The Wardens: Honor of a Man
Rating: M + Language, nudity, themes, and violence.
Masterlist | First
She knew that everything wasn't going to go without a hitch. Taliya had put up too much of a stink that afternoon, spoken too brazenly to Viserys, and even openly to Daenerys. When night fell and Viserys finally wandered back into camp, she knew that Khal Drogo would hear about the turn of events and her own impudence to act in the stead of his bloodriders. They were around to protect Dany for a reason and her own sword was not necessary, especially when women were viewed as inferior and weak. She was nearly chewing on her nails when Jhogo arrived, his youthful face not as tight or unfriendly as she was accustomed to. Instead, he appeared almost guilty, if not sparing a modicum of pity as he told her that the Khal wished to see her.
"Do you think it has to do with what happened earlier?" Ben asked, gripping her arm before she joined the young man.
"What else would he be summoning me for?" Tali retorted hoarsely, her voice cracking and betraying the fear she had in facing the Khal.
"You protected the Khaleesi, you will not be in trouble," Ben insisted, his own confidence in the matter shadowing over hers.
But she had seen Jhogo's face as he called for her and she had no doubt that this would not be a simple or amicable meeting. No, there was more to it and her skin crawled as she wondered how she might be shamed that evening. There was no rebuffing or declining the Khal's invitation and so she brushed out of her partner's hold and set her jaw, nodding as Jhogo as she followed behind him. Benjen followed as far as he was allowed to, which was up until the entrance of the great tent that belonged to Drogo and Daenerys, so large that an elephant could fit inside with ease.
Two bloodriders stood outside, giving discreet jerks of their head to Jhogo as he escorted her in, but Ben was barred outside. Within was not a welcoming sight. Daenerys was there, but seated beside her husband with a tight expression. Khal Drogo's dark eyes burned a trail after Tali as she approached where he lounged. Strangely, they did not disarm her before the Khal, but Jhogo delivered her as asked and stepped aside so that she stood in front of the imposing man. She nearly locked her knees in an effort to keep them from quaking, aware she might pass out if she did so. That didn't assist her at all, the worry bobbing in her throat in the form of the inability to swallow the tacky, dry taste in her mouth.
"Taliya Sand," Khal Drogo began, her Dornish name rolling around strangely on his tongue as he spoke it aloud for the first time. "Today, you defended my wife, the Khaleesi, from her brother. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"That I would do it again if it prevented Viserys from laying a hand on her," Taliya answered in Dothraki, her speech having improved significantly over the weeks.
"To what end?" Khal Drogo challenged. "Jhogo was hooves behind you and yet you interfere. It is not your place. You are a woman. I have tolerated you playing pretend and wearing your weapon, as my wife expresses that your people--the Dornish--allow it. We do not allow it. A woman such as yourself would better serve my own men in the manner you were born to accomplish."
"Jhogo would not have gotten to the Khaleesi in time," Taliya asserted obstinately. "If I were a man, you would be rewarding me for this service. Yet, because I am a woman, I am being questioned as if it was I who attacked the Khaleesi?" Her bitter fury was getting the better of her, barring the silence she should have bequeathed the Khal, but instead she lashed out at him. Her cheeks were burning and she was insensed by the fact that he was not appreciative of her deed.
"Watch your tongue, witch," Cohollo snarled, baring broken teeth at Taliya as she scowled.
Khal Drogo waved his bloodrider back and sat up in his seat. "If you would like to defend my wife, perhaps I should give you more of a challenge to prove your worth than the Sorefoot King. You wear a sword, but can you use it? Jhogo says you struck the boy with your arm, but did not draw a blade."
"There was no reason to draw my sword. Not immediately," Taliya remarked, her pulse tensing at the thought of having to fight any of his bloodriders or maybe even Drogo himself. She was going to die.
"Those that fear to draw their blades die cowards," Khal Drogo insisted.
"If I must prove that I can use the sword that I carry, I will fight," Taliya conceded, already backed into a proverbial wall. She couldn't deny the Khal, not without castrating herself and her liberties. She carried a sword, she was just as challenging as any man in the camp and she had to own up to that. This didn't mean she was a stalwart wall of resolve and confidence. She had seen some of the men fight during the wedding and spar during their free time. They were dervishes, berserkers, and she did not have their years of expertise beneath her silk sash belt. "But if I win, I will be treated as an equal and I will serve the Khaleesi if she should have me."
Khal Drogo thundered with laughter, clutching his stomach at her demands, but there was an admiring glimmer within the depths. Even if he openly chuckled, she knew that his honor dictated giving her what she wanted. The only issue was surviving the fight in the first place.
Lord of Light, please don't kill me right here. I've really come to like living again, Taliya pleaded silently, making what peace she could with the fact that she'd have a new dance partner that wasn't Ben. The Dothraki in the tent were getting worked up, excited to see how this would pan out, if not craving her blood be spilled upon the dirt so that they could chortle about how absurd it had been that a woman was pretending to be a warrior.
Ushered out into the brisk evening air, she caught Benjen standing beside Jorah. He uncrossed his arms, about to open his mouth to question what had happened within the tent when the Dothraki began to hoot and holler, calling for others to join the spectacle, for them all to witness the brutalizing about to occur. Their rallying cries were echoed and warriors poured out of the nooks and crannies like mites, clustering and muttering as Khal Drogo made his grand appearance, giving her a pious look before announcing to the crowd.
"The woman believes she can fight and do a Dothraki's job in defending the Khaleesi. So the woman shall fight and prove herself or die trying," his voice boomed, echoing above the cacophony as their voices grew louder and more spiteful. Even the female Dothraki hissed and lobbed insults in her direction, the muddling of words like whore, witch, slut, and other unsavory names becoming lost amongst the thirst of the mob.
"Taliya!"
Her head turned slowly to gaze over at her friend, his dark brows pushed together and his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. He was worried, using his every fiber to not break forward and put an end to this mess, but she shook her head at him. There would be no use. He'd only get overwhelmed and killed. What good would he be then? If at least one of them survived, then they could continue on their sacred mission. She let out a low breath, praying again to the Lord of Light for guidance. Never once in her life, here or on earth, had she ever felt so helpless or without guidance. Since arriving here, the Lord of Light had only whispered a few things in the fire, but never anything directly. Was this his will?
God was a fickle subject to her. Her family had been religious, Catholic, and thus she had been raised that way. Truthfully, she never really believed in any of it. Now? She was fervently praying to R'hllor in hopes that He wouldn't toss her aside. Gods, she was so terrified as Khal Drogo picked out a Dothraki warrior from the crowd, deciding that his own bloodriders were too much of a challenge for her. She was thankful for that spark of pity, because that might be the difference between death and life.
Another tremulous breath parted her lips, but she reminded herself that this was not the first life she had taken. Taliya--no, Tabitha, had killed before. It hadn't been intentional, she hadn't even been in a combat unit. They were ambushed after an IED went off and she had no choice but to fight back. Her rifle had been thrown aside and all she'd had was her knowledge in Krav Maga and a knife. She had walked away from that fight, but the jihad had not. He too had doubted that a woman could fight.
The Dothraki was shorter than her. Taliyah was a tall woman, but she wasn't as robust as he was. He drew his arakh, the curved blade glistening in the fire light that illuminated the camp and chased long shadows across the khalasar. He grinned and she knew that immediate death would not be in the cards should she fail to defend herself. No, they would embarrass the woman who believed she could fight. They would take everything from her before killing her. She had more to lose than her life.
Her hand went to her sword, utilizing the grip she'd become more dexterously familiar with: the icepick grasp. Fate was shorter than most longswords and the movement felt more natural. The Valyrian steel caught the moonlight and glimmered with the darkened ripples, drawing attention from those that had never seen such steel before.
"Once I mount you, I'll kill you and take that pretty sword," the man told her, pointing his arakh toward her menacingly. For all his talk, he was not as terrifying as the Other in the haunted forest.
"Once I kill you, I'll turn you into a gelding and shove your balls into that filthy mouth of yours," Taliya retorted snidely, not one for playing nice when it came to her life hanging in the balance. The brief moment she had before the collision, her eyes went over toward Daenerys, the braziers on either side of her climbing high toward the sky and that's when she saw it. He was watching.
The arakh collided with Fate, the curved blade screeching against her own steel. Taliya did not remain fast in the position that would sap her energy. Instead, the parry was glanced, as she knew that the Dothraki were quick, but went for killing blows rather than continuing playing between blades. After all, an arakh was a tool for carving, not for the finesse and elegance of a dance. That did not mean she was in any advantage, in fact, if the arakh caught Fate just right, he could rip the sword out of her hands.
The best defense would be her offense and her speed. Her stout opponent would try to overpower her, but his confidence exuded from each swing. She ducked beneath the next, bent down and grabbed a palm full of sand with her free hand, before throwing it up into his face. The man sputtered as she darted forward, his arakh barely coming up in time to defend the jab she'd aimed for him.
His fervor redoubled and through angry, reddened eyes, she battered her back, each clang of his crescent blade forcing her another step until she was getting too close to the crowd of onlookers. Weighing her options, she turned the next strike and drove back toward him. Her reach was longer with the longsword and her arms, she forced him two steps, and then made a grievous mistake. The curve of the arakh collided with the sword, squealing down the fuller as it locked and a devilish smile unfurled on his face. She knew what this meant.
Rather than give him the satisfaction of tearing the sword from her hand, she spat in his face and threw Fate as hard as she could before barreling into the Dothraki like a linebacker trying to defend his quarterback. They fell to the ground in a scuffle, both blades skittering away as they collided with the earth. She had not noticed the Dothraki utilizing hand to hand combat or not much of it. They were mounted warriors. They fought in the saddles more often than naught. Here, she had the advantage and the man had yet to realize it.
But she worked like a serpent, fighting for the dominant position, blocking his strikes as she straddled him and palmed his nose, the cartilage crunching beneath her hand, blood spurting in a crimson river as he groaned. He threw a punch that jerked her head back with a snap, but she did not give up her position, even as they rolled and the shouting around them reached a fever pitch. She had him in a choke, the man lifting in a futile attempt to smash her into the ground. She was winded by the effort, but he was weakening by the second. Enough that she was able to reach to her belt and retrieve her dagger.
The Dothraki were screaming now, warning him of the danger, calling him a failure for allowing himself to be wrapped up by her like prey to a cobra, but Taliya did not hear. This was the same position that she had killed the jihad in, strangling him from behind before she took her knife and dragged it deep across his throat, giving him a second smile. Blood beaded between her hands, slickening the knife as the man garbled, jerking in her grasp before going limp.
For a crowd that had been harkening her rape and death, they grew eerily quiet as she shoved his corpse to the ground and stood, her hands soaked in the blood of the Dothraki warrior and her silks stained with the life she had taken. Raising her knife in victory, she bent down, eying Khal Drogo openly as she grabbed the man's nearly decapitated head and cut off his braid. It was nowhere near as long or as impressive as Drogo's, but she threw it down in his direction, spitting a mouthful of her own blood on the ground. Her lip was busted from the punch, but at least she had all her teeth.
Taliya retrieved her sword, shoving it back into the scabbard, before glancing at the body and feeling... nothing. Just like on deployment, she had felt no pity for the man that had tried to kill her. The only difference here was that she had understood the filthy words that had come from the Dothraki's mouth.
"The woman has won," Khal Drogo deemed, his face unreadable. Whether or not he was impressed, she could not say. "If she is really a woman."
Tailya frowned, her adrenaline still surging through her veins as these words escaped his mouth. What did that mean? She had won! She had won with her bare hands! The Lord of Light had blessed her fight, He had been watching and deemed her worthy! "This was not part of the deal!" she snarled, glaring at Cohollo and Haggo as they erred closer to her.
"I will keep my end of the bargain," Khal Drogo insisted. "But my khalasar will not believe this fight was won by a woman unless they see for themselves. Even I doubt it."
Taliya reached for her sword, but knew she would not beat the both of them. Khal Drogo was still keeping his oath, but he was still taking something precious from her. No. She would not allow it. "You wish to see that I am a woman?" Taliya snarled, throwing her dagger into the dirt in front of her. "Fine. But I will show you myself," she snapped, fumbling the silks and leathers that she wore. She would not be stripped by the bloodriders, she would not be embarrassed by their hands.
Working piece by piece, she glared openly at them all, each layer that came off causing her fingers to shake even more. Finally, when she'd reached the blouse that hit her breasts, she swallowed hard and yanked it off. Taliya was not big breasted, she was athletic, thus she knew that given her stature, she would have to do more than remove her top. She kicked her harem trousers off and then the thin string for underwear she'd donned until she was standing as naked as the day she'd been born.
She hated it. The roaming eyes, the gesticulating, and the faces of those who would prefer to put hands on the honed, muscular woman who stood openly before them. But if this were to happen anywhere, the Dothraki was the best scenario. How could she face anyone in Westeros if she'd been forced to stand in front of them all like this? Just as Cersei would have to march through King's Landing?
"She is a woman," Khal Drogo agreed, his eyes lingering on her mound, before he waved his bloodriders back. "This woman has proven she can fight. There is a first for everything." He turned his back and receded into his tent, sweeping Daenerys along with him.
Taliya's eyes burned, but she knew that she would not cry, she could not. She had proven that she was strong and that would all be lost if she started blubbering. Crouching down, as to protect the last shreds of her modesty as she grabbed her shirt and thrust it back over her head with shaking hands, she drew a shuddering breath on the cusp of breaking down. How many erections had she noticed pressed within the leathers? How many men imagining fucking her out in the open despite the throat she'd just opened?
"Taliya-" The last voice she wanted to hear because of how mortified she was. Ben knelt beside her, his cloak falling around her shoulders as she fumbled her belongings on the ground, her fingers still stained red from the blood she had spilled.
"I hope you enjoyed the show," she hissed through her clenched teeth, managing to get her pants on before bundling the rest up in her arms and gripping her sword scabbard tight in her fist.
"Tali, I..." but he was at a loss for words as she got to her feet and started to storm away toward the outskirts of the khalasar where they'd pitched their tents. She drew in his cloak, her resolve crumbling with each step, carrying herself further than the tent and out into the brush with only the stars for company. Well, at least she'd thought that until she heard him pursuing her. Crouching back down amongst the tall grass, Taliya drew in toward herself, shuddering as she lost control of her tightly reigned emotions. "Tali!"
"Go away, do I look like I want to be bothered right now?" she asked hoarsely, unable to stop the tears from falling out of her eyes. "I came out here to be alone!"
But he did not leave her alone, much to her disdain. She felt Balerion probing, the griffin not too far, but at a great enough length that it would take him a few minutes to reach them. She denied his request, feeling bad for keeping him at a distance for so long, but they were safer this way. She pressed her face into her knees, sitting in the dirt, crying like a child. She was deserving of a good cry and this one had rushed up to meet her all at once.
A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked it away. What repulsive thoughts did he have of her now? In Westeros, a lady would never bear herself like that. The Dothraki would have done it for her, turned her into a victim, but she had refused to let herself be belittled. If they wanted to see her vagina, she was going to show it herself and not have the choice taken from her. Still, it didn't make her feel much better. She was disgusted with herself and even if she knew their harsh words weren't true, they still bit into her skin as if they were.
"Shh, shh," Benjen knelt beside her, smoothing her hair back as she wept, the motion astonishingly soothing for a man who'd spent little time occupying it with the opposite gender. She supposed he had nieces to look after once in a while, but was still affronted with her own lewd display.
"I thought I told you to go away," she sniffled indignantly.
"And miss you shedding tears? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I thought you did not have the ability to for the longest time," Benjen remarked glibly, deserving of a subconscious thwap of the back of her knuckles to his knee. "I should have done something-"
"You couldn't. There was no way that it would have turned out well for either of us had you stepped up to defend me," Taliya reminded him, clearing her throat as she tried to stop the watershow. "It's not like I'm some dainty lady with honor to defend anyways."
"Is that what you really believe?" Ben inquired quietly.
"I'm no one, Ben. I have no noble name to protect me."
"That's not true. You are a Warden. The First Warden. There's only two of us. That makes you more important than the majority of nobility in Westeros... in the world. What makes you think otherwise?"
"Because it will always come down to titles and blood. Even if I help fix the world, save those marked for slaughter, it will always come back to the fact that I'm no one," she rebuffed, brushing the hand on her shoulder away. "I shouldn't be crying over this. I won, I'm alive, and I proved that a woman can have enough skill to best a man. I just-" she lifted her face, her voice cracking under the strain as she tried to piece her shattered resolve back together.
"You are human, Tali. I think I would be more worried if you had not reacted at all to what just happened," Ben reminded her.
"I could've handled it better. Now I'm a mess, I've got blood all over me and it's mixed with tears. I'm going to need new clothes."
"That's what you are worried about?" Ben muttered in disbelief.
She was deflecting, but it seemed easier to do that than to face that fact that he'd watched her strip in front of hundreds of people until she was naked. "I liked these silks," she complained.
Managing a glance up at him, she saw the shadowed countenance of her companion. Despite his warm words to her, she knew that he was bothered by the situation and how out of hand it had gotten in a matter of moments. It had been out of his control and the lack thereof perturbed him. It was admirable that he worried for her, but Taliya tried not too much too much worth into it, lest to save them both from eventual heartbreak.
She moved to stand up, drawing in the cloak once again, when a hand steadied her. Even in the darkness, the golden warmth of his eyes blazed like a beacon--like the sun itself. "You are not alone in this, Tali. You are never alone. We... are all we have. Even when we return to Westeros, I am not certain what my family will think of what has become of me. I am not certain I can return, as Starks take oaths very seriously. To the grave."
"You took yours to the grave, Ben," she reminded him.
"They might not understand, but you do. It's not as if I can explain it to them, you know how we are prohibited from talking to outsiders about our gifts," Ben sighed, having time to contemplate how fathomable resuming a normal life in Westeros would be once they did return. Taliya's gaze softened, not the whip sharp glare, the resting bitch face she typically wore, and she stifled a deep breath as she felt herself calming down. It still hurt, like a knife in her belly, twisting her entrails and causing pain, but he was right. At least she was not alone. Even Daenerys had not put in a word for her or tried to stop her husband, bringing color to her tanned cheeks as she thought in shame of how she'd overstepped her boundaries. But she was the First Warden, just as Benjen insisted. She was more important than any of them, wielding the knowledge to shape the world. One day her work would pay off and they'd all see it, that a woman could pull strings behind the scenes and achieve spectacular things. This was her origin and she had to combat the fact that she was no one. At least, she did not have to do it alone. Between Balerion, Torrhen, and Benjen-she knew she had people she could put her trust in, if only she could let them in.
Tabitha, her real name not the alias she'd taken, had always been reclusive. Since leaving the Army, finding new friends had been hard and she was often seen as standoffish, bossy, and a bit of a bitch. Assimilation into civilian life had been difficult, especially working in customer service where she had to slap a smile on despite not wanting to roll out of bed some days. War had been tough on her and the day to day environment of carefree civilian life had grated on her, weathering down her patience. Perhaps she should have never left the military and she wouldn't have spiralled, but her family had needed her as her contract had ended. The promising track she had been set on, especially after getting her degree, started to evaporate as she put her dreams on hold. Now, they'd never come to fruition, her dreams of being a blackhawk pilot dashed. Ironically, she was a different kind of pilot now, her skillset between her hobbies and what the military had taught her becoming pivotal in helping her in this new world.
"Last time I had people I could trust, I watched a handful of them get blown up," Taliya told him, finally breaking the silence as she snapped out of her daze. "Should have been a routine patrol. Road had been swept in the morning. Turns out we had a mole... someone who fed information to the other side, a traitor. Two of the soldiers were kids, just out of training, thrown onto a deployment in the desert. Hell of a first time getaway from home. Two 19 year olds with their whole lives ahead of them. Explosion killed Gabini immediately, concussed me, and maimed Brown. By the time I came to, they were finishing Brown off with a rusted knife, sawing it-" she swallowed hard, blinking back the repulsive memories. "They thought I was dead or were finishing the others to save me for last... Unfortunate for them. Shot the first, slit the throat of the other. When I got back home they gave me a shiny medal like that could make up for what was lost. If I could, I would have given my life in exchange for theirs.
