Sister's Keeper
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones
Edited by xXFallenSakuraXx52
Chapter 38: The Gift.
Outside of Meereen
Jorah and Tyrion were attached to a link of chains with other slaves, the pirates were docking outside of Meereen. A black market of slavers selling men to the masters. Jorah sighed, for if he were able to see Alysanne again, he would report this. As if the Masters were trying to find loopholes when Slavery was abolished. However, it depends on his fate if a Fighting Master buys him for the pits. Even then, he needs to survive in order to reach the Great Games.
Malko yanked the chains forcing Jorah onto the stage. Jorah recognized some of the masters from the trials, although it seems they do not remember him. Then again, it has almost been six months. The first mate came over removing the iron collar. He sighed feeling some of the weight off his neck.
"A rare find for the fighting pits, my friends," Malko said. "Not your usual street tough or a drunken pirate. This one's a Westerosi knight from an ancient house trained in sword and lance. He fought beside that stag king Robert on the far side of the Narrow Sea. He was first through the breach during the Siege of Spike, slaughtering fifty men with his flaming sword."
That was Thoros of Myr, Jorah though. I was second.
The Masters chuckled trying to imagine Jorah with a flaming sword.
"He killed the great Khal Drogo in single combat," Malko added.
I fought Qotho to prevent demons from leaving the tent. Jorah mentally corrected.
Khal Drogo was a good friend who let Jorah be part of the Khalasar. Jorah looked at Tyrion wondering what other misguided information he gave to the pirate. Tyrion looked down, as Malko continued.
"Betrayed by his woman, he sold himself into slavery to repay his debts. Bidding begins at twelve gold honors." Malko finished.
Lynesse, Jorah sighed.
The crowd murmured debating on buying Jorah or not. The Exiled Knight stood there watching as men examined him as if he was an animal instead of a human being. Now he understands what a slave goes through. Standing here like property as men put your worth on money, and treat you as nothing but a tool. The two poachers he sold must have gone through this. It made him wonder if he should have cut off their hand or offer the Black instead of selling them to slavers. A price and a choice for their criminal actions. Instead of thinking about his debts to please Lynesse's spending.
Soon the betting begins as Malko raised the price to receive more money. One Master in a brown tokar stood there lifting his hand. When it got to sixteen, the Master in brown raised a pouch in the air.
"Twenty," the Master offered.
"Sold," Malko accepted.
The Master tossed Malko the pouch. The pirate caught it, and yanked Jorah off the stage and handed him to the Master's guard, who grabbed the chains. They started walking, which stated the Master was not interested in more purchases. Jorah glanced over his shoulder to Tyrion who was nervous. He knew the dwarf has no chance. If Tyrion is not bought, the pirates will take him to a cock merchant.
"Wait! You have to buy me as well!" Tyrion shouted, rushing forward, only to be stopped by the adolescent pirate who has been beating him all day.
The Brown Master stopped looking at Tyrion, "Why?"
"We're a team," Tyrion answered pointing at Jorah. "I'm a great fighter, too."
The Meereenese laughed at him.
"He's funny. You have to give him that," Malko chuckled.
Tyrion scowled, yanking his leashed that knocked the adolescent pirate down onto the ground. Using the chain whipping and beating the boy who cried out trying to block each blow. The Meereenese laughed, cheering this on. It was until Tyrion kicked the young man in the chest did he stops. The Brown Master looked at Tyrion and sighed.
"You're right, he's funny," the Brown Master said, giving Malko two honors. Then gestured his head to Tyrion to follow.
"Thank you, my lord. Thank you," The dwarf said. "My lord, if I may. I've heard Meereen has become a free city. You might run into trouble if you try to fight slaves in the fighting pits. Now, if you were to fight freedmen who'd be paid a wage—"
Tyrion was met with a smack in the face.
"There's your wages, funny man," the Brown Master said, giving him one honor. "Should last the rest of your life."
The Brown Master being considerate gave Jorah an honor as well. The exiled knight caught it, staring at the gold coin with a harpy engrave. Jorah held on it tightly, knowing it can be of use in the future. The guard tugs on the chains, ordering them to move. Jorah looked up staring at the Great Pyramid wondering what the girls were doing, wondering if Alysanne was safe.
.o0o.
Daenerys's POV
The Mother of Dragons giggled after having sex with Daario. After a few weeks, the Captain of the Second Sons was reinstated back into his position. No longer mucking up the stables and elephant dung, although both knew they have to be careful and not be impulsive like before.
"How long before the King of Meereen comes to claim my pillow?" Daario teased.
