DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from either ASOIAF or MBoTF, I'm just borrowing them to have some fun. I own the OCs, though.
This has been published on the Valyrian_Forged livejournal community on 04/07/2012 under the title "A Meeting of Dragons"
Contains introspection,emo-ness and some gratuitous fight-candy at the end. This last bit was obviously inspired by the infamous "training scene" in Hellboy II and fleshed out from some awesome videos of martial artists on Youtube. I just took the showing off Up To Eleven.
WARNINGS: none.
Enjoy, and don't forget to review.
IMPORTANT A.N. For those not familiar with the MBoTF saga (contains spoilers)
Letheras is a city of the MBoTF setting, situated on the Letherii continent (How original, eh?). Starvald Demelain is the Eleint Warren, basically a dimension chock full of enraged dragons. Definitely something you do not want spilling into your own dimension. Azath Houses, instead, are some semi-sentient entities that try to counter accumulation of excess magic, sealing gates and imprisoning powerful beings such as mages and Ascendants. They take time to take root. Hust swords are possessed weapons forged in ancient times by the Tiste Andii. When wielded, they cackle maniacally. Letherii blue steel swords instead are forged in a way that makes vibrations resonate through their structure, so that they seem to sing or weep or cry. Definitely creepy.
For further information on MBoTF you might want to check:
Malazan Wiki
Encyclopedia Malazica
Daario is dead…
The words kept echoing inside her ever since ser Barristan uttered them in the plaza. Daenerys had struggled with herself to keep a semblance of composure, even if she felt like something inside her had torn. She had staggered, feeling as if her legs wouldn't support her, and immediately Silchas was beside her, ready to catch her as she fell.
It would have been so easy to let him comfort her, enveloping her with his wiry arms and holding her tight against his chest. She would have buried her face against his skin and he would have held her as she sobbed, saying nothing, but she would have felt safe, better, just for his presence. It would have felt almost good, but it would have been wrong.
Daario was dead; she had sent him to his death by appointing him as a hostage to the Yunkishmen. She had just married with Hizdahr zo Loraq, a man she didn't love, didn't like and didn't trust, sacrificing her chances of happiness for her people, for peace. Daario would have been too much of a temptation and for that she had sent him away.
Her last words to him had been cold and angry and she would never be able to make amends, to tell him that she was sorry for distancing herself from him. He was no more. He would never smile again his crooked smile, or flirt shamelessly with her, or kiss her, making her head spin, and the worst of this was that, for the last couple of weeks or so, ever since meeting the two strangers, she had barely thought about him.
Granted, at the beginning it had been a life-or-death situation and she didn't really have time to think about him, but later… She had replaced him, had bedded another man who was not her husband without thinking about it twice and, while it had been a tactical move, she had enjoyed it far too much to be able to convince herself that it had been just expedience. She had enjoyed not just the sex, but the companionship, the emotions that inevitably attached themselves to the experience and the proof was that, even now that she should be grieving for Daario, she yearned for Silchas to comfort her.
She had betrayed Daario and this knowledge made her feel even worse about his death.
Daenerys had forced herself to stand on her own, ignoring Silchas' worried expression and had gone through the motions of a normal behaviour, instructing the guards to resume their watch over the plaza, thanking the commanders for briefing her and asking her two companions to take care of her children, then excused herself and retired to her chambers. Only when the door was closed behind her, she allowed herself to let go and cry for the loss, for everything she could have done different and would never be able to, for her guilt.
She cried until her eyes felt raw and swollen and her head pounded, until she felt so exhausted that she fell into a fitful sleep and still she yearned for white arms to wrap around her, lulling her to sweet dreams.
From the top of the black pyramid of Yherizan, Silchas Ruin could see all of Mereen.
Even if the building Rhaegal had chosen as his abode was less than half the height of the Great Pyramid where the queen resided, still it was the tallest of the lesser pyramids and an impressive vantage point.
From there not only he could see the hulking shape of the royal residence and the golden domes of the Temple of the Graces, shining bright in the moonlight, a few circular buildings which were supposed to be fighting pits and a few other pyramids, but he also had a clear, unbroken visual over the mouth of the Skahazadhan and the port. Cities were like trees, he mused: they needed water to grow. Letheras had the Lether and the Canals, Kharkanas, his own hometown, had the depthless Dorssan Ryl and Mereen had her river as well, glittering gently in the dark.
