Chapter 1: A Herald of Snow
Jon I
For a Northman Jon thought he coped well with the hotter climate of Essos. Forgoing the thick furs he had grown up in for a light, breezy tunic and tight, leather breeches definitely helped; as did a piece of cloth wrapped around his forehead to keep his long, black curls from his eyes. Yet still he was sweltering. The Volantene air was heavy with moisture at the best of times, the juncture of the Rhoyne and the Summer Sea combined with the sheer heat of the place made for one of the most humid places Jon had ever visited. He didn't particularly like it and neither did Ghost.
"Common there buddy we're nearly there," Ghost looked up at him, but only slightly. Despite Jon being mounted the Direwolf was nearly at a height with him.
"If you're going to be like that I could just shave you?" The glare the usually stoic canine shot him was baleful.
They'd been making there way West along the Volantene coastline for some weeks now. Their little caravan of Jon, Ghost and four mules making slow progress. But Jon had neither the coin nor the inclination to hire a crew; his cargo was a little to precious for that. They'd had little trouble with bandits, the coast of Volantis being relatively well policed, and what trouble they had meat with didn't pose much of a problem with Ghost in the picture.
Jon looked across at his constant companion, the scarred white fur attesting to his proficiency in combat. Jon could never repay the debt he owed his wolf, a debt that grew time and time again.
The yellow smudge against the horizon that was Volantis began to grow larger and larger, the great Black Wall of the city silhouetted by the lives of the many it held both within and around. They'd be there soon enough Jon mused; wit time enough to bathe before he had to meet with Benerro.
They dipped down into the marshes that covered the Eastern side of the Rhoyne delta and Jon thought he may drown such was the amount of water in the air. His tunic had long since become uncomfortably sodden with sweat and Jon was by this point long since passed his patience with the thing. It seemed as if he was readjusting its sit across his shoulders every 30 seconds.
The walls began to loom, growing taller and taller into the night sky. By the time they were in the shadow of the outer wall Jon could still make out the braziers lit atop the wide ramparts of the obsidian walls that separated the wealthy from the poor. It never failed to make him wonder of times long since passed – times of magic and heroes – of great deeds and greater names. Jon thought he wouldn't have to wonder at that for much longer. Although the tales no longer sounded quite as inviting.
The flow in out of the city at this hour was a trickle. Jon passed few people and those he did were often of the shadier sort; dark, cloaked hoods covering their forms despite the heat of the evening. They were not ones to stop and comment about his arrival, their business to precious for that.
A guard approached him, Ghost slunk into the shadows, "What's your business here Andal?" He said in Valyrian.
"Jon Snow for High Priest Bennero." He replied.
"Snow? The Westerosi with the giant wolf?" Jon sighed and wiped a hand through his hair.
"The very same,"
"Well I don't see no fucking wolf with you,"
Jon smiled and whistled. He loved fucking with guards. Ghost came lumbering towards them, his red eyes giving his form away as he appeared from the shadows. Jon swore the guard pissed himself right there.
"As I said Jon Snow with urgent business with High Priest Benerro. Wouldn't want to keep the man waiting would we? Oh and an escort would be nice. Wouldn't want the precious cargo here to go missing would we?" The guard could only nod as Ghost leaned down to sniff him.
Line Break:
Jon sighed in contentment as he sunk further into the warm, scented water of the bath. Petals floated in the clear water aimless, lifeless. The journey to the Temple of the Lord of Light had been as eye opening as any of Jon's times in Volantis; he doubted he'd ever get used to the abuses of slavery. The luxuries of the powerful were appreciated but felt odd surrounded by the poverty of so many slaves. Closing his eyes he was treated to a sweeping vision of the city from the sky: the grandiose manse's of the triarchs and their ilk, the huge Black Walls standing dominant over the slums, illuminated by a myriad of torches.
Jon opened his eyes again but this time he was no longer alone. A small, frail man stood like an island in the middle of the bathroom. His orange did little but hang of his skeletal figure and his papery white skin was only made more apparent by the crimson flames that marked out a slave covering his bold head. Those tattoos always creeped Jon out; they often seem to pulse like the very flames they imitated. Benerro would have looked a kind old man if it were not for the horrid disfigurement of his face.
"Young Snow, R'hllor showed me that you would return in the flames. I have been awaiting you most eagerly."
"High Priest." Jon replied a little frustration sneaking into his voice, seriously could he not enjoy a bath?
"I must apologise for interrupting your bathing but events have transpired that require I proceed with the utmost urgency. I would have greeted you after the morning prayers otherwise."
The Northerner sighed and stood, not embarrassed of his nakedness in front of the old priest. Water cascaded down a toned, scarred body, skin once pale as snow now tanned and weather beaten by the wilds of Essos. He pulled a towel around his waist and ventured into the Solar. Benerro followed him.
Jon bent down and pulled a chest from beneath his bed. It was a heavy thing of both thick wood and plentiful bands of iron and it scraped fiercely against the marble floor. Neither cared, they both knew the contents could pay for the construction of the huge temple three times over. Jon thought a man as old and experienced as Benerro would have had some measure of patience – he'd garnered as much since their first meeting but the younger man could see his elder shifting his weight eagerly from sandal to sandal.
"By the flames of R'hllor they are here." The tone was reverent, the same a man would use after reuniting with his long-lost son. Jon could understand that.
Dragon eggs, after all, had been reduced to near mythical status over the last few centuries.
And to have three in front of you? It was practically a miracle.
Jon allowed the man his time staring at them, running wrinkled hands against their stone-like scales and praising mutterings to the Lord of Light. He got dressed instead.
He had arrived in Volantis for the first time 2 and a half years ago on his way to visit the cities East of Old Valyria. It was only a day in order for the ship he was working on to restock in the harbour. His return 9 months ago however had been a longer one and he had been, for some inexplicable reason, sought out by the followers of R'hllor in order to speak to their High Priest. Benerro had offered him coin, a party of his loyal followers and information on the route into the apocalyptic wasteland that was once home to the greatest Empire the world had seen in order to retrieve a clutch of eggs. The promise of keeping anything else he may find was also tempting. Jon had always been an adventurous sort – his travels attested to that – and the chance to explore the land of his (no matter how estranged) father's ancestral homeland had been too good to pass up.
It had taken 8 whole months of gruelling travelling, fighting bandits, hellish demons and monsters of shadow and flame; blood, sweat and tears but it had all been worth it. So, so worth it.
"Does this conclude our business then?" Jon asked once finished, his damp hair now pulled back into a short ponytail.
Benerro did not reply for a while, eyes closed as he mouthed a silent prayer. Jon wondered what could push a man to be so devout to a God he had never meat.
"It does Jon Snow. A ship is already waiting for you in the docks to take you to where ever you desire along with your payment. I must ask however; would you be willing to continue your work?"
The Stark bastard raised a brow at that, though in all honesty he wasn't surprised.
Benerro took this as permission to continue.
"I fear the Triarchy learning of what now lies within the walls of Volantis. Dragons can make a monster out of many men and the Triarchs are no mere men. I would wish to pay you to ferry them to Pentos, to deliver them to an old friend there."
Jon thought on it, the slightly cooler climate of Pentos did sound tempting at this time of year.
"Why would you give up three dragon eggs Benerro? I thought a zealot like you would love to have three dragons to spread the word of the Red God."
"Because R'hllor commands it Jon Snow. The Lord of Light has seen darkness coming, darkness and doom; a never-ending winter to swallow the world. Dragons, Jon Snow, in the hands of the Targaryens of Westeros are the only way to stop it. Dragons, Jon Snow, ridden by Azor Ahai will defeat the doom. R'hllor has seen it."
Religious fanatism. That was it. Stupid Jon, of course it was.
As much as he loathed the idea of spending anymore time around the highly desired eggs he was honestly lost as to what to do in Essos. Despite months to think on it on his return from Valyria he had not been able to find an answer. After conquering the ruins of Valyria adventuring had lost its taste. He supposed he could have travelled to the shadowy lands of Asshai but that didn't appeal to him for matters of self-preservation. Jon liked his soul the way it was thank you very much.
He sighed, "How much?"
"5,000 crowns."
Jon whistled. That was a lot of money. He could retire on that; buy a nice plot of land somewhere in the Reach or the Westerlands or maybe even Lys and grow old with a wife and a family. He'd be a fool to pass the offer up.
