Daenerys
There was nothing, truly nothing, like the feeling of flying. The wonderful pulling in Daenerys' chest as her body swayed this way and that, a plaything of the winds with only the loosest balance, the least control… And yet, this is nothing like that. Her body felt like one long powerful lance of muscle and the wind that whipped her hair into an unholy mess only Missandei could untangle had yet to blow into her face. The world was one long unbroken line of blue, some strange wordless part of her mind quite taken aback by the lack of something. Just ocean. For leagues, for miles, for ever more, it seems. She flew until the sun had twice risen and set, her body dreadfully sore and aching to the bone, yet the sea had yet to yield even a sandbar. It just keeps going, she thought, while that other part of her bristled at the unspoken challenge. There is nothing more to see, she told herself. Nowhere more to go. I must have flown from Meereen to Dragonstone and back, and yet, nothing. Then that other part, that wordless pride, huffed. A loud tempestuous snort that tried to hide her failing strength, her slow decline. At long last she could fly no more and pitched gracefully from the sky, the great blue above blending into the one below. This time the wind did whip into her face, blowing the breath from her lungs, as the tiny wiggling worms became great crashing waves. A long way to fall, she wondered. She could hear the sea roiling, smell the brine and taste the salt. Just before she met the water, she woke up in Jon Snow's arms. The King in the North's arm was snugly wrapped about her belly and his fur cape was pulled over them both, quite efficient at keeping out the rare gusts that made it into Drogon's lair in the Dragonmont. It was snowing, the cold bits of fluff tickling Dany's exposed nose and cheeks, but she found she did not mind in the least. Surely, I'll see snows colder and crueler than this. Particularly with where I'm headed. Not for the first time Dany felt a certain foreboding at the prospect of going north, of going to the North. Giants, wolves the size of horses with the minds of men, savages from a hundred hundred tribes…and a race shaped as if from ice itself, intent solely on doing away with all the rest. Meereen had been an unending exercise in tedium, though perhaps that was the idea. If people have taxes and slavery to complain about it means that war, famine and plague are elsewhere. Still, Dany had no illusions that she was the person most fit to lead in peace. Peace was boring, plenty an insidious slip into complacency. After all, dragons are not peaceful creatures. I may not be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but I am the Mother of Dragons. Nothing and no one can take that from me. I am the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. I am the Breaker of Chains. If anyone belongs somewhere where myth and mundane are one and the same, I do.
Jon muttered in his sleep, something in the Old Tongue. Dany had no more knowledge of it than he did of Dothraki, yet she could hear the affection, the cherishing in the rough stony words. Even in dreams, eager to go back to where walls cannot constrain him. She found she could not fault him, not the King in the North, a man who loved freedom so fiercely. Maybe I've a soft spot for it. Khal Drogo was no different in that regard. The atonal noisy squawking of Dragonstone's gulls made her murmur in irritation and hide under Jon's cape. Go away, she ordered in her mind. Could they not see the two were sleeping? There's no Drogon here to scare them away, they're likely feasting on the leftover fish the townsfolk missed. She tried to drift back off, back to where Jon Snow waited for her, but all that happened was her temper got the better of her and she burst from the cape, bellowing in Dothraki and throwing whatever bits of rock and bone she could reach in the dragon's nook. Dany blushed when a thought came to her. I sound like an angry child, not intimidating in the least. No doubt I'll turn and see him red in the face and weeping from laughter. Rather than look to him she tried climbing up to where one of the damnable birds sat, a fat grey gull who paid her not the least bit mind. Aside from a hand cut on the rocks she didn't make much progress, wincing in pain as she sucked on the cut. As independent as a child as well. I couldn't so much as tie my braids if left to my own devices. She stomped away from the wall of razor rock, sat down in the middle of the clearing and promptly crossed her arms in a royal huff. Could Jon have truly slept through all that? Curiously she turned to check on him and instantly wished she hadn't. Rather than laughing up a storm, the King in the North lay curled on his side, lost for breath with tears streaming down his long northern face. Her mood only got fierier, and in a few moments she let out a little scream of frustration as she pounced on him.
