Rhaego's birth and Qarth shenanigans. Should be enough to fill a chapter, right? Let's get this show on the road.

Two swords clashed. Both combatants were sweating and shirtless, with the younger panting for breath while the older remained smooth and measured. In another flurry of blows, the blond kicked out at the other's knee, sending him sprawling. When the flattened swordsman looked up, it was to a blade at his throat.

"You still fight like a Northman, dear nephew," I said to Jon. "Stiff, angular, and held back by your thrice-damned honor."

"Well, if you'd stop cheating," he sneered, reaching up to rub his jaw. I'd socked him in an earlier bout.

"I'm not cheating. I'm fighting to win. I've fought in each of the Free Cities and among the Dothraki. I know the iron dance of the Seven Kingdoms, the water dance of Braavos, the silk dance of Lys, the fire dance of Old Valyria, and the horse dance of the Dothraki. I pick and choose which moves to use as befits the fight from moment to moment." I sighed. "I don't mean to brag. I'm just trying to make you realize that there are no 'rules' in a fight. It doesn't matter if you win with a clean thrust to the heart, hacking off a limb, or a kick to the groin. All that matters is if you walk away afterward. Just because you hold yourself back doesn't mean your opponent will."

"Still, you're getting better," Dany spoke up from the side. "You lasted a whole minute that time. The longest I've gone is three when he didn't hold back."

"Well, I held back a little. Couldn't risk ruining that pretty face, sweet sister," I said teasingly.

She huffed, reaching down to rub her bump. She looked like she'd swallowed a watermelon whole. If Rhaego was under a half stone, I'd eat my dirty socks.

Ser Rodrick Cassel stood to the side with Ghost. "You fight like a savage, but you are skilled," he said grudgingly.

"Ser Cassel," I said sharply. "When we're all alone, speak to me as you wish. I honestly don't care about the barbs you sling. But if you question me in front of the Dothraki, I'll be forced to defend myself. And that wouldn't work out well for you, now would it?"

Jon sighed and got back to his feet. He swung around his bastard Valyrian sword, a gift from me to make up for 15 missed name-days. He'd named it Frost, in clear reference to the ancestral Stark blade Ice. "Again."

The sun was full above the horizon when we'd started training together. It was gone beneath the horizon before Jon finally admitted defeat.

I handed him a bladder filled with fluid. "Pour enough of this to cover the bottom of your tub before you add the water. You'll wake up as if all this never happened, except for the callouses and strengthened muscles."

Jon shook his head. "I still don't know which scares me more: your swordsmanship or your sorcery."

"I take that as a compliment."

"Don't worry. You get used to his madness after a time," Daenerys spoke up, coming over to kiss Jon on the cheek. He blushed all the way down to his chest at having a pretty girl so close, especially when he was half-naked. God, Northmen were prudes. Dany waddled away, trailed by her handmaidens, to Elianna and the cookfire where Drogo rested.

I took a second to warg with Lucifer. 'Any change?'

'The other horse-men are camped on the other side of the village. I still say we should take them now, human-mine.'

'Patience, my bloodthirsty friend. Better to have them distracted with their little sacking before we strike. You can have your fill of man-flesh from the corpses tomorrow.'

'Very well,' the great beast grumbled in my mind.

We were near a village of Lhazareen, a peaceful people the Dothraki mocked as the Lamb Men. Khal Ogo and his khalasar were set to raid the poor village. Drogo planned to raid the rival khalasar in the confusion. We'd positioned ourselves behind a hill and made carefully sure to avoid being seen by any scouts. The fires were banked low tonight, and most of the khalasar had to make do with dried food to avoid the smell of cooking meat and smoke drifting on the wind and giving us away. Only the elite of the khal had the privilege of a hot meal tonight, which I was unashamed to count myself among.

The events of tomorrow weighed heavy on my mind. I'd be fighting alongside Drogo on the frontlines, while Jon had declined to engage in a mindless slaughter and Dany was too swollen to partake even if she wanted to. I'd try to make sure Drogo didn't suffer the grievous wound he had in canon and heal the damage without the questionable influence of one Mirri Maz Duur. But it was what would happen after the battle that really bothered me.

