Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I own neither the Max Payne franchise or Game of Thrones and I'm not going to be earning anything from this except people bugging me for the next chapter if they like it.
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“This middle age crisis was certainly ticking all the boxes.”
Ser Maxwell Payne – 299AC
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Yunkai - Essos – 300AC
I don’t like asking for favours, people expect them to be returned and the things they want done for them in return usually involve violence, especially if they know just how proficient I am at it.
“Just so you know, My Lady, I really do appreciate this” I told the Targaryen girl awkwardly as she leaned back on the wide expensively-upholstered couch of a chair she used as a throne. Raised on a platform two steps high so that guests sat on chairs at ground level would not look down on her it was about as regal a throne-room as you could approximate in a tent, but I suspected when she wanted to make an impression she would make sure to have her dragons there on display.
Fortunately the trio of flying lizards weren’t present because they didn’t seem to like me very much, although they had at least ceased randomly snapping at me during the sea voyage from Qarth to Astapor. The trick is to grab them by the throat just below the head when they try to bite you and threaten to turn them into a pair of boots if they do it again. You just have to be fast enough to do it, sound like you mean it, and make certain their ‘mother’ isn’t watching.
I’ve heard it theorised that dragons are considerably more intelligent than most beasts, perhaps as smart as people, or Ironborn at least. While I can’t be certain of that they were clearly both smart enough to understand instructions from the Targaryen girl and perceptive enough to know I’m different than other men and more dangerous.
Daenerys looked past me to where Larra was stood waiting outside the tent with my borrowed cloak draped over her to conceal her dancing clothes. The Targaryen chuckled with amusement. “Do you know what your weakness is, Ser Maxwell?” she asked rhetorically.
If she thought I only had the one she had an inflated opinion of me but instead of replying with that particular piece of self-effacement I chose to lean on my other old standby instead, wry wit. “Well I’ve been told my cyvasse game is a little predictable” I told her.
“Your weakness, Ser Maxwell, is that you are singularly incapable of ignoring a damsel-in-distress” she opined, ignoring my sardonic reply. “Everything you have told me about your life before we met, not to mention the evidence of my own eyes, leads me to that inescapable conclusion” she declared. “I’m not even sure if it even enters your mind not to come to their aid. I mean if they illustrated the chivalric code the section concerning the rescuing of the maiden fair could be justifiably be adorned with your likeness” she said with a barely suppressed giggle that drew attention to her age.
I’m not sure if Daenerys thought that was some kind of planetos-shattering revelation but if she did then she underestimated the extent of my self-awareness, which surely eclipsed the extent of the aforementioned self-effacement in my character. After plenty of maudlin introspection I even knew why I was like that, deep down I’m still just the little boy that couldn’t protect his mother from his broken, wife-beating drunk of a father.
The Targaryen girl continued her musings. “Frankly it’s probably a good thing you cannot understand the litany of heart-breaking sob-stories and tales of woe that constantly surround you in Slaver’s Bay because of the language difficulty, because I do believe you’d kill yourself trying to help them all” she remarked. “Or worse, lay-waste to half the region as you meet out a bloody trail of justice on their behalf” she said. ‘On that basis I suppose merely asking me to considering adding a woman you only just met to my retinue because she faces destitution, or a life of whoring instead, is a mere trifle.”
I sighed, she might have underestimated my self-awareness before but she probably summed me up pretty well there. Part of the reason I sought solitary solace in a bottle was to avoid such entanglements, drunkenness keeping the self-righteous knight-errant at slumber.
More succinctly, being me when sober is a pain in the arse.
“Are you familiar with Yunkai dancers Missandei?” Daenerys asked the translator who, as ever, hovered nearby awaiting the opportunity to serve. Irri was also present, re-filling a jug of wine from a clay amphora.
“I am, Your Grace” Missandei confirmed. “They are renowned for their skills, trained to dance almost as soon as they are able to walk” she noted. “When I visited Yunkai with Master Kraznys our host here always entertained his guests with dancers while the masters ate and drank.”
“Good, then you may be a better judge of this dancers skill than I” Daenerys suggested.
