The Harper and his Wife (ASOIAF/Silmarillion)

[Historian]

The Harper and his Wife
​

Noble Finrod – son of Finarfin – Nephew of Fingolfin. Founder of the first Minas Tirith, and Friend of Man. Killed by a Werebeast under the command of Sauron, refusing to give in to his captors. Former King of Nargothrond, Faithful, Wise. He was Finrod – he was a hero – and the hero died without his love, Amarie, in a far place. Eru and his children would not let a man sit as such – alone in his doom, with such nobility in his sacrifice.

But Eru called to them – called to Mandos, and the others – and told them to leave Finrod be. In the halls that Finrod wandered, devastated in his loss of Amarie and his life both, a white spirit appeared to him – more beautiful than he had ever seen. Eru-in-flesh. His eyes lay upon Finrod with a maddening countenance, and out from his lips escaped a whisper: "Servant." It called. "You have done greater than many, better than most. Wisdom and duty are your callings. Still, though, in you I sense a great thirst for life and travel."

"Eru?" Finrod had asked, falling to his knees. "I am so alone, great father. I have forsaken-"

"Nonsense." The apparition stated. "You have done all in accordance with the plan – whether you know it or not." Finrod looked up, shielding his eyes.

"What then, Great Father? I have found myself so lost here in Mandos' halls. What is my duty?"

The apparition's face contorted. "You are free to wander the halls, away from burden of hunger or pain. The stresses of life are free from you, Finrod of Finwe's House." Finrod looked to the infinite marble beneath his feet. "But I know you better than that." The voice called out. "I do not leave you to the infinity of Mandos. Not yet. For you, I've another task."

"Another?" Finrod said, perking up. "Anything, father. I live to your service."

The creature shook its head. "You jump too easily, Finrod." The apparition whispered. "Where you go, you shall be more alone than ever. In a place where blood and fire reign, you will be the only mote of light – but your magic shall never fade. Nor shall that of your love's. I give you this choice, Finrod Felagund. Give up your family and your culture to live afar with Amarie in a duty I shall name... or wander the halls of Mandos, with those you know – so close, yet so far."

"Father..." Finrod said, bowing to the floor in thought, hands upon his knees. "Is it a choice, if the plan is so righteous, so determined?" He asked. "What am I but a line to you, with a definite end?"

The Apparition's lips twisted into a smile. "That's a question many a man, dwarf, elf, and halfling have all thought – even soon Ork and Uruk." The creature said. "I cannot answer it. It is not my place – some things mortality simply cannot comprehend. You have free will, Finrod – but I see all the paths. A free will will always make a certain choice, but that is no illusion."
Finrod brought up a knee, assuming a kneeling stance. "I..." He glanced around at the halls. "I have lived among men. Among dwarves. I have fought great battles, I have forged great cities. I have done this in your name as always. If I am to go with my love and forge family far from mine – that is the choice." Finrod said. "I shall not shirk duty out of fear."

Eru's ghost beamed, his light flooding the hall. "A choice you have made wisely, hewer of caves." Finrod felt himself floating, the marble of Mandos' Halls splitting away and freeing him from the earth. In the warmth of Eru's light, his figure disappeared – In distance, a woman's seemed to be floating – in garb of white and green, with a cloak of brown wool, her golden hair shone brighter than the rest – a bronze tiara about her tied hair glistening. Blue eyes found his across it all, and he felt himself striding towards her – even with nothing beneath his feet.

Finrod wrapped his hands around hers, pulling her close. "Amarie?" He whispered, his eyes darting over her face. Even with his sense of time, it had been eternity. Her thin arms wrapped around his back, pulling him tight to her.

"Finrod." She said, her voice final. "You won't go without me again." She declared.

"Never." He replied.

And a new world shifted into being around them.

==

Pentos

The Free Cities

296 AC

The Library of the Dragonlord House Qovos. A bronze and brown stone building, trussed up against a far wall of Pentos – near the side most likely to be struck. Despite a half-dozen sacks by the armies of Braavos in the slaving wars, it had survived four centuries of life since the fall of Valyria – a doom most mysterious.

More important than that, though – for two new arrivals, it was a second home. Nestled among books, with several Maesters hoarding chains about their necks, they sat in silence – cloaks of brown and foliage green tied taut 'round their necks and hoods close of face, the pair close at arm as their tall figures forced themselves into tiny chairs.

Many a day they read. With what little coin they had, they read and read – their clothes beneath soiled by days of wear, but still they smelled little, and looked nearly new. Some whispered they slept in the streets, atop hay bales, but surely that wasn't true?

For two so fair of face, even hidden in hood, how could they be in poverty?

A young Maester from the citadel, Errion, who was borne of passion in the stony west of Dorne, sought more answers to this than those of Archmaester Gilden, who preferred history and knowledge to such simple gossips. The Archmaester was on a mission, you see – to copy every work he could, and see that knowledge was preserved.

For that was the way of the Maesters. Errion didn't have much choice in that – and his hand ached from copying. Perhaps, though – perhaps these two could spare a moment. Perhaps he could – too. He turned from his small desk in the library, approaching the pair as they struggled through their books – muttering to one another sporadically in a tongue Errion didn't recognize. He stopped a few feet away from range, folding his hands together.

The womanly one looked up at him, bronze about her neck and forehead flashing momentarily as she tapped her man, who looked as well. The man smiled. "Hello." He said in Valyrian. "Come close." He said, beckoning Errion over. The Maester tugged at his chain, stepping closer to where the man proffered a chair.

"H-hello. I'm Errion – a Maester from the Citadel at Oldtown." He said, smiling as he sat nervously. Both were far taller than he, with piercing blue eyes. "I've seen you here a couple've days now. What're you after, if you don't mind me asking?"

The pair blinked at him. Errion's heart skipped a beat – had he bothered them too much? He hated sputtering. His father had sent him to the Citadel for sputtering, said he'd learn to be a good lad and then he'd learn to stop sputtering so much.

Well, he hadn't. The man spoke first, in a strangely accented bastard valyrian. "I – Finrod. This – Amarie. We learn. Word." He said, pressing on the book. "Learn speak well." He nodded, folding his book shut with a small flat dowel inside to keep his page. "Nice meet." He said, nodding.

"Nice meet." Amarie copied to his side, smiling behind her hood. Errion blinked. Perhaps he hadn't messed up nearly so badly! It was boring work in the library, so nice to meet proper folk – and their language was strange.

"What language do you speak?" He pantomimed with a finger at his lips. The pair conferred in an odd tongue between themselves.

"Sindarin. Quenya. Many word." Amarie said. "Is complicated."

"I could... teach you." Errion said, glancing back at the Archmaester and two of his aides. "Valyrian – the good Valyrian, not the bastard kind from Pentos. Would you like that?"

"Learn word?" Finrod said, leaning forward. He brought back his hood – and his hair shone in golden light. He stuck out a gloved hand – the fingers exposed, and grasped Errion's wrist with a smile. "Love learn. Love word." He said, smiling.