"I may not command the gulls, but you will heed me, Jon Snow!" she commanded, hands upon his shoulders. His laughter amused her as it infuriated her, so she pressed her lips to his if only to silence him! That's better, she thought at once, while his hand grazed up her arm. "Hmmmph!" she said, mouth still to his.
"Hmph." Jon replied, giving her backside a gentle squeeze. Voices from down the mountain made her groan, going to a whimper when he removed his hand. "Dany, we'd best get going anyway. There's no time to lose." She lay her head on his chest, trying to shut out the rising voices on the beach. She was no naïve maiden in a story, she knew he was right, but that didn't make it easier to get up, nor to shake the snow from her hair.
"This had better be good." she muttered, singularly grumpy.
Dany entertained the idea of having Jon carry her down the stairs just to be difficult, but the voices on the beach quickly turned unfriendly and so the pair of them hastily made their descent. It's not so bad when you can run, she thought. Once on the bottom landing, her breath hitched in her chest. Ships, she thought. Some were pooling on Dragonstone's shoreline or in the port town, while others sailed past the island to the north and south. To land elsewhere, she thought. They're no longships…they look Essosi. Volantene. I of all people would know, save me. She swallowed, feeling increasingly nervous. Had the slavers followed her across the Narrow Sea? Had a triarchy made much the poorer by slavery's death sent a fleet after her? Jon's breath stalled behind her, though out of similar thoughts or something else she could not say. "Who are these, then?" he asked, sliding an arm around her waist. "I'm not certain." she replied. "Well, better get down there before they spot any man-fishes. I can't imagine the man who would take them much in stride." he said, sounding his ever-weary self. And I had him ready to chase me around Drogon's lair. Hmph! Stupid war. Once they reached the beach, she spotted several men arguing near the shoreline. At once, some nearby Unsullied took up positions around her, Jon moving out of the way to let them. From behind their slender forms she tried to make out what was being said.
"…crossed the fucking Narrow Sea to come here, you have not the first inkling-" Her jaw dropped. I left him in Meereen. More choice words were exchanged before she could think any farther.
"What's that to me, cunt? If your hair's any tell, you stood at the bow like a maiden's dream the whole way. Meantime, the rest of us are like to laugh ourselves shitless at the sight of you." It sounded like Tyrion's pet sellsword. At least it isn't northmen. Fists would have flown by now. Something still teased at her. This seems more than Daario would bother, even given his affection. I did leave him Regent of the Bay of Dragons, surely any man would have sat on those laurels. She slid deftly behind one of the Unsullied, trying to keep out of sight. Noticing her sudden timidness, Jon walked past her and over to the men.
"Who are you?" he asked Daario. The sellsword seemed taken aback, spotting at last the phalanx of Unsullied. Oh no, Dany thought, despairing.
"Move up." she commanded in Valyrian, the soldiers maintaining their formation without a second thought. Daario looked past them, his face the same stunned-witless mask it had been when last she saw him. "I left you in charge of the Bay of Dragons."
"The dragon left." he replied. "My interest in Meereen left with her." Ever the sellsword. I'm sure you looted the place and fled with your Storm Crows as soon as I was beyond the horizon. Were she to voice the thought, would he even bother to deny it?
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"For you." he answered, as she knew he would.
She took in what men had come along with him. One she recognized, if faintly. One of the Masters. Why could he have come? The man looked at her with listless, almost lifeless eyes. There is something awry here. Some greater purpose than a sellsword's besottedness. "Who took you across the Narrow Sea?" Daario didn't answer right away, still torn between her and Jon. He looks as if he's wrestling with something greater than himself. Ever had that been Daario's way. They'd shared many nights in Meereen, but Daario Naharis seemed to know instinctively when his abilities were outsized by his circumstances. An apprehension in his nature he shows no one but me. To all others he's the fearless swashbuckling Storm Crow. "The Golden Company." he said, after an inner struggle. "What do the Golden Company want with Westeros?" Jon asked in turn. When it became evident Daario was going to be of no help one of his cohorts, a Basilisk Islander, shouldered him aside.
"Malko, of Port Plunder, Your Worship. When you left slavery bleeding in the dust, silver queen, it turned Essos into chaos. A few of us saw the situation for what it was quick enough to turn sellsword and join the fleet massing in Volantis. Nobody was being turned away, not even Ghiscari." The sullen man's mouth twitched.
"To what end, Malko of Port Plunder?"
"To empty the red castle of lions and sit a dragon in its iron seat."
"I needed no aid-" When Malko interrupted her he seemed almost abashed.
"Not you, Your Worship. It was an Aegon the sweepings of the east flocked to, if for no other reason than to leave Essos behind." Her heart felt like it had stopped. An Aegon, like the one killed while still in his swaddling on Tywin Lannister's orders. An Aegon like I might have married had House Targaryen never fallen.
"There are no Aegons. The last died with his sister during Robert's Rebellion."
"No, Daenerys. If the tale is true, that same whelp was smuggled out one way or another and has his sights on retaking Westeros for House Targaryen, same as you." Daario's silence finally broke. At once she knew none of the men were this proclaimed prince, none could pass for Valyrian stock praying to all the gods together.
"Where is he?" she asked, looking uncertainly to Jon. He cares not for talk of dragons nor kings, only what this news might mean to me. For me. "Just offshore. His court as it were thought it best to see what was what before dumping him in your lap." Daario said.His amiable words did not hide the real reason this Aegon had not yet landed himself. They want to make sure I am not hostile to the idea of a male claimant to the Iron Throne. She wondered what this man who claimed to be her blood would think, would say, on learning what had transpired during her time in Westeros. At least the Dothraki and the Unsullied fight for me, not for gold or personal gain. What sort of man would take slavers, pirates and sellswords on to help him win a kingdom? She answered herself. The same sort that would sell his sister to bloodthirsty savages for a chance at that same kingdom.
Dany walked away from Daario Naharis then, heading back to the close sharp safety of the Dragonmont's base. Out of sight of the rest, she collapsed against the grey stone, sitting on the smooth stone landing. More than one gasp escaped her as she tried to comport herself, but it was a losing battle. In mere moments she was in tears, forehead on her knees and her face buried in her legs. Is this what Arya Stark felt when she saw Jon after years apart? There had been no doubt, no conflicted feelings visible in the princess's reaction. Not when she ran at him, not when she wrapped her arms around him. There was no possibility of Jon being feigned, either. Not with that long face and those grey eyes, so like the princess. Of her family Dany had known only Viserys, a shadow's shadow. I'm not like to see myself in this Aegon, be he prince or peasant.
"A lot of explaining will need to be done." Jon Snow's voice called from somewhere above her. Looking up quickly in surprise, she beheld his head sticking out from a jut of rock a few feet above her. He must be lying out on it, lazy and spying! She sniffled and wiped her nose.
"You've no right to be eavesdropping."
"None at all. What are you going to do about it?" he said, yawning down at her. She earned a yelp when the snowball she tossed found his northern nose, face quickly disappearing. The scuffling above told her that she was due for a return volley with interest, so she cuddled close to the stone to reduce her viability as a target. Stupid ranger training, she thought sulkily. Always sneaking and spying and stealing me for a kiss when I ought be doing other things! A snowball exploded directly under the rock but defiladed as she was it seemed even a seasoned ranger like Jon Snow could find no way to make his throws count.
