Tw: S/a
Daenerys watches under the cover of shade provided by the tarp set up as they settle for the night.
She absently caresses the swell of her stomach feeling a love only a mother could feel as she takes in the new status she has. She had successfully managed to make Drogo see her as more than a cunt to fuck. She can tell she only needs a few more weeks before she has him ensnared in her web.
"Khaleesi, there is someone here to meet you." The wary voice of Jorah makes her turn to her left and she takes in the sight of a lithe man, his hair is auburn all but a strip of hair that is as silver as hers. The man gives her a bland smile and his eyes seem to shift between coal and silver as if they can't decide.
The man steps forward with his hands clasped behind his back, "A man is here to offer his services," the phrasing makes those around them who can understand common freeze.
She can see Jorah reaching for his sword and feels her heart leap in her throat, the only people who refer to themselves as a man or a girl are the faceless. Did the usurper finally decide to spend the price to acquire the house of black and white?
Before everything can escalate the faceless man holds up his hands, "A man does not come to give you the gift of death, but to offer you protection from it."
"What?" She feels dumbfounded, the house of black and white doesn't have bodyguards.
Jorah raises his sword, "I've never heard of a faceless man being a protector, you will not deceive the princess."
This man merely smiles even with a blade pressing into his throat, "a man is only doing what his lord wills."
That doesn't mean much to her but Jorah's face spasms, "why would a god of death care about protecting one from it?"
"Not a man's god, but a God's son."
Daenerys feels bile rise and it has nothing to do with the conversation, she embarrassingly turns over and pukes into one of the pales offered to her when her pregnancy sickness started.
"It might help if you give the princess some citrus." The faceless man says somehow producing a satchel that is full of fruits.
"An offering from my liege." He says and sets the bag in front of him, at her nod Jorah picks it up and inspects it.
"How do we know it's not poisonous?"
"If a man wanted to kill you, you would be dead." And despite the chill that runs down her spine at the sheer confidence in his tone, she thinks it's his strange way of trying to comfort her and her protector's fears.
"Jorah, he is right, let me see."
He reluctantly does so and feels her heart pound as she opens the bag and sees an assortment of fruits.
But it's the lemons that make her eyes water.
She doesn't know why it brings so many emotions other than the memory of the red door and the lemon trees, but what is buried inside makes her heart stutter and her mouth open.
"My God's." She says and Jorah almost snatches the thing out of her hands but stops as she proceeds to pull out a crown.
"It's my mother's crown." She whispers thickly, having thought she'd never see it again.
—
The bright sun and humid breath of the Riverlands bake down on a small quaint village just a ways from the river leading to the pinkmaiden. The people of the village are river folk who make their living off of fishing and using the river as transport for goods and merchandise.
They, like many towns in the Riverlands, are disputed on who lords over them, for the Tully's never have had a firm hand on their vassals. This causes a lot of fear for a scrabble of the lords, and everyone knows who suffers the most on the whims of a lord.
It certainly didn't help when the Baratheon king had given simple hedge knights of Riverlands a boon in the name of the land, courtesy of house Tully's reluctant agreement. The old noble houses felt slighted about having to give away land they had held for centuries, with the only consolation being they were paid 2 gold dragons an acre.
Deep in the village, many people pause as they hear noise in the distance, some ignore the sound, but those who are aged and wizen to the ways of the world feel fear trickle down their spines. The mothers of mothers who've experienced the horrors of war rush with ice in their veins as they hurry gather their families and seek refuge from what's to come.
The older men, the ones who survived going to war in both the rebellions, hear the sounds and with great dread close their eyes. Not even a second later a swarm of red-cloaked men peek over the hill and finally the rest of the town understands the danger, unfortunately, it's too late.
The biggest man they've ever seen swings his thick blade in an arc upon his sword and decapitates three people in succession. The man raises his sword the blood of their fiends dripping off the blade.
"Slaughter everyone and burn down everything the Tullys dare take Lord Tywin's son hostage, they betray the crown!!" The beastly man roars inside his helmet, the dog design snarling an ugly snarl.
What ensues is what becomes the bloodiest massacre to ever be committed by man, not with a dragon. Women are torn from their husbands and forced to endure the dirty paws of the Westerland men.
Babies are thrown into the dirt and crushed by the horses stampeding. Fathers, brothers, and husbands are forced to watch as their daughters are dragged into alleys or even mounted in broad daylight.
A lone survivor stares, the garrison leaving to wreak havoc on another town ignored in favor of his gaze locked on the listless eyes of his daughter, her head worked at an odd angle when the man rapping her got too rough and snapped her neck.
The demon had simply laughed, said 'whoops' and kept going.
The father lets out a keening noise and bows his head, thousands of bodies litter the ground, and surrounding him are burning houses.
The whole time a caravan of musicians had been playing the Rains of Castamere as they followed along.
A/n:
Sorry for the short chapter, just felt it was a good stopping point
So Danaerys has entered the chat, and is that our resident Jaqen H' ghar or is it just the face?
Is Rhaella's crown too much? I thought it was a cute moment and Danaerys deserves it.