Chapter Four

Daenerys struggled to sleep that first night and the one that followed, her mind twisting with Bran's words and her own emotions. She wanted to dismiss it, but when she closed her eyes his words flashed back as memories of her life.

Viserys used to tell her of their family, of how their brother died in battle; of their father's murder. And the horrific ways in which their nieces and nephews had been murdered as small children because Robert Baratheon wanted every Targaryen dead. If what Jon had told her was true, then even the crime that started that rebellion was a lie; Rhaegar had not stolen or raped anyone.

But that rebellion had changed the world she had known, would her family have been loving? What would Rhaegar have made of his baby sister? She would not have been destined for the throne; the line would have passed through Rhaegar to his sons.

Instead she had grown up in the Free Cities, moved from place to place to stay alive; subject to her brother's temper. It was his temper that Viserys referred to as the dragon within him, woken with little warning and always cruel; to him that was what a dragon was. Power and fury were the words Bran Stark had used; by the stories of her family he was not wrong.

But she had raised her dragons from babies that folded their wings and tucked themselves against her, even now, many times her size they dipped their heads to be stroked. They felt pain when hurt, they liked her attention and squabbled for it; Drogon had folded himself around her to mourn when Jorah fell on that battle field.

And when Jorah struggled from the flames her dragons had screeched in delight and triumph as they launched to the sky, knowing what they had done before she did. They were not monsters, and they were more than weapons for war; but she knew that because she had raised them.

Daenerys took a few moments with her children after another difficult night, they were huge and frightful to so many; and yet she knew them. Drogon nudged her hand as she stood between her sons; sensing that her attention was not on him. Smiling a little she rubbed his snout and reached out to Rhaegal as well.

Looking at her children she tried to imagine the dragons of centuries past, in the times of Old Valyria when there were many. When they built a civilization and conquered lands for Kings, was that truly their purpose? Was there more to the bond between men and the dragons than what she had been told? Had that truly been the great era of dragons?

Winterfell was resilient, the North would not stay down and lick their wounds; survivors rallied. He got many strange looks and people shied away from him as he walked through the keep but Jorah ignored it. Instead he watched and listened, the Northerners were not defeated, though they had lost many; no, they were angry.

They were angry that the South had left them to fight this war when the dead came for them all, that the South had broken their oath and word of the Golden Company's arrival in Westeros had spread. This was the momentum that the Khaleesi needed to use, this was her best chance to rally the North with her in the war to the South; and it would take all of their combined strength to do it.

The Dothraki were gone, the Unsullied and the Northerners had suffered heavy losses, any battle they would go into would be against the odds; but a war was coming. Cersei Lannister had not hired the Golden Company for nothing and if they were not faced the sell swords would likely end up at the gates of Winterfell. Their best chance was together, Unsullied, Northerner and dragon.

But his Khaleesi was distracted, she was avoiding Tyrion and Varys; though the latter was also avoiding him. It seemed the spider did not approve of the fact he was walking again, but he wasn't taking that personally; the man was not alone. If anyone wanted to change that he was welcome to take up a sword, the one Jorah had now was not quite balanced as he liked, but he could swing it well enough; that he had checked.

He lived and so he would continue as he had been, serving his Queen; whether anyone else liked that fact or not didn't much matter. Jorah had been raised in the North, he knew the stories of magic these people had grown up hearing, he had heard some of the stories of magic that had appeared in the recent years; there was a reason for it all.

Jorah paused as he crossed the courtyard, he had grown used to being watched since arriving in Winterfell, since the events of the past day he had felt it increase; but he felt a different gaze on him now. And shifted to find the source, scanning the yard where people worked until his eyes rested on the Stark boy; he wove his away across the yard.

"They've called you Jorah the Andal for years, but you aren't; you are a son of the first men. Your ancestors came to this land to forget, to build new lives as far from their past as they could go." Bran Stark did not offer any other greeting and Jorah frowned.

In the East the people knew of the Andal invasion, they did not know the North had resisted and there the blood of the first men had been handed down through the generations. He hadn't particularly cared, for a time he had just been glad not to hear his house name and have to think of the shame he had brought upon them.

"House Mormont descended from the first men." So had the Starks, nearly all the Northern houses had.

"You are not a descendant, you are a son. The first born for many generations, and the last if the long night comes. You were not raised because she wished it, you were raised because if you remained in the grave the heart will fall. The dragons will not give up so easily." Bran Stark stared at him without wavering and Jorah frowned, the boy had magic of his own; some sort of sight.

"Your sister destroyed the night king." That was why the wights fell and the white walkers shattered never to rise again; winter will come to and end.

"Do you believe that will stop the long night? It is coming and has been for centuries. Yes, the white walkers knew it before we did, they brought the winter storms, and knew their best chance was as night gathered; but they alone do not bring the night. Night has come before, and before it the doom." Bran spoke quietly and Jorah barely caught his last words. "Night takes many forms, but we have lived in darkness for so long; we forget the darkest hours come before the dawn."

Unnerved Jorah stared at the boy, it seemed like Bran Stark looked through him rather than at him; as though he were somewhere far away. If the boy's words were true, and if the past was any indication then there was a good chance, he needed to speak with the Khaleesi; and Jon Snow.

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A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed.