A/N: Hey everybody. A lot's happened since I posted last. At least here in the US. But, we're about to get out for a little while for Thanksgiving, and I don't know about my fellow Americans still in school, but I am SO ready to go home. It's been a very long three months. Anyway, here's a chapter for you. It's kind of a transition chapter just to set up some new things so it isn't super exciting, but, it's here nonetheless, so I hope you enjoy reading at least a little bit. As always, many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin, except for Vanyrra, cause I made her up. And just got and started ESO with her. And then Dar'Jazha of course too.
Rating: Uh...T? I think. There's like naked people and vaguely gory Forsworn stuff but idk. I think that's all. Nothing graphic. Sandor's the only one so far who makes every chapter M just by being in it.
Though the Forsworn eyed them warily as they passed, none moved to fight them, for Madanach's antlered helm remained tethered to Dar'Jazha's saddle as their token of alliance, or at least, of a wary and temporary truce.
"Looking for the King?" A burly Orc with white war paint across his face directed the question at Dar'Jazha and the Khajiit nodded. Grunting, the Orc jerked his head toward a narrow path, ending in the gaping entrance to a cave. "In there. He's waiting for you."
Eyeing them for a moment longer, he bared his teeth and shook his head. "Too bad you showed. I was betting that Kaie would ignore Madanach's word and slaughter you both. You lost me every bloodstained septim I took from the corpses of those cowards in Markarth." Laughing mirthlessly, he grinned and then watched them as they took their leave.
It was clear that Dar'Jazha had formed some strange and foreign sort of camaraderie with the Forsworn, and Drogo thought again to ask his partner what he had endured in the depths of Cidhna Mine. Before he could, he came to his senses and kept his mouth tightly shut. He respected Dar'Jazha far too much to pry, and from the occasional haunted gleam in his eyes, he wasn't sure that he truly wanted to know what the answer would be.
Tying their horses to stakes as of yet unadorned by the enemies of the Forsworn, they continued on foot into the cave, and Drogo couldn't help but gasp as it opened before them. Carved into the base of the mountain was a massive cavern, larger even than some of Skyrim's smaller villages.
To their right, a couple of Forsworn swam in a clear pool of water, their armor abandoned at the shore. Before them, a number of the warriors tended to an expansive garden while beside it a round cask of mead flowed into a waiting barrel that was rolled away to join a half dozen others.
"There," Dar'Jazha said after a moment, pointing toward the farthest and highest end of the cavern.
Drogo followed the gesture to see a throne of bone and leather resting above everything that lay below. In it, Madanach sat, overseeing his followers as they worked far beneath him.
Nodding, he continued onward, weaving through the rows of crops and past a glowing forge to the winding path that led to the garish throne.
Madanach watched their approach, and when they reached his throne, he held out one hand. His expression neutral, Dar'Jazha handed over the antlered helm and Madanach placed it atop his head before speaking.
"You must be the 'Khal Drogo' that our mutual friend spoke of," he said, eyeing the Redguard with interest, and a hint of disdain. "I am Madanach, the King in Rags, and leader of the Forsworn."
"Yes," Drogo replied evenly. "Your name and reputation precede you."
Madanach smiled slightly at that and nodded before turning his gaze once more to his warriors below. "Look at them," he said after a moment. "Fierce, loyal, deadly...and yet surprisingly domestic when not on the field of battle. They are the perfect army, are they not?" His gaze slid back to Khal Drogo and the younger man nodded cautiously.
"It would seem so. My wife could certainly use them at her side when she retakes High Rock from the Usurper and his corsairs and claims her rightful throne." He could see when Madanach's jaw clenched that the challenge in his tone had not escaped unnoticed.
Finally, Madanach nodded and stood, grasping Drogo's arm above the elbow. "Come with me, Khal Drogo," he ordered. When he cast a glance at Dar'Jazha, the Forsworn grinned toothily, and Drogo could see that several of his teeth had been sharpened into points. "Do not worry about our Khajiit here," he replied to the unspoken question. "They will not harm him. He is one of us now."
Silently, Drogo followed the self-appointed king, and they were far into the crowds of working Forsworn when he decided to speak.
"Your servant, my new...brother, it seems, tells me that your wife is a direct descendant of Queen Elysana."
"Dar'Jazha is my partner and my equal," Drogo replied harshly. The thought of them claiming him as one of their own made his blood boil. "But yes. Daenerys is a true Targaryen, and the last at that. Her brother has neither the strength nor the ability to rule."
"And your Daenerys does?" Madanach sounded skeptical, and Drogo fought down his growing ire.
"Yes. She's stronger than any man or woman on Nirn, and with your army at her back she will rule High Rock."
Madanach was silent for a moment before speaking again. "Do you know of the Briarhearts, Khal Drogo?"
Though he had never met one of the legendary warriors himself, Drogo certainly did know of the Briarhearts. They were at the center of every tale of Forsworn witchcraft: deadly soldiers slaughtered at the hands of their brethren and then raised back to life by the Hagravens that their people worshipped, stronger than before, hearts of thorny briar pounding in the gaping hole where their human hearts had once brought life.
"Yes," he replied simply.
Nodding, Madanach gestured toward the forge that Drogo and Dar'Jazha had passed on their way in. "You speak of your wife as though she is a goddess, and yet, to the Forsworn, mine truly is, and they fear her as such." As Drogo looked closer, he saw that the Forsworn working the forge was in fact a woman, though her hair had been shaved close to her skull and the fierce war paint that decorated her face hid the femininity of her features.