"Ha! Some ghost you are!" she cried defiantly, only to shriek in dismay when a whole curtain of snow came down from above, as if he'd pushed all of it off the rock at once! She dashed out from her sanctuary to avoid it, but she only found herself scooped into a pair of arms as soon as she was clear of the rock. "Cheater! You're a poor sport." she said, burying her face this time in Jon Snow's chest as he laughed. "Now I'm cold."
"You're never cold."
"I am now."
"Not compared to me."
"Hmph."
"Hmph, hmph."
"Hmph!" Dany snorted, crossing her arms. "Carry me back to the beach."
"Why should I?"
"Because I command it."
"So?"
"I'm a queen."
"And?"
"Hmph!" she huffed, feeling her cheeks go red. "You'll do it," she said, "because I'm your queen."
"Only if you let your hair down when we come to Winterfell."
"I'll do what I want." she replied.
"As do I. I'll carry you because I want to, not because you asked, and certainly not because you're a queen." In that vein Jon Snow bore her in his arms. She grumbled under her breath about savages and stubborn northmen as they returned to the steadily growing group of men on the beach. This Aegon may be the perfect prince, Dany thought. I'll not be parted from my stealing ghost for anything. Stubborn as a tree stump though he may be.
The newly arrived were just more fodder, that much was obvious. Sellswords out of every Free City and what was once Slaver's Bay, each man ruined by her war against slavery and forced to hold the steel themselves or starve. It wasn't just the wealthy who wanted me dead or gone, she thought. Ghiscari commoners held themselves above slaves and I put an end to that division, to say nothing of middlingly wealthy men who could not recover from their wealth in flesh disappearing overnight. That this Prince Aegon would use such men to further his own cause made the taste in Daenerys' mouth all the worse. "You'll want to give the water some space." she told a group of them in Valyrian as they talked about the castle overhead, a genuine work of the Freehold at its height. They looked at her with combinations of distaste and confusion.
"Fish-men." she said. "Walking fish." Likely they think me mad. Let them, then let them soil themselves when the morning's treasure washes ashore. It's nearly time. Sure as sunrise a detachment of Unsullied marched down from the castle, paying no mind whatsoever to the newly landed strangers. Surely all the best has been pushed ashore already, she thought. Dragonstone's vaults were so full its empty dungeons were put to use holding the excess treasure and even they were nearly at capacity. There hadn't been time to examine it in detail, Tyrion and Varys had given it a go the first day and weren't close to finished when the second day dawned, and their work had compounded. "Will this prince be joining us presently?" Dany asked the group at large. They just came for gold, she thought. Nobody in his inner circle will have come ashore with Essos' chaff.
"His wet nurse, the lordly, lordly Lord Jonnington-"
"Connington, Salladhor." One of the other pirate captains corrected him.
"Pretentious as a preening peacock amongst his hens, I name him. He ought wear one in place of dancing griffins." There was a goodly amount of chuckling and laughter at this, even from the Ghiscari which surprised Daenerys. At her evident uncertainty the man's mirth was renewed. "Salladhor Saan, Your Grace, of Lys."
"Forgive me, but you don't look Lyseni." Dany replied doubtfully.
"I made no claim to be Lyseni. Only that I was of Lys. A man may be of one place and from another. I am not having the pale skin and fair hair that so makes Lys famous, this is true. No more than you look queenly with your stained leather vest, knotted hair and crownless brow. Yet for all this lacking you are doing, you are a queen, yes?" Was that an insult or a compliment? Occasionally Dany had pangs of homesickness for how things were in Essos, but such ways of speaking were not something she especially missed. At least the northmen speak plainly.
