thespherelogs | Arrival [OTA]

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Arrival [OTA]

Who: Daenerys Targaryen
What: A new arrival during a holiday mingle
When: 12/22
Where: The markey
Warnings: Usual ASOIAF warnings, mentions of death, violence, etc.
Notes: Taking place during the mingle, carried over from the TDM

[It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year]

Daenerys had never seen snow before. She had witnessed beaches and sands that were so white, they could possibly be mistaken for snow, yet...she wondered if Ser Jorah would have agreed with her, being a man from the North. This...what was falling about her, it was nothing like sand. What had come before was a substitution and not a very convincing one.

It wasn't simply the weather that was an overwhelming change for her, the marketplace itself was similar to the ones she had known in Essos. She had watched others take sausages and biscuits like this before and eat happily, while she was hungry and scrounging from the alleyways. For the first time, food and treat were being handed to her willingly, any thought of payment being laughed at. Even as queen, nothing was handed to her.

A glass of wine, a bit of pork, she side eyed it and carefully set it down once she was away from the stall, too nervous to fully trust it. No matter how tempting it was and appealed to the young child she had been, she couldn't forget the wine merchant and his friendly smile. Better to be an outcast and a hungry child again than to trust the wrong person...as she had learned recently.

"No, no thank you." She was firmer next time, pulling away from those pressing food into her hands. "I am not hungry."

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[ooc: Continued from HERE]

"And he was the one to tell you this? Lord Stark?" Who else would it be really? This wasn't a story you would leave for a man to never hear. No doubt Lord Stark told him just as he had become a man. Interesting though that none of it included birthright and what must be done next. Perhaps for Lord Stark, it was enough to have Robert Baratheon on the throne, his sister's son would remain in the North and eventually rule there. It wasn't a horrible idea, given what the Lannisters eventually did to him.

Yet, even in thinking of it, it was too ludicrous to simply swallow. She wanted to have family alive, but she was not fool enough to believe a tempting story without some idea of the man that had claimed it. Jorah, she had trusted and believed, but he betrayed her. This Jon Snow was a stranger to her and now claimed kinship. What was she to make of it?

"He wasn't." It would have been simpler if he had, because at least Jon would have known a lot sooner. If Bran and Sam and Gilly hadn't discovered what they did, he never would have known.

"He never got the chance. When I left for the Wall and he left for King's Landing, he promised to tell me about my mother the next time we saw each other, but then he lost his head before he was able to return to Winterfell."

She was prepared to dismiss this as nothing more than a fancy, but the Wall, the mention of that massive structure of ice...it lingered in her mind, screeching like the song of Drogon. There were many that kept its company, but they were passing images, dissipating like a wisp of smoke. A man with a wolf's head seated at a banqueting table, a paper dragon held aloft by a crowd, her silver racing in the Dothraki sea and words that always whispered to her 'bride of fire'.

'A blue flower grew in a chink of ice'. It was nothing then, a fevered vision among so many, but now it had her rooted, feeling as though her legs had shifted to stone.

"The Wall? When were you there? When did you leave?"

"I went there years ago." He's not sure he can even work out how many years, anymore, and it wouldn't be the same number of years for her as it was for him. "I've been away for many months."

He's just going to skip over the details right now of why he's been away.

Looking back, she will eventually come around to wondering how he managed to leave with his life. She didn't know much about Westeros or the customs, but she could at least remember that the Watch was an order you joined for life. Desertion meant death. For now, her mind was focused entirely on the vision she had seen and the sudden significance that she had overlooked before.

"You must have been there when I was in Qarth." Not that visions had any sense of time. Gods, she needed Ser Barristan or even Jorah with her, to at least tell her if she was being too impetuous, jumping at the first sign of hope. All she had instead was instinct and it was difficult to tell if it was being overpowered by desire or truly did not send off any warning bells.

"Ned Stark must have wished to spare you a life in exile."

"Perhaps." He doesn't know when she was in Qarth, so he can't answer that question. All he can do is tell her when he was and wasn't at the Wall in his own lifetime.

He thinks about it for a moment. He wishes he could know why Ned made the choices he did; all he can do is guess, based on the man he knew. "He promised to keep me safe. He may have thought it was easier to do that if I was nearby. Or he wanted to keep his sister's son nearby, not raised by strangers. Or..." There is one more possibility, once he likes thinking about even less than the others. "Maybe he thought exile wasn't enough. Exile would have meant telling someone else who I was, risking the information getting out." Like it had with her. "Lyanna was supposed to marry Robert. More than that, Robert loved her. Perhaps Ned thought that rather than risk Robert finding out Lyanna had a son, it was better to pretend that she never did and hide the truth about who I was."

He knows why Ned did it, and that it was the best of the options available to him, but he's still left with the knowledge that he was lied to every day of his life.

