle the bound woman as she pulled on the one lesson Lord Nox had given her about interrogation. 'There are two options available to a Force user when they wish to interrogate an individual. The first option is to dominate the individual using a constant stream of the Force to press against their mind. The process must be done slowly and carefully. Put too much pressure on the individual, and you can potentially render them brain dead, and they will then be useless to you. The second option is to use the Force to bring pain upon the individual. In short, torture. To do this you have to hate, truly hate, the one you are interrogating. You must let your hate consume you and you must want to hurt the individual.'
Dany did not know if she could, or even wanted, to use such methods as torture right now. So, instead, she used the Force to gently press down on the woman's mind, not unlike what she did when she used the Force to 'persuade' an individual. The difference being when she did her persuasion it was akin to a poke in the direction she wanted the person's thoughts to go. Whereas what she was doing now was similar to pressing her hand down upon the woman's skull, firm but not overly painful…yet. "You offered to heal my husband, to keep the wound from festering. You did not. Why?"
The old woman just glared up at her. Dany increased the pressure slightly, which made the woman shake her head. "You have talent, girl, more so than what I was told," the witch said in the common tongue, surprising Dany as she did not know that the woman could speak it. "But I have been practicing the mystic arts since before you were born. And this little…trick of yours is nothing more than a slight nuisance. Nothing more."
Frowning, Dany pressed harder against the woman. The old witch closed her eyes, and Dany felt something pushing back against her. "It is worthless, girl. And pointless," the witch snarled. "I will tell you why I aided your husband in passing. Though the fact you must ask shows just how naive you truly are. You two and your khalasar raided my village. Killed my friends and family. Why would I not seek his life in retribution?"
Pulling her power back, Dany felt herself nearly shake in anger. "I saved you!"
"Saved me?" The witch spat angrily. "By the time you 'saved' me, three men had already mounted me and used me for their twisted desires. No, girl…You did not 'save' me. And the only regret I have is that I could not take your brat's life as well!"
Her words pierced her. She was…By the gods, she was right. It was…beyond foolish to trust the welfare of her husband to a woman whose village they'd just taken. By the gods…why? Why had she done that? "So that's why then?" Dany asked lowly. "Revenge. Revenge for yourself…Revenge for your village."
The witch smirked. "Need I have any other reason, girl?"
The words were so…callous, so vicious, that Dany was ready to kill the woman then and there. But just as she was about to raise her hand to strike her down, she…felt something. Yes, this witch killed her husband and wanted to kill her son for revenge. But there was something…else. Something more. "There is more," Dany said, making the woman's cruel smile falter. "Something you're not telling me."
The witch scoffed. "I've told you all you need to know, girl. What more reasons do I need to kill a Khal who saw to the razing of my village?"
There it was again. Something buried deep. But not deep enough. "You're lying," Dany said, resisting the urge to smirk as she felt a spike of fear from the witch. "There is something else. Another reason you have for wanting to kill my husband and my son. Tell me."
The witch kept her lips sealed, refusing to respond. Turning, she glanced towards Doreah. "Take my son out of here. I do not wish him to witness what is about to happen." Doreah nodded and made a hasty retreat, leaving Dany alone with the witch, Ser Jorah, and Rakharo.
"You need not sully your hands with this task, Khaleesi," Rakharo said, stepping forward and placing his hand on his dagger. "I can make her talk."
"No," Dany responded, drawing on her anger—no, her fury—at what this woman had done to her husband and wanted to do to her son. "I have sentenced this woman…so I shall do this."
She was so focused on the witch that she didn't notice the slight intake of breath from Ser Jorah, nor the slight narrowing of his eyes as she squatted down before the witch. "You are going to die, witch," Dany said, her fury lacing through her voice and making it almost so even Dany couldn't recognize her own voice. "The only choice you have before you die is how much pain you wish to endure before you meet your end. Whatever reason you have for killing my husband and wishing harm upon my son…I will have it. One way or another."
The woman kept her silence as she glared defiantly at Dany.
"So be it," Dany growled as she stood back up, drawing on every spec of anger and fury that was coursing through her veins. She felt…embracing this anger, this fury. It was…invigorating. Her heart raced as she raised her hand. She wanted…no…She needed this woman to suffer! She killed her husband! She wanted to kill her son! And Dany would see her scream in agon—
The tent flashed brightly as the space between Dany and the witch was filled with thunder and lightning. While under any normal circumstance Dany would be shocked and fearful of the lightning flying from her hands, right now all she felt was anger! And her anger helped her ignore the surprise of what she was doing and give purpose to the lightning. The witch screamed in agony as the lightning descended upon her. Her binds stretching as the witch screamed and wreathed on the floor, trying desperately to escape the torment Dany was laying upon her but unable to do so. Through her anger, she knew, though she didn't know how, that if she kept going she would kill the witch. So, with great effort, Dany ceased her attack, leaving the witch a twitching mess on the ground.
Ignoring the moans of agony coming from the witch, and the bewildered and slightly fearful looks from Ser Jorah and Rakharo, Dany knelt before the witch. Small wisps of smoke were rising from her person. The smell of burned flesh and the unmistaken smell of someone who'd soil themselves filled the air around the witch. Reaching out, Dany roughly grabbed the witch's still chin and forced her to look at her. Her eyes, once defiant, were now filled with fear and pain. Yes…this was what she wanted! This was what she needed! "Tell me. Why did you kill my husband and seek to kill my son?"
When the witch still didn't answer, Dany raised her free hand once more, lightning already starting to dance between her fingers. "No!" the witch cried, trying to flinch away from her. "I – I was paid!"
The lightning died in her hand. "Paid? By whom and why?"
Her secret out, the witch lowered her head. "I – I don't know who or why…It—It was a traveling merchant from the west who came to our village. He—He said he would pay me my weight in gold and promised to move myself and those I loved away from the threat of the Dothraki. He…He knew that I was a magi and he…he paid me to use whatever means I had to kill your husband and…and your child. But you…you were to be left alive no matter what."
Dany's anger, still racing through her, dulled slightly as she rose to her feet. Without a word, she turned heel and walked from the tent, Jorah and Rakharo close behind her. Once outside, she saw that those who had chosen to stay with her were all gathered around the tent. All of them looking at her with a mixture of fear and respect. Turning towards Doreah, Dany took her son back from her friend and handmaiden. "See to it that a pyre worthy of my husband is built." She commanded calmly as she carried her son towards her tent. "We will send him to the great stallion at nightfall…along with the one who took him from us all."
No one said anything as she entered her tent, her son still in her arms. When she reached her cot, she all but collapsed onto it. Staring down at her son, the full weight of what she'd just done hit her like a maul. She didn't even realize that she was shaking, nor that she was crying until she saw her tears fall upon her son's sleeping face. Raising him to her breast, Dany held on tightly to her son as the bundle of raw emotion she'd been keeping held at bay burst forth, nearly causing her to double over in agony as she cried and held her son like he was the only thing that could help her keep her mind.