"Fine, fine." He waved his hand in the air in defeat. Money was money.
Benerro smiled a smile that only the eldest men could; men with power, men who knew how to get their way.
"Your payment for that is also onboard Jon Snow." Said bastard sighed, of course it was.
"By the Gods old man. You sure do now how to get things done don't you." There was no venom in Jon's voice.
"The promise of money and fame usually sways most young men, faith the faithful and death everyone else Jon Snow. Your ship leaves on tide just after noon, I'll have my priests move the eggs and your things onboard now." The priest turned to leave. "You must meet me for dinner if you're in Volantis again Jon Snow." And with that he was gone.
Jon could see his life about to get a whole lot more interesting.
Jon didn't get any more sleep after that, but prowled the grounds of the huge Temple, Ghost lurking in the shadows. Through small, torchlit corridors and passed frescoes of fire and shadow Jon stalked, his mind often lost. He meandered under the eaves of countless statues of jade and gold passing under ever-burning braziers, walking up countless steps bathed in soft candlelight; forever haunted by the stench of thick incense, echoing chants, some whispered some screamed, and images of a flaming heart on the walls, images of men and women burning atop a stake.
The job was not an easy one, though Valyria was no stroll in the park and truthfully Jon had never needed Benerro's help in venturing into Valyria, but the money was useful. Perhaps the old man knew that Jon thought and was just keeping up appearances. After all the Red Priest often knew more than he was supposed to.
He'd been to Valyria before, unwillingly. He'd been bound to Astapor on a merchant vessel when it was attacked by Iron Born under Euron Greyjoy. Bloodied and adrift John had washed up on the shores of the old Empire. It had not been a pleasant trip to Bhonash, not at all. It had however, instilled Jon and Ghost with a knowledge of the Doom and the perished civilisation unlike any other – no matter what the price had been for it. It had also given him another boon.
Where Ghost was his silent shield Lyarron had proven to be his most fierce sword. At two-and-a-half years old the silver-white Dragon was a feisty teenager. Some 35 feet long from tail to maw and now nearly thrice as tall as Jon himself when lying on his belly. the flying monster was Jon's most coveted secret, one he'd had to kill for in Meereen. He'd told Lyarron to hunt the marshlands to the north, to avoid human presence but Jon could never be sure what the predator would do. Dragon's had little heed for human command after all, even when bonded to a Rider. It had been just an hour ago after all that he had felt the beast's presence circling high overhead.
Jon couldn't really fathom how after all these years he had been the one to reintroduce Dragon's into the world; a bastard from the North, an outcast, bestowed with the most powerful living force known to man. But he had. And it was a pain. He loved Lyarron but keeping a Dragon a secret in day to day life was one of the most tiring things Jon had ever attempted; he had no wish for a price on his and Lyarron's head after all.
After wondering the Temple in the hot-night air for some time Jon returned to his chambers to read. His second trip to Valyria might not have garnered him any more Dragons but the tomes and scrolls of the ancient people he had been able to bring back with him this time around more than made up for. Jon was not sure he'd be able to deal with two dragons anyway.
They went with the tide, leaving the deep harbour of Volantis just after dawn. Jon wasn't sad to see the city go. Apart from the heat it wasn't any better or worse than any other of the more Eastern cities but Jon, even though he had the money to live comfortably, found the luxury difficult when surrounded by slaves. There was very little opportunity for a middle ground and the chained dominated the jobs normally resigned for commoners under-employment who could thus very well pass for slaves themselves such was poverty.
His vessel was Tyroshi, the majority of the crew having the coloured, pointed beards to match and they were to stop there to resupply and sell a few of the ship's wares on their way to Pentos. Jon adjusted the band of cloth holding his hair back. It was going to be a long few weeks.
3 weeks later:
Pentos looked much the same as it had last time Jon had been here. The pale stone of the port walls alight in the afternoon sun and already Jon could taste fish on his tongue amidst the salt and the noise of a bustling dock. Pentos was not much colder than Volantis, but infinitely cooler. Here there was always a mild breeze, either of the Flatlands to Pentos' East or from the Narrow Sea. In truth Jon liked it here: the cool, soothing air, the lush greens and pale, sun-baked stone and quiet people.