"Don't be ridiculous," Daenerys said tracing Daario's chest. "Alysanne's marriage to Hizdahr is political. I think he's smart enough to understand that."
"I think the Sons of the Harpy have stopped killing because their leader was made king." He said.
"Are you jealous? Another handsome man wandering through the grounds?" she teased, twiddling his beard.
"You think I'm petty enough to speak ill of a man because he represents competition?" Daario joked.
Daenerys chuckled, as did he. She knows Daario doesn't hold romantic feelings for Alysanne. The Sellsword respected her sister, a loyal subject to the queen and nothing more.
"My motivations are entirely impure," he continued his joke, then moved to kiss her passionately. He moved on top nestled between her legs. "Doesn't make me wrong."
He went back to kissing her neck.
Daenerys sighed wrapping her arms around him, "You told me yourself we can't fight enemies within and without. So, when enemies come knocking, Alys needs the city of Meereen behind us. She has no choice."
Daario pulled back, "Everyone has a choice. Even slaves have a choice – death or slavery."
"So what else can I do, hmm?" she asked.
"Marry me," he answered looking into her eyes.
Daenerys smiled, "Even if I wanted to do such an inadvisable thing, I couldn't."
"Why not? You are a princess. And you told me yourself that the Queen allows you to choose your husband. You can do what you like."
"True," Daenerys mumbled.
The thing was she messed up too many times, and now her sister was left to clean up the mess she'd made. Ultimately costing Alysanne's freedom to find love again. Daenerys thought if a political marriage would be needed when they return to Westeros, she was willing to give that sacrifice.
"You are freed. Alysanne is the only person in Meereen, who's not free," he murmured. He got off while Daenerys sat up. He knew Daenerys feels guilty in her sister's sacrifice. "And I know I'm here to serve you and your sister and not give advice, but can I make one suggestion?"
Daenerys curled up to him, "Of course."
"On the day of the great games, gather all the Great Masters and Wise Masters and Worthy Masters you can find and slaughter them all. This will free your sister."
"I am a princess, not a butcher." She said baffled by this.
Daario tucks a strand of hair out of her face, "All rulers are either butchers or meat."
They went to sleep, more like Daario went to sleep. When Daenerys knew he was asleep, she climbed out of bed and put on her robe. She quietly walked out of her chambers and went to Alysanne's quarters. The Unsullied were on guard, but they did not mind her. When she reached the door, she knocked to see if Alysanne was awake. Hearing nothing, she went inside regardless as she needed to speak to her.
However, when she entered, she found Alysanne asleep in bed with a book on her chest. The room smelled of herbs, knowing the incense was burning to make Alysanne's breathing easier. The past couple of days Alysanne's coughing has been reduced. But still, a few coughs come now and then. Daenerys carefully removed the book and set it on the nightstand. She glanced at her sister and frowned, seeing how thin her sister had become along with the bruising under her eyes.
Deciding to let her sister sleep, Daenerys adjusted the blanket and blew out the candles. Deep down all Daenerys wanted to do was help her sister. The majority of her life, it was Alysanne who raised her, protected her from Viserys, assassins, and others who lay harm. Her sister who taught her many things, and yet she refused to keep the knowledge in the long run. When Daenerys was a true Khaleesi, it was her chance to pay that debt. Free and protect Alysanne from Viserys and others. Until Khal Drogo's death. Once more, Alysanne did all that was necessary in protecting Daenerys.
Something always bothered Daenerys deeply. She was wondering why Alysanne was so desperate in teaching her how to be a leader. She assumed it had to do with the visions from the Undying Ones or something else. Either way, Daenerys felt guilty that she wasn't doing things right. She wanted to help; it's just she doesn't know what to do.
She sighed going back to her chambers.
.o0o.
Alysanne's POV
A sigh escaped my lips staring at the Tokar laying on the bed. Not just any tokar that the Meereenese wear, but a formal one. A wedding gown. It was white silk, fringed with baby pearls, which symbolizes fertility. Along with a dark red veil. The accessories were a pair of golden sandals, an armband in shape of a dragon, and a jeweled headband that will secure the veil. This was my wedding attire. The outfit I will wear after the great games.
The Masters wanted me to wear their fashion to earn their respect. Already dresses were made, as I stared at the assortment in blues, whites, blacks and purple. The purple one being for the Great Games. I sighed, feeling lost in all this, having no support from anyone. Ser Barristan and Missandei didn't like the decision, but it was the only way to keep the peace. Daenerys kept her distance however, when seeing the gifts of the Meereenese tradition of betrothal, she would make a snide comment. Meanwhile Hizdahr was trying to educate me about the Meereenese culture. He wasn't forcing me to convert to the Ghiscari culture, not telling me to change my religion. He was even considerate to put the vows of the Seven.
