Okay, so this is a project that has been plaguing me for months now. The pairing of Loki/Daenerys is probably one of my favourites, yet there is barely any fan fiction dedicated to it, let alone something sufficient in length. So I decided to write my own, I'm going to be a bit of a perfectionist with this fic so there may be long waits in-between chapters, I apologise in advance. Please review, feedback makes me write faster.

There are parts of this story which are original, for instance the city of Darusia does not appear in A Song of Ice and Fire, neither do two of the characters mentioned in this chapter. I have added original parts to this story because I don't particularly want to fuck up George R.R. Martin's universe any more than I already have.

With Fire and Ice, I Will Take What Is Mine

Part I

Loki

Asgard was quiet. The winding pathways that linked across the city were empty, the roar of action that was usually commonplace ceased to exist. Every man, woman and child in the Kingdom was packed into the palace of Odin, awaiting his verdict with baited breath. It had only been a few days since Thor had returned home, his outlaw brother in tow, muzzled and chained at his side. In these days Odin had pondered on the punishment he would deliver upon his son, what mortification would be most suitable for a Prince of Asgard? The hall was deathly quiet, a surprising feat given the amount of people that were crammed into the grand structure. Odin sat upon the throne, his eyes cast firmly on the broken creature that knelt only a few feet away from him.

"Loki, Odinson," he spoke finally. Every eye in the hall was upon him, ready to hear how Loki would be punished.

Loki didn't say a word, he had been released from his muzzle but his hands still remained bound behind his back. He had been dressed in regal clothing but his demeanour was a shadow of his former glory, the head that was once held proudly now hung in shame.

"Look at me when I speak to you boy," Odin commanded. Slowly Loki dragged his eyes from the floor to meet his fathers, but Odin wasn't his father any more, he had never been. Loki wondered if all of Asgard knew of his heritage by now, how he was the bastard son of their worst enemy, the monster that haunted the dreams of the children of their realm.

"I have contemplated your punishment for two moons, I have made my decision," Odin's voice thundered around the hall. Loki could almost feel the anticipation in the air, the onlookers had no concern for his well-being, as far as they were concerned he should rot in Hel until the end of days. The thought terrified Loki, Asgardians had been banished to that realm for a lot less.

"Do you remember the tales of Essos Loki?" asked Odin. Loki stared at him, confused by his questioning, "of course," he whispered softly.

"What do you remember?" he continued, his eyes never straying from Loki's.

"It is part of the known world...a-a sprawling land with cities and desert," Loki stuttered, unsure of why Odin was making him recall the stories he was told as a child.

"You are right Loki. Do you remember the tales of the Red Waste?"

Loki's eyes went wide, when he was younger Thor had told him that the Red Waste was a desert that stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Sometimes Thor would tell him stories of men trying to find their way across the harsh lands in search of water and shelter, they had never succeeded. "Please, no," Loki pleaded, his wrists burning as he fought against the ropes that restrained him.

"Loki, as punishment for your actions on Midgard, for the needless slaughter that you caused, for the shame you have brought to our realm, I banish you to the Red Waste," Odin thundered, raising from the throne to tower above him.

"Father, please," Loki begged, tears brimming in his eyes. For all his bravado, he knew he wouldn't survive in the lands that Thor had told him of. His brother stood next to Odin's throne, his eyes downcast, a sad expression tainting his face.

"Thor!" Loki screamed as two guards heaved him onto his feet. Thor refused to look up, he didn't respond to Loki's cries for mercy.

On his feet, he was almost as tall as the All Father himself. "Please don't do this father, please, anything but this," he continued to cry. He had exposed his weakness in front of his former family, in front of the people of Asgard, but Loki was passed the point of caring. He felt like a little boy, desperate to win back his father's approval, to somehow right his wrongs.

"I am sorry Loki, truly I am," Odin said, his eyes expressing sorrow for having to commit such an act of cruelty.

At Odin's command, the guards stepped back, leaving Loki uneasy on his feet. Loki's sobs echoed around the hall, still the crowd were quiet, waiting for the final act in Loki's trial.

"Loki, Laufeyson, I cast you out."

Daenerys

The city of Darusia was legendary to all those that knew of it. It was rumoured to be a rugged, lawless wasteland where evil went unpunished and women of the night roamed the streets. In reality, Darusia was not unlike Kings Landing. The city was made of stone and the buildings towered high into the sky. Some said that the castle of Queen Ethriel reached above the clouds, that every morning she would wake from her slumber and step onto her balcony to peer at the puffy white shapes below. Darusia had long since fought for it's independence from the rest of the Lands of the Summer Sea, and when it was finally won, Ethriel Twyford was crowned Queen. The Twyford's had lived in Darusia for eight generations, an affluent merchant family with great influence over the city. When Darusia tore itself away from it's neighbours, it seemed only just that the position of ruler be given to the family that had contributed so greatly to Darusia's success. Of course there had been fighting to win the throne, but the Twyford's had so much influence in the city that their victory was inevitable. Darusia was nestled between Old Ghiscar and Qarth, far away enough from Slavers Bay for comfort, and situated directly on the shore.

Daenerys had heard stories about the mighty Ethriel as a child, her brother had told of a fierce woman with long black hair, a warrior and leader of the freest city in Essos. She was rumoured to be a kind ruler, fair and just but strong and unflinching when she had to be. As their small ship sailed closer to the dock, she could feel her stomach clench in anxiety. A hand reached out to squeeze her knee and Dany looked across into the smiling eyes of Ser Jorah.

"Have you been here before Ser Jorah?" she asked, staring straight ahead again.

"Only once before Khaleesi, it is a safe city. Rumours spread across Westeros like a wildfire, but they are simply that, rumours," he said kindly, his eyes still focused on her. Daenerys looked on in awe as the city became more visible, some of the rumours had been true. Towers pierced the sky and the highest of all proudly showed the Twyford family sigil, Dany wondered if that was the tower that housed Queen Ethriel. Smoke gathered above the majestic buildings, this was a busy city, but it certainly didn't appear to be the kind of place that Viserys had spoke of fearfully.

After what seemed like an eternity, their boat had finally sailed smoothly into the bustling dock. Ser Jorah was the first to set foot on solid ground, and reaching out his hand, he pulled Daenerys to join him. It had been days since they had anchored the ship in a port, and her band of weary followers were growing tired of a life at sea. They planned to replenish themselves in Darusia, to find others who would support Dany's claim to the Iron Throne, those that would back up that support with ships and manpower. Most of her tribe were on the dock now, Kovarro busied himself with securing their small boat with some rock that he had found on deck. He tied the knots strongly, one on the boats mast and the other on a large piece of wood that stuck out of the dock.

Dany felt weak as they stumbled along past all manner of majestic ships and lowly peasant boats, the sun beat down from high in the sky, burning their skin and making them more even more drowsy than before. "Do you know the way Ser Jorah?" she asked as they reached the end of the dock where the buildings suddenly shot into the sky. "I do Khaleesi, have faith," he said reassuringly, guiding them through archways packed with people.

They walked on through the city, through winding pathways and open market squares, until they reached their destination, 'The Travellers Arms'. "The best tavern in all of Essos," Jorah exclaimed, pushing the cast iron doors open. Dany turned to Kovarro, "stay here with my dragons, I will bring food for you." Kovarro nodded as he was handed the relatively small box that held her most precious possessions.

The first thing that hit Dany was the smell, mead interlaced with sweat and a hint of scented tobacco, the room was sticky and hot and as Ser Jorah pushed open the doors, the heat rushed to them, quick to envelop their bodies in it's comfort. The Travellers Arms was full of people, a man sat on an elevated stage playing rowdy piano music and all around him patrons smashed their mugs together and slapped each other on the back. The noise was almost deafening, conversations roared all around them as Jorah made sure to close the door after them. For Jorah, it was almost like being back in Westeros, Darusia was an escape from the baron red waste, and a nice antidote to a long time spent at sea.

"Jorah Mormont! I don't fucking believe it," came a howl from across the room. A fat man was making his way towards the group, a smug smile plastered upon his lips, "they told me you were dead!"

"Not dead Arthur, retired," Jorah smiled, stepping forward to give the larger man a friendly hug. Dany stood awkwardly on her feet, unsure of what to make of Jorah's newest acquaintance and feeling somewhat self conscious in a tavern full of men. "And who is this pretty thing?" Arthur asked, his eyes scanning over her appreciatively. Jorah smiled but Dany could tell he was unhappy with the way his newest friend was looking at her, he had always been overly protective, even if he had rarely shown it outwardly.

"This," said Jorah sturdily, "is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."

Dany smiled politely as Arthur's eyes went wide, "well fuck me, I thought Robert Baratheon killed all of the Targaryen's!" She cringed at his words, a stark reminder of the man that had butchered her family and driven her away from her home, and her throne. Jorah reached out a hand to squeeze her shoulder, a friendly gesture but like many of his actions, tainted with an unrequited passion. "I'm sorry m'lady," Arthur began, " I didn't mean any disrespect."

"I understand," Dany replied, grateful for his humble apology. She turned to Jorah, "we must eat and rest, the others are on the verge of collapse, I fear if we keep them waiting too long, we'll lose them completely." Jorah nodded at the large man as Dany pushed past them to the corner of the tavern, where food was being served by another pleasantly rotund man.

Jorah

"A Targaryen, Mormont? First you get exiled, then you take a dragon bitch to bed?" laughed Arthur, his hand slapping down on Jorah's shoulder. Jorah grimaced at his harsh words, Arthur Ellis had never been one to mince his words, nor keep his utter disdain for the Targaryen's under wraps. The pair had a lot of history between them, and to tell the truth, Jorah wasn't exactly surprised to find Arthur lurking in a Darusian tavern. The years had not been kind to him, nor had Darusia, were once Arthur was a lithe and well-built soldier, he now stood round and reddening in the face. The hands of time had scarred him and there was little left of the man Jorah remembered fighting side by side with in the Greyjoy rebellion. Arthur was of fickle heart, a man who had fought against both King Aerys and King Robert in Westeros, he had a great loathing for authority and could often be relied on to fight against any and all kinds of power. In many ways, Arthur was a true anarchist, believing that men should rule their own destinies, not be dictated to by plump men upon iron thrones. And yet here he was, a plump man himself in a city ruled by a woman, that had to be somewhat emasculating for him.

"How did you come to be in Darusia? I believed Balon made you head of his guard?" asked Jorah, his eyes resting on Dany as she was served a wooden bowl of what appeared to be some form of soup.

"That was years ago Jorah, y'know me, can't work for anyone but meself, I told Balon where he could shove his offer and fucked off on a boat. Ended up in Pentos for a bit, I love those free cities I do. Then ended up 'ere, it ain't half bad, better than being stuck in Slaver's Bay, though you wouldn't mind that" he chuckled in his thick accent, he sounded somewhat northern and countless years of tobacco leaf smoking had left him with a rugged, violent voice. "What's with the Targaryen girl?" he asked, following Jorah's eyes to where they stared at the young would-be Queen.

"She is under my protection, Arthur," he replied, unwilling to inform him that they were en-route to win back the iron throne and the seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Although Arthur hated leadership and authority, he had always been up for a good fight, and if Jorah had told him the true nature of their arrival in Darusia, he would have almost certainly demanded a sparring role in Dany's fight for the throne. Although they needed as much manpower as they could muster, Jorah knew they need loyalty over muscle and brawn, if they were to allow Arthur any credence over their battle he would surely prove to be disloyal in the end. His lack of loyalty however, came to second to the fact that Jorah was pretty much certain Arthur's fighting days were over.

"I never thought I'd see the day, a Mormont protecting a Targaryen. Have you forgotten your fealty to the Stark's?" Arthur laughed, a glint in his eye that showed he was only half joking.

"I gave up all fealty to the Stark's the day I was exiled, I may carry the Mormont name, but I haven't been a Mormont for a very long time," he said seriously, meeting Arthur's stare head on.

"Always so serious Jorah," Arthur smiled, baring yellowing, crooked teeth, "run along to your dragon girl, I need more mead." Jorah stood and watched him waddle away, a man who was once his friend, a man who had fought beside him many moons ago, now nothing but a drunken, stumbling stranger. His eyes danced across the room until they found Dany and the rest of the group sat on a long table to the back of the tavern, the Dothraki were completely enthralled in their meals but Daenerys looked to preoccupied to even care about the hot bowl of broth that sat before her. He knew what plagued her, for it was the same thing that gave him restless nights too. Dany was desperate to survive but she had lost a lot of her faith in Qarth. The road before them was long, full of hardships, battles, bloodshed and agony, sometimes Jorah wondered if it was all worth it, often Dany wondered the same thing too. But he would stick with her until the very end, the silver haired girl, the mother of dragons, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.