"Would that he have done more for your brother and sister, for your uncle and aunt, for your grandmother. Did he say nothing when Tywin Lannister lay the bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys at Robert's feet? They were children, your sister barely out of her infancy when they killed her. You were afforded protection because you were Lyanna Stark's son, would that my brother's other children had that same courtesy."

She couldn't know Ned's feelings on those actions or the times he spoke to protect her. Without eyes in those council meetings, she could only assume that Ned Stark bore it all in silence. Perhaps he did not take part and protected her blood, but it didn't change that her family was slaughtered horrifically and she still felt anger for that crime.

"Robert Baratheon was monster."

"No one is disputing that." He certainly won't, since it was his blood that had been affected by this too. He doesn't know how to respond to what she's saying, because he never had the chance to talk to Ned about it, to hear what happened from him. "I don't know what he did, or why, and unless he shows up here, I never will." All he knows is the man who raised him. He's destined to be left with unanswered questions forever.

"I thought there were things he would never do. I may have been mistaken about what kind of man he was." Which has been the most difficult part of all of this. "I can't say why he and Robert were ever friends in the first place."

She could see the torment on his face and knew that she was not helping matters. He spent his life believing he was one person and now was faced with the truth. He was raised in Westeros, a place where the Usurper's lies ran from North to South. No doubt he had been made to believe that the Targaryens were wicked and mad, what Robert Baratheon had done was just. Holding him to account for that was no better than holding a child to account for the sins of the father. She wouldn't be that person.

Daenerys sighed, relenting in her anger. "I never met Ned Stark, but he was respected, even by those that serve me currently. It's not his hands stained with the blood of my family. If he is anything what others say, perhaps he did not stomach it well." She's trying at the very least to give the benefit of the doubt, but deep down, she isn't sure she believes it.

"Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister are to blame."

"I don't think he did." He can't ask, but he imagines that it wasn't easy for Ned, to tell this lie not just to all of Westeros, but to his own family. He had made the best he could of the situation that was handed to him. And even though the story of Jon Snow had been a lie, the lie that he had chosen to tell means something. He could have told a story of Jon being his ward, like Theon. He could have made up a story about Lyanna or one of his dead brothers, with none of them left to dispute it.

Instead he claimed Jon as his own, and treated him as such, and gave him a better life than even other high-born bastards could hope for.

"He was the most honorable man I knew."

Inesa loved the winter and the holidays that surround the cold solstice. It had many names and many traditions, spanning across the entire universe, but it was always celebrated in some way.

It showed her that in the coldest and darkest times, there was a light of hope.

It brought a smile to her lips and filled her heart with an electric hum of excitement. There was very little in the world that compared to what she was feeling. It was love. Pure and unashamed. It was compassion and generosity and it meant so much to her. She wanted to spread the amazing feeling bubbling up in her chest but she didn't know how. Inesa wandered around the snowy lanes in an over sized pink sweater with the white hem of a skirt peeking out around her thighs. The snow wasn't cold but the sweater was comforting and comfortable.

She spotted Daenerys as another vendor was seeking to fill her hands with some sort of food. They were over bearing at times but the interaction seemed off somehow.

She'd never been particularly good at identifying these social cues but she wasn't too shy to ask. "Excuse me." Her voice was delicate and sweet when she spoke, standing a yard or so off from where Daenery's stood. "Are you alright? You don't need a doctor do you?"

Maybe her stomach hurt?

Doctor meant healer, she could at least infer that much. "No, I am well enough." She could have used one in the Red Waste before she was brought here. The fever, the visions, the stomach cramps, all of it had been overwhelming. Yet coming here, she didn't feel ill anymore...just suspicious of gifts being offered by strangers.

"I only just arrived. I fear I have no appetite for...such generosity." The surge of joy from those around her wasn't exactly unwelcome, it was simply dizzying. She had only just been told that she was here for a time and brought for some specific reason, but not fully why. Only that she'd understand in time. Such things didn't sit easy with her and they certainly didn't match the ebullience of the crowd around her.

Inesa's expression softened. "I understand. It's hard, I know." She'd gone through the same thing but she hadn't exactly been alone. She'd found friends here and it was those friends who had helped her adjust and enjoy the life she's made here.

"Well, if you do feel unwell I have some healing but I am unpracticed." She suddenly flushed. "Not that you should trust me either..." She didn't usually fumble over her words but she wanted to help and she wasn't sure how. "Maybe, you can tell me what would make you more comfortable? No gifts but if there is something I can do or anything I can explain. I'd like to help if I can."

Ivar's been watching the woman. She's strikingly beautiful to look at with her hair that is so blonde it is almost white and those violet eyes. He's never seen anyone like her even among the Norse, where there was many great beauties to be found.

