Doreah had always been observant. It was a skill that had served her well in her life as a slave, first in the pleasure houses of Lys and now in the service of Daenerys Targaryen. She had learned to watch, to listen, and to know when to act. And lately, her attention had turned toward someone who intrigued her more than anyone else in the camp—Arren, the cursed warrior.
From the moment she had first seen him, blindfolded yet seemingly aware of everything around him, Doreah had felt a pull. It wasn't the fear that many in the camp felt toward him, nor the awe that others held for his mysterious abilities. No, what she saw in Arren was something different, something deeper. He was not just a warrior with a strange curse. He was a man—one who had been shaped by the same life that had shaped her.
They were both born into servitude, though their paths had taken them in different directions. She had been sold into the pleasure houses, trained to please and entertain, while Arren had been forced into a life of violence, trained to kill. Yet, in the end, both of their lives had been defined by the chains they had worn.
That was why, despite the rumors that swirled around him, Doreah found herself wanting to know him better. She didn't approach him with any hidden agenda, nor did she have any schemes in mind. She simply saw him for what he was—a man who had endured much, like she had. And in this strange, ever-changing world they found themselves in, she thought perhaps they could find some common ground.
It started with small conversations. At first, she would pass by him as he sat by the fire, offering a soft word or a smile. He always responded politely, though distant, as if he kept part of himself closed off from everyone around him. But over time, those conversations grew longer, more personal. She learned to sit with him during the quiet moments, talking of things that were not war, dragons, or queens.
One evening, as the camp settled into its usual hum of activity, Doreah sat beside him by the fire, the flames casting a warm glow over their faces. Arren was, as always, relaxed in his posture but attentive in his demeanor, his blindfold firmly in place.
"You don't talk much about your past," she remarked, her voice soft but curious. "Not that I blame you. Few of us have good stories to tell about where we come from."
Arren turned his head slightly in her direction, though his face was unreadable behind the blindfold. "There's not much worth talking about," he replied. "I was born into a life I didn't choose. Forced to fight, to survive. That's all there is to it."
Doreah nodded, understanding. "I wasn't born into much choice either. The pleasure houses of Lys aren't exactly the kind of place you dream of growing up in." She gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "I was lucky, I suppose. Some girls never leave those places. But I did. Daenerys freed me, gave me a new life. I owe her everything."
Arren was silent for a moment, as if weighing her words. "We were both given new lives by her," he said finally. "But those chains... they never really leave us, do they?"
Doreah glanced at him, her smile fading slightly. "No," she whispered. "They don't."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the crackle of the fire filling the space between them. Despite the harshness of their pasts, there was a strange comfort in their shared experiences. They both knew what it was like to be shaped by forces beyond their control, and in that, they found a quiet understanding.
Doreah watched him from the corner of her eye, noticing how he sat so still, yet his presence always felt so... alive. She had spent her life reading people, understanding their desires, their intentions, but Arren was different. He was hard to read, and yet there was something undeniably human about him, something vulnerable beneath the hardened exterior.
She caught him glancing in her direction, his attention drifting for just a moment. His eyes—though hidden by the blindfold—seemed to follow the lines of her form, and for a brief moment, she saw the hint of distraction on his face. It wasn't overt, nor was it disrespectful, but she could feel his gaze, even if he didn't fully realize it himself.
Doreah smiled to herself, amused. She didn't say anything, though. She liked that he looked at her, liked that, for all his skill and mystery, he was still just a man. There was something comforting in that.
Arren shifted slightly, as if sensing her thoughts, and cleared his throat. "What about now?" he asked, his voice slightly lower. "You've been freed from that life. Do you feel any different?"
Doreah shrugged, her smile returning. "Different, yes. But free? I don't know. Being free from chains doesn't mean being free from everything else, does it? There's always something that keeps us tied down. Responsibility, loyalty, fear..." She trailed off, her eyes drifting to the fire. "But it's better than the alternative."
Arren nodded slowly, understanding her meaning. "Freedom's never as simple as it sounds."
"No," Doreah agreed. "But it's worth fighting for."
As they continued to talk, the conversation turned lighter, their shared experiences of servitude forming a bond between them. Arren's posture relaxed slightly, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a strange warmth, something beyond duty or obligation. He liked talking to Doreah. She understood him in a way few others did.
But despite that, Arren was careful not to let himself get too attached. He had learned long ago not to get his hopes up. His life had been one of survival, not connection. He wasn't sure he deserved more than that.
Meanwhile, across the camp, Daenerys Targaryen was working tirelessly to put her growing khalasar to good use. Since her husband's death and the splitting of the khalasar, she had faced a number of challenges. Her people were many, but they were scattered, and there were voices suggesting that they should find a place to settle, to raise her dragons and build her army. But Daenerys knew better than to get comfortable.
Wolves and lions prowled the land, and they had her in their sights. Westeros was full of enemies—Lannisters, Baratheons, and others who would see her dead before she could ever lay claim to the Iron Throne.
She paced around her tent, her mind racing. The camp lacked enough blacksmiths, but they weren't heading into war anytime soon, so that wasn't the most immediate concern. Food, however, was becoming a problem. The land around them could only support so much life, and they would need more than what they had if they were to grow stronger.
She had heard the whispers of some suggesting they settle, but Daenerys was no fool. She couldn't stop moving, not yet. If she settled, she would be easy prey. No, if she couldn't build an army right now, she would buy one.
The thought came to her with clarity, and she knew what she had to do next. The Unsullied. They were the answer. A force that would obey her, a force that would protect her people.
But she needed to talk to Arren. His insight had been invaluable in the past, and she trusted his judgment, despite their differences. She stepped out of her tent, searching for him. She found him, as usual, sitting by the fire, but she wasn't prepared for what she saw.
Arren wasn't alone.
Doreah sat beside him, the two of them deep in conversation, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of the fire. They were laughing—laughing like she and Arren had once done. There had been a time when Daenerys would sit with Arren by the fire, talking about the future, sharing stories and plans. But now, their conversations were different. There was a tone of formality to them, a distance that hadn't been there before.
She felt a pang of jealousy, though she knew it was irrational. Doreah had done nothing wrong, and neither had Arren. But watching them together, seeing how comfortable they were with one another, it stung in a way she hadn't expected.
They're friends, Daenerys reminded herself. Just as Arren and I are.
But that didn't make the feeling go away.
She took a deep breath, pushing the emotion down. This wasn't the time for such thoughts. She was a queen, and she had responsibilities far greater than her own feelings. She would speak to Arren later, when he wasn't preoccupied.
For now, she would focus on her people, on ensuring they had what they needed to survive. The future was still uncertain, but with each passing day, Daenerys grew more certain that she would claim what was rightfully hers.
As she turned away from the fire, leaving Arren and Doreah to their conversation, she couldn't help but feel that something had shifted between them all. But whether it was for better or worse, only time would tell.