Chapter 13:
Dany:
By the time they rode back to camp, Dany felt her legs cramping with pain, the saddle rubbing her raw and her muscles aching from the tension with which her whole body had seized up during her sister’s fight.
Her sister’s fight.
It was such an odd thought it almost didn’t seem real.
She’d always known Edelgard trained with Jeritza. Viserys hated it, ‘No proper lady should ever wield a sword’ he insisted.
Edelgard’s answer had been simple when their elder brother confronted her.
‘Those without swords can still die on them. Just ask our Good sister and her children.
And she’d ordered Jeritza to train her.
But Dany had never… really grasped it. Never really contextualized what her sister was training for.
She’d been training to kill people.
Her little sister had fought that blood rider. Cut him. And she did it like… like it was easy as though she’d done it a hundred times before. The sight of the man’s blood had made Dany sick, the sound of the blade slicing through flesh turned her stomach.
And Edelgard hadn’t even looked as though the blood spatter on her own face was even noteworthy.
The man she’d fought had been hauled up onto his horse, two of his fellows were holding him so he wouldn’t fall over as he swayed with the beast’s clopping march. He already looked pale, as though he was ready to lose consciousness or die from blood loss.
The Dothraki jeered and teased at the spectacle, some laughed, speaking in their tongue about it on the ride back. Most eyeing Edelgard with a carnal hunger that was not lost on Dany right now.
Petra, Dany’s own good sister rode beside Edelgard, chattering excitedly, Edelgard pulled free her blade and scabbard, handing it over so Petra could inspect it, the Dothraki girl eyeing the long, slender profile of the weapon with a pleased sort of eye and appreciation for what must’ve seemed a foreign design. It was straight and thin, nothing like the curved Arakh’s of the Dothraki.
Reaching the camp, everyone began to disperse, the blood riders and her husband going to tend to their duties, Edelgard dismounting to head to her tent and wash herself, Petra following after her… and behind the two of them, the Mormont woman, still bound in rope, and filth. Edelgard almost absentmindedly ordered one of the Dothraki camp slaves to draw the woman a bath, and Dany was reminded of her own new… charge, walking just a few feet beside her own horse.
She tossed a look down at the young girl. Fleche. Fleche… Tarth…
“Doreah.” She called out to her handmaid.
Quickly the woman answered mid dismount. “Yes, Khaleesi?”
“This girl, Fleche, is under my protection.” She said, swallowing thickly as she wondered just how much protection she could actually offer. “Please see to it that she’s cleaned… fed and shown to my tent for her… duties later.”
What duties those would be, Dany had no idea right now…
Doreah bowed “As you say Khaleesi.”
She reached towards Fleche, ready to take the girl by the hand, but the Tarth child flinched back, all but shuffling behind her bound brother.
“Fleche.” He said, as gently as the circumstances would allow. “Please, listen to the Princess. We must be grateful for what she’s done.”
The little girl visibly gathered whatever courage she had, gnawing on her lower lip before stepping away from her brother and towards Doreah.
The handmaid wrinkled her nose, the smell no doubt hitting her. Slave masters did not care if their slaves were clean unless they were about to reach auction.
“Your sister is remarkable.”
Prince Oberyn’s voice startled Dany, drawing her eye towards the brightly dressed Dornishman, who wore a smile as he addressed Viserys who’s expression soured immediately.
Edelgard:
“Why did you help me?”
Ladislava… no- the Lady Mormont glared at Edelgard where she stood at the entrance to her personal tent. It was a face Edelgard knew well, but like Petra, she saw no recognition there.
No spark of anything beyond open suspicion and the faintest hint of what might’ve been disgust.
Was it because she was a Targaryen? Or because of her present circumstance alongside Dothraki who wished to enslave and rape people like the unfortunate Mormont?
She supposed it didn’t matter either way. So Edelgard shrugged.
“You’re Westerosi.” She said, as if that answered everything. As if it wasn’t a complete lie. She’d helped because it was Ladislava.
