Archive

Summer Ship: The Ballad of Dany and Yara (Part 5)

Daenerys Targaryen lowered her naked body into boiling water and stared at the dungeon ceiling. Since taking power, the imprisoned population of King’s Landing had drastically decreased. Some dungeons would always be necessary, of course, but Queen Daenerys did not require the extensive, 15-room torture chambers of her predecessor. So, being a practical woman, she had repurposed the most secluded dungeon chamber into a private royal bathing area. The Castle servants labored for weeks to scrub away decades of dried blood and human waste, but the room now sparkled.

The bath was a circular structure of veiled pink marble. Four chiseled dragons leered out from ionic columns surrounding the bath. It was shallow enough to stand and deep enough to swim. An enormous fireplace roared against one wall. Above the flames hung six iron pots filled with water. A team of veiled servant girls nimbly moved between the fireplace and the bath, hauling buckets of scalding water that would boil the skin of anyone but a Targaryen. Another girl combed lotion through Dany’s long, pale blonde tendrils. Still another stirred bath oils scented with honeysuckle and coarse sea salt into the waters.

“Enough,” Dany commanded. “Leave me.”

The women left. She was alone. Dany relaxed her body and let herself float, face up, eyes never leaving the stone ceiling. This room was her solace, but sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder how many people died in this room. How many broken bones, cracked skulls, piercing screams, rotting wounds, pleading words, slow deaths? She’d never know. She never wanted to know. But she wondered. She could still her body, but she could never still her thoughts.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to think of the problems at hand. Cersei had escaped Crakehall. The new plague was contained, but for how long? Her people had tried to suppress any mention of the disease, but rumors traveled faster and farther than anyone could stop. People were growing nervous. They wanted answers. Whispers of a Lannister plot permeated the palace. People had questions for Daenerys Targaryen and for the first time in her rule, she had no answers.

“Help me.”

The words escaped her lips before she could think about them. Sometimes that happened to Dany; her thoughts grew so strong that bits and pieces of them popped out aloud, unbidden and unwanted. She was glad no one was around to hear this one. She could handle armies but not a mad Queen roaming free. She could handle rebellion but not a plague, striking down more people than any massacre. “Help me.” She repeated the words, savoring them. How nice to finally say that forbidden thing aloud, here where there was no one to call her weak.

“Somebody help me!” Dany wailed. “I don’t know what to do.”

She felt hot, salty tears pouring down her cheeks and mixing into the water.

The words echoed back, louder and eerily hollow. “Somebody help me! I don’t know what to do.” They reverberated through the dungeon chambers, repeating ever fainter. The hairs on the back of Dany’s neck prickled. For a moment, Dany wondered if it might be a ghost. An unearthly cry traveling through time from some doomed soul who had begged for help in this very room. But no. It was just an echo. Dany is alone.

Yara leaned back into her marble Consort throne, worrying and waiting. Over the last week, Dany had recoiled deeper and deeper into her shell, spending more time alone, showing little emotion and worst of all refusing to be touched. “Knight Brienne of Tarth and her Squire, Arya Stark!” a herald boomed from the other side of the throne room. The two women swept in, Arya trailing at just an impudent foot behind her master. They dressed casually, in light leather trews and lace up linen doublets. Arya’s hair has recently been trimmed into an angular, chin length style. Yara was amused to notice that despite what must have been Brienne’s best efforts, there were still messy strands sticking up and a stray lock falling impishly over Arya’s left eye.

“Let us spare the pleasantries, for we have little time. I have a quest for you, my favorite warriors, should you choose to accept it. I warn you: it is dangerous.”

Brienne responded without hesitation.

“What sort of quest comes without danger? I accept. As much as I have enjoyed my time as a Knight of King’s Landing, part of me will always long for the road. I heed your call to service.”

“As do I!” Arya piped up, her eyes shining with excitement.

“I thought you might. Very well. As you may have heard, rumors are swirling that the mad Queen Cersei has escaped her prison.”

“I had, but paid them no heed as idle gossip.”

“Were they. In truth, by some magic or malice, Queen Cersei has escaped. We know not how, or when, but the guards are dead, and she is roaming Westeros, likely plotting my dear wife and I’s demise.”

Arya’s face grew pale. Yara noticed that the young woman’s grip tightened on her blade needle.

“Furthermore, a dangerous new plague has broken out in Crakehall village, which falls just outside Cersei’s old prison. The two incidents might be a coincidence, but I doubt it.”

“You think Cersei is capable of starting a plague?”

“I think Cersei is capable of anything. However, the plague first occurred while Cersei was, by all accounts, still imprisoned. Which tells us one very important thing: she has powerful help.”

Brienne’s hackles rose.

“They must be stopped.”

“Yes. I beg you: ride out, to the Westerlands, and see if you can track down our slippery old mad Queen. If you do find her, send a raven. I will prepare the army to join you at a few day’s notice. No matter what you do, do not confront Cersei alone. She is crafty and utterly without scruples. The realm needs you alive.”

“We will make preparations to leave at once.”

Brienne turned to leave but paused.

“Queen Yara?”