Silchas Ruin had lived for millennia in the unrelieved darkness of Kurald Galain, before Light was born and the moon and the stars were more than enough for him to distinguish the riot of colours of the city's brick buildings, the harpies on the crenellations of the city wall and even the Qartheen banners on the ships blockading the harbour. The city was surrounded and suffering but it was still beautiful, in an alien sort of way, as its queen.
He would be happy to leave both as soon as he could, he thought bitterly.
The queen was in her palace, locked shut in her chambers, crying, grieving over her dead lover, refusing food, refusing to allow anyone in, even her handmaidens and her scribe.
He should have known better than to believe that there was none to wait for her in Mereen. The Consort didn't mean anything to him, because it didn't mean anything to her, but this Daario, her lover, he meant something to her. His death tore her to pieces and he would have wanted nothing better than to hold her together, even if he didn't know why, but she refused him.
He had been nothing but a temporary stand-in for her other lover, to be soon discarded as they reached their destination.
He had been told many times that he was not his brother, that he was not enough, but apparently he was not even enough to substitute a damnable human mercenary. It hurt, even if it shouldn't.
She was just a short-lived human and he barely knew her, he had no right to be jealous, even less judging from how the two of them had met and what had brought them together. Tactical expedience, lust, nothing more, he told himself.
Could he reasonably expect their agreement to be anything more than that?
No.
Did he?
Yes, oh, yes.
When he had first met her, he had been captivated by her beauty and bravery, even by her brazen deception of both him and the barbarian warlord, annoying but flawlessly executed, and this, together with her bond with the Eleint, had piqued his curiosity. It was only later, when he had looked in her eyes and had seen how she carried the weight of grief and death on her shoulders even if she was so young, how for her being queen was not a privilege but a responsibility, that he had allowed himself to feel something for her, to let down his defences.
How foolish of him.
Even now he couldn't stop thinking of how her body had fit perfectly with his, of how right it had felt to wake up beside her every morning, of how he had thought he had found someone that was like him. He could smell the Eleint blood flowing through her, just under her lightly golden skin, could feel her power. It had been oddly comforting to open himself up to her, even if he had always known that it would be a temporary arrangement and that he would have to leave, better sooner than later. He would have accepted that pain, but this, knowing that everything had been a lie, even if it had seemed so real… This was too much.
He couldn't countenance remaining at the Great Pyramid, too angry and distraught and confused, so he had followed Rhaegal to his lair and now watched the city sleep and his thoughts run in painful circles with just the green dragon and a wineskin as company.
"Mother grieves for the man with the blue beard, but he had not felt right. – the dragon said – You instead smell right, like her. You should not be here with me, but with her. She is in pain. You should console her, White Khal."
Silchas brought the wineskin to his lips and drank deep. "Not everything that feels right is really right, little one. - he replied, feeling his heart tear at the dragon's words – Your mother doesn't want me to console her."
Rhaegal tilted his head in perplexity at his words. "But she likes you, I have seen it." the dragon protested. Silchas didn't reply but drank deeper still, trying to forget how she had looked happy that very morning as they had woken up in each other's arms, wrapped in the same blanket. She had smiled and whispered in his ear that she wished that Rud would disappear for a while so that she could make love to him and he had found extremely difficult to think about anything else. Even a few hours before, when they finally landed in Mereen, she had smiled and touched his hand, exchanging suggestive glances with him.
Rhaegal hissed quietly, a sound that was rather more like a sigh, and curled to sleep. "You soft-skins are too complicated . – he commented – I like you, White Khal, and I'm glad I'm going into battle with you soon." he declared, closing his eyes and promptly falling asleep.
Silchas found himself smiling in spite of himself. "Thank you, little one." he whispered, settling himself against his scaly flank and taking another draught of wine. Sleep would be long in coming.
The following morning, Silchas woke up as the sun filtered into Rhaegal's lair. The dragon was still soundly asleep and he just let him sleep his fill. Despite his bluster and his competition with Drogon, the dragon was not nearly big and strong enough to carry him for long and he needed to be fresh and rested for the fight.
Sighing, the Tiste Andii picked his way down the half-collapsed stairs of the pyramid and walked towards the royal residence. He hated the idea of meeting the queen, but he had to speak with Rud and with the elderly knight who seemed to be in charge.
People stared at him as he walked down the cobbled streets, but he paid them no mind. People had always stared at him whenever he happened to be, even in Kharkanas where the only thing wrong about him had been his colour. Here he was not even the same species as the citizens and word of the manner of their arrival couldn't have helped but circulate among the guards and maybe into the city proper: he wagered that by now a lot of people knew about the two strangers who arrived on dragonback with the queen. Silchas wondered what the Meereenese thought of it.
Despite the stares and the children surreptitiously following him, Silchas arrived at the Great Pyramid uncontested. The guards let him pass without asking questions, for which he was grateful. As soon as he entered in the Pyramid, the glare of the sun and the scorching heat were left behind. Inside the huge, thick walls, the air was cool and bathed in perennial twilight. Silchas cast a look around, trying to find his bearings, then decided to ask the first guards he could find about the whereabouts of ser Barristan Selmy. A light footed child was the only person he could find in sight, but she would have to do.
"Can you tell me where is ser Barristan, little one?" he asked.
The child, a girl of maybe eight, her hair bound in cornrows, nodded quietly, then pointed towards a staircase. "In the training yard. Third level. – she said with a strange, rather guttural accent – Are you a demon?" she asked shyly, twisting her hands in her gown.
Silchas shook his head, making the bells chime. He had completely forgotten to take them out when he had gone to sleep the previous night. The queen had always done it for him, ever since the first night and he had been very fond of their little nightly ritual.
"You're very strange." the girl said, tilting her head to one side.
Silchas shrugged. "You would look strange in the place where I am from." he replied.
The girl nodded, pensively. "I would guess so. Do all people look like you, there?" she asked.
"No, they don't, little one. I am strange even there." he replied truthfully.
"Oh. - the girl said – It must be lonely. I am going the same way as you. I can walk with you, if you want." she offered, thrusting a hand towards him.
Silchas felt a little baffled and stared at the girl for a second, then tried weakly to smile and took her small hand in his, nodding. "Thank you, little one." he said, attempting a smile.
The girl guided him towards the stairs, at first only glancing shyly at him, then, losing her fear as they ascended, talking precipitously about anything that came to her mind.
"I am Kezmya zo Pahl. – she said – My father used to be one of the Great Masters, but now all the slaves are free and he is not master of anything anymore. I work for the queen, you know? I am a cupbearer."
Silchas nodded, letting her talk and trying desperately not to think about Kettle.
She had not even been a real child, just the seed of the Azath House where he had been imprisoned for so long, but he wished he didn't have to use her to seal the gate to Starvald Demelain in Refugium. She had looked like a child and behaved almost like a child and for that her fate was even crueller. Her sacrifice had been in vain after all, the pressure of the Eleint Warren too great for her young powers to contain and even now the Bentract Imass and Rud's father were escaping their dying world. Udinaas had entrusted his own son to his care to take him out of there, knowing that Rud wouldn't have let his world die without a fight, but what would come out of that gate was too much even for a powerful Soletaken as the boy was.
"Here we are. - the girl said finally, standing in front of a heavy double door. - You are very silent, you know? – she added thoughtfully – Well, good day to you, my lord, I have chores to do." she saluted, sauntering away before he could do anything more than raise a hand in salute.
From behind the door he could hear the unmistakable noise of weapons clashing, young voices and laughter. Someone was having a good time in there, he thought, opening the door.
He was not surprised when he found Rud among a small crowd of young men, laughing and sharing jokes. There were four meereenese, three of which looked like brothers, a black-skinned young man with odd facial scarifications and one that looked like a dothraki, except without a braid, but there was a distinct absence of dour-faced old knights.
"Silchas! – Rud exclaimed – What are you doing here?" he asked good-naturedly.
"I was looking for you. And for ser Selmy." he replied.
