Daenerys scrambled away from the figure before her, her eyes wide in fear. Khal Drogo crouched in front of her, not saying a word, hardly changing his expression. He was staring at her in curiosity, tilting his head slightly as if she were nothing more than an artefact to be examined. He looked the same as the last time she had laid eyes on him, albeit stronger and less pale than when she had chosen to kill him. A moment of realisation hit her as it all began to make sense. The bell she had discovered was one of the many he'd worn in his hair after every battle he'd won. The whispered words that had resonated with her, Moon and Stars...a reminder of how they had referred to one another so many years ago. But...this wasn't right. Her chest was moving up and down rapidly. What kind of sorcery was this? He had died. Right in front of her. She remembered the tears that had stung her cheeks as she forced the cushion down onto his face, the anguish and despair that had scorched her heart. Whatever trick this was, it was making a mockery of the feelings she had dealt with, the suffering she had gone through. She wanted to tear at the figure, rip it apart, remove its existence so that she could once again move on from that part of her life.
But then she looked into his eyes, the same pits of charcoal she had stared lovingly into as the stars moved overhead in the inky night. Even the smell hadn't changed, that strange musk of testosterone and sweat that was somehow...enticing. She had seen him before in her head - she had lost count of how many times that had happened - so why was she so scared now? This was just another of those heartbreaking dreams. She would wake up any second, Jorah would be by her side, and she would hide away the pain of the experience. What would they think of her if they found out about what she was going through? How she still was tortured by figments of her past. How she should have been happy with her life and her new love but her mind wouldn't allow her to have that. They would snatch away her crown in a heartbeat and she would be forgotten, consigned to a single page in the history books, a passing sentence that everyone looked over.
She flinched as he moved his arm closer to her again. His touch was achingly familiar, so much so that it stung her skin. She closed her eyes as she allowed herself to give into the fantasy. What harm would it do to let his image stay for a bit longer? He was closer now as she slowly grew accustomed to his unexplainable presence. She opened her eyes to find him inches away from her face. His gaze brought back a tidal wave of emotions and memories that she had believed she'd moved on from. She thought back to how they were going to rule the world together and how Drogo had vowed to sail across the poison water on large wooden horses. In her head, she saw their child and how it would have grown up across the years, imbued with her beauty and Drogo's strength. The mightiest king, the most beloved. She wanted to believe this was a possibility almost too much. Drogo's reappearance had woken something inside of her. This world she was creating was so...sweet. There was no pain, no indecision, no people she could let down. Why hadn't life turned out like this? Was it still a potential future?
"Moon of my life," Drogo whispered in his deep tone, inching closer. How long had she waited to hear him say that again? Too long. All she had to do was give in…
"My sun and stars," she said back gently, leaning in, wanting to capture his lips once again. They were about to meet when she suddenly stopped, pulling back as the weight of her actions sunk in. Scared again at what her brain was doing to her, making her betray Jorah and everything she stood for, even if it was a dream, she stood up. "No, no. This isn't right." She looked at him as her heart broke, trying to admit the truth of what was happening. "You're not real."
Drogo joined her in standing, unsure as to what had brought about this change of mind. "I stand here. I...live." His broken common tongue was something she hadn't expected to have missed so much.
She stood firm. "You died. A long time ago."
That's when his expression turned into a sneer, cold and dark. "I...did not...die. You...killed me." He was now resembling the imposing figure of the warrior he truly was, not the man she had grown to love.
"You were already dead!" she wailed. "Your soul was damaged. You were trapped. I had to set you free. It was the kindest thing to do. For the both of us." She was acutely aware of how he was boxing her in. If she didn't act soon or make him stop, Daenerys feared she would be trapped and she was now less certain about this being a simple dream.
"You killed me. You killed our son. So why do you live on?" he snarled. Feeling a terror she hadn't experienced for a long time, Daenerys took her opportunity to squeeze past him and run towards the door. She briefly glanced back before leaving the room, seeing him standing there motionless, glaring at her. It didn't seem that he was going to chase her but that didn't stop her from running.
She knew where she wanted to go, where she needed to go. There was only one person who would be able to help her right now. She raced through the corridors, travelling the short distance between their chambers. She was surprised that she didn't attract any attention with the way she was acting but it was the least of her worries. She made it to his door and didn't even wait to knock to be allowed entry, pushing through straight away to get to safety.
Bruda stood up as soon as the door swung open, ready to defend himself against the intruder. He relaxed when he saw it was Daenerys, even if he was confused as to what prompted her visit. He picked up on her distressed state, moving to her side and holding her tightly. Then she did something he really hadn't been expecting - she began to cry. Alarmed at her erratic behaviour, he sat her down gently, crouching in front of her with as comforting a smile as he could muster, holding her head so that she had to look at him.
"Hey now," he said softly, wiping a few of the tears off from her cheeks. "What's got you acting like this? Are you okay? Have we got news from the North?"
"No, nothing like that," she managed to say. She was now seeing how stupid her behaviour was, feeling awful for making him worry so much. She stared at him, still doubtful. "Are you real?"
His eyebrows furrowed. "Real?"
"I need to know. Are you actually standing in front of me? I'm not...dreaming?"
"As far as I'm aware, you're awake and so am I. Look, I'm right here. Whatever's going on, I'm here. But I need you to tell me what exactly we're facing." He could feel her shaking, so different to the strong woman she normally was.
"I was hoping you would say this is all a dream. Why can't it be a dream? I want it to be a dream so I can wake up and forget about it."
He stopped her from rambling too much. "Daenerys. Why are you so frightened?"
"I saw something...someone...that I shouldn't have."
His expression darkened. "Who?" He really didn't want the answer, dreading what it might be.
"Drogo," came her whisper. "But he's dead! I saw it happen. He can't be here."
Bruda held her even tighter, placing his head on top of hers. He glared silently at the wall for a second, knowing who he needed to speak to. It was already going too far. It was fine when it was just affecting him but now Daenerys was involved...he needed to take action. Now was the perfect opportunity to tell her about what was going on. She'd be angry but at least she had experience of what they were up against. But he couldn't. Not just yet. He needed answers first before he could tell her what they had to do. Despite that inevitably meaning he had to continue lying to her. He decided to shush her gently. "I told you to look out for any strange dreams. That's all this is. Something inside of your head but that means you can control this. You can't let it get the better of you. You are stronger than you realise."
"What's happening to me? Am I...damaged?"
His heart broke. How, of all the people, could she think that for even a second? "No. You are definitely not damaged or broken or weak. Something is happening around here but I'm getting close to figuring out how to stop it. For now, just remember that he can't hurt you. Khal Drogo would never hurt you."
"He wanted to," she said in a whimper. "He wanted to kill me for what I did to him. To our son."
Bruda pulled back slightly to look at her, vowing to make Ustrina pay for making her feel like this. "You did nothing wrong. Remember that. It may hurt but sometimes...that tells you that you made the right choice. The hardest decisions in life are the ones we must make." What he didn't say was that he was now seeing how he needed to listen to his own advice if he was to stand against their new enemy.
xxxxxxxxxx
Tyrion was somewhat happy with how his impromptu meeting with Bruda had gone. Missandei was right - the warlock did seem to be acting differently to his normal self but, even then, had he ever been considered normal? Tyrion knew that everyone was on edge so it was understandable for people to be suspicious of one another. Yet he didn't want that to go any further. If they all started doubting the motives of everyone around them, they wouldn't be able to work as a unit and they'd eventually tear themselves apart. Bruda, despite his obtuseness and lack of respect towards him, was someone who cared for the queen and they would always need people like that. He was also the reason why they were all sitting in King's Landing in the first place. That was why it concerned Tyrion so much that he had sounded so...defeated and tired.
Tyrion couldn't possibly claim to know or understand some of the more mysterious and whimsical elements that the world had to offer. If you'd told him a decade ago that he'd end up on the side of dragons and warlocks against an army of the dead, he would have asked if he could have a goblet of the wine you'd obviously been drinking. But he had come to accept that there were greater forces in play than he had initially realised. He had presumed Bruda was one of the more powerful of these unknown elements so...if there was someone or something that could best him in a fight, they were all in trouble. His natural instinct was to be terrified. He had survived this long because of how good he was at manipulating words and people, along with a huge slice of luck along the way. But those tools would prove to be useless against this sort of foe. Political games he could deal with (he'd go as far as saying he'd mastered the art, another reason for his unlikely survival thus far) but standing against magic? He'd be a fool to think he could offer the old warlock any help.
