closed.

[jalan]

WHO: Daenerys Targaryen and Petyr Baelish (and special guest star Jorah Mormont)
WHERE: The Iron Throne
WHEN: Sometime late August.
WHAT: A meeting, following on from here.
WARNINGS: N/A as yet.

[ She's following Jorah deeper into The Iron Throne, and by the time the treble spectrum of background music fades away from the persistent bass, she's a silent party herself save for the delicate clik of heel to ground. Having said, now, all that she feels fit to say to the man who was once her adviser (and still has a way of offering his advice, regardless).

She holds a manner that is more interested than anything else; her gaze snags easily on movement, on half open doors, on people. This world moves with a certain kind of intimacy that she's still getting used to.

But on the surface, appears to be getting there. Her steps are careful because she is wearing modern heels of a higher arc than she's used to, glossy and black and just visible from the hem of her black dress, which is simple and formal and summery and wrapping around her waist. Her jewellery is heavy silver, a touch from home, and her hair spills in loose waves and coiling braids.

Her attention veers forward when it seems like they're arriving at their destination. ]

Comments

[khaleesipls]

[ It isn’t common for Ser Jorah to roll in unwanted. He stands where he’s told, moves when he’s told to, and has a natural penchant for turning up only when he’s needed in the spaces in between.

Tonight the only forewarning Baelish has (aside from any whispers that’ve already reached him from upstairs) is the rattle and scuff of Jorah’s armor on the approach, pace tempered to account for shorter legs and fancy heels at his back.

He leads the way in, with his hand on his sword, wearing an expression Baelish will have seldom seen on his face. Worry is bunched in tell-tale over his brow despite every effort made to stifle it, stress bound up stiff in the back of his jaw. The tendons in the back of his sword hand are taut as steel cables. ]

My Lord, [ he says, ] you have a visitor.

[ His voice is smooth, no jitter or tension in delivery. He’d do well for himself in a poker tournament hosted by blind men. ]

[baetiful]

I do not think it outlandish to investigate the organization responsible for the imProcreats. Someone had stolen that technology or at the very least mimicked it. And someone amplified it to create a large scale attack. You mean to tell me, I should not be looking into this further? I was nearly killed that day. Other people were killed that day. And who knows if the attacks could resurface once again.

[ Petyr Baelish was on the phone in his office, and at Jorah's entry -- he swiveled on his chair and gave him a look. What sort of visitor would bother him here? The club was the place he went to get away from potential visitors. But whoever it was, was probably a friend. So he waved to Mormont to allow them entry. ]

Aye. You are free to say no, and I am free to bring a police escort along with a warrant. So why don't you think on this carefully, and I will give you a call in the morning? By then, I believe you will have made the right decision, my friend. You have a good rest of your evening.

[ Baelish hung up just as Daenerys was given entry, and he raised his brows at her. Someone looking for a job? He glanced at Jorah in question before he folded his hands over top of his desk, locking eyes with the dragon queen. ]

Yes? What can I do for you, my lady?

[jalan]

[ Daenerys enters, having heard the tail end of that conversation and what else had drifted out into the hallway. With exception for an identifiably Westerosi accent in Baelish's voice, in contrast to the harsher American in which she often finds herself surrounded these days, the man sounds like so many natives, or that of an imPort who isn't from a world as far flung as the Seven Kingdoms.

She doesn't glance Jorah's way as she steps further into the office and out of his shadow, her focus forward and square on the man she's come to meet, inscrutably assessing. Her necklace is that of a silver dragon, curled around her neck, and it too seems to match her in study. She raises an eyebrow.

That final flourish. No one calls her my lady, here. ]

I came to see for myself, this other who hails from our homeland, [ she says, mannerly, regal diction, and a touch of humour. ] And in that, my curiousity is satisfied.

[ There is the slightest of glances towards the fuzzy peripheral shape that Jorah makes. ]

My name is Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. And what you can do for me, Lord Baelish, remains to be seen.

[khaleesipls]

[ There’s a bland neutrality to the way he weathers Baelish’s look -- no immediate explanation (or apology) on offer. As looks go, Mormont’s is a little too equal for a hired sword who’s made a point of renouncing his lordship.

But the absence of any ground given is offset by the absence of any pushback.