"Then I get here and it's like everything I was, everything I worked for... It means nothing because I'm a woman or I'm common born. I'm not trying to sound arrogant, but I've better wits than the majority of the population and yet in an instant, I can be degraded without a choice. I was a sergeant, Ben. I was important, I had soldiers beneath me. I-" she shook her head. She had never talked about any of this. Always holding it in, repressing the fact that these deaths burned a hole in her heart. It was why she'd preferred the solitude with Balerion. Balerion would never hurt her.
"Losing men is never easy," Ben admitted, undoubtedly losing many of his brothers to the cold or wildlings. She felt a bit stupid mentioning it to him, someone who had probably seen many come and go over his years on the Wall. "I always did suspect you were prior military. Some of your mannerisms... and behavior."
"Never really goes away," she snorted. "Look, I didn't mean to be... emotional. Today has been absolute dog shit."
"Understandably," Ben agreed as they turned toward the khalasar, beginning to walk back to their camp. "I like to think we are friends, despite the circumstances that brought us together."
She was thankful for the cover of darkness as the corners of her mouth turned up. "Me, friends with a noble? Lord up above, I really must be something special to have impressed you, wolf-boy."
"You had me at 'chuckle-fuck' beyond the Wall," Ben informed her.
Taliya chortled, bringing her hand to her mouth to prevent the ugly noise from escaping her lips. "I do... have a colorful way of describing things."
"Especially under pressure. What was it again that you threatened that Dothraki with? Something about castrating him and then-"
"I'm no lady," Taliya broke in before he could finish.
"Perhaps not, but you're still a woman. At least I'm certain of that now."
Taliya glared at him, but the brightness in the Stark's eyes were not as mirthfilled as the Dothraki. Had it been anyone else, she might've punched them... Actually, she was still fully contemplating it. "Hope you got a good look. It's the only one you're ever going to get."
*
It was difficult to fall asleep at first, still restless from the evening that had battered her around like meat being tenderized. Once she did, she tumbled within a dream, so vivid that Tali remembered every fine detail. Darkness pooled around her, tendrils reaching out like hands, pulling at the sunset silks she was adorned in. While there seemed to be no ground, each step brought her forward in the shadow realm which she tread. Where was she going? She wandered aimlessly for a long time until her hip grew hot, Fate humming at her belt, growing red. Logic dictated that when she touched it, she should have been burned.
However, as her palm grazed the pommel, she only felt the warmth blistering metal, but was not injured as she ought to be. Taking the sword from the scabbard, the Valyrian steel burst into flames, just as some priests of R'hllor could manage. She wondered if Valyrian steel could take the heat of the magic over and over again, holding the sword in front of her face as it illuminated the abyss surrounding her. When she finally looked around, her skin crawled as the shadows took silhouettes and shape, just like the one that Melisandre would birth from Stannis. They pawed at the light, but did not approach.
Taliya continued down the trail with Fate as her beacon. Another light, wreathed in golden flame attracting her attention. Finally, when she reached it, she realized it was not an 'it' so much as it was a person. A statue of Ben stood before her, wielding a glorious longsword, a halo of sunlight blooming around his crown as if he were a saint. Weapon raised toward the sky, she saw the finer details of a full suit of armor and thought he looked rather akin to a paladin, a holy knight. Inscribed on the plinth below: Ser Benjen Stark, Champion of R'hllor, Warden of Light, Savior of Westeros.
Was this the future? Even if it was not her, she couldn't help but admire the beauty of the marble and how it captured her friend's features. If anyone deserved to be commemorated, Benjen certainly had her vote. But as she glanced around, she wondered why there was nothing about her. Taliya didn't need to be remembered, but she supposed that if Ben had gotten a statue, why wouldn't she? He was the sword, but she was the brains.
The shadows had lifted half of their shade and she was walking in a city... King's Landing? It was difficult to tell by the unnatural darkness that coated the city in an effervescent haze. No people milled around, but she saw the long shadows of the dark beings from her path. They stayed away from the light which she held, but followed her as she ascended up stairs toward a temple. The Sept of Baelor? No, the towers were missing, the beautiful stained glass removed. This was where the sept should have been, but in its place blazed a Red Temple with a great brazier and fire.
There cannot be light without shadow.
She tilted her head, looking for where the deep voice came. A shiver raked down her spine, the queer sound of the leagues deep voice echoing with the voices of many. The voice was masculine, but those that echoed it were legion. Continuing her path toward the Temple, Taliya leveled her eyes. Thus far, the Lord of Light had not made His intentions clear. She and Ben knew that it was He that had raised them, given them their fiery eyes, and tasked them with altering the future. Why he had done this, despite the fact that the Great Other would likely be defeated, Taliya could not say. Did He wish for different people to survive? Did He wish for dragons to live or Daenerys not to perish as a result of her descent into madness? There were no answers. They were champions without the word of their God telling them what to do.
There is no shadow without light to cast it.
Fate's light flickered and the shadows crept closer. They wouldn't attack her, would they? They were servants to the Lord, just as she was. But when she glanced at them, their black faces, she had a feeling they did not care who she was. Quickening her step, she hurried toward the Temple, Fate's brilliance continuing to fate. Her strides lengthened until she was running, banging up against the door to the temple as she tried to force it open. It was no use, the doors were locked.
Fate guttered out and Taliya turned, her heart in her throat as the shadow figures stood up. The only light she could see was the halo of Ben's statue, which was too far for salvation. Even the Red Temple seemed to forsake her, as if to cast her from her divine position and relinquish her to the abyss. She swiped her sword, the blade passing through the shadows without harming them... because they were shadows. A scream never parted her lips or if it did, there was no one to hear it. They fell on top of her, smothering her, ripping her away from King's Landing and tearing at her every fiber.
Shadow and light. They are both tools of the Lord. Two sides to the same coin.
Shadow. You are shadow.
Taliya awoke with a start, her fingers gripping her throat where she'd felt shadowy hands snared and pushing down into belly to eviscerate her insides, to tear away the light in her heart and replace it with shadow. The Lord of Light had yet to speak openly to her, but she wondered if that dream was His first attempt to press upon His will. They were Wardens, gifted with partners and flight, but was that all? Melisandre could conjure flame, she would raise Jon Snow, she could consume poison and live, and birth monstrosities. Could the Wardens do things?
She thought of the statue, how Ben had looked the part of the holy warrior, but she had been missing entirely. Would that be her future? Hidden in the shadows and forgotten for everything she'd forged? Tali was not jealous of Ben, it was a man's world, but it still stung to think that the Lord of Light would prefer him over her: The First Warden. What had He said... That had been the Lord, hadn't it? The deep, echoing of many voices in the shadow city, telling her that shadow and light were but two sides of the same coin... She was shadow.
Was Ben light?
