Damn, this one is late. Was it because of laziness? Yes. Was it because of writer's block? Yes. Was it because this was one of those chapters that makes you hate the entire story you've written because no matter what you do it just doesn't flow how you wanted it to? Very yes.

But, thanks to the help of Longclaw-1-6, we got this just right.

Before we start, I got some things to say.

First, I'm deeply sorry for how long this took. The thing that caused the biggest delay in this is Jon's POV, getting the order of events right and then also the damn magic. I didn't mean for it to be this way. All it was supposed to be was that if you have Valyrian blood, you can do magic. There was no life in the flames or any of that, but then chapter 24 was going to be garbage unless I introduced that concept. I overcomplicated the magic system and it took too long to finally simplify it all (at least I hope it's simple, or at least simpler)

I wasn't kidding when I said this chapter made me hate my story. I kept seeing all the biggest mistakes I've made, like notdoing this as a series after the Prologue arc finished, publishing every POV that revealed Robert's Tywin's and any other's involvement in the plot because that took away the surprise and I'm getting sick of how many people keep saying that Ned's an idiot for doing what he thinks is the right way because that just keeps telling me that I've failed time and time again to make Ned the character I wanted to.

Another thing is that I'm at an impasse in life right now and I need to make some decisions soon but I'll keep working on this.

Going back to shoulda could woulda on making this a series instead of one giant fic, one we get through with hte events of book/season 1, that'll be it for Ghost and then we'll be starting the next book/season as a new fic entirely. This feels far less overwhelming as a project if I do it that way.

Last thing, this chapter does contain a scene that is basically a 95% redo of a scene from the show. This isn't out of need to fill the chapter, I included it because it is one of my top 5 favorite scenes in all of game of thrones and I wanted to include it out of respect for the actors who brought such a great magic to the scene.

Jorah

Daenerys took another deep bite of the heart, face scrunched in disgust and fury to keep going. She was more determined than most had estimated of her. Months ago she came off as a timid princess at her brother's mercy but now she stood with a ferocity and will in her. Everytime she chewed the tough muscle she locked eyes with Drogo who never once flinched or gave any sign of doubt in her.

Only Dothraki were permitted the honor of the closest view. Jorah, Viserys, Cinders, and Dillion had to watch from the back at the door. One more step backwards and they would all be outside.

"She has to eat the whole heart?" Viserys asked with obvious disgust. "I hope that wasn't my horse."

Dillion and Cinders share a look of regret that Viserys did not see. It would seem that was his horse's heart. They'd need to find him a replacement before night's beginning.

"She's doing well," Jorah responded but felt himself constantly fidget with his hands and adjusted his feet whenever it looked like Daenerys was struggling. Through war and the Northern feasts, he had never witnessed such a gruesome meal before.

Viserys shared his doubts. "She'll never keep it down. I don't know how anyone could in such a filthy drab as this."

Dillion leaned to his king. "This is the most sacred of ceremonies for the khaleesis. Whether they succeed or not, they earn the favor of the gods. After this, she'll bathe in the Womb of the World for the blessings of the moon."

Viserys scoffed at the idea if it were just a joke. "I'd never touch those waters. Who knows how much of these savage's spill their seeds in it after a tug watching women bathe?"

Jorah shook his head slightly. "If any man tried, they would be burned alive, for blood cannot be spilled in the great city if it boils away first." And if not that, then they would be hanged from an idol of a conquered city outside the gates as a sign of warning.

Daenerys tore off another large piece of the heart and chewed. There wasn't much left now. Three more mouthfuls and she will have done it. The Dothraki and the crones grew louder with their chants while the head of the Dosh Khaleen's wailing and prophecy continued as she waved her arms above her head and tossed various herbs and bones into a stone brazzier.

Viserys leaned his head to Cinders, finally gaining interest over his disgust. "Tell me what she is saying."

"Apologies," Cinders said with reluctance, "but my Dothraki is not as good as it should be."

Jorah's gaze never left Daenerys as she kept eating the heart. He couldn't take his eyes of her even if he wanted to. "The prince is riding," he translated, "I have heard thunder of his hooves, swift as the wind as he rides. His enemies will cower before him, their wives will weep tears of blood. She's going to have a boy."