Errion blinked, and nodded. "As you say." He said, looking at their books – a mixture of recent histories and linguistic manuals from the fall of Valyria – interesting stuff, but what's more was that it was all so basic. As if they'd never heard of Essos in itself.

A strange thing, that.

In the time Errion spent in Pentos, the two had learned much. Proper sentence structure. Proper grammar. Tenses, vocabulary. Within weeks, they'd learned more than Errion had ever learned at the Citadel – and with thrice the pace. Errion found himself with aid in copying, as Finrod and Amarie scribbled away with a lightning's pace – staying up greater hours than he, finishing copying work that Errion could present without a second glance.

By the time Archmaester Gilden had ordered the expedition home, the pair spoke like naturals – and had graduated to reading great histories. As Errion packed his bags, the pair sought to visit him before his departure, taking him to a fine eating establishment for the middle class of Pentos.

Errion sat down with the pair, who wore a fine doublet of blue and gold – the woman wearing a short dress of the same sheen with long sleeves and boots in lieu of fancier footwear. Both beamed at him from behind their cloaks – a solemn look in their eyes as he sat down. "Errion." Finrod said, smiling. "It's a wonder to see you today – we were afraid we'd not see you off."

"Thank you." Errion replied with a smile. "I'm glad for all the aid you've given us in our work – the Archmaester has had only praise for the copying work – and your progress in the language is maddening. I don't know how you two do it."

Amarie giggled. "It's part of who we are, Errion." She said. "The way of our people: to learn, to live, to grow. Expand and bear fruit, in the name of our god and his greatest servants – the Valar."

"So you've said." Errion replied. "I feel there's many a page to be written on you both – but what are your aims?"

Finrod glanced at Amarie, who shrugged slightly behind her hood. "I wish I knew." He said. "To learn and to aid – those were my commands when we came here. To serve Eru and aid his works, but I fail to see what that means. I know in your west, the King is decadent – and in the east the great horselords rape and burn all in their wake: but I am one man, and my wife one woman. There are a thousand things to be done."

"And you don't have to do them all!" Errion said. "Where are you even sleeping? Have you an income? For ones so skilled and noble as you, your talents are wasted in a library." Finrod blinked at that, pressing a hand to his chin.

"You've merit, Errion." Finrod said. The waiter brought a dish, setting it down before Errion, and two others before Finrod and Amarie. A steaming swan filled all three's bellies, and they broke bread as the sun rose. At mid-day, Errion was gone – off to Oldtown under the Hightower. Finrod and Amarie tread to their small dwelling 'neath the library – an unused set of pens that their magical songs had seen turned into a beautiful tapestry, with a nice bedroom and a fine well.

Under the Qovos Library, plans were hatched.

For they had a duty from Eru. From God.

They would not shirk it.

==

Author's Note

The House of Elendil is a wonderful work, and it's absence is sore upon my heart. I can only hope that my own work – the Harper and his Wife – can dare to compare in the Tolkein/ASOIAF Genre. Set primarily in Essos, it will detail the journey of Finrod Felagund, or Finrod the Hewer of Caves, son of Finwe and nephew of Fingolfin – who lead the Elves to battle against Morgoth in the First Age. He, a Noldor, and his Wife, a Vanyar, are mighty and powerful compared to the peoples of Westeros and Essos.

Stronger than the Numenoreans, who were nearly 7' on average, Elves likely range from 6'2" to 8'5" in extremity. Therefore, Finrod is nearly 7'3", with Amarie falling somewhere in the 6'3"-6'5" range. Both of them are insanely tall, strong, and beautiful – but more importantly -skilled-. Their magic makes them quite powerful on a small scale – as you'll see with their home under the library, but even in mundane pursuits Finrod is a monster. Noldor are skilled smiths and loremasters, and Finrod is no exception.

And yet, this is not a wank – Finrod is not a god. He's powerful, but he's only one exceptionally skilled man. Amarie is an exceptionally skilled woman. But they're two people in a world where killing someone is as simple as poison.

Two people can't change everything.

But they can change some things.​

 

[Jouaint]

Great idea. Can't wait to see where you take this.

 

[Historian]

Pentos

The Free Cities

296 AC – Months Later

There's no place in Pentos like the docks. Like any Free City – Pentos streamed with ships of all kinds – from Westerosi Dromonds to Xebecs from Slaver's Bay, combined with a smattering of great trade ships from Yi Ti – even the occasional sloop from the Shadowlands of Asshai. A hundred thousand ships came in and out of Pentos and her neighbors each year. For an aspiring shopkeeper, a skillful traveler, or an avid scholar, the docks of Pentos were a heaven. For Finrod Felagund, the dockside was an ideal place to start off his new life in Eru's name – the best way a Noldor knew how. Scrounging coin from copying jobs, he paid a local landsmerchant for a small open-faced shop upon the sea.

He and his love, Amarie, moved out of their small villa beneath the library – moving into the roof and sprucing the place with an elven touch. The place glistened – its small shrubs outside drawing a crowd with their intoxicating aroma, as Finrod lit the forges with a strike of flint on steel – coal and wood alight in moments and crackling with a flame that seemed more beautiful than most. As he put hammer to metal, merchants by the dozens gathered to sample his wares – beautiful swords and links of chained mail from the shop of Finrod Felagund, and tales of his beautiful wife, spread across Pentos in short order. Soon enough, Magisters were having their men equipped from the shop, and all the news spread to the furthest towers.

All the while, the ships in port heard of Finrod Felagund, the strangely accented and maddeningly tall smith from Pentos. They brought the tales with them. As Finrod hung his apron from another hard day, he rose up to the higher levels – where his lady wife sat – having wed her at once in a private ceremony upon their arrival. She carried the books. Managed the coin. Met with investors. The administration was hers – though either of them could carry their weight among the forges. It was the way of the Eldar – to learn all, to do all, but to focus on their strengths.

"It wasn't the life we wanted." Amarie said in Quenya, holding a hand to her chest, as Finrod set his poor clothing aside, slipping on a robe of blue and yellow and cinching it tight, testing the strength of his handwraps. "I wonder only what our children shall know, having never seen Aman."

Finrod shrugged, ducking the low overhang and sitting across the table from his wife. "Some things we must accept." He said. "I feared I would never see you or Aman again – and half as much is true. The Men of this place – these Pentoshi. They are small, but they know their crafts and believe in themselves. Our children shall find their paths in life, as we have." He reached across the table, taking her hand and holding it. "Until then?" He smiled. "We do what we may to see they have the upbringing we wish. How is our coinage?"

Amarie turned the book before her around, pointing at the Pentoshi numbering. "The banks we've deposited in are all there, plus what we've hidden beneath the shop in the cellars." She said. "We could hire servants, buy a manse with all the money you've accumulated." The pair sat in silence as Finrod poured over the books, his eyes darting to and fro through them. "But you wouldn't do that."

"Never." Finrod said, closing it and setting the parchment aside. He folded his wrapped hands together, smiling at her. "We are not slavers – and the practice disgusts me. I never intend to lord myself over others, save when they deem it right. Such was Nargothond. Such was Minas Tirith, and the House of Beor. I am content to be the smith, for now. Are you not?"

