Kapitel 1600: 16
Chapter 16: Foolish, frightened fishesNotes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
16.
Foolish, frightened fishes.
305 ac
Ship to White Harbor.
She had been locked in a loud argument with Tyrion when the door creaked open and Jon emerged through it. His mere presence immediately assuaged her increasing vexation of spirit, caused by Tyrion's constant objections to her decisions.
"Lord Snow, how good to see you here," said Tyrion, whose voice came more ironically cheerful. "Just when I was trying to make the Queen see sense."
"To be honest, it's hard to see sense in your arguments these days," Jon replied to his wry tone.
Daenerys smiled at him, and in that smile, she gave away the new affair that had been born between the two of them.
Tyrion did not miss it.
"I see," he said, defeated. "Is this what Her Grace deems right then?" he asked tentatively to Daenerys.
There was another hidden question in Tyrion's words: are you completely sure?
Before Daenerys answered Jon walked over to her side and took her hand. A gesture that was louder than words and an open intention to make clear that the three people in that room knew and understood what was going on.
Tyrion stared shocked, while Daenerys only fell deeper.
She looked over at her Hand, with a renewed sense of certainty.
"I am," she said.
***
304 ac
King's Landing.
Jorah stared at Khaleesi from a distance with the utmost regard as ever since he had come to know her when she was a child of ten and seven. That he loved her was something neither of them was unaware of anymore. But that morning in the light of a rising sun, it was not only with love that Jorah looked at her...in the depths of his heart, he felt the anguish that overflowed the heart of his Queen. And he didn't know why.
Daenerys went down to the beach without her guards and walked along the shore with her gaze fixed on the horizon, her small figure a dancing shadow against the bright sky of dawn ignited.
He approached her and side by side they watched a fishing boat depart from the coast. Jorah is caught off guard a bit when she starts talking,
"Fishers set up very light nets of buoyant flax and wheel in a circle round about while they violently strike the surface of the sea with their oars and make a din with sweeping blow of poles. At the flashing of the swift oars and the noise the fish bound in terror and rush into the bosom of the net which stands at rest, thinking it to be a shelter: foolish fishes which, frightened by a noise, enter the gates of doom. Then the fishers on either side hasten with the ropes to draw the net ashore."
"When and where have you learned so much about the fishermen's craft, Khaleesi?" he asked a bit teasingly.
She looked at him askance capturing the amusement in his tone, and smirking in response,
"There are many things that I know and you will never know that I know," she replied.
Even then her smile came with a look of dull, distant eyes that seemed lost in some memory or thought that held her prisoner.
Jorah surmised it was Tyrion Lannister's fate.
***
Jon staggered into the cabin where Arya was locked up. A futile endeavor, they knew that the youngest of the Stark girls could get her way out if she'd want to. But Jon hoped that in a gesture of good faith, she would stay here for as long as Jon deem it so. If not out of respect for him, at least out of wounded pride — her Needle and Catspaw were still kept away from her.
"Go away," Arya snapped at him, sitting with her knees pulled up her chest on a bench cornered against the window.
Jon was carrying a plate of broth and fresh vegetables.
"You're going to pass out from hunger," her voice came with a scolding burr.
"I have eaten pigeons and rats with more flavor than the food your soldiers cook, brother. Even the air has more flavor."
Jon sat at the other end of the long bench, resting the plate in the middle for her inspection. When he flopped down to the seat with his back against the wooden wall, he threw his head back and let out a deep breath.
He looked over at Arya. Less defensive than before she approached and moved the contents of the plate, until she finally receded and began to gobble up, gracelessly.
Jon bit back a smile.
"I apologize for my outburst the other day. But you ought to understand: you cannot override my authority, nor can I allow it," he said.
She only chewed audibly for a long moment, cutting him a look of serious eyes.
"Cersei allowed our father's beheading, she defiled Sansa constantly and probably rejoiced at the deaths of Robb and my mother," she said after swallowing, "She doesn't deserve to live."
"That is not for you to decide, Arya." He made a pause and looked at her askance. "Cersei hurt a lot of people. I'm sure there is a long list of people who want the same as us."
The sound of the cutlery clattering stopped and Arya looked at Jon with wide, surprised eyes.
"Us?" she asked him, "So you're not against her...dying?"
Jon understood what she meant; It was absolutely true that the fate of someone as loathsome as Cersei Lannister must be death. Just because she was with child didn't make her a better human being all of a sudden. If the decision were to be in his hands, Jon would have a difficult time deciding. Most likely, he'd spare her life until the child was born. But another part of him, one he tried to keep buried and silent, couldn't wait for Cersei to pay for her crimes finally.
"You cannot help but be honorable Jon Snow, can't you?" Arya teased him.
"Sometimes honor also demands retribution," Jon rebutted.
"And what does the beautiful queen Daenerys think. Have you a solid grasp of her already?"
Jon shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
Arya raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
"Seven hells. Do you like her?"
"W-What? What are you talking about?"
"You stirred like you used to when Robb and Theon would tease you over a girl!"
Flustered all of a sudden, he stood up.
"Arya, your meddling derailed our efforts!"
"And for that, I apologize," she finally conceded. "I thought I'd even be doing all of us a favor. Usually these things...go by quickly and leave no trace behind."
"You mean your killings."
"My skills."
"Skills to murder." He ran a hand through his rustled hair, taken by frustration. "Maybe killing is the same for you but it is not for me or for the rest of the people of this Realm. We are not just killers. And we are not certainly traitors. If there is something that allows us to judge those who bring harm upon us, it is to take distance from their misdeeds."
He took seat again, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him.
"Maybe out of naivety, maybe out of desperation, I thought the wight would be enough to turn their interests around. But no one seems to want to put their pettiness aside. I couldn't even convince you to put yours aside to support me." He took a deep breath. "The Night King could be at the gates of our fortress and the North and the South would still be wrangling like children over past rows."