"He won't be a real Targaryen," snided Viserys. Jorah felt the man deserved a good clout on the ear but if that happened then something even more stupid would come from his big mouth. "He won't be a true-"

As Daenerys shoved the last piece of the heart into her mouth at the same time a hyena bone was tossed into the brazier, a sudden burst of flames erupted high up nearly to the ceiling. The color of the flames had changed from normal to bright red, like rubies in sunlight, before they died back down. The Dothraki, the Dosh Khaleen, everyone had fallen silent.

The old crone fell to her knees and wailed her prophecy louder as Daenerys, unfazed by the event, chewed the last bite.

"What happened?"

Jorah did not know. He never heard of this happening in the ceremony before. "She speaks differently now. She says the prince comes without hooves, but powerful wings that tear open the sky. A dragon I see, skin of glory and victory. The mountains will crush so they may kneel before him. So great is his might, he will reach for the stars and pick them as seeds, spreading them across the world to share in his glory."

Daenerys swallowed the last bite but suddenly gagged. Drogo stepped forward and everyone held their breath when it appeared Daenerys would not keep the heart down.

Everything went still before she kneeled up and swallowed. She did it.

The crone shouted her praises and prophecy, all with great respect.

"A Dragon who will Mount the World. The Khal of Khals, a Khal of Dragons. He will unite the people into a single Khalasaar, all the people of the world will be his herd."

Daenerys stood up and faced everyone around with great pride. Despite the blood that covered her mouth and hands, despite the sweat and dirt on her skin, she never looked prouder than now. "A prince rides inside me. And he shall be called Rhaego!"

The dothraki began to cheer in unison for the name of the child, except Drogo. He smiled with just as much pride as Daenerys had.

"Rhaego! Rhaego! Rhaego!"

"They love her," Viserys muttered in disbelief.

Jorah felt happy for Daenerys. Even when Drogo embraced her lovingly and his heart was pricked. He never adored someone like this before. "She truly is a queen today," He turned his head to look at Viserys for the first time since the start of the ceremony only to find him gone. It seems the Beggar King couldn't handle Daenerys getting glory he never had.

Still, it would be wise to find Viserys and make sure he didn't do anything stupid. He would not be able to witness the ceremony at the Womb of the World, but maybe it was best he wasn't there to begin with. He didn't want the further temptation of coveting the Khal's wife.

What was he thinking? He was charged with spying on the Targaryens, not yearning for one of them. Daenerys reminded him too much of Alysanne, but the features she has are twice fold. She is a gentle angel but also growing into a firm leader not to be trifled with. And so beautiful. Any man to look upon her and deny that beauty was either blind or the most foolish.

Jorah caught a glimpse of Viserys entering the Western Market and made sure to follow behind without being noticed. It wasn't difficult to keep a watchful eye, the Valyrian features were too easy standing amidst the many Dothraki. Viserys never gave a glance to any of the merchants and they passed just about every kind. What was the young King up to if not browsing for goods?

It wasn't the markets Viserys wanted to be at, but the camp of the Khalasar. He had taken back his sword and dagger but remained in the city. He wasn't smart, only lucky that Drogo's horde were all giving their respects to Daenerys for her success in the ceremony. There was no one keeping watch anywhere.

Jorah finally found Viserys entering into the tent full of many treasures and trophies belonging to Drogo and Danaerys. In the center was the chest of the dragon eggs. Viserys opened it and paused, gazing down at them with almost a hint of wonderment and respect, a first for something. He touched the cream colored one and caressed the petrified texture gently as though he finally found something he truly cared about.

Then, Viserys did something unexpected. He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a small box of polished elderwood and set it next to the chest containing the eggs, leaving it there with his fingers sliding to let go. Then he quickly grabbed the cream colored egg and stowed it in his rucksack.

Jorah wouldn't let this come to pass… but shouldn't he? His mission was to spy on the Targaryens and if needed be, make sure they would pose no threat to King Robert. Drogo had no intention of crossing the Narrow Sea and if Viseys took off with the eggs then he'd probably end up dead and robbed before finding a city. The threat would be gone, once and for all.