Lately, I started to follow Ser Barristan's advice to take a break from paperwork and supplicants, I would either rest or explore the city with my intended as we tour the Temple of the Graces, the Daznak's pit, the markets, and the public gardens. Hizdahr was going over the landmark's history, including areas that were remains of the Valyrian Freehold. Taking me to what was called a pantheon made of marble with a dome ceiling, and on the roof was an opening that allows direct sunlight. Inside looked like the illustrations from books of Valyria in its glorious times. Statues of the Valyrian gods, and fresco paintings of dragons.
"I didn't know this was here," I whispered.
"Not many do," Hizdahr said. "It was a temple for the Valyrians, made after the second war. Many ancient families try to preserve history. Not all should be forgotten."
I nodded walking over to the statues of the Valyrian gods, reading the ancient writings of Balerion, Meraxes, Syrax, and Vhagar. Devine entities in their armors for dragonlords. Their faces covered in armor helmets that resembled a dragon or dragon feature.
"Thank you for showing me this," I told Hizdahr. "I thought I'd never get a chance to see my ancestral home."
"You're welcome, Your Grace," Hizdahr said with a small smile.
We were trying to make this work, neither of us wanted to get married to one another. Nevertheless, it was our obligation and duty to keep the peace. Although, I wasn't pleased when he told me I should visit the fighting pits, yet another tradition.
As I got ready, changing into my black and red gown. I had my hair up secured by the Targaryen brooch. Soon Ser Barristan came in, his left arm no longer in a sling. Even though, I recommended he should focus on recovering instead of being on duty. He held a small jewelry box.
"Your order arrived from the silversmith," Ser Barristan said.
"Thank you," I said, accepting the jewelry box and open it.
Inside were twin rings. Both rings made of silver, each holding two pearls as the settings were in shape of lilies A gift for Daenerys. I want to mend our bond. Let her know that I still love and care for her no matter what. The distance isn't helping, and I don't want the Masters' concessions to ruin our family. So, walking out of my bedchambers, I went over to the terrace where Daenerys sat on the bench reading her scriptures.
"Dany," I spoke.
She looked up surprised.
"May I sit next to you?" I asked.
Daenerys nodded, making room so I could join.
"I have something for you," I said, handing her the jewelry box.
She accepted it, curious before opening the lid to reveal the two rings. Her eyes widened and looked at me. "You shouldn't have."
"But I did," I said, taking her hand. "I know the last couple of weeks have been hard with all that has happened."
"I know," She sighed looking down. "I didn't mean to betray you."
"You're a wild dragon," I murmured. "A free spirit. Something that most Targaryen princesses have of Queen Rhaenys."
"Does that make you Visenya?" she teased.
"Probably," I chuckled then sighed. "A lot of changes are going to happen. I know you don't like the Masters, along with their concessions. But we need to make peace and forge alliances."
"Yet you will not be happy," she said.
I sighed, "A queen is never happy. A ruler must make sacrifices in what is good for the realm. Even if its cost's her, her freedom."
"This is my fault," she whispered.
"Our fault," I corrected. "All we can do is except the consequences of our actions and learn from it."
I took one of the rings and slide it on her finger, "This marriage will bind me to Essos. When the time comes, you will sail to Westeros and reclaim our home."
"Not without you," she protested. "You deserve the Iron Throne."
I smiled softly and cradled her cheek, "I do not seek the Iron Throne or the Red Keep. What I desire are two things. One is to keep you safe and home. And two, restore House Targaryen's name. I personally don't want history to be written as the day father grew mad. I want people to read in the books that Daenerys and Alysanne Targaryen fought for the realm and started a new dynasty. The day you brought the dragons to this world, was the day our legacy began."
Daenerys nodded as she took the twin ring and slid it on my finger.
We held each other's hand.
"No matter where you go, no matter where I am, I will always be there for you," I said and kissed her cheek.
"I love you," she murmured.
"I love you too," I murmured back. "I must go."
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"To the fighting pits," I answered. "Care to join?"
Daenerys scowled shaking her head. I couldn't help but chuckle thinking back when we were children. Nothing else to say, I kissed her forehead and stood up. With one more goodbye, I left the pyramid to meet Hizdahr.
.o0o.
The Lower Pits
In a long corridor, Jorah and Tyrion sat on the benches waiting for the pregame to begin. They learned that the man who bought them was Yezzan zo Qaggaz. He was not a master, but a slave trader who found worthy fighters. Mainly in small games. Keeping the masses entertained throughout the fighting season, preparing worthy champions for the Great Games. Even if it means breaking the new laws and lying on the papers stating they signed up for the tournament.
