A Game of Thrones Chapter Sixtyeight

There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone. â€Å"You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?† She saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and death. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong arms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that was his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. â€Å"Home,† she whispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were gone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame. † . . . don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?† Ser Jorah’s face was drawn and sorrowful. â€Å"Rhaegar was the last dragon,† he told her. He warmed translucent hands over a glowing brazier where stone eggs smouldered red as coals. One moment he was there and the next he was fading, his flesh colorless, less substantial than the wind. â€Å"The last dragon,† he whispered, thin as a wisp, and was gone. She felt the dark behind her, and the red door seemed farther away than ever. † . . . don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?† Viserys stood before her, screaming. â€Å"The dragon does not beg, slut. You do not command the dragon. I am the dragon, and I will be crowned.† The molten gold trickled down his face like wax, burning deep channels in his flesh. â€Å"I am the dragon and I will be crowned!† he shrieked, and his fingers snapped like snakes, biting at her nipples, pinching, twisting, even as his eyes burst and ran like jelly down seared and blackened cheeks. † . . . don’t want to wake the dragon . . . â€Å" The red door was so far ahead of her, and she could feel the icy breath behind, sweeping up on her. If it caught her she would die a death that was more than death, howling forever alone in the darkness. She began to run. † . . . don’t want to wake the dragon . . . â€Å" She could feel the heat inside her, a terrible burning in her womb. Her son was tall and proud, with Drogo’s copper skin and her own silver-gold hair, violet eyes shaped like almonds. And he smiled for her and began to lift his hand toward hers, but when he opened his mouth the fire poured out. She saw his heart burning through his chest, and in an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash. She wept for her child, the promise of a sweet mouth on her breast, but her tears turned to steam as they touched her skin. † . . . want to wake the dragon . . . â€Å" Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. â€Å"Faster,† they cried, â€Å"faster, faster.† She raced, her feet melting the stone wherever they touched. â€Å"Faster!† the ghosts cried as one, and she screamed and threw herself forward. A great knife of pain ripped down her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood and saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew. † . . . wake the dragon . . . â€Å" The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door. † . . . the dragon . . . â€Å" And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. â€Å"The last dragon,† Ser Jorah’s voice whispered faintly. â€Å"The last, the last.† Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own. After that, for a long time, there was only the pain, the fire within her, and the whisperings of stars. She woke to the taste of ashes. â€Å"No,† she moaned, â€Å"no, please.† â€Å"Khaleesi?† Jhiqui hovered over her, a frightened doe. The tent was drenched in shadow, still and close. Flakes of ash drifted upward from a brazier, and Dany followed them with her eyes through the smoke hole above. Flying, she thought. I had wings, I was flying. But it was only a dream. â€Å"Help me,† she whispered, struggling to rise. â€Å"Bring me . . . † Her voice was raw as a wound, and she could not think what she wanted. Why did she hurt so much? It was as if her body had been torn to pieces and remade from the scraps. â€Å"I want . . . â€Å" â€Å"Yes, Khaleesi.† Quick as that Jhiqui was gone, bolting from the tent, shouting. Dany needed . . . something . . . someone . . . what? It was important, she knew. It was the only thing in the world that mattered. She rolled onto her side and got an elbow under her, fighting the blanket tangled about her legs. It was so hard to move. The world swam dizzily. I have to . . . They found her on the carpet, crawling toward her dragon eggs. Ser Jorah Mormont lifted her in his arms and carried her back to her sleeping silks, while she struggled feebly against him. Over his shoulder she saw her three handmaids, Jhogo with his little wisp of mustache, and the flat broad face of Mirri Maz Duur. â€Å"I must,† she tried to tell them, â€Å"I have to . . . â€Å" † . . . sleep, Princess,† Ser Jorah said. â€Å"No,† Dany said. â€Å"Please. Please.† â€Å"Yes.† He covered her with silk, though she was burning. â€Å"Sleep and grow strong again, Khaleesi. Come back to us.† And then Mirri Maz Duur was there, the maegi, tipping a cup against her lips. She tasted sour milk, and something else, something thick and bitter. Warm liquid ran down her chin. Somehow she swallowed. The tent grew dimmer, and sleep took her again. This time she did not dream. She floated, serene and at peace, on a black sea that knew no shore. After a time—a night, a day, a year, she could not say—she woke again. The tent was dark, its silken walls flapping like wings when the wind gusted outside. This time Dany did not attempt to rise. â€Å"Irri,† she called, â€Å"Jhiqui. Doreah.† They were there at once. â€Å"My throat is dry,† she said, â€Å"so dry,† and they brought her water. It was warm and flat, yet Dany drank it eagerly, and sent Jhiqui for more. Irri dampened a soft cloth and stroked her brow. â€Å"I have been sick,† Dany said. The Dothraki girl nodded. â€Å"How long?† The cloth was soothing, but Irri seemed so sad, it frightened her. â€Å"Long,† she whispered. When Jhiqui returned with more water, Mirri Maz Duur came with her, eyes heavy from sleep. â€Å"Drink,† she said, lifting Dany’s head to the cup once more, but this time it was only wine. Sweet, sweet wine. Dany drank, and lay back, listening to the soft sound of her own br eathing. She could feel the heaviness in her limbs, as sleep crept in to fill her up once more. â€Å"Bring me . . . † she murmured, her voice slurred and drowsy. â€Å"Bring . . . I want to hold . . . â€Å" â€Å"Yes?† the maegi asked. â€Å"What is it you wish, Khaleesi?