Yet there was something he could do for Bruda. Tyrion had wanted to immediately run to Daenerys when part of the truth had been told to him. It was plain to see that she was in danger, no matter what Bruda said to the contrary. If he told the queen, outlined the potential situation, he would be removed from her side and, hopefully, the threat would disappear with the mage. He'd done it before, albeit with poor end results, so why had he paused this time? The certainty he'd held when he'd first accused Bruda of being a risk to Daenerys was gone. He still felt that it was the case but was he now seeing it as a necessary risk? His words kept echoing around Tyrion's head. He believed he was the only one who could stop this threat and who was Tyrion to argue against that logic? He'd defeated the Night King after all. He was being sucked in by Bruda's tantalising logic. It was a risk to not tell Daenerys but it was a greater risk to tell her. So, for the time being, he would give him the benefit of the doubt and remain silent but, if he saw anything that told him the situation was worsening, he'd have to inform someone. It was his duty, regardless of how Bruda would react.
He paced around his room, still debating whether this was the right move. Maybe he could tell Varys about the dilemma. He was good at keeping secrets. It was his job. But he'd go on about how he needed to protect the Realm, and how that directly involved telling the queen of any threats to her safety in good time. He wouldn't stop to consider that it was best for someone with knowledge of the danger to deal with it. The Spider was a man of few principles but he rigidly stuck to the ones he had. In normal circumstances, Tyrion would commend him for that fact (not to his face. He'd never hear the end of it if he actually complimented the eunuch) but, right now, it was nothing more than a nuisance.
Another thought soon occurred to him. What would he tell Missandei? She would undoubtedly ask about whether he'd gone to see Bruda since she was the one who brought the subject matter up. She'd want to know what he said and if that meant they could still trust him. Tyrion couldn't possibly tell her the truth. She'd either not understand the delicacy of the matter (he doubted that since she was an intelligent young woman) or grow even more suspicious of the warlock and tell Daenerys about her concerns (he could see that happening with how close the two were). It was a miracle that she had gone to him first, rather than the queen. It meant he could quietly tuck it away without needlessly worrying their ruler. Telling the truth would only remove that advantage. But he was growing to like her, more than he cared to admit, so would he be able to lie to her when the time came? Why did everything have to be so...complicated? He longed for the days of when being Hand meant running rule over feasts and little, normal concerns, even if that had included catering for Joffrey.
"You never were a person who thought twice about lying to someone if it suited your needs," a booming voice said behind him, almost making him spill the glass of wine he was holding. "Have you really changed that much over this time?"
Tyrion slowly turned around, knowing who that voice belonged to but not believing that they could be here. He'd made sure of that a long time ago, on one of the worst yet most satisfying nights of his life. The disdain in his tone hadn't changed, which he wasn't surprised about. Even death wouldn't change the overall demeanour of Tywin Lannister. He stood there, looming over Tyrion with a sneer. The dwarf casually glanced down at his drink, figuring that, if he was seeing this, then he must have had too much. This is what stress did to a person. He chuckled mirthlessly, laughing at the absurdity of it all. His father continued to glare, obviously not liking this reaction. He looked as neat and tidy as Tyrion remembered, clad in a smart leather doublet, his hair slicked back, his beard trimmed precisely. Tyrion was slightly disappointed that his brain hadn't imagined up two holes in his chest where the arrows had fired at him. Shame. It would have lightened the mood at least.
"And I thought this day couldn't get any worse," Tyrion said sardonically. "But no...I now have to put up with you being in my head. I thought I'd get rid of you."
"It appears your conscience has a greater merit than the rest of you."
"Conscience? I can tell you one thing for certain...I will never regret killing you," he snarled.
"I taught you better than this. You're acting like an animal."
"I thought we were meant to be lions? Last time I checked, that's an animal."
"You're a mess!" Tywin barked, moving closer. Tyrion wasn't liking how vivid and real this phantom was. He hated his brain sometimes. "You're acting like no son of mine. How you've survived to this point is beyond me."
"I bet it hurts, doesn't it? Rolling in your grave as you realise I'm the last survivor. Everyone else in this forsaken family is gone. Patches of dirt in the ground. I live on. I reckon it'd make your blood boil. The son you hated...despised...destroying your lineage and dynasty by the side of a Targaryen."