Amarie let out a small huff, drawing her golden hair back behind her ears as she glared at him. "Eru came to us with a task." She said. "I sit here working books and schmoozing fawning men. You toil before a forge sweating and aching – and for what?" She asked. "Do we come closer?"

Finrod shook his head. "We don't." He said. "Not in the way we could, if we chose to display our full power." He squeezed her hand once more. "But we're not going to do that."

Amarie glanced down at the table, pressing her hand along her husband's craftsmanship. "I know." She said. "But I still feel the pressure. I miss my family."

"And I mine." Finrod said, reaching up to caress her cheek. She looked at him with solemn eyes. "They made their choices, and we made ours – we've a task before us, and a thousand lifetimes of men to make it so."

"We operate on their timescale." Amarie replied. She rubbed at her belly. "And I will not be around to aid you forever. Soon enough you will go it alone, as our child grows alone."

Finrod smiled a toothless, heartless smile at that. Folding a hand into a fist on the table. Amarie stood, reaching in a pocket on her vest to retrieve a piece of paper. "Oh to Aman I wish greatest heaven. To my husband greatest glories. To the men of this place peace and love, and calmest loving stories. Though the road is lost and dark, we shall find a way – for Eru Iluvatar sees us through, to brightest and happiest quay." She recited, leaving it on the table. "Woe is it that I write the only Sindarin poems in the world, Finrod."

He smiled at her. "Were I as skilled as daughters of the Vanyar, like yourself." She shook her head, running a hand through his hair as she stepped away. "We should do something – together. Take a trip, perhaps."

"And leave the shop to whom?" Amarie replied, as she strode to the far room, ducking under the archway. Finrod was silent at that. She strode through the silence to her study, where she closed the door to find some solitude in her studies. Finrod glanced at the book of coinage, and stood – staring out the window. Something had to be done – they needed to act faster.

Eru's mission depended upon it.

He sifted through a small pile of mail – reading the seals. Magisters of Pentos, like Illyrio Mopatis, had harangued him for months with calls for service and aid. He'd completed some, and politely declined any requests for permanent servitude. He knew how men like them operated – without even dealing with their machinations personally.

Then there were the minor lords – House Hightower. House Martell. Royal letters from the House Baratheon's minor functionaries. A particularly demanding request from House Lannister for a greatsword of renown and sharpness – one he'd fulfilled with some irritation: a lion's head was something not easily known to a man without much experience with them. He'd had to find a lion's pelt and work intricately from the design.

Still, he'd fulfilled them all. Coin flooded his coffers.

This one was curious, though – bearing not the royal seal of Westeros, but a small bird's symbol upon it. Finrod looked up to see the sun setting, and ripped it open. 'To whom it may concern,

I am speaking to you out of concern for a great many things. I have heard much of you from my little birds – both upon the Citadel and in Pentos. My comrade Illyrio speaks much of your works, but I think there's something more there. A person like yourself does not just appear – and certainly does not do so and fade into obscurity.

If you're the man I think you are, listen closely.

There will be an attack tonight on your smithy. You've offended the wrong magisters. Do with this information what you must – but I personally associate with Magister Mopatis. He may not be your cup of tea – but I assure you this: his manse is large. His security is excellent. He will not leave you out to dry.

My little birds will be watching,

Varys – Spymaster to the Iron Throne'

Finrod blinked, watching the sun disappear totally over the horizon. He stood, turning towards his wife's study, and knocking twice upon the door. Within, he heard her scribbling hard on parchment. "Finrod?" She asked.

"A letter." He said, his voice stern in a way she'd heard before. The door unlatched without a moment's hesitation. He handed it to her. Her eyes skimmed with supernatural speed. "I can't be sure of it's veracity."

"We're dangerous." Amarie said at once. "We're too powerful for these people – and these people are all about control. Perhaps it's a false flag?"

"Assuredly." Finrod replied. "Mopatis has tipped off Varys and now he's currying favor to bring us under Mopatis' control." Amarie stared at the letter, then looked up at him.

"Well then. What do you want?" She asked. Finrod turned with a frown, stepping to a nearby cabinet. He withdrew a small chaimaille shirt, doffing his robe and pulling on a small padded shirt, pulling the maille on over it. He pulled on a pair of bracers, then ditched his sandals for leather boots, finishing it off with a pair of leather handwraps to go over his usual hand bindings. Behind him, he heard another cabinet opening – Amarie ditching her dress over a nearby chair as she strapped on equipment of her own. Finrod turned to her.

"What are you doing?" He asked, buckling his belt and putting a shimmering blade into its holster.

"You're doing all the fighting?" She asked, pulling her hair into a side-cocked bun. "I think not, husband. This is our home." Finrod cocked his head.

"Do much fighting back in Aman?" He asked.

"I'm not the one who died." She shot back, putting a pair of daggers into sheathes behind her back. The pair finished arming themselves quickly, pulling cloaks on over their outfits and ducking down the stairs – bolting shut their doors and windows as they entered the lower patio – where shutters still remained in their locked places. Finrod twirled the glaive in his hand, placing it up against the wall as he lit the forge – the lower room suffusing with an unearthly glow – the flame giving the room light as if it were a second sun, radiant and warm.

Amarie's circlet shone in the light, and Finrod pressed his own into his tied back hair. "It'll be strange." He said. Amarie shot him a questioning glance. "Fighting men, I mean."

"It's a different place." Amarie said, a hand-and-a-half sword wrapped in both hands, the tip gentle against the stonework below. Outside the curtain, they could see shapes moving in the dark. Beggars. Servants. Night watchmen. If someone was going to attack, they either paid off the witnesses – or didn't care. Neither of the elves was certain what was worse.

The night ticked by, as the pair waited. Elves didn't need nearly as much sleep as men, and they stayed alert – seeing through the thin wood of the screen with their elf-eyes. Slowly but surely, a small group began to coalesce. Finrod gripped his sword's hilt tight in its scabbard, as Amarie hefted her blade up to her shoulder – the four and a half foot blade resting easily on her shoulder. He moved forward to stand next to her, and she set her free hand on the wrist of his balled fist.

"Relax." She said, smiling at him.

"You haven't seen the halls of Mandos." Finrod said, shaking his head with a grit of his teeth. The men drew closer, gathering a dozen strong around the wood. Four had torches, and one stepped forward to light the wood. He waved the torch hard against the wood – but it would not catch light. Under their breath, the elves hummed a song, and the fire began to flicker out in the torch.

"Bloody thing!" The torch-bearer yelled. "It won't light!" He yelled, pressing it hard to the wood. He kicked at the screen.

"Do you want to wake them?!" Another shouted, reaching out and pulling the man back.

"This is a bad idea – you seen how big the man is? And the girl's huge too." Finrod's nails dug into his hand, a small drop of blood splattering on the floor below his fist. Amarie pressed her lips into a thin line, narrowing her eyes as she set her fists around her blade's hilt once more.

"Big enough for all of us to spread around." Another said. Finrod seethed, but held his tongue. "Come on – let's break it down – he's just one man."