Dany and I had done our best to civilize Drogo and his khalasar, in what ways we could. But while Drogo humored Dany's ideas and heeded my words with consideration, he was still at heart a born-and-raised Dothraki. He believed in the traditional Dothraki way of doing things. And the prize for any man who spilled blood fighting for his khal was his pick of the women slaves afterward.

There would be a lot of raping and looting tomorrow, to say nothing of the needless killing. And there was no way I could stop it without usurping Drogo's authority. I couldn't declare it off-limits with Lucifer at my back to cow anyone who objected, and if Drogo announced a ban himself he'd be challenged by a great many of his officers or 'kos'. Tomorrow was going to be ugly, an assault of rabid men on weeping women, and any who stood up in defiance would be painfully cut down for sport. Many of the girls would be orphans or widows by the end of the day, their children facing a life of slavery in the khalasar. And sure, they'd be treated as well as any of Drogo's slaves, which was a fair step above the standard for this ass-backwards culture, but they'd still be slaves.

"For the Iron Throne," I reminded myself. For my birthright, even if Jon technically had first claim. He'd cheerfully abdicated when I'd pointed that out, I had a signed letter and everything. He'd barely come to terms with being a Targaryen prince; he had no desire to become a Targaryen king. Tomorrow would be savage, but I was working with savages. If I wanted Drogo's cavalry, I had to play along with his rules. I'd 'claim' as many women as I could tomorrow, and Dany would undoubtedly repeat her act from the book, but that was the best we could do.

I reminded myself that tomorrow would be nothing compared to the cities of Slaver's Bay. I wasn't sure if that thought made me more or less uncomfortable.

Well, at least I had Sezgin and Selenia to distract myself with.

An hour after the battle had died down, I still couldn't decide which sound bothered me more: the wet gurgle of a war cry being cut off, or the wailing of the survivors. Both were damaging to the heart and soul in their own way. No wonder Robert had PTSD, if this was what medieval warfare was really like.

Still, in the heat of the moment, I had been merciless. Most of the Lhazareen had been smart enough to lay down their arms when they saw me mix magic and martial arts, but some of them had still fought against me. All had died by my blade or the flames that moved like living things around me. Khal Ogo's men, though, had seen no hesitance from me. The weak die and the strong survive. This was the Dothraki way. To offer a rival the chance to surrender was to dishonor both him and you.

Lucifer had done his part early on in making a wall of flames to prevent retreat. After that, he'd done a good enough job breaking morale by feasting on the corpses of the fallen, turning any man fool enough to charge a dragon into ash. I could sense nothing but gluttonous contentment from him as he compared the taste of sheep and shepherd.

Despite my sincerest efforts to be as distracting and attention-grabbing as possible with my Fire magic and attacks, Drogo had still gotten the cut to his left pectoral from Ogo's bloodrider. The light-footed giant had repaid the man with a sliced throat and gone on to kill both Ogo and his son Fogo, killing two khals in the space of ten minutes. Drogo's bloodriders had cut the bells from their braids and sown them into Drogo's, so his every step was even louder.

I sent Jorah off to escort Dany through the broken city to her husband and brother. I had fought in Dothraki vestments, albeit with Mithril sewn into them, while the Mormont had fought in full armor. The few Dothraki who had mocked him for putting on 'metal skin' had been cut down by the exiled bear's longsword.

I was now arguing with my good-brother about letting me heal him.

"Many riders are hurt," Drogo protested. "This little cut is only a scar to boast of to my son."

"Your son won't have you to boast to him if you leave that untreated," I countered. "Drogo, you are my sister's sun-and-stars. I would not have her see you with such a wound and be troubled. What ails her will ail your son, the Stallion that Mounts the World, inside her." I glanced at his bloodriders arranged around him. Cohollo and Haggo looked away, their braids still barely past their necks after our duel months ago. Jhaqo, recently promoted from ko to Drogo's bloodrider to replace the void left by Qotho, eyed me though. I bent the Wind around us to mask my voice. "For all the gods sake, Drogo, just let me fucking fix you before Dany faints at the sight of you."

Drogo wilted. My sister was his weak spot. "Very well, Viserys."

Acting quickly, because every moment I left that wound open was a chance for more bacteria to fester, I commenced with magical field surgery. I poured a healing potion from a flask I saved for emergencies, guiding it with Water magic to soak into the wound. It had a numbing effect, so Drogo barely winced. I summoned up Earth to cover the wound with healing mud, packing in the open wound until it was sealed tight. I waited a beat, and then conjured Fire in my hand and held it to the mud. It dried and cracked off, revealing the pinkish-purple of fresh scar tissue.

"There. All done. There's your scar to brag to little Rhaego about. And all the other little munchkins you and my sister cook up."

Drogo scrunched his brow, looking up from looking at the healed wound with muted awe. "Munchkin? Cook?"

"A slang word in Common Tongue, meaning 'child' or 'small person'. And there's some people who alike a child growing in the womb to a bun baking in an oven. So, a man and woman 'cook up' a child together." I waved my hand. "Never mind. Just take it as one of those odd things I say."

"You have a great many odd phrases, even some that confuse the moon-of-my-life."

"Well, I had a very different upbringing than her. I was out in the Free Cities earning our keep while she was safe at whatever house we'd found. I picked up a few things." And thousands of points of XP, which had culminated in my frankly ridiculous maxed-out stats and Skills.

It honestly had felt a bit like a game, cutting down all those men or burning them alive. I'd have to keep an eye on that, lest I turn into the second coming of my dear old man.

At that moment, there was a fuss among the captured Lamb Men and Ogo's former khal. I turned and wasn't surprised to see Dany on her silver with Elianna trailing behind her. The streets were barely large enough to contain the dragon's bulk. I was a bit surprised to see Jon beside her. He looked faintly green. I felt a stab of pity for him; he'd have nightmares tonight, I was sure. The sight of all the carnage and the fate worse than death that befell the survivors was enough to turn my stomach, let alone an unblooded teenager.

I walked over to him while Dany greeted her husband. "Where's Winter?"

"He… was hungry," Jon answered faintly.

"A bit harder to watch than a clean execution, isn't it?"

"How… how can people do this to each other?" he asked, sounding his age for once.

"There's no good answer. I tell myself it's necessary to my goals. The simple fact is, the fight happened. And in a fight, it's me or them. The best I can do is learn to live with the lives I've taken and do my best to make sure there are as few fights as possible going forward."

"Will… when we return home, will you do this kind of thing to the North?"

I sighed. "Only if they oppose me." It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but I'd promised not to lie to him.

He grit his teeth. But he nodded.

I turned back when I heard a commotion. A man named Mago was gesticulating, ranting in angry Dothraki that Daenerys had taken his spoils. Drogo looked to Dany. "Is this true, moon-of-my-life?" he asked in Common.

My sister held her head high "This is the way of war, yes? These women are slaves, to do with as the khal pleases. As khaleesi, it pleases me to see them safe." She turned to Mago. "Yes, I took the slave from him. Am I not khaleesi, the blood of the dragon, rider of the mighty Elianna?" As if on cue, and I wouldn't discount a touch of warging, Elianna roared out at that moment. Almost every horse jolted, except for Dany's silver. Elianna looked on my sister's other mount with the fond air one would give to a pet. The two were an unlikely set of animal friends, but their bond was true.

"I would claim every Lamb woman. Let the riders slake themselves on Ogo's lost khal or find one of our own to take to wife. But these sheep girls are mine." Daenerys Stormborn stated in the silence that followed in the wake of the great beast's call. I had never been prouder of my baby sister.

Drogo was grinning. "See how fierce she is? A fine mother the dragon makes for the Stallion that Mounts the World. My son will share her fire." Drogo stood up. "Send word. All the female slaves taken from the village are property of the khaleesi. Mago, find a good Dothraki girl to mount. The sheep belong to my wife." Drogo reached out to take Dany in his arms, giving her a fierce kiss. Thankfully they didn't do more than make out.

While the Dothraki reluctantly went to tell men mid-rut they had to stop, I turned to one of the women huddled by Dany's silver, flanked by her handmaidens. I stepped over to them. I had used Channeling magic in the aftermath of the battle to learn the history of the village, to absorb the feel and shape of the psychic imprints left by generations of life. Emotionally taxing, yes. But it had the handy benefit of letting me learn a language within an hour.

"Be at peace, Lhazareen," I called out in their own tongue. They jumped, turning to gape at me. Some of the Dothraki turned to stare, but Elianna proved enough of a buffer. "My sister has claimed you, as well as all the women of this village. You all are under her protection. You will not be raped… anymore," I tacked on, aware of how hollow an assurance that was. Still, some of them softened and relaxed. "Now, who is godswife to this temple?"

"I am," said a flat-nosed woman of around forty. "I am Mirri Maz Duur, trained in the healing arts."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "The stain of blood magic flows from you, 'healer'."

She hesitated. "Sometimes death must pay for life."

I thought about how the dragons had been born. "True enough. But you deal with questionable merchants as like to cheat you as trade with you." I summoned Fire to twist around my fingers. The Lamb women flinched and cried out, while Mirri Maz Duur paled. "As I said, you are under my sister's protection. That's the only reason I don't slay you where you stand for the risk you pose to her." I walked forward to look her dead in the eye, our noses almost touching. "You think you have nothing left to live for. You think the life my sister gifted you is hollow, with your flock slaughtered and enslaved, and three men's seed dripping unwanted from your womanhood. But know this: if you are anything less than her most grateful and faithful servant from this moment on, if you so much as think of doing her or our family harm, you will beg for death before I am halfway done with you."

Her eyes widened. "The Great Shepherd made Flesh," she breathed. "The Red Priests call you Azor Ahai, do they not?"

I raised a brow. "Am I prophesied even in your culture, as well? I had no idea I'd be so popular just for being born."

Mirri Maz Duur bowed low. "Worry not, my lord. Your sister, her children, even her husband will come to no harm while I draw breath." She gave a sardonic smile. "After all, we are all one flock."

"And the wolves are waiting in the Sunset Kingdoms." I added. "If it's any comfort, know that all this was part of the price I must pay to get to where I must and face them."

She looked down. "As you say, my lord."

"Vis? What are you saying?"

I turned to Dany. "Oh, just getting to know your new toys. I believe I might have found you the ideal midwife. This is Mirri Maz Duur. She is well trained in healing, having learned from her Lhazareen mother, the mages of Asshai, a moonsinger of the Jogos Nhai, a Dothraki herbwoman, and even a maester of the Citadel. You lucked out with her, sweet sister."

Dany grinned. "Truly?"

"Yes, Silver Lady," Mirri said in the Common Tongue. She eyed me with barely hidden awe. She had no way of knowing that my knowledge came from the books rather than divine enlightenment… though the two were practically the same thing when you thought about it, in this world.

"I won't even ask how you learned their language so fast. It's just like you to do six impossible things a day."

I smiled at Daenerys. "You know me so well."

We made for Qarth, Drogo's herd as large as it had ever been. Jorah rose the point that Meereen was closer and would pay more for Ogo's captured khalasar, but I insisted and made sure Drogo agreed with me. Qarth had Quaithe and shade-of-the-evening, both of which I was eager to meet and 'experiment' with. Besides, it's where I had instructed Illyrio to send ships with supplies and any 'exiles' from the Seven Kingdoms.

So sue me, I wanted to test myself against THE Barristan Selmy. Plus, I needed the excuse that they brought news from the west to explain my reasoning for future actions.

Rhaego's due date came and went. Dany reported that he stirred within her, kicking like a frightened horse, but she'd yet to feel the deep aches other women had told her foretold birth. I had an idea what little Rhaego was waiting for. I did my best to keep my sister comfortable as she only got bigger. I was assisted by Mirri Maz Duur, whom had apparently found new purpose in life as my sister's shadow. Guess coming face to face with her culture's messiah had stopped her from becoming a bitter shrew. That, or she was taking my threat seriously. In either case, the Lhazareen woman was never far from Daenerys, as much her handmaiden as Irri or Doreah.

Sure enough, a red comet was just becoming visible in the sky as the sun came near the horizon when Dany cried out.