"You are no Lannister."
"Oh, come on!" Tyrion said loudly, groaning at his father. "I've heard it all before. Your insults don't have any effect on me anymore. You can't touch me. I'm free from your grasp."
"Then why am I standing here?"
"How should I know? It's probably some sort of fever dream. Maybe the wine has gone off. I'll be having words with the kitchen. Or Missandei." Tyrion walked around the edges of the room, circling the ghost. He wondered if he'd remember all of this when he woke up. "You should be proud of me. I followed in your footsteps." He patted his chest, his hand hitting the brooch of the Hand. Tywin looked down as if he was just realising his was no longer there. "Hand of the Queen. It has a nice ring to it. After everything you put me through, I came out on top. I took everything from you. Your honour, your power, your prestige...your life. And I'd do it all again."
"Maybe you'll have to."
That made Tyrion stop for a moment, tilting his head as he stared at the other man. He didn't like the look of how Tywin's eyes were gleaming. No dead man's eyes should shine so bright. "Come again?"
"You seem to have convinced yourself that this is all a dream. A byproduct of the copious volume of drink you no doubt consumed. Because that was the only logical explanation."
"It's the only explanation."
"It saddens me that, despite being free to grow, you're just as naive as you always have been. Open your eyes. The world is greater than we ever realised. You claim to have taken my honour and prestige, you've probably spent all of the money this family had. But that doesn't matter. I've come to realise that there's greater power than what those give. The power over life and death. The time is coming for you to learn the same lesson."
Tyrion tried to scramble towards the door but he found that it was locked. He hadn't done that, he was sure of it. He looked back at Tywin, who was taking on a more ominous facade. His words couldn't be true. Power over life and death...it wasn't possible. But was this what Bruda had meant? Tyrion's face went pale as he slumped against the door, staring up at the figure before him.
Tywin sneered down at his son. "We have a lot of catching up to do."
xxxxxxxxxx
Bruda banged on the door with his staff, rage coursing through his body. He had spent a long time with Daenerys but had never seen her reduced to the sort of person he'd just spoken with. He wasn't just angry with the woman he knew was directly responsible; he was disgusted by himself, realising that he was just as much to blame for the experience she'd gone through. Tyrion was right. It was no longer healthy for Daenerys to keep him around, this was the world telling him exactly that. If he could deal with Ustrina, either convince her to change her mind or remove any chance of her hurting anyone again, then it would be time for him to leave. He was resolute in that decision now.
Ustrina opened the door far too serenely for his liking, a calm, condescending smile on her face. He barged past her, enjoying the action of shoving her to get into the room. She didn't say anything. All she did was watch as he prowled along the walls, attempting to get a control over his emotions. She was examining him. Calculating, attempting to determine what he was planning to do. He wondered if she was frightened. She'd never shown any fear. She didn't have to, with the amount of power she appeared to hold. But it was like he could feel it...deep down, she was hiding some sort of internal terror, doing well to not show it. He hoped that was the case, otherwise he could be in a great deal of trouble. Ustrina had already shown how she had the capability to match and best him in a duel.
"You've gone too far," he growled, looking back at her. His magic was flowing through his veins like a flame, waiting to be unleashed. The tip of his staff flared ominously, the blue hue becoming darker. Ustrina showed no sign that she cared. In fact, she looked entirely unimpressed.
"I can assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about."
Even the sound of her thick accent enraged him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so close to losing control. "Is this a game to you? Is that what you see this as?" He stepped closer to her. "I'll give you a sage warning. Do not play games with me."
She placed a slender finger on his chest, still unnerved by his anger. "I don't play games." Her voice was a whisper as her eyes looked up at him. "I win them."
He grabbed hold of her arm tightly, gripping it as hard as he could. For the first time, there was a flicker of uncertainty in her hazel eyes. "Whatever you're doing with bringing back those who died, it was fine when I was the only one who was suffering. I could deal with it."
She managed to push away from him, staggering slightly, her orange hair more messed up than before. "Yes, because you've been coping so well with it all recently," she said sarcastically. "You know, your friends have been so worried about you. They think you're planning to betray your queen. They whisper it like poisoned words, trying to find the one that finally kills you."
