Welcome to my first Game of Thrones fanfiction!
Things you should probably know about the story: so, obviously, this is a story about the impending 'War for the Dawn' against the White Walkers. I read this theory once that Azor Ahai and the Prince Who Was Promised were two different people and I thought that would be an interesting thing to base a story around. This will have Jon/Dany in it-I love that pairing so much and I refuse to believe that Jon is really dead. So, in order to keep myself entertained during hiatus, I decided to write a hypothetical season seven and beyond. I'm going to kind of skip over season 6, but I'll reference events that happened during that time frame so it chronologically makes sense. Also, this story may have book characters and mild book plotlines-for example, if I need some extra characters I tend to look in the back of the books where they list all the characters so I don't really have to invent any OCs.
Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones. All rights go to HBO and GRR Martin.
I think that's everything. My author's notes are not normally this ridiculously long. Apologies.
Enjoy!
The last things Jon remembered were the knives-and the cold. He remembered seeing the faces of the men he'd once called his friends-his brothers, even-staring at him stony faced. Some had daggers, but most had just stared at him blankly, not trying to kill him but not trying to interfere either. He didn't know how it had come to this. He'd just been trying to do what was right.
For the Watch.
For the Watch.
For the Watch.
For the Watch.
He'd been stabbed four times; the last by his squire Olly. The Night's Watch had had him killed because they thought they had to. They thought he was going against his vows, when all he'd been doing was trying to save the world.
He'd just been trying to be a hero.
Jon had thought that would have been that. He was drifting in darkness-formless, faceless, and cold as the ice that covered the wall like frosting on cake. Dead as all of the stone kings in their crypts under Winterfell.
And then the smell of salt had flood his nostrils and he'd become aware of a loud keening sound-someone was wailing. Or not wailing exactly, but chanting something in a tongue that sounded anything but human-faster and louder until it was all he could hear, until it consumed him…A blast of cold air roared into his lungs. It was so frigid that it froze his chest and made him gasp for air he couldn't take in but it didn't matter. He didn't care because breath meant life-and he was alive. Never mind how this had all had come to pass. Never mind he'd been stabbed in the chest four times.
He was alive.
The chanting slowly solidified into words he could understand. He recognized Melisandre's voice, using the same tone she always used when she prayed over the night fires when it grew dark. "R'hllor! Lord of Light! Raise up your servant, Jon Snow! Raise up your promised one! Raise up Azor Ahai reborn!"
Shapes formed before his eyes-the crackling flames and the shapes of his black brothers and a small crowd of wildlings, all watching him with muted expressions of awe and terror. Slowly, feeling returned to his arms and legs and he realized he was lying on a funeral pyre. The flames were licking his skin, but they left no marks. He wasn't being burnt; in fact, he couldn't even feel the fire.
He pushed himself to a sitting position and brushed a stray lock of dark hair out of his eyes. He felt…different. Yes, he'd been brought back from the dead-but was he still Jon Snow anymore, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch? He couldn't tell.
"Azor Ahai!" the Queen's Men chanted, over and over again. "Azor Ahai! Azor Ahai! AZOR AHAI!"
"He is Azor Ahai!" Melisandre cried over the clamor, her voice ringing out loudly. "He is our savior! He will deliver us from darkness! He will bring back the dawn!"
She seemed to be talking about him, but Jon couldn't imagine why. He was no one's savior, just Ned Stark's bastard son. All he'd done was become Lord Commander of the Night's Watch-and even then his own men had conspired to murder him. He was nothing-less than nothing. He was certainly not a hero. "What are you talking about?" he asked, rising from the flames. "I'm not-"
"You are the Bringer of the Dawn. The Lord of Light has resurrected you to be his champion against the coming night." Melisandre explained, still using her priestess voice. "For the night is dark and full of terrors."
Jon rubbed his eyes against the smoke of the fires. The shadows seemed to be dancing in front of his eyes, materializing and breaking apart. He could feel them talking to him as they danced around the fire. The world seemed louder and more vivid somehow than it had before he…died.
What was happening to him?
Melisandre's hand closed around his elbow and led him to his old rooms behind the armory. "Rest now, Lord Snow." He didn't protest. His head was spinning and smoke inhalation was making him slightly nauseous. In fact, a few hours of sleep might be just what he needed.
He fell asleep still seeing the fire, still hearing the crowds chanting his name.
Azor Ahai.
The Bringer of the Dawn.
~GOT~
Jon dreamt of strange things.
First he was back at Winterfell, in the palace's great hall. There were all the people he had known and loved, once upon a time-the servants: Farlan, Mikken, Old Nan, and Hodor; and his family. But something was different. His father was short a head, Robb's brown jerkin was peppered with spots of red, Bran's eyes were completely white, and Catelyn wore a necklace of blood. They were feasting on carrion, on the eyes and teeth of their direwolves. He could hear a voice whispering over it all, repeating the same three words over and over again until he thought it would drive him insane: "Promise me, Ned…Promise me, Ned…"
The scene shifted to show a field of the dead walking, with their blue tinged skin and bright blue eyes-the color of deep snowdrifts in the early light of dawn.
Then he was standing in a large amphitheater like structure covered in sunlight. Thousands of people crowded the stands, baying for blood while a dragon flew by overhead. Sunlight glimmered off of its deep black scales.
The scene shifted once more to show a girl standing on a granite pedestal, a dragon on each shoulder and one crouched at her feet. She had long silver blonde hair and eyes that were almost violet. "We are the song of ice and fire." she said, smiling at him as she took a step forward. Jon felt him inexorably propelled toward her. She seemed familiar somehow, like he'd seen her before-though he knew he hadn't.
He saw the wight too late.
It stepped up beside the woman and plunged a sword into her abdomen. The blade was so cold it smoked as it pierced her worm flesh. Jon tried to reach her in time but it was too late. He woke up with her screams in his ears and a name upon his lips.
Castle Black was as cold and desolate as it always was. He could hear the mutters of the other rangers as they got ready for the day. For a moment, he lay where he was and listened to the clatter of bowls in the dining hall, the clash of steel in the training yard, and the squawks of the ravens in their tower. He was home-and yet he wasn't. He knew he could never call Castle Black his home again. Savior or not, he would never be welcomed back.
Just then, there was a knock on his bedroom door and Bowen Marsh walked in with a straight face and a tray packed with breakfast sausages and a bowl of gruel. "Welcome back, Lord Snow." he said in a way that suggested he meant the exact opposite. "You have been removed from your post of Lord Commander, as I'm sure you will understand."
Jon did-but that didn't make the news any less hard to hear. "Am I still a brother of the Night's Watch?"
"Your watch ended at your death. You owe no vows or fealty to us."
Jon nodded. He had expected nothing less-although he still didn't know exactly what he was going to do or where he was going to go. He broke his fast in silence. For some reason, Three Fingered Hobb's delicious food tasted like leather on his tongue. His thoughts kept flitting back to the woman in his dream-and her screams as she was murdered. He had a name now; Daenerys Targaryen, for whatever that was worth. Unfortunately, he knew nothing about her or where he could find her.
So he began to ask around. Soon he was hearing tales of dragons in the Far East and a dragon queen who fed on the blood of infants and bathed in the blood of virgins to keep herself eternally beautiful. Not the most flattering of descriptions.
And then Othell Yarwyck came to him with a different story.
"They say she's conquered Slaver's Bay and freed thousands of slaves. They call her their mother. Rumor has it she's the most beautiful woman in the world." he said, looking anywhere but at Jon. Most of the Night's Watch men still at Castle Black did what he asked of them-although Jon didn't know whether they acted out of a sense of duty or a sense of fear. Certainly they held no love for him.
"What does she look like?"
"Hair like rays of sunshine, eyes like purple sunsets. Why do you ask, Snow? Do you fancy taking a dragon to wife?"
Jon was about to say that went against his vows until it struck him that he had no vows anymore. He was no longer a member of the Night's Watch. He could hold all the titles and father all the sons he wanted to. But he had no interest in a wife-not until the Others had been defeated once and for all.
"No-but we need all the allies against the White Walkers we can get." The kings and lords of the Seven Kingdoms didn't seem to care about the menace growing in the far north and their foremost ally, Stannis Baratheon, was now dead. They were running out of time-and options.
"You think she can stop the wights?"
"No-but her dragons can."
Yarwyck laughed. "You believe that tale? Dragons have been dead for years."
"That's what we thought about the Others-before they started killing us."
Jon began to feel caged in his rooms. Melisandre had warned him to watch his back. His resurrection had probably scared off the worst of the fanatics, but there were some in the Night's Watch who would not hesitate to kill him again-for good, this time. Finally, when he couldn't take it a second longer, he headed to wilding compound outside Castle Black where all the survivors of the Hardhome massacre had made their homes. There were quite a few-enough to strain their already almost nonexistent food supply-but there were also too few, compared to what the settlement had once been. Tormund Giantsbane was their new leader; he had been at Hardhome and fought the Wights alongside Jon. He knew what a serious problem the Wights were-and what damage they could cause if their numbers were allowed to run unchecked.
The wildlings all glanced at him distrustfully. The once proud people had been diminished greatly; now they wore whatever clothes they had left to wear and fought over what few scraps of food the Night's Watch would permit them to have. A few nodded their acknowledgment but most just ignored him completely.
"Where is Tormund?" Jon asked a passing Thenn.
The Thenn glared at him but pointed to a small hut in one corner of the compound that was covered in furs. Two sentries stood guard outside.
"Who passes?" one of them asked as Jon stopped in front of the tent. He recognized the boy from Hardhome-he had sandy hair and a sprinkling of freckles.
"Jon Snow, here to see your leader Tormund Giantsbane."
The two guards conversed in low tones for a moment before they stepped aside to let Jon enter. "Did you really return from the dead?"
"Yes. I think I did." He didn't really understand what had happened himself, but everyone else seemed convinced that he was been reborn and he was happy to keep it that way.
Tormund was deep in conversation with a group of wildlings but he nodded to Jon when he entered the tent. "Nice to see you up and about again, Crow! They told me you'd be out of commission for another few weeks at least!"
"The Night's Watch doesn't expect a lot of things that come to pass." Jon answered. "And I'm no longer a crow."
"How do you figure that?"
"I rose from the dead. I'm a new man-and I don't think I'm meant to me part of the Night's Watch." If Melisandre could be believed, he was meant to be a savior instead.
"So you've finally decided to change cloaks."
"I didn't say that either. I'm here to discuss the Others."
Tormund's face seemed to whiten. "What about them?"
"We have to know how to defend ourselves. We need more dragonglass-as much as the wildlings can provide. Hardhome crippled our defenses-we can't let something like that happen again." He could still remember the army of reanimated wildling corpses rising from the snow under the control of the Night's King. The situation was dire-they were outnumbered and outgunned.
Dragons couldn't possibly hurt their cause-assuming they could acquire some that is.
"I would love to just hand over all of our dragonglass and Valyrian steel weapons," Tormund said sarcastically "If there were any bloody more to hand over! You and your crows seem to have bled us dry."
Jon bit his tongue and tasted warm blood. "This is a bigger problem than the Night's Watch and the wildlings. This affects all of us-and everyone in the Seven Kingdoms as well. If they are allowed to breach the wall, there won't be a Westeros left to save."
"And what would you suggest we do about it?"
"I'm writing to the Citadel for information. Until then, I need to know where you found all your obsidian."
"We don't find them. Obsidian daggers have been in our homes and families for generations. Our ancestors told us to keep them safe-so we did. But as time passed we lost our dragonglass for one reason or another-in exchange for food or in repayment for debts. Our stores are not what they once were."
This day just kept getting worse and worse. "Then we need Valyrian Steel-and those are practically nonexistent." In fact, Jon had one of the only swords of Valyrian steel in the entire Night's Watch. If all the Others could be killed by fire things would be simpler-but White Walkers were impervious to it.
"Are you really our savior?" Tormund asked mockingly, as though the very idea that Jon could ever be anything more than a simple bastard was absolutely ludicrous.
"No. I'm just doing what has to be done." He ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, already covered with a thin layer of frost even in the heat of the tent. "Winter is here."
"I don't doubt that. It's bloody cold out. But don't worry-we beat those buggers once. We can beat them again."
Jon wasn't so sure-which was why he needed to look outside the ring of typical allies. The White Walkers even now could be holding meetings in the frigid north, planning their assault on the Wall. The Night's Watch had seen them; they knew what was coming. They had to be ready. "For that we need weapons. Gather the obsidian from among the free folk and distribute it to those who can fight. I'll be back in a few days to chart your progress."
