Chapter 21 - A Friend Left Forgotten

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the world appearing in this story, they are creations and property of the fantastic George R. R. Martin. I’m not sure if I can claim my OCs as my own, so I’ll play it safe and dedicate them to GRRM.

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The following contributors deserve thanks for their support in making this chapter possible: Magnus Branzen, Nightshadeq8, brandan dace, and Erostan. Your support means the world to me, and I am truly grateful.

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[Year - 298 AC]

The door was closed and she was safe behind it, yet her heart was hammering at such a furious pace that she felt it might tear its way out her chest.

She could hear the shouts from the other side of the door, Illyrio's guardsmen holding back her brother. Some may have already broken away to get to the man. However, it brought her no peace. She had a bed to sleep in and meals whenever she wanted, but the man, Illyrio, brought her no calm.

Frantically she slithered away from the noise, her foot did not grip the floor as it should and she fell, but it didn’t stop her from crawling her way to the chest, the one she’d hidden away.

Her brother’s voice echoed through the room, his voice commanding that he take her, fuck her, before the barbarian took her for himself, even as the guardsmen pulled him away. He was usually deep into the cups every day by this time of the night, but some days it wasn’t enough. Thinking of his lands beyond the narrow sea wasn’t enough. Fighting the battle of the trident in his mind wasn’t enough. Imagining himself killing the usurper and the Lannister – it wasn’t enough. And he’d come for her instead.

She didn’t want the marriage, she’d told him so and he was still selling her off to the Dothraki.

However, he didn’t want the Khal to be the one to bleed her first. He wanted it for himself. Even the Magister’s honeyed words, which usually sated him, couldn’t do so this time.

Hence Illyrio had had guardsmen stand sentinel at the door at all times, to protect her – no, to keep her untouched.

The shouts had mellowed out as the guards dragged him away. Daenerys could hardly hear him anymore, and her palpitating heart finally started its descent to a slower pace.

Searching through her chest, she brought out the letters she’d hidden over the years. It was quite easy to discern the older ones from the newer ones just by the yellowing of the parchment. However, she wondered if there were any newer letters at all, considering she hadn’t received one in two years.

Flipping through the parchment, there were enough of them to compile a book, her hands found the one she’d received last. The one that was the least yellowed. It was one of the things she’d worried about, not being able to take proper care of the letters, owing to keeping them a secret.

‘Is it even necessary to keep it a secret anymore?’ she thought to herself. However, the thought was banished the moment it took root. She couldn’t even imagine what her brother would do if he found out of her exchanged letters with one of the usurper’s dogs.

The usurper’s dogs. That had been her first keek into the Starks. The lords Lannister and Stark – the Usurper’s dogs that sacked King’s Landing – Viserys had called them. Everything she knew of the land beyond the narrow sea, she knew from Viserys’ stories. He’d told her of Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces. But never about the North and she’d never thought about it thus.

The first letter she received when she was six. Not even a year had passed since they had been cast out onto the street, and they’d been travelling from one guest to another, begging for their generosity, with no place to call their home. The raven had found her, with a letter to its beak. It was an odd bird, something she’d only realised at a later age, but she hadn’t much cared about it then, the letter had gotten all her attention.

It had taken her quite some time to parse together what it said, the raven hadn’t let her ask anyone else to read it to her, and she’d understood why when she’d finally read it. It was from a boy, ‘Harry’ he’d called himself, but more importantly he wanted to be her friend. He’d also wanted to keep the letter a secret. Viserys hadn’t been cruel then, and she might have told him about it; the only thing that stopped her was her friend’s request – her only friend’s request.

His name signed at the bottom of the letter hadn’t meant anything to her then, she’d only thought of him as her friend. It was only years later that she’d learnt. That her father had killed his.

It had scared her then. She’d exchanged tens of letters with him and he was the only person she could truly talk to. Dany wondered if he could be as cruel as to gain her trust only to break it off and let her wallow in loneliness yet again.

But the letters had continued for years afterward. Till there came a point came where she’d forgotten about the horrific past they shared. But then suddenly it had ended.

Her fingers glided across the sheet as she pulled it out from the stack it had been in. There were hints of brown all across the paper, dried blood, she didn’t know why it had blood on it, but it didn't keep her from reading the words written on it.

The letter didn’t have anything substantial really. It hadn’t been a goodbye letter or anything final at all. However, it had been the last.