"That's what they say about the Mountain in the west – I'm not about to get my head cut off by some big guy and his fireproof wood." Another said, stepping away from the group.

"You signed a contract!" Another shouted. Four approached the doors, two with hammers, two with axes, and struck against the wood. Amarie flinched as the wood began to splinter, spattering at the pair's feet. Finrod drew his sword silently, the blade glittering in the forge's light.

Slowly but surely, their pathway opened. Finrod pulled at Amarie's cloak, ducking behind the anvil. She found her own hiding spot in the stairway, watching as the screen split open, and a half-dozen of the men spread out inside. "Why's their forge lit?" One asked, short and fat, with a heavy hammer in his fist.

"Probably to keep them warm with the big one's limp cock!" One shouted. They all let out a loud chuckle. Finrod's face twisted, unimpressed. Amarie giggled at him, holding her blade tight to her chest. The light glinted off of it, scattering over her face and shining off her tiara. The light bounced off the anvil, flashing one of the men in the eye.

"Hey!" He shouted. "Somethin's fishy." He said. "You feel funny?" He asked the others.

"Yeah." Another said. "Like... I just, really don't want to be here." The leader, or whom seemed to be, based on his solid metal cuirass, stared blankly at the men.

"You cowards done?" He asked. "Go outside and trade off – keep the looting to yourselves. The Magister doesn't have time for your games. We're to get this done and leave – men like the big guy aren't meant for Pentos. Or anywhere."

"Yeah." Another said. "Freaks like-" He turned the corner 'round the anvil, and gasped. "-like. Like." He stammered, the group turning to look at him. Finrod stared with eyes of anger, a small grunt escaping his lips at the man. To his credit, the mercenary stumbled backwards only slightly before collapsing. "He's!"

Finrod emerged, his hair blazing in the light of his flame. "Who dares." He said, not really a question. "Who dares?!" He bellowed out – all five of the remaining mercenaries balking at his visage. "I come to this city, forge armor, weapons, and someone seeks my death?!" He shouted. "WHO?!"

The man furthest in the back had a strange bowlike device, and held it up. "I've got a shot!" He yelled.

The lead man whimpered, "Fire." With a flash, the device was firing, and Finrod blinked. He felt searing pain his left shoulder, watching blood spurt in slowest motion as he flinched back slightly, the quarrel sticking out harmlessly as pain shot through him.

A gasp resounded next to him, and six feet and four inches of anger barreled out of the stairwell, a sword extending six feet from her body taking off the head of one of the mercenaries. The entire room fell silent, looking at Amarie as blood spattered over her face, crimson wetness silhouetting her face.

It took Finrod only a moment to react – just as the others charged his wife. He stabbed the leader through the gut – his sword cleaving armor. He screeched out, but the blade cut only the least vital parts. Finrod needed him alive. He twirled, cutting off the head of another man – and his blade clanged against Amarie's as he cut into the chest of a third man. The last man, his crossbow on the floor as he drew a dagger, had only a moment left before Amarie ran him through the wood – her face contorted in utmost anger.

She pulled the blade out, letting the fifth and final man drop.

The last was still sputtering on the floor, his blade a mess. Finrod turned to him, kneeling. "Go outside. Tell your friends to leave." He said, looking through the screen to see the rest huddling in fear near the entrance, weapons at the ready. Two crossbows, three spears, and a man in full plated armor. Likely the leader's leader.

The man stood, dropping his dagger belt as he went, tossing a coin pouch on the table as he whimpered. The smell of urine was faint, but noticeable. Amarie gave him a glare of death as he exited, and twisted immediately to Finrod. "You're hurt!" She shouted, glancing at his shoulder.

"I've died before, love." Finrod said with a smile, holding her with his good hand – sword pointing down toward the stone. "You fought well – I hadn't expected to see you so blooded."

She grinned at him through blood-specked lips. "I do anything for those I love."

"I as well." He said, looking down at the man he'd wounded. He writhed upon the floor. Finrod yanked him up by a hand, slamming him down hard on the anvil. "Hello." He said. "I'm Finrod, son of Finwe. This is Amarie, my wife. You've trespassed in our home under orders of a Magister. Who?"

"I-" The man sputtered, watching Amarie gather a hammer from the wall, handing it to her husband in exchange for his sword. She leaned against her bastard blade, twirling her husband's weapon in boredom. "It was... It was Magister Kalrik! I swear it! He thought the other Magisters were making a move to take over the shop! He ordered us to kidnap you both and take you to him!"

Amarie and Finrod exchanged glances.

"Right." Finrod said, shaking his head. He began to hum a song as the coward stepped back into view.

"I- I, uh." He stammered, as Amarie stepped over to look down on him. "Ser Edric, he says there are more men coming in the night. We're um, here to rescue you, you see. Other Magisters think you've amassed too much, too quickly."

"And you reaction is to kidnap us?" Finrod asked, turning away from the knitting flesh of the man's chest. He wrapped taut a heavy linen around the man, pulling him up. "Some heroes you are."

The coward bowed low. "Forgive us, noble sires." He said, glancing up at them. "We'd heard tales of your height and prowess – and beauty, if m'lady doesn't mind me saying. We didn't think they were real."

"They are." Amarie said, bending down, placing both swords ominously next to the man as she looked him in the eye. "Take your miscreant and go. Take your friends' corpses if you care. Elsewise, we'll see them off." The man stumbled through the shop, in shock at the bodies, and dragged the wounded leader away. Through the screen, the pair saw their assailants disappear into the night.

The pair wordlessly collected the bodies, and Finrod pulled around a cart as he opened the screen, filling the wooden hearse with corpses. The pair walked silently and briskly through the evening chill, arriving at the waterfront post-haste. One by one, the bodies descended into the sea – and were carried off by a hard tide. As they stood, armored and bloodied, Amarie reached up to pull out the crossbow quarrel, the man wincing as she did so. Her hands caked with his life's blood as she hummed a happy tune, his shoulder ceasing bleeding in short order.

Amarie held it up to him.

"This is where we are." She said. Finrod nodded.

As the night turned to day, they cleaned the shop – Finrod resumed his work – and Amarie dressed for a trip. Letter in hand, she slipped through the dark to the manse of Illyrio Mopatis. Let in by the guards, she sat before the man – accepting, never submitting to, his offer of employment. She was stern with terms, and sterner and wording – her and her husband would not be slaves.

As she left, her eyes caught a silver-haired little girl sitting by a pool, beneath a naked bravo. Her purple eyes traced the elf's figure as she stopped by the tree. She stood from the pool, her wet feet plodding across the grass. "Hello! You're tall!" She said, in rather perfect Valyrian.

Amarie smiled. "Hello there!" She said, crouching down to the little girl's height. "Who might you be?"

"Daenerys." She said, folding her arms and rubbing her feet on the grass. "Targaryen." She added. "I'm a dragon!" She shouted, hands like claws as she let out a fake roar. Amarie smiled.

"Yes." The Immortal said, glancing at the youth's happy stomping. "I suppose you are."

It was a start. Of something, anyway.

