Daenerys Targaryen awoke in the dead of night, just as she always did- when the moon was at its brightest. It was then and only then that she would allow herself to grieve for her dear husband. Moon of my life, he would call her. My sun and stars, she would answer. So many times she'd looked for him in the night sky since his death- for comfort, for guidance. But she never found him. That was why she…

"Drogo!" She pulled herself up from the cold, unforgiving ground, made from a type of stone she was not familiar with. There appeared to be some sort of light across the room, but it was not a warm, breathing light like she was used to. It was steady, cold. Man-made? It couldn't be.

The Red Witch had warned Daenerys that this new land was unlike any other she'd ever been to. If she was telling the truth about that, then maybe she was telling the truth about all of it. Daenerys had taken a huge leap of faith, putting her life in Melisandre's hands, but she still couldn't bring herself to believe that all the high priestess had promised would come to be. Because if she did believe it, and then it didn't happen, it would surely kill her.

Daenerys stood, her head aching, taking in her surroundings. She was locked in a small cell with brick walls, a smooth, stone floor, and steel bars. What she'd first mistaken for moonlight and then firelight was actually coming from an odd-looking glass case attached to the ceiling.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing down a vacant corridor. This castle wasn't like any she'd seen before. It was smaller, plainer, and filled with a very strange, unnatural scent.

"It's no use," a deep voice with an unrecognizable accent called from nearby. "Bailey's the only one on duty, and that piece of shit's been sawing logs for hours." Daenerys whipped around, her braided locks following suit, to find the source of the voice.

A handsomely peculiar looking man was seated in a cell adjacent to hers, on what looked like the saddest excuse for a bed Daenerys had ever seen. He had hair nearly as fair as hers, but wore it in an odd manner- slicked back with some sort of oil. His clothes were just as strange- made of fabrics Daenerys had never seen before. His face was neither clean-shaven nor bearded, but rather in between. His eyes, though. His eyes were kind. And although Daenerys had no idea where she was, or what to expect, she did not fear this man.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" she asked. The man laughed quietly, although Daenerys couldn't imagine why.

"Not from around here, are ya?" he joked.

"I am Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons," she announced, waiting for the man to kneel before her, as all men did. Instead, he remained seated, letting out a long, low whistle.

"You must be on some killer shit, there, lady." He smiled, seemingly amused. Daenerys looked upon him with disdainful curiosity. She should have been furious that this peasant, whoever he was, was being so disrespectful. But something about the look on his face told her that her title, as long and impressive as it may be, held no weight in this strange land of tiny castles and man-made light.

"Jackson Teller," the man announced. "President of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club, fixer of automobiles, eater of pizza, and father of monsters- two of 'em. I like 'dragons,' though. That's a good one."

Daenerys scoffed at his introduction, mostly because she didn't understand a word of it. "And where is 'here,' Jackson Teller?"

"Jax. Just call me Jax. You got a nickname? The guys around here have low attention spans and not a lot of patience. You might do better to stick with something shorter."

Daenerys bit her lip, considering Jax's words. She'd grown so used to her reputation preceding her, she never gave it much thought. But if her title meant nothing here, if no one knew her in this land, it might be best to play things safe- to follow the lead of this Jackson Teller, and pick up on the cues of the townspeople. If there was one thing Daenerys knew, it was how to adapt to new cultures. If she could fit in with the Dothraki, she could fit in anywhere.

"Dany," she said, cringing at the nickname her wicked brother had given her when they were children. "Dany Targaryen."

Jax smiled. "Much better. Welcome to Charming, Dany."

"Charming? Is that the name of this castle, or of your land?" Dany hoped she was close to pinning down where she was so that she could figure out how to get where she needed to be. There was much to be done, and the sooner she accomplished her mission, the sooner she would find out whether the Red Witch was telling the truth or not.

"Wow," Jax breathed, shaking his head as he chuckled. "You're really into this medieval shit, huh?" Dany locked eyes with him, her brow furrowed. "Okay," he sighed. "What the hell. I've got nothin' better to do, I'll play along. Charming is the name of this town. You're in Charming, California. You do at least know you're in Cali, right?"

Dany frowned. "California? Is that south of King's Landing? Or nearer to the Iron Islands?"

Jax laughed heartily. Dany was both offended and confused, but she refused to let him see that. "Okay, I gotta ask, darlin'. I shouldn't, but I have to. What year do you think it is?"

"Why, it's the three hundred and second year following Aegon's Landing. Surely you know that?" The perplexed look on Jax's face said otherwise.

"It's 2015 AD, sweetheart. AD means after death, as in the death of our lord, Jesus Christ."

"Who?"

"Holy shit," Jax muttered. "I need a smoke."

"A what?" Dany was trying not to let her frustration show, but the more she and Jax talked, the less she understood about this strange land Melisandre had sent her to. He seemed to be equally frustrated, biting his lip as he contemplated what to say next.

"Look, let's just get some shut-eye, alright? It's late. Maybe after we post bail in the morning, I'll take you out to breakfast and we can try this again. Maybe they've even got some normal clothes in evidence that they'll let you change into. 'Til then, goodnight, Mother of Dragons." Jax laid down on his very small, very uncomfortable looking bed, turning his back to Dany so as to leave no doubt that their conversation was over.

She took a seat on the edge of her identical bed, knowing Jax was right. She hadn't understood half of what he said, but she always felt better after a good night's rest and a hearty breakfast. She just hoped that 'breakfast' meant the same thing in Charming as it did back home. Home. Dany had spent so much time traveling over the past few years, she had no idea where home even was anymore. To her, it had always been wherever Drogo was. This place was not home. But if it led her to Drogo, and to their son, she would stay as long as she had to.