The letter was fairly mundane. He’d written of his time as a squire under a Tarly, his friendship with the lordlings at the castle, but mainly about his time at The Arbor. At the time of writing the letter, he had been at The Arbor. He wrote of the beaches, the wine, the ships, the castle at Arbor, and two sons of the Lord Redwyne. But most importantly, he wrote of a girl he loved. It hadn’t been of much import to her then, she’d giggled and thought of what to write in her reply. But the raven had never returned to receive her response.

Dany had wondered over time, about what the reason could have been. Did he marry the girl and forget about her? She could forgive him if that were the case, even if it wouldn’t make her happy. Or did he get found out, maybe the usurper had uncovered his correspondence with the Targaryens…? The thought scared her; she didn't think she could forgive herself if that were the case.

However, Harry was well and she’d worried for nought. Ser Jorah Mormont had told her so. She’d met the knight at the feast, at Khal Drogo’s manse.

It had been tricky, to subtly inquire about the boy without letting slip their relationship. However, she had managed. From the bear island to the North to Winterfell and finally, to the heir, she’d subtly turned the conversation to what she wanted.

He hadn’t married the girl, in fact, he wasn’t even betrothed. The knight had been confused when she’d pressed about the Redwyne girl, for he’d not heard of any talk of the girl and Harry. Whatever, had happened between the two had been kept mum. Last the knight had heard, Harry was still in Horn Hill.

Shifting the letter slightly, her eyes fell upon a parchment with a portrait on it. Harry had sent it along with the letter before his last. Letting go of the letter, she picked up the portrait. It wasn't much, and the strokes were of low quality. Dany herself had a beautiful portrait of her, paid for by Illyrio, and this one couldn't compare. Still, it was easy for her to identify the occupants of the image, for she had spent countless hours gazing at them.

From the left, there was a short and portly boy with a forced smile on his face, Samwell Tarly. He looked as if he wanted to leave at the first available opportunity. Holding tightly onto his hand was Harry, with a wide grin. He was taller than the other boy by about a head and just as handsome as she had imagined her friend to be when she was younger. Viserys was handsome but years of exile had taken its toll. Hard lines flowed across his face, making him look gaunt. Harry, in contrast, had a strong build, just as she had imagined knights from songs to look like in her youth. At the end of the parchment, holding onto Harry's hand, was a smaller girl with a fierce glare. The features she shared with the Tarly identified her as his sister.

There was a knock on the door, and Dany quickly pushed everything into her chest, just as the door opened to allow the magister to walk in. His jowled face shook with every step, and he brought with him the faint odour of oil, along with much stronger scents of perfume.

His eyes flicked towards the chest, and her heart quickened, but he didn’t ask after it.

A long sigh escaped him as he eyed her, partly out of exasperation and partly out of exhaustion. "I wish the king wouldn't behave this way. The khal wouldn't remain idle if word of it were to reach his ears."

She only lowered her eyes, not saying anything.

“I hope the princess is alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied meekly, nodding her head.

He hummed in response, deep in thought.

“Best to buy one, I suppose…? Purple-eyed and blond-haired from Lys?” he muttered to himself, as she stood silently.

Working out his thoughts, he turned to her, and his face morphed into the same smile he wore when dealing with her brother.

“The khal’s khalasar has arrived in full, princess,” he said, and her trembling returned with renewed vigour. “The wedding will commence just as the khal deems the preparations ready.”

She did not let out a peep.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint your brother, would you?” Illyrio said with measured words.

And this is why Daenerys could never bring herself to trust the man as much as her brother did. He always had flowery words for her brother to keep him appeased, but she mistrusted every word he spoke. The man would sell his friends for the right price, she’d heard.

Yet again, she did not answer. What would it change? She would marry the Horselord as was expected of her.

Long after the magister left, she found herself at her window like she did on most days.

She could hear the sounds of red priests chanting their prayers and children playing from beyond the estate walls, and she wished to just be one among them without any of what loomed ahead of her, and not for the first time.

Harry had once mentioned that he’d come for her. She didn’t hold any hopes now, they’ll surely be on opposite sides if her brother were to get his army of horseriders. Maybe it was for the best that the letters had stopped.

Maybe the khal would build her a house with a red door? A carriage at the very least?

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Author’s Note: A little short, yes, but I wanted it to stand alone. It didn't feel right to continue writing the next part of the story along with this.