But then so would Daenerys. The first time he looked at her he could see Lynese and all the things about his wife he once loved and more. But now he didn't, he saw Daenerys and every beautiful thing she is. He didn't want to see such a wonderful person in his life be gone, he couldn't.

He stepped inside and didn't try to mask his presence, making his footsteps clear to the thief. Viserys spun on his heel, rising up with his sword half drawn. He didn't appear threatened when he saw it was Jorah and sheathed his sword.

"Do not let them find you with a sword in the sacred city," Jorah warned Viserys calmly, "you know the law."

Viserys sheathed the sword with a scoff. "It's not my law." He reached down and quickly grabbed the other two eggs.

Jorah took another step forward, resisting the desire to clench his fists. He wouldn't need to raise them against a man like this. "They don't belong to you."

"Whatever is hers is also mine." Viserys replied so nonchalauntly as he bagged the other two eggs.

"Once perhaps," Jorah growled.

Viserys froze for only a second. Did the man scare that easily? He turned and faced Jorah with a twitching hand resting on his scabbard close to the hilt of his sword. "If I sell one egg I'll have enough to buy a ship. Two eggs, a ship and an army."

"And you have all three."

"I need a large army." It wouldn't be large enough to serve that ego of his. "I'm the last hope of a dynasty, the greatest dynasty this world has ever seen on my shoulders since I was five years old. And no one has ever given me what they gave her in that tent. Never. Not a piece of it. How can I carry what I need to carry without it, hm? Who can rule without wealth or fear or love?" Viserys smirked as he walked up to Jorah, mere inches away from him. "You stand there, all nobility and honor. You don't think I see you looking at my little sister, hm? Don't think I know what you want? I think she'll let you if you ask, the last northerner was too young for her… but let me go."

Jorah practically punched his palm onto Viserys' chest when the lad tried to move past him. "You can go. You can't have the eggs."

Viserys eyed him angrily. "You swore an oath. Does loyalty mean nothing to you?"

Jorah raised himself to his full height, standing taller than Viserys. "It means everything to me."

"And yet here you stand."

"And yet here I stand."

All Viserys had to do was draw that dagger with a quick enough pull from the hand twitching to do it and Jorah would be dead and out of the way.

"What's going on?" Dillion asked as he entered behind Jorah who didn't move a muscle from his place still.

Viserys shoved the rucksack from his shoulder and strode past Jorah only to be stopped by Dillion. "If you don't want a Dothraki execution, you'd best disarm yourself."

Viserys scoffed at the idea. "You wouldn't let them."

"I wouldn't be able to stop them."

As Viserys took off his belt, Jorah picked up the rucksack and inspected the eggs inside. He was worried they had chipped or cracked from the rushed treatment but they were perfectly fine as they were before. He made for the chest and delicately set them back in.

He held the last one, the black and red one, gently in his hand for a moment. It felt so light, but it made his arm and his heart feel so heavy.

"He tried to steal the eggs?" Dillion asked.

Jorah set the last egg back inside, closed the lid, and rested a hand on it. "Viserys has given up on Drogo's help. He's given up on Daenerys. You should have warned him that a Dothraki warlord's promise is not a contract of war."

"We never knew what he was doing until it was too late. But his patience lasted as long as it could. I never imagined Drogo's would still last with him this long."

"If Daenerys were not the Khaleesi, Viserys would have been killed a long time ago in Drogo's company." And perhaps not for the annoyance he was. A man like him did not belong in these lands.

Dillion sighed and left without saying another word. Jorah lingered for just a while longer.

There was a part of him that wanted to tell the Khaleesi of this, that he stopped her brother from stealing her eggs, to hear praise from her. But what would it matter? He'd be a lowly dog looking for his master's approval that way. Best to let things go unsaid as he was sure Dillion wouldn't mention this either.

Daenerys

The feast in honor of Daenerys' accomplishment of eating the heart and the prophecy of her unborn son was held in such glory that she had never seen expressed before. Drums were beating fast and loud and women danced around a great fire. And for the first time, she didn't have to feast on horse meat. There were no meats roasted at all to keep her from vomiting from the nauseating smells, but there were stews cooked in iron pots over the fires and she was given fruits that were brought by traders of the Western Market.