Tormund was still looking at him strangely. "You've changed. Sure, you're not a crow anymore-but what are you now?"
"I'm not sure I know myself-but I know I've seen the enemy. And we have much to do."
He left the wildling camp soon after. He felt like a wraith, travelling from one home to another but never truly belonging in any one place. He wasn't holding out much hope for Tormund; no matter how many obsidian daggers he managed to scrounge up they still wouldn't have close to enough.
Finding his way back to his chambers, he dethawed an extra inkwell and penned a quick letter:
To Daenerys Targaryen,
You do not know me, no more than I know you. My name is Jon Snow, recently deposed Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. For the past four years the Watch has heard reports of undead Wights roaming the lands north of the Wall. At first they were dismissed as fairy tales, as you might dismiss them before you finish this letter. But I know differently.
The Others are real and they have returned.
I have faced them myself. They are exactly as the stories describe: taller than most humans and cold enough to shatter steel. Fire agitates them and Valyrian steel and obsidian (better known as dragonglass) can kill them. We are sorely lacking in both.
I ask you, as I asked all the other kings and lords in Westeros, for what help you can give-arms, weapons, or knowledge. The Night's Watch is not what it once was. Years of neglect have left us badly understaffed and unequipped to face such a foe. Please heed our summons; I fear we cannot hold the Wall for long. Should the Others breach the Wall or bring it down altogether, the Seven Kingdoms would be defenseless-and the Free Cities could be endangered as well.
It is urgent that we meet as soon as is convenient.
Sincerely,
Jon Snow, formerly of the Night's Watch
He read the letter over twice and sent it out with the first available raven. Then all that was left to do was wait.
The days passed slowly at Castle Black, as they always did. Jon didn't get a reply-but then again he didn't really expect one. Daenerys was all the way in Slaver's Bay; it would certainly take time for the letter to arrive and even longer for a reply to get back. Assuming that the letter reached Daenerys in the first place and she actually wrote a response. Jon didn't know why he was still holding out hope for a reply. Most likely, Daenerys would be just like all the others he had tried to write to who had never answered his letters-much less brought men. But he hoped this dragon queen would be different, for her sake as much as his.
He had seen her die.
Of course, he wouldn't be able to put that in his letter, unless he wanted her advisors to think that he was planning to commit treason.
He got a final count of weapons from Tormund; which only confirmed his previous suspicions: they had nowhere near enough.
Every night, Jon attended the night fires Melisandre lit every night in the courtyard. They were becoming more and more popular as more and more of the men who had once fought for Stannis took the black. That was a small comfort at least.
"Chase away the servants of the darkness so the sun may rise again tomorrow. Give us light and heat. May the fire of your passions chase away the cold of this long and terrible winter. For the night is dark and full of terrors." Melisandre finished.
"For the night is dark and full of terrors." the black brothers muttered as they went about their nightly routine. Most of the Wall's castles were manned by at least a small garrison; other men spent their nights walking the top of the Wall itself, squinting into the night to see shadows moving in the Haunted Forest.
"Walk with me, Jon Snow." the Red Priestess said, seizing his elbow. Jon could feel the heat radiating off of her in waves, still warm from the flames of the fire. "R'hllor's chosen. There is something you must know."
Reluctantly he followed her. "What is it? Have you seen something in your fires?"
"I see many things-you holding a sword of pure light. An army of the dead covering the land. And…something rather unexpected."
"What do you mean?"
For the first time Melisandre seemed almost hesitant to disclose information. "R'hllor has sent two champions to defeat the coming night. You are Azor Ahai to be sure-but there is another who will aid your cause. It is written in the stars."
"What is?" The last thing Jon needed was more riddles.
"The Prince who was Promised."
"What is his name? Where is he?" Jon had to meet him soon so they could plan to coordinate their attacks.
Melisandre smiled-a red flash of light in the gathering darkness. "Who said anything about a him?"
There were times when Daenerys Targaryen wished that planning a conquest took just a little less effort. There were times when she thought her life would just be that much easier if she could just invade Westeros on Drogon's back with Viserion and Rhaegal in formation, like Aegon and his sister Visenya and Rhaenys had over three hundred years ago. However, she needed an army-which meant she had a khalasar to organize and an army of Unsullied to split up, not to mention her numerous companies of sell swords and freemen, some of whom were more suited for battle than others. Everyone needed enough provisions to get them across the Narrow Sea and through the battle that would come after. Sometimes the logistics of it all made her head hurt-but she wouldn't leave. She'd run away once. Now she was going to stay and face the music-no matter what happened when she reached Westeros.