"Maybe that's a good thing," Bruda sighed. "They should be done with me. They can toss me to the streets if they so wish. Strike me down repeatedly. Just so that I could see you removed from here before you do any proper damage, so I can laugh at you with my last breath."
She smiled, which he really didn't like in the circumstances. "Do you think they have the power to remove me? How easily have you manipulated people in the past? How easy then, would it be for me?"
"I've never manipulated anyone. People should be free to make their own choices, including whether their loved ones return from the grave!"
Ustrina let out a small laugh. "See, that's the difference between me and you. I accept what I've done, what my powers can be used for. But you...even after all these years, you're blind to what you're capable of."
"I know what I'm capable of. I'm capable of defeating you, right here, right now. I can end it all here. No one need know how close we were to destruction. All your efforts would be forgotten."
"And if you fail, you'd leave Daenerys at my mercy. Can your conscience really handle such a heavy burden?"
"I'm doing this for her. You brought back someone she loved dearly and it tormented her. It's cruel and no one should suffer through it, especially her."
"That's just the initial shock she's going through. It's not cruel. Far from it. How many times do I have to tell you, warlock? I'm doing this to be kind. You said she loved him. Then surely it is a good thing that she can live her life with him again! Don't be so blind."
"That's where you're wrong. Not only is it against every law in nature, you also have no control over it! Life and death can't be manipulated by one person, those forces are simply too strong! Khal Drogo threatened to kill her out of revenge for what happened to him! Is that truly kind?" He was sure that he could see a momentary falter on her behalf.
"I can control it. You've seen how I can control it."
"It will burn you up inside and destroy you," Bruda said passionately, trying to make her see sense. "Please. I'm trying to save you before you kill yourself."
"There you go again. Claiming to be the hero. That's why you haven't told anyone about me. Because you want to be the person to stop me."
He looked down at the floor. "So be it. Maybe that's the role I have to play. Maybe I am the person who's going to stop you." Bruda lifted his staff up from the floor, ready to wield it. For a few seconds, it felt like Ustrina was going to let him strike the blow. But, before he could fire off a spell, a figure appeared in front of him, blocking his view of the other warlock. His heart sank. Isabella smiled at him with her familiar eyes and warm expression. He didn't want it to happen but he could feel some of his anger dissipating.
"Don't do this, Bruda," she said quietly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "This isn't you. You don't kill people."
He moved away from her touch. "And that's the problem, isn't it?" he shouted into the air. "You actually believe that because you died before I had to kill people. People who deserved it, who were going to hurt more people. I don't like it, I never will. But it's the duty I have because of the powers I have. I accepted that a long time ago." He looked over at Ustrina, who was watching the interaction curiously. "Can't you see? People change when someone they love dies, it's a fact of life. Which means, if you bring them back, they don't feel the same way anymore! They're not...compatible!"
"Look into your wife's eyes and tell me you don't feel anything towards her. Tell me that the love you held for her has completely gone. If that's the case, then you'll be perfectly willing to kill her. To set her free from this punishment, as you see it."
Bruda stared at Isabella, tears stinging both their eyes. She wasn't real. That thought kept running through his head. The image of her dying in his arms in the rain. But she was standing there and she looked real. He'd told Daenerys that everyone had to make impossible decisions but this...this was too much. He lowered his staff, hanging his head in shame. He could hear Isabella let out a relieved breath but he knew that he'd made a mistake.
"You lie to yourself," Ustrina carried on, gloating. He'd lost his energy and his will. "You see me as the enemy but you can't oppose me." Her hands blared red, energy swirling around them. She stared at the force for a moment before it shot out, firing into the chest of Bruda. He was flung into the air, crashing against the stone wall before he slumped to the floor. He defiantly looked up at the woman towering over him. "In some ways, we are the same. How long did you keep your name a secret? It always had a hidden meaning. I thought that was a nice touch and it helped me choose my own name." She crouched down in front of him. "But then that's also why we're different. Diametrically opposed. You, calling yourself Winter. Think about my name, Bruda. You believe the forces of life and death will burn within me. You're right. Ustrina, the old world word for Fire. Winter and Fire. The power we could hold. But you're too weak and old." She stood up again, stretching her arms out. "Yet you have told me something today, which I must thank you for. If more of the dead are coming, then the time has come for me to stop waiting. I'm looking forward to watching this place burn."