If it were any other northern girl, even a noble, she likely wouldn’t have risked angering their only erstwhile ally in the Dothraki.
“I’m a Mormont.” The fearsome General of her one time army answered her lip curled in a sneer.. “My family fought against yours, Targaryen.”
“I’m aware.” Edelgard answered easily. “If you prefer- I could leave you to the tender mercies of the Dothraki. There are still forty thousand of them right outside this tent.”
That cowed her, if only just, reducing her glare to more of a glower. “No… I just don’t understand why.”
“Like I said-” The lie came easily again. “You’re Westerosi. Current status notwithstanding. I am a princess of Westeros and you are my subject.”
“My house is sworn to the north.” Ladislava answered. “Not the iron throne.”
This was getting her nowhere. Even in the past, Ladislava had been stubborn, unmovable as a boulder.
It’s what made her such a dependable General.
“Tell me of the North.” She demanded, and Ladislava’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Why?”
“Because I know nothing about it.” Came the simple answer, with an even more simple shrug. “My whole life I’ve heard nothing except the name of Eddard Stark. The man who descended from the land of cold and steel to… win back his sister and avenge his family.”
“The sister your brother kidnapped and raped.” Lady Mormont said back, but her words were almost mullish, holding onto a defiant anger because it was more comforting than confusion.
“You sound so sure about that.” Edelgard said “The story I’ve heard is a lovers' tale, romantically fleeing together, only for tragedy to strike both down for their passion.”
Ladislava snorted. “You can’t honestly believe that. Lyanna Stark was of the North. She honored her oaths. You Targaryen’s are the ones who break them.”Edelgard offered a shrug. “You’re right. I don’t.” A thirty year old man, absconding away with a fifteen year old, hiding her in the mountains of Dorne in a ‘tower of joy’ One did not exactly need a sexual manual to understand just how depraved it both sounded and likely was.. “But it is interesting. How stories change; depending on who tells them.”
Ladislava’s features scrunched up, confused and off footed. “What is your game here Targaryen?”
Edelgard ignored the goading. “The North can’t just be Eddard Stark and the winter cold.” She sat in her chair, interlacing her hands over her lap as she crossed one leg over the other. “Tell me about it.”
Ladislava glared at her, stubbornly keeping her silence.
Edelgard raised an eyebrow. Taking a sip of her goblet; the Dothraki ‘milk’ concoction wasn’t exactly her usual drink of choice but, it had been a long day and she was thirsty.
She took a moment to think, and after a brief pause she decided on a different tack.
“I was given to understand that Northmen honored their debts.” She goaded, raising a slender eyebrow. “Hard to believe saving you from rape and slavery doesn’t even merit a conversation.”
The woman’s face twisted, like she was sucking on a sour lemon. She looked away, the first to break eye contact as she mumbled. “What would you like to know?” She bit out.
The answer was simple.
“Everything you feel you can tell.” She took a moment to refill her- would they call it mead? It had a sweetness to it from a honey mixture, so, perhaps. “Its places. Its people.” Perhaps she was being too vague. “Lets start with your home. The Mormonts are from Bear island aren’t they?”
“We are.” She answered looking decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s… far. On the Bay of ice to the North’s west shoreline. We are not rich like those posh southerners. But we have timbers and furs. The bears, when you can fell them, give excellent furs.
“Bears on an island.” Edelgard mused, taking a seat on the elevated cot that was her bed. “I’ve read that it's small, but I’ve also read bears eat a lot of food. How can both things be true?”
“Fish.” Ladislava answered. “What we lack in wild game, is made up for in fish. The bears have learned to hunt through the rivers, by the shoreline, wild berries. Everywhere they can. They’re as resourceful as the people of the island themselves. She offered a smirk at the words, pride shining through. Hopefully easing the conversation as they went.
“I’ve heard of the Northern Bjorn’s.” Edelgard prodded. “Does Bear island have those?”
Now, her one time general shook her head. “No. Those are far too massive for the island. They stick to the mainland. The Wolfswood is where you’re likely to find them. The forests near Karhold I heard, found a dead one the size of their castle walls.
