Sister's Keeper
Edited by xXFallenSakuraXx52
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones
A/N: I need to get this off my chest. WHAT THE HELL D&D!? Have you ever heard the words timeline and continuity? Not everything happens in a single day? Jorah can't have a quick recovery unless Sam is, in fact, a wizard? The Unsullied and the Greyjoys left at the same time, yet Yara's fleet gets captured, and the Unsullied continues to Lannisport? And Daenerys and the Dothraki travel through the Blackwater Bay, through the Crownlands to the Reach in three days defeat to the Tarlys and be back the next day, without Tyrion in both locations is basically impossible. Unless he flew on a dragon and decided not to film it? (I mean, it would have been awesome to see Tyrion ride a dragon.) And don't get me started on the North Expedition to get a wight. Is Gendry the Flash and the ravens on steroids. I remember MattPatt having the fan theory of distance and time that all living organism are giants while the lands are still the same. But if we are going to believe that these characters are naturally human…and magic is limited…then everything else is practically impossible. The other writers try to keep a timeline when mentioning days or using the words, "is has been/It will take… (Insert fortnight, month, a few months/weeks), yet episodes D&D hardly uses it. Are you telling me this all happens in six years? When in the book, it so far has been three years.
Sorry to my fellow readers who read the rant. I needed to get it off my chest. I will try my best to make the timeline seem more realistic as possible. xXFallenSakuraXx52 has been helping me to keep track of the plot. If you think I am rushing, let me know in the reviews. I'm going to try to alter Season 7 and Season 8, so it doesn't seem like a Summer Blockbuster where you get the adrenaline but no plot.
Also Warning: this Chapter is rated M for Sexual Content.
Chapter 61: The Means of Survival!
Dragonstone.
Grey Worm sat in his room, sharpening his short sword in preparation for the attack on Casterly Rock. They will be sailing south around Westeros. At first, he thought they would be sailing North; however, Captain Aurane stated it's difficult to navigate around the Northern half of Westeros. Once you passed Hardhome, the water becomes ice even during the summer. No one ever explores the far North the same as no one has sailed west from Westeros. Along with explorers in Essos, who vanished as they travel the far east of Essos passed the Grey Waste. Lord Paxter and Captain Aurane explained to each of the Dragon Fleet of a current called the Leviathan Trail, an unexplained current that moves Souths, easy to go through to the Summer Sea.
The Commander of the Unsullied was thankful that his Queens allies were knowledgeable about the oceans. Time was of the essence. Although wars can last for many years, he wanted to make this war quick.
There was a knock on the door. He thought it was one of the officers, so he called out "Maji" letting his brother in. However, it was not one of the officers; instead, it was Missandei of Naath. Immediately, he stood up putting his sword away, thinking she was here to escort him to see the Queen. Except, the Naathi appeared to be in distress, as her eyes water.
"You leave tomorrow," Missandei said.
Grey Worm nodded.
"Were you going to say goodbye?" Missandei asked.
"I will see you when I return," Grey Worm answered, trying to keep his composure.
"But you don't know when that will be," She said.
Grey Worm shook his head, "No one knows."
Missandei, slightly hurt, nodded, "I wish you good fortune."
She turned to leave. Grey Worm had to confess his feeling. Over the past few years, he's come to care for Missandei of Naath deeply. Although he did not know what this feeling was, yet it reminded him how Ser Jorah the Andal shared his affection with Queen Alysanne. Wanting nothing more to protect the person he loves, yet knowing she was his weakness. Love, as the Westerosi knights called it. Even though he wasn't passionate as the Tyroshi Daario Naharis, the emotions he held for Missandei ached inside him, and seeing her hurt for not giving a proper goodbye made his heart tighten.
"Missandei!" He called out to stop her.
She stopped at the door, turning around to face him.
Grey Worm took a deep breath, "It is hard for me to say goodbye to you."
"Why?" She asked.
"You know why," he answered.
"I don't."
The Unsullied felt his stomach tighten and throat clenching, for the second time in his life, he was afraid. Again, both fears revolving around Missandei.
"Y—You are my weakness," he confessed.
"That's what I am?" She asked, slightly offended. "You're weakness?"
