A Son of Ice and Fire

A/N: Sorry everyone, I forgot a scene I really wanted to include, and this had to be done before Hiccup arrives. I was 3k words into that chapter, before I realised I had to do this one first, so you'll have to wait a day or two for the Stoick/Hiccup reunion. Once you read this, it'll make sense, so I hope you understand :)

Guest: No, I don't think the twins would agree with burning people alive. To be fair, it's only Melisandre we see doing that in the name of the religion. Beric and Thoros never do anything like that, so Tuff should be good for the moment.

Guest: Well then yes then, that definitely sounds a lot like the twins XD

Guest: That's a great shout. A golden griffin on a red background would be perfect for House Lanniswing.

Eye: Sorry but I literally know nothing about either of those so I doubt it would be a good story if I tried writing it. All my focus will be on this one at the minute, but I am a couple of chapters into another story. The other one I am writing is updated that slowly I'll wait until I'm at least halfway through it to start publishing, otherwise I'd feel obligated to write it and it'll take away the time I have to keep this one going as regularly.

Chapter 57: The Dragon Queen

Tuffnut

For the fifth time, I dragged the blade across my palm, and for the fifth time the sword was only coated in my blood instead of flames. "Argh! This'll never work!" I grunted, as I allowed the weapon to fall flat to the floor. My hand oozed, the horizontal line of the cut being the river and the trails of blood being the streams. I looked up angrily at the two men infront of men, who seemed to be taking this as far more of a joke as I would have liked.

"Patience, my friend," Thoros smiled, as he took a long sip of something out of a small pouch, definitely alcoholic. "being a servant of the Lord is never easy, but we do it all the same," he smiled, as he put the lid on the drink and tossed it my way. I caught it with my strong hand, and I forced myself to clenched my other into a fist, as I tried to ignore the acute pain of my palm. Downing more of the strong liquid than I probably should have, rum by the taste of it, I sighed heavily and shook my head.

"Just face it, I'm useless," I groaned.

"There must be something we're missing," Beric informed, rubbing his beard as he stared thoughtfully into the fire. "Start from scratch, tell us about that vision again…"

I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to skip back to the good old days. The days when the world was just a puppy to play with, and not the vicious hound tearing flesh from your bones that it actually is. "Well, if you think that'll help. It all started when…"

I was only at the age of ten, and all seemed right in my life. That morning had been uneventful, except for when I leaped out of a closet and nearly scared one of the servants to death. Ah, fun times. The afternoon was spent lounging in the castle's gardens, and although some would call it beautiful, boring would be the most fitting description. My home castle, Thorhold, perched on the border between the Stormlands and Dorne, was bathed in the summer sun. A heat so strong even the thinnest shirts melted onto your body, as you became drenched with sweat. I was staring idly into the distance, when the annoying calling of my sister snapped me back to reality. Ruff rushed towards me, pestering me to help her with one of her newest pranks, and I reluctantly accepted. I agreed to help, but on our way, I saw the opportunity and I shoved her into one of the ponds in the gardens. I cackled loudly as she flapped in the water, like a fish on land. I didn't realise she couldn't swim, and I just rocked myself with laughter as she beat wildly at the surface. Only when the flailing stopped and the ripples stopped did I start to panic. I screamed and I screamed and eventually someone came and dragged her out. Her heartbeat was weak, but she was still alive. I allowed myself to breathe again, that was too close. It would be later that night that everything changed. I would never hurt her. I would never ever put her life in danger again.

Only an hour after she had nearly died, Ruff was up and as full of life as ever. I thought she'd hate me, thought she'd try to get me back, but she didn't. She just smiled and told me she forgave me. She demanded that I still needed to help her with her 'prank', and it seemed like it was the least I could do. She said she needed wood, a lot of it, and we headed out of the castle to get it. But when we returned the next morning, everything was different. We never gathered the wood. She never started to prank. After that night, it was like everything changed. How in the space of a day, the innocence of youth was ripped away. When we started collecting the wood, we lost track of time, and we were too far out to get back, so we built a camp. We planned on buckling down for the night between the two forests a few miles from the castle, and sneak in early in the morning. We had settled down together and the fire was burning, when all of a sudden Ruff rushed off, calling that she needed to collect more firewood. I brushed it off, but only when she had vanished from view did I hear it… the whisper.

Beneath the crackling of the fire, a faint murmur was carried on the surface of the flames. A voice. Quiet and soft, yet firm, but I couldn't make out the words. I leaned in closer, and with my sudden movement, sparks shot higher into the air. The patterns started forming in the centre, as random flickers transformed into clear, vivid images. A sea. A red sea that was drowning us. First our boots, then the tips of our dreadlocks, then up to our necks. Me and Ruff, together, as our heads sunk beneath the waves. The fire died down momentarily, as the image was set and locked in place, but then it roared back to life. From the sea we emerged once more, escaping fully from the darkness, but both our faces were painted thick with tears. Red tears staining our cheeks. That image as well set for a few seconds, before that too vanished into nothing. When all else was gone, the voice returned. It repeated the same words it spoke before, but this time I could understand them, "You will share your final breath, and in your blood, you will be reborn."

And as quickly as it appeared, the hidden message in the flames dissolved into inaudible rustling, as the fire sputtered and fell flat. I sat there in shock, still trying to get my head around what happened. This isn't real. This can't be real. "You let the fire die, you dummy!" Came a voice between the trees. Ruff skipped through, a stack of wood taller than her in her hands, as she peered through small holes between piled logs.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Don't you worry, brother, no harm done," she grinned, "it's only a fire."

"No, not about the fire. About earlier. You could have died. I'm sorry," I apologised.

"But I didn't, did I?" She responded with a shrug. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me, it was just another prank."

"Yeah, just another prank," I trailed off to myself. It was then, and only then, did the full weight of what had just happened hit me. It was then I realised our fates were sealed. That if she is hurt, I am hurt. When she dies, I die. It was then that I vowed to protect her, and that's all I ever wanted to do. That night she told me that she wanted to have a family, have kids, and I just smiled and nodded, promising I'd always be there. And in the morning, when she told me about her vision in the middle of the night, I listened to her, I believed her. I wanted to tell her I had one too, but how can you tell someone that it took a magic voice in the flames for you to actually start to care about them. A decade later, and I failed to keep the promise. Although she sailed away, I was the one who left. I failed her.

"Ahh, now I get it!" Beric smiled. "The Lord hasn't given you his fire to wield alone, as he has us. He's concentrated his power between the two of you. If you both got visions back then, you are both connected. You will have your own flame, but it can't burn anywhere as brightly without the other half."

I scrunched my face up cynically, but Thoros stepped forward and picked the sword up from the floor and attempted to jam it in my bleeding hand. "You need to believe. Believe in the Lord. Believe in your sister. Only in your trust in them both, will you be able to channel the fire." His eyes shone with certainty, and I found myself opening my clenched fist to take the weapon in my palm. I coiled my fingers around the hilt, and brought the blade across towards the bare skin of my other hand, as I closed my eyes.

Believe. Come on Tuff. Believe. The Lord must have a purpose for me. We must have been separated for a reason. A believe the two of us will meet again, and then we will be strong. Stronger than ever. With a new found vigour flowing through my veins, I glided the steel across my flesh, allowing the blade to pierce the skin as it rode the curve of my palm. I let out a deep breath, opening my eyes in that very moment, as I raised the sword up high into the air. A tingling feel leapt from my hand, and the heat swarmed around my face as I held the weapon infront of me. The flame wasn't violent, or raging, like Beric's, but it was there. The weapon's metal edge surrounded in a layer of fire, a finger-widths thick. I swayed the blade silently form side to side, marvelling at its beauty, and how I had made it happen.

"He's ready," Thoros smiled, turning to his leader.

"Oh, he's ready all right," Beric beamed. "Our mission is complete."

Valka

My feet kept moving beneath me, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get myself to stop walking. I know I shouldn't even try, but she's the only other woman I can speak to. Only a mother can know. I glided through the corridors of the castle, receiving the occasion bow from the older Haddock soldiers that were mere boys the last time I saw them. I reached the destination, and even though my head was telling me to turn around, my heart pushed me forwards. The doorway to a room at the far end was heavily guarded, and I knew I was in the right place. "May I speak to the prisoner?" I asked sweetly. Surprisingly all I got was a nod, and soon I found myself standing in the doorway staring at her.

She didn't even lift her head as I entered. She was sat on the far end of the bed with her knees pressed to her chest, and her back jammed into the corner where the two walls met. She looked frail, broken, and I understood why, more than most. Her reddish-brown Tully hair was still as I remembered, but her face was completely different. Deep bags had formed under her eyes, and she just stared blankly at the wall opposite. I could hardly believe this was the same Catelyn Stark I had come to despise all those years ago. Looking at her now, I couldn't see the bitterness in her eyes, or hear the venom in her words. All I could see was a grieving mother. A mother who had just been told she had lost what she held most dear.

"My Lady," I started, but it was as if I wasn't even in the room. I stepped forward so I was in her line of sight, but it seemed as if she just stared through me.

"I've told you already, I can't eat," she spoke, but the voice was robotic. Her tone was flat, void of any emotion, as if she had no energy left to give.

"I'm not here to bring you food Lady Catelyn, I'm here for you," I said firmly. For the first time she tilted her head, and she looked at me for a second before laughing to herself.

She wrapped her face in her hands, as she shook her head in her palms, "now I've truly gone mad," she muttered weakly. "Now I've truly gone mad."

"I'm not a ghost. I'm not a hallucination. I'm not a figment of your imagination. But I am here to help you," I said softly.

"Hah," she laughed, but neither of us believed it was sincere. "A Targaryen, here to help me. You have some nerve," she growled angrily

"It's been almost twenty years, I'm not here to fight," I tried to calm the situation down, but it only seemed to make her angrier.

"Then what are you here to do? Boast? Mock? Your family was killed, so you're here to watch on the side-lines as mine is picked off, one by one," Catelyn snapped, lurching forward so she sat was at the edge of the bed and staring directly at me.

"I'm sorry," I said unflinchingly, as she stared at me with hate in her eyes.

"Sorry for what?" She replied coldly. "Sorry for your father burning my father-in-law alive with wildfire? Sorry for your father strangling my betrothed, my Brandon, to death? Sorry for your brother kidnapping my Husband's sister and starting a war that ripped Westeros apart? What exactly are you sorry for, Valka?" She growled.

"ENOUGH!" I yelled. "I am not my father, nor am I my brother. You can throw your insults at me all you want, but don't try blaming me for my family's crimes. That wasn't me!" I said without a single shred of regret. "You're not the only person who has lost people they care about. I know the pain you're going through, I'm not here to fight."

"What do you know?" She sighed, returning to staring blankly ahead.

I took the opportunity and slowly made my way over and sat at her side. "I know about what happened with your sons. Bran and Rickon, right?" She didn't say a word, and the fact she didn't object told me to continue. "The Ironborn took my home too. They took… my son. I was there. I had to say goodbye and watch the very moment the castle fell. It's the last thing I see before I go to sleep, and the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning. Believe me, I know what you're going through."

I saw her shift slightly, and as she looked up at me, I saw something other than anger in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "Does Stoick know?" She added after a few moments and I nodded silently. "Why is the world just so full of this death and destruction? What does it get anyone? Why do the worst of this world get to live? How is that fair?"

I just shrugged, "Good men under the leadership of bad rulers are forced to do very bad things. I hated my father. Hated him. Hated what he became. It's why I took Haddock as my surname. I thought I could get away from it all, but the memory of the mad King followed me everywhere I went. I ran to keep Hiccup safe, but I doomed him the second I came back to Westeros. If I'd have stayed away, if I'd…" I started, but I was too choked up to continue. I hunched over, as I buried my head in my hands. Feeling the arm around my shoulder, I froze completely, and it took a few seconds to realise it was Catelyn's

"It's all we have, us mothers. The desire to protect our children. Five I have, and two are prisoners and two are…" She sniffled. "Only one is free, and he's in more danger than ever."

"You can't blame yourself, no-one could have known what would happen," I said reassuringly, but given I had very little in terms of clear facts, it was best to stay vague.

"I told Ned not to go south. I told him not to," she whimpered. "All this misery could have been avoided. We'd still be at Winterfell, sat around a table. Me, Ned, Robb, Sansa, Bran, Arya, Rickon. The whole family. Now even my father is dead and all I have left to hold onto is Robb. I can't. I just can't lose him as well."

"You'll get through this, just like I will, somehow," I sighed. "I am sorry, for all that has happened. If I could undo what my father did to your family, I would. I know what he was, I know he earned his name, and I wasn't saddened by his death. We have to stay strong, for those left who still need us. I don't want us to fight."

"Me neither," she agreed, "we have so many enemies now, it seems useless to waste it arguing amongst ourselves. Thank you for coming, seeing these same four walls is driving me crazy," she laughed, but her voice was tinged with a underlayer of sorrow that was visible clearly in her eyes.

"No problem," I smiled. Her arm tightened around me, pulling me into an awkward sideways hug, but I didn't resist. When she released, I slowly climbed to my feet and headed towards the doorway. "Stay strong, my Lady, your son needs you now more than ever," I preached, hoping some if it might rub off onto me if I repeated it often enough. She didn't reply, only responding with a sincere nod, as she held her hands firmly together. Walking out, I could let out a deep sigh of relief. For a confrontation nearly twenty years too late, that went much better than expected. I allowed myself a small smile, as I wiped an unwept tear from my cheek. I'll stay strong for you Hiccup. I promise.

Fishlegs

"You know this is useless right?" Eret grumbled, as we walked along the coastal road of Astapor. I tried my best to ignore his incessant doubts and stare out to sea, but the slaves hung to die on the crosses made my stomach churn more than anything I had ever seen before.

"The quicker we find this 'Queen', the quicker we can leave this vile city," I replied sharply, as I weaved my way through the onslaught of people coming our way.

"I agree with you there," he affirmed. "Now where would we find a bear in a city this big? Do you think they fight them in the pits?" He questioned, and all I could do was let out a deep sigh as I pinched the ridge of my nose. "What?" He exclaimed, as if he hadn't just said something so completely ridiculous.

"It's not going to be an actual bear," I snapped in disbelief. "Everything that woman said was cryptic, I doubt she'd tell us to find a bear and it would be as simple as that. And by the way, she actually said 'the Bear', so whatever or whoever it is, it is specific to them." Eret only grumbled more after that, his annoyance at every dead end only making our travel more infuriating, and I was about to yell at him when something caught my attention.

My eyes were glued to it, and I was temporarily stuck in my tracks, only being able to reach my arm out and grab Eret before he walked off into the distance unaware of the situation. Is this it? Could it be? This is what we were looking for. It must be. It has to be. Eret glared at me with curiosity, as he followed the finger I had gingerly raised in the direction I was previously looking. His reaction was the opposite of that I expected. Serious, focused on the mission. That's what a… former assassin, should be. But, no. Are you kidding me, Eret? I just looked at him in disbelief, as he just stood there with raised eyebrows and his lips parted into an oval.

"Well, I do like blondes," he grinned, as he winked at me.

"I wasn't looking at her," I denied adamantly. "Look at the man next to her. Look at his breastplate." Eret seemed reluctant to take his eyes off of anyone but the young woman in the sleeveless blue dress. "NOW!" I said, raising my voice, practically ordering him to refocus his target. The man in our sights was past his prime, but with the thick black armour and the confidence in which he walked, a fight didn't seem like a good option. The metal outline of a bear was carved into his armour, just above his belt. "Mormont," I muttered under my breath. "That's the Mormont sigil. The Mormonts of Bear Island."

"So that means…" Eret started, and a wide smile crossed his face, "I had the correct target all along.

I slapped my hand to my forehead, but he was right. My eyes crossed the crowded street to where she was standing, and now all of my attention was on her as well. Compared to the blacks and browns of the city, she stood out as clear as a Jorgenson at a banquet table. Her bright blonde hair shone, even in the last slivers of daylight, giving it an almost silver tint. The deep blue dress she wore swung almost like a cape behind her as she strolled proudly along the footpath. Her expression was stern, but on the occasion she looked towards the slaves hanging with a death sentence, you could see it soften. From her natural beauty, to the elegance she walked with, she looked every bit the Queen that the priestess Gothi had called her.

Unwilling to draw any unwanted attention too soon, Me and Eret followed the pair at a distance. We watched carefully, as they approached the dockyard and a small girl rushed up to the Queen with a small ball. Jorah Mormont. The realisation hit me hard. That's who he is. It all makes sense now. The Lord Commander at the watch once told me about his son that had dishonoured his House. A northern knight exiled from Westeros, acting as a sworn shield in Essos, wearing the sigil of the Mormont House. That must be him. It must be. This could work. Now at least I have a way in. They might actually listen about the true threat, if I can just get a foot in the door.