==

Author's Notes

There are two depictions of Finrod I'm partial to:

This (http://tolkiengateway.net/w/images/thumb/5/5d/Anna_Lee_-_Finrod.jpg/250px-Anna_Lee_-_Finrod.jpg)

And This (http://th00.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2013/160/d/e/finrod_by_haleyhss-d68dl86.jpg)

The former is more symbolic of Finrod's personality. He's a bro. He tiptoes into camps of sleeping dudes and plays awesome songs for shits and giggles. The second is equally valid, though. Take whichever you prefer.

There are likewise two of Amarie,

This (http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/305/6/0/amarie_by_tuuliky-d4eq7wj.jpg)

And This (http://tolkiengateway.net/w/images/...0px-Marya_Filatova_-_Amarie_of_the_Vanyar.jpg)

I like the latter a lot here, Amarie's not a really flashy girl. She's obviously elven levels of beautiful, but she doesn't try to be super attractive in the way Galadriel or Celebrian might have been. Perfect for Finrod, who isn't very superficial to begin with.

Of course, compared to the most attractive people in ASOIAF she's a jawdropper. Easily Margaery/Daenerys/Sansa levels of beauty – but it's far more permanent.

 

[Jaime Rider]

A great start. Keep up the good work.

 

[Historian]

Illyrio's Manse, Pentos

297 AC, Seventh Moon (~8 Months Later)

The greatest change to the lives of the eldar was not orders. The greatest fear Finrod and Amarie had was that Illyrio Mopatis would demand of them was reverence and service. To his credit, Magister Mopatis had been nothing but jovial. His only order was, in fact, to slow any and all crafting to a crawl. Flooding the market with fine blades and armors served only to cheapen their value, and Illyrio sought to make as much money as possible.

Work took longer, could be done better. Finrod spent perhaps an hour a week doing his stated job – the rest dedicated almost entirely to personal pursuits. Illyrio cared little, save to have him presented on occasion to interested magisters – almost entirely his opponents or those he tried to impress. Finrod was a shining beacon – something you spent far too much time distracted looking at. Illyrio was no fool, though.

He was a Magister – and one who had risen from nothing. He recognized an opportunity when he saw it – as did his comrade, Varys. Finrod had met him only once – he'd come late in the night, and spoken only briefly. "Events are in motion." He'd said – regarding both his employment and the recent return of the silver-haired girl and her brother – who'd visited for a very short time on Finrod and Amarie's arrival before moving on.

Finrod had read his histories, as had his wife. House Targaryen was ancient, powerful – and Illyrio kept them sheltered only occasionally. The elven king knew why – they were targets. Everywhere they went, assassins and daggers in the dark. Viserys, the boy, had been headstrong and looked like a wolf chased by a troop of trolls. He snapped, shouted, roared as hard as he could – but he was no dragon like he claimed. He was a kicked dog.

And a kicked dog yelped the loudest. He was only trouble, and as Finrod watched him treat the servants, he knew the man needed direction. Whether it was his place to provide it, however, was another story. His fist rapped hard upon the door to Illyrio's private study, exposed to the sea. A servant opened, stepping aside.

"Finrod!" Illyrio shouted, his massive frame sunken into a pile of cushions upon an specially large chair. "Sit down! I've been wondering when I'd see you next."

Finrod smiled, entering with a glance shot at the servant – a beautiful girl named Tassa. She'd spoken at length with Amarie, if Finrod remembered correctly. A good girl, one too undeserving of her binds. There were worse masters than Illyrio – that much Finrod had learned the hard way in a poorer district. He took a seat with gusto – his 7'4" frame barely afflicting such a small chair. Illyrio had long since gotten past the novelty. "We really should make you a chair for your size. In every room!"

Finrod smiled, leaning back. "Of course – but then I'd have to make them." Illyrio spat out a laugh, taking a drink of wine.

"You are a funny man, for one so long-lived as you claim." Illyrio said, swirling his drink and putting it down. He looked to his servants, and motioned them away. As the doors shut, Illyrio looked to his guest. "I trust your last endeavor went well?"

Finrod's face twitched slightly. "Volantis is a beautiful city." That much was true – the black walls, the great bridges, the men behind said walls: but it changed little. Volantis was a slave hell – where masters beat their servants and men conquered men like orcs conquered thralls. Pentos was better, but enslavement and domination of others was antithetical to how Finrod saw the world. There were those better, yes – and the better men ruled.

That was a way of things. Some saw it as distasteful – and Finrod did, in his own way. Eru made people the way they were for a reason, though: he was a powerful eldar. His wife was a powerful eldar. Vanyar and Noldor – the highest of the elven breeds. They lived to rule, but did so in greatest virtue – they kept their own household, maintained it as best they could – lived as normal elves might, save for their throne.

These men were decadent. Lazy. Illyrio was, in his own way, but he had at least lived on either side of the coin. Many others simply took as they wished. "But you don't approve?" Illyrio finally said. "I suppose not. You're simpler folk than most nobles. You are noble, aren't you?" He asked. "You don't talk much of your homeland."

"No." Finrod smiled. "I don't – it's better that way. The deal was made as simply as I could make it. As to the Golden Company – I found a few representatives. They weren't familiar with the contract." Illyrio nodded, rubbing his stomach and sitting up slightly, slowly rising to his feet with a groan. He motioned Finrod to the walkway around the palace – one that looked deep into the depths of Pentos. People flowed through the morning streets.

"A shame." Illyrio said. He reached into his robes, retrieving a missive and handing it to Finrod. "Read this." The elf skimmed it with superhuman speed, returning it immediately. "Read much about the Dothraki?" Illyrio asked. Finrod nodded – enough to know they were the closest he'd get to orcs in this world – still men, but monsters of men. "Their new Khal will be outside our gates soon, and we'll need gifts to give them. Viserys still seeks an army."

"That he does." Finrod said. Illyrio had a plan, and Finrod felt like he wouldn't like it.

Illyrio looked at Finrod. "You're a strong and skillful man. The Dothraki will respect you. They'll respect your wife more – stronger and more capable than all of them." Finrod didn't like where this was going – and it showed in the sheer aura round him. His gold and blue attire began to darken. His eyes turned a darker shade of blue – his hair losing its luster and taking on an irritated appearance. Illyrio stumbled over his words. "I think Daenerys should marry Khal Drogo – it's a solid match that shall give Viserys his army, in time. The Dothraki have a great horde of many riders, with strong horses and hordes of archers and light cavalry."

"And you want me to go with them, is that it?" Finrod said, staring Illyrio down. The man balked, looking up at Finrod's seven-and-a-half feet with a bead of sweat trickling. "Watch as a little girl is deflowered by a barbarian, turned into his sex slave? Abused for her brother's sake? They need a family and a home, not abuse and neglect." Illyrio nodded sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head.

Illyrio balked, but wrapped his hands around the railing to steady himself. "Myself and Varys think this is the best option, Finrod – it gives her a chance to rule well away from Westeros – and there are other concerns."

"Other concerns?" Finrod asked. Illyrio blinked, shaking his head.

He let out a concerned sigh. "I shouldn't have told you. We barely speak of it ourselves."