Her handmaidens all joined at her side, enjoying the festivities and each other. They watched as Drogo was brought his whip gifted to him on their wedding day and performed a masterful and precise technique of snapping the end at several peach pits that were thrown into the air.

She didn't notice for a long time that Viserys was nowhere to be seen and how Dillion and Jorah came late. Smokeball was getting up close and comfortable with two Dothraki women who let their hands slide up and down his chest.

Then, it came time for Drogo to give a speech to all gathered, some included other khals who came to honor She who carried the Khal of Khals.

The drums stopped and Khal stood in the center of attention next to the fire. "Here me now, all who bear witness to my words!" He roared out with his powerful warrior's voice. "There was a day when I was given a dream by the Great Stallion to travel west, to ignore the cities in my path, and to find a man. There was no warrior at the end of my travels, there was a merchant who offered me a wife and when I first looked upon her I saw a daughter of the Moon and knew that she would be the only one who could give me the mightiest son who will ride at the head of any horde, who will lead his people into unimaginable glory. I am father to the Stallion who will Mount the World, and when my son conquers the lands that touch the Great Grass Sea, he shall lead his people to the land of his mother and take back what unworthy men stole from his family! The Great Stallion shall look upon my son with the greatest honor and a new age will begin!"

The Dothraki cheered as loud as they could and the drums banged as loud as they had before. Everyone was raised up by Drogo's speech, everyone except Dany, that is.

Daenerys had been delayed in her rejoicing with everyone else. Her mind was elsewhere, repeating Drogo's words in her mind. Did Drogo just indirectly declare she was nothing more than a womb for his glory? She went through the words and remembered her lessons learning the language as best she could. Did she mistranslate something or did she hear right?

Daenerys got up, feeling her bodily needs get the best of her.

"Moon of my life, what is wrong?"

"Nothing. I need to make water."

Drogo chuckled at his unnecessary concern and nodded to her while gesturing with his hand for Irri to join her outside.

"The young prince's name, I have never heard of such a name before." Irri confessed as they reached outside.

Daenerys smiled as they walked on to the latrine pit. "I named my child after my brother, Rhaegar. He was the Last Dragon. But now my son will be the New Dragon, the Khal of Dragons." Such prophecy filled her with pride. Her son would be the true King to restore House Targaryen's rule in Westeros, and she prayed her Rhaego would restore their honor too. She would not let her child become a madman like her father.

The latrines were barren of anyone except for Irri, Daenerys, and the tall grass that brushed with the wind. The stink quickly filled the air. This pit should be buried soon and a new one dug, or however the Dothraki handle their waste.

Before Dany could settle, a hand quickly grabbed at her wrist and pulled her back. She was pushed down, forced to her rear and a small blade pointed under her chin from her own brother.

"Khaleesi-"

"Shh!" Viserys hissed. "Stay where you are, savage!" He pressed the blade closer to Daenerys, the tip a hair's space from touching her skin. Irri had frozen after that.

"Viserys, please," Dany said softly as she could smell the reeking of wine from him, "don't do this."

"You have no right to tell me what to do, slut! For sixteen years I protected you, sheltered you, did everything for you! And look at you now. Ungrateful and selfish!" His breath smelled heavy of wine and up close in the dark Daenerys could see his eyes were in a daze. He was drunk.

"You sold me to Drogo for an army! You lost any gratitude the day I married him."

Viserys scoffed a smirk. "Still you complain? The savages love you, Dany. They praise you, cheer for the little wretch in you, and you love them too. I don't see why you could ever be angry at me with all this. Where are the assassins, Dany? Not one since you married Drogo, and still you complain!" He let go of her wrist but kept the blade at her. "All of that I gave you… so where is my thanks? Why is my respect? I am the King, not you!"

Daenerys felt a single tear streak down her cheek, but it was not of fear or sadness but pity. "You weren't always this way, brother. I earned their love, I earned Drogo's respect. You have never earned a thing. You've only bought and demanded in the name of a crown you do not have. Where is the dragon that should lead us home?"

Viserys was trembling and stepped away. Irri rushed to Daenerys and pulled her up and both of them watched as Viserys walked away to the markets almost in a daze. The small blade he had slipped from his fingers into the dirt.