She was going home. She was going to reclaim the homeland that should have been hers and sit the throne that was hers by right. She should have been elated; jubilant even-and she was, of course, but she was also exhausted. She didn't want to leave Meereen, not just yet-but she didn't have a choice.
She'd been gone too long already.
"This one wishes to tell you the Unsullied are settled on their ships as instructed." Grey Worm said, shifting from foot to foot almost nervously. After being a freed man for almost four years, he still wasn't totally comfortable around her-or the world of true Meereenese culture. She didn't blame him. Most of the Unsullied were still a bit standoffish-they preferred fighting wars and dying in battle to taking wives and holding lands. Old training died hard.
She gave him her best smile. "Thank you, Grey Worm." She watched him leave to organize the last few companies. There should be enough boats for them all; the fleet she'd purchased from Braavos was more than substantial.
The Sons of the Harpy were a dim and distant memory. While she'd been gone gathering back Drogo's khalasar and proving herself a khaleesi and worthy leader of the Dothraki, Tyrion Lannister had worked his magic and managed to root out all of the militants that had once plagued her rule. Their leader had been none other than her husband, the 'honorable' Hizdahr zo Loraq-and he had quickly been put to death for treason. Now Meereen was solely and completely under her rule, but she still worried about it in her absence. Astapor had been hers too, but once she left it had crumbled. She was afraid Meereen would soon follow.
Several of her handmaidens, two Dothraki and two Meereenese were loading the last of her personal belongings onto her royal standard flying the black flag of House Targaryen. There were her rich carpets and lavish tapestries-some she planned to take with her to the Red Keep and others she would give as gifts. She figured she'd be able to win over the Martells-they had always supported the Lannisters (in fact, her sister in law Elia had been a Martell herself). Add to that her Unsullied, sell swords, horse lords, freedmen, and dragons and she thought she had a good chance against the army of the crown. The Seven Kingdoms were in disarray-the Stormlands were still ruled by weakened Baratheon forces, but they could easily be overwhelmed. The Reach was allied to the Lannisters, as was the Westerlands. The Vale of Arryn was neutral, the North was too occupied by infighting to worry about major wars one way or the other, and even the Iron Islands had expressed interest in an alliance.
She would only get one shot at reclaiming what was hers-what Viserys had lived and died for. She couldn't fail.
She stepped out onto her patio, looking over the darkened city. Down in the central plaza she could see people and animals hurrying back and forth and to and fro in the gathering dusk calling back and forth in the gravelly Ghiscari tongue. Her city would be in good hands with a committee of her most trusted advisors-headed by Missandei and Grey Worm. It had taken many sleepless nights and long conversations behind closed doors for her to come to a decision, but Tyrion had advised it and both Missandei and Grey Worm had eventually accepted their new responsibilities.
But that would require Dany to leave behind one of the only friends she had left-and one of the only people she trusted.
"Your Grace?" the woman in question asked, walking out onto the balcony as well. "It's getting late and you have much to do tomorrow. You should get some rest."
Reluctantly Dany followed her inside-though she knew she would have trouble sleeping. But it was true; she did need the rest.
She blew out the candle she always kept on her bedside as Missandei closed the window curtains for the last time. "Do you need anything else?" the soft spoken ex translator asked, surveying the room that would be hers in only a few short hours.
"No. I'll be fine. Thank you, Missandei." Her gratitude extended far beyond simple words; ever since Astapor, Missandei had always been there for her as a tireless translator and good friend-who had never betrayed her confidence. Dany would miss her dearly, but Meereen needed a kind and capable ruler-even if said ruler still wasn't truly confident in her own abilities as of yet. She needed time to come into her own, sure-but she wouldn't be alone. She would have a small council as well-and she had spent the last year being trained under Tyrion's shrewd tutelage preparing for just this opportunity. Daenerys felt Missandei would be the best choice to carry on her legacy.
Missandei nodded and closed the door, plunging the world into darkness. "Sleep well."