“Yes.”

“Should we encounter the plague, our swords will be helpless.”

“I know, Brienne. I know.”

Arya trotted exuberantly on Brienne’s heels as they walked back to their chambers, chattering wildly.

“Have you ever met someone who has the plague?”

“No. But many Tarths died in the Spring.”

“Do you think Cersei has an army? I think we can take an army, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“What’s the most men you’ve faced alone at one time?”

Brienne contemplates for a moment.

“Thirty-seven”

“What happened?”

“They died. I lived.”

“That’s not a very interesting story, Brienne.”

“Master.”

“Master Brienne.”

“No, just Master.”

“Ser Master, when we’re on the road, it is traditional for traveling companions to regale each other with tales, is it not?”

“I’ll leave that to you.”

“I do have quite a few, but still, I hope to hear some of yours.”

“Mayhaps. Now, pack light and pack well. I’ll leave word at the armory that they are to prepare you a full suit.”

At this Arya nearly jumped for joy. Only the presence of a gaggle of comely maidens passing by stopped her. She bowed and winked at the prettiest of the girls, who saucily held her gaze.

“ARYA!” Brienne bellowed, never breaking pace. Arya ran to catch up.

Cersei sat on the hastily constructed wooden throne in Silverhill’s Great Hall, intently watching a group of Nobles approach. Beside her sits Lady Jeyne Serrett, newly appointed Lady of Silverhill, dressed in a black mourning gown.

Ser Rolph Spicer of Castamere, dressed in the Spicer colors of silver, green, and black, is at the head of the procession. He is a square man with a thrice-broken nose and gray, close-cropped beard. Deep lines furrow his forehead, and a long scar covers the left size of his face. He walks jerkily, with an odd, uneven gait.

“My Queen,” he says in oily, fawning tones, falling at her feet.

“My dear Ser Rolph. How happy I am to see an old friend.”

“And I, to see the rightful ruler of Westeros freed and strong. Lady Serett, I was saddened indeed to hear of your Father’s passing.”

Lady Serret lowered her eyes and shooled her face into an expression of barely restrained grief.

“Thank you. It was a tragic accident. His sight and strength had sharply declined with old age. If only I had been there, I might have stopped his fall from that accursed window. I shall take that regret to my grave.”

“I pray you, be kind to yourself. Your father would want that.”

“You’re right. I shall try. Queen Cersei’s presence has provided a purpose to puncture my grief. I am so grateful.”

Ser Rolph nodded respectfully and turned his attention back to Cersei. She smiled down benevolently at him and gently patted Lady Jeyne on the arm.

“My dear Ser Rolph Spicer, how have you fared? I am surprised to see you survived the Targaryen purge.”

“Alas, through much sacrifice. I have but one remaining son, the rest having perished in the war.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“They died good deaths, fighting for your Majesty. I am proud of them.”

“And I am forever grateful. I remember the invaluable part you played in ridding Westeros of the Usurper Rob Stark at the Red Wedding. Afterward, we rewarded you with a Lordship and the Lands of Castamere.”

“Aye, and I am much grateful. Alas, the vengeful Starks have poisoned this Queen against my house. They took away my title, my lands, and-“

He bends over and lifts the bottom hem of his left pant leg up to reveal a wooden peg.

“My leg. They crippled me and called it justice. They claimed it was mercy, but Targaryens know nothing of mercy.”

“True. They have wronged us all greatly. The time has come to take our revenge.”

Ser Rolph smiles nastily.

“I was hoping you would say that.”

“I’ve sent ravens to your fellow houses of the Westerlands: Ferren, Plumm, Brax, Lefford, Yarwyck, and Peyne. Thus far Brax and Yarwyck have heeded my call and are traveling at this minute to Silverhill to join my army. Will you help me summon the rest?”

“Happily, my Lady. The Lannisters will always have loyal friends in the Westerlands.”

“Thank you, my dear friend. Together we will take back the Iron Throne. The streets of King’s Landing will run red with Stark and Targaryen blood. I promise you this, good Ser Rolph: when I am finished, every man, woman, and child of those cursed houses will be dead. Their heads will line the walls of the Red Keep, and their names struck from history, never to be repeated.

Thanks for all your amazing feedback this week! Since you’re enjoying the series so much, I’ve decided to keep it going for another few weeks. This installment is a bit inspired by my own life. I’m going into production on my first original web series (woo hoo!) and feeling as overwhelmed as Dany. I was also inspired by the traditional quest/on the road themes of most fantasy books. The pairing of Brienne and Arya is inspired by The Tales of Dunk and Egg, a pre-Game of Thrones George RR Martin miniseries that I’ve been reading. While Dany and Yara’s relationship is incredibly strong, it is still tested by the trials and tribulations of rule.

Next week: Arya and Brienne go on the road, Cersei makes moves to summon an army, and Yara tries to reconnect with Dany. I can’t wait to hear what you think!

Follow Chloe on Twitter, Tumblr and Instagram

Lesbian Apparel and Accessories Gay All Day sweatshirt -- AE exclusive

Related Articles

Leave a Reply

Back to top button