"We must tell the Khal-"

"No." Daenerys ordered. "My brother's fate will be what he reaps for himself." If there were gods that deemed him fit to die tonight then so be it, but she would have to part in it. She would not be responsible for the spilling of her family's blood. But if he lived, then she would have no part of him in her life anymore. No more orders, no more abuse, nothing.

Her only mercy to him was walking over to where the blade lay in the dirt, picking it up, and tossing it into the latrine pit where no one would even think to dig for valuables.

Jon

It had been just about a full year since the Aekylosh Tome of Fire was hidden in the ruins of the Valyrian astronomy tower. When Jon and Vedros returned to the last place of merriment they shared with Baelgor, they found it undisturbed as though they left it only yesterday. The remains of the fire that cooked the alligator were still there, the empty basin of oil, all of it.

Jon pulled up the stone slab that covered the space he dug out the last time he was here. Underneath was a leather covering protecting the tome from dust and rain. He pulled it off and once again beheld the beautiful book worth more than any in the Citadel. He brushed his thumb over the inlay of weaved jewels.

As he set the tome into his satchel he said a silent prayer in his mind, asking that the answer he needed could be understood if it was in these pages. He knew where to start, the last section that he studied with Baelgor. But they had gone in a circle. Maybe now he might have new ideas to understand the words of Baelgor's ancestors.

With the book back in their possession, Jon had what he needed to begin his search for answers and he departed from the ruined astronomy tower to the road for the nameless village at the edge of the Valyrian Wasteland, rejoining Bekhsa and Vedros who gave him his privacy in the tower.

Their ride was slowed for Jon's want of time to study along the way. He returned to the pages that Baelgor had scoured when his magic began weakening.

For all that is seen and experienced through our uses is the art of taming fire, all accounts have shared the absolute and firm belief that the fire that can be conjured through the use of the magic that that flows in our veins differs from fire which is made from the spark of flint that grows feeding on timber.

Jon took these parts one paragraph at a time. This one, describing that there was a distinction between natural fire and magic fire, one being made of man and the other being an extension of a Valyrian's spirit given form.

Regrettably, only two accounts of the thirty-seven I have investigated have truly listened to the still small life that resides in their flames when it was first born to them. Both accounts manifested their flames at the age of young adults and as I have suspected, the flames matured as their users did throughout their current lifespans.

Again, distincting that the flames are a part of one's self and that there is a voice-like presence in the flames when one listens not with their ears but their heart and mind. There is emotion, intention, and something else.

It is my belief that the flames we birth are a response to the feelings that overcome us at the time. The color itself has the chance to change but will most likely remain what it has been throughout previous bloodlines. It is the emotions of the heart that ignite our first flames into life. As such, like man made flames, the fuel given at birth must remain as it's constant nurture as it grows. Otherwise, such a sudden change will be like throwing wet wood over embers. I suspect that my continuous studies will reveal another theory I suspect, but only time will tell.

'Emotions of the heart, fuel given at birth…' These phrases were the two that stuck out the most but he could not understand why. He remembered what he tried with Baelgor, what he felt that night he went back to the alley with Daenerys, but he didn't know where to go on with all of this.

"Do you want to talk about something?" Vedros asked.

"Like what?" Jon asked. After they left Yunkai, they all hardly said anything to each other. Their vengeance for their father was finally seized. Well, almost. If Foran was being honest, albeit hardly possible for a slaver, then there was someone out there that orchestrated the kidnappings from the very beginning. The only ones who could possibly have that answer were in Volantis, the one place in Essos that would be certain death if they tread there, especially now.

"Like perhaps reconsidering going to the warlock? Baelgor said that your blood would be dangerous in his hands. And if that creep knows it then he'll want it even more drastically. Baelgor's not here to protect you from him."

"I have both of you, don't I?" Jon returned the book into his satchel. "And if the warlock wants it that bad then it means he better have something big for us to pay for it, like precise answers and not stupid riddles or else I'll burn his hut down and send him to join the crocodiles." Why did people have to explain things with such complex details? Why couldn't they just say the answer and get on with it?

