The Three-Headed Dragon: A Viserys Targaryen Quest Continuation [abandoned]

THe Tale of Valaar the Bold:

I'll tell you a story from many years ago,
When Scoundrals and Braggets had sunken so low

When Pirates had taken the Great Vallar the Bold,
And sent him off to the great fires below.
In chains they had taken him hold of

But below deck a lion waited,
beaten and starved Hallucinating!
His mind was still sharp but the chaos had wasted, until Valaar rose above!

Valaar the Bold, cunning and sharp,
Able to escape from nefarious cunts!
So let the world know, of our masters strength,
Valaar the Bold escaped oh YEaY!

Deep in Valyria, the Lion swam him,
And through Valyria they were dound again,
And deep into mists of Fire and stone
Valaar proved he was a master of storms!

Valaar the Bold, cunning and sharp,
Able to escape from the wildfire Fog!
So let the world know, of our masters strength,
Valaar the Bold escaped oh YEaY!

With plunder and steel from Valyria old
Our Hero had was rescued by Lions of Old
But Krakens had come to murder them all…

You know what he did!

(WHAT DID HE DO!)

He Screamed Louder than the DOOM and tore the Kraken arm off!

Valaar the Bold, cunning and sharp,
Able to escape from the Kraken's Arms
So let the world know, of our masters strength,
Valaar the Bold escaped oh YEaY!

an @Marlowe310811 here is the song.

[X] Asher. The youngest of your Kingsguard is perhaps the one you know the least. You could try to change that with this trip, and see if there's something more than a loyal knight (and Beshka's bar-brawl buddy) to know.

---

"Actually, Ser Asher, would you care to join me?"

The Northerner's expression can only be described as 'gobsmacked'.

"Erm."

"Please, step inside," you walk away from the door without looking to see if he follows you. "More of an ale man than wine, yes?" Conveniently, there happen to be a few barrels of Wolfden Stout aboard, and you have already taken the liberty of having one brought up. You'd liked it the most out of the beers you'd tasted the last time you'd been in the North, and you like it now as a sometime-alternative to wine.

You're already pouring a cup when you notice you're still the only one in the room.

"Asher, please," you gently say to the still-dazed-looking knight. "Come and have a drink."

It takes him a moment longer to shake free of whatever's in his head, and he joins you. "Thank you, Your Grace," he eventually manages.

"No, no," you answer. "This is just a courtesy. What you should thank me for," you catch his eye as you hand him the cup, "is that I won't let Beshka find out how long it took you to take up an offer of free ale."

Your timing must be getting rusty: normally you can stick the landing just as your companion is downing their drink and see if they have the constitution to not snort it back up. Perhaps he's gotten too familiar with your habits to fall for it so easily, as he hadn't yet taken a drink before you finished your sentence.

He chuckles into his cup. "That I will thank you for, my king." You let him get a good long drag down, then gesture to the table. This cue he picks up on easier, likely as it's a much more familiar one for him. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I would not have expected you to have a Northern stout in your care."

"I visited the North several years ago, actually." He does start a little at that, so you think he's not as familiar with your habits as you feared. "Before marching through Essos with Stannis, I made contact with Lord Stark – well," you wiggle your hand a bit, "more that he made contact with me, and I met him there to talk about the future."

You're pretty good at reading men, how they're reacting to you, how they're feeling in the moment, and knowing what you'll need in a given situation. So you trust the instinct to push the pitcher towards Asher, and he in turn instinctively starts to refill his cup. "That isn't common knowledge, Your Grace," he says over the slosh of pouring ale. "Most folk think the Restoration was your first return to our shores."

"And any history written of it will say as much," you nod. "Perhaps as many as a dozen people in Westeros know about that trip." It's a minor confidence, not one that has any great impact on anything, but it would make for a rather messier portrait of the Northern lords who did know. So it matters more for young Ser Asher that you offer this, than for you to offer it, really.

For all the talk you'd heard of hotheadedness, Ser Asher does possess a cunning enough mind to catch something in those details, and teases out just what you'd hoped he would. "My lord father not being among those numbered," he murmurs in not quite a question.

"I don't believe he was privy to some of Lord Stark's work during that time, no," you answer diplomatically.

"I appreciate Your Grace's confidence," he says, a sincere note to his voice.

Conversations, you had learned from an early age, could be simple conversations … or they could be tactical engagements. You had learned a bit of this from watching Lord Tywin when you were a boy, seeing him engage in what seemed like casual talk but was all about positioning things where he needed them to be before he made his move, much like a cyvasse game. It frustrated your father almost as often as it confounded him, and you had little trouble deciding which man to learn from in that instance. You had gotten your pieces in place, now came the strike.

"I know reliable people when I see them," you say. You take a drink of ale. Then, "Any confidences you had in turn would be held as closely as you wanted it to be."

Asher looks into his own ale, as if he might find some answers at the bottom. He takes a swig, then sighs. "I suppose you're wondering what that was about, with Seaworth and Lord Willas."

