Author's Note: This chapter was co-authored by me and Vergil1989 the Crossover King. Shoutout to him! I'm also helping him with the third chapter of his Skyrim/GoT fanfic "Heed Our Voice" We had so much fun working on this chapter together that we may (most likely will) do it again! And I know that this chapter is very lengthy, but trust me, it is so worth it!
Vergil1989: It's funny what leaving a review on a fellow author's story will lead to. Oddly enough, that's how my partnership with Archer83 started, he left a review on one of my first stories, and the rest is as they say, history. ;D At any rate, this was indeed quite a bit of fun, and I'm glad to have been able to help Doctor Eagle on his story.
Chapter 8
Sundas, 15th of Evening Star, 4E 204
Windhelm
Sansa still couldn't shake her amazement at all that had occurred in the last several hours. She had ridden on the back of a dragon, a dragon! It had been far better than any of the tales she had heard of the mighty beasts that had been under the command of Aegon the Conqueror, the man who had united the Seven Kingdoms under his rule. The dragon landed just outside a city Nakos called Windhelm. It reminded Sansa of home… of Winterfell. Of course, Winterfell was not nearly as large as Windhelm. A long stone bridge lead up to the main gate which had more than its share of men and women patrolling the area. It reminded her of tales she had heard of the Bloody Gate that stood in front of the vast mountain hold of the Vale, the Eyrie, where her mother's sister, Lysa Tully, ruled.
Before she could dwell on that line of thought for long, Nakos put a hand on her shoulder when they stopped before the city gates. The guards saluted Nakos and opened the doors the moment they recognized who had approached. The first building she saw sat right in front of the main gates. A brazier raged in front of a wooden sign which read Candlehearth Hall. There were several people standing around the inn, talking and warming themselves near the fire. Considering the cold and the fact that most of Windhelm was buried in snow, she wondered why they simply didn't walk into the inn itself, but she supposed it didn't matter. What did draw her attention, however, was that most of the people huddled around the brazier were an assortment of creatures she had never imagined before. One had the appearance of a cat, with whiskers, fur, and even had an earring sticking through his right, cat like ear, but the truly strange part was that he stood on two legs. Sansa stood in amazement. Aside from the strange creatures, Windhelm reminded her of the North. It was just perfect. She looked up at the sky, and felt the snowflakes land on her face and melt. This was what she missed.
"Enjoying the weather, Lady Sansa?" Nakos asked.
She laughed loudly, "It feels like home!" Though she was across the Sunset Sea, in a totally foreign land, she felt like she was home.
"Is the North of Westeros this cold?" Nakos wrapped his cloak tighter around him.
She laughed again, "Don't you live here?"
"Doesn't mean I'm used to it, Lady Sansa," he chuckled, "I do have a house here, but I don't live here."
"Please," she smiled, "You don't need to call me Lady Sansa anymore."
Nakos bowed mockingly, "Of course, my lady."
Sansa quickly picked up a pile of snow from off the ground and threw it at him. They shared a loud laugh before Sansa looked at him with renewed interest, "May I see your home?"
Nakos nodded, "Of course." He held out his arm, "Shall we?"
She linked arms with him and they walked down the streets of Windhelm, "How long are we here for?"
"Until Odahviing gets his rest. It shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. A day at the most."
"Speaking of the dragon," Sansa added tentatively, "How are you able to ride one? As far as I know, the only ones who were able to do so are the Targaryens. They're the ones who united most of Westeros with their dragons."
Nakos said nothing for a long time, "It's… complicated. But I am not a Targaryen."
"Then how are you able to ride a dragon? Or even talk to one?"
"I'll tell you more inside the house. Some things are better left said behind closed doors."
Sansa nodded and they quietly walked through the streets. They passed by a few small shops and a blacksmith. An older man worked at the forge. He looked up and when he saw Nakos, Sansa could see a scowl appear on his face. The man said nothing, but simply looked at Nakos in disdain. Nakos said nothing, but continued to walk past him. They soon arrived at a large stone house. The windows seemed to glow with a soft golden light, and lighted on the snow covering the ground in front of the house.
Nakos took a key from his pouch and opened the door. The transition from the cold exterior to the warm interior was soothing. Once the door shut behind them, the only sound was the soft roaring of a fire. "Welcome to Hjerim. Please, make yourself at home," Nakos offered, waving his hand at the dining room table.
After removing her heavy cloak and hanging it on a hook on a nearby wall, Sansa sat down, "Thank you, Ser Nakos."
Nakos laughed, "No. If I can't call you lady, then you can't call me ser. Deal?"
She nodded as the hint of a small smirk appeared on her lips, "Deal."
"Good," Nakos made his way into the kitchen. "Would you like anything? I'm sure I have a bottle of wine around here somewhere if nothing else." He realized too late how that must have sounded, and immediately wondered if he might have offended the Stark girl.
"Water would be just fine," she called back, the hint of a blush born of mild embarrassment colored her cheeks.
Nakos returned with two bottles of water. He placed one in front of Sansa, who accepted it with practiced grace and courtesy she had no doubt learned at an early age, "What about food? I know you must be starving."
"I'm famished," she admitted, hoping he couldn't hear her stomach growling in anticipation.
"Would you like me to cook something for you?"
"You can cook?"
Nakos pretended he was offended by the question, "Can I cook?! I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."
"I'm sorry if I offended you Se- Nakos. It's just that-"
"You hadn't expected a man to cook and tend to his own needs? Not everyone can afford servants waiting on their every whim, Sansa." The reprimand was delivered in a gentle, soft tone, but Nakos had to make a point. He remembered all too clearly the number of people that had tended to the Stark girl while she had been in King's Landing. He would have bet more than a few septims that some of them had been informants for the Queen, but that wasn't why he had taken offense. He had to teach her that the whole world wasn't like Westeros. Men were not the only ones destined to be lords and warriors and princes. Women could be warriors as well as merchants, blacksmiths, singers, scholars, and more. Likewise, men in Skyrim were not confined to certain roles that in Westeros, were common and socially acceptable by most, even though he could name more than a few people that were called 'knights' that didn't deserve the title in the slightest. Ser Gregor Clegane came to mind immediately, right behind Jonas Slynt and most of the Kingsguard, now that he bothered to think of them.
His thoughts were interrupted when he found some food that didn't have strange odors emanating from it and looked recently purchased, no doubt by his Housecarl, Calder. It had been a while since Nakos stepped foot in Hjerim. He mostly spent his time in Windstad Manor with his children. Nakos went to the cooking fire and started preparing their meal. While he did that, he decided now was as good as time as any to talk about how things were done in most of Tamriel. "I'm going to go out on a limb here, Sansa, and assume that you were groomed for the life of the nobility. Your mostly impeccable manners and courteous words are a dead giveaway to that. Let me be frank and say that you've been steered towards a path that will no doubt lead you to an early grave."
His words startled her, but she recovered quickly enough as she looked at him with a hint of fear and a tinge of anger. Despite all he had done for her and the people of her homeland, she felt he had no right to insult her or her education. "Why would you say that?"
"Because as much as the people of Westeros might wish it, the world isn't so black and white." Nakos replied, turning away from the cooking pot to gauge the girl's reaction. While she was taken aback by his words, he was gladdened that her focus was solely on him. Instead of trying to deny a hard truth, she was willing to listen, an advantage he planned to push as far as he could. "In Skyrim, and in most of the country of Tamriel, don't hold to the old ideas that women are good for one thing and men are good for another. Where that idea came from, I do not know, but what I do know is that those in Westeros are far behind in their thinking."
"And what does that have to do with me?"
"Quite a bit Sansa." Nakos replied, not noticing the annoyance that was filling the young girl's eyes. "If you continue to think that women are only good for one thing and men are only good for another, then you limit yourself." Nakos paused, "As I said before, I am not a Targaryen. I am… what you call a Dragonborn, or Dovahkiin, in the dragon tongue. The Dragonborn is a mortal blessed by the god Akatosh with the blood and soul of a dragon. When a dragon dies by my hand, I absorb their souls. I gain the knowledge and experience the dragon possessed in their life. The process has been… quite enlightening, but at the same time, horrifying because most of the dragons of Skyrim have one thing in common. They were made to rule over the dominion of man, and they aren't hesitant in wielding their might against those they consider weaker than themselves."
"Go on," Sansa said.
"The leader of the dovah, dragons, Alduin, was the worst of them however. Most of the souls I've absorbed have shown me memories of him practicing every form of cruelty you can imagine before his brothers and sisters, both as a means to show his strength over those he lorded over, and to ensure his rule was unchallenged by the other dragons. According to the Nordic legends, the Dragonborn only comes when Alduin arises to devour the world. As you can see for yourself, the world is still very much intact."
Sansa's eyes were wide, "So you killed Alduin?"
"And brought peace to the world. No more dragon attacks, for the most part."
Sansa thought for a moment on Nakos' words, "You said that the Dragonborn has the blood and the soul of a dragon?" Nakos nodded. "What about those with just the blood? Are they… Dragonborn?"
Nakos stirred the food in the pot, "As far as I've been able to gather, no."
"The Targaryens claim that they have dragon blood."
"Maybe they do. I don't know because I haven't met one. As for Alduin, I didn't do it alone. Many people, men and women alike, aided me in my destiny of preventing the destruction of everything we know and love. Some sacrificed everything to see the World Eater slain, while others tried to stop me and those that stood with me. Some of them yet live, but until they make a move against those I've sworn to defend, they will be left to plot and scheme as they like."
The smell of clam chowder filled the air when Nakos uncovered the pot, and he quickly ladled out a healthy helping for himself and Sansa before sitting across from her at his table. "The point to all of this Sansa, is that I could have stayed a simple man, living a moderately comfortable existence, but I chose to become something more. Now you have that same choice, where before you might not have been so fortunate."
"It sounds like you might not have had much of a choice, Nakos," Sansa noted, "Not if you were born to fight such a monster."
"We always have a choice, Sansa." Nakos replied in a soft voice, his gaze never faltering from her as she gazed back in rapt attention. "The trick is knowing that what is written is not always what is meant to be." With that, Nakos fell silent, and let Sansa figure out for herself what it was he was trying to tell her. Despite his roundabout way of getting there, he was certain he had made it clear that she was more than what people had tried to make her, just as he had made it clear once he had accepted his role as Dovahkiin, that he would be more than what the prophecies and legends had made him out to be.
So he was pleasantly surprised when later that night, he found Sansa looking at the collection of swords, bows, and suits of armor he had on display on the upper floor of his home. When she sensed his presence, she quickly jerked her hand away from his Nightingale bow he had mounted, and spun on her heel, her cheeks as red as her hair. "I didn't, I mean I-"
Nakos chuckled, "It's quite, alright. Would you like me to smith a weapon for you? I have plenty to spare as you can see. I have a tendency to collect things other people forget or tend to lose when they die in some dark cave or booby trapped Nordic ruin."
"Ser Sandor already gave me a dagger," she went into her belt, pulled out a steel dagger, and handed it to Nakos.
Nakos turned it over in his hands, and saw how poorly kept the blade had been. He was surprised it had held together half as well as it had as he noted the rust and dirt streaks on the blade, the plain, unadorned hilt, and the blunted blade itself. "Steel. I can make you a better dagger. One that can break steel like a rock through a stained glass window."
"Why would you do this for me?"
"Because you deserve an equal chance to prove to yourself that you are more than what those around you have tried to shape you into. And because Skyrim is a far more dangerous place than your homeland, Sansa."
Meanwhile in King's Landing…
Tyrion tossed and turned in his bed. The battle seemed to rage on in his mind. He could see the fires raging on the shores. He could still hear the screams of the men fighting and dying, and the whinnying of horses were still fresh in his mind. He could hear the roar of a monster before darkness took him. He awoke with a start and his eyes saw the gloating face of Grand Maester Pycelle, sitting beside him.
"Pod. Pod!" Tyrion cried out. The young squire emerged from behind Tyrion, and knelt down beside him. "Find Bronn or Varys… or Ser Nakos. Tell them I am very much alive." Pod hurried off.
Pycelle pointed at Tyrion, "Would you like something for the pain?"
Tyrion swatted the old man's finger away, "What happened?"
"The murderer and traitor Stannis Baratheon suffered a stunning defeat at the hands of your father."
Tyrion looked around and found himself not in the Hand of the King's chambers, but rather a smaller, darker room. The only light came from a small window above his bed. "Where am I?"
"These are your new chambers. A little cramped, perhaps, but you don't need much room, do you?" He paused before adding, "You are no longer Hand of the King." He stood up, walked to the door, and stopped. He turned and showed Tyrion a coin before tossing it to him, "For your trouble." Tyrion scowled. That was the same gesture Tyrion made to a prostitute when he had Pycelle arrested. "And I also thought you'd like to know," Pycelle continued, "Ser Nakos is gone. He fled Westeros… with Lady Sansa." Pycelle turned and walked out the door.
Tyrion smiled a bit to himself, digesting the news. He doubted that Nakos had fled from terror as Pycelle had seemed to insinuate, nor did he believe for an instant Nakos had anything dishonorable planned for Sansa. No. If anything, Tyrion believed that he had chosen his moment to get out of the city perfectly given the chaos and confusion Stannis' assault had caused. Who would miss a single girl, a girl of highborn birth perhaps, but a girl nonetheless when everyone was busy recovering from the recent attack? And besides, King's Landing was no place for a Stark. Joffrey had made sure of that.
He got up and picked a small mirror to examine the scar on his face. It stretched from his forehead down to his cheek, making his already hideous appearance much more grotesque. Before he could ponder this latest development, there was a knock at the door. "Pod?"
"It's your sister," came the response, "The queen?" Of course she'd come calling, no doubt to gloat over what she had no doubt put into play. Only she would have the audacity to send her man, Ser Mandon, to kill him on the field and say it was an accident.
Tyrion walked over to the door, and put down a stool so he could look out of the peephole. He saw his sister, flanked by two Kingsguard, "What are they doing here?"
She shrugged, "Protecting me, I assume? Will you let me in?"
"No, I don't think so."
"If I wanted to kill you, do you think I'd let a wooden door stop me?" she asked pointedly.
Tyrion thought for a moment, "They stay outside."
"I'm not afraid of you, little brother." her tone seemed to carry a compassionate undertone. But Tyrion was still distrustful of her, especially since a Kingsguard tried to kill him. He picked up his axe, in case the Kingsguards came in, and opened the door. As soon as Cersei was inside, he quickly closed the door, leaving her men outside. "Why are you here?" he asked, locking the door for good measure.
"I wanted to see your face," she leaned down to examine the scar, "They said you'd lost your nose, but it's not as gruesome as all that."
"The man who cut me lost more than his nose." Nakos had seen to that. I really must thank him, provided he shows his face here again. Somehow, I doubt he will.
"I should hope so. The rebels came for Joffrey's head, they lost their own. Thanks to Father."
"Thanks to Father." Tyrion repeated, placing the axe near the door, "Of course, it wasn't a rebel who tried to kill me."
"No? Curious." Tyrion could not tell if she was genuinely surprised or simply mocking him. She looked around at Tyrion's chambers. "Bit of a comedown from chamber of the Hand. But then I don't suppose you need much room."
Tyrion smirked as he poured some wine in a goblet, "Grand Maester Pycelle made the same joke. You must be proud to be as funny as a man whose balls brush his knees."
Cersei's face became serious, "You're meeting Father today."
Tyrion's heart skipped a beat, "How do you know that?"
"Because I have hundreds of spies in my employ. The Master of Whisperers owes me a favor or two." Cersei kept a serious face before giving a small smile. "Father told me," she confessed, "What do you want from him?"
"What do I want from him?" Tyrion was surprised by the question, "He's my father. Do I need to want something? I'm sure he loves me dearly, as any father loves his child, his baby boy. Yet he hasn't come to visit once since arriving in King's Landing. I lay here, my face split in half, but Father never came."
Cersei was silent for a moment as she sat in a chair, "You're going to make me cry."
Again, Tyrion could not tell if she was serious or mocking him, but he was becoming impatient, "Why do you care what I want from him?"
"Because you've slandered me to Father before."
"Slandered? When?"
"You told him I had my guards beat that servant girl at Casterly Rock."
"You did have your guards beat her,"Tyrion said firmly, "A girl of nine, I believe."
"I was nine, too."Cersei retorted.
"She lost an eye, if I remember correctly."
"If I remember correctly, she never stole a necklace again." Cersei chuckled a bit, remembering the incident.
Tyrion suppressed a scowl at Cersei's apparent happiness of torturing the young girl, "It's not slander if it's true." he said slowly. Should I be surprised that Joffrey gets the same perverse joy from inflicting pain on others?
"And what's this truth you plan on telling him today?"
Tyrion was becoming even more curious, "Why are you so nervous about what I'm going to say to Father?"
"Because you're a liar. I expect you'll tell lies about me, about Joffrey."
Tyrion swirled the goblet in his hand, "Any lies in particular?"
"You're a clever man, but you're not half as clever as you think you are."
Tyrion gave a small smile, "Still makes me more clever than you," he took a drink from the goblet.
Cersei bit her tongue. Tyrion truly was very sharp with his words, even as a child. She had considered cutting out his tongue on multiple occasions, but because he was her brother, she could do nothing. There was an uncomfortable silence before Cersei spoke again, "I hear your friend Ser Nakos fled the city."
Tyrion shrugged again, "Your point?"
"My point is that he was exactly who I said he was. A spy. And not just a spy. A Targaryen."
Tyrion laughed loudly, "A Targaryen?! Have you stooped so low to now accuse the young man of being a Targaryen? You must be very desperate." He took another sip from the goblet, "He's a Redguard. He comes from Tamriel. From Hammerfell. Maybe if you spent time talking with him, and getting to know him, and not so much time trying to kill him, you would've learned something."
"Then how do you explain the sighting of a dragon and the soldiers watching as Nakos rode the dragon away from King's Landing?"
At the mention of Nakos riding a dragon, Tyrion's laughter fell silent and his face became very serious. He stared hard at Cersei, "You're lying."
Her lips curled into an evil smile, "Am I? You can ask the many Gold Cloaks who saw the dragon land, burn several of their brothers with its fire, and leave… with Nakos and Lady Sansa on its back."
For once, Tyrion found himself at a loss for words. Targaryens were the only ones who could control and ride dragons. Was it true? Was Nakos truly a Targaryen? From all his time spent with Nakos, all the evidence pointed to him being a Redguard. His dark skin and his accent gave it away; his accent was not of Valyria. Though Tyrion had never heard anyone from Tamriel up until he met Nakos and Mjoll, his knowledge and experience with people from all over Westeros and Essos told him that Nakos' and Mjoll's accents were not accents from either of those places. Perhaps Nakos was a bastard child of a Targaryen, and grew up thinking he was a Redguard. Tyrion could think of no other possible explanation.
Cersei's chuckle broke Tyrion's train of thought, "What will Father say? When he hears you've made friends with a Targaryen? Allowed him to walk through our city?" She paused, "Almost kill my son, the king? And now the Stark girl is in the hands of a Targaryen." Her words cut Tyrion to the core. "I'll let you think on that," Cersei said triumphantly. She stood and walked out the room, leaving Tyrion confused, and dumbstruck. He looked out the door to see Bronn and Pod.
"Bronn, thank you for coming. I'll be out shortly." Tyrion closed the door and quickly got dressed, still pondering Cersei's words. Once he was dressed, he left his room and made his way towards the barracks, Bronn and Pod following close behind. They walked out onto the battlements.
"As much as I appreciate a walk in the sunshine, your lordship," Bronn said, "I am wondering why you sent for me."
"A number of people in this city want to kill me. You're here to protect me."
"I've been doing that for a while now."
Tyrion sensed boredom in Bronn's voice, "Do you grow bored protecting me?"
"I grow poor protecting you."
"Poor? Poor?" Tyrion stifled a laugh, "Under my patronage you've become a knight, you've served as Commander of the City Watch."
"Briefly."
Tyrion shook his head, "I'm sure you filled your pockets."
Bronn raised his arms, "And now my pockets are empty. You've given me a taste for the finer things. And if you want me to carry on protecting you, you'll need to pay more."
"I thought we were friends."
"We are. But I'm a sellsword. I sell my sword. I don't loan it out to friends as a favor."
Tyrion sighed, "How much?"
"Double." Bronn answered quickly.
"Double?"
Bronn shrugged, "I'm a knight now. Knights are worth double."
Tyrion groaned, "I don't even know how much I'm paying you now."
Bronn smiled, "Which means you can afford it. Where are we going anyway?"
"To speak with the Gold Cloaks. They have some information I need."
The Kingsroad
North of King's Landing
Mjoll and the Hound traveled north, down the Kingsroad, each on their own horse. Mjoll's buckskin coated horse had been stolen from the stables of King's Landing. She had been forced to steal a new one. The Hound rode his own black-coated horse, which he named Stranger. It had been a while since Mjoll had ridden a horse. Come to think of it, she never rode a horse while she was in Skyrim at all. She did ride with her father during their adventures in Morrowind and other places, but that was a long time ago. While in Skyrim, she always walked everywhere, so riding a horse was a bit of an adjustment. But she soon got the hang of it. "I've really missed traveling like this," Mjoll said with a smile. "My heart was always filled with excitement when I walked the breadth of Skyrim. And now, I'm traveling through Westeros. It's just as exciting. But it doesn't seem as dangerous."
The Hound looked at her, "Are you expecting trouble?"
"I'm always expecting trouble," she replied, waving a fly away from her face, "If this was Skyrim, we would have been attacked by several wolves, sabrecats, or bandits by now."
They trotted on for a bit longer in silence. "Tell me about Tamriel," the Hound said finally.
"Well, when I was young, I'd journey with my father on hunting expeditions into Morrowind. The cliff racers made for excellent sport."
"Cliff racers? What in seven hells are they?"
"They're large flying creatures. They're very aggressive and will attack anyone in sight."
"It sounds… exciting." Sandor smirked, imagining himself fighting off a flying creature. All the while, he watched Mjoll's reaction with the good side of his face.
"Oh, you have no idea. I've fought wolves, sabrecats, spiders…" she almost said the word dragon, but she caught herself. Some things were better left unsaid.
"Spiders? Please tell me you're joking?" The former bodyguard snorted in derision, having missed his companion's near slip up altogether.
"Imagine a spider as big as your horse. And it spits acidic venom at you." The Hound's smirk died when he stopped to consider Mjoll's description.
When he did speak, he looked on the Lioness with new respect. "Guess we have it easy then. Worst thing we have to worry about in this shithole of a country are other men looking for a bit of coin, if the Gold Cloaks don't find us first, of course."
"We still have those," Mjoll noted, "I remember a cutpurse trying to rob me on the road once. When I drew Grimsever, I think the poor man soiled his armor."
"You named your sword?" The Hound laughed, "I'm starting to like you more, Lioness."
"Doesn't your sword have a name?" she asked him.
"No. Do you think I should give it one?"
Mjoll shrugged, "Perhaps. But my sword is stronger than yours."
"Oh?" the Hound raised an eyebrow, "And why is that?"
"It's made of malachite, a rare, green volcanic crystal, stronger than iron or steel. My sword can easily break your sword in half."
"You seem to know a lot about smithing."
"I know my metals, but smithing isn't something I'm good at. Nakos and many of his friends have some skill in forging though." The Hound chuckled, "What?"
"It's good to see a woman choosing her own path, rather than having it laid out before her and being forced to live the life she may not wish to live."
"I didn't think you cared, Hound."
"I don't, but it's a nice change from guarding little shits like Joffrey. Traveling with you, I mean."
"Awwww…" Mjoll cooed, "You DO care."
"Fuck you," The Hound said. They held each other's gaze before bursting in laughter together.
"Ask me nicely." Mjoll quipped, much to Sandor's amusement as he snorted at her comment. They traveled further down the road until the sun began to set. With the night fast approaching, it brought a whole new set of problems, and while this wasn't Skyrim, Mjoll still couldn't help but feel uneasy since there were worst things than men looking for easy coin that favored the night. "I think we need to find an inn or a farmer's house, or some kind of shelter, and quickly."
"Why? Afraid of the dark, Lioness?"
"Afraid of what's in it, Hound." Mjoll countered, a tad harsher than she meant it to come out, but it didn't make it any less true.
"We'll set up camp just off the road. Don't worry, Lioness. I'm a light sleeper."
"Something else we have in common."
They dismounted their horses and tied them to some trees off the side of the road. Mjoll took her sword and began cutting dead branches off.
"What are you doing, woman?" Sandor asked, a noticeable growl to his voice.
"Making a fire."
"No fire," Sandor said firmly.
"We need to keep warm-"
"I said, no... fire."
"Because of what happened to your face?" Mjoll asked, noting the fear in the man's eyes. Sandor said nothing, but his face said everything she needed to hear. "Very well. We'll be cold all night, but it's better than drawing attention to ourselves, I suppose." Sandor seemed to visibly relax at the news, and Mjoll couldn't help but feel sorry for the man.
"I'll take the first watch." Sandor grumbled at last before getting to his feet, his back against a nearby tree.
The Kingsroad
Just outside of Harrenhal
Laniel stood alongside Jaqen H'ghar on a stone outcrop, overlooking the Riverlands. The scenery reminded him of the hold of Hjaalmarch back in Skyrim. The only difference being that Hjaalmarch didn't look like it had been haunted by a legion of restless spirits for years. Harrenhal had an air about it that made even the seasoned assassin slightly uncomfortable, but it was a feeling easily suppressed. As far as Laniel could see, there were forests, hills, lakes, rivers, and swamps in every direction. But wherever Harrenhall's shadow fell, the outcrop included, the temperature went from comfortably cool to just shy of chilly. But, from the stories he had heard from the Lannister soldiers about the once great castle, that was to be expected. Any place that had seen as much death as Harrenhall had was bound to have a few restless ghosts lingering about the grounds. In his experience, ghosts and spectres were easy to dispatch.
"I should go back and check," Laniel said after a long moment of silence and waiting.
Jaqen's face was stoic, "A man told a girl what to do. If a girl did not obey, then it is not a man's fault."
"I know, but she should at least have an escort."
"No need," Jaqen said, "There," he pointed downward towards the bottom of the outcrop.
Laniel looked down and saw Arya and her two friends, walking north, and looking back up at them. He turned to Jaqen, "Thank Sithis. They're safe-" Jaqen was gone. Laniel chuckled to himself. Now he knew what it felt like when he left someone's side without warning. "Show off." He chuckled silently again before taking off, his steps just as silent as his companion's. He followed Arya and her friends as they walked a little further north.
He watched as Jaqen approached Arya from behind. She turned around and saw him, and did her best not to jump at his sudden appearance, "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you," was Jaqen's answer, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips.
Arya seemed stunned, "How did you know we'd come this way?"
Jaqen chuckled, "After all the things you have seen, this is your question?"
"How did you kill those guards? Was it hard?" Hot Pie asked, amazed they were outside the castle at all.
Jaqen smiled, "No harder than taking a new name if you know the way."
Arya's face lit up, "Show me how. I want to be able to do it, too."
"If you would learn, you must come with me."
"Where?"
"Far and away across the Narrow Sea to Braavos."
At the mention of Braavos, Arya's mind returned to Syrio Forel, her dancing master back at King's Landing, "My dancing master was from Braavos."
Jaqen smiled, "To be a dancing master is a special thing, but to be a faceless man ... that is something else entirely. A girl has many names on her lips ... Joffrey, Cersei, Tywin Lannister, Ilyn Payne, the Hound. Names to offer up to the Red God. She could offer them all one by one."
"Or she could offer them to Sithis, since they are the same." Laniel stated, having made his own appearance as suddenly as Jaqen had made his own. He chuckled softly when the Stark girl took a sharp breath but it was the only sign of surprise she offered him. There was some hope for her after all.
She turned to Jaqen, "I want to go with you, but I can't. I need to find my brother and mother. And my sister. I need to find her, too."
"Then we must part. A man has duties as well."
"If you wish," Laniel stepped forward, "I can stay with you. I can take you to your mother, and at the same time, I can teach you what I know."
Arya nodded, "I would like that."
Jaqen reached into his pouch and pulled out an iron coin. He handed it to Arya, "Here."
"What is it?" Arya asked, having never seen a coin quite like it before.
"A coin of great value. On the unlikely event a man's friend falls before he finishes with your training."
"Thanks for your vote of confidence, Jaqen." Laniel snorted in amusement.
"Could it buy a horse?" Arya inquired, her attention solely on Jaqen.
"It is not meant for the buying of horses." Laniel could have told her that, but he let Jaqen handle it since this was his way rather than his own.
Arya huffed in disappointment, "Then what good is it?"
"If the day comes when you must find me again, just give that coin to any man from Braavos and say these words to him, Valar Morghulis."
"Valar Morghulis?" When he nodded his head and started away, Arya tried to stop him. "Please don't go, Jaqen."
Jaqen turned to her, "Jaqen is dead. Say it again. Valar Morghulis."
"Valar Morghulis."
"Good," he said. He turned his head away and back again, and Arya Stark stepped back in amazement. His whole face had changed. Gone was the red and white hair; it had been replaced with auburn hair. His new face now appeared much older as well. "Farewell, Arya Stark." he said in a new voice. He looked at Laniel, "Farewell, my brother."
"Safe travels, my friend." Laniel replied with a respectful nod of his head. The man that had once been Jaqen said nothing and disappeared into the forests without a look back. Once the Faceless Man was gone, only then did the Dark Brotherhood assassin turn to his new charge. "Let's go, little one. We have a long way to go, and I imagine your friends will be happy to put this place as far behind them as they can." Laniel gave a high-pitched whistle, causing Arya and her friends to cover their ears. In a few seconds, Shadowmere appeared from the forest.
"How-" Gendry began, but was silenced by Laniel's amused chuckle.
"Do you really want to know?" Laniel asked as he helped Arya up into the saddle before addressing the former blacksmith apprentice. "We have a long ride north." He looked up at Arya, "That is where we're going, correct? To your home?"
"Yoren had planned to get the boys to the Wall, and he planned to take me back to Winterfell, so yes."
"Then north we shall go." Laniel stated, ignoring the shocked look on Hot Pie's face when it was confirmed Arya was truly a girl. Only Gendry didn't seemed the least bit surprised.
The first thing Laniel planned to do was to make sure that if anyone tried to touch them, or Arya, they would meet a swift death. By his hand or the girl's. The Dark Brotherhood looked after its own, after all.
The Next Day…
Morndas, 16th of Evening Star, 4E 204
Windstad Manor
Nakos continued to work on the dragonbone dagger in the basement of Windstad Manor, tempering it until it was sharp. He had built this house with his very own hands. The East Wing of the house was a library to house all his books. The West Wing was an enchanting tower, where he enchanted any weapons he either created or found and sold them for a large profit. The North Wing was a trophy room, where he housed his greatest kills, including of course, a dragon skull. He had wanted to mount Alduin's head up there, but nothing had remained when the World Eater had fallen. The upper floor was where he, Lydia, and the children slept… and the basement was where Nakos placed his forge, weapons, and shrines.
Working the forge, putting the hammer to metal, all of it served to make him forget all the horrible things he had seen and done over the course of his life. Nakos gave the dagger a few more taps with the hammer, and admired his handiwork. A perfect dagger for Sansa. Well, almost perfect. If he wanted to make something that would protect her, he might as well go all the way. He climbed the ladder from the basement and made his way into the enchanting tower.
He placed the dagger on the black wooden table, and the ornate engravings began to glow with a cyan-colored energy. He closed his eyes for a moment and focused on what enchantment he thought would be best for Sansa. An idea came to mind: a wonderful idea. Sansa was not trained in the slightest with the use or care of a weapon, so an absorb effect would be perfect for her. It would drain the target's health and transfer it to Sansa. While an abhorrent form of magic to some, it would keep her alive, and that in itself was all that mattered to Nakos. Perhaps later, Serana could train Sansa in how to use the dagger.
Once he was done, he walked back down into the main hall and upstairs to the guest room, where Sansa was staying. He found her sitting at a table, fast asleep. He wasn't all that surprised that Sansa had had trouble sleeping the night before. Seeing your father's head cut off would do that. He had his own share of reasons for sleepless nights, so it was a pain he could relate to all too easily. Having seen Hadvar being Shouted nearly to pieces before Ulfric ran him down with his sword, Nakos had woken up on more than one occasion just as the former High King's blade made for his friend's chest. There were days when he wondered if keeping Ulfric and his lieutenant Galmar Stone-Fist alive really was the best move. To some, it made him look like a wise and merciful warrior. To others, it made him look like a coward; but what was done, was done.
Nakos walked up to Sansa and gently shook her, finding her with her head resting against a giant book she had no doubt found in his library. He gently removed the book from beneath her head to see what she was reading. It was An Explorer's Guide to Skyrim. He chuckled, gently shut the book, and dropped it right by her head so that it made a loud bang when it hit the table.
Sansa jerked her head up with a cry, almost jumping from her seat at the same time. Blinking in confusion, it took her a moment to recognize who was standing over her. "Nakos."
"Hello, my lady." Nakos sat across from her, an amused grin on his face, "I made this for you," he handed her the dagger, "It's made of dragonbone."
She turned the dagger in her hands. "Dragonbone? But it's so light."
"Just as our two countries are vastly different from each other Sansa, so too are our dragons, I imagine. Your history books say that Balerion's shadow could swallow an entire town. I have never heard of a dragon that large. Even our dragons are not that large. The largest dragon I've seen could probably fit inside the Great Hall back in King's Landing and still have a little room to spare, especially with its wings closed."
"That's still pretty big," Sansa noted, "How do you manage to take the heavy bones and make it into something so light?"
Nakos smirked, "I have my ways."
Sansa noticed the purple aura that surrounding the weapon, "What did you do to it?"
"I enchanted it. It would drain the life of the person you strike and transfer it to you."
Sansa was taken aback. She was about to say something, but she remembered Nakos' words. Skyrim was a dangerous place, and she would need a weapon like that. "Thank you," she got up to embrace him.
"Now, be careful," Nakos warned, "It is very sharp. I just tempered it. And since you haven't been trained in using any weapons. I'm going to have a friend of mine come and help you. Believe it or not, she comes from nobility, too. I have to warn you, however, she has a very….unique sense of humor."
"Were you talking about me? I swear my ears were burning just a moment ago." As if summoned, Serana Volkihar entered the room, a small smirk on her lips as her arms crossed over her chest. "When I heard Odahviing had been sighted landing outside the city, I knew you wouldn't be far behind Nakos."
"True, I wasn't far behind. I was actually on him. As was she," Nakos pointed to Sansa. "Sansa. Meet Serana Volkihar."
Sansa stared at Serana, and felt her eyes drawn to the orange, glowing orbs. It wasn't until Nakos put a hand on her shoulder that she snapped out of her daze, having no idea that Serana was far more than she appeared. "It's an honor to meet another friend of Ser Nakos, Lady Volkihar."
"Just Serana. My mother's a Lady. I'd rather do without a title, thank you very much."
"I apologize if I offended you, Lad- Serana."
Nakos laughed, "She's getting used to not using noble titles."
"Oh, really? Glad to see some things haven't changed." Serana quipped, a note of sarcasm easily detected in her otherwise pleasant sounding voice. "So, have you made any new friends in Westeros, or are you here because you pissed the royalty off?"
"Both, actually."
"Why am I not surprised?" Serana chuckled and sat down at the table, her head cocked to the side in curiosity towards the young girl. "Is she a hostage then, or someone you saved like you saved me?"
"I can speak for myself, Serana." Sansa said firmly, surprising both herself and Nakos. "Nakos saved me from a horrible… horrible family. If it had not been for him, I certainly would have been killed, or worse. He's now looking after me."
Nakos felt it prudent to correct her on at least one point. "Actually, Serana will be looking after you, along with Lydia."
"What?" Serana and Sansa asked simultaneously.
"I need to go to Essos. There is some business there that requires my immediate attention. Serana will be here to train you in weaponry. And Lydia will be your bodyguard, like Mjoll was."
"Mjoll?" Serana laughed, "Mjoll could easily take Lydia in a fight."
"Don't let Lydia hear you say that." Nakos retorted with a light laugh before his smile died. "I know I'm asking a lot from you, Serana, but I'd be grate-"
"Stop. You've done far more for me than anyone else ever did Nakos. Watching over your friend will be a piece of cake."
Nakos placed a hand on Serana's shoulder, "Thank you. Now I must be off. I need to meet with the Dawnguard." With that, Nakos walked out the door and out the house. A few seconds later, the familiar sound of the dragon roar and the flap of wings followed.
Serana noticed the dagger Sansa was holding, "A dragonbone dagger?" Sansa nodded. Serana held out her hand, "May I?" No sooner had Sansa given her the dagger than Serana tucked it into her own belt, "Lesson number one: Never part from your weapon. That's a good way to get yourself killed... or worse."
The Same Day…
Fort Dawnguard
"Nakos!" Gunmar grabbed Nakos in a huge bear hug, almost like the one that Mjoll had given him when he had came to her a few months ago. "It's been a long time." Gunmar led Nakos to the doors and threw them open with a flourish.
Nakos was surprised at what he saw. When he first met the Dawnguard, they were little more than three members: Isran, Celann, and Durak. Then it grew to about twenty members, including Gunmar and Sorine Jurard. Now the fort had at least two hundred people, and the fort itself had changed for the better as well. Gone were the dust and the cobwebs. Walls had been shored up, the doors and windows reinforced, and the hallways were bright with freshly placed iron torch sconces. Not only that, but the furniture itself had been replaced with something other than simple cots and rotting wooden tables. All in all, the elite group of vampire hunters had prospered since Harkon's death.
"Gunmar, do you think I could borrow a troll?" A familiar voice called out. Sorine Jurard walked towards Gunmar , and when she saw Nakos, she ran up and jumped onto him, almost sending him to the floor. "Nakos! Welcome back! It's been a long time."
"What brings you to Fort Dawngaurd?" Gunmar asked, "Come to kill more vampires with us?"
"Actually, I need to see Isran. It's important I see him immediately. There's trouble in Westeros, to put it bluntly."
Gunmar pointed with a finger, "He's upstairs,"
"Thanks," Nakos gave them each a quick hug. "It was nice to see you both again."
They both walked off, "So," Gunmar turned to Sorine, "Why do you need a troll?"
"Well," Sorine seemed hesitant, "I need to do some testing on this new weapon, and I was thinking a live target would be helpful."
"Are you mad, woman?" Gunmar exclaimed in shock, "After the trouble I've gone through? I caught them. Trained them myself. And we can only fit three in here at a time. You expect me to go out there, catch another troll, and train it for another thirty days?!"
"Fine. You could've just said 'no'."
Nakos meanwhile, having stopped at the start of the stairwell that led up to Isran's private quarters, could only shake his head in amusement at the two hunters. He was glad that some things hadn't changed, even if everything else had. He reached the quarters and knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" the fellow Redguard asked.
"It's Nakos!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the door flew open and Isran embraced Nakos, though not nearly as strong as Gunmar, "My friend! How are you?"
"I could be better," Nakos said honestly.
Isran picked up on the tone of his voice, "What is it?" he asked, motioning for Nakos to enter and take a seat at the nearby table.
"It's a long story, Isran."
"Then it's a good thing I don't have any pressing business. Speak."
Nakos sighed, "Have you ever heard of White Walkers?"
At this, Isran gripped the armrests of his chair tightly. "How do you know of them?"
"I was recently at Westeros, and I heard that they were threatening to return. I sent a friend there to investigate, but I never heard from him, so I fear the worst. All I know, from a man named Jeor Mormont, is that they are coming to wipe out life on the face of this world."
Isran said nothing at first. "Nakos," he said finally, "As you recall, I am a former Vigilant of Stendarr, tasked with wiping out daedra and any other abominations from the face of this earth. Vampires, werewolves, witches."
Nakos nodded, "I remember." How could he forget? One of the first days of working with the Dawnguard had seen a priest of Stendarr dropping in on the leader of vampire hunters, and telling everyone that vampires had wiped out all of his fellow brothers and sisters at their Hall of the Vigilant.