† â€Å"Bring me . . . egg . . . dragon’s egg . . . please . . . † Her lashes turned to lead, and she was too weary to hold them up. When she woke the third time, a shaft of golden sunlight was pouring through the smoke hole of the tent, and her arms were wrapped around a dragon’s egg. It was the pale one, its scales the color of butter cream, veined with whorls of gold and bronze, and Dany could feel the heat of it. Beneath her bedsilks, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her bare skin. Dragondew, she thought. Her fingers trailed lightly across the surface of the shell, tracing the wisps of gold, and deep in the stone she felt something twist and stretch in response. It did not frighten her. All her fear was gone, burned away. Dany touched her brow. Under the film of sweat, her skin was cool to the touch, her fever gone. She made herself sit. There was a moment of dizziness, and the deep ache between her thighs. Yet she felt strong. Her maids came running at the sound of her voice. â€Å"Water,† she told them, â€Å"a flagon of water, cold as you can find it. And fruit, I think. Dates.† â€Å"As you say, Khaleesi.† â€Å"I want Ser Jorah,† she said, standing. Jhiqui brought a sandsilk robe and draped it over her shoulders. â€Å"And a warm bath, and Mirri Maz Duur, and . . . † Memory came back to her all at once, and she faltered. â€Å"Khal Drogo,† she forced herself to say, watching their faces with dread. â€Å"Is hemdash?† â€Å"The khal lives,† Irri answered quietly . . . yet Dany saw a darkness in her eyes when she said the words, and no sooner had she spoken than she rushed away to fetch water. She turned to Doreah. â€Å"Tell me.† â€Å"I . . . I shall bring Ser Jorah,† the Lysene girl said, bowing her head and fleeing the tent. Jhiqui would have run as well, but Dany caught her by the wrist and held her captive. â€Å"What is it? I must know. Drogo . . . and my child.† Why had she not remembered the child until now? â€Å"My son . . . Rhaego . . . where is he? I want him.† Her handmaid lowered her eyes. â€Å"The boy . . . he did not live, Khaleesi.† Her voice was a frightened whisper. Dany released her wrist. My son is dead, she thought as Jhiqui left the tent. She had known somehow. She had known since she woke the first time to Jhiqui’s tears. No, she had known before she woke. Her dream came back to her, sudden and vivid, and she remembered the tall man with the copper skin and long silver-gold braid, bursting into flame. She should weep, she knew, yet her eyes were dry as ash. She had wept in her dream, and the tears had turned to steam on her cheeks. All the grief has been burned out of me, she told herself. She felt sad, and yet . . . she could feel Rhaego receding from her, as if he had never been. Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing over the other dragon’s eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as hot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange. â€Å"Ser Jorah, come here,† she said. She took his hand and placed it on the black egg with the scarlet swirls. â€Å"What do you feel?† â€Å"Shell, hard as rock.† The knight was wary. â€Å"Scales.† â€Å"Heat?† â€Å"No. Cold stone.† He took his hand away. â€Å"Princess, are you well? Should you be up, weak as you are?† â€Å"Weak? I am strong, Jorah.† To please him, she reclined on a pile of cushions. â€Å"Tell me how my child died.† â€Å"He never lived, my princess. The women say . . . † He faltered, and Dany saw how the flesh hung loose on him, and the way he limped when he moved. â€Å"Tell me. Tell me what the women say.† He turned his face away. His eyes were haunted. â€Å"They say the child was . . . â€Å" She waited, but Ser Jorah could not say it. His face grew dark with shame. He looked half a corpse himself. â€Å"Monstrous,† Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous. â€Å"Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I touched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and the stink of corruption. He had been dead for years.† Darkness, Dany thought. The terrible darkness sweeping up behind to devour her. If she looked back she was lost. â€Å"My son was alive and strong when Ser Jorah carried me into this tent,† she said. â€Å"I could feel him kicking, fighting to be born.† â€Å"That may be as it may be,† answered Mirri Maz Duur, â€Å"yet the creature that came forth from your womb was as I said. Death was in that tent, Khaleesi.† â€Å"Only shadows,† Ser Jorah husked, but Dany could hear the doubt in his voice. â€Å"I saw, maegi. I saw you, alone, dancing with the shadows. â€Å" â€Å"The grave casts long shadows, Iron Lord,† Mirri said. â€Å"Long and dark, and in the end no light can hold them back.† Ser Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty, yet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the darkness. He knew it too; the grey face, the hollow eyes, the limp. â€Å"The shadows have touched you too, Ser Jorah,† she told him. The knight made no reply. Dany turned to the godswife. â€Å"You warned me that only death could pay for life. I thought you meant the horse.† â€Å"No,† Mirri Maz Duur said. â€Å"That was a lie you told yourself. You knew the price.† Had she? Had she? If I look back I am lost. â€Å"The price was paid,† Dany said. â€Å"The horse, my child, Quaro and Qotho, Haggo and Cohollo. The price was paid and paid and paid.† She rose from her cushions. â€Å"Where is Khal Drogo? Show him to me, godswife, maegi, bloodmage, whatever you are. Show me Khal Drogo. Show me what I bought with my son’s life.† â€Å"As you command, Khaleesi,† the old woman said. â€Å"Come, I will take you to him.† Dany was weaker than she knew. Ser Jorah slipped an arm around her and helped her stand. â€Å"Time enough for this later, my princess,† he said quietly. â€Å"I would see him now, Ser Jorah.† After the dimness of the tent, the world outside was blinding bright. The sun burned like molten gold, and the land was seared and empty. Her handmaids waited with fruit and wine and water, and Jhogo moved close to help Ser Jorah support her. Aggo and Rakharo stood behind. The glare of sun on sand made it hard to see more, until Dany raised her hand to shade her eyes. She saw the ashes of a fire, a few score horses milling listlessly and searching for a bite of grass, a scattering of tents and bedrolls. A small crowd of children had gathered to watch her, and beyond she glimpsed women going about their work, and withered old men staring at the flat blue sky with tired eyes, swatting feebly at bloodflies. A count might show a hundred people, no more. Where the other forty thousand had made their camp, only the wind and dust lived now. â€Å"Drogo’s khalasar is gone,† she said. â€Å"A khal who cannot ride is no khal,† said Jhogo. â€Å"The Dothraki follow only the strong,† Ser Jorah said. â€Å"I am sorry, my princess. There was no way to hold them. Ko Pono left first, naming himself Khal Pono, and many followed him. Jhaqo was not long to do the same. The rest slipped away night by night, in large bands and small. There are a dozen new khalasars on the Dothraki sea, where once there was only Drogo’s.† â€Å"The old remain,† said Aggo. â€Å"The frightened, the weak, and the sick. And we who swore. We remain.† â€Å"They took Khal Drogo’s herds, Khaleesi,† Rakharo said. â€Å"We were too few to stop them. It is the right of the strong to take from the weak. They took many slaves as well, the khal’s and yours, yet they left some few.