"The knight is not here. A runner asking for him and he left a few minutes ago. – he informed, unnecessarily – I guess he will be back shortly. But you can talk to me, if you want." he added, looking at him as if he expected a repetition of the scene he had witnessed after their encounter with Olar Ethil.
Silchas shook his head. He was not really in the mood for talking with his companion at the moment, he didn't want to hear empty words of comfort. He would just ignore the pain and it would go away, eventually. It always did. "It was nothing that cannot wait. – he said – I'll wait for Selmy, then."
Rud shrugged and turned back to his companions, trading gossip and jokes. By the looks of it, the boys had been sparring or training and now were intent at chilling out, while ser Barristan was away.
How it was possible that Rud was always able to make friends wherever he was, Silchas asked himself, sighing. He looked around the training room, trying to distract himself.
The room had a high, vaulted ceiling with apertures high on the walls, that might serve to disperse heat, and was big enough to let a whole company train at the same time. The walls were lined with weapon racks and targets and the brickwork floor was shiny with wear.
The knight might be coming soon or might be taking his time in returning, he mused, sitting on a bench and sighing. Usually, he was good at waiting, but at the moment, he felt still too angry and wounded to stay still and quiet. He considered going back the way he had come and calling later on the knight, but he really didn't feel like chasing the old man around and remaining in the training room was the easiest way to catch him.
Silchas sighed and stood up, shedding the dothraki leather vest, then walked to the centre of the floor and unsheathed his swords. He twirled them expertly in his hands, relishing in their perfect balance and in the slight moan they emitted in cutting through the air. Letherii Blue Steel weapons would sing in the heat of battle, blows resonating through their structure, a sound that was only marginally less disquieting than the manic cackle of Hust swords. Decidedly, the Letherii who had given him the swords knew his business, he thought gratefully, sinking into a low guard stance.
Ever since his youth, even when he hadn't yet had to contend with the call of Eleint blood clamouring for violence, he had always found solace in going through the forms in the training yard, striving for speed and grace. It required discipline and all his concentration and prevented him from thinking too hard about things that upset him. It was not the same thing as being able to veer and cauterize the emotional wounds with rage and chaos, but it helped.
The world narrowed down to the present moment as he flowed from one stance to the next, slashing, parrying and lunging, fighting an imaginary, faceless opponent. He felt his muscles straining, sweat beading on his forehead, he heard the sound of his footsteps on the hard floor, his own heartbeat, the chiming of the dothraki bells, nothing more. His mind was empty, his whole being projected into the motion.
He felt almost peaceful.
"It looks like your cousin knows his business, Rud." Tumco Lho commented, glancing at the centre of the room.
"Pah, he is just showing off. – the Red Lamb objected – I'd like to see him do that in a real fight. It looks like he's dancing." he added, sarcastically.
Rud shrugged. What Silchas was doing looked rather like a dance, indeed, all broad sweeping movements and elegance, but he knew that the man could fight viciously, he had seen it.
"He's doing forms, you wool-head." Lash interjected, swatting the other boy on the head.
"Forms are stupid and worth nothing in combat. - the lazhareen retorted – We could best any of those sissy nobleborn who spend their time practicing forms. You know it." he added.
"We know it. – commented Shabaqo, one of the three meereenese brothers – Still, this stranger is giving a good show."
"A bit on the theatrical side." his brother Rezzak objected.
"Good technique, still." commented the third brother, Kezzar.
Rud stood silent, smiling faintly at the antics of the other young warriors. He was suitably impressed by his companion's display of martial prowess and discipline but, more than that, he was worried about him. When the queen had broken under the news of the demise of a mercenary leader, Rud thought he could smell a rat, but then palace gossip confirmed it: the man had been the queen's lover. To say that Silchas had taken that piece of information badly would have been an understatement. Rud had yet to witness any overt display of emotion, but he knew that bitterness and anger bubbled under the calm exterior like lava in the crater of a dormant volcano.
Even if Silchas would never admit it even to himself, Rud knew that, while he pretended to go on with the queen's ruse just out of expedience and declared that they were just allies, the Andii had grown to care a great deal for the queen.