He's dressed in a style similar to that of the Northmen or Ironborn, but with a pair of futuristic leg braces that allow him to limp up. From the look of his leg muscles, he cannot use them as a normal man can. His own intense eyes are sharp and fierce, missing nothing. "If you do not wish to eat, I will gladly take it off your hands," Ivar says.

There's a manner about him that is both familiar and intimidating all at once. His blue eyes were sharper than blades, both deadly, intimidating, but also captivating. She didn't notice his leg braces at first, instead holding his gaze as he slowly approached. It was only when he was in front of her that she realized that he needed the assistance. The braces, clearly made by the people here, were strange to see...much like the architecture and technology of this world.

She looked over at the cup she had set down, wondering if it was safe to offer someone else. The last man who ate something after her, Belwas had become violently ill. A less robust man would have been killed instantly.

But suspicion had a firm hold on her. It wasn't reasonable or rational to fully doubt this place, no matter if they kidnapped her or not. She offered him the drink, curious both of the stranger and what would happen. "I have not had much luck when offered gifts so freely. Perhaps yours is better."

"One should never turn the other way when free food and drink are offered, for you never know when there might not be some again." Ivar was fortunate enough never to have known hunger, growing up a prince, but he had seen the mighty toll it took upon his people when the years had been lean. "Besides, it is a sign of hospitality." When a Norseman offered food and shelter, one was considered an honored guest, and under protection. None would harm them so long as they remained.

He takes a quaff of what is in the cup, but nothing untold seems to happen. All he does is look at it, where a few bubbles from the bottom of the cup are still rising towards the surface. "Hmmm. Fizzy." Then he sits down in a heavy manner. The leg braces, while advanced, can do nothing to alleviate his pain. That is always a constant. "What is your name?" He asks.

"For some, such gifts come with a price attached." But he was right and she had no desire to spend the days she had here worried and suspicious. It seemed too close to her father or Viserys. If this was the custom, she would commit it to memory and trust in the luck that had gotten her this far. "It is a better welcome than the two I met when I woke."

Near one of the stalls is an abandoned box, likely used to carry some of the food and wares that were now being pushed on others. She stepped away from Ivar for a moment, quickly asking the stall's owner before carrying away her prize. She set the box in front of him, holding out her hands to help lift his legs onto the makeshift footstool. If he let her, she would carefully ease them, mindful of the pain he might feel.

"Daenerys Targaryen. What is yours?"

"It certainly can be interesting waking up here for the first time. But it's been so long for me I can't quite remember how it all was." Part of that had to do with going back home partway through his stay here, which had left him both with almost two years' worth of memories while only a single night had passed.

He's normally quite tetchy over the state of his legs. He's still so ashamed of them all the time and nearly pulls away when Dany goes to help him. But there's something in her eyes which seems to speak of doing this out of a kind nature instead of any sort of pity, as many back home would've had for him. He lets her move his legs, though the only thanks she will receive is a stiff, jerky nod.

"Ivar Ragnarsson. Ivar The Boneless to friends and family alike." Small wonder to see how he got the nickname given the state of his legs currently.

"You have been here that long?" Did that mean that she would be here for that long? Time seemed an endless stretch, and while she was reassured that she'd return to her time, it didn't ease her mind or make the absence less heavy on her heart. "You must know this place well then."

She didn't expect thanks and didn't ask about his legs, assuming that he was born this way. She could remember the talk among the Dothraki about what happened to children that were born with deformities or disabled. Despite what their culture said, it hurt her heart to think of any child being made to suffer. All she needed was to think of her son Rhaego and what they said had become of him, what shape he was, and it was enough to fill her with empathy for Ivar.

"Ivar the Boneless?" She smiled at the name, kneeling beside his legs rather than sitting at his side. "They call me Daenerys Stormborn."

"Quite a long time, yes. But part of it also is due to the fact that I went home partway through my stay and was there for quite a while before I was drawn back in."

He leans forward a little as he talks and nods in approval at Dany's title. "Now that is an inspiring name," he says with no sarcasm. "I assume it is a literal one then? You were born in a storm?"

"What happens when you return? Is everything just where you left it, as they said?" He at least had information that would reassure her. It might not tell her when she could go home, but she would know that Drogon was safe and that the Dothraki had not harmed him.

"I was. It was said to be the worst storm in history." She frowned, not wanting to think about her mother, but unable to forget that she died in childbed. Viserys would never let her forget. "It is only one several names given to me over time, but my earliest."

"Indeed it is. My life picked up right back where it had been, with my child and pets still there waiting for me just as they had been when I got drawn to this place." His throat constricts just a little bit as he thinks of Winter, his little girl. She had gotten so big in the time he'd been home, progressing from a little baby now to a full-blown toddler. Soon she'd be talking much more, though he noticed even the few scant words she knew were only said to him.

"I was given my nickname as well soon after I was born. The Norse do not believe in giving names to children that will not survive. My father was sure I wouldn't but my mother was just as sure that I would. So she gave me the name Ivar, while my father ended up calling me Ivar The Boneless. And what my father gives nicknames to tends to stick." That's what happened when one had as much charisma as Ragnar Lothbrok.

"A girl?" She smiles genuinely, despite the pang of jealousy in her heart. It was at least confirmation that they would eventually return home and live their lives in some peace. Perhaps they would be drawn back, but at least it would all be waiting. She might never have a child of her own, but she could look to her people and dragons. That was what mattered to her, or at least what she told herself. "What did you name her?"

It didn't seem to be a very fair nickname, though he was right, certain circumstances meant that nicknames were given at a young age. "You deserve a better one. Perhaps I could give you one more fitting?" It was a gesture that carried no real weight in this world, but at least he would have something for himself rather than because of his ailment.

“Winter.” He says with no small amount of parental affection. “Her full name is Winter Istrid Regis Ivarsdottir.” A big name for such a little baby, but Ivar was very proud of his little girl. “She is most extraordinary. Marked by the gods with a power that I have never seen in any before. She is a healer, taking life from one thing and transferring it to another.” Her mother had seen her as an abomination, but that wasn’t the way Ivar viewed his little girl. As long as she was healthy, sound of body and mind, he was glad of what she could do.

He looks at her for a moment as if trying to pinpoint whether or not she’s making fun of him. It doesn’t seem like she is, but one can never quite tell. Ivar decides Dany is not and gives a nod. “If you can think of one more suitable, I would gladly welcome it.” Starting over fresh with another nickname might be a good idea at this point in his life.

"A beautiful name. Most would view such abilities as a curse, a monstrosity. It's reassuring to know there are some in the world that see it for what it could be." A gift, no different than her own, though she was not capable of something so extreme. She envied him a bit, that he might have a child and watch her grow. She longed for a daughter of her own, but had to face the cold reality of her situation. "I had a son very briefly, but he died shortly after he was born."

She considers various names before offering, "Ivar Bloodsteel. Whatever might be the condition of your legs, it's clear that you have steel in your veins. It seems worthy of a warrior." It's an impetuous offer, but one that sits well with her the more she thinks about it.

There’s a downcast look to Ivar’s eyes when she mentions how people would view Winter’s gifts. “Her mother was one such as that. In her own world, such healers are seen as being unnatural in her world. She rejected her. But I would not. She’s my daughter and I love her no matter what she is like. She is the world to me.”

His voice is laced with pain as he goes on. “I had a son as well. Baldur. But he was born….deformed. The gods took him from me.” That was one way of looking at it, for Ivar had put him out into the woods to leave it up to the judgment of the gods as to whether or not he would survive. He just couldn’t see letting a child go through the hell he had experienced in his own life. It had been a mercy from Ivar, one of the few non-malicious acts he’d ever done. But it hadn’t made it hurt any less for the Viking to do that to his own child.

He cocks his head to the side, considering the name, before a genuine smile of pleasure crosses his face. “Bloodsteel….I like it!”

"Tell me of her mother," she asked, raising her eyes to try and meet his. It wasn't a surprise that the child was rejected for her gifts, that so often happened in the world. Though she wondered how a mother could possibly stomach pushing her child away. Having lost her own, that pain, that emptiness seemed far worse than whatever the child was capable of or how it looked.

Her face fell, sorrow surfacing as the past seemed so much closer now than before. It was almost as though he were speaking of her son, born frightening and monstrous. "Rhaego, my son, was born deformed as well." Her voice was soft, nearly broken as her fingers brushed over her belly. "He was taken from me as well, a price I didn't think I would pay to save my husband's life." She took his hand gently.

"Good, Ivar Bloodsteel you are named."

Alex always tends to keep on the lookout for new people in the Sphere, especially since she'd had the conversation about the welcome wagon with Sansa. When she sees the blond woman firmly pushing the food away from her when it was being offered, Alex comes along side of her, and she shakes her head in a familiar way at the vendors. "Come on guys, she's new, give her a break. Let her get adjusted in peace, okay? You were once new too." There's some goodnatured huffing at her, and Alex takes the food that they offered to the other woman, and just tucks it along into her bag.

Once the merchant had turned to their next victim, the brunette gives the blond a quick and easy smile before she speaks in her softly accented, ready for radio voice. "Sorry about that, they can be overzealous sometimes. Well, more than sometimes, they want to think that being hospitable and the free food makes up for everyone being kidnapped to here, themselves included. Normally they're less in your face about it though, but I guess it's something about Christmas that brings out the worst in trying to feed and make people happy."

There's a pause, and Alex offers. "Welcome, I'm Alex. Alex Reagan."

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Arrival [OTA]

For Jon

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