"Not particularly." He looks at you, surprised, and you go on, "Willas tried a roundabout way of asking you a personal question, and you were less than pleased when he pursued it. I think most of us were annoyed at Seaworth – thank you for seeing to it that neither he nor Willas found the seat next to Dany, incidentally."

He smiles, tension forgotten for a moment. "I've been an older brother before, Your Grace. I'm well-practiced at interfering with young lords' intentions and not looking like I'm doing it."

"And are you still one now?" You set your cup down. "That's the direction of my thoughts: that you talk of things like that as being in your past, you wear inverted arms, and seem instinctively hostile to the mention of your father."

Asher goes to set his cup down, too, before thinking better of it and downing the whole thing. When he does set it down, he nods. "I am still an older brother, Your Grace. Nothing of that sort came out the last I spoke with my father."

"What did, then?"

He has an interesting tell, your youngest Kingsguard: when something puts him under real stress, he grits his teeth, then slides his jaw to one side, as if he were physically chewing on the stressor. It's on full display now, as Asher works his jaw a moment before finding words. "Father made a lot of things clear to me before he left. Like that I would not return with him, and my choices were to take up a white cloak or a black one, and serve with distinction, or be exiled to Essos to live out my days. That it was a great favour to him to even have the option of a white cloak, and that it would do great honour to him to have me here." He scoffs. "So I wear an inverted sigil to acknowledge my family, but spite him, with every day I wear it."

Evidently, this has been brewing in him for a little while, and he has a lot to get off of his chest. And here you thought that everything just stemmed from a problem with a girl.

It seems that Asher mistakes your contemplation for disquiet, and he holds up his hands. "Please understand, Your Grace, I didn't take my oaths out of spite, it is an honour to wear this cloak and I'm proud to serve you. It's just that I don't do it for him."

You nod. "I understand, Ser Asher. No offence was taken." In other times, you might have restrained your curiosity, but the young Kingsguard is being fairly open with you already, and you're feeling slightly less restrained than usual. "While clearly not the cause, I understood the tipping point of this to involve a woman. Was I misinformed?"

He shakes his head. "Gwyn Whitehill was waiting for me, back in the North." You blink in surprise at the name; you aren't well-versed in Northern politics and drama (especially as they tend to coalesce whenever outside threats arise, so clearly most of the petty squabbles don't mean that much in the grand scope of things) but even you know enough to grasp that a Whitehill did not belong anywhere near a Forrester in a sentence about affairs of the heart. Asher continues, unaware of your bemusement, "I don't know how Father discovered it, but I knew when it was – he started treating me different almost right off, started talking about white cloaks and honour and the needs of the family not long after that. We would butt heads before, but the arguments got…worse," he finishes.

"I see," you say, though in the moment you really don't. "You say she was waiting for you; had you intentions to wed the girl?"

He looks a little sheepish. "I don't know if we were thinking that far ahead, Your Grace." His face falls a little, though, as he thinks on it. "… but I wasn't looking to marry anyone else, and I don't know of anyone she considered. Not that it would have mattered much what we looked for or considered."

"Because of your families?" You are only passingly familiar with Lord Forrester, but commonly, lords aren't given to thinking of what their children want or think in such matters, and in your brief interactions Lord Forrester did not strike you as an uncommon man. You've not met Lord Whitehill, meanwhile, but many of the accounts you have heard are, well, uncharitable. And those are the kinder ones.

"I mean, we aren't the Brackens and the Blackwoods," Asher shrugs, "but I think both our fathers would rather seek the centre of Sothoryos, with nothing but training swords, than see such a union take place."

"I have idly thought about what might be involved in trying to fill in the edges of the map around Sothoryos," you remark. "If I knew it would be that easy to arrange…"

Asher gives a mirthless chuckle. "Well, maybe not that easy; Lord Ludd would be happy to command men to do this for him, but to do the work himself … he'd likely need a much richer prize than keeping me out of his family tree."

Your turn to shrug now. "Worth at least asking. And few would be as honest about the prospects with me, or the details," you catch his eye before it can study the bottom of his cup again. "It's an honesty I appreciate, and respect."

He looks unsure of how to take the words, settling for a "Thank you, Your Grace" that for its clunkiness feels more genuine than most of the ones you've heard while sitting on the Iron Throne. "And thank you for not holding my behaviour at dinner, or towards my father, against me."

A finger leaves your cup to point at him, while the rest maintain their grasp. "So long as it's not occurring again," you say, letting a bit of imperiousness enter your tone. "Lord Willas is far too soft-hearted," and Seaworth too dense, you almost add, "to hold it against you … but others that might encounter it will. People will understand being young and far from home, for a time, but that is a grace period from them that will not long endure. And if you mean to keep these personal arms, you should be prepared to face questions from people you cannot glare or beat into submission."

Appropriately chastened, Ser Asher nods. "Yes, Your Grace."