Dany lay awake for a long time, silently reviewing in her head the journey still to come-the passage across the Narrow Sea and the stopover in Dorne. She didn't expect to sleep; she seemed to need less and less and time went on. But as so often happens she dozed off without meaning to.
She dreamt she was in the throne room of Westeros. It was just how she had always imagined it-dominated by the large chair the Westerosians called the Iron Throne. Snowflakes drifted down from a large hole in the ruined ceiling, tangling in her blonde hair. She reached up to touch one but it melted on her fingertips with a flash of deepest cold. Then she realized the throne was ruined-cracked in two pieces, right down the middle. Blue roses littered the ground.
The scene changed to show a vast wall, stretching along the horizon for leagues and leagues. It was made of ice and glistened in the morning air, almost beautiful in its own frigid way. Suddenly, the air rang with a loud horn blast that seemed to shake the entire world in a tsunami of snow and ice. For a reason she couldn't quite explain, Dany was filled with a deep sense of dread.
The dream shifted once more to show a small bedchamber, sparingly lit and lightly furnished. A dark haired man sat behind a wooden desk, sharpening a sword made of Valyrian steel. Flames reflected in his dark eyes, though the room was cold. She felt drawn to him; he seemed familiar in a way she couldn't quite place.
"We have to face them." he said, running a finger lightly along his sword hilt. "It is our destiny."
She wanted to tell him that her destiny was to be the queen of Westeros, but no words would come.
"They will sing songs about us." he continued. "The Prince of Ice and the Queen of Fire." His eyes seemed to burn violet. "Our song will be glorious. But I cannot do this alone. I need you." The room grew colder, bone numbingly so until she couldn't feel or think…
She awoke tangled in her blankets, breathing hard, with her betrayer's face burned into her mind-along with the name Jon Snow. Morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, cris crossing her bed with rays of yellow light. Just a dream she thought, trying to convince her heart rate to return to normal. But she knew it wasn't. Not really.
Just then, the door opened and one of her new handmaidens walked in. Dany hadn't quite learned their names yet; this one had long brown hair, warm brown skin, and a joke for almost every occasion. "Khaleesi, are you ready to leave?"
"Yes." She got out of bed and crossed to her closet to pick out her final dress from the few that weren't packed away for her journey across the sea. The rest would go to Missandei. When that was finished and she had braided her hair as usual, she broke her fast in the garden above the city for the last time. Drogon had made it his new home; he was sleeping in a patch of sunlight and gave a little grunt when he saw her pass as though in acknowledgement. He was growing rapidly-soon he would be too big for the garden proper. She ran a hand down his scales as she looked out at Slaver's Bay and the contingent of ships waiting to take her and her army home. Targaryen banners were being raised to every ship, sparkling in the light of the sun.
Today she would free her other two dragons, Viserion and Rhaegal, for the first time in two years. Though they were smaller than Drogon, they were still very impressive-and she would need all three of them for her conquest. There was so much to do-she couldn't worry about a dream as well.
Her first stop was the catacombs, along with a brigade of palace security at her small council's insistence. She waited impatiently as one of them fumbled with a key ring and opened the heavy metal door charred and dented by months of dragon fire.
"Your Grace," one of the captains asked as he stared into the darkness of the pit, "it has been a long time since these dragons were unchained. Are you certain they will still listen to you?"
"They are my children. They would never hurt me." She was given the ring of keys and stepped into the darkness without fear.
Viserion roared loudly, flames lighting up the dark. Dany bit her lip; they were half wild. She felt rather than saw Rhaegal moved to stand above her, chirping curiously as he sniffed her outstretched palm. His breath was warm on her hand as she scratched beneath the scales on his neck the way she knew he liked it. He was bigger than she was by now and able to kill her with just one breath, but she wasn't afraid. "Come." She said, pointing to the sheep carcass the guards had laid in the dungeon's doorway at her request. "We're all going home."
For a moment the dragons didn't follow her, just watching her leave and breathing heavily. Finally, she began to hear the soft sound of nails scratching tile as they crossed the dungeon chambers and into the hallway, which was littered with more animal corpses. Taking it carefully, room by room and step by step, they finally emerged into the harsh sunlight of the Meereenese dawn.
