Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…
Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.
Part XXVI…
The somewhat loose border between the Free Cities' Republic and the Dothraki grasslands…
Loose given the Dothraki total rejection of any firm border, only the strength of the Republic's guard forces quietly backed by the Dirters' veiled fist…And the smoldering, still-radioactive ruins of Pentos…Preventing any major raids of nearby major towns or cities.
Ser Jorah offering his passport card to the border post guard, first the Republic's, then a suspicious-looking Dothraki who demanded a search of his mules and the sacks of goods on them…
"Certainly, my friend…" Jorah, in excellent Dothraki…The guard urging him over to a quiet spot.
"Ser Jorah, always welcome…" the tall, well-muscled and tattooed guard smiled to him, giving stern glance at the Republican guard who turned back to his paperwork in his booth.
"Haven't killed him yet?" Jorah noted, glancing back as well. Smiling wave to the other guard in his booth.
"Still not worth it and he keeps his woman's nose out of my business." The guard, one Kaal, shrugged. "No need to have to break in a new dog. How is she?" eager tone.
"Well, lovely as ever, and doing what she can for the People." Jorah nodded.
"Some say other wise. " steady gaze. "Some say she is no longer Khalessi , no longer Dothraki or Targaryen."
"Those 'some' are traitors and liars." Jorah, coldly. "Her heart is Dothraki, she remains Khalessi and the Stormborn Targaryen. What she does now, she does for the People, all the People."
"This is known, to some." Nod. "And I believe it so."
"Good. I've need to get on but let me give you a gift, my friend." Jorah smiled as the guard's face registered the usual pleaure.
Too often in these days of degradation, those seeking entry to the Lands must be "encouraged" to do the normal courtesy of a present…Some even appeal to the laws of Outers.
Always time-consuming…The burials, the paperwork…
But the good Ser Jorah knows the way of the Dothraki…The guard beaming at the sack of Dothraki gold in the form of drinking cups and chains.
"A few antique trinkets I was told you might find amusing, ole friend." Jorah smiled. "Properly purchased with the bills of sale, naturally. I know what a careful man you are about such things."
"One must be, these days, Ser Jorah." Sigh. "Let me stamp your passbook and you can be on your way…You might drop this and a few other packages off with my woman at Vaes New Dothrak. E street, number A2? With the large horns on the front door?"
"I'll be glad to…So, your woman finally took a place in town?" smile.
Narrow look, sigh. "Women, they love to root and nest. What can a man do if she pleases him? And the kids love their new school."
"Change is part of life, ole friend." Jorah, sympathetically. "But I shall deliver my gift and your other items, on my life." He presented his passbook.
"Stay the night if your business allows…There's wrestling on Channel B tonight."
"I would, gladly." Jorah nodded. "I've only a little to do in the new town and about before I make for Vaes Dothrak."
"Then we will roast a haunch of elk steak and drink till we drop! And my money will be on the Masked Scar! I've a feeling luck will be with her tonight."
"A man should always support his woman." Jorah smiled.
….
The Black Keep…
"Watchers, attention!" the harsh cry causing the somewhat milling group to come to more, in the case of long time watchmen and stewards, or less, in the case of raw recruits, to erect and attentive pose, though some, like Sam, rather bridging the gap…
The Acting Commander paced the rows of watchmen, stewards, recruits grimly… "There's to be a state visit by the King and the Lord Hand. And by the Gods, the Watch will be ready for it, if I have to break each one of you louts to pieces and refashion a man out of ye! And that includes the women present!" He eyed the handful of recruited women who stared, eyes front.
Got to admit, most of them are far more likely warriors than most of the male lot we get, he thought to himself. Perhaps Jon's acceptance of the King's and little Lannister's move to allow some admission of women to the ranks wasn't all that awful of a notion in that respect.
However…In others…He frowned at one comely young woman…
Hell, half of the older men are former rapers at that.
Though, again…This one did handle herself well with the few who tried her.
Meanwhile, though attempting to stand erect and heed the instructions of the Acting Commander, Samwell's mind was preoccupied with concern for Jon and the Dirter maester so interested in him.
Maybe I should've headed right out after Sin-clair, he inwardly sighed. Yet, do that and not only would he'd've been stumbling round blindly south of the Wall, but any other spies or informants would've noted his absence…After all, a large presence or absence, he noted to self, wryly…And let the…Doctor? Doctor, yes…Know he was being rather largely shadowed if he'd not caught on to that already.
No, probably best that Jon handle that. After all, he'd sent Kendrick directly south to the mostly likely points of inspection to alert him, there was little more he could've done on his own.
"Tarly…If I'm not interrupting your daydreams of glory?" the AC, now in front of him, eyed him. Sam hastily pulling himself up.
"Commander!"
"We are ready for our guests? Supplies laid in?"
"Yes, sir. I've checked the stocks, Commander."
"We're ready for a royal visit?" narrow look.
"Uh…Well, if it's a small and sort of limited royal party…Commander."
"Tarly…" grim sigh.
"Sorry, Ser…We'll be ready."
"That's what I want to hear, Tarly. Make sure it's not just words." Grim stare.
"Ay, Commander." The AC moved on to the Captain of the Guards…
Should've given the boy a list of things to get at that, long as he's south, Sam sighed.
"Commander!" a voice called, Surrey, one of the sentinels on duty above, watching the North side…
"We've a party approaching, seeking asylum!"
"Eh?" the AC stared. Several of the rawer recruits gawking a bit.
"Eyes front, recruits!" their trainer, one-eyed, grizzled Ole Selm, cried.
"What's this, Surrey…Wildlings, ex-Walkers…Tourists?" the AC addressed Surrey, who'd now reached the Hall.
"A woman and her party…Children, a couple of men. Say they're fleeing the Mother Love, Commander." Surrey, a raw-faced but experienced young fellow, in his twenties, pausing. A petty thief by some accounts, a volunteer seeking adventurous service…"Aren't we all?" one grizzled veteran had grinned at the statement…By his own, now two years in service, he'd developed into a fairly skillful Ranger/Guardsman.
"Fleeing Mother Love…Are they in, yet?"
"They're about a half-league off yet, I was sent out to meet them when we spotted them as I was out. Ser Allister sent me straight in to tell you, Commander."
"Woman and children, and a couple of men. How many in all?"
"Five, Commander."
"More to the point, how's the woman?" guffaw from one old vet.
"Gufney, another word and you'll be scrubbin' pots for Sam Tarly." The AC frowned. "No weapons? None trailing?" he returned to Surrey.
"The men and the woman had guns…Pistols. They've agreed to hand over at the entry. They say the Lovers are after them. They're rebels, one or two friends high up among the Lovers were killed the other day and they fled, with the woman and her children. They say the son of the old King of the Far North was one. Dead, now."
"The son of Mance? Dead?" A former wildling in the ranks spoke now.
"Silence!" the AC commanded. "All right, I'll come with you and look them over. Tors?" he turned to a guardsman. "Sound the call, just in case. All to posts, we'll discuss the frivolities later. Dismissed!" All breaking ranks at once and scurrying off in all directions. A wailing alarm, rope pulled but amplified by Dirter speakers, sounding as they moved off.
"Tarly!" the AC called to Sam as Sam moved for the door to join his stewards. "Come, you know the free wildlings as well as any man here. I'll have better use of you with me than waiting here fetching supplies."
"Ay, Commander." Sam nodded, hurrying to him.
"Is she really a Lover, fled?" he asked Surrey, eagerly.
"Why don't we go and then we'll find out, Tarly?" the AC, patiently. "The rest of you…" he looked round… "Try to not disgrace the Watch. Tors, keep them in line. You're Acting Commander if things go wrong. Come on, you two."
Wrong? Sam blinked…
….
At the base of the Great Wall…
Sam with Surrey, trying to look reasonable menacing and watchful, in support of the Acting Commander…
Hope we'll be going inside soon…I forgot my new thermal boots, Sam thought.
"Elyse, wife to Tomace, Caller to the Mother, you say." The AC eyed the rather bedraggled but lovely Elyse, a striking brunette in thick if worn fur cloak. A young boy and girl clinging to her, two men of rugged if medium build in wildling cloaks, one of middle age, the other older, clearly her attendants. "What brings so exalted a one of the Mother's party to the Wall, seeking our asylum?"
"The Lovers killed my husband for turning against their Dirter queen. We've broken with them and they killed him and those with him, even the one who betrayed him. She's hunting me and our children now, to silence us."
"Dirter, you say?" the AC stared at the woman, regally erect, clearly of the wildling elite, such as it was.
"Mother Love is a Dirter, sir." Sam spoke up. "The Dirter scholar, Sin-clair, told Jon…The Commander…So, before the Commander left…Sir."
"I'll ask you for information when I want it, Tarly." Frown. "A Dirter? You can prove this?" the AC addressed Elyse.
"Do you grant us asylum?" she asked, steady look.
"Yes. If I see no treachery here." Calm reply. "You can start by giving honest and useful answers…"
"She brought her people Dirter weapons…It's commonly spoken of among the oldest of her Lovers." Elyse, coolly.
"Not the first to steal a Dirter rifle…" shrug.
"Not rifles, sir." Elyse, calmly. "The fire of the Dirters that burns worse than dragonfire and kills forever. And she means to use it, here, at your Wall."
….