"When Unsullied are young, the masters learn their fears." He tried to explain. "One boy is scared of dogs, one boy hates high places, one is frightened of the ocean. They make the boy sleep with dogs or climb a cliff. They throw him in the water. If he learns to swim, good. If he drowns, good. Either way, strong Unsullied. But I had no fears. I was never the biggest, never the strongest…but I was the bravest, always."
"I believe it." She said, grasping his words.
"Until…I meet Missandei from the Isle of Naath. Now I have fear." He said, his eyes started to water.
"I do, too." She agreed.
Grey Worm looked down, still having a hard time grasping these feelings. When he looked up, he could see the complication of their relationship. Communication. Not verbal communication but emotional and physical. Unable to take it anymore, he rushed over and kissed Missandei, expressing how he felt, his hands cupping her cheeks, as he kissed her a few more times, and to his surprise she kissed him back. He pulled back to see her full reaction. To him, he thought he saw rejection. Repressing his dismay and disappointment, he pulled back while stopping the sniffles. Not crying like this since he was cut from the pain.
When he looked at her again, he noticed she was unlacing her gown. When the string came off, Missandei took the gown off, revealing herself to him. His eyes widen, not seeing her naked since the river as she bathed. She kicked off her underskirt and stood before him. Not a second longer, she stepped over to him, yanking the leather straps of his tunic to unfasten it and tossed the fabric aside. Grey Worm was overwhelmed, transfixed on her body, then when she began to work on the strings of his trousers, he stopped her.
"No," he pleaded.
Missandei looked into his eyes, "I want to see you. Please."
Grey Worm paused, seeing how sincere she was. This is what he was afraid of, the reason why he doesn't pursue the relationship. Yes, like many Unsullied he was castrated, not emasculated, but his testicles were cut off when he was young, making him unable to produce seeds to have children. But also, his penis was not so grand or average. It was small, unable to cover the disfiguring scars from where his balls used to be along with the lack of hair. Not once in his life has he ever had an erection or at least tempted by sexual intercourse. But he trusted her. So…he nodded.
Missandei slowly untied the fasting to his trousers, exposing the trauma that the Unsullied goes through during initiation. She stared at it for a moment, one might compare it to a child. Yet, she did not laugh at him. She merely gave a genuine smile before placing her hand on his shoulders and kissed him. Although, he did not kiss back, he was still nervous about where this was going.
The Naathi noticed this, as she took his hand and lead him to the bed. She scooted back so that she was in the center of the feather mattress with Grey Worm on top. She was nervous as well since she was in control of her body. The last time she was intimate, it was when she was a slave and played the 'game' with Kraznys and with other slave girls. She felt nothing, however, with Grey Worm, her heart accelerated as if it would rip out of her chest.
Grey Worm noticed this, wanting to ease her fear and leaned down and kissed her softly. Knowing he cannot perform like other men, he thought back to a conversation with Daario Naharis. Remembering the Tyroshi talking about pleasing a woman's pussy with your mouth, how the breast can be pleased, and so much more. So Grey Worm did just that, he kissed her neck listening to Missandei's reaction until going down, kissing each of her breasts, noticing her nipples were erect. Taking that as a good sign, he went lower places kisses on her sternum and thighs. Gently he pulled her legs apart until facing her womanhood.
Moving one of Missandei's legs over his shoulder, he kissed the sweet spot between her legs and lashed his tongue along the tender folds. Missandei gasped, panting, which the Unsullied took as a good sign to continue. From the uneasy lessons from Naharis, he searched for the clitoris, the pearl is hidden inside the hood, sucking on the gem while inserting his finger inside her core. Missandei moaned, body tensed from the pleasure he was giving her. Throughout time, he manipulated his tongue, lashing, and sucking, finding different reactions from her. Feeling her core becoming wetter as the walls trembled around his fingers. It wasn't until he twisted his hand, pressing the top of her canal that he touched a rigged flesh that sent her over the edge. Missandei cried out his name while her hand gripped his scalp while she came. Grey Worm stayed where he was, tasting her nectar finding the taste different and unique.
Once the high passed, Missandei sat up, wanting to kiss him. Just as she gently pulled her lover up, she stopped noticing a difference in his privates, seeing the penis erect. Grey Worm looked down, as his eyes widen, not realizing it. Was he…aroused? Missandei was astonished as he was, for she thought that was not possible. However, not wanting to risk this opportunity, she laid down, guiding him on top.
"Missandei…I…," he started.
"I want you inside me," She whispered, placing a peck on his lips.
Grey Worm nodded as he tried to do so. He fumbled, not sure what to do. No one told him how to put it inside a woman. Missandei noticed this and guided him. Slowly he slid inside, and each of them gasped. The Unsullied groaned, feeling how hot, tight, and moist she was. Missandei, on the other hand, felt her walls slightly stretch. It wasn't like the previous men who she was forced to sleep with. He wasn't big, nor average, but she could feel him there, and that is all that matter. They were joined together, being one.
By his body's instinct, he moved his hips in an awkward thrust. She smiled at him, pulling him down that he was literally laying on top of her while their lips met. One together physically, yet the real intimacy was through their emotions.
That was how their night was spent.
When the morning came, they did not climb out of bed. Not wanting to leave the warmth from one another. But they must. They tried to prolong it, with soft kisses and caressing one another. It wasn't until an officer knocked on the door, announcing it was time to leave that they pulled away from one another. Grey Worm sighed in defeat as he climbed out of bed to get dress. Missandei curled up on the bed, adjusting the sheets to cover herself from the morning chill. Her brown eyes watching him as he put on his uniform. She prayed to her gods to keep him safe as he sails around Westeros.
She remembers a moment between her Queen and Ser Jorah. As she took the ribbon that was tied in her hair and climbed out of bed, to face him. She took hold of his right hand and wrapped the ribbon around his wrist.
"Missandei," he murmured.
"Come back to me, Torgo Nudho," She whispered.
Grey Worm took her hand and softly kissed it, "I will, Missandei of Naath."
Later on, Missandei stood by Queen Alysanne who gave a speech to the Unsullied for their safe travels and the honor of having them as her army. The Naathi was focused on Grey Worm, who stood proudly, though his brown eyes linger on her. She desperately tried not to blush for what happened last night. One would say it was a miracle.
.o0o.
The Citadel.
Samwell followed Archmaester Ebrose into one of the many sectors of the library dedicated to wars. The past few days during his leisure time, Samwell was going through the medical section on curing rare diseases. One book called 'Achmaester Pylos on Rare Diseases'
Thinking this could save Ser Jorah Mormont, the apprentice tried to inform his mentor of his discovery. Assuming that with so much information in the Citadel, it's understandable to forget a few things here and there. Although, Samwell struggled to get a word in as Archmaester Ebrose was transfixed on his speech of praising and insulting Maesters who wrote books about history. Shoving each hardcover transcript into the lad's arm.
"Might be useful," Ebrose said, placing the text 'A History of the House of Lannister' in the pile. "Ch'vyalthan was a dreadful writer, but an excellent researcher."
"Archmaester, I wondered if I –" Samwell started, following his mentor who walked over to another shelf pulling out another book.
"And this one. Maester Faull was quite the opposite—" the Archmaester said, dropping another book in Samwell's arm. "A brilliant stylist who invented half the stories he tells."
"Um, I wanted to ask you—"
"If you're going to write histories, Tarly, you have to do the research. If you want people to read your histories, you need a bit of style. I'm not writing 'A Chronicle of the Wars Following the Death of King Robert I,' so it can sit on a shelf unread."
Samwell paused, not finding the title at all interesting. From his rounds, he probably has seen 'A Chronicle of…' so many times, that neither of them holds interest to remember what the chronicle was about. Archmaester Ebrose turned around seeing the young man's lack of interest in the title.
"What? You don't like the title?" Ebrose asked. Samwell gave an awkward shrug, slightly shaking his head. "What would you call it then?"
"Mm, possibly something a bit more poetic?" Samwell answered.
"We're not poets, Tarly," Ebrose scoffed, leading the way to another shelf.
Samwell followed, "Um, Archmaester, if I could just have a moment."
"This is your moment. Use it wisely."
"I may have found a way to treat Ser Jorah. There are two recorded cases of advanced Greyscale being cured. I found the procedure in the study of rare diseased by Archmaester Pylos."
Ebrose grabbed a book and added to the pile, though Samwell had to use his chin to keep the frail text from falling off.
"