"And if that happens then what's the plan then? I doubt the warlocks in Qarth will be more virtuous than this one."

"We'll deal with that if it comes to it." Jon looked back to Beshka, observing that she was completely tuned out of the conversation by sharpening one of her swords with her whetstone.

It didn't matter much given that they had just arrived at the village. The last three years had been quite kind to it all as it first appeared from a distance. A few more shacks were erected and there was a dwarf merchant selling small strips of dried meat which meant they had their rat problem under control.

Jon and the others dismounted and left the horses in the unwanted company of the stables available. The bug-eyed stablehand never made eye contact with them, only the horses. And once they were off and walking into the place, Jon finally noticed how… nicer it was. Last time it felt like Mantarys, a place for those with nowhere else to go but now there was a certain brightness to the village. The shacks looked finer built, there was the feeling of sickness, and the mood was positively better.

As they walked through town for the docks, many people stared at them, some faces that Jon recognized when he looked at them. They reached where the market was and found the fisherman's stall still there. Hopefully the hunchback would be where he was too.

The Fisherman's stall was more of a booth now, with a healthier selection and the hide of a familiar crocodile nailed above the top like a trophy.

"Oh!" A voice exclaimed, one belonging to the fisherman, "It's you! You've returned!" He rushed over to them with an eager grin.

Jon stopped, feeling somewhat confused at the warm welcome. "Um, hello again."

"Ah! You've regained your voice, how wonderful. It seems the gods deemed your good deeds worthy of reward."

"Good deeds?" Jon asked. "To be honest there's rarely been a good deed we've done since we left this place last time." That wasn't to say they've done none, but the morality of it was the thing in question and there were no regrets that the scales weighed heavy on the bad.

"But you cleansed the curse from the river!" The fisherman replied. "Ever since you brought the crocodile to me, there has been a wonderful abundance that came."

"Abundance of what?" Beskha asked.

"Everything! The curse of Valyria has withdrawn its reach from us because of you." The fisherman gestured solely at Jon who didn't understand at all what he was talking about.

Cleansed the river? He did nothing of the sort. All he did was boil a crocodile alive. "Well… you're welcome, I suppose. Is the hunchback around? I need to see the warlock."

"Yes, of course he is. Same place he's always been. But these days you could swim there without worrying about the crocodiles. The fish that have come are fat and nourishing and yet not one of those big fucking sets of teeth and pairs of golden eyes have come around. We think they liked the taste of the curse better than real food. And if they're back in Valyria then they'll be feeding on stone men now."

Jon heard it and did not care and it reflected in his voice. "That's excellent to hear. We're on a bit of a tight schedule so I shall say my farewell."

"And when you come back, I have my tribute of thanks for you, Cursebreaker."

Cursebreaker? That's a laugh. If he could break curses then how is it he can't go home?

They left the fisherman and found Gorvan the Hunchback in his little shed munching on a small piece of dried rat meat while eyeballing a Bravosi coin closely.

When Jon and the others were in sight, Gorgon took his eyes off the coin. "Well do me eyes deceive me or has the little quiet boy returned a man?'' Gorvan limped out in front of them. "Has yeh come's to seek a meal with nice ole Gorvan or do yeh just wants a float across the waters?"

"We need to see the warlock. Take us to him." Jon flicked a silver piece to Gorvan who got it with a quick swipe when it got close enough.

"A lovely silvah piece for ole Goravan does well and good. But me raft only takes two."

"I'll stay here," Vedros announced, "I'd rather not know what it's like in person." He pressed on Beskha's armor. "Don't let him do anything rash."

"Pansy." Beskha cursed him as she joined Jon and Gorvan on the raft which appeared to be the only thing that stayed the same.

The ride went smooth and quick as the current had carried them, it made Jon worry that getting back would take a few hours against the swift water. But as the ride went on, he did notice the reflections of bright scales under the water. The Fisherman was right, there were nicely fat fish swimming around.

"Did the crocodiles really leave?" Jon asked.

"No more eyes of gold to be seen under the red waters, no more will reach in for riches and die in the cold red darkness. Not since two lads wrestled and boiled a prime son and brought the tasty flesh back. Such good meat, it was, yes."