Taliya dressed, her attire still blood stained, and her face still raw from where she'd been punched. Her split lip was crusty and she knew she had an ugly bruise radiating from mouth to the left side of her jaw. Fortunately, nothing was broken, but it still hurt like a bitch. Brushing her fingers through her hair, she noticed it was getting longer, but didn't take a knife to it just yet as she dragged herself out of bed.
The sun was bright, forcing her to shield her eyes as she stepped out and rolled her shoulders. What she wouldn't do for a bath or a shower. Pentos had been the last place such had been afforded and it hadn't even been a bath, it'd just been a basin filled with clean water and a rag. She was about to start making breakfast when a slender figure approached her anxiously, twisting her fingers into her skirts, long blonde hair glistening in the morning light.
Doreah finally found the courage to speak. "Khaleesi requests your company."
Great. That's just who she wanted to see after the girl had let her husband embarrass her before the Khalasar. Even if she wasn't to be petulant about it, she knew that it wasn't a request and a demand. Grumbling to herself, she pushed up to her feet, leaving behind the embers she had started to stoke. What did the child want? To apologize? To tell Taliya that she shouldn't have been such a brash fool? No, maybe Daenerys would agree with her husband and see nothing wrong with what had happened.
Rubbing her aching face, Taliya followed the Lyseni handmaiden across the camp. Oddly enough, she had expected the Dothraki to point and laugh at her, to continue to insult her further after the fiasco last night. However, she was astonished to see their gazes were not impish, but full of regard, as if they were seeing her for the first time. Nudity to the Dothraki was not as taboo as it was to Westerosi and other cultures. She had taken her fate into her own hands. Did they respect her?
That was wishful thinking. Maybe they were just afraid that she'd wrestle them to the ground and slit their throat like a goat as she'd done to one of their warriors.
The behavior change in the Dothraki was not the only thing that she noticed. In fact, there was a strange hum in her bones each time she glanced towards shade, where the sunlight did not strike. The shadows seemed to lengthen, to beckon toward her like a lurid lover. Perhaps she was dehydrated or had a concussion, because the shadows had never played around as they did now. She brushed away the words of R'hllor that buzzed in her ears like gnats: You are shadow.
Khal Drogo was not in the tent. It was only Daenerys and her handmaidens, to include Irri and Jhiqui. A hand rested gently on the girl's abdomen, which made Taliya wonder if the girl had discovered she was pregnant. The thought of someone so little, so young, being with child made her want to yak up a breakfast she hadn't had the chance to eat.
"Taliya," Daenerys entreated, but remained where she was sitting as she spoke her name.
"Khaleesi," she returned indifferently.
"My husband was impressed with your skill. He wonders where you learned to fight with your hands like that," Daenerys remarked.
"I told you that I served as a sellsword. I learned in Yi Ti," she lied simply.
Daenerys sighed, dropping her hand from her stomach, her eyes softening. "No woman should be shamed like that."
"Do the Dothraki see it as shame?" Taliya glanced toward Irri and Jhiqui, trying to gauge their reactions. They balked under her fiery gaze, averting their eyes as if they'd be burned if they stared for too long.
"They needed proof," Daenerys replied.
"You're becoming quite good with politics, Khaleesi. Answering, but still avoiding the original question. Tell me, is it you who feels shame or the Dothraki? Because on my walk here, they did not jeer, point, or laugh. Yet, I stand before you and I see pity in your eyes," Taliya countered sternly, daring to overstep the boundary between ranks as she bared her disdain over the girl's lack of reaction the evening before.
Daenerys' cheeks flushed at the insinuation. "Nothing I said could have changed what happened."
"No, I doubt it could, but you also have more power than you believe you do. I don't need an apology or your pity. I made my decision last night and I stand by it. I am not a dainty lady from Westeros, I am a warrior. It may not have been easy to do what I did, but don't assume that I feel sullied because of it. I could care less who saw me naked," Taliya rebuffed.
Silence hung between them, the girl contemplating her words at Taliya stood erect like a soldier at attention, her spine rigid and her jaw level. She didn't need the child throwing her a pity parade, coddling her because she'd neglected to do anything. Daenerys needed to know what a strong woman looked like. One who didn't let the opinions of others drown her. Even if it had hurt, Taliya would not show it.
"Drogo intends to keep his promise. If you wish to serve beneath me still," Daenerys told her.
Taliya had the royal flush, the cards were stacked against Daenerys, the guilt weighing on the girl's conscience. Drawing in a deep breath, she released her sigh and relaxed her imposing posture. She was a head taller than any of the women in there, even if she was slouching. "Is that what you want? Do you still feel comfortable with me around after everything that happened?"
"I feel comfortable around you, but I-" she paused, her brows snaring together in irritation. "You have been a good companion and I did nothing but watch. What if I do it again? What if you die because of it?"
"People die, Khaleesi. The world is a cruel place. We all learn from our mistakes and you're still growing up. Your brother... that was not the first time he's raised a hand to you, is it?" She knew the answer, but she wanted the girl to give it to her.
Daenerys shook her head. "Viserys has always been... stern. I just thought it was the way things were, but when after hearing you tell me otherwise during our conversations... It made me think about how I'm treated here, my people he sees as barbarians, when they treat me better than he ever has and he's my blood."
"There is a quote I know: The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. It means that the blood shed in battle, bonds people together more than the familial bonds. Of course, family is important, but there becomes a point when you must question if that family has the best intentions in mind for you. Do you think that Viserys does?"
Daenerys contemplated before speaking, "He is still my brother and I do love him."
"I am not saying to forsake him, only that sometimes family shouldn't be the most important thing in your life, especially if they've done little to prove their care for you is not materialistic and a means to an end. Khal Drogo cares deeply for you, the weight of his love should rival that of your brother. If Viserys truly loved you, he would not hit you," Taliya explained carefully. "Only a coward strikes those that cannot fight back. Punish me if you must for speaking out of turn, but your brother is a coward."
"I know," Daenerys agreed miserably. "I do want you here, Tali. Your wisdom has helped me immensely and I appreciate your honesty. The Dothraki are often honest, but it's not the same. Because you're-"
"Dornish? Westerosi? Too wry for my own good?" Taliya filled in mischievously.
"I can relate to you more... And you are a piece of the home I have never known."
"Home isn't an exact place, Khaleesi. It is often a person. I would say that your home is with Khal Drogo, no matter where in Essos he takes you," Taliya informed her, feeling the tension in her shoulders beginning to evaporate as the walls between them fell.
"Then... perhaps until now, I have not known a home."
"Khaleesi, if you would have me still, the offer stands. However, after last night, I think the terms in which I stand by have shifted. As you probably noticed, I have a certain set of skills and I have more I can offer depending on what your intentions are for the future. I have connections in Westeros, eyes and ears that report to me. If your intentions are to go there eventually, an army is not the only thing you will need."
"Taliya, you have always spoken openly before. What is it that you want?"