"Good. Because what I am about to tell you is very important," Isran leaned forward, leaning his elbows on the table, "The White Walkers are the creations of the Daedric Prince, Mehrunes Dagon."
"The Prince of Destruction." It was all starting to come together. What better way to elicit change and spur ambition in the hearts of men and women alike than to start a war?
"Yes. He entered the Void and created these.… abominations of ice. When Sithis found out, he banished both Dagon's creation and Dagon himself out of his plane, but the damage had been done."
"So how did they end up in Westeros?"
"Who knows. But if they're in that backwater country, then gods help them."
"So what about wights?"
"Creations of the White Walkers. They're like draugr, only slightly stronger. Nothing but fire can kill them."
"What can kill a White Walker?"
Isran paused a long time, "I don't know. But if I were a betting man, I'd say Akatosh might have an answer. If you know your history, you'd recall that his avatar struck down Mehrunes Dagon during the Oblivion Crisis when Martin Septim smashed the Amulet of Kings."
Nakos digested all of this for a moment, "Then I need your help. What do you say to going to Westeros and killing these abominations?"
Isran laughed sarcastically, "Of course! Let's leave all of Tamriel undefended while we're at it. No. You can take anyone mad enough to follow you back to your new pet project, Nakos, but I won't send the entire Dawnguard to their deaths in a land we know little about."
Nakos leaned toward Isran, his eyes ablaze, "First of all, I said nothing about bringing the entire Dawnguard. Second, there is already a large band of warriors in Westeros trained to protect it from the White Walkers and wights. So you will not be outnumbered ten to one. Third, I just came back from Westeros, so if you want to know something, ask me. And four-"
"I get the point." Isran grumbled from deep in his chest before glaring daggers at the man across from him. Nakos glared right back, not intimidated. "Tell me everything you know about this supposed group of warriors that watch out for the Walkers."
"Alright, everyone! Listen up! Form ranks in the main hall!" Isran's booming voice carried throughout the whole fort. It wasn't long before every man and woman in the fortress were assembled before the imposing bear of a man and the Dragonborn. "Nakos has brought a matter to my attention that we can't ignore, not if we want to keep calling ourselves the Dawnguard. A new enemy, perhaps greater than the threat once posed by Harkon and his Tyranny of the Sun nonsense, has been sighted in Westeros. Yes, you heard me correctly, the continent across the Sunset Sea."
Nakos picked up, "You are all traveling to the north of Westeros, to a place called Castle Black and The Wall. A fortification that stretches for three hundred miles, is seven hundred feet tall, and made of solid ice and stone. On the other side of the Wall stand White Walkers… daedric abominations created by Mehrunes Dagon himself." At the mention of the daedric prince, mumbles rippled throughout the crowd. "There are also wights."
Gunmar was the first to ask the most obvious question. "What in Oblivion is a wight?"
"Long story short," Nakos answered, "they're a far stronger form of draugr, created from dead bodies by the White Walkers. The Walkers can command the wights to fight for them and the only way to kill a wight is with fire. As for the Walker themselves, we don't know how to kill them yet, but I'm hoping the Night's Watch will have the answer to that. Now, not all of you will be going. This is our home after all, and I would not leave Tamriel unprotected. The Night's Watch consists of about a thousand men. So I only need about a hundred of you to go. It will be about a month's journey by boat. Bring warm clothes. I hear the North gets very cold. The rest of you will stay and continue to protect Tamriel. "
Isran's voice boomed out again, "Celan! Durak! You two are in charge while I am gone!"
Nakos glanced over at Isran in surprise, "You're coming?"
Isran nodded, "You're damn right I'm coming! I'm Dawnguard! And though I am not called by the title anymore, I am still a Vigilant of Stendarr!" he called back out to the crowd, "Sorine! Gunmar! Florentius! You're going too!"
"Will you come with us, Nakos?" Sorine's voice came from the crowd.
"No." At that, the whole crowd groaned and began to complain, "I have some business with dragons!" That shut them up. They knew he was the Dragonborn, so they knew that anything dealing with dragons took top priority for him.
"What do you want us to do?" a young voice asked. Nakos assumed it was Agmaer, the youngest of the Dawnguard.
"Sorine, bring all your crossbows and exploding fire bolts. They will be very useful against the wights. Agmaer… help Sorine with whatever she tells you." Laughter erupted in the crowd and Nakos ignored the glare Sorine threw his way. He then saw Gunmar approach, one of his armored trolls in tow. Nakos smiled widely, showing his pearl-white teeth, "You read my mind, old friend."
"I doubt even a wight can keep fighting after being torn to pieces," Gunmar bellowed, "Hmm….maybe I should bring two, just in case."
"It might not be a bad idea, Gunmar. I'll keep an ear out for anything out of the ordinary, my friends. Good luck!" The Dawnguard dispersed as they hurriedly made preparations for the journey ahead.
"Hope Talos watches your ass, Nakos," Isran shook Nakos' hand, "Sounds like we'll need all the help we can get."
Three Days Later …
Turdas, 19th of Evening Star, 4E 204
Outside of Qarth
Daenerys Targaryen stood in the city of Qarth, looking out at her recently acquired ships that stood in the docks of the Straits of Qarth. It had been three days since she took the city, but she had not moved on. Not yet. Some feeling welled in her belly. It reminded her of when she was trapped in the House of the Undying by the warlock Pyat Pree. But it wasn't the same feeling she had then. That time, it was more of a feeling of fear, but her fear had fled before her anger at being deceived and bound. That anger had given away to a quiet storm of cold fury, which she had unleashed upon the warlock through her dragons. But this was different. It was more of a feeling of anticipation that something... or someone... was coming. The same night she took Qarth, she had had a vision… or was it a dream? She wasn't sure.
The sky was clear as the sun began to fall over the horizon. She could feel the sand between her toes, and hear the waves crashing against the shore. And then she saw it, just as the final rays of the sun disappeared with a flash, she could see the shadow of something moving over the waves, skimming the surface of the water. Just as the sun's light died, a new light started to burn at the heart of whatever was coming towards her, but she felt no fear. If anything, the light it radiated filled her with a sense of familiarity and hope.
Just when she thought she couldn't stare into the heart of whatever was closing the distance between them any longer, the light disappeared, only to be replaced by an immense winged shadow she knew all too well. She had nursed three of them at her breast. The red dragon landed on the beach before her and Dany couldn't resist the urge to stretch out her hand to touch the dragon's snout. The massive beast regarded her with the look of a man stricken by curiosity. It bowed his head to her and she was taken aback in utter shock when it spoke., "Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. You are not alone. There is one more like you. Wait for him here."
Before she could ask what it meant, and how it was able to speak the Common Tongue, the dragon gave a mighty beat of its wings and opened its mouth wide. When it shouted at the ground at her feet, Dany had to cover her ears as the sheer force of its power brought her to her knees.
And the dream would end before whatever the red dragon had done was revealed to her. Perhaps what it had done was not meant for her, but regardless of that, she had taken the dragon's command to heart. She stayed in Qarth, biding her time, and giving her people the rest they rightfully deserved after everything they had already endured.
"Khaleesi?" the voice of Jorah Mormont brought Dany back to the present. "Khaleesi, we have been here for three days now. We must move on."
"We are not going anywhere, Ser Jorah." Dany said softly as she turned away from the balcony to regard the knight that had served her so faithfully. "A few more days to recover from our journey across the desert will only help."
"Be it as it may, the people are restless. They wonder why we have lingered when the ships are ready to take us across the Narrow Sea, or up the coast to the Free Cities."
"We will go when I saw we will go," she said firmly.
"As you will, your Grace." Jorah let the matter drop, but he didn't leave either. Instead, he walked to join the woman by the balcony, his gaze fixed on the horizon. What he wanted to say he didn't dare, so he chose to instead address something else that had been on his mind. "I heard talk from a passing merchant sailor that there's great unrest in the capital of Westeros. A dragon was spotted in King's Landing." At this news, Daenerys' heart skipped a beat, but she said nothing as Jorah continued, "And not only that, but a man rode the dragon."
"Perhaps I'm not the last Targaryen after all." Daenerys said in an even tone, but her face must have betrayed her because she noted Jorah's dubious glance in her direction. He knew her better than that, and she couldn't fault him his suspicion. She had walked into her husband's funeral pyre and survived, and had born three dragons that same day. He was not wrong to assume there was something different about her, something that made her able to do things that no one else was capable of. But how did she tell him she was having strange dreams or visions? He'd surely think she was starting to go insane as surely as her father had done. The Targaryen madness that claimed her father and her brother, had not appeared in her… yet. She honestly hoped with all of her heart that it never did.
As if confirming her thought, Jorah hesitantly put a comforting hand on her shoulder before speaking again. "Your sleep has been restless, your Grace. I understand we've endured a great many trials of late, but never before have I seen you so restless. I could ask one of the healers to give you something to help you sleep."
"No….that won't be necessary Ser. I….don't think any potion could block what I've seen in my dreams." Before he could ask what she meant, Danaerys looked up to the bearded man next to her and offered him a small smile of appreciation. "I am grateful for your concern, Jorah, but there is nothing to be concerned about. It is not nightmares of the past, of those that we've lost, that disturbs my sleep. I have….been dreaming of dragons, and not my own. This one is different. Stronger, and mightier than even Balerion the Dread, with the eyes of a man that have seen terrible things, but have done far worse. Not because he was cruel or insane, but because he had to… for the sake of his people." Jorah remained silent, his expression unreadable, but that was enough for her since it meant he was at least listening to her. "I can't explain what it means, I only know that until he arrives, we must wait here and tend to our wounds while we can."
"Very well, Khaleesi." Jorah looked back out onto the sea when something caught his attention in the west. A small shadow, but the shape was unmistakable. It was the shape of a dragon. "Khaleesi!" He pointed to the shadow, but she had already seen it. Her face was a mask of serenity, as if she were about to greet a long lost brother. From the roars and growls from her own dragons, they sensed the approach of one of their own. She quickly ran down the steps, out of the building, and onto the shore, her three dragons hot on her heels.
The dragon was approaching fast, and its roars grew louder and more powerful with every shout. The roars attracted the attention of her khalasar. They all flocked to the shore, and soon enough, they were gathered behind their queen, their khaleesi, their eyes as wide as the moon itself. Marvel after marvel seemed to follow in the woman's wake, and this would no doubt be remembered for years to come as the mighty red dragon came to a running stop before the assembled masses.
Daenerys was in awe. Here before her, was the dragon from her dreams. It was the mirror image of the one she had seen, and while the light she had also seen wasn't present anywhere, the sun at its back served as an appropriate substitute. She was so focused on the dragon that at first, she failed to notice the man on its neck. But once he jumped off the dragon's neck and walked towards them, she was entranced.
The man was no older than thirty. His dark skin resembled that of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, whom she had locked in his own valyrian stone vault. His armor was as black as night, but it only covered his torso. The remnants of sleeves still protruded from the pauldrons, while a simple black mask covered most of his face until he pulled it down and pulled the hood of his cloak back. His hair was braided backwards, forming an intricate pattern over his scalp. But it was the eyes she focused upon the most, for they were the same eyes as the dragon in her dreams: brown and piercing, yet warm and full of old sorrows. "You must be Daenerys Targaryen."
Putting as much of her strength into her voice as she could, Daenerys did her best not to gawk in amazement at the extraordinary sight that was before her. "And who are you Ser, and who is this magnificent beast you've brought with you?"
"I am Nakos Nalldiir, of Tamriel. And this is Odahviing."
The dragon seemed to bow its head, "Drem yol lok. Greetings."
Daenerys could not help but stare and laugh in utter shock, "A talking dragon? You truly are full of surprises, Ser Nakos."
"I'm not the only one it would seem, your Grace." Nakos said as he nodded his head to the three dragons that had perched themselves on the last Targaryen. They were staring up at the regal red dragon behind him in what could only be described as amazement. Nakos reached out his arms, and spoke to them as he would a young child. "Meyz, mal gein."
To Daenerys' amazement, the dragons fluttered to him. Viserion and Rhaegal landed on his arms while Drogon landed on his shoulder. "What did you say?" She asked when she found her voice again, stunned that they had responded to anyone other than her. Not only that, but they seemed to have immediately accepted him as a trusted friend after that simple greeting.
"It would seem I have far more to teach you than I realized, Your Grace."
"And the price for teaching me what you know, Ser Nakos?"
"Only the honor of serving by your side, nothing more."
Daenerys was naturally a little suspicious given recent events. The first chance she got, she would ask her trusted bloodriders to keep an eye on Nakos if they could, without being discovered doing so. Visions or not, she would not allow him a chance to turn on them if he harbored anything but noble intentions as he proclaimed. The people of Qarth had made similar promises, and they were all dead or locked in their own vault.
Even so, she was willing to give this extraordinary man a chance to prove himself. It wasn't like they could have stopped him anyway if he had decided to attack, not with his draconic companion at his side. She turned to Jorah, "Ser Jorah. Prepare the ships at once. We sail for Astapor." She turned to back to Nakos, "What about your dragon? How will he accompany us?"
Odahviing rumbled, "I can svin, swim beside your ships, or bo, fly on the currents of air above. Dreh ni uful. Do not worry. I can take care of myself quite well, monah do dovah, Mother of Dragons."
Next Time:
The people of Skyrim get to know the people of Westeros/Essos… and the Lannisters begin their plot for revenge.