† â€Å"Eroeh?† asked Dany, remembering the frightened child she had saved outside the city of the Lamb Men. â€Å"Mago seized her, who is Khal Jhaqo’s bloodrider now,† said Jhogo. â€Å"He mounted her high and low and gave her to his khal, and Jhaqo gave her to his other bloodriders. They were six. When they were done with her, they cut her throat.† â€Å"It was her fate, Khaleesi,† said Aggo. If I look back I am lost. â€Å"It was a cruel fate,† Dany said, â€Å"yet not so cruel as Mago’s will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh.† The Dothraki exchanged uncertain glances. â€Å"Khaleesi, † the handmaid Irri explained, as if to a child, â€Å"Jhaqo is a khal now, with twenty thousand riders at his back.† She lifted her head. â€Å"And I am Daenerys Stormhorn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon’s daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring me to Khal Drogo.† He was lying on the bare red earth, staring up at the sun. A dozen bloodflies had settled on his body, though he did not seem to feel them. Dany brushed them away and knelt beside him. His eyes were wide open but did not see, and she knew at once that he was blind. When she whispered his name, he did not seem to hear. The wound on his breast was as healed as it would ever be, the scar that covered it grey and red and hideous. â€Å"Why is he out here alone, in the sun?† she asked them. â€Å"He seems to like the warmth, Princess,† Ser Jorah said. â€Å"His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips.† Dany kissed her sun-and-stars gently on the brow, and stood to face Mirri Maz Duur. â€Å"Your spells are costly, maegi.† â€Å"He lives,† said Mirri Maz Duur. â€Å"You asked for life. You paid for life.† â€Å"This is not life, for one who was as Drogo was. His life was laughter, and meat roasting over a firepit, and a horse between his legs. His life was an arakh in his hand and his bells ringing in his hair as he rode to meet an enemy. His life was his bloodriders, and me, and the son I was to give him.† Mirri Maz Duur made no reply. â€Å"When will he be as he was?† Dany demanded. â€Å"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,† said Mirri Maz Duur. â€Å"When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.† Dany gestured at Ser Jorah and the others. â€Å"Leave us. I would speak with this maegi alone.† Mormont and the Dothraki withdrew. â€Å"You knew,† Dany said when they were gone. She ached, inside and out, but her fury gave her strength. â€Å"You knew what I was buying, and you knew the price, and yet you let me pay it.† â€Å"It was wrong of them to burn my temple,† the heavy, flat-nosed woman said placidly. â€Å"That angered the Great Shepherd.† â€Å"This was no god’s work,† Dany said coldly. If I look back I am lost. â€Å"You cheated me. You murdered my child within me.† â€Å"The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust.† â€Å"I spoke for you,† she said, anguished. â€Å"I saved you.† â€Å"Saved me?† The Lhazareen woman spat. â€Å"Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me? I saw my god’s house burn, where I had healed good men beyond counting. My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of heads. I saw the head of a baker who made my bread. I saw the head of a boy I had saved from deadeye fever, only three moons past. I heard children crying as the riders drove them off with their whips. Tell me again what you saved.† â€Å"Your life.† Mirri Maz Duur laughed cruelly. â€Å"Look to your khal and see what life is worth, when all the rest is gone.† Dany called out for the men of her khas and bid them take Mirri Maz Duur and bind her hand and foot, but the maegi smiled at her as they carried her off, as if they shared a secret. A word, and Dany could have her head off . . . yet then what would she have? A head? If life was worthless, what was death? They led Khal Drogo back to her tent, and Dany commanded them to fill a tub, and this time there was no blood in the water. She bathed him herself, washing the dirt and the dust from his arms and chest, cleaning his face with a soft cloth, soaping his long black hair and combing the knots and tangles from it till it shone again as she remembered. It was well past dark before she was done, and Dany was exhausted. She stopped for drink and food, but it was all she could do to nibble at a fig and keep down a mouthful of water. Sleep would have been a release, but she had slept enough . . . too long, in truth. She owed this night to Drogo, for all the nights that had been, and yet might be. The memory of their first ride was with her when she led him out into the darkness, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done beneath the open sky. She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai. The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. She took that for an omen. No soft blanket of grass welcomed them here, only the hard dusty ground, bare and strewn with stones. No trees stirred in the wind, and there was no stream to soothe her fears with the gentle music of water. Dany told herself that the stars would be enough. â€Å"Remember, Drogo,† she whispered. â€Å"Remember our first ride together, the day we wed. Remember the night we made Rhaego, with the khalasar all around us and your eyes on my face. Remember how cool and clean the water was in the Womb of the World. Remember, my sun-and-stars. Remember, and come back to me.† The birth had left her too raw and torn to take him inside of her, as she would have wanted, but Doreah had taught her other ways. Dany used her hands, her mouth, her breasts. She raked him with her nails and covered him with kisses and whispered and prayed and told him stories, and by the end she had bathed him with her tears. Yet Drogo did not feel, or speak, or rise. And when the bleak dawn broke over an empty horizon, Dany knew that he was truly lost to her. â€Å"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,† she said sadly. â€Å"When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.† Never, the darkness cried, never never never. Inside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am lost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream. She knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face. A Game of Thrones Chapter Sixtyeight There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone. â€Å"You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?† She saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and death. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong arms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that was his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. â€Å"Home,† she whispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were gone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame. † . . . don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?