You gently clap his arm as you slowly stand. "That's a good lad." He rises to follow you, and you feel mildly envious that there isn't even a hint of hesitation or wobble to him. Northerners have just the most unfair constitution for drink, you grouse to yourself as he opens the door ahead of you.

Before he steps outside your door, you gently catch his arm again. He turns for you to whisper in his ear, "It would be a friend who ensured Lord Tyrell enjoyed no private conference, of what degree soever, with the princess."

He whispers back, "Your Grace's pardon, I had for my own amusement already meant to see to that until asked or ordered otherwise."

"I knew I liked you for a reason," you smile before leaving him to his duties. In fairness, you know you don't really have cause for concern or for interference. You do, in theory, have a purpose in seeing who will break first: the unfailingly polite Willas, or your demure sister; if he breaks, when and how could tell you just how much he understands of his place and what would be expected of any husband to your sister; and if she breaks first it tells you she has genuine interest in him and you'll see about things progressing from that point.

But if you're really honest with yourself, you're just curious to see who breaks first, and how long you and Ser Asher (and whomever else you loop into this) can amuse yourselves for.

The Basilisk and The Guard:

Beshka POV

You were bored. That was not an unusual thing to say about your life since you arrived in the Red Keep, and most in the Red Keep just left you alone because of it. You were, first and foremost, the protector of Daenerys Targaryen, her confidant and sword. In addition to your other duties as the Tutor to the Stark Girl for combat, and generally whatever Viserys wished you to be in any number of his… questionable ideas and the "Sidekick" to the Kingsguard, Particularly to Jaime Lannister, and Asher Forrester.

You remembered when he was drunk and thought it would be a good idea to dress you up as a whore, and try to follow that bastard Littlefinger to the ends of the earth. And you were not amused when Jaime offered to knight you.

You told him to go fuck himself if you thought you would go anywhere in Small clothes, esspecially to fuck someone she didn't want to fuck.

And it was that boredom that led you to the White Gold Tower.

To Jaime himself, and the rest of the Kingsguard, who were gathered for their morning assignments and briefings.

"Just because the king and princess are not in the city itself does not mean we can slack on our duties. The royal children are still in a state of danger, and there is also that killer that Prince Aegon is hunting down. We will offer our services to the Prince, and we will maintain a rotating guard of the Queen and her children."

You leaned against the door as Jaimie finished his briefing. "You know the snakes are more than capable of protecting Arianne right?"

Jaime forced a sigh, as the other kingsguard were… not happy with your appearance. "Even if we belive the Snakes are capable, we will still follow protocol. And orders from Ser Barristian."

Jaime than gave a small nod. "Arys, you are on Queen duty, Blackfish, you are helping the Prince. The rest of you, the day is yours until nightfall."

The men gave their nods as they walked out of the room. As the door closed, Jaime sighed. "Must you always act like we're back in the Villa, where nothing matters?"

"I'm pretty sure many things matter, Jaime, it's just that usually, Viserys is the one who made the plans. Not you." You replied.

"Well he is busy right now, at Dragonstone." You said.

That made you crack a smile. "Is everything alright?"

Jaime looked out the window. "No."

"Viserys try to talk to you, or have you been keeping it to yourself?"

"Aegon."

Oh, the Egg? He must have said something very profound.

"Beshka… do you have any regrets?" He asked.

"What the hells does-"

"Have you ever done anything you didn't want to do, or were forced to do?" Jaime asked.

That made you freeze, as you thought back to Mereen… to the Fighting pits. To the dead children that were killed by your hand while you struggled to survive.

But you gave a small laugh, trying to hide your conflict. "Not being able to fuck so many whores."

Jaime knew you were hiding your pain. But instead he nodded. "Very well." He was not pressing any further.

"What brings that up?" You asked.

"Just something I remembered a long time ago…"

You saw the White Book open to Jaimes' Page. With his deeds, his failures.

His triumphs. Ones he has written in himself.

"Now, Beshka, could you help me with something." He seemed to smile a little more, as if he realized something."

"What is it?" You asked.

"You'll see." He smiled.
-------------------------------------------------------------

The dress was horrible. You hated every moment you were in it.

It was made of red silks from Lys, and it was cut and made in a way that was… embarrassing. Your figure was not like Ariannes' which was voluptuous and form-fitting, which made the dress look beautiful.

You were more muscular, and with your mangled face… it made you look like a man wearing poor clothes.

Thank the Gods Asher could not see you. He would tease you forever.

"I didn't know Beshka could dress up like a lady?" Arianne said with a smile, as she bounced Aemon on her knee.

"I can if… persuaded." You growled as you glared at Jaime. He was going to die. You sure Viserys wouldn't mind his hand being murdered, he could always find another.

But that would be for another time.

You just had to endure court… at least you had Viserys gift strapped to your leg.

AN: Enjoy @Marlowe310811

If you couldn't tell, Jaime does have a sense of humor that isn't japes and humor.

He can also Prank.