Almost instantly, Viserion and Rhaegal took to the air to meet their brother, their loud roars shaking the ground as they took wing. All around her, people looked to the sky with a mixture of fear and awe on their faces, but the dragons didn't even seem to notice them. They soared into the distance, probably to hunt. Dany knew they would be back before dark, but she still worried about them more than she should.
Tyrion Lannister, one of her most trusted advisors, fell into step beside her. "Jhago is acting up again."
Dany sighed. She'd thought she had made the terms of their agreement more than clear. "Tell him the ships are necessary."
"He seems convinced he can ride that destrier of his all the way to King's Landing."
"Tell him if he refuses to cooperate, his braid will be cut and he will be exiled into the Red Wastes." Jhago's braid wasn't nearly as long as Drogo's had been; it was nothing to be proud of.
"Duly noted." They reached the docks; a mess of activity even at this early hour. The dragons roared overhead, tearing apart the morning air. "Times are changing-I never thought there would be a time when seeing dragons in the sky would be a common occurrence."
"The time of the stag is over. The dragon will rise again from the ashes." She was the dragon-it was her destiny, her shield, everything she was and would ever be. "And you are convinced we can win over the Martells?"
"Yes. The Red Viper's bastard daughters are clamoring for war on King's Landing. If you know what to offer them, how to stir up bad blood….they will fight for you. The North is engaged in nothing short of a civil war, the Vale is entirely neutral, and-thanks to my meddling sister-the Lannisters and Tyrells are too busy trying to cement their claims to the throne to worry about invaders. We should face little opposition."
Daenerys nodded. "Assuming the voyage goes as planned." She still wasn't entirely convinced it would.
"As long as you brought more than salt pork and half rotten fish to survive on. Are you sure you wouldn't like to spend the voyage on deck with us peasants?"
"I would like to…but I must be with my children at least part of the time." She couldn't explain how she felt whenever she rode dragon back-everything seemed smaller and less important. She felt like she was part of the wind and sky; a creature belonging solely to the air. "I want to conqueror Westeros the way my ancestors did."
Daario Naharis ran to join her. "The Stormcrows have settled in. We were all waiting for your signal."
Daenerys nodded. "Tell our captains to perform their final checks."
Daario nodded, grinning cockily as he brushed a stray lock of dark hair out of his eyes and plunged into the hustle and bustle of the marketplace. Dany watched him go-and her line of sight didn't go unnoticed by Tyrion. "When you land in Westeros, the people will expect you to take a husband of Westerosian descent."
"The dragon must have three heads." Daario was wonderful for nights of heated passion, when all she wanted was a man to kiss her senseless, but he could ever be anything more than a paramour of sorts. He wasn't meant to be tied down to a woman, even if he was of noble birth-he was wild, untamed, and free.
"We should go to the ships. The captains are growing restless."
The soon arrived at the three royal standards: Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion. Each was lavishly decorated and brightly painted, filled with treasures of the Far East. Jorah Mormont greeted her on the deck of Balerion with a letter written on heavy parchment that bore an unfamiliar seal. She still didn't trust Jorah completely-in fact, she was convinced she never fully would-but he seemed to have changed and she had eventually been coaxed into giving him a second chance. "This arrived for you, Khaleesi."
She examined the note carefully. Jon Snow. She'd never heard of him before-in fact, the Night's Watch had never really crossed her radar. But the more she read the note over and examined the messy scrawl of his signature, the more she became convinced that Jon was the man in her dream the previous night-if indeed that was what it had been.
She felt Jorah's hand on her elbow. "Are you all right?" She didn't realize her skin had gone even paler than normal.
It is urgent we meet as soon as possible. Maybe it was.
Then again, maybe this was all a trap. "Who is this Jon Snow?"
"The bastard son of Eddard Stark." Tyrion explained. "Last I heard he was heading north to the Night's Watch. A decent lad, if a bit mopey. Not a bad ally."
Dany desperately wanted to rip up his note. He was bringing up things she didn't want to think about-not to mention Stark blood ran in his veins. The Starks had aided the Baratheons in killing her family.
But she couldn't help remembering her dream-of the Wall falling and the horn ringing through the air, loud and long and full of fear. If what he was writing was true and their enemies were real…
She realized she had zoned out again-which meant it was time to leave. Daario ran back with his checklist; everything was ready.
Dany nodded and took a deep breath. "Very well. Raise the banners."