She… doubted that. Bjorn’s were bears of incredible size, but unless Karhold had a particularly small castle wall, there was no way the Bjorn was that high.
“Even so… I’d like to see one, one day… from a great distance.” Edelgard amended quickly, then smiled a closed lipped smile. “I imagine it would bring out the same wonder that a Dragon might.”
“In order to see one. You’d need to return to Westeros.” The woman pointed out.
“And when-” Edelgard challenged. “-did I ever give you the impression that I wasn’t planning to return?”
—
Lysithea:
She was not mad.
They were not just dreams.
Ever since her revelation, her discussion with lady Edelgard, Lysithea had scoured her memories, those dreams she’d long thought false and mad, searching for anything else that could relate to them… those fragments of… past lives.
Almost immediately one memory stood out- The gift she’d most recently given to Princess Daenarys.
Her Dragonbone pendant.
A… Regalia.
Or- as her memories dubbed them -A Hero’s relic.
She could not remember the name of it. Its true, actual name. But she remembered its power, the ability to protect its wearer from deadly blows.
The wielder’s face came to her oddly enough, a gentle, kind woman, with long, pale blond hair and a healer's touch.
But as fragmented as her memories were, she could not just rely on them. There were things about her past lives and this new life that had overlap, commonality.
Edelgard and herself were two, Another- the name. Seiros.
She remembered that name
And it existed in Ashai. The Red church of Seiros with their red priests.
Her father, as much as she tried, she couldn’t recall.
But the Regalia, or at least that pendant. That was in her memories.
So, it stands to reason that perhaps others did as well.
And so, with new determination and drive she scoured the Mopatis manse’s extensive Library, searching for any scrap of information on the Regalia.
Over the last several days, she’d found scraps of information regarding them, mostly speculation on the uses the Valyrians had for them.
Most thought they were ceremonial, or decorative.
But Lysithea knew otherwise.
Those things were weapons. Magic.
One book, Master Vyknel’s ‘Artifacts of Valyria’ noted that there were Seventeen known Regalia.
Nearly all of them were in Westeros. And that Lysithea knew couldn’t be a coincidence.
There was a spear-like weapon with a curved blade. Her own memories recalled the man that wielded it, blonde, with blue, mad tinted eyes.
Then there was the axe. Monstrously heavy, wielded by none other than The Emperor, Edelgard, herself.
A shield, ironically, in the hands of a cold eyed swordsman.
A curved saber… This one made her eyes scrunch up, like it was hard to recall. Something about a curse?
If magic was real, curses were real too.
A branched sword, wielded by a woman that struck awe… and fear in equal measure.
A malformed toothed hammer, A bow, Two spears, One heavy, One lighter. A hand axe, a staff. A delicate hand glove of sorts, two massive gauntlets-
And three books, their covers a mixture of dragonhide and bone.
She knew this. Even when Master Vyknel’s own work admitted to not having a sketch, she knew what these regalia were, what they looked like.
And she knew- even now
He was missing one.
It wasn’t seventeen Regalia.
It was eighteen.
She didn’t need Edelgard’s sketch to recall the woman’s face, nor even her voice. Of all her memories. She stood out, like a light house in the gloom of night.
The woman was always clear to her.
And her weapon wasn’t here.
A perfect, slender, one handed blade.
Lysithea’s fingers traced the edges of her book, features scrunching up in thought.
Who are you? She wondered.
Why are you so important… and yet… neither of us know your name?
She took a deep breath, shaking her head and continued to read.
That night at supper, she saw her father again. And he told her the new books she’d asked for were on their way. She thanked him, sincerely, but made him promise to look into a way for her and Dany to exchange letters.
That was important. Because Dany was tied to Edelgard, and Edelgard was the only other person with answers.
She would get to the bottom of this. What it all meant. How it all worked. The church of Seiros, The Regalia, herself, Edelgard, the woman.
And it all came down to the same answer.
Magic.
She needed to study Magic.