† Ser Jorah’s face was drawn and sorrowful. â€Å"Rhaegar was the last dragon,† he told her. He warmed translucent hands over a glowing brazier where stone eggs smouldered red as coals. One moment he was there and the next he was fading, his flesh colorless, less substantial than the wind. â€Å"The last dragon,† he whispered, thin as a wisp, and was gone. She felt the dark behind her, and the red door seemed farther away than ever. † . . . don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?† Viserys stood before her, screaming. â€Å"The dragon does not beg, slut. You do not command the dragon. I am the dragon, and I will be crowned.† The molten gold trickled down his face like wax, burning deep channels in his flesh. â€Å"I am the dragon and I will be crowned!† he shrieked, and his fingers snapped like snakes, biting at her nipples, pinching, twisting, even as his eyes burst and ran like jelly down seared and blackened cheeks. † . . . don’t want to wake the dragon . . . â€Å" The red door was so far ahead of her, and she could feel the icy breath behind, sweeping up on her. If it caught her she would die a death that was more than death, howling forever alone in the darkness. She began to run. † . . . don’t want to wake the dragon . . . â€Å" She could feel the heat inside her, a terrible burning in her womb. Her son was tall and proud, with Drogo’s copper skin and her own silver-gold hair, violet eyes shaped like almonds. And he smiled for her and began to lift his hand toward hers, but when he opened his mouth the fire poured out. She saw his heart burning through his chest, and in an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash. She wept for her child, the promise of a sweet mouth on her breast, but her tears turned to steam as they touched her skin. † . . . want to wake the dragon . . . â€Å" Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. â€Å"Faster,† they cried, â€Å"faster, faster.† She raced, her feet melting the stone wherever they touched. â€Å"Faster!† the ghosts cried as one, and she screamed and threw herself forward. A great knife of pain ripped down her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood and saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew. † . . . wake the dragon . . . â€Å" The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door. † . . . the dragon . . . â€Å" And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. â€Å"The last dragon,† Ser Jorah’s voice whispered faintly. â€Å"The last, the last.† Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own. After that, for a long time, there was only the pain, the fire within her, and the whisperings of stars. She woke to the taste of ashes. â€Å"No,† she moaned, â€Å"no, please.† â€Å"Khaleesi?† Jhiqui hovered over her, a frightened doe. The tent was drenched in shadow, still and close. Flakes of ash drifted upward from a brazier, and Dany followed them with her eyes through the smoke hole above. Flying, she thought. I had wings, I was flying. But it was only a dream. â€Å"Help me,† she whispered, struggling to rise. â€Å"Bring me . . . † Her voice was raw as a wound, and she could not think what she wanted. Why did she hurt so much? It was as if her body had been torn to pieces and remade from the scraps. â€Å"I want . . . â€Å" â€Å"Yes, Khaleesi.† Quick as that Jhiqui was gone, bolting from the tent, shouting. Dany needed . . . something . . . someone . . . what? It was important, she knew. It was the only thing in the world that mattered. She rolled onto her side and got an elbow under her, fighting the blanket tangled about her legs. It was so hard to move. The world swam dizzily. I have to . . . They found her on the carpet, crawling toward her dragon eggs. Ser Jorah Mormont lifted her in his arms and carried her back to her sleeping silks, while she struggled feebly against him. Over his shoulder she saw her three handmaids, Jhogo with his little wisp of mustache, and the flat broad face of Mirri Maz Duur. â€Å"I must,† she tried to tell them, â€Å"I have to . . . â€Å" † . . . sleep, Princess,† Ser Jorah said. â€Å"No,† Dany said. â€Å"Please. Please.† â€Å"Yes.† He covered her with silk, though she was burning. â€Å"Sleep and grow strong again, Khaleesi. Come back to us.† And then Mirri Maz Duur was there, the maegi, tipping a cup against her lips. She tasted sour milk, and something else, something thick and bitter. Warm liquid ran down her chin. Somehow she swallowed. The tent grew dimmer, and sleep took her again. This time she did not dream. She floated, serene and at peace, on a black sea that knew no shore. After a time—a night, a day, a year, she could not say—she woke again. The tent was dark, its silken walls flapping like wings when the wind gusted outside. This time Dany did not attempt to rise. â€Å"Irri,† she called, â€Å"Jhiqui. Doreah.† They were there at once. â€Å"My throat is dry,† she said, â€Å"so dry,† and they brought her water. It was warm and flat, yet Dany drank it eagerly, and sent Jhiqui for more. Irri dampened a soft cloth and stroked her brow. â€Å"I have been sick,† Dany said. The Dothraki girl nodded. â€Å"How long?† The cloth was soothing, but Irri seemed so sad, it frightened her. â€Å"Long,† she whispered. When Jhiqui returned with more water, Mirri Maz Duur came with her, eyes heavy from sleep. â€Å"Drink,† she said, lifting Dany’s head to the cup once more, but this time it was only wine. Sweet, sweet wine. Dany drank, and lay back, listening to the soft sound of her own br eathing. She could feel the heaviness in her limbs, as sleep crept in to fill her up once more. â€Å"Bring me . . . † she murmured, her voice slurred and drowsy. â€Å"Bring . . . I want to hold . . . â€Å" â€Å"Yes?† the maegi asked. â€Å"What is it you wish, Khaleesi?† â€Å"Bring me . . . egg . . . dragon’s egg . . . please . . . † Her lashes turned to lead, and she was too weary to hold them up. When she woke the third time, a shaft of golden sunlight was pouring through the smoke hole of the tent, and her arms were wrapped around a dragon’s egg. It was the pale one, its scales the color of butter cream, veined with whorls of gold and bronze, and Dany could feel the heat of it. Beneath her bedsilks, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her bare skin. Dragondew, she thought. Her fingers trailed lightly across the surface of the shell, tracing the wisps of gold, and deep in the stone she felt something twist and stretch in response. It did not frighten her. All her fear was gone, burned away. Dany touched her brow. Under the film of sweat, her skin was cool to the touch, her fever gone. She made herself sit. There was a moment of dizziness, and the deep ache between her thighs. Yet she felt strong. Her maids came running at the sound of her voice. â€Å"Water,† she told them, â€Å"a flagon of water, cold as you can find it. And fruit, I think. Dates.