“The best dancers are Dothraki. It is known” Irri stated with certainty as she slowly poured the wine so as to avoid it becoming frothy. “Sorry Khaleesi, it is Ghiscari wine. The men who were supposed to be bringing better wines from the city told by Ser Jorah to help collect grain and other stores for the march to Meereen instead” she explained apologetically.
“Ser Jorah has the right priorities. Ghiscari wines are not to my taste but they are at least drinkable” the ‘Mother of Dragons’ responded.
“If barely” I couldn’t resist observing my own thoughts on the matter.
Daenerys laughed. “Yes. Perhaps I should conquer a region capable of producing a better vintage” she joked.
The temptation to quip that Dorne produced the best wines in my opinion but that conquering the place proved a step too far for her ancestor Aegon was hard to resist, but I somehow managed it.
“Ah, I see that Khiara finally found herself a drum and that Ser Barristan has joined us” Daenerys realised. “Welcome Ser Barristan” she greeted the old knight who had arrived just as the little girl did, Khiara placing the small drum she had obtained on the ground and sitting cross-legged behind it. “I trust your meeting with Daario and his new lieutenants went well?” she asked.
“It did, Your Grace” Selmy confirmed. “They promise the Second Sons will be sober, well-rested and ready to ride by the time we are properly provisioned and ready to depart Yunkai” he reported. “With your permission I will spend the rest of the afternoon aiding Ser Jorah in his efforts to requisition supplies from the storehouses of the Wise Masters” he said. “Most are being cooperative, some less so unfortunately.”
Daenerys shook her head sadly. “You’d think they’d be only too happy to do anything that would see us on our way” she reasoned. “Perhaps they lack wisdom” she suggested wryly. “You have my permission of course, Ser Barristan, but before you go Ser Maxwell has provided some entertainment in the form of a dancer he met in Yunkai” she told him, indicating Larra who was still waiting patiently out in front of the tent for her cue to perform. “Please come in” she beckoned the dancer to enter.
Larra entered and prostrated herself on the large mat that acted as a carpet in the tent. “Your Grace, I hope my dancing will please you, and that as a result you will most generously decide to take me into your service” she began, “but even if not it will nonetheless remain the greatest honour of my life to perform in front of the Breaker of Chains” she told Daenerys with what sounded like sincerity. “This will be the first time I have danced without a slave-collar around my neck and I have you to thank for it” she added with what I sorely doubted was feigned gratitude.
“Your thanks are unnecessary; I was merely doing what is right in freeing you from your bondage” Daenerys replied. “Please rise, Larra isn’t it?” she checked.
“It is, Your Grace” Larra confirmed getting back to her feet but keeping her head bowed.
“Larra, your command of the common-tongue of Westeros is excellent” Daenerys praised her. “Don’t you agree Missandei?” she asked.
“The accent still needs some work, Your Grace” Missandei commented professionally. “To her credit however she isn’t mangling the inflection in the way that the Yunkai’ai in particular often do ” the translator continued. “I once heard a Wise Master speaking what he thought was perfect Westerosi but which made me visibly wince” she said. “I had to hide my reaction for fear of being beaten” she recalled. “I have been beaten for less” she added sadly.
“I’m afraid Missandei holds the rest of us to an unfeasibly high standard when it comes to languages. We can’t all speak nine with fluency.” Daenerys inform the dancer. “You know she frequently berates me as regards the quality of my Dothraki, even if she finds my High Valyrian acceptably good.”
Missandei looked horrified. “I would never berate you, Your Grace” she protested.
“Not out loud but I’m sure you’re thinking it” Daenerys replied, her smile indicating that it was all meant in good humour.
“The Khalessi’s Dothraki is very good” Irri spoke up in her defence.
I found it amusing that judging by her expression Missandei would have dearly loved to agree but just couldn’t bring herself to do so, not that I was in any position myself to criticise anyone else’s command of a foreign language without being a rank hypocrite.
“You may begin at any time” Daenerys told the dancer causing me to make a silent prayer to the Gods that she was actually good at her craft because if not I was going to look like an idiot.
“Thank you, Your Grace” Larra responded, bowing deeply. “I have chosen a dance that does not require musicians although Khiara will assist me” she said, giving the little girl a nod to start.