They came in rather swiftly, the ship well recognised by the Pentoshi customs officials. It wasn't long before Jon and Ghost were rather thankfully on the cobbled stone of the dock, a cart and horse hired to transport them to the manse of Illyrio Mopatis; cheese-monger, Prince and master of lies. Jon had been a green boy when their paths had last crossed, he was hoping things would be different now.
Blissfully the Prince's manse was close to the juncture of the docks and the Northern outskirts of the city so Jon's journey from ship to Illyrio was not long and blissfully uneventful. They, Jon beside the driver of his rented cart with Ghost bringing up the rear, made their way through wide, airy streets centuries old and unchanged, passing under awnings that dappled the dusty streets in shadow and by townsfolk bickering in Valyrian.
A seagull swooped a little too close to Ghost and suffered a swipe of a paw for its mistake. Ghost paused to snap on the bony creature. A couple of people around them went wide eyed when they noticed the wolf's now bloody maw; finally realising the monster in their midst. Jon suffered an odd journey after that, all stares and quiet whispers. He wasn't quite used to it yet.
Illyrio's manse was a beautiful thing, its elegant Pentoshi architecture not ruined by gaudy additions as Jon had seen so often in Astapor and Meereen. Silken drapes were co-ordinated well with lavish verdant gardens that must have taken half the city's water supply to maintain. Flowers dotted the walkways and shade and fountains were aplenty. It was a calming place, up until you were hit with the incense that it was.
"May I ask what your business is with Prince Mopatis traveller?" Asked an aging major-domo. Two guards flanked him eyeing the reclining Ghost carefully.
"I am here to deliver a gift to the Prince, on behalf of High Priest Benerro of Volantis Ser."
The balding man looked interested. "Benerro you say, yes, yes. Master Mopatis has been looking most forward to your arrival." He paused eyeing Ghost for a second. "Very well you may enter…"
"Snow. Jon Snow."
"You may enter Jon Snow. Your… dog however, must wait here."
Jon inclined his head. "Would it be possible to have the rest of my belongings to a room for the night? I would rather that then leave them unattended here. I'm sure the Magister will be most welcoming once he receives my gift."
The major-domo agreed.
Jon had a few of Illyrio's 'servants', weighed down by their bronze collars, unload the cart and paid his driver. The majority of the servants scuttled off to deposit what had been in the cart to what would be Jon's chambers for the night, two waited to follow the major-domo and his two guards to Illyrio.
Jon trailed behind his entourage in silence as they walked through shaded colonnades and sweet-smelling trellises; through cool courtyards and passed innumerable treasures. Jon caught sight of a couple of women bathing in a pool, their skin the colour of coffee, their breasts high, their hair long and dark.
Jon carried on his breeches a little stiff. It had been too long.
Eventually they came to a balcony overlooking some gentle cliffs leading down to the Narrow Sea. There was a servant boy fanning the large form of Illyrio, himself swaddled in robes of the finest silk as he dined on a platter of cheese in the setting sun.
"My Prince, Jon Snow baring gifts from High Priest Benerro of Volantis."
Illyrio turned, an eyebrow raised. Jon gave him a short nod in return.
"Jon Snow, so good to see you again. I hope your travels have proven fruitful."
"They have Magister. I consider myself more than lucky for the things I have seen."
They stared at each other a little more as Illyrio examined his visitor. Jon was a man now, not the naïve northern bastard he'd been when he'd first meat with Illyrio. His eyes were darker, face tanned, the edges of scars poked out of his loose sleeves, he stood prouder, more assured than he had been those four years ago; unsure in himself and the world.
"Well what is this gift that you and Benerro have for me. He was most vague in his missives."
Jon smiled.
"Oh Illyrio. You are going to be one happy man. I have no clue why the old man wanted to give these to you, maybe he's finally gone senile," Jon opened the chest. "But now you have Dragon eggs."
The lid fell back against the marble floor with a crash. Illyrio never looked up from the contents.
"Hilario. Bring me my finest wines. Oh, and something for young Jon here to eat while he drinks with me. I feel we have much to discuss and much to celebrate."
What a way to celebrate, Jon thought. Getting drunk with a man who could make you disappear as quick as he could a grape. Illyrio was a major player in the Narrow Sea, not a perfect drinking partner by Jon's standards. He enjoyed a good tavern himself.
"May I also request that some meat is brought to my wolf as well? About three kilograms?"
Hilario looked at Illyrio. "Make it so."
With that the two were left alone save for a guard at the door to the wide balcony and the fanning servant boy who could not seem to take his eyes from the chest. Jon closed it with a click before locking it again.
"Sit Jon Snow. How is that creature of yours doing? Three kilograms is no small amount of meat."
Jon practically sank into his cushion it was so soft. "Well Prince. I think he is near fully grown now."
The conversation got more and more complicated; Illyrio no matter how much he drank seeming not to lose any of his wit. Jon began to tire of dodging the man's questions of Valyria and his travels. He would much rather enjoy the fantastic wine and fill his belly with the first proper food since he'd left Volantis.
They talked of Ghost, of Jon's ill-fated trip to Qarth, of his escape from the dread land of Valyria and his time in Slaver's Bay and the activities of the various cities and Masters there. Jon could not help but feel like an unwilling informant. Illyrio helped the conversation along with questions and his own anecdotes of the various cities and lands but Jon never really felt comfortable.
"And what of you Illyrio. Last time we crossed paths you were a Magister and now look at you. Prince of Pentos; the years must have been kind."
"The years have been most kind to me Jon I must admit. I had a few business ventures that were more than successful and have found myself with some new friends in your homeland. The past two years have been most fruitful. I can only hope that they will continue as such otherwise I may end up with my throat slit."
"A fine line you Pentoshi tread with that one. I'm surprised there aren't fewer candidates for the Princepe with that little rule you have in place."
"Hmm yes, but the rewards often outweigh the risks. There are ways around a bad harvest if one is rich enough after-all," Illyrio finished his cup and had a servant pour another.
"Like three dragons."
The sun was set now and the noise of the crickets was reaching a crescendo. Jon could begin to count the stars in the cloudless sky or watch as wave after wave of pitch-black water rolled in. The unlikely pair, a Prince and a Bastard, sat in silence for a little longer; Jon enjoying his wine as Illyrio thought on something.
"The eggs are not for you are they," Jon missed the reaction of his companion, focused as he was on the heavens.
Illyrio was silent for a moment longer.
"I mean Benerro would not just hand them over to you, not unless it served his ends, which none of your's do. He was also spouting something about Targaryens or some such bringing salvation to the world and I've whisperings of those very people in these parts."
Illyrio filled in Jon's pause.
"I have been providing shelter to the wayward royal family of Westeros for some time now. I am part of a group of people who believe that they must find themselves atop the Iron Throne once more. The Dragons are a means to do that."
Ambitious weren't they. The followers of the Red God. Jon said as much.
"It must be done." Illyrio spoke with a finality that shocked Jon.
"Magister Illyrio?" A woman called from behind them.
"Ah Daenerys. You grace us with your presence Princess. Have you come to save us from the dour conversations of two old friends?" Illyrio answered, obviously eager for a distraction.
Jon turned in his chair. So this was Daenerys Targaryen, the Stormborn she had been named for the night of her birth. Even in the low light of the starts and the orange lamplight Jon had to admit she was beautiful: she was small but exquisitely well put together, high cheekbones, large shining eyes of the purest violet, a delicate nose and sculpted, full lips. Then there was her hair, the purest of platinum that reminded him of the scales of Lyarron, tied in a thick braid before falling down her back in a waterfall of white-gold. The way her loose evening dress served to accentuate her every curve, and there were a great number didn't hurt either.
"I was just coming to ask the Magister about the creature outside? It is quite a sight." She knew how to work a conversation as well then.
"Ah yes that is, what did you say his name was Jon?"
"Ghost Illyrio. I don't think I've had the pleasure My Lady." He rose and gave her a short bow. "Jon Snow."
"Ah yes Ghost a magnificent creature is he not Princess." Daenerys was searching him for something. Her eyes not wavering from him.
"Quite Magister. May I enquire as to what he is Ser Snow?"
"I'm no Ser My Lady. Ghost is a Direwolf. My brothers and I found a litter in the North of Westeros some years ago. He has been my constant companion ever since." Jon finally remembered to look away from the beautiful woman before him and turned to Illyrio.
"The journey was long Illyrio. Perhaps we can continue our conversation on the morrow?"