† â€Å"As you say, Khaleesi.† â€Å"I want Ser Jorah,† she said, standing. Jhiqui brought a sandsilk robe and draped it over her shoulders. â€Å"And a warm bath, and Mirri Maz Duur, and . . . † Memory came back to her all at once, and she faltered. â€Å"Khal Drogo,† she forced herself to say, watching their faces with dread. â€Å"Is hemdash?† â€Å"The khal lives,† Irri answered quietly . . . yet Dany saw a darkness in her eyes when she said the words, and no sooner had she spoken than she rushed away to fetch water. She turned to Doreah. â€Å"Tell me.† â€Å"I . . . I shall bring Ser Jorah,† the Lysene girl said, bowing her head and fleeing the tent. Jhiqui would have run as well, but Dany caught her by the wrist and held her captive. â€Å"What is it? I must know. Drogo . . . and my child.† Why had she not remembered the child until now? â€Å"My son . . . Rhaego . . . where is he? I want him.† Her handmaid lowered her eyes. â€Å"The boy . . . he did not live, Khaleesi.† Her voice was a frightened whisper. Dany released her wrist. My son is dead, she thought as Jhiqui left the tent. She had known somehow. She had known since she woke the first time to Jhiqui’s tears. No, she had known before she woke. Her dream came back to her, sudden and vivid, and she remembered the tall man with the copper skin and long silver-gold braid, bursting into flame. She should weep, she knew, yet her eyes were dry as ash. She had wept in her dream, and the tears had turned to steam on her cheeks. All the grief has been burned out of me, she told herself. She felt sad, and yet . . . she could feel Rhaego receding from her, as if he had never been. Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing over the other dragon’s eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as hot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange. â€Å"Ser Jorah, come here,† she said. She took his hand and placed it on the black egg with the scarlet swirls. â€Å"What do you feel?† â€Å"Shell, hard as rock.† The knight was wary. â€Å"Scales.† â€Å"Heat?† â€Å"No. Cold stone.† He took his hand away. â€Å"Princess, are you well? Should you be up, weak as you are?† â€Å"Weak? I am strong, Jorah.† To please him, she reclined on a pile of cushions. â€Å"Tell me how my child died.† â€Å"He never lived, my princess. The women say . . . † He faltered, and Dany saw how the flesh hung loose on him, and the way he limped when he moved. â€Å"Tell me. Tell me what the women say.† He turned his face away. His eyes were haunted. â€Å"They say the child was . . . â€Å" She waited, but Ser Jorah could not say it. His face grew dark with shame. He looked half a corpse himself. â€Å"Monstrous,† Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous. â€Å"Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I touched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and the stink of corruption. He had been dead for years.† Darkness, Dany thought. The terrible darkness sweeping up behind to devour her. If she looked back she was lost. â€Å"My son was alive and strong when Ser Jorah carried me into this tent,† she said. â€Å"I could feel him kicking, fighting to be born.† â€Å"That may be as it may be,† answered Mirri Maz Duur, â€Å"yet the creature that came forth from your womb was as I said. Death was in that tent, Khaleesi.† â€Å"Only shadows,† Ser Jorah husked, but Dany could hear the doubt in his voice. â€Å"I saw, maegi. I saw you, alone, dancing with the shadows. â€Å" â€Å"The grave casts long shadows, Iron Lord,† Mirri said. â€Å"Long and dark, and in the end no light can hold them back.† Ser Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty, yet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the darkness. He knew it too; the grey face, the hollow eyes, the limp. â€Å"The shadows have touched you too, Ser Jorah,† she told him. The knight made no reply. Dany turned to the godswife. â€Å"You warned me that only death could pay for life. I thought you meant the horse.† â€Å"No,† Mirri Maz Duur said. â€Å"That was a lie you told yourself. You knew the price.† Had she? Had she? If I look back I am lost. â€Å"The price was paid,† Dany said. â€Å"The horse, my child, Quaro and Qotho, Haggo and Cohollo. The price was paid and paid and paid.† She rose from her cushions. â€Å"Where is Khal Drogo? Show him to me, godswife, maegi, bloodmage, whatever you are. Show me Khal Drogo. Show me what I bought with my son’s life.† â€Å"As you command, Khaleesi,† the old woman said. â€Å"Come, I will take you to him.† Dany was weaker than she knew. Ser Jorah slipped an arm around her and helped her stand. â€Å"Time enough for this later, my princess,† he said quietly. â€Å"I would see him now, Ser Jorah.† After the dimness of the tent, the world outside was blinding bright. The sun burned like molten gold, and the land was seared and empty. Her handmaids waited with fruit and wine and water, and Jhogo moved close to help Ser Jorah support her. Aggo and Rakharo stood behind. The glare of sun on sand made it hard to see more, until Dany raised her hand to shade her eyes. She saw the ashes of a fire, a few score horses milling listlessly and searching for a bite of grass, a scattering of tents and bedrolls. A small crowd of children had gathered to watch her, and beyond she glimpsed women going about their work, and withered old men staring at the flat blue sky with tired eyes, swatting feebly at bloodflies. A count might show a hundred people, no more. Where the other forty thousand had made their camp, only the wind and dust lived now. â€Å"Drogo’s khalasar is gone,† she said. â€Å"A khal who cannot ride is no khal,† said Jhogo. â€Å"The Dothraki follow only the strong,† Ser Jorah said. â€Å"I am sorry, my princess. There was no way to hold them. Ko Pono left first, naming himself Khal Pono, and many followed him. Jhaqo was not long to do the same. The rest slipped away night by night, in large bands and small. There are a dozen new khalasars on the Dothraki sea, where once there was only Drogo’s.† â€Å"The old remain,† said Aggo. â€Å"The frightened, the weak, and the sick. And we who swore. We remain.† â€Å"They took Khal Drogo’s herds, Khaleesi,† Rakharo said. â€Å"We were too few to stop them. It is the right of the strong to take from the weak. They took many slaves as well, the khal’s and yours, yet they left some few.† â€Å"Eroeh?† asked Dany, remembering the frightened child she had saved outside the city of the Lamb Men. â€Å"Mago seized her, who is Khal Jhaqo’s bloodrider now,† said Jhogo. â€Å"He mounted her high and low and gave her to his khal, and Jhaqo gave her to his other bloodriders. They were six. When they were done with her, they cut her throat.† â€Å"It was her fate, Khaleesi,† said Aggo. If I look back I am lost. â€Å"It was a cruel fate,† Dany said, â€Å"yet not so cruel as Mago’s will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh.† The Dothraki exchanged uncertain glances. â€Å"Khaleesi, † the handmaid Irri explained, as if to a child, â€Å"Jhaqo is a khal now, with twenty thousand riders at his back.† She lifted her head. â€Å"And I am Daenerys Stormhorn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon’s daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring me to Khal Drogo.† He was lying on the bare red earth, staring up at the sun. A dozen bloodflies had settled on his body, though he did not seem to feel them. Dany brushed them away and knelt beside him. His eyes were wide open but did not see, and she knew at once that he was blind. When she whispered his name, he did not seem to hear. The wound on his breast was as healed as it would ever be, the scar that covered it grey and red and hideous. â€Å"Why is he out here alone, in the sun?† she asked them. â€Å"He seems to like the warmth, Princess,† Ser Jorah said. â€Å"His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips.† Dany kissed her sun-and-stars gently on the brow, and stood to face Mirri Maz Duur. â€Å"Your spells are costly, maegi.† â€Å"He lives,† said Mirri Maz Duur. â€Å"You asked for life. You paid for life.† â€Å"This is not life, for one who was as Drogo was. His life was laughter, and meat roasting over a firepit, and a horse between his legs. His life was an arakh in his hand and his bells ringing in his hair as he rode to meet an enemy. His life was his bloodriders, and me, and the son I was to give him.† Mirri Maz Duur made no reply. â€Å"When will he be as he was?† Dany demanded. â€Å"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,† said Mirri Maz Duur. â€Å"When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.† Dany gestured at Ser Jorah and the others. â€Å"Leave us. I would speak with this maegi alone.† Mormont and the Dothraki withdrew. â€Å"You knew,† Dany said when they were gone. She ached, inside and out, but her fury gave her strength. â€Å"You knew what I was buying, and you knew the price, and yet you let me pay it.† â€Å"It was wrong of them to burn my temple,† the heavy, flat-nosed woman said placidly. â€Å"That angered the Great Shepherd.† â€Å"This was no god’s work,† Dany said coldly. If I look back I am lost. â€Å"You cheated me. You murdered my child within me.† â€Å"The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust.† â€Å"I spoke for you,† she said, anguished. â€Å"I saved you.† â€Å"Saved me?† The Lhazareen woman spat. â€Å"Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me? I saw my god’s house burn, where I had healed good men beyond counting. My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of heads. I saw the head of a baker who made my bread. I saw the head of a boy I had saved from deadeye fever, only three moons past. I heard children crying as the riders drove them off with their whips. Tell me again what you saved.† â€Å"Your life.† Mirri Maz Duur laughed cruelly. â€Å"Look to your khal and see what life is worth, when all the rest is gone.† Dany called out for the men of her khas and bid them take Mirri Maz Duur and bind her hand and foot, but the maegi smiled at her as they carried her off, as if they shared a secret. A word, and Dany could have her head off . . . yet then what would she have? A head? If life was worthless, what was death? They led Khal Drogo back to her tent, and Dany commanded them to fill a tub, and this time there was no blood in the water. She bathed him herself, washing the dirt and the dust from his arms and chest, cleaning his face with a soft cloth, soaping his long black hair and combing the knots and tangles from it till it shone again as she remembered. It was well past dark before she was done, and Dany was exhausted. She stopped for drink and food, but it was all she could do to nibble at a fig and keep down a mouthful of water. Sleep would have been a release, but she had slept enough . . . too long, in truth. She owed this night to Drogo, for all the nights that had been, and yet might be. The memory of their first ride was with her when she led him out into the darkness, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done beneath the open sky. She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai. The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. She took that for an omen. No soft blanket of grass welcomed them here, only the hard dusty ground, bare and strewn with stones. No trees stirred in the wind, and there was no stream to soothe her fears with the gentle music of water. Dany told herself that the stars would be enough. â€Å"Remember, Drogo,† she whispered. â€Å"Remember our first ride together, the day we wed. Remember the night we made Rhaego, with the khalasar all around us and your eyes on my face. Remember how cool and clean the water was in the Womb of the World. Remember, my sun-and-stars. Remember, and come back to me.† The birth had left her too raw and torn to take him inside of her, as she would have wanted, but Doreah had taught her other ways. Dany used her hands, her mouth, her breasts. She raked him with her nails and covered him with kisses and whispered and prayed and told him stories, and by the end she had bathed him with her tears. Yet Drogo did not feel, or speak, or rise. And when the bleak dawn broke over an empty horizon, Dany knew that he was truly lost to her. â€Å"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,† she said sadly. â€Å"When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.† Never, the darkness cried, never never never. Inside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am lost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream. She knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face.

I do not know by Elia Abu Madi Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words

I do not know by Elia Abu Madi - Essay Example Common knowledge dictates that the more educated a person becomes, the more effectively they can discern reality and determine which approach, worldview, or decision might be the best. However, as Elia Abu Madi illustrates within his poem, and ultimate level of uncertainty surrounds each and every aspect of life. Whether or not an individual is born to fulfill a specific destiny, whether or not there is any legitimate purpose to life, whether or not love, hate, fear, or even uncertainty helped to constrain and define the purpose of being is duly represented within this particular point. In such a manner, the reader can come to the understanding of the fact that even though Elia Abu Madi was well-traveled, well-educated, and exposed to a litany of different cultures and societies, an understanding of a purpose and meaning for life continued to evade him. Madi, Elia  A. "I do not know by Elia Abu Madi."  PoemHunter.Com - Thousands of poems and poets. Poetry Search Engine. N.p., n.d. Web. 6  Nov.  2013.

Evaluating Speaker Credibility Assignment Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words

Evaluating Speaker Credibility - Assignment Example Her observations in her job as a policewoman greatly influence her beliefs such that it makes her trustworthy in speaking about the issue. 2. Citing evidences from the US Supreme Court cases helps enhance her persuasiveness. On the other hand, the evidences may not be effective in defending her opinions especially in delivering her speech. If she does not seem confident in delivering all the facts that she was able to gather, her advocacy may be stronger and more trustworthy. Death penalty for juveniles is a critical issue. Her confidence in delivering the facts demonstrates her own beliefs. If she looks hesitant, then, it only shows how unsure she is of her own findings and beliefs. 3. Darlene’s experiences in the juvenile crime unit contribute to her credibility to speak about the topic, as much as the evidences she obtained based from the US Supreme Court. Although she may appear hesitant in presenting these facts, the obvious reason that she had been through close encounters with the victims of such issue is already enough for her to become sincere in her convictions. Her responsibility, which is believed to arrest law offenders, also allows her to be an advocate of a law that recognizes human rights. 4. In order to convince people that one is credible to speak of an issue or even just his own opinion, he must be well-aware of these evidences and therefore must be confident in delivering them to the public. Darlene must study in detail the facts that she should present. She should also be able to connect the facts presented into different areas that also concern the issue in order to strengthen her convictions. This would give the audience the idea that she knows exactly what she is talking

Aztec Civilization Essay -- essays research papers

The Aztec Indians created a great civilization in Central Mexico, reaching its peak in the 1500’s. Being late arrivals to the area, and because of their strong neighboring nations, they were forced to live in the swampy western areas of the Lake Texcoco. Because of the swampy surroundings, the Aztecs used mud to create miniature islands in the swamps. These islands are called chinampas, or “floating gardens,'; and were used as farming lands. On these fertile islands they grew corn, squash, vegetables, and flowers. Being an agriculturally dependant empire, the Aztec’s religion was based highly on the forces of nature and worshipped them as gods. The god of war, Huitzilopochtli, was the most important deity. They had many other important gods, such as Tlaloc, the god of rain, Quetzalcoatl, the god of wind and of learning, and Tenochtitlan, the sun god. The Aztecs believed in order to appease these and many other gods that they needed to perform human sacrifices. The main purpose of the great Aztec pyramids was, in fact, human sacrifices. They also believed that there were “lucky'; and “unlucky'; days for baptism and to declare war on, which were decided by a priest. Most art and architecture in the Aztec civilization was based on their religion. There are many brightly colored murals and paintings on walls and on bark which depict religious ceremonies, along with large idols of gods. One of the most amazing and famous of the...

DBQ Immigration Essay

Prompt: For the years 1880 to 1925, analyze both the tensions surrounding the issue of immigration and the United States government’s response to these tensions. Thesis: Tensions were mainly due to racism and unsatisfied workers that felt that immigrants were taking over the American work environment and politics led to increasingly stricter government regulations on immigration. Body Paragraph 1: During the 19th century federal government supported business interest instead of interests of the workers. Immigrants w/o a job were often willing to work for less pay can citizens were. Businesses were content with paying lower wages to immigrants and often exploited them. However the working class felt as if the Immigrants were forcing them out of the work force. These sentiments led to ant-immigration plank of the Populist Party ‘s 1892 platform. In this platform the National People his stealing of jobs was the greatest reason for tensions surrounding immigration. Body Paragraph 2: No immigrants were gaining political power.  Boston 1908 men of Irish descent filled positions such as police commissioner. â€Å"Members of Congress: O’Connell†¦Hoar† (DOC F) This led to tension concerning immigration due to the fact that minorities were running politics and citizens felt that it was led by foreigners Other tensions between African Americans and immigrants Booker T. Washington felt that immigrants were destroying the opportunities for African American economic Empowerment. Many blacks felt that many of the rights granted to immigrants that were not granted to blacks was unjust. Proposed to allow blacks to fill jobs that immigrants were filling. Washington advocated, â€Å" Casting down†¦you know.† (DOC D). Touching upon 2 arguments in his speech in Atlanta; promotion of blacks and racist sentiments in America during the 1880s to 1925 Body Paragraph 3: The Passing of the Great Race by Madison Grant promoted the idea that the Anglo Saxon race was the prime race and that America, â€Å"Must chiefly depend on leadership† upon the white man (DOC G) Riots in big cities between blacks and immigrants. His led to the resurrection of the KKK who was both anti-immigrant and anti-foreigner. Government responds by limiting immigration. Before the 1880s immigrants were largely welcomed in the U.S. First of these acts was the Chinese Exclusion Act- forbade Chinese immigration to America, it was widely accepted by public Commissioner General of immigration announced in 1908 that an understanding with Japan was reached, â€Å"discouraging immigration of its subjects,† (Doc E). This policy existed before 1908 as well and was continued and enforced by both the Japanese and American Governments. Final act against immigration by the federal government was after the First World War when a quota system was created. This system greatly lowered the number of immigrants accepted into the U.S and promoted white immigrants over Eastern- European immigrants. (DOC H) The Literary Digest published a cartoon showing a funnel to represent the quotas and labeled the Cartoon, â€Å"The only way to handle it,† This act was supported by the public and was apart of the isolationist movement of the 1920s. Conclusion: In conclusion the racial tensions and anger at lost jobs led to strict government control of immigration throughout the 1880’s and the post 1920’s

Learn How to Use Un Mec in French

Essay on Chicanos - 1910 Words

Chicanos With the advancements in technology today, the process of learning has become easier. Instead of just reading, one can look at video documentaries or web sites to acquire information they need or want. In my Latinos in the U.S. class, we have access to all types of information in our quest to learn about Mexican-American history. By reading Zaragosa Vargas= Problems in Mexican-American History, looking at the Chicano Park web site and viewing part one of the Chicano! video documentary, I have encountered a variety of representations of Mexican-American history. However they are not all of the same quality for the video and web site do not give as much information as the readings in Vargas= book or the class lectures†¦show more content†¦is of better quality than the web site. It talks in great detail of the history that proceeded World War II including the Chicano Civil Rights Movement, the Chicano Youth Conference, and the Chicano Moratorium March showing footage of the actual events. It also talks more about Mexican-American history throughout the United States. Yet, similar to the web site it does not talk about the very beginning of the Mexican-American history. The history of Mexican-Americans began with the colonization of Mexico by the Spaniards around 1492. At this time, there were approximately eighteen million people living in Mexico as compared to the 250,000 Spaniards that came to the ANew World.@ This is shocking because these 250,000 Spaniards were able to conquer and gain control of Mexico. Many believe this was done because the Spaniards brought disease which killed off the majority of the natives and because the Spaniards were militarily superior. Although this may be true, the Spaniards were smart and knew they would not be able to conquer so many people by themselves. With this being the case, they acted as friends to the natives, joined their communities, learned about their culture, learned the language, and eventually turned the different tribes of natives against each other. Two examples of this include: Cortes, who recruited a native woman to be his slave, impregnated her and had the first Mestizo (half Indian, ha lf Spanish) or Mexican child, and Alvar NunezShow MoreRelatedThe Chicano Of Chicano Literature882 Words   |  4 PagesESSAY Chicano Literature has been around since the 1800s after the Mexican war . Mexican American Literature is stories that writers talk about their ethnic identities through Chicano culture situations and characters. They are their own culture, who take traditions and customs from Mexico and American and make up their own history with it. They try to identify themselves with one culture or the other, the food, the customs, traditions and many other things. The boundaries that define a Chicano/a isRead MoreThe Chicano Subculture Essay635 Words   |  3 Pagesâ€Å"Im not Mexican. I am not American. I am not American in USA and Mexican in Mexico. I am Chicano everywhere. I do not have to assimilate anything. I have my own history†, stated the writer and novelist Carlos Fuentes. The Chicano subculture is the mixture of the Mexican and the American cultures. This subculture has its own history and unique characterizations that make it stand out. According to the Merriam Webster dicto nary the word subculture is defined as â€Å"a group that has beliefs and behaviorsRead MoreEssay on Chicano Art3962 Words   |  16 Pages Chicano Art Chicano Art and Indigenismo Artworks have played an indelible work to the lives of humanity. The creative nature in Artists is a complex matter to define. The uncertainties in the intrinsic nature in art lay difficult aspects that can only be answered by values, themes and skills depicted in an artist artwork. Apart from playing the intricate psychological effect on humans, the artworks have been used as a tool of expression that has been revered and uniquely preserved for futureRead MoreThe Movement Of The Chicano Movement1412 Words   |  6 PagesThe Chicano movement that occurred in the 60’s and 70’s came out during the same time of the Civil Rights Movement. It was about fighting for social, political, and economic justice for Chicano people. The issues that were highlighted in the movement were; restoration of land grant rights, fair treatment of farm workers, educational access and dismantling racial discrimination for Chicano youth, and pushing for voting rights. Common historiographies of the Chicano civil rights movement in the 60Read MoreThe Cultural Practices That Chicanos / Chicanas1131 Words   |  5 PagesThe cultural practices that Chicanos/Chicanas partake in such as being pachucos and pachucas, being actively involved in feminism, creating music and using stereotypes in film reflect their struggle to attain freedom and empowerment against Anglo society and within themselves. The various elements that make up Chicano culture have helped them resist Anglo culture and develop subcultures within the Chicano community. In addition, it has also allowed them to free themselves from the idea of becomingRead MoreStatus Of The Historiography Of Chicano Education899 Words   |  4 PagesIn the article â€Å"Status of the Historiography of Chicano Education: A Preliminary Analysis† Guadalupe San Miguel Jr mentions Several factors that have altered and molded Chicanos throughout time. The cultural imbalance, geographical and society changes caused Chicanos to feel unfit for the Anglo-Society. This prevented Chicanos students from attending school and developing English literacy. For instance, the article mentions how schools located in California and Texas excluded Mexicans from attendingRead MoreThe Chicano Movement By Frank Romero1024 Words   |  5 Pagesto society. The Chicano movement started in the 1960s; the public wanted to repair social injustice. The Chicano movement encompassed a broad section of issues; from restoration of lands, to farm workers’ rights, to enhance education, to voting and political rights. At this moment many individuals were trying different ways to express their views and one of those ways was art. In the early years of the Chicano movement, Frank Romero established a reputation as one of the Chicano art heroes. ThroughRead MoreEssay about Chicano Nationalism1631 Words   |  7 PagesChicano Nationalism Chicano as defined by the American Heritage Dictionary , is â€Å"a Mexican-American†. Nationalism, as defined by the same publication, is â€Å"devotion to the interests or particular culture of a particular nation†. So by definition, we can infer that Chicano Nationalism is an interest in either the Mexican or American culture by a Mexican American, which is not a very concise definition. Before we can begin to define Chicano Nationalism, we must first define what is it to be aRead MoreInspiring And Encouraging Chicano Students1844 Words   |  8 PagesInspiring and encouraging Chicano students to attend college, especially first generation students, has been a movement lead by many clubs, organizations, and by teachers who are passionate about their careers. Thus, â€Å"first generation students† is a term that states that a student does not have a record of previous generations attending college. Usually, students classified as such come from low income fami lies as well as from poor neighborhood communities. That is to say, many of these individualsRead MoreChicano Murals in Los Angeles3931 Words   |  16 Pagesin California the emergence of mural work of the Chicano Movement was gaining power and recognition. Their distinct style stemmed from their Mexican predecessors as they delved into their cultural heritage to define what it meant to be Chicano. The rhetoric of visual imagery of the murals created during the 1960s Ââ€" 1970s addressed the economic, educational, historical, political, religious, and social aspects of the Chicano Movement. Chicano muralism has a long history, dating back prior to