"I want the position as Mistress of Whisperers. I will also promise you my sword, but I am no knight. I am a hidden blade. Give me time and I have no doubt I'll be able to acquire information in more methods than just the contacts I have in Westeros."
Daenerys leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees as she contemplated the offer. "If we go to Westeros, these connections would be paramount. Are you asking for titles as well?"
"No, I do not care for titles other than the position I've requested. I don't need land, nor castles. I am asking for this as a commoner with the interest of the common folk in my heart."
"You are aware that if we go, the common folk will get caught in between regardless. The Dothraki will wish to loot as they do here," Daenerys reminded her.
"Which is why I'll continue to be that pesky fly in your ear, reminding you when I see injustices, but it will be up to you to change the way in which the Dothraki think. So far, it seems they've come to acknowledge that a woman can fight. Perhaps they can give up their pillaging."
Since the dream, the shadows always beckoned, especially when the night came and they deepened into an abyss that Taliya felt she could step into and vanish. It had taken the fight with the Dothraki warrior for her to come to realize that she had talents in another form of fighting. Hand to hand combat and knives. Both times she had killed, it had been with a knife in her hand. Fate had served her well, but it had never been quite right. Once she found a proper forge, she intended on having the steel split into two daggers to better serve her skills. But amongst the Dothraki Sea, the opportunity to find a smith was slim to none. They would need to get to a city and she had high hopes that Vaes Dothrak might have a vendor who had the skill.
Daenerys had granted her request, though the position of Mistress of Whisperers wasn't official. It banked on Drogo deciding they'd go to Westeros, in which advisors would be necessary for the assault. Still, the seed was planted and Taliya had already hewn the niche that she would fill. Queen's Guard was not where she would be suited best, it would be pulling strings and working alongside Varys. With the passing evenings, she worked heavily on her close combat skills, sparring with Ben and relying upon her knowledge in Krav Maga and knife combat to marry her experience with a sword. At first, it was difficult to get past the guard of an expert swordsman, but with each hour devoted, Taliya improved.
She took to throwing knives, collecting more and more blades by the day, and studied the plants of the Sea. The Dothraki were more willing to talk to her, even the women who had once called her a whore would impart their wisdom of what certain herbs would do. She kept her notes in a book and also recorded what she knew of poisons. While there weren't any readily available poisons for her to harvest, there were plenty of venomous snakes which she could take glands from and coat blades in. They would not be as instant as Tears of Lys or the strangler, but it would kill eventually, as few people knew how to create antivenoms.
The question of what the Lord of Light had meant by the dream He had imparted, left her interpreting His will as she was a shadow. She already tugged strings behind the scenes and given the vision, she suspected that she was not destined to be the face of the Wardens. As a woman and without a noble birth to draw upon, her talents were best utilized from anonymity. Any idle dreams of being a lady-knight were dashed from her mind and she acknowledged that perhaps that was the best. After all, she wouldn't have liked the limelight or attention. She preferred to do her work and remain unbothered by the intricacies of posturing and sniveling nobility.
Their weeks of travel finally resulted in the anticipated destination of Vaes Dothrak, guarded by the Horse Gate, a pair of rearing stallions whose hooves reached a hundred feet. The sacred city had no walls, but who would be foolish enough to attack it? Unless they wanted the wrath of all the Dothraki khalasar in the Sea to fold upon them, the hallowed ground remained unscathed, filled to the brim with the monuments that the Dothraki had sacked over the long years.
Taliya gazed amongst the throng that she traveled with and then to those that filed behind them. When she had begun this journey, she was a woman who carried a sword, but still a woman. Though it had been earned in exchange for her modesty, the Dothraki gazed at her through different eyes. Still, there were many who were wary, but she had asserted her dominance in the field of combat and there were some of the younger warriors that were more keen to talk to her, to learn. Jhogo had been one of those who decided to speak first. He did not apologize, as it is not custom for Dothraki to do so, but she suspected the young man still felt a bit guilty that all that had transpired had to do with him reporting it to Khal Drogo. There were others who were more interested in occupying her time in other manners, liking what they saw when she'd been bare, but they did not attempt to take her lest they wanted their hands gone as she'd threatened before.
Taliya was no Khaleesi, but she was a servant to their queen and she had earned their respect. Many had even given her a name since that day: Geshah Gezri--The Sand Cobra. It had become an affectionate term, if not a title, a way to describe what fate another man might meet if they crossed her, wrapped up in her constricting embrace before fangs would end their life. She preened in what they had given her.
What she found most amusing was Viserys' stupidity. For as long as they had been amongst the Dothraki, the young man had made no effort to learn their language. Why he'd neglected to do so bespoke of his own arrogance and expectations that he was safe, which was quite a misplaced idea. Now, he rode in a cart after Khal Drogo had offered it, deep in the belief that the Khal was now treating him as he was supposed to when it was actually the opposite.
"How dense do you have to be to be so ignorant to the fact that your goodbrother is insulting you right to your face?" Ben speculated, though the prince had now been given his horse back after being confined to the cart for some weeks.
"Well, when you believe the entire world bends a knee to you and that you're the most clever creature there is, it's impossible to think that barbarians might be intelligent enough to slight you," Taliya answered, shaking her head in disdain. "You ought to think knowing their language would be the best way to know they're not making fun at your expense."
"Why would you do that when there's so many translators available?" Ben scoffed. "Who most certainly will not lie to you?"
"Ah, you're right. I obviously was not thinking," Taliya remarked.
"Careful, speak any louder and he might grow suspicious," Jorah canted his horse closer, his voice deadpanned as he flanked them.
Taliya threw a glance back to where Viserys was riding beside his sister. Why Daenerys still let him occupy her time, she could not say, but the girl had become shrewder with her brother after his actions. She didn't dart as carefully around his emotions and often spared glances at Tali when she dared raise her voice. Even if he wasn't the brightest, Viserys wasn't stupid enough to attack Daenerys in front of the Dothraki. Still, watching from the shadows, she knew that he hadn't mustered the courage to do what he'd done again. Instead, he filled his time with lounging, calling Doreah into his tent, and gossiping to the servant as if she'd not repeat his disgusting words to Taliya in full. Doreah feared the woman she'd seen strangle a man to the princeling who couldn't lift the sword he carried.
"Mm, he seems a bit preoccupied," she commented, steering her gelding a little closer to try and overhear what he was talking about. By the animated expressions and maddened glimmer in his eyes, she knew he was ranting on about Vaes Dothrak.
"They cannot speak the language of civilized men," Viserys decided, rolling his eyes in the direction of the nearest Dothraki as if they could not comprehend him. The number that could speak Common had been increasing with Ben's assistance, not that the prince had cared to take notice. These were not people who were intelligent enough to learn. Not to him. "I grow tired of waiting for my army. He should give me what is rightfully mine. What I paid for."