"Of course Jon. I am looking forward to it."
With one final farewell to the Princess Jon went to find his chambers.
Daenerys I
"You keep stranger and stranger company Magister. And old friend? He cannot be much older than I."
Daenerys swept forwards to take the seat vacated by Jon. What a curious young man. All dark and handsome with those smoky grey eyes, long coal black hair; his strong jaw, delicate nose and pouty lips. That scar along with the band holding his hair back that made him look like a rogue
"Jon Snow is a very important piece of the puzzle that is restoring the Targaryen's to the throne Princess. I met him first some three or four years ago on his way East – an interesting fellow – it seems he has been up to much on his travels."
"Do you think he has any tales to tell of Westeros? Of home?"
Illyrio smiled at her. "I'm sure he does Princess. I'm sure he has some even more fascinating tales to tell of Valyria."
Daenerys gasped. "Valyria? He has been there? I thought it was impossible."
Illyrio chuckled and took another sip of his wine.
"As did everyone else and yet that boy has been there twice. Quite extraordinary hmm?"
Daenerys could only nod. To have gone into homeland of her ancestors, to have explored the ruins of the greatest civilisation known to man, she was rather jealous. She had often dreamed of Westeros and her homeland; of Dragonstone and the Red Keep and Summerhall. Of the Iron Throne. She had also wondered on the treasures of her older homeland. To hear that this man had experienced both weighed heavily on the lonely girl.
"Snow. That is a bastard name is it not?"
"Quite Princess. He is the bastard of Lord Stark funnily enough."
Daenerys gasped. Son to one of the Usurpers closest friends. Her opinion of the good-looking Northerner dropped.
"Does he pose a threat to us?"
"No more than I do your Grace. He has done much to further our cause. I cannot say how strong his family loyalties are but the Starks are known for being honourable; Jon seems to have followed that tradition. He is not a danger."
After some idle conversation Daenerys asked about the chest laying beside Illyrio, his eyes did not stray from it for long and it had perked her interest as well.
"A gift from the young Snow. Treasure from Valyria, you will know when the time is right."
That was all she could manage to get from him. She went to her own bed not long after that, mind alight with questions and worries.
Daenerys woke the next day to the dawn light filtering through thin white drapes dancing in the sea breeze. She tossed and turned in her bed a little while half asleep, enjoying how the silk felt against her naked body; caressing and teasing it as she stretched. Eventually her hunger grew too much to ignore and she dressed in a simple, modest, cyan dress that hugged her figure comfortably.
Illyrio had been nothing but a gracious host in the two years she and her brother Viserys had known him. They wanted for very little, were put up in the nicest quarters Pentos had to offer and showered with gifts by the merchant prince. Her clothes were a shining example of such; the Targaryen princess having been blessed with garments from the world over of the finest quality all at the behest of Illyrio. But Daenerys knew that the man had a purpose, something that went a little beyond restoring her family to the Iron Throne. The woman of 18 had long since learned that everyone had their own agenda.
And she would discover Jon Snow's today.
She found him breaking his fast in the Summer Hall. The room was airy and light, a courtyard more than anything else; ringed by columns with the roof sloping upwards to leave a gap in its centre which let the dawn light in. It ended in a veranda overlooking the Narrow Sea, an elegantly sculptured balustrade separating the marble floor from the sandstone cliffs that fell into the waters.
His hair was damp, as if he'd just come from a bath, the dark curls hanging loosely down to his shoulders and a hand clearing his face of them often. When not busy brushing his raven black hair from his face his hands were occupied with a bit of bread, tearing into it slowly and with little care. His mind was obviously elsewhere.
The hall was relatively empty. Apart from Jon, Viserys and herself Illyrio was not entertaining any guests at this point in time and the servants ate elsewhere. Oftentimes there would be other magisters, or perhaps a merchant who had just docked dining with the Prince himself but when there was not the elegant dining area was mostly found empty like today; the only occupants being Jon and a servant girl stood near a side-exit that lead to the kitchens.
Daenerys glided up to him, her approach seemingly unnoticed. Her eyes raked across his handsome face, taking in the scars on his arms and the curve of his lips, the way his body filled the loose white tunic he was wearing, how it clung to his sweaty form. He certainly seemed like a rogue to Daenerys, some daring stranger with fewer morals than an Astapori slave-trader. She supposed you had to too survive Essos alone for this long.
