semi-open.

[jalan]

WHO: Daenerys and various!
WHERE: Various places!
WHEN: Various times!
WHAT: Various events! Mainly focused on Dany's acclimation to arrival. Specific starters within, but feel free to contact me if you'd like to do something.
WARNINGS: N/A as yet.

Comments

de chima. closed to jorah mormont.

[jalan]

[ previously ]

As it is said he did in our homeland.

[ Dry as the day is humid, Daenerys is raise eyebrowed at Jorah's assessment, his choice of description, for all that clever is registered with all its meanings. Behind her eyes is the slight coil and flex of familiar anger, as if something smart about his return to the shadow of the Westerosi politicians is hidden and barbed behind her tongue.

Perhaps she'd spoken it, if not for the terms on which they parted.

Instead; ]

What does power look like, in this world?

[khaleesipls]

[ She doesn’t have to say it.

Jorah acknowledges trace venom with silence that feels like patience, eye contact steady on without shame despite his prior association with Lord Baelish’s small council. It’s a silence that invites her to grind his nose in it.

They both know where his loyalty lies. ]

Lord Baelish has influence, [ he says. ] The American military has control.

There are other players -- dissidents they can’t contain. There’ve been attacks.

[jalan]

[ Anger withdraws, submerging itself in the murk and to be replaced with vague dissatisfaction. Not wholly with Jorah's answers so much as the knowledge that she isn't going to grasp the political landscape of this alien world as they approach the De Chima Porter.

The cab driver is either fascinated or rolling his eyes at the sheer renfaire happening in his back seat.

She turns her attention back out at the street. They've arrived at a red light. ]

The ambush in the fighting pits was a precursor for what is yet to come. I will return to my city with the Masters at her shores. There are limited means through which dissidents can be contained.

[ Fire, often. ]

There is another here, of our world. Drogon arrived with me.

[khaleesipls]

[ Jorah has no doubt.

He’s seen her off already, in fact, at the business end of a Dothraki horde. Rather than say so, he nods -- natural agreement and support. She will return, and the Masters will be waiting. Not even Tyrion will be able to talk them down, this late in the game.

What she says next calls his eyeline into sharper focus, undercurrents of alarm already bright against tawny red, gold and grey bristle. The off yellow of his tunic and the lines around his eyes. ]

Where is he?

[ He’s not in the car.

In this world, virtually anywhere else for him to be right now is a problem. ]

[jalan]

[ She doesn't love catching Jorah off-guard, but it does present an internal balancing effect, for perhaps all of a heart beat. Nothing that particularly shows outside; she reflects his alarm in the form of weary worry. For a gigantic dragon, he can make himself very scarce when he wants to be.

There's a glance towards the driver end of the car, before she reverts to speaking in Dothraki. ]

When I woke here, he was as small as when he had hatched, [ she explains. ] He was calm when I held him, but once we stepped outside, he began to twist and change. He flew for the sky and I watched him grow. He flew faster than I could run.

[ She pauses, jaw setting. She looks out the window, skyward. ]

I have not found him since.

[khaleesipls]

[ There’s an off beat; the edge to his worry polishes smooth, and he pulls in an easier breath. It feels nice to hear about the threat of her violent, man-eating behemoth from her in Dothraki.

Jorah is charmed.

He’s missed her. What were they talking about. ]

They have weapons that can reach him in the sky, Khaleesi, [ he replies in kind, with no loss of utility for the sway in his focus. ] Weapons that could kill a dragon.

[ With effort that already feels weary, he fastens eye contact down to hold fast, harbinger of counsel she may not want to contend with. ]

You should warn them.

[jalan]

Should I?

[ It's more parry than rebuttal. For his counsel at all, for what Daenerys may owe anyone in this world, from the grasping hands of their worshippers through to the soldier who drove her to her new home to the people who met her there.

But this talk of weapons that can kill a dragon-- there's a pause where she has to try to imagine such a thing. She imagines, probably, siege machines. She imagines siege machines made from the technology she's witnessed here, all hot metal and magic-like efficiency.

Still-- ]

Warn them of what? That if they turn their weapons for the sky, they will burn for their foolishness? The sky belongs to dragons, Ser Jorah, even this one.

[ Fierceness that runs colder, these days, quietly delivered. ]

[khaleesipls]

[ Jorah weathers dismissal same as he has the wind and the sun, with nearly as many lines in his face to show for it. More lately. The road travelled was long before they detoured into another reality.

He’s no longer in much of a position to riposte, reservation more passive even than she may remember.

Certainly less overblown.

He’s quiet for a long moment before he asks: ]

What do you want to do?

[jalan]

[ That's a complicated question said simply, and the shine of her ire (an ire that, if sparked by his presence, is directed mainly at the idea of Drogon being threatened) dulls slightly. No push back, only that question, one she doesn't have a ready answer for.

It's written on her face, but she doesn't try to conceal it, either. ]

I must find him. And find a place for him. He will not come into the thick of the cities willingly, but he will if there is no where else.

[ A pause, and then, a little more idle; ]

I am told there is no known way home. Even on the wings of a dragon.

[khaleesipls]

[ It goes without saying that having billions of eyes looking is the more efficient method for dragon-finding, but one needn’t necessarily be looking for a house-sized Drogon to notice one.

He just nods, on the weary side of considerate for her ego in hard times. ‘Find him.’ Good plan, Khaleesi.

Reality grips harder at the fuzzy lines around his mouth than he’d like to let on. ]

People are carried home all the time, [ he says. There is no word for teleported in Dothraki. ]

Just not by choice.

[jalan]

[ It's a great plan.

Or rather: not so much a plan as it is an imperative. It has to be her. Anyone else would be killed. Which isn't to say that millions of eyes would not be a benefit so much as she doesn't understand these people, their loyalties, their temperaments.

That she doesn't trust them is neither here nor there. ]

What choices are there?

[ It isn't rhetorical. ]

[khaleesipls]

Conform, [ says Jorah, ] or don’t.

[ It was a serious question. His answer is also serious. ]

We’ve all been marked. Our travel is monitored and our health is carefully managed. ImPorts that disturb the peace are yoked and imprisoned, provided they can be caught.

[ The finer details are all alien -- more magic than science. But the bigger picture is all too familiar. He can’t help but to backslide into half a smile at his own expense, pride thin with rust. Out of one fighting pit into another. ]

[jalan]

[ She remembers those early, painful days amongst the Dothraki. The sun that blistered her brother's mouth, and the desert dust that seemed to settle on her bones after so much riding, and the constant clamour of a language she didn't understand filled her ears. Of course, she remembers flourishing, too, and to speak that language now feels soothing.

Daenerys knows how to conform. They both do.

All the same. Her mouth presses into a line, but there's no argument out of her. In the silence that settles, the cab approaches the De Chima military base, and she can recognise the forms it makes out of the horizon. ]

I've been given lodgings in the city of Heropa, [ she says, finally, settling back into a faster, more versatile common dialect. A signal, too. ] The house numbered four.