Paid for. Taliya wrinkled her nose at his ignorance, the way he bartered Daenerys' hand as if she were a gift cow. "The Khal will honor his promise in his own time," Taliya spoke up, drawing closer and watching as a sneer unfolded on his lips. The young man had heard of the fight, though he'd not been given the luxury of watching her strip. She was thankful for that. Just as she was amused that he'd watched her throw knives for practice with increasing precision. The boy feared her and for good reason. For all the ilk in his body, he was biding his time with the belief he'd get to repay her for the bruise she'd given him for attempting to touch Daenerys.
Still, he didn't like to be around her and she acted as a natural deterrent for the brat. He reined his horse and turned away, leaving Taliya with the Khaleesi and her handmaidens. Her gaze swept to Jhogo, who comprehended the pointed words and insults that the Targaryen had lobbed at his people.
"He grows more impatient with each passing day," Daenerys sighed.
"Let him," Tali shrugged, waving her hand dismissively. "He is not in charge here, which he often seems to forget. You would think he'd have picked up on some Dothraki customs by now. Your hand was not considered a trade, but a gift. Eventually, your husband will give a gift in return, but rushing him is not wise."
"When has Viserys ever been wise?" Daenerys inquired. "He was just telling me that he believes that he can sweep the Seven Kingdoms with 10,000 Dothraki."
"You sound unconvinced, Khaleesi."
"I have started to take everything that comes from his mouth with a grain of salt. There are many things he does not consider and he sees only numbers. Ben was telling me of the numbers that different houses possess and if they were to take the field against us, they'd outnumber 10,000 easily. Not to mention the lack of a home field advantage, possibility of siege which the Dothraki are not trained in, and other tacticians who have more years of experience than I have been alive," Daenerys considered carefully, surprising Tali. She seemed to have thought this through, weighing the strength of her new people against what she had learned of Westeros.
"Sounds as if Ben has been giving you some good lessons," Taliya remarked, impressed by her understanding. If the Dothraki were going to commit to warfare against a foreign country, it was reasonable that Daenerys take their wellbeing into consideration and what difficulties they might face. She was not as fanciful as Viserys in the fact that sheer numbers would be enough to win, which made her realize that Daenerys was changing. Was this better? The girl was becoming more well versed with the chess board she'd need to play, advisors subconsciously slipping into place and filling her ears with the knowledge she needed to be a successful conqueror.
"You each give me many things to contemplate. The world is certainly more complex than I originally thought," Daenerys smiled faintly, but it was clear the girl was exhausted from her progressing pregnancy.
"Better to be aware of the complexities than to be surprised by them," Tali quipped. "Westeros will not be won by a fatal sweep across the entire Seven Kingdoms. Acquiring allies to make up for where the Dothraki lack will be necessary. The biggest players in each region are where you need to start looking, but also consider those that will never bow to you. The Baratheons and Lannisters hold the Crown, they will fight for it. However, Dorne still remembers the injustice of Elia Targaryen and could make a good ally."
"And what do you think of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms? Ben believes we can sway House Stark and Tully, but I believed that Lord Eddard Stark was good friends with the Usurper."
"There's also House Tyrell to consider as well. The Reach has one of the biggest cavalries and army's and flanks the Westerlands. With how much time we have between now and when we might embark for Westeros, things can change. Already there is disquiet in King's Landing. The Crown is in severe debt to the Iron Bank," Taliya informed the girl, letting her soak in the information like a sponge.
"What do you think they would want in exchange for fealty?"
There was no way to reveal that dragons would be rather convincing in swaying them to join forces, but Taliya simply smiled. "The threat of a foreign army can be quite convincing, but it is likely that a promise of marriage to your unborn child will be your biggest bargaining tool."
Daenerys caressed her stomach gently, but nodded in comprehension. This was the price of royalty, just as they'd discussed before, was the lack of freedom or love. In order to receive the assistance they needed, it would come at a hefty price and it wouldn't be in coin. Not when a house like Tyrell had plenty of income.
"But take things a day at a time, Khaleesi. You are here at Vaes Dothrak with an important quest to accomplish. Focus your mind on the present," Tali urged, aware that the task of eating the horse heart was not going to be easy on her nauseous, pregnant stomach. She knew some days it made it difficult for the child to eat.
Their conversation tapered off as they arrived within the city. Buildings of various makes made up the center and while it was a buzzing hive of activity, nearly all of the folks there now were not permanent residents. Only the dosh khaleen, the widows of khals, lived there continuously. The merchants and their slaves would pick up and depart when it was quiet. However, with a khalasar as large as Khal Drogo's approaching, they were abuzz with activity, leaving her to hope that she might be able to acquire what was on her list while within the confines of the sacred city.
Upon approaching the eastern market, the riders started to dismount, unbuckling belts and passing their weapons to slaves that were waiting. She almost groaned, but knew that it was not allowed for any man to carry steel or spill blood. Throwing an impish look over at Jhogo, she asked him, "Tat yer shillolat rek anha zin ven jin mahrazh?" (Do you think I count as a man?)
"Yer iffi rek chomokh," (You won that honor) Jhogo rebuffed lightly, handing his arakh and whip over to a slave.
"Anha zhorre ale san vov," (I have too many weapons) she complained, stepping up and handing Fate off before going through her entire ensemble, removing more than a dozen knives that she had hidden over her body from tit to boot.
"Geshah Gezri et sanekhi ki gomma," (The Sand Cobra has many fangs) he mused.
The slaves would look after their steel, keeping it in their charge as they were not considered men by the Dothraki. Upon their entrance, she spared Ben a long look before turning back to the market. Civilization felt a long while off and her clothing was still bloodstained. She had been eager to get here and to finally acquire more supplies to replace those that had been weathered through the Dothraki Sea. Khal Drogo was to go up to the Mother Of Mountains that evening, leaving the khalasar to get rest and enjoy the afternoon before tomorrow's main event.
Within Vaes Dothrak, there was no fear of being attacked, lest any of the merchants wished to tempt the rage of the Dothraki who would make examples of any who spat on their traditions.
Tali would be lying if she wasn't vibrating with excitement to finally have a shopping day, to get the opportunity to trade in her dirty, travel worn silks for something new. Whether or not Ben felt the same, she intended on dragging him up and down the market until she was pleased with her purchases.
"Sometimes you astound me. For someone who claims to be the least feminine woman in existence, you do get rather excited to shop for clothes," Ben poked as they continued through the eastern market.
"I never claimed to be not feminine!" she scoffed indignantly. "I said that I'm no lady. And who wouldn't be excited to get fresh clothing? You would have me believe that you are comfortable in your sweat stained attire?"
"I could use a second set so that I might have the chance to clean these," Ben admitted with a grin. "You know, your hair is getting quite long."
"Ooh, perhaps I'll chop it all off so I can look less feminine and more like a man," Taliya proposed impishly, glancing over at the man to see his reaction. Just as she expected, he was unphased and had his stupid, wildling wolf-boy grin. Where Ned was described as being cold and aloof, Ben had all the markers of the Stark wildness.