"Lady Daenerys."
He turned to regard her as she sat across from him, turning his stormy grey eyes on her, an energy in them that she would not have associated with him based on his languid posture.
"Jon Snow, I thought that the hall would be empty at this hour." Indeed it was early, the sun had only risen an hour or two earlier and knowing Viserys and Illyrio they would most likely be asleep still. Daenerys was glad to have assumed the mysterious traveller for an early riser.
"I like my sleep My Lady but am still used to sailing and waking with the sun,"
"Is your Direwolf near?" Truly a fascinating creature; something straight out of the books that Ser Darry had read to her as a child.
"Ghost is currently off somewhere to the North. He's spent weeks on a ship he deserves to stretch his legs. It'd be cruel to keep him cooped up in a city."
"He seems like something out of a tale. How did you acquire him?" Daenerys ventured.
"I was riding with my brothers in the North. We came across a dead stag who'd managed to gut the Direwolf hunting it. The wolf left behind a litter of pups. Me and my siblings each took one as our own." So he wasn't one to open up easily no matter.
"And the local lord just let your family raise a pack of wolves on their land?"
Jon raised his brow at her and took a bite of an apple.
"It seems you know little of the lands you claim My Lady." The words irked her. The topic of the home she was stolen from and her knowledge of it was a sore one; and that was without the nonchalance of his tone.
Jon took another bit of his apple and looked out over the balcony.
"You are the son of Lord Stark, one of the men responsible for the death of my family." Daenerys said quickly, hotly.
"Yet here I am, sorry was, having an amiable conversation with you. There is much you don't understand about your home."
Daenerys glared at him. Hating how he seemed so uncaring about his father's role in the misjustice of her, of her family. How he assumed her a dumb girl.
"I'm not sure I like your tone. I read and hear much on the lands of my family Snow. I miss my home most greatly I take a great interest in learning about it and its people."
"Yet you know me not at all. You have no idea about the life I have led, or that of my family, of the people of my family."
Daenerys could not believe his cheek.
"There is a lot more to belonging than your place of birth. I thought you would have known that My Lady. Can't fault the intentions though. Now if you'll excuse me I believe its time I swung my sword around for a bit."
Daenerys watched him leave, quietly seething. Even the fresh mangos helped quiet her anger. Worst of all was that she knew he had a point.
Fin
A/N
So here's a Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire fic for ya.
As you can guess everyone is a bit older here. It's mostly my way of allowing certain characters (Jon) in the younger generation (born just before/during/after) Robert's Rebellion to have a little bit more background before the actuals story kicks off.
Jon's past will be delved into later in the story I hope. There's plenty going on in Essos after all and it would be interesting to write more detailed stories of Essosi life whether in the Free Cities or towards Slavers Bay and Asshai. I'll just need to figure out how to work it into the story without taking away from the actual narrative.
There's also no need to worry about Jon being 'overpowered' now he has a Dragon. Overpowered characters make shows boring and one thing that makes George R.R. Martin's world so good is that no-one is untouchable. That being said Jon won't be untouchable and certain factors will mean Lyarron is unavailable or not as big of an impact in certain battles or negotiations and Jon will be killable (not that that seems to stop him heh).
There will also be a greater deal of more classic (not sure if that's the right way to describe it) fantasy in my story. Something I will endeavour not to make take away from the story not out-do but add a little spice to the sword-swinging, dragon-populated world. In an earlier draft of this I was actually going to introduce it, as well as Lyarron but then I had a rethink on how big Dragons were meant to be at 2 to 2 and a half years old and it seemed I grossly underestimated (in the show Daenerys' Dragons are about 18 months to 2 years old during the battle of Meereen by my estimation).
And no Daenerys' arc will not be drastically altered by Jon's presence, nor will all the Starks live happily ever after just 'cus.
Well I hope you enjoyed this.
If anyone is still reading this please, like, follow, favourite whatever the sights allow and review! I'd like to here thoughts on the story, ideas about where you think the story's heading, what's happening or where you want it to go etc… I never realised it was so damn hard to elude to things so people can look back and go oooooh… later (or alternatively have their assumptions blown out of the water) but not give the game away.
That's me.