"What's 'It'?" Finrod asked.

"Aegon." Illyrio said. Finrod furrowed his brow. The most recent Aegon was either Aegon V, who died at Summerhall, or Aegon the son of Rhaegar – who was crushed by the Mountain, or so the recent histories said. Both were nasty businesses, and strange in their occurrence – but Finrod wasn't there to say. "Aegon Targaryen. Rhaegar's son. He's alive – we've got him under education with Jon Connington – both have faked their deaths and are in exile to the south, in Tyrosh."

Finrod frowned, placing his hands on his hips. "If this is true – why marry Daenerys to the new Khal? Why not to Aegon, as is the tradition of her family?" Finrod was no stranger to cousin marriage. All eldar were related, and defects weren't a factor. Brother and sister were obviously unheard of – but for House Targaryen, aunt and nephew seemed... acceptable, at least. Far better than brother and sister, at least.

"Because..." Illyrio shook his head. "It's complicated, alright? Aegon's claim is stronger than either's, and having the threat of Viserys trying to claim the throne is a problem. Every week he spends losing prestige and heirlooms is another Aegon spends training to rule – with none of the stench of the Mad King. Elia of Dorne had a strong bloodline, and Aegon just as strong – a child without incest is a better ruler, free of the madness of his family." Finrod leaned on the rail himself, nodding. Perhaps it was better this way – but to turn Daenerys over to be raped by the Dothraki? Monstrous. He and Illyrio sat in silence for a time, lost in their thoughts.

"I think there are better ideas than the Dothraki." Finrod said. "Perhaps not combining the blood – but finding a way for Viserys to let out his hunt for his birthright. Perhaps a kingdom in Slaver's Bay?" He asked. "A war of emancipation – we'd get coin from Braavos in a heartbeat, and a Valyrian family could rule in the east again."

Illyrio frowned at the thought. "And who would conquer this kingdom with him? You?" He asked. Finrod nodded. The Magister shook his head, rubbing his stomach as he took in a whiff of the city air. It was pungent, but sometimes you needed that to clear your mind. He shouted loud, "Cassa! Fetch parchment and a writing stand!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs, and the woman practically burst in with the required implements. "This will take a large amount of money – a large amount of men and material." He began to scribble on the desk, penning out a letter. "Varys will need to know of the plan – and I can't say he'll approve, but it's out of my hands at this point." He looked up. "If I've learned anything in the past months, denying you is unwise."

Finrod shrugged. "You know me too well." He said. "It's a choice Amarie will have to make as well, though – I can't do it for her." Illyrio nodded, finishing the letter. He'd have it across the narrow sea by the way of sneaky rogue – Finrod had tracked one of Varys' 'little birds' once a few months back, tracing him across on his single visit to Westeros. King's Landing was a sty, but one free of slavery. It needed a good king to clean it up, reform the streets, build them proper: but that took a good king, one they wouldn't see anytime soon.

Finrod's single impression of Robert Baratheon was not... good. He drunkenly ordered Jon Arryn to take over the court, traipsing away with a whore openly on one arm. It disgusted Finrod – but such was the way of men here, it seemed. For every noble man, ten villains seeking only for themselves. He could fix that – but it'd take more than honeyed words and hummed songs. He needed to shape mankind – something that distressed him more than the brutality of the Dothraki or the slavery. He would have to take away choice – rule in a way he'd never wished.

It all began with Viserys.

Finrod found him in a garden, practicing with a poorly-hewn blade he'd likely carried on his journeys. A training dummy, likely one of the only in all the manse, hemmed and hawwed with his blows – poorly made, like a brawler threw his fists. Finrod stood for a time, his blue and gold silks fluttering in the wind. He could feel the boy's anger as he struck – again and again – from the wrist, not the shoulder. He was no warrior – just a scared child: but at least he tried to better himself.

Less could be said for Illyrio – the statue of his youthful form long lost told that much. After a time, Viserys tired, tossing his blade aside and taking a drink from a waterskin, glancing back at the elf making himself scarce. His purple eyes spotted Finrod – a rarity among men, but perhaps not among those accustomed to the streets. "You." He said, eying Finrod with an appraising eye. "Your wife has been spending time with my sister. Who are you?"

Finrod approached, smiling. "They call me Finrod." He said. "Felagund by some – it means Hewer of Caves in my language."

"Are you a miner?" Viserys asked. "A wonder Mopatis has you dressed in such finery." He laughed, with his head turning away. "You're a tall man, you know that?"

Finrod nodded. "I do." He said, watching as Viserys took a seat on the bench. "How much formal training do you have with the sword, boy?" He said. The word burned through Viserys visibly, and his eyes sent him a dart of anger that Finrod didn't react to. He'd seen enough rage in men, and he knew well enough that starving it was the only way to win.

"I am no boy." Viserys spat, stepping up to Finrod and trying to look him in the eyes. Like it was for most, Viserys was unable to keep sight of Finrod. It was a magic aura – one that the weaker men of this world didn't have the power to see through or resist. "I am a king! The rightful king of Westeros!" He shouted. "No tall blonde... monster, is going to tell me what to do!" Finrod stared at him as the man huffed, turning to grab his blade. "You'll regret this."

"No." Finrod said. Viserys took up his sword, turning it towards Finrod.

"A man like you bleeds like any other!" Viserys shouted. "You're a servant of Illyrio's like any other – I'll teach you respect!" He stepped forward, sword in hand. Finrod was unarmed – he didn't need weapons. Not against men like Viserys, that was for sure. In a corner of the courtyard, one of the Unsullied shifted uneasily and began to advance. Finrod waved him away. Viserys lurched forward, blade glinting.

In a blur of arms, the sword snapped in twain – Finrod holding both halves by the tips of his fingers – well out of Viserys' reach. The man roared in anger, rubbing his hand as if injured. "Lickspittle!" Viserys spat. "I am a Dragon!"

"And I am a god!" Finrod shouted back, his voice echoing with a magical roar. The courtyard seemed to take on a dusky demeanor as Finrod leaned in close to stare at Viserys. "Do I tout it to the four corners of the world?" He asked, dropping the broken halves of the sword. The only one Viserys owned. "Do I... march into every room, declare my glory? Do I boast of triumphs? Do I downplay failures? No." Finrod said. "I am a person. A powerful elf, but still possessed of free will." He kicked away the scattered bits of blade, taking Viserys harshly by his shoulder and shoving him onto the stone bench. The man landed like a ragdoll, barely there in his bones after his sword's shattering. "You are nothing next to me – and yet you still have life in your heart. A mind in your skull. You are not your genealogy. My uncle, my brothers, they abandoned their senses and disobeyed the gods themselves – and I went with them to watch them die in Beleriand against Morgoth. I too died against the spirit of eternal darkness, slaughtered by a werebeast."

Finrod took a knee, still nearly eye level with Viserys, whose purple eyes drew blank.

"You are the blood of the dragon, true. A Valyrian. You have no dragons, though – no slaves, for slaves are deplorable. You are a boy from an extinct house – and you need to find your own path in this world. In Westeros, the peasants don't care – and the lords are too busy squabbling over the future to care about you. The only one who does, Robert, wants you dead." Viserys' lips quivered.