The rest of the ride was silent, Gorvan had no song to sing this time, and they reached the grass hut in no time at all, disembarking as Gorvan secured the raft and rolled the silver coin between his knuckles.

Jon entered first with a nervous hand close to a dagger. There, in the corner like last time, was the warlock resting on his bed of grass and moss.

"From smoke and sewage, a hero crawls into shadow and ash. From whence he came a man born of hatred and death crossed into the light of the sun. Driven by pursuit for answers and destiny shall I wave my lantern among the smoke to reveal what path he may take." The warlock lifted his head with a calm smile. "With no Dancing Dragon to sell his blood, the duty falls unto you. What riches of mine can compare to such bountiful taste as yours?"

Jon approached slowly and drew his dagger, holding it loosely in his hand with half an urge to start twirling it between his fingers. "My power wanes from me, fights against me. I want to know why and how to fix it."

The warlock reached into his sleeve and pulled out the wooden cup.

Jon cut the tip of his finger and let a single drop fall into the base. The warlock brought the cup to his nostrils and inhaled deeply with his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Oooh… such a release befalls unto me from a mix like this. The blood of Valyria runs strong as sap of a weirwood in your veins." He then licked the blood with a slimey blue tongue and suddenly shrieked in ecstasy. His boney fingers popped as they outstretched as much as the could. "Peace of a mother's breast compares only to this blood." he sighed joyfully and then looked Jon straight in the eye. "The answers you desire are what I cannot give. I can only give way for you to find them." He wandered off to his ingredients, mixing many of them with haste but also careful precision.

Beskha walked up from behind Jon. "What's he doing?"

"Making Shade of the Evening. Don't drink any of it, just watch over me while I do."

"Don't need to say that twice."

The warlock finished by igniting a small bundle of weeds and blowing out the flames so only embers brought constant smoke. He twirled the bundle around, surrounding himself with a trail of smoke and set it aside. He returned with the cup filled to the brim with the Shade of the Evening. "Another drop of your own for you alone."

Jon motioned his hand forward but then stopped. He realized that perhaps there was more use of the warlock, possibly, than just getting a vision. "First you pay for the first drop. Can you break curses?"

The warlock looked at him skeptically. "Who among your leisure has a tainted spirit in need of such purification?"

"Me. I don't know what it is exactly, but I can't go home. If I try then death befalls those around me."

The warlock walked forward, standing face to face with Jon, before swiping the hand with the finger Jon cut and smelled the traces of the blood. "What foolery is this? No filth polutes your spirit."

"What do you mean? I'm not cursed?"

"No. What made you think you were?"

"When I was brought back, the man who did it told me that if I stayed home then terrible things would happen. Then three years ago when I tired to go back, terrible things happened and we lost Baelgor."

"Prophecy is a dangerous agent of time. We never know if such a fortelling is until the end of time or the end of the day. But such does not need to bring you concern. Only one thing."

"What?"

"Bad circumstances. But you should already know what you can do to lift such plagues. You did it before to the river."

"Kill a crocodile?"

The warlock giggled grossly as if the answer was extremely obvious. "The blood of dragons holds much power within and fire is what releases it."

"... So all of this time I could have gone home?"

"If that is what you believed you could not, then yes, you can. Now, for your vision, your blood."

Jon took the cup and let another drop of his blood drip into the drink. The blood sat atop the surface of the drink like it hit a hard surface before sinking down. He suddenly drank as fast as he could, getting past the impossible flavor entering his mouth. Mud, fishbone, savory fat, cherries, all of these flavors all so separate yet all happening at once.

Once he finished the last drop, he felt himself breathe in the remnants of the smoke and felt his mind start to act strange, his vision starting to pulse with blurs.

"Morghon…" Beskha said grogely, "what's…"

Jon blinked and when he opened his eyes and was lost in the dark void he never forgot. The place he went to when he died. On instinct, he lit a black flame in the palm of his hand and held it out in front of him. He listened deeply to the rhythm of his magic, the voice of his fire.

The flame suddenly engulfed his entire body in its shadow. They disappeared almost immediately, leaving him in a field of grass stretching to all ends of the horizon. Where was this? This couldn't be the Dothraki Sea, the type of grass stalks were wrong. It was almost familiar though. He knew he had never been to such a place but the feeling of being there was like he was home.