So focused in my mind about a future battle, I failed to see the enemy in the present until it was too late. A hooded man charged towards the Queen, dagger in hand, and I was powerless to stop him. No. This can't happen. It can't. Time seemed to stop as the man got nearer, and no-one was close enough to stop him from striking. I heard Eret start to move but before he even got a few steps ahead of me, the cloaked assailant had reached her. We're too late. I could already feel the lump in my chest as the blade was raised, but for some reason, it wasn't aimed at her. The attacker instead knocked her out of the way, causing her to stumble and fall backward, leaving the wooden ball rolling in her place. Sir Jorah struggled to restrain the man who had just attacked the Queen, and Eret leaped across and grabbed the man's other arm, forcing him to relinquish his dagger. The attacker screamed and fought, but with two men holding him, he was powerless. Powerless to stop the true threat…

My feet were already moving, as the finely decorated sphere on the ground opened up, and a creature emerged. A small animal, almost scorpion like in shape, but coloured with every bright shade possible. It hissed vehemently at her, raising back on its hind legs, before it charged. The woman scuttled back as quickly as she could, but it was closing the distance. With every fibre of my being moving in overdrive, I sprinted at full speed, drawing Meatlug out as I ran. The beast picked up speed, and was now no more than a few feet from her, as it wiggled its tail at her tauntingly, as if to boast before killing her. With my boots thudding against the stone, I barrelled forward, holding the sword out firmly in two hands. With me but a few steps off, the creature abandoned its ground-based pursuit, and leapt through the air towards her. Bare inches from her neck, I brought the blade down hard and fast. The valerian steel melted through the thing's scaled body, splitting it cleanly in two. The Queen continued to shuffle back, and the remains of the manticore struck the ground between her legs.

A look of shock and fear was plastered across her face, but as I held out my arm to her, she seemed to compose herself. She accepted the hand and I pulled her to her feet, as she looked over at her shoulder to Sir Jorah, who had released the hooded man. The man instantly raced after the girl who had given the Queen the deadly gift, and Eret accompanied him. The three of us still motionless watched as the girl rushed away, leaping into the water and out of sight… only to appear above us on the other side of the docks a moment later.

"The warlocks," Sir Jorah stated through grated teeth, as he stood beside the Queen once more.

The Queen's eyes watched as the girl vanished once more, but then she turned towards the three of us that were now facing her. "Thank you," she stated calmly, "all of you. I owe you my life, sirs."

"The honour is mine, my Queen," the stranger spoke, pulling down his hood to reveal a face I knew, and certainly one I never expected to see this far from home. Eret didn't seem affected by the revelation, but in Jorah's change in demeanour, it was clear he knew the identity of Sir Barristan Selmy. Any boy born in Westeros should know him. He's a legend. And Eret just attacked him, I sighed, mentally facepalming.

The Queen turned towards Sir Jorah, noticing the difference in his stature the same as I did. He took a few steps forward, to stand at her side, as he focused his eyes directly on Sir Barristan. "You know this man?" She questioned, turning to the man at her side.

"Oh, I know him. He's one of the greatest fighters the seven Kingdoms have ever seen. He's the Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard," Sir Jorah said calmly, but there was an edge to his voice.

"King Robert is dead," Sir Barristan stated, taking a few steps forward, "I have been searching for you, Daenerys Stormborn, to ask your forgiveness." Daenerys. Daenerys. Daenerys Targaryen. And just like that it all makes sense. The exiled knight, and the exiled Princess. That's why she's the Dragon Queen. I smiled, enjoying the feeling as all the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. Sir Barristan took another step forward, and his voice took a more sombre tone, "I swore to protect your family. I failed them." Then the elderly knight took a further step forward and bent down on one knee. "I am Barristan Selmy, Kingsguard to your father. Allow me to serve in your Queensguard, and I will not fail you again." Sir Jorah seemed nervous by the request, but the Queen just held her head up high and gave a firm nod to the kneeling knight.

"It would be my pleasure to take you into my service," she proclaimed clearly, and the recipitient bowed his head and smiled gratefully. Daenerys' eyes then turned to me and Eret. "Do you know them?" She asked, but the question was aimed at the man at her side, rather than us.

"No," Sir Jorah responded bluntly, "But I do recognise the sigil," he stated, his eyes trained on my House's crest carved into the pommel of my sword. "House Ingerman, I believe."

"You are correct," I nodded. "I am Fishlegs Ingerman, this is Eret Ingerman. We've come a long way, and this is just the start."

"A long way for what?" Sir Jorah asked cynically.

Daenerys gave him a sharp glare, but then she turned back to face me, "although Sir Jorah put it rather crudely, I have to ask, why have you came here? This is a long way from your home."

"For you, my Queen," I said boldly. If the world as we know it is going to end, I might as well pledge myself to one of those who is possible to stop it. "There is something coming for us all, and we need your help to stop it…"