Jorah sat next to Tyrion who was chained to the wall. The dwarf was not pleased, but Yezzan wanted to make sure the funny man doesn't escape. The dwarf was the fighters' source of entertainment. The knight sighed, and used a wet stone to sharpen the sword that he was given. Massive with angles and curves that relies on the weight in the swing than the control of the wielder. Let alone his armor was that of a padded leather gambeson, bracers, and a helmet. All around men fixed their limited armor and makeshift weapons.
"Many worthy fighters have died trying to make it to the great games," Yezzan said. "When most of you worthless scum join them in death this afternoon, it will represent a significant rise in your station. But if you do happen to triumph here, you will fight at the Great Pit of Daznak itself in front of the queen. So, whatever happens, the gods have smiled upon you today. This is the day your lives actually start to mean something."
Yezzan started selecting opponents for the first game. Jorah sat there contemplating the decision he has to make. This goes against everything the Targaryen sisters represent, killing as a sort of entertainment. However, Jorah needed to win in order to give Tyrion to Alysanne. The Lannister was the key to his forgiveness. He knew he was a dead man when contracting Greyscale. If he were to die, let him die being pardon by the woman he loves. Serve her until the disease is at the edge of corruption of the mind even if he doesn't see her sit on the Iron Throne.
"Valar morghulis," Yezzan praised.
"Valar dohaeris," the men replied.
"Prepare yourselves," Yezzan ordered, clapping his hands leading the selected out.
Jorah held his sword and waited.
A few moments later he heard the fighters say, "We fight and die in your glory, O glorious queen."
This snapped Jorah out of his trance. He got up and rushed to the barred entrance. Ignoring the men who were fighting, his attention went to the royal box. There he saw Alysanne sitting next to Hizdahr zo Loraq. Alysanne watched the game, keeping a neutral face but when one pit fighter stabbed another in the neck, her composure falters in distaste. Jorah knew Alysanne isn't one for extreme violence, she doesn't take pleasure in death. He watched her stand up ready to leave, but Hizdahr stopped her. They exchange a conversation.
Jorah read her lips as she said, " I've sacrificed more than enough for your traditions."
That was all Jorah need to put an end to this game.
.o0o.
Alysanne's POV
Moments earlier…
Hizdahr and I arrived at the lower pits to watch the selection games. Based on the lesson, each small game allows the victors to compete for the Great Games. I asked Hizdahr do the men beat each other up and whoever remains standing goes in. Sadly, Hizdahr explains that even the smaller games men kill each other. I tried hard not to clench my fist and held my tongue. A deal was made that allow free men to fight in the pits. I should have made restrictions by allowing the smaller ones to be men beating each other to a pulp. Therefore, they wouldn't be wasting lives.
We enter the small pit, as Meereenese both rich, poor, and liberated were there for their entertainment. The Unsullied took their positions to secure the grounds, as did Ser Barristan. He volunteers to come since Daenerys is not one for fighting, and Missandei is taking care of Grey Worm.
"Sitting through the Great Games is more than enough," I said.
"For generations in the days leading up to the great games, it has been customary for our ruler to make the rounds of the lower pits to pay the fighters there the honor of her presence," Hizdahr explained.
We sat down on a cushioned bench. The doors opened as the Pit Master of this lower pit, Yezzan zo Gaggaz came out with his fighters. The crowd cheered and applause in the show that is to come. Yezzan saw us and rushed to the royal box.
"Your Grace," he greeted with a bow. "Your future Grace. You honor us all."
Hizdahr nodded his head out of respect.
Yezzan rushed back to the ring where twelve men were standing; he corrected their posture and whispered something in their ears. Once they were ready, Yezzan clapped his hand.
"We fight and die for your glory, O glorious Queen." The fighters praised, as they put on their helmets and secure their weapons.
"Fight!" Yezzan commanded.
And thus, I watch a show of legal murder. I am watching men fight each other as a means of entertainment, seeing men of good skills that could have been used on the battlefield instead of a blood sacrifice to the Gods of Ghis. The crowd cheered, clapping, and rooting their favorite fighter. One stood out. A talk bald, muscular man. He punched his small opponent to the ground, grabbing the man by the head forcing him to face me before stabbing the man in the neck. My eyes widen follow by a gasp. Turning my glance to Ser Barristan who frown at this. Holding myself together, I entwine my fingers forcing myself to watch the game.
Hizdahr smiled at me, though he noticed I was not enjoying this.