Daenerys introduces herself and Jorah looks elsewhere in the background -- first to her shoes, and then off into some middle distance. Then back to her, muddled, not quite on target. Like he’s trying to sneak a look at the sun, when the sun has specifically told him to put a cork in it and act natural.

He’s doing his best. He keeps quiet, and in the first lull that feels right, he dips his head to take his leave. ]

[baetiful]

[ Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. Immediately after her introduction, Baelish casts a glance Jorah's way. He must have known. And how long had this secret been kept, he wondered? Petyr Baelish didn't like to be caught unaware, but he wasn't angry. If anything this may very well work out in his favor.

He nods in return to Jorah's quiet dismissal and then glances toward Daenerys, rising to his feet and allowing the warmth of a smile to infuse his features. ]

Your Grace. [ Baelish bows with utmost respect. ] I have heard many whisperings about you from across the narrow sea. It seems you have made quite the name for yourself. Enough so that even Lord Varys has fled the capital and is rumored to be by your side.

[ Varys is simultaneously Baelish's closest 'companion' and biggest threat. Of course he's going to try and keep tabs on the spider wherever he goes. ]

But these whisperings have not done justice to speak of how truly beautiful you are. Can I get you something to drink?

[jalan]

[ Her eyes narrow at the mention of whisperings, but the rest of her expression maintains, casting this as scrutiny rather than displeasure. It stays throughout mention of what she's done with her name, of spymasters, of her beauty, before she takes his offer as an invitation to find a place to sit down after she hears the sound of the door whisper closed behind her. She pays it no more heed than she would had a true servant vacated the room.

Outwardly.

Prim and proper, knees together, hands in a gentle clasp. For someone who was smuggled out of the courts before she was born, the physicality of noble bearing comes naturally, although to call her poise demure would be inaccurate. ]

Lord Varys offered the same to me some years prior to meeting him in person, [ she says. Those same years have made her voice just a touch huskier. ] A dry, red vintage from the Arbor. Poisoned, of course.

[ Her tone, in contrast, lacks poison. She blinks her assent. ]

I would have a drink, my lord.

[baetiful]

[ As sharp tongued as she is wise. Momentary amusement flickers across his face as he heads toward his office supply, pouring her a sweet red wine and one for himself as well -- just as an assurance that his own stock isn't poisoned. The glass is then offered into her awaiting hands and Baelish adopts a casual lean against the side of his desk. ]

I would not liken myself to be anything like the spider. [ Any poisoning would never be so cleanly traced back to him, after all! He casually takes a sip of his drink. ]

And I will not sit here and pretend as though I did not serve on the small council that ruled for your demise. It would be an insult to you if I did. But politics are not often personal, and both back home and here, I bear you no ill will.

[ A pause. ]

Have you truly brought dragons back from the brink of extinction?

[jalan]

[ She accepts the proffered glass, and drinks from it during his pause. Jorah has been afraid for her, here. What she feels isn't fear, but it has a sharp edge, and a waiting caution. The wine is as sweet as the merchant had promised, that day, but the thought is allowed to drift by when Baelish asks his question.

This time, it's her eyes that smile, just a little. ]

I have. And I've named them.

[ And she misses them dearly, but affection and pride are more obviously, if quietly, detectable. ]

It's been some time since man has had to search the skies for such dangers. They cast grand shadows. [ She traces the edge of her thumb around the glass rim, but veers away from the easy route of assuring Baelish that he and his fellows will see them soon enough.

Just.

It's almost always personal, with Targaryens. ] When I learned that a lord of Westeros found his way here before me, I asked Ser Jorah what sort of man you are. Can you guess at what he said?

[baetiful]

I both look forward to and fear the day they fly over the skies of Westeros.

[ He smiles wryly, raising his glass to drink to that. When she comes overseas, that is sure to be a grand battle. With the White Wolf moving in on Cersei and the dragon army approaching to claim the throne, there's no telling what chaos will result from this clash of forces. But he doesn't fear it. Chaos breeds opportunity. And the opportunity for him and Sansa is sure to come in this collision of ice and fire.

Petyr adopts a pensive expression after her comment, her confirmation that she and Jorah had been in contact. After a moment, he lets out a soft laugh. ]

I could guess more readily what he did not say. But I imagine he told you I am a man of ambition, one who does not hesitate to seize the opportunities presented and create the ones that are not. A grasper from a minor house climbing the ranks of lordship, clever but hopelessly in love with Catelyn Stark. Does that about sum it up?