"Do you know what Sansa told me some time ago?" He cut her off, "That I must be smarter than Father and Robb. Now I understand what she meant to."
"Does it matter what Sansa says?" Arya jokingly asked him.
Jon cocked his head.
"Aye, well. It's what I told myself when I asked Daenerys Targaryen for her hand."
***
The outer yard of Red Keep was full of people gathering together for the big event she had called to. Chatter and murmurs deafened the troubled thoughts weighing on her mind with the imminence of what she had decided to do. In the humid air of the cloudy morning, a storm was brewing was announced by the skies roaring. That is the sound of the enraged lion, Daenerys thought, or of the gods themselves.
"Your Grace."
Dany closed her eyes at the sound of his voice coming unbidden. For a moment she thought it was her own imagination tormenting her. It jarred her back to the present.
Dany put on her best disinterested smile and turned around to greet him.
"King Jon," she returned. "I mean to ask you for a walk and a word with you."
If his surprise was feigned, Dany had no way to know, but Jon's eyes widened and he took a deep breath.
"Of course, Your Grace," he said, quickly turning to speak to his guards, two tough-looking northern men. "Stay back," he ordered them.
She was anxious of course. His presence only charged the air with tension, and it made her feel insecure about her own gestures and words.
Suddenly the tension became unbearable so she decided to forget for a moment that this man had murdered her, just as she ignored being surrounded by people that she had probably killed.
"I haven't had the opportunity to get to know the city since I arrived, have you?" she asked him.
Jon looked over at her with an unreadable expression as they approached the barbican.
"Not as yet," he answered.
"Then this will be a first for both of us."
***
As they made past the massive curtain wall surrounding the castle and walked through the bronze gates, Jon made the not-so-wise decision to look at her sideways. A couple of times he found her clenching her jaw and other times dodging a furtive glance. All this swaying made him feel like he wasn't standing on solid ground when it came to her. She was like a piece of writing that he could read but not understand. Her face was open with mixed emotions but he didn't know what it was for.
"I've taken some decisions today. Not any that concern you. My Hand, Tyrion Lannister...how well have you two known each other in the past?
"To a very limited extent," he replied sincerely.
"But enough for the two of you to consider the other a friend."
"We have some high regard for each other's person, I'd like to think." Although Jon didn't know how much Tyrion might have for him right now. "Your family and his do not have a history of friendship and trust, exactly..." he ventured.
"My family did trust them. That was the mistake that sealed their fate."
"It seems then that that's common ground for the Starks and you."
She continued walking at a leisurely pace as they came to a street of merchants. The people around them turned to watch them go by. Their guards were close.
"Your brother Robb was betrayed by his own vassal," she said.
Jon winced. He thought of Robb and the cruel end he saw. No amount of revenge helped heal the pain of his death.
He nodded.
"Roose Bolton thrust a dagger into his gut, they say. Among other things..."
"It's a horrible way to die. Betrayed by those who claimed to be loyal to you."
"People who believe in something strongly, act accordingly."
"And what do you believe in?"
"That you did not take me for a walk simply because of the mere enjoyment of my presence."
The words came unbidden. They both stopped for a moment and looked at each other, expressionless until one side of her mouth lifted slightly.
"Was that your attempt at joking?" she asked.
He couldn't help but stare at her face, soft and beautiful. How long had he felt like this? As if it was difficult for him to breathe when around her. These intense feelings that tormented him were not right and he had to exhort his mind to return to the safe place, to the right place.
She must've been thinking the same for she turned her face away and stiffened as if something had suddenly struck her.
Her hands clasped in front.
"How long do you think it will take to walk from here to the Dragonpit?" she made another question.
"Three-quarters of an hour, briskly," absently, he answered.
"Very good, Jon Snow. That is the time you dispose to talk to me into accepting your proposal."
They had stopped at a craft stall. Jon was grateful that she was giving him time to collect his bearings. In the way, the people around them were coming together to approach her. Some to just have a better glimpse of her, others to fill her with requests and gifts of all kinds. The only thing preventing them from rushing forward were the wary Unsullied and Dothraki guards walking close to them.
"Am I supposed to make a good impression on you?"
"I think we have both failed miserably at making a good first impression on the other," she said, distracted by the pieces of cheap jewelry displayed on the tables. At least she sounded more carefree than in all their previous conversations.
At that moment a salesman began to tell them a story about the rings he was selling, and that kept their attention away for a minute.
"We are both in a dire situation, Jon Snow," she turned to look at him, while the seller went to pocket the things she had paid for with a not modest quantity of silver pieces, "You have to respond to the interests of your people and I, to the interests of mine. In the middle, a bigger threat looms over us." She crossed in front of him and he followed her. The further they went, the more the smell of incense intensified. Jon was grateful that he didn't have to bear the characteristic stench of the crowded city. "Your arguments are sound but my counterarguments are as well. To that conundrum, you have come to me with an alternative, and for that, I deem you at least a willing man. Pretend you're just another salesman and try to sell me why I should make you my husband."
Notes:
This last part is the reason that motivated the creation of this whole story so maybe for a moment I will stay here and delve into it.
What do you think Jon can argue now that Dany has given him a chance to just... talk? Is she really considering giving it a try or does she just want to hear what he has to say? Whenever I read your comments I tend to shape my ideas better so I invite you to share your opinions.
By the way, in this chapter I wanted to emphasize the shift in Dany's mind, contrasting the passionate predisposition of an already erased past with the wariness she holds in the alternative present, where she's younger but her mind is certainly not.
By the way, you can guess what they're going to the Dragonpit for and why it's related to Tyrion...just sayin'
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein