This is based off of the final scene of Episode 10, Season 1, so there are spoilers if you haven't watched that yet. I also tried to stick as closely as I could to what happened in that scene without directly copying it, so I avoided writing in Daenerys' speeches. That and transcribing is a pain. The dialogue I chose to write in was for accuracy's sake only, no copyright infringement intended.
The breeze that sighed past them was cool and calm, fluttering the light of the single torch in a way that cast ominous shadows over the scene. Jorah felt uneasy to the point of screaming, but by contrast Daenerys was calm, her face masklike, her eyes still but for a single spark that could have been grief or bloodlust, he could no longer tell. Her face was still drawn, the spaces beneath her eyes bruised with fatigue, but she showed no sign of weakness.
"Khaleesi…" he began; she turned to face him, that unnerving stillness in her face. "My queen… I vowed to serve you, obey you, to die for you if need be, but…" He paused a moment, she did not react. "Let him go, Khaleesi," he implored, as much for his sake as hers. "I know what you intend, do not." Was the fear evident in his voice? Could she hear how he was begging her?
"I must," she replied serenely, shaking her head a little, as if this were a simple thing they were discussing, not her imminent death. "You don't understand…"
"Don't ask me to stand aside as you climb upon that pyre," he cut her off desperately. "I won't watch you burn!" Daenerys smiled at him, sweet and sad and tearless, maddeningly calm. In that moment he wanted to seize her, to somehow make her see that this was insanity. But, no.
"Is that what you fear?" Her hand went to his cheek, and she leaned in to kiss him gently, her skin impossibly cool against his. The kiss felt final, it felt like the end of a sentence. It felt like a farewell, and it near broke his heart, but somehow he found the strength to draw away from her.
He barely listened as she addressed the others, not registering things even as they happened before his eyes. People turned and left, and he had half a mind to follow them, to spare himself from what was to come, but he couldn't. He could not abandon her now, no matter what.
"Ser Jorah, bind this woman to the pyre." Her voice had a steely note running through it, a condemning note that was so unlike her it scared him, and for a moment all he could do was stare at her in numb disbelief. "You swore to obey me," she pressed coldly, and this time he did as he was bade, replying only with a solemn nod as the terror and resignation building in his chest threatened to suffocate him.
She cannot do this. Daenerys turned, torch in hand like some vengeful goddess, her face a blank mask. In her hand, the torch was a staff, a weapon, something that could kill. Even the flames seemed to burn brighter for her touch. It frightened him more than he'd ever care to admit.
A ring of fire sprang to life almost immediately as she bent to touch the torch to the ground, the inner ring following suit. And, inevitably, the pyre. In the twilight, the light was blinding, the flames paler than you'd think, nearly white where they reared up to lick at the cool air. The godswife began to sing, throaty and low and wild, trying in vain to mask the fear he had felt trembling in her when he bound her. He was unable to pinpoint the exact moment her singing became a formless shriek of agony, but when he heard it a current of sick, hot terror flashed through his body. Daenerys merely watched, dispassionate and cool, her eyes holding nothing but calm. She turned to look at him, holding his gaze for the merest second before she began walking forwards, her steps slow and sure, unmindful of the searing heat. When she entered the first ring he had to look away. When he dared glance up, and saw that she had climbed the pyre, he tore himself away, far away, feeling the flames sear his body as sure as they were searing hers.
Even once he'd run, once the pyre was no more than just a faint glow on the horizon, and the mage's screams quieter than the distant call of a hunting bird, he could still feel the flames, as keenly as if he were still standing there, watching her burn along with the man she had devoted herself to. Sweat beaded on his brow, though the air was mild. He sat, trying to breathe but tasting smoke instead, thick enough to choke him. He would pray, but she'd made her decision, and made it final. There was nothing to do but wait for morning now.
Sleep did not come to him once the sky darkened completely. The light on the horizon could have been a harmless campfire or a fallen sun for all he could see, but whenever his eyes dared to close he saw nothing but fire, surrounding him, inescapable. The sky grew darker, darker, darker as he waited, the minutes inexorable, the flames agony, and finally, mercifully, the fire burned itself out and the sky began to lighten again.
The glow in the distance had faded to nothing by daybreak.
Grim certainty filled him, leaden and cold in burning terror's wake. He knew what had happened, what she had done.
The ground was burned bare, piles of ash and rings of smouldering wood the only remains of the previous night's horror. He searched the ground frantically against his will, not wanting to see the black-charred bones of her, but needing to find them anyway, to prove to himself that it was over, that she was truly gone. He saw nothing; the fire had raged for too long to leave anything behind.
No, there, curled on the ground, legs folded beneath her, arms wrapped around her chest. Jorah felt his heart seize, delight, fear and disbelief warring in equal measure in his chest. It couldn't be, it couldn't, that was impossible, he was hallucinating from exhaustion, he had to be…
Daenerys began to unfold, lifting her head to look up at him with weary violet eyes. Her lovely silver hair was tarnished with soot, her naked body likewise covered, but otherwise she was entirely unscathed. Untouched.
Impossible.
To see her again, after he'd given her up for lost… was indescribable. He'd never seen her so beautiful, it was as though the flames that had consumed everything else had served to burnish her, strengthening her, perfecting her. He suddenly had to govern a crazed impulse to run to her side and embrace her, but before desire could conquer reason, he spotted something that made him freeze.
Something small was cradled in her arms, tightly curled up, sleeping. A dragon. The eggs. She knew this would happen. She knew it. As she straightened up, another climbed its way over her bare, filthy shoulder, chittering softly and regarding him with faintly-glowing orange eyes. This was her plan. He fell to his knees in the still-warm ash, reverently whispering: "Blood of my blood." She got to her feet, a third dragon twining its way around her leg, all around her Dothraki men and women kneeling with mixed reverence and awe.
The dragon perched upon her shoulder straightened up to its full height, spread its translucent wings, blood-red in the light of the dawn, and screamed.
This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction for this. When I was given the books for my birthday, I swore I would never try to write anything based off of them, as they're just so damn complicated. Then I watched some episodes, and this happened. If you spotted any glaring discrepancies or screw-ups, just let me know. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed what I have here, and a review or two would be lovely. Thanks for reading!