The bald fighter turned to his next opponent a young man. The boy got a few beaten on the giant, hitting him with his club. However, the giant took the club away and tossed the boy across the pit. The boy stood up petrified seeing the giant marching over to him. Quickly he turned to run, except the giant swung his sword striking the boy's Achilles tendon, striking him down.
"I think I've seen enough," I said standing up.
"Your Grace, it is a tradition for the queen to stay until the victor has emerged." Hizdahr stopped me.
"I've sacrificed more than enough for your traditions." I said.
"Please, finish this game, and you may go," Hizdahr insisted.
"Very well," I sighed.
Suddenly the doors opened as another fighter came out. It was impossible to indicate his origin, but I could make out he was from the western side of Essos. Yezzan tried to stop the man, but the fightback elbowed the Pit Master and charged into the ring. He went over to the giant who was crushing the young boy skull with a rock. The new challenger punched the giant in the face knocking him unconscious. He then went over to the nearest fighting pair, pulling them apart. Before the second man could respond, he was met with a punch in the chest knocking him down. The challenger turned as his third opponent attack him with the sword. The challenger blocked each attack, until an opening was made, grabbing the third opponent's arm extending it, till wrapping it around to a dislocated move.
That is when I realized the challenger was not trying to kill his opponents. No, he was attempting to immobilize them. Incapacitate them to be critically injured, but able to survive. The type of fighting I approve. I stood there watching, as the challenger confronted the fourth fighter with a ball and change. The iron ball was swinging around striking anyone in its path. The challenger dodged, taking hold of a shield that was abandoned on the ground and hit it across the fourth fighter in the face. I winced slightly, feeling that is going to hurt in the morning.
All the fighters seemed to be down until the fifth fighter wearing a helmet stood up with a mace and charge. One mistake was that he gave a battle cry giving himself away, as the challenger turned around grabbing the attacker's weapon hand blocking the attack and punched him in the torso where the diaphragm would be — postponing his breathing. The challenger forced the fighter down, yanking the helmet off the man and struck him downside the head, knocking the opponent unconscious.
The crowd clapped and cheered for the new challenger. I've seen that all of his opponents were either dead from the first half of the game or severely wounded from him. I've got to say, I was impressed. It reminded me of the Dothraki roughhousing, or settling their scores in Vaes Dothraki without killing each other. The challenger came forward, which the Unsullied draw their spears except he stopped five feet away from the royal box. That was when I saw the gold bracelet of the Dothraki, along with other apparel of clothing, the kilt, and yellow shirt.
The challenger removed his helmet revealing himself to be Ser Jorah Mormont.
I tensed feeling my stomach coiling tight, throat constricted and mouth becoming dry making it difficult to swallow. My eyes sting, as they became watery. Six months. It has been six months since I last saw this man. The man who has stolen my heart and betrayed me. The man who has been haunting me since the moment I exiled him. What is he doing here? Doesn't he know that if he ever returns to Meereen, I'll have him executed?
Jorah stood there out of breath from the fight. Weatherworn, covered in sweat, as his blue eyes stared at me. Still obtaining the same emotions as the last I saw him.
Unable to accept this I clenched my fists, "Get him out of my sight."
"Alysanne, please," Jorah panted.
Two of the guards rushed in restraining Jorah by grabbing his arms. He struggled to try to break free as they drag him away.
"I just need a moment of your time," Jorah said. "I brought you a gift!"
I raised my hand stopping them.
"It's true," another voice joined in the conversation. "He has."
All eyes were turning to a dwarf wearing pentoshi garments. He appeared to be four feet tall, stubby legs, a jutting forehead, green eyes, and dark blond hair. A dark beard covered the dwarf's face, along with a scar. I glanced at Ser Barristan who was surprised then glared at the small man.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I am the gift," the dwarf answered raising his shackled hands. "It's a please to meet you, Your Grace. My name is Tyrion Lannister."
"Son of Tywin Lannister?" I asked.
Tyrion nodded.
My eyes widen. Standing before me was the son of the man who orchestrated the sacking of King's Landing. The brother of the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime Lannister. I was overwhelmed from the game, and seeing Jorah, now Tyrion Lannister stirred so many emotions inside.
"Your Grace, it's best we take them back to the Great Pyramid," Ser Barristan advised.
"Agreed," I whispered.
The Unsullied took custody of Ser Jorah and Tyrion Lannister. I kept my back turn to them, as I made my way to the pyramid. If I stare at both men right now…I don't know what I will do.
What do you guys think? Sorry if the fighting pit scene seems messy. Fight scenes are the hardest for me.
Also thank you to xXFallenSakuraXx52 for being my Beta.
Thanks for reading and please leave a review!