Drogo carried her himself to the birthing tent, looking half-panicked and half-giddy. I reminded myself that this was the birth of his first (legitimate) son. Plus, he thought the sun shone out my sister's ass, as far as he was concerned. Then he sat himself down at the closed entrance, flanked by his bloodriders, as Elianna wrapped herself into a coil on the other side of the tent. Excited voices talked over fires as the khalasar made camp, the birth of the Stallion that Mounts the World spreading like wildfire from mouth to ear.

I stood and paced, trying not to flinch when I heard Dany scream with each contraction. What had I been thinking? She was younger even than Jon. She had no business having children, forget the 'if it bleeds, it breeds' attitude most of this world ascribed to. Drogo was tall and broad, of course his spawn would be considerably large. Perhaps too large for Dany to safely deliver. Did Mirri Maz Duur know how to do a caesarean? Was that even a thing in this world?

"Shouldn't you be in there? You have your magic to help, right?" Jon asked, petting Ghost with one hand and rubbing Winter's snout with the other. The two albinos didn't have nearly as warm a relationship as Elianna and Dany's silver. Winter tolerated Ghost the way a tiger would tolerate a puppy. It probably helped that Jon could warg with both, so they had psychic echoes of the other to acclimate to and make them more accepting of each other.

"Only women and eunuchs in a birthing tent. It's the Dothraki way. I'm not going to spit on their traditions like that." I winced as a particularly shrill cry came from the tent. "Besides, I'd probably do more harm than good. I can't concentrate with her screaming like that."

"I remember when my sister, I mean, cousin Arya was born. If it's any consolation, Lady Stark sounded twice as bad and both of them were perfectly fine afterwards."

I looked up at the sky. The comet was like a trail of fire in the night, outshining the stars that were beginning to appear. The fires were just being lit. "I'm going to go get my birthing gift. With my luck, Rhaego will be born the moment I'm out of earshot. And then this will be over."

I ran back to my tent, using Wind magic to be superfast. I nodded to Sezgin and Selenia, whom were wrapped intimately on my bed. Naturally, with all the time the three of us spent together amorously, the two had formed a bond of their own. They were not particularly concerned with the birth of the Stallion, convinced that Rhaego was not the Prince that was Promised so he was of little interest to them. I found the gift I'd carefully guarded and kept secret since I'd found it, lifting it from its chest and returning to the birthing tent the long way, it tucked under my arm.

Dany's moaning and yelling could be heard from a spear's throw away. I hesitated a second but continued walking forward. When I finally got back to where Drogo and the others were anxiously waiting, the noise we'd all been waiting for followed in the wake of Dany's loudest scream yet.

The wailing of a babe.

We waited about a half hour more, as Dany recovered and Rhaego had his first meal. Then, on legs as shaky but strong as a young colt, Daenerys walked out of the birthing tent, a little bundle wrapped in her arms.

"Daenerys," Drogo breathed out like a prayer. He walked forward, looking scared for the first time since I'd known him. "Is he…"

"Strong and hearty as his father," Dany said, with a tired smile on her face glowing with sweat. She held the little bundle out. "I present you Rhaego, son of Drogo, the Stallion that will Mount the World."

Drogo took the little bundle. Your average baby he could hold in one hand, but this one needed both to support. No wonder Dany had been so loud. "I have a son," Drogo said, gazing down into the baby's face with a look of wonder and pride. He looked up at Dany and leaned forward to kiss her full on the mouth. "You have given me the greatest gift of all, moon-of-my-life."

Dany smiled and stepped forward, looking down at her son held in her husband's arms. "I am happy to give it, my sun-and-stars."

The new family had a tender moment, just to themselves. Then Drogo turned. Taking a second to make sure his hold was steady, he raised the little bundle high above his head. "The prince is born!"

"The prince is born!" echoed a thousand voices, the gathered masses screaming with joy at their khal's proclamation.

Drogo's stallion was brought forward. It was important that a Dothraki babe experience horseback as soon as possible, to begin their training from the very start. Tucking Rhaego into his arm, Drogo took off at a light trot, going forth to spread the news and show off the newborn to every corner of the khalasar. Tonight would be a night of feasting and revelry. The Stallion that Mounts the World had been born healthy and whole. Now it was just a matter of time before all the khalasars were united beneath the one true khal.

I walked up to Dany, watching her men ride off with a smile. "So, does it hurt as much as they say?"

She scoffed. "No worse than dealing with you for fourteen years."

"I'm hurt, sister. Truly hurt." I smiled and kissed her brow. "Congratulations. You did it. He's here."

"I never knew I could love someone so much," she confessed. "I've only held him once and my arms feel empty without him in them."

"From what I hear, that feeling never goes away. That's why it's so hard for parents to let their children go off to live their own lives." I wrapped an arm around her. "He's yours and Drogo's, sweet sister, and but he's also his own person. He's yours to protect, but never to stifle." I searched for the right thing to say. "Grandmother told Mother something when Rhaegar was born. She told it to me on the eve of your birth."

"What was it?"

" 'From now on, you are only here to be a memory for your children.' That's the role of a parent. To guide, to teach, to shape, and to die before them."

Dany gave a tired smile. "I miss her. I know I shouldn't, because I never knew her…"

"None of that, now. You only knew her for a few minutes after you were born, but she was still your mother. It's perfectly fine to miss her."

She smiled and pulled back. Her eyes lit on the cloth-wrapped shape tucked under my right arm. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Never underestimate the markets of Vaes Dothrak. Or the power of human greed." I grinned and lifted a corner of the wrapping. The gleam of dragon scales glittered in the flickering torchlight. "For now, it will just be a very pretty addition to his bed. Gods willing, we'll hatch it with him when he's old enough."

"He'll never be old enough," she said stubbornly.

"Hark who's talking. You were only thirteen when Elianna hatched."

"Damn it. I hate when you're right."

"I usually am."

Turns out, even exhausted from five hours of labor, Daenerys packed a mean punch.

The next day, most of the riders were sluggish and churlish, being hungover from the orgiastic party the night before. I hadn't seen the Dothraki celebrate so hard since Dany and Drogo's wedding. The guest of honor spent most of his time in Drogo's arms. The fierce warrior proved to be very clingy of his newborn son, almost refusing to hand him over to Dany and her handmaidens when he cried out for milk or soiled himself. I found it adorable. Dany did too, I could tell by her smile.

It took four months of following the coast, when we finally came upon Qarth. Dany's 15th name-day came and went with a small celebration, but the herd continued with its plodding voyage. The massive khalasar was met by heralds from the city. The Jade Sea was less used Dothraki hordes than the Free Cities, but the general procedure was still the same: ply them with gifts to avoid pillage and siege. We made camp a far enough from the city walls to leave them comfortable but close enough that they couldn't forget our presence. The dragons undoubtedly drew attention; I'd had Dany and Jon deliberately fly with me over the water and land back at the camp after I was sure we'd drawn half the eyes of the city. Much higher-ranking officials would be sent to visit us the next day.

I looked on the Queen of Cities. Intellectually, I knew it was an expy of Istanbul, being the gateway between the West and East and a powerful port, not to mention the general architecture. Still, like everything in the Song of Ice and Fire, the effect was twice as grand, opulent, and truly awe-inspiring as any city on Earth. That's the wonder of having actual magic to assist in building giant structures that were as much feats of art as engineering. The triple walls had easily earned their status as one of the Nine Wonders of this world, and the bustling port was a feast for the eyes, ships of the various trade guilds and civilizations from every corner of the planet clustered together. The Hall of a Thousand Thrones stood at the center of it all, a palace that made Agrabah's seem quaint and modest.

"Good to be home, Sezgin?" I asked my companion.

"My home is with you and my Selenia, my prince. But yes, it is comforting to be back in the lands of my birth," the pale Red Priest answered.

"So, you think I should petition the Pureborn or just try and buy a fleet from the Thirteen?"

Sezgin chuckled. "I'm sure you plan to go to both."

"Am I that predictable?"

"Hardly. I just know you well." Sezgin was silent for a beat. "My prince…"

"Selenia is pregnant. Three months along, by my guess."

Sezgin let out a relieved sigh. "You are not upset? You are aware that with our magics granted us by the Lord of Light, such a thing should not be possible without her consent. And yet she swears this was unintentional."

"I've got so much magic, I'd be surprised if it didn't interfere with others when we've spent prolonged contact with each other. Besides, a fuck is no time to be focusing on holding a spell." I turned to clap him on the shoulder. "This is a good thing, my friend. I'm not sure which of us is the father, and I don't really care. We'll raise the babe together, the three of us. And when life inevitably forces me to settle down and marry, I'll keep you in my life regardless."