"Watch yourself, Khaleesi." Jorah reminded her for the millionth time. "It wouldn't do for you to fall and throw off all our plans."
"I'll be fine." She grabbed the blanket and headed to an empty field out of the city and away from prying eyes-her prearranged meeting spot-and waited for Drogon to arrive. It took a while, but finally the dragon came flying in on huge leathery wings and landed before her. She carefully slipped the blanket onto his broad back before she climbed on top of it. Once she'd begun taking her dragon rides almost daily, she'd quickly realized that riding a dragon was nothing like riding a horse. Drogon's scales scraped at her thighs and ripped them raw while she'd lost quite a few fingernails gripping onto his scales. She'd eventually decided to make a pair of gloves to protect her hands. She'd also briefly considered having a saddle made, but Drogon was no common horse and they both felt he deserved better than such. The control she had over where she wanted to go was spotty at best. Usually Drogon would listen to her, but sometimes he would go only where he wanted to go. Usually, Dany didn't mind either way. She knew he was always looking after her. As it happened, she rode side saddle a lot as that seemed to cut off a lot of the more unsavory side effects.
"Fly." she said softly once she was seated. Drogon took off in a flurry of wings and Dany watched the city shrink below her for the last time. Missandei was standing on the pyramid balcony, waving a solemn goodbye. Dany waved back, remembering the quiet and shy slave girl she had met in Astapor. Sure, Missandei was still shy but she had a good heart and a kind disposition. Her dragon flew even higher, until the streets of Meereen, the royal fleet, and even the tops of the pyramids were nothing but tiny dots below them. She had plenty of time to mull over the situation at hand.
They flew for hours, past mile upon mile of green forest, blue river, and yellow desert. Occasionally they would pass a city, where people would look up at them in confusion as they soared past. After a while, Viserion and Rhaegal joined them to act as a rear guard. It was quiet up there, high above the world and all of its problems.
Finally, after around six hours of flight, the dragons began to lag until eventually Dany decided they had flown enough. She gestured Drogon downwards, with the other dragons following close behind. Three huge wooden platforms had been erected behind the royal standards for the dragons to share when they weren't flying; Dany tried to monitor them closely to be sure they didn't cause trouble but she needn't have worried. Most people left the dragons alone and they didn't attack unless provoked.
"We made good time." Tyrion said as both Daario and Jorah rushed to help her dismount. "Jhago is sated-for now. We hope to make the crossing in less than three weeks."
"They will see us coming." Dany said as her handmaidens prepared a dinner of figs and melons for her to sup on.
"They won't be able to stop us if they do."
An idea was forming in her head, tantalizing and quite possibly insane. But the more she thought about how it would never work, the more she wanted to try. "You say it will take a few weeks to cross?"
"Yes, at the rate we're going-assuming we don't meet with disaster."
"If I decided to…go to the Wall, just for a day, and then fly back….will I be missed?"
"You can't possibly be thinking-"
She was hesitant to share her dreams with Tyrion-despite everything he'd done for her cause he was still a Lannister, after all-but she knew he wouldn't understand otherwise. So, reluctantly, she explained about seeing the Wall come crashing down. She didn't mention Jon.
Tyrion sighed. "Dreams are just that-dreams. The Wall hasn't fallen for a thousand years. I don't think it's about to fall now."
"This one wasn't. It was...different. I just have to make sure that everything is truly fine." She cut her advisor off before he could protest. "I will leave you in charge of the voyage. I trust you can lead my crew safely. I will be back in less than two days. You are to tell people that I am on a diplomatic mission in the North." She went back to her chambers on board Vhagar and penned a quick letter before she could change her mind.
To Jon Snow,
After carefully reading and reviewing your recent letter, I have decided to come to the Wall and meet with you privately in order to determine whether or not the Wights you speak of are a true threat. I will require sufficient lodging for myself and three dragons for one night, at which time I will decide how best to contribute to your cause-if indeed I find your cause to be worthy of my soldiers.
I look forward to speaking with you. We have much to discuss.
Sincerely,
Queen Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.
She sent the letter off with the first available raven, hoping Jon Snow would reach it in time.
If there was a threat to her kingdom, no matter how far-fetched, she deserved to know about it.
Update as of July 12th, 2016: I've worked on combining some chapters together to make them a little bit more even. I haven't really changed anything about the narrative though; no worries there.
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