Trick or Treat!
Borrowed from the lovely just_a_dram
In honor of All Hallow's Eve, I'm inviting trick-or-treaters to my 'door.' Comment "trick-or-treat" to this post and...well, you know the drill. Treats can be anything that strikes my fancy (pics of fave actors or pairings, one sentence fics, graphics, a few words why I'm glad to have you on my flist, etc. etc.). The more " ( Read more... )
A laugh fills the tent, nearly surprising Dany with its brightness; it’s the truest laugh she can remember uttering in a long, long time. The smile lingers on her face when she hears Ser Jorah echo the laugh. It’s a surprisingly-chilly night on the Dothraki Sea- her husband, still little more than a stranger to her, keeps company with his blood-riders now. She hasn’t seen Viserys in hours; a part of her worries that he’s getting up to mischief or otherwise alienating the khal, but she shrugs her concerns aside. Viserys can take care of himself- he reminds me of that all the time.
Ser Jorah chuckles before tossing another piece of dry wood into the small fire-pit. Not for the first time, Dany feels a swell of gratitude for the Westerosi knight’s benevolent presence. She has her handmaidens for companionship, but they can offer nothing so diverting as Ser Jorah’s tales of his homeland, the stories of the midnight sun and long moons of darkness, of freezing air and packs of wolves and, most of all, the wild antics of the snow bears.
Dany has never seen snow, can scarcely picture it, but Ser Jorah’s rich stories help her imagine the damp coolness on her skin, and she shivers.
A silence falls between them, and Dany’s memory summons up a tale she’d heard long ago. Viserys had been trying to frighten her, and he conjured up a terrifying story of undead creatures who haunt the Northern forests, preying on whatever living beings they can find. She always assumed that Viserys invented these spectral monsters; his imagination proved peerless when it came to devising ways to scare his sister. And yet, a kernel of curiosity rolls back and forth in her brain, swelling and popping until she blurts out,
“Have you ever heard of the White Walkers?”
Ser Jorah blinks, a deep furrow forming in his brow. At first, she thinks it an expression of confusion, but then he asks in a surprisingly-grave tone, “Who told you about the Walkers?”
“Viserys,” Dany murmurs, mesmerized by the darkness that sweeps across the knight’s plain face. “I always thought that he made them up to frighten me. Are....are they real?”
Ser Jorah’s shoulders move up and down as he sighs. “I believe so, yes.”
But then a flash of good humor lights his eyes anew, and he tosses another splint into the flames. His voice is jovial (perhaps too jovial) when he speaks again, “But there’s no need to fear, Khaleesi. They’ve only ever been seen in the distant North, and even then, it was hundreds of years ago.” He nods to the side of the tent, where Dany’s dragon eggs nestle together in a basket. “Think of it this way- there have been sightings of live dragons far more recently than anyone’s caught a glimpse of the Walkers.”
Dany offers Ser Jorah a smile and nod of acknowledgement, even as a sudden shiver, more immediate and exhilarating than the others, dances up her spine.
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