Sezgin seemed overtaken. "Viserys…"

We tracked down Selenia and retreated to my tent. That night easily made my top five of all time.

The next day, three representatives of the city came to visit the camp. They were escorted to the center of the khalasar, where they found Drogo, Daenerys, and myself. Drogo was in horsehair vest and trousers, his hair gleaming with oil and more decked with golden bells than your average Christmas tree had ornaments, looking every inch the Dothraki horse-lord. Dany wore a Qartheen gown of the finest silk, one of the gifts given to the khaleesi the previous day. It barred one breast, which was still heavy-laden with milk and red from her most recent feeding of Rhaego. Jon, I, and the other Westerosi averted our eyes when we looked at her, but the others all eyed her with appreciation, Drogo most of all. I wore the same outfit I'd worn to introduce Dany to Drogo, using subtle Wind magic to keep me cool in the ebon black despite the blazing sun. Jon stood beside me, in similar vestments. He seemed to wear the red dragon of Targaryen with pride the way he never had the grey direwolf of Stark. We had each of our attendants arranged around us: Drogo with his bloodriders, Dany with her handmaidens and bodyguards, me with the Red Priests and the Westerosi knights. Behind us, the three dragons Lucifer, Elianna, and Winter rested, each the size of a whale with wings. Winter had a bit of a growth spurt after bonding with Jon.

I was a tad surprised to see that we got the same representatives as a widowed Daenerys had in the books. Xaro Xhoan Daxos stood at the front of the party, jewels and silks gleaming against his Summer Islander skin. The exiled prince turned merchant was flanked by a man and a woman. The man wore a grey robe that looked like dead skin, his neck was freakishly long, and his lips were blue. The woman was covered in black from head to toe, her face hidden behind a red lacquer mask, her eyes wet and shiny behind it.

"Name yourselves and state your purpose here," Drogo commanded in Dothraki. He wasn't just a good warrior, he could be quite the diplomat when the situation called for it.

There was a muttering in their ears by a translator who came along.

"I am Pyat Pree, the great warlock," announced the long-necked man in guttural Dothraki.

"I am Xaro Xhoan Daxos of the Thirteen, a merchant prince of Qarth," declared the bald black man in the bastardized Valyrian of the Free Cities.

"I am Quaithe of the Shadow. We come seeking dragons." Quaithe spoke in the Common Tongue of Westeros, and she seemed to address the Targaryens rather than Drogo himself.

Drogo snorted and gestured to me, as I'd coached him to. The khalasar was Drogo's, but the dragons were mine. That had been our understanding from the beginning. "Seek no more, for you have found them. I am Viserys Targaryen, Father of Dragons. I discovered the secret to hatching dragon eggs over a year ago. Behold Lucifer the Black, Elianna the Emerald, and Winter the White." I surprised them all by speaking in the Qaathi language, the native tongue of Qarth. A mixture of Channeling and lessons with Sezgin. Valyrian was just as common in the city, but I was trying to make a statement by speaking on their terms.

What followed was a long and winding conversation, full of intrigue and half-truths and hollow promises. Pyat Pree and Xaro Xhoan Daxos fell over themselves offering me honors and gifts, promising all of Qarth if I so desired. Quaithe made not a sound. I eventually convinced the two men to leave, with my word to honor Pyat Pree's audience with the Undying Ones and to visit Daxos in his palace to discuss business at a later date. Quaithe appeared to nod and leave with them, but it was an illusion. She actually hadn't moved from her spot.

I waited until the three (well, two and a fake, plus their attendants) were out of sight. Then I nodded to Quaithe. "Reveal yourself, shadow-binder."

The Dothraki hissed when Quaithe appeared from out of thin air, but the khalasar was used enough to magic between me and the Red Priests that they didn't react with violence.

"Your eyes are sharp and clear, he who claimed the title of Azor Ahai," Quaithe said behind her mask, staying in the Common Tongue.

I hid a flinch. Did she sense my Gamer powers? She'd be the first.