[jalan]

[ Daenerys' toast to that is a measured sip of wine over which she holds his eye, speculative. Stories of commonfolk sewing dragon banners in the secrecy of their cottages has been a fast fading fairytale, but she doesn't know Baelish well enough to judge his sincerity. Jorah, for all that she insists on punishing him for his betrayals, was the first to come to heel. Lord Varys, as pointed out. Ser Barristan. Tyrion Lannister. Each as unlikely as the other.

The master of coin strikes her as someone who has a good sense of balance, in any case.

His answer brings about another smile, as understated as the last, but warmed with a touch of amusement. Jorah can be wordy when she presses him, when they have better rapport than they do now, but it tickles her to imagine him saying 'hopelessly in love'. ]

Clever, [ she asserts, with a raise of an eyebrow. ] He said you are a clever man.

[ She leans to set her wine down for the moment, and her leaning back is more slanted, elbows against the arms of her chair. ] You've made quite a name for yourself as well, I hear, even in a world without lords or houses, minor or otherwise.

[baetiful]

Then he's said far less than most do.

[ Clever is both a compliment and a warning. Clever makes him someone Daenerys will guard herself against, but also someone she could see use in. Jorah is as intelligent as he is cautious, an excellent choice to act as his sell sword. ]

When I ran for ambassador, I was up against a man who wears all black and has a habit of appearing to look down on you when he speaks -- whether intentional or not. My other competitor was a dog whose entire platform was devoted to soft cream ice cream. [ He looks at Daenerys with nothing shy of exasperated amusement. ]

It was not difficult to secure the position I now hold, I assure you.

[jalan]

[ Appropriately, her brow crinkles over a hint of a more crooked smile, the first sign of her age breaking through in incredulity mirrored back at his amusement. The democratic process is alien enough in itself without dogs and their

she doesn't know what ice cream is. ]

Then the people chose wisely, [ she grants, dry as the deserts she knows best, that ripple of smooth smoothing out once more.

Her chin lifts. ]

What cause had you to seek it? Your position.

[baetiful]

[ He offers her a smile after her comment, shrugging his shoulders idly. He agrees, of course. He's merely being coy about his agreement. ]

I am not a man of heroics. I will never have the strength to fight off my enemies and save the day. But I am a man of wit and wisdom. Negotiating problems and finding solutions to those problems is where I excel. As an ambassador, you serve as the bridge between government and imPorts. It really is not much different from my position as Master of Coin -- only I think the entirety of the government is far less difficult to reason with than Robert or Joffrey Baratheon. [ Petyr smirks faintly at that. ]

But really, this is the way I am most useful to this world. That is why I sought it. No doubt given time, you will find the ways in which you are most useful to this world as well. You are meant to be a leader. Perhaps even the leader of the imPorts.

[ The move toward independence has to be done slowly. But no doubt Daenerys Targaryen could serve as the face to rally behind, given enough time. People need a leader to feel bold enough to make their move. ]

[jalan]

[ She listens, and what she hears is as expected in some ways as it is surprising in others. His easy backhanded commentary regarding the Usurper and his issue is the former; the certainty with which he suggests her purpose is the latter, and dark green eyes flick up from her wine to regard him coolly.

Trust is something she stopped relying on even before Jorah broke hers. ]

And the imPorts are in need of leadership.

[ --would be the logical assumption to make, there. She doesn't drink her wine despite hovering it in her hand thoughtfully, before she opts to speak. ]

My knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms is that which men have thought to put down on parchment. Her stories, legends, her histories in books I have worn to their tatters, and her borders and shores, drawn in ink. I could trace the shape of Westeros without watching my own hand. I remember the Dothraki words when their mightiest Khal swore before the Mother of Mountains that he would win me my iron chair [ a touch of distant affection almost softens her expression, very nearly ] because, you see, there is nothing I want more, Lord Baelish, than to serve my kingdom.

I would know this place, and the people who were brought here as you and I were brought here. That is how I can begin to be [ his word is given pause, but said ] useful.

[baetiful]

[ His eyes linger on her and he's reminded of the cruelty in their world. The injustice and the bloodshed. Had she not fled Westeros as a babe, she would have been slaughtered the same way her brother had been. The same way her father had been. The same way Robert Baratheon swore to take down all the Targaryens in his path. She could have died, rendering this conversation impossible. And yet, here they are. Two people with an ambition, and one with a birthright.