"What do I do, then?" He asked, slapping his hands against his thighs, his voice quivering in confusion. "All I've done has been to try and reclaim my right. My place!" He shouted, looking at Finrod. "And I'm shown up by some tall fluke that a Pentoshi Magister hired." He flung his arms to his sides, shaking his head. "I'm nothing." He said.

Finrod reached down, kicking up the pieces of the sword to meet his hand. "Not nothing." The Elf said. He held the blades up so evening light shone against them, turning the silvered metal a brilliant gold. "All people are shards of what they shall one day forge themselves into. The question you have to ask yourself is this, Viserys:" He said, pausing.

"Do you want to be the man you see in the silvered mirror? Or do you wish to be your golden self?" Finrod asked, dropping the shards once more. Viserys stared at the pair as he trod away, ducking through the great gates of the garden towards his small apartments.

In the hours that came, Viserys knocked on the door – shards of his blade in hand. In every villain, there's a lost hero's story waiting to be told. Or righted.

 

[Yanslana]

When I saw the comment about Viserys being a kicked dog, I was thinking 'oh another one where he acts exactly like canon despite the SI/crossover/AU/change that'll affect everyone/thing else', I have to say I'm pleasantly surprised by the development in the end.

 

[Jonnoda]

I like that last line, it has... impact.

 

[Tabi]

Mentoring the silver-headed fop? Oh, this will be...interesting.

 

[Lalzparty]

Yeah, a dragon is being reared.

 

[Zooboss]

I'm glad to have stumbled upon a great Silmarillion fic. I'm not sure what to say other than this looks like it will be a great story.

Anyway, I'm just curious, do you have anything planned for Errion? I'd imagine the man who taught Finrod Valyrian (has he learned common yet?) would be approached to learn more about Finrod.

 

[Tyrell]

Dude, your story made me join the forum, kudos on that! Also dw about follwing EricD's footsteps...you've got him beat already

 

[Historian]

Pentos

"And that's why you fought him?" The little girl asked. Finrod nodded. "That's so brave!" She shouted. "They said my brother was brave." She said, shaking her head. "He was a Prince, like Viserys, but he was strong and tall. He had his own kids and his own wife. I wonder what it's like to be a wife?"

"Depends." Finrod said, lounging in a chair in his apartment. Daenerys, sister to Viserys, sat happily on the floor in her ruby red dress of silk. Amarie had set out to market with Viserys, trying to teach him something about proper etiquette, leaving Finrod alone with the girl for the first time. She'd been incessant – and yet, some part of Finrod enjoyed telling the tales. Perhaps one day the Valar would bless him with his own child in this place – that was a thought for another time, though. Today was a day of teaching.

"Many princes and kings and lords are brave and strong and tall, Daenerys – but few are good. Good is something that comes through struggle, usually – some are born good, others learn it through regret over their evils." Finrod said. "Take my brothers – they all realized, in their own way, the folly of leaving Aman. Were it not for my sacrifices, I would have never left the halls of the dead." Daenerys cocked her head at him, setting the doll she'd been dancing around in her lap. She propped her chin on its head.

Finrod smiled in realization, "I'm sorry, my dear." He said. "I forget sometimes that you people know nothing of my people's world or lore. There are no Valar. No gods – not the kind you can reach out and touch. Comparatively, this world is blank – and yet there's so much in it." He said. Daenerys stared at him, her eyes appraising him with a furrowed brow of confusion.

"Why do you talk so much?" Daenerys said. "Viserys talks a lot, but that's because he's afraid. He's afraid of me, he's afraid of the bad men, he's afraid for his kingdom under the fat stag. He's afraid. You aren't afraid – maybe you shouldn't talk so much?" Finrod shook his head, standing from his chair and crossing his legs into a sitting position. He reached out a hand, taking Daenerys' doll.

"It's not quite so simple." He replied, smiling at her. "A King cannot be silent – he must be decisive. A Queen must, as well." He said, holding up the doll in his huge hands. He dwarfed Daenerys in size, and she looked up even while sitting to try and find his head among the rest of him. "To do that, you must command- but command, not control. Do you know the difference, Daenerys?"

"No." She said, taking the doll back as Finrod offered it. She looked at it. "I control my dolly!" She said, turning its limbs and twirling it. "I can poke it and push it and punch it, I control it!"

"Exactly." Finrod smiled. "But what if you were the doll, and people did that to you? Made you do things you didn't want – gave you no explanation, only orders that you didn't like? People would hate you. People would fear what you could make others do to them. Fear makes men dangerous. They lash out when it all seems hopeless."

"Isn't that why you joined the Magister?" Dany asked, cocking her head.

"Sort of." Finrod replied. "See, I don't want to control people, Daenerys. I want to help people, not even command them. Where I come from, Kings are Kings because they are recognized as the best of us – but I am not a man, and I will not rule over a demense of man. It is not my place." He said. Daenerys looked confused, and he couldn't blame her. To her, he was a tall man with pointy ears – and no magic could change the mind of a child. They were pliable, but saw the world as it truly was.

Finrod sighed. "Think of it this way – you're a god, say. You use your power for whatever you want – money, power, riches – and you control thousands of people. Thousands of people who see you, envy you, but are scared hopeless of you. None of them are your friend, they're too busy trying to stay safe from all your power." He paused, letting that sink in. "Or, you keep your power hidden. You make friends, they trust you to do the right things, and put you in charge. You slowly but surely gather friends, and when you speak, they listen. Soon enough, they follow your every command – not because you tell them to, not because you control them: but because you're the right man – or woman - to lead them. The people called the Khazad in their tongue? They called me Felagund – Hewer of Caves. I was one of few elves given such an honor by the Khazad."

"So... you command them?" Daenerys said. "Because they believe in you. Because you're big and small and strong and nice? You're like, a beacon. All shiny."

"Exactly." Finrod said with a smile. "A beacon. Like I did for so many others, I will show your and your brother the way back. Back to your crown. Back to family. To happiness. You deserve that much after the Lannisters murdered your family." Finrod said. Nasty bit of business, that – Robert and Tywin Lannister seemed to preside over murder and destruction of every degree – and while slavery was bad, Westeros seemed to pale in comparison with how poorly it treated people.

All men save lords were slaves – and lords killed the smallfolk as part of their games. It disgusted Finrod. Men were better than this. They'd always been better than this. He had the power to help Viserys forge himself into a better man, and forge an empire to last – one built on the right and just principles.

Or, at least, ones that were less evil. Eru had sent him here to right wrongs – and as Daenerys waggled her finger trying to command the doll in a polite voice, Finrod knew where he had to begin.

==

Illyrio sat at his dinner table, a full array of foods before him. Finrod ate simply, taking a single course – as Illyrio stuffed down two courses. Far less than normal. Finrod had even seen him jogging around the courtyard – sweat pooling in his garments the other day. "I still fail to see how you'll do it." He said, licking a finger of a zesty sauce that stung at Viserys' nostrils. Around him sat Daenerys, Finrod, Amarie, and Viserys – all at one table, a rarity for a man so busy as Illyrio Mopatis.