From beneath the grass, flower buds sprouted and bloomed into blue roses, Winter Roses. A sudden burst of laughter behind Jon had him spin around and face a tall weirwood tree. He approached the laughing tree, unfazed that the face of wood and bark moved as it bellowed.

"What's so funny?" Jon asked as though it were completely normal to talk to a tree.

"You are! A boy assuming he knows everything behind him and ahead. You long for a home you left, just go back!" The tree wheezed giggles.

"I would if weren't cursed-"

The tree burst out into greater laughter, tears of red sap streaking from its eyes. "You know nothing, boy! What worth are the words of a stranger to you? Do you expect them to know all just as you think you do? I name thee Fool!" the laughing died down to a low chuckle but nonetheless kept going. "What question do you have for me that you don't already know?"

"What do you mean what I don't already know? I know nothing! I didn't come here for riddles! I came for answers."

"You came here for power, boy." a group of red leaves fell scattered around from the pale branches and more started to follow. "A boy who let the beast within go wild should have known eventually it would bite back." More and more leaves fell and almost instantaneously hundreds upon hundreds fell all around, surrounding Jon and completely obscuring his vision of the tree.

When the leaves stopped, the laughing tree was gone and a great red dragon stood in its place, growling fiercely and baring its large teeth. This creature before Jon could swallow him whole easily. The dragon's eyes narrowed and it roared fiercely at him. In the force of everything, Jon felt not fear, but great anger and sadness emanating from the beast until finally he heard the voice within, a calm whisper among the rage.

'You made me into this. You made me into your weapon. But now you want peace between us? Why should I?'

A dark glow of shadow formed in the back of the dragon's mouth before a great blast of black flames shot from the dragon's mouth, swarming Jon in heat and fire.

He didn't think when he did it, in fact it was more or less a reaction when in the face of something so terrifying as this, but Jon shot his right hand into the swarming fire and grabbed ahold of one of the dragon's fangs and gripped it tightly. "You are mine!" he shouted. "You will not burn me! You will do as I say!"

The flames calmed and dispersed, revealing that Jon was not gripping hold over a dragon's tooth, but the neck of a child, a very familiar child. It was himself when he was a boy when all of this chaos in his life started.

Immediately, Jon let go and the child plopped into the grass on his knees, coughing for air and tears falling from his cheek. Once his breath was found, the little Jon looked up at him angrily and wiped the tears away with his sleeve. "It's come to this betrayal then… If that's what you want, then so be it. Now hurry up and get the hell out of this trap!"

The ground beneath Jon burned and collapsed, sending him falling back into the dark void. He felt his grip on reality return but not his sight. But the sound of quick step and shifting robes, the faint touch of air pushing against him.

Jon dodged to the side and snapped out of the darkness. Everything was so groggy and smelled putrid. The smell, he knew this. It was pipeweed but far more pungent. He fell to one knee and looked up, his vision a blur but he was still able to make out the shape of the warlock and a dagger in his hand.

Damn, Vedros was right about the danger.

Jon lurched up and tackled the skeletal man to the floor but when he fell down, there was no body pinned under him, just robes. Jon turned over and saw that Beskha was laying flat on the ground, motionless but alive, and the warlock standing above her with the dagger in hand and robes adorned.

"The power to shape the world flows in your veins. There will be no darkness ever more!"

Had Jon more time to think of the irony, he would have chuckled before raising his arm and sending a rush of black flames at the warlock, engulfing the man and immediately setting the grass hut on fire.

As the warlock screamed and squealed, Jon crawled over to Beskha ,adn pulled her up, carrying her out of the hut to a startled Govan and his raft. The grass hut burned fast and the screams continued on until Gorvan had finally pushed the raft into the river and up stream.

"What has ye done?" Gorvan exclaimed.

Jon laid down on the raft, out of breath, but also realizing that his hands did not hurt any longer and neither did he feel his magic resisting him. "Not a damn idea, but I don't care." If he really was just a victim of circumstance and not a curse, then he was going home.

There was just one more thing left to do.