After her words, he smiles -- a smile that's as kind as it is sly. ]

Did you know that while we are here in this world, our own freezes in time? I would not have believed it if I did not return there myself. When I first came to this world, Westeros had been on the edge of Autumn. And when I returned, I lived out a full year and at the end of it, Winter had arrived. It was as though I had never experienced anything within this world, as though the months here vanished into a distant and forgotten dream.

All of that to say, what we do here has no bearing on what we do there. And the same could be said in reverse. We should not forget our background. It's important to remember the place from which you came. But this world is a new opportunity to live outside of our world. Westeros will always be there for you to take in your name. But our time here is fleeting and unknown.

The imPorts do need a leader, my queen. One they do not necessarily realize is leading them. [ ImPorts never did well when they thought someone was trying to control them. ] They need someone as strong and fierce as they are kind. Rumors say you united tribes that had warred with each other for years, liberated slaves, and fought against injustices. With that sort of resume, I would say you are more than qualified to start rallying imPorts together.

[jalan]

[ This first part-- it's something she's been told about, abstractly, a nebulous concept that only just now, as Petyr Baelish speaks of the coming Winter edging its frost down Westeros, that is gains any weight. Comprehension is sharp in her eyes, and then unfocused as she thinks back.

Meereen, and its looming rebellion. The Masters, gathering their forces. Her children, trapped within the catacombs. To think that all of this hangs in the balance of a second, waiting for her

is something of a relief, strange though it is.

She drinks while he talks in thoughtful sips, and then her wine is down to a last penny-sized circle of red at the bottom of her glass. She sets it aside, hands folding together. ]

Then you will lend me your wisdom, [ she says. There isn't a trace of irony in this choice of phrasing, none that can be detected, but her stare is very direct. Any warmth detected is the kind that catches on things. ] You will take measure of the injustices you see, and as you see them. [ She slides into standing, then, all good posture with none of the stiffness. ] I will heed what you have to say of this realm, and its people. You will advise me, as you advised the Usurper.

[ But there, a slight smile. ]

And then we shall what remains of this vanishing dream, should we meet again in the next world.

[baetiful]

[ Petyr bows his head to her, a fluid motion born from years of subservience. She so seamlessly fits the part of queen that he wonders how she will adjust to a world wherein there are no longer any monarchs. Not any that matter, at least. ]

It would be my honor, Your Grace.

[ He allows those words to linger, carrying with them the ring of Petyr Baelish, living to serve. And following that, Petyr falls easily into his role of adviser. ]

A word of caution, then. Be wary around the imPorts Jonathan Crane and Peter Pan. Both are dangerous and have no regard for those they hurt. Jonathan Crane once poisoned an entire celebration with a toxin that induces fear. And Pan is the strongest magician within this world at the moment. But he enjoys playing twisted and cruel games, and has been seen ripping out the heart of another imPort on the network. Both will try to learn your weaknesses and bring you harm for their entertainment.

[jalan]

[ He says the words, and makes the gestures. It almost doesn't matter if he is sincere or simply affecting it; he bows, and Daenerys accepts it with the regal silence that is just as expected. When he speaks, that slightly aloof affect sharpens ever so as she listens, and takes stock of those names.

Jonathan Crane. Peter Pan. ]

I have met magicians before, [ she says -- not dismissively, either, but a genuine sort of agreement as to the sorts of things that can't be trusted ] and played their games. It is nothing I care to repeat.

[ Inconclusive as to who came out the better, but here she stands, so that's something. She nods, once, her acceptance of his words of caution, before stating; ]

I've interrupted your work, so I shan't keep you any longer. No doubt we will hear from one another again, soon enough.

[baetiful]

[ Well, this meeting went better than expected. As unanticipated as it was, Baelish likes to think that they came out of it profitable. ]

I find it no interruption, really. If ever there is a time you have need for me, I will readily make myself available for you.

[ Littlefinger pushes off from the desk in order to escort her to the door. But first, he reaches for her hand with his many ringed fingers, planting a kiss to her knuckle. ]

Until we meet again, Your Grace. And hopefully it will be a place better suited for a Queen.

[ Which is any other place than a strip club. ]