"It's easier than you'd think." Finrod said.

Amarie nodded, speaking up over a small glass of wine. The Elves never got drunk, no matter how much they had. "You know well our financial situation, Illyrio – we could live alone, the matter of guards and bribery being another matter entirely. With what we have, we can gather enough sellswords and allies to be relevant – from there, it's only a matter of leading them to Elyria and Matarys, perhaps Tolos. They're small lands, and we're more than capable."

Finrod nodded, and Illyrio looked between them both. Slowly but surely, they began to shine – a small hum eminating from their lips. Slowly, the earth began to shake – and flowers began to blossom brighter in their pots. Viserys grabbed the ends of his chair, holding on and shooting Dany a look across from him. She held her hands to her face, watching as Finrod's light grew in strength. "I understand your point!" Illyrio shouted, wiping his face with a napkin and dropping it on accident. "Let's not bring my house down, hmm?"

Their glamors dropped instantly, a shielding murmur turning them a more palpable normality. "Wouldn't dream of it." Amarie said, sipping her wine. "I think the plan is to head to Volantis, yes?" She asked, looking at Viserys expectantly. The boy had been spending an awful lot of time with both of them – his sword skills had improved slightly under Finrod, and he was far less hostile and demanding. Such was life in the presence of Elves – the weight of the world eased off of your shoulders in their demesne.

"Of course, Lady Amarie." Viserys said, leaning forward to look at Illyrio. "If we're to reclaim House Targaryen's right to a throne, we must start in a place that still respects the blood of Old Valyria. I may not be able to reclaim the Iron Throne that is my right – but proving my own right to rule starts in the ashes of old Valyria – and nowhere is closer than Volantis. It's a trek across ruins, then, to Slaver's Bay."

"We'll be travelling together?" Daenerys asked, looking at Finrod. "Will we take ship? I've never been further south than Pentos!" She shouted, part excitement, part fear.

"Worry not, Dany." Amarie smiled. "With us, you will be safe – that much we can promise. In many ways – though dangerous – this venture will be the safest you two have ever been on. Finrod and I have centuries of experience at all sorts of things: and we'll be able to ensure your security in a way no-one else can."

"Okay..." She said, glancing at Viserys, who stared intently at Finrod and Illyrio. "What do you think?" She asked him.

"We have to do this, Dany." Viserys said. "It's our only chance to be something more than street urchins. They call me the beggar king!" Amarie put a hand on his shaking her head. He calmed, wrenching his hand away with a frown.

"And they shan't with what Finrod has planned. That much I can assure you." Illyrio said, rustling through a small knapsack to reveal several letters. "I can tell you this, Lord Finrod, my associate in Westeros has had many things to say about your trip. He considers it folly – considers a Dothraki match a better choice. For once in my life, I've disagreed with him." He said, handing over the letters. Finrod leafed through them – he'd seen Varys' handwriting before, but it looked more exaggerated. Skittish. Like something was going awry. "I hope it'll be worth it."

Finrod nodded at him, handing back the letters. "House Targaryen will rise again with us next to them. What aid can you give us in Volantis?"

"I know a man – rambunctious, wild, but a good fighter from Westeros. He quarreled with his family's rivals and was banished to Essos to avoid war. His name is Asher Forrester – last I heard, he was in Volantis. I've sent word ahead to him. Another ally, one by the name of Mormont, was mentioned in another letter as an ally of Varys – a man by the name of Ser Jorah Mormont – another northman. Wise and well-traveled. He'll be in Volantis this time of year – you'll find him at any number of taverns in Volantis." Illyrio said. He reached into his pouch, offering a small journal. "These are contacts who owe me favors. Chances are you won't need them with your charms – but if Viserys is separated, he knows who to speak to."

Finrod nodded, sliding the book along the table to Viserys, who tucked it into a pocket with a nod. "I thank you, Illyrio." Finrod said. "You've given us good shelter, and never led us astray. Your trust in us will not be misplaced." He said, a twinkle of light in his eye. Illyrio smiled.

"No, thank you -" Illyrio said. "I've never seen the Manse so beautiful before. It makes me wish my wife Serra was still here to see it."

They finished their meals and were off – Dany and Viserys packing their meager belongings alongside the elves. They set out through the garden gate, slipping through the darkening streets of Pentos, to where a small galleon sat at harbor. Amarie climbed into the rigging, untying parts of it and letting the sail slip down. Finrod rushed along the deck, tying lines like lightning. Viserys and Dany settled into a small cabin below the deck, as the ship cast off to sea.

A hard breeze followed them down the coast, away from Pentos – and a new chapter began.

==

Varys stared at the letter with his mouth agape. "What?" He asked, looking up at the boy before him. "This is what Magister Mopatis' man left in the drop across the sea? Truly and honestly?" The boy stared at him shrugging. "Don't be cross with me – you know how you got here, as I do."

"Yes, m'lord." The boy said. "He was no different than normal. No change in pattern. Same delivery as normal. Went to the same pub and had an ale. No more or less than usual."

Varys stared at the letter. "So he tosses Viserys to the wolves with his tall man and his tall wife? Sure, a good smith – but foolhardy." He said. "Do you know what this does to our plans, boy?" He asked.

"No, m'lord." The boy said, staring at him. "I don' get paid to ask or know. Only to listen." Varys chuckled at that, staring out the window of his solar. The open door to the tunnels lay next to it, the fireplace hanging a few feet in the air ominously.

"How quaint." Varys said, setting a gold dragon on the table. "Stay out of trouble, Pip." He ordered. "My friends grow less every day." The boy nodded, taking the dragon and disappearing into the tunnel, the fireplace lowering behind him. Varys stared angrily at the letter, where Illyrio outlined Finrod's plan.

Who was this man, who had changed Illyrio so? He was all for ruining Viserys. He was all for putting Aegon on the throne. He knew damned well the consequences of Viserys remaining a threat! The plan was at a critical stage, and his ally across the sea was reneging on all of his obligations. If the Griffs were to come back and take their throne, they needed threats. Threats to drive Robert mad and angry. It set everything in motion.

Competent men were too few and too far between, and now this Finrod was ruining it. What's more – Illyrio had the gall to command one of his biggest and hairiest birds to aid this monster of a man?

Preposterous. Utterly preposterous.

==

Author's Notes

Keep in mind this is Tweenie Dany, who hasn't had a rude awakening with Khal Drogo. Much sweeter/girlier than in canon, though she'll get that empowerment streak later.

Had a lot of trouble writing this one. No idea where I want the story to go at this point – hopefully I'll find a groove in Volantis, away from the canon plot.

There's really no overarching plan for this story. I tend to let things develop on their own - and throwing Asher from Telltale's GOT, and throwing in the three western states of Slaver's Bay from CK2GOT will hopefully give me some more plot avenues. Expect a lot less skipping around come Volantis.

 

[HioH]

I like the story so far, nice to see one start earlier than usual. Butterflies everywhere.