"In all the history of the Forsworn, no woman has survived the Briarheart ritual," Madanach continued. He paused for a moment and then smirked. "Save one."
As the woman turned to shape the molten iron into a jagged blade, Drogo saw the ragged hole outlined by her armor, and within, the briar heart pounding in time with the hammer clenched in her first, held in only by a pair of crude leather straps. The sight sent his blood running cold.
"I am getting old, and for many decades, I thought that I would end my life in the depths of Cidhna Mine," the Forsworn king said, admiring the woman from their position, still high above her. "And so it is time that the Forsworn have an heir." At that, Drogo looked back at the older man, and he nodded, teeth bared in a feral grin. "Though she does not know it yet, I have chosen Vanyrra as my queen."
As though she was able to sense the mention of her name, she turned sharply from the forge and her gaze met Drogo's, hard and cold. Beneath the black of her eyes there was a startling emptiness, and he felt the sudden urge to retch.
Shakily, he broke their gaze and he could see the smug satisfaction in Madanach's eyes when he looked back to him. "In the face of such beauty and power, you are expecting me to believe that your wife is to be our queen," he said. "So you must forgive me if I am hesitant to give you my army."
"If you were to meet Daenerys you would have no trouble believing what I tell you," Drogo countered confidently. Though she had yet to realize her own power, he knew that there was something more to his young wife, and that it would one day lead her to sit upon her rightful throne.
"Perhaps," Madanach replied, though there was no concession in his tone. "But she is not here, is she?"
To that, Drogo had no proper answer, and his stomach twisted as he realized that it had been nearly a moon since Dany had left for Falkreath, and he had yet to hear word.
Nodding smugly, the older man released his grip and waved a hand dismissively. "I will consider your offer, Khal Drogo. And by the rise of the full moons, you shall have your answer."
Drogo stared at the moons for a long moment, just over a week past their peak. They had been at Druadach Redoubt for a quarter of the moon already, and so it would be for two more that they must wait for Madanach to make his decision.
"I don't know if Madanach will give us control of his army," Drogo said honestly, watching as Dar'Jazha crouched beside the river that ran alongside the Redoubt. "He is a man that is far fonder of leading than following, that much is clear."
The Khajiit nodded in agreement, his tail flicking back and forth as he peered into the clear water. A moment later, he darted a paw into the river and came back grasping a wriggling salmon. When Drogo rolled his eyes, Dar'Jazha grinned and the two men began to ascend the hill, their dinner still squirming irritably.
"He has not met our Khaleesi...no," Dar'Jazha replied when they reached the interior of the cave once more, settling beside an already burning fire. He shrugged, killing the fish and then absently beginning to remove its patterned scales. "Perhaps were she here he would speak differently."
Drogo sighed. "I only wish I knew where she was, and if she is alive. Surely she couldn't still be with Viserys, and with tales of dragons in Helgen spreading across Skyrim...her fate is even less certain."
"My Khal would know if his Khaleesi were dead," Dar'Jazha replied confidently, and though Drogo believed him to a point, it did nothing to soothe his fears.
He made to reply, but was interrupted by a voice from behind him. "Your wife is...Khaleesi."
Even before he turned, he knew who the voice belonged to, and yet when he turned, he was still forced to repress a shudder.
Vanyrra was standing behind him, and from the sight of her, had just left the pool beyond their fire. Though her skin glistened with beads of water, it still appeared bloodstained, and Drogo wondered if it ever truly washed away.
Dar'Jazha gaped at the naked woman for a moment before hastily returning to their dinner, and Vanyrra stood absolutely still save for the steady beating of the deadly heart within her chest, assumedly unabashed by her nakedness. Her head cocked slightly in a jerky and unnatural movement when he didn't immediately answer, and Drogo swallowed thickly before speaking.
"Yes. I am Khal Drogo and my wife Daenerys is Khaleesi of my caravan."
"And Khaleesi is queen."
Though it was spoken as a statement as had been her previous utterance, it was clear that it was intended as a question. She seemed curious to know the answer, but her dark, blank eyes showed no reflection of that feeling.
"Yes," he answered again, his eyes drawn to the unnatural organ pulsing steadily where her left breast had once been.
She nodded sharply and then raised a hand to her head. Drogo flinched at the movement.
"And she is like me?"
It took a moment for him to realize that she was tugging at the slight point to her ears and he nodded in understanding.
"Yes. Daenerys is a Breton, like you. Like all of the Forsworn." He hesitated for a moment before speaking again, haltingly. "Were you...born...in High Rock?" Though Drogo felt strange engaging in casual conversation with one of the fabled Briarhearts, said to be nothing but bloodthirsty and vicious cannibals, he found himself intrigued by her interest in his wife.
At that, Vanyrra hesitated, her head cocking back the opposite direction. Finally, she shook it, slowly and awkwardly. "I do not remember what came before." Her gaze fell to the jagged hole in her chest and for a moment, she looked almost sad. "Only blurs, as I sleep. And since, only blood."
Her black eyes met his gaze and he felt a sudden and overwhelming void open within him as he stared into their depths. After a long moment, she looked away again and then departed without another word, quickly disappearing between the many Forsworn that roamed the cavern.
It was Dar'Jazha that finally broke the silence. "That is a woman of Oblivion." His ears flattened against his skull and his tail flicked wildly from side to side. "Dar'Jazha looked into her eyes and all he saw was death."
Slowly, Drogo nodded. "Aye." She was strange, and he did not trust her. "But she may be our only ally."