"How dare you? He is Azor Ahai, born and true, wielder of Lightbringer and R'hllor reborn!" Selenia hissed.

"Down, girl," I said jokingly. "You are clearly very well informed, Quaithe of Asshai. Perhaps you could tell us of what's been going on in the Seven Kingdoms. It's been very long since we heard news from across the Narrow Sea."

Those eyes zeroed in on me. "Why ask questions to which you already know the answers?" she asked in Asshai. Thank the gods I'd picked that up in the Eastern Market.

"A mummer's farce is a lie, but still the actors must play their parts."

She nodded. She switched back to Common. "The drunken stag is dead. His son who is not his son rules in his absence, but the lions are trying to keep their claws in him. The bleeding wolf retreated to the North with his pups and prepares to fend off the kraken. The two brothers squabble over their inheritance, while the rest watch and wait."

I nodded. "Thank you."

"Be cautious, player. The game might well start playing you." With that, she finally left.

"What did any of that mean?" Daenerys asked, taking Rhaego back from Jhiqui. The boy seemed to have almost double in size since his birth. He was on track to be even bigger than his father. His hair and eyes were Valyrian blond and purple, but otherwise he was pure Dothraki. The mixture was enchanting, and many of the women cooed over how he'd have the maidens weeping when he grew to manhood. Drogo puffed up with pride every time he heard so much as a kind word aimed at his son and heir.

"Thankfully, I had Ser Jorah go investigating in the port last night. Armed with what he came back with, I can make some sense of her cryptic words." I felt like putting on a cap and pointing a stick at a blackboard as I went into exposition mode. "The drunken stag is Robert. The Usurper is perished."

Dany and Jon gasped, for very different reasons.

I continued. "There are rumors that King Joffrey who succeeded him isn't a Baratheon at all but a Waters, born of incest between the Kingslayer and his twin sister. But rumors are silenced by Lannister steel. The West is making their bid to rule the Seven Kingdoms. The 'bleeding wolf' is most likely Lord Stark. Sounds like he finally did the smart thing and fled King's Landing with his children and party." A change I was very curious about. Had my letter had that much of a butterfly effect? Was good old Ned waiting for a Targaryen to come back and reclaim the dynasty he'd helped topple? "The kraken is the Greyjoys, of course. Sounds like they want to take advantage of the chaos to secede and maybe conquer again. The two brothers are Stannis and Renly Baratheon. Stannis believes himself Robert's heir, and Renly believes himself to be the best suited to rule. The Seven Kingdoms are in disarray. They whisper in the ports that the Sunset Kingdoms are swallowed up by the War of Four Kings." I shrugged. "That's my best guess based on what Jorah heard, what Quaithe just told us, and what I've seen in the fire."

I actually had done some scrying. Sezgin and Selenia had watched rapturously as I engaged in one of the sacraments of their order. R'hllor had been kind enough to give me vivid flashbacks of the tv show, which I took as confirmation that canon was continuing as planned, with a few mild alterations. Like me.

"This is horrible," Jon said.

"This is fantastic," Dany countered. "Your mother's family is safe in the North. The rest of the Kingdoms will topple like a house of cards. By the time we get there with our ships, the war will be half-won already."

"Don't be too optimistic, sweet sister. The Lannisters and Baratheons may batter each other to pieces, the Starks may remain neutral and the Martells will certainly back us, but that still leaves the Tyrells, the Tullys, and the forces of the Vale, not to mention all the minor houses which may act contrary to their lieges. There will be a war. A short one with Drogo's khalasar, the Unsullied, a Qartheen navy, and the dragons on our side. But war nonetheless."

Drogo snorted. "War? I call it sport."

I shared a bloodthirsty grin I didn't really feel with him. I wanted to win this game with a minimum of bloodshed. But as little as could be allowed would still be enough to fill a river.

"I'll take my leave now. I have preparations to make for the next few weeks."

I had a few finishing touches to make on what I'd been working on to make sure our time in Qarth went off without a hitch.

I had 100 in Alchemy after all. How hard could it be to make a Philosopher's Stone?

I'll leave it there. I could go on, but I get the sense that the rest of this chapter would be better off mixed with next chapter. Hope this was worth the wait. Love to you all!