As Khiara started to play a fast rhythmic beat on the drum, another part of her own training no doubt, Larra let the cloak I had loaned her artistically fall to the ground and she began to dance.
The need to borrow the cloak in order to make the walk across from my tent became obvious and not merely as an act of showmanship. Her dancing clothes covered considerably less skin than I had been expecting, only enough to cover the minimum amount to be decent with a bare midriff and most of her skirt diaphanous silk. Furthermore the woman possessed a body that would have resulted in more than a few men wandering about the camp falling over guy ropes when they saw her.
Once I got over my thoughts that all woman of a naturally curvier persuasion should take up this kind of dancing because apparently it did wonders for both the tone of their legs and their figure generally, imagine a slender hourglass with cleavage, it became obvious why her master had made her a dancing instructor for his other pleasure-slaves in training. Somehow she managed to be both elegant and alluring and moved with a fluid grace that would have made a Braavosi Water Dancer throw his rapier into the harbour. The brightly coloured silk handkerchief she held in each hand fluttered as she danced, catching the eye and adding to the spectacle, as did her clothes themselves, being equally bright, ornately stitched and with the small jewels embedded in them glimmering as they caught the angle of the light shifting as she moved.
Also, have I mentioned the hourglass figure and the cleavage?
Eventually Larra finished the dance with an artful curtsy to Daenerys then a very deep bow which helped demonstrate that she was extremely limber, or at least those were my thoughts about it.
Everyone was quiet for a moment until Ser Barristan coughed. “Ser Maxwell has… interesting notions as to the subject of entertainment” he observed drily.
Well he had certainly looked bloody interested I’ll just say that.
“Quite” Daenerys concurred. “She is very good though, don’t you think, Ser Barristan?”
“A rare talent” Selmy replied without commitment. “Not exactly the kind of dancing oft witnessed in the Red Keep” he noted.
“Is there much dancing in the Red Keep, Ser Barristan?” Daenerys queried.
“At times yes, Your Grace” Selmy confirmed. “Your brother Rhaegar was an excellent dancer, as was his wife Elia, they always made a graceful pair.”
“If it pleases the Breaker of Chains, I also know the formal dances of your homeland. Those to be seen practiced in the halls of the Great Houses of Westeros” Larra interjected. “I can teach them to those of your court who are unfamiliar with them if you so wish” she offered, obviously savvy enough to try and sweeten the deal.
“From what Ser Barristan says of my brother and good-sister I may require lessons myself in order not to disgrace my family” Daenerys suggested in good humour. “Is the son of the Usurper currently sat on my throne also a dancer of some ability, Ser Barristan?”
Selmy nodded. “For all his other faults yes he is” he confirmed, though I’m sure praising Joffrey in any way caused him physical pain.
“Then I will most certainly need practice” Daenerys decided. “Welcome to my service Larra, Irri will see to your accommodation” she said, indicating the Dothraki maidservant. “Assuming you do not plan to stay in the tent of Ser Maxwell” she added, directing a smirk my way.
“Ser Maxwell’s tent?” Selmy queried, narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously.
“It’s not like that” I protested. “I offered to let her change clothes there, she doesn’t always dress that way” I told them.
“She changed in your tent?” Selmy persisted in his line of questioning.
“Without me being in there” I defended myself.
“That is the truth, though being naked in front of men does not bother me” Larra spoke up. “Many of my better dances are best performed that way” she added. “Would you like me to demonstrate one?” she asked.
That was the point at which I realised something that I should have before. I had expected her to dress more conservatively for a royal performance and now it occurred to me that by her standards she had.
“Not right now” Daenerys replied, eyes twinkling as she gauged the respective reactions of both Selmy and myself, the former mostly appalled whereas I imagine I looked deeply uncomfortable verging on critically embarrassed. I wondered what expression Mormont might have been wearing if he was there as well. Were his tastes solely for petite blondes or not?
“The best dancers are Dothraki” Irri repeated herself from earlier. “It is known” she continued to maintain her position on the matter, albeit now with a face like thunder for some reason.