"That depends on who you ask, Salladhor Saan." she replied finally. It was the pirate's turn to frown in confusion. Dany gave a small shy smile, feeling a little better at paying him back in the same coin. A chorus of displeased swearing and complaints accompanied by the strong smell of fish made Dany turn to the waves, several fish-men wading to the beach while still more popped their heads above the surface. The screaming started moments later. Luckily the Unsullied sergeant on duty had the wherewithal to order the Essosi kept at bay while the Narrow Sea's denizens came ashore. At once Dany spotted gashes in their pot bellies, even missing eyes and limbs. They were terse and high-strung, needly jaws set an inch or so apart. A fish-man's way of grinding his teeth. They've seen battle recently and had their slimy hides bruised. She'd thought them eerie when they came before, croaking and squawking among themselves in tones of dull conversation, but this was starkly different. All Dany could hear was the seawater bubbling out down their gills and whatever lungs lay within take long heaving breaths, the slits that served as nostrils flaring. I hope they brought someone who speaks the Common Tongue… As she had the thought the waters parted yet again and the burned man stepped out of the surf. Though he was near to her, his words were for Jon Snow.
"Your dead men fight livelier than most living." he said, panting hard. Dany watched the last of the morning's merriment disappear from Jon's face behind a brooding pall.
"They do, Matthos Seaworth. That's precisely the problem."
On seeing Salladhor Saan, Matthos huffed in derision and turned to the fish-man nearest him, croaking gutturally. Evidently it took a moment for the Lyseni to realize just what, then who he was looking at.
"My friend's good fortune proves proof against even wildfire, it seems. Either that or your salty Seaworth hide. You have your father's gift of coming back to life."
"All such allows is to die a second time."
"At least you've stopped giving the red woman's ravings more credence than your father's sound words. All it took was a fleet of men lost in green flame to make you see sense." Matthos Seaworth seemed almost chastised. More talk of R'hllor, Dany thought. Worship of the Red God was somewhat commonplace in Essos but she'd seen no trace of it here on the other side of the Narrow Sea.
"It wasn't a red god that gave me breath below the waves, nor cast me up again in time." His words were sullen. An apology, or one as like as he's to give. While the Essosi were still gaping at the fish-men, Daenerys idly scooped a handful of glittering coins from the sand and began tossing them at her guests.
"I'll not pay you an iron bit for your losses endured in the end of slavery. Quite removed from that matter, I've more treasure than my vaults can hold, my dungeons too. It pleases me to be rid of the least part, and so I put the burden upon your sore shoulders." she said, looking to the Ghiscari in particular. The Dothraki do not buy and sell, but they do give gifts. Hopefully those who've come from slavery's ruin can see that.
"Where did you fight them?" Jon asked.
"Dead ships sail blindly once the Narrow Sea opens into the Shivering Sea. What few we sink are not missed- living ships become dead ships quick enough bemired in frigid fog or hunted by dreadnoughts cut from glaciers." Jon's grey eyes popped. He was right, Daenerys thought. They have not neglected the sea. "We have to get back to Winterfell with all speed." he said, though Dany suspected he spoke more to himself than any listener.
"That you ought. If they bring their power much further south, you will find the Narrow Sea closed to you." Matthos intoned.
"Lord Connington will not take this well. His intent is to push onto King-" Daario blurted, heedless of all works spoken out of any mouth but the queen's.
"There is no reason nor call to molest the capital further. Lord Connington is welcome to come calling while we outfit our fleet for the push on to White Harbor." Daenerys said.
"I'll pass it along-"
"Allow me." Matthos said, departing with a complement of the fish-men. For their part they took in the Essosi with passing glances before their interest dulled, muttering among themselves. They ought have steel, or at least bronze, she thought, looking at their spears. Driftwood and bone are a poor substitute.
"Perhaps we ought to rouse your northmen, hm?" she asked Jon, keen to move off the beach. Keener though to get away from the fish-men or the slavers, that's a question. He broke from whatever he was going over in his head.
"Oh, right. Hopefully everything went well for Alys." Hopefully everything goes well for her child as well, Daenerys thought. The first born in such a time.
A baby's cry was scarcely a surprise, yet it seemed to change minutely from one moment to the next. Daenerys let Jon lead her through the slight winding passage into the huge hidden chamber, the murals not lost of their majesty even after multiple viewings. Across the way Alys Karstark remained where Jon had laid her. She was still panting, but her breaths were long and steady instead of quick gasps.
"Is everything well, my lady?" Jon called softly so as not to let his voice echo.
"Come, Your Grace, and see for yourself." came Alys' answer. Quietly as only a ranger could manage Jon crossed the span of the cave, Dany's own footsteps elephantine to her ears. I must get him to show me how he does that, she resolved. I'd like not to be so heavy footed in comparison. Her self-conscious thoughts died on the vine as she got closer to the huddled group of northmen, Lady Karstark hidden from view. They are so quiet, Dany thought. I hope all is well. The baby's fussing seemed the only sound in the world. Then Dany swallowed. Either the babe has two mouths or Alys has given birth to twins! When the northmen noticed the pair they dutifully made room, Dany too short to go peering over any shoulder higher than Ned Umber's. She heard Jon's jaw drop open. In Alys' arms were twins indeed, each at a breast, and in Sigorn's was yet another baby at whom he gaped in blank shock. The girl looked as though she'd been through a hurricane, yet she couldn't seem to keep a furtive smile off her face.
"Well, now we know what happens when you match a northern girl and a wildling." Jon finally got out, earning a quiet "Har!" from Tormund Giantsbane and the quietest giggle from Alys.
"If my Thenn will stop gaping, maybe he'd like to introduce our eldest daughter to the fold." Her voice made the big man blink.
"Aynikka, after my own mum. I told Alys it was bad luck, that she died bearing my father a stillborn daughter, that babes ought have milk names first, but-"
"-I'm made of sterner stuff than any Thenn, though it's plain to see adding some doesn't hurt." Alys finished firmly. Sigorn gave a reflexive chortle.
"You're made of sterner stuff than any man, or giant or dragon or Other for that matter."
"The kind that goes well with a bit of Thenn. Mmm, maybe more than a bit…" Sigorn blushed beet red while Tormund laughed aloud in spite of his efforts at silence.
"And them?" Jon asked, nodding to the two she held.
"Hmm. Sigorn likes Harra and Torrha, after my…well, they're Karstark names." Three girls! Then again, what do the Free Folk care? Indeed, Sigorn wanted a daughter rather than a son. Well, prayer answered. Perhaps each by a different god. The Dothraki saw girls as a disappointment from the start, by the very fact that they were not boys and would not grow into fierce warriors. True to his earlier wish, Sigorn looked utterly besotted with the tiny bundle he bore in his great arms. Dany dared not voice the thought that next came to mind. I wonder what the likelihood is that all five of them survive what is coming.
After ascertaining that Lady Karstark and her newborns were well in hand, Jeyne Poole dutifully helping the new mother at every opportunity, Jon withdrew from the circle, Dany quickly following.
"I hope Sigorn is stronger than he credits himself." Jon said grimly.
"Why do you say that? Surely the gods that saw fit to send three babes at once will proof the parents against any harm."
"I didn't mean that way. I saw what havoc two daughters of different age and temperament wreaked on my father and his lady wife. Imagine the chaos those three will wreak with so formidable a mother and all the north to dash about and cause mischief in." Dany blinked. Oh. Then she giggled.
"They have names befitting their homeland, despite being born on Dragonstone. No storm here to cause their mother grief, either."
"Not the kind with lightning and wind, anyway. An exile from the east with an army-"
"Jon, I have an army. You have an army, if far to the north. The remaining lords of Westeros together, even, could match and overcome pirates and slavers-turned-sellsword without either of our aid. Out of their own mouths our guests confess that this Prince Aegon's so-called 'army' is naught but those fleeing a dying land."
"He is still your kin, if they are to be believed."
"If he is Rhaegar's son, then I suppose I'd be a fool not to at least meet him." she replied neutrally.
"Do you not believe he is who they claim?"
"Say rather it is in my mind how easily a baby with the right look can be believed to be a Targaryen." Say also that I'm reluctant to tell this man and all his supporters they came for naught, in the end. That the dragons have flown beyond the sight of men and if they are still alive, are up to their own devices. She wrapped her arms around herself. Jon mistook it for just the cold and slipped his own around her shoulders. She lay her head on his as they departed the cave, the air tinged only with the salty scent of the sea. Good, they've gone. At least for now. Jon took his leave of her once she'd warmed, favoring her with a kiss on her cheek and stealing a giggle. Off to see the lords to it, she surmised. Once the King in the North had left the Unsullied resumed their positions around her and she found herself heading back toward the ever-growing party of Essosi. "If Prince Aegon will not come ashore, I am happy to go to him." she declared, eyes on Daario Naharis.
"At once, Your Grace." he replied, one of the boats they'd landed in brought to shore so she could step in without getting wet. Jon may think me foolish for not waiting for him, but he has the lords of Westeros to herd and hurry along. Surely, I can deal with one purported prince.
The waters got fearful looks from the oarsmen, but Daenerys' gaze was affixed on the ship in the distance, the magnificent dromond that had a wooden dragon's head at its prow and a Targaryen banner flying above the off-white sails. His is different, if only just, she thought. Only someone who's spent their life looking at the proper thing would know, though. Their pace was not so quick as she'd have liked, either.
"They are scarce about to pop out of the water to bother with us. You may put your worries aside and dip your oars faster." she said in curt Valyrian. Her chastising got a bit more speed from the muttering oarsmen. On reaching the ship Daenerys read the word Fortune painted on the rear. Not a Targaryen word. Not Fire and Blood. Then again, neither am I. Not wholly. A rope ladder was lowered. Daario moved to help her but Daenerys countermanded him. "I'm not so unable as to quake before a climb." With that she ascended, breathing hard even through the simple effort. If Jon Snow can scale a sheer wall of razor rock, I can climb a bloody rope! Her hand found the deck's rail and she pulled herself up, one leg and then the other. Then she was standing on Fortune's deck, a bit out of breath as she took in those already aboard. Some of them were Westerosi, of that Dany had no doubt. Dispossessed, she thought. Exiled, come to claim their own. There was a beautiful girl of Dornish cast, the only person seated, taking Dany in behind a sphinx's unreadable face. A boy who looked as much like Gendry as a stag did a bull, too, and the ever-smirking face of Petyr Baelish.
"Your Grace." A big man with red eyebrows and red hair going grey, clashing griffins on his surcoat stepped to the fore. At once he knelt. For a moment Dany wondered if his sabaton had come unfixed. Oh. Kneeling. I'd forgotten about that. The Free Folk did not kneel any more than the Dothraki did, and the rest of Westeros was pleased pink to follow the savages' example.
"Stand, ser." He is a knight, of that I'm certain. He acts too much like Ser Barristan not to be. He rose, evidently overcome by the moment. The Dornish girl had to mutter something and one of the other knights gently jostle him to get him speaking again.
"I have the honor to be Ser Jon Connington, rightful Lord of Griffin's Roost and by His Grace's warrant, Hand of the King." He turned to his companions. "With us are Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne and Wyatt Sunglass, Lord of Sweetport Sound, among others." Others is right, Daenerys could not help thinking. If you seek to buy the stormlanders' loyalty with a bastard of Robert Baratheon's, you'll find them too wealthy now to tempt with coin so poorly minted. The doors to the captain's cabin opened and out came yet another knight, a tall man with a common face. He was followed by an altogether different sort of man, (a boy, Daenerys thought before she could stop herself) one who carried himself upright and unhurried as was so common among the common-born, no matter the continent. He was fair, he was graceful, and his cropped hair was of a shade with Daenerys' own. On seeing her he stopped in his tracks, evidently thinking hard on what to say.
"Apologies if you were waiting long, Daenerys. I spent the entire voyage getting that damned blue dye out of my hair." he said almost sheepishly.