Except for the fact that the two of them didn't seem able to keep their hands off each other, it was not blatant, his companion was not an overly emotional man, but Rud could read the subtle hints: the way he actually smiled and not smirked at her, his slightly disquieting possessiveness when Rud had flown with her alone, the way he accepted any form of casual touching from her, as if relishing in her nearness.
His reaction when the queen had almost perished in the dreamquest had put a nice cap on the whole matter in Rud's opinion: Silchas had been falling, or had already fallen, for the queen and she seemed to requite his feelings, at least until their arrival in Meereen. Rud recalled how the queen and Silchas had stood together, side by side, petting Rhaegal after his temper tantrum, looking every inch like loving parents consoling their child. He was surprised no one else had noticed, but maybe they were too busy eying warily the three Eleint to look for it.
The queen's reaction must have hit him hard, Rud mused as he watched Silchas increase the pace of his routine, the violence of his movements, until then coated under a layer of elegance, coming to the forefront. Even then, the Andii had been ready to help her, to console her, only she had distanced herself from him, which was understandable, given the circumstances: she must have wanted to grieve privately, to have a bit of breathing room. Silchas, however, couldn't have helped but perceive it as rejection. He probably thought that he had made a fool of himself in believing that they had been more than allies, but Rud sensed that the truth was much more complicated than this.
The excited exclamations of his newfound friends startled him out of his musings. He blinked, refocusing on his surroundings. Lash and the brothers were whooping and cheering loudly as Silchas flowed on the tiled floor, spinning and sweeping his swords in sharp trajectories, twirling them around his head and torso in a dizzying array, then reversed the grip and skewered an imaginary opponent sneaking behind him and then reversed the grip again, advancing and retreating without breaking the rhythm. He was fighting with his whole body, intercalating slashes and thrusts of his swords with spinning kicks and rolls, tumbling out of the way of imaginary ripostes and bouncing back to his feet, ready to attack once more. His red eyes smouldered in concentration, his mouth was set in a thin, grim line and he didn't seem to notice the loud cheering and the comments. Rud shook his head: he had the impression that Silchas was trying to vent his temper by wearing himself out. The problem was that he must have a lot of energy left to spend, being a Soletaken and all.
"Your cuz is impressive. – Tumco Lho commented with admiration – I can believe that he did three dothraki in. Where did he learn to do that?" he asked, eyes sparkling in interest. Rud shrugged as another acrobatic evasive move brought a renewed ragged cheer from the others. A small crowd of gawkers was forming at the entrance, servants and off-duty guardsmen and even a couple of the queen's cupbearers. "He would have made a good pit-fighter. – the Red Lamb conceded grudgingly – Showy enough to attract the crowds." he added with a sneer. The Sothyrosi snorted and looked on the verge of replying quite cuttingly, which could spark a long argument between the two, as Rud had already managed to notice.
An elderly but still energetic voice, the voice of someone used to making himself heard on a battlefield, cut through the crowd.
"What is happening here? – the voice asked – Disperse immediately. This is not a sideshow!" he scolded. The crowd at the door melted into nothing ness and ser Barristan made his entrance, looking quite irritated. The old warrior looked sternly upon the young warriors, as if reprimanding them for idling about instead of training as he had instructed before leaving, then his gaze swept on the training yard and he frowned, gazing with open hostility at Silchas. The knight's hands tightened into fists. He stepped towards the edge of the floor and called loudly and angrily for Silchas, who didn't acknowledge him.
The Andii continued the form he had been performing into a low double slash, then straightened, executed a high parry and kicked upwards, throwing himself in a backwards flip to land lightly in a low stance, swords crossed in front of him in a double parry. Only then he straightened again, slamming his swords into their scabbards and turning towards the knight with a flat, emotionless expression.
"Ser Selmy. – Silchas said quietly, with a sketchy, almost perfunctory bow – What can I do for you?"
The knight evidently took the delay in acknowledging his call and the haughty manner as deliberate insults and his mood soured even further.
"I need a word in private with you, my Lord." the knight gritted, enunciating the title in a manner that seemed to implicate that he didn't think the stranger deserved it.
Rud shook his head. He must have missed something vital, because he didn't understand the hostility of the knight towards his companion.
One thing he knew for certain, given the mood Silchas must be in at the moment, things were not looking up.