"You'll have to wait until we leave Vaes Dothrak. Or do you think there are barbers in the city?"
"What use would Vaes Dothrak have for a barber? If I were a barber, I'd stay as far away as I could from Vaes Dothrak. Imagine accidentally cutting a little too much off the end? Taking the whole braid by accident?" she drew a line across her throat, making a silly face at the speculation of why there weren't any barbers in the city.
"Are you really thinking of cutting it?" Ben asked as she stopped in front of a silk vendor.
"Why, jealous that I can have long hair and it'll look too suspicious on you?" she prodded, pulling some of the teal fabric between her fingertips.
"It suits you."
"Mm, careful there or I might think you're giving me a compliment," she retorted, nodding to the vendor who spooled the silk back.
"You make it sound as if you're undeserving of the occasional compliment," he chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving a friendly squeeze. "You have been doing quite well with daggers. They suit you more than the sword."
"Lord of Light," she sighed, turning around and leaning against the table. "What has gotten into you? Are you fishing, hoping I'll compliment you in return?"
"I know it's a vain hope," he smiled, removing his hand. "A friend can give a compliment, can they not?"
Taliya gave him a begrudging look, hoping that he wasn't playing at more than a friendly exchange. They were close, afterall, but sometimes she felt as if his gestures and the grazes of his hands were more than just a friend reassuring her. Not that she didn't enjoy the attention, since aside from Ben she was basically starved for human affection, even before her death on earth. She didn't want to get her hopes up and ruin what they had, which made these tart words fall from her lips in an effort to continue their companionship. Yet, it was moments like this that she questioned if Ben had the same ambitions as her or if he wanted more.
Turning her attention back to what she had been doing, she gave her measurements to the merchant and paid the deposit for the new attire. Milling between stalls, she picked out a few other items, even sparing a moment to eye a few baubles and the exorbitant amount of gold that seemed to be more common than spices amongst the stalls. If there was anywhere she wished to acquire desert rarities, here would probably be the cheapest. She did not need it, but she had not given herself anything since arriving, devoting herself solely to her mission. Maybe just this once she'd indulge in her whims when she could afford it.
While she was able to afford a few delicate chains, new sandals, and golden bands for her biceps she had to turn her head to the golden feather pins that would have made her growing hair easier to manage. She couldn't spend all the coin she had on her.
A crimson glint caught her eye, her head lifting as she noticed a young boy in blood red robes peeking out from behind a merchant stall. He tilted his head, staring at her, before darting into a narrow alley.
"I'll... be right back. Return to the khalasar, I will meet you there," she told Ben, her feet dragging her toward the curious sight.
Within the confines of a dusty causeway, she saw the boy, who had tucked his arm into his robes and eyed her. "I have something for you," the boy spoke in Common, trotting forward to reveal a roll of parchment small enough to fit in his palm.
"You must be a little mouse," Taliya realized, impressed that Varys had managed to get word out to her here. "Will I be able to find you in a day or two?"
The boy nodded, passing the parchment over before giving an expectant look. Taliya removed a few Braavosi coins from her pocket and gave them to him, the child scampering off down the alley before vanishing from few entirely. Unfurling the note, her eyes raked over the cordial letter that would have seemed depressingly boring to those who didn't know how to crack the complex code that they communicated in. Given her lack of communication over the months, a lot had been developing in Westeros in the meanwhile.
Her eyes widened at the news. An investigation into the death of Jon Arryn had been opened and Lysa Arryn's fleeing to the Eyrie was being scrutinized by a handful of heads of houses. It was no secret that she had not been fond of her late husband, despite the shrieking all the way back to the Vale that her husband had been murdered by Lannisters. Even armed with the knowledge that the Baratheon children were bastards, the Lannisters had too much sway with the Crown's debt for the secret to truly harm them. The Head Wolf seemed to comprehend this as well, which was news to her.
Robert Baratheon was growing fatter and demanding the head of a little girl and her brother after learning that she had married Khal Drogo. A warning to be wary of wine merchants in Vaes Dothrak had been issued, which made her smile, because it meant that Varys trusted her.
With everything shifting, she knew that Varys had to keep putting pressure on Baelish in order for the investigation to pull into the right hemisphere. Lysa would be nearly impossible to reach or siege. She would not answer to any royal summons. On the other hand, keeping Catelyn Stark from acting on Baelish's words and kidnapping Tyrion would be another thing she hoped to avoid as it would spur on Ned's arrest. Catelyn has to be suspicious of anything that came out of that man's mouth, especially with her sister facing scrutiny. They were unaware of why the assassin had attacked Bran or that he had witnessed the Lannister twins together.
However, this was all up to Varys to orchestrate. Distracting Baelish would be his best bet and threatening his influx of coin would most certainly vex the Master of Coin. During her last letter she had already begun expressing business opportunities that would put strain on the man while attracting his own workers to quit and move to a new location. Now, would be the time to put it into effect, to open the gambling dens and brothels under the management of the Dark Lady. Varys would manage it in her stead for now, but both establishments would be perfect spots to acquire more information from travelers and those that needed a soft pillow to rest their head on and the company of a woman to ease away their pains. She knew that Varys wasn't fond of the idea, but she insisted that the workers would be paid fair wages, treated well, and protected-which cost good coin and would mean the profit margin was smaller for the owner. A cost she didn't mind, since she'd be paying off debt to Varys for a while for the loan on the locations.
She needed a letter to reach him as soon as possible, her legs already churning so that she could return to the khalasar and begin coding her own response to her penpal.
What took her aback was that Doreah found her, smiling gently as she spoke. "This way, the hollow hills make for better arrangements while we are in Vaes Dothrak. One has been spared for you and your companion." The young woman led her to what Tali would describe as a permanent yurt. There were ones much larger, the sizes of enormous houses, but this was a huge improvement compared to her triangular, one person tent.
"Thank you, Doreah. Tell the Khaleesi that we appreciate her thoughtfulness," Tali insisted, giving a tight smile to the handmaiden before entering. With enough room to walk and not have to stoop, she let out a thankful sigh and glanced over at the set of cots which were a nice upgrade to her bed roll. A glint caught her eye on one of the cots, causing her to pause as she approached the wooden table to begin working on her letter.
When she approached the cot she noticed that a small bundle had been left, the glimmering gold attracting her eye like a crow to something shiny. Unfurling the parcel, sitting in front of her was the set of feather clips that she had been eying in the market. She licked her lips, pursing them as she drew a deep breath and wondered if Ben had really purchased these for her or if one of the Dothraki had noticed her staring. While she was thrilled to have them, she also worried that it was her friend that had given them to her.
"Lord, you idiot," she muttered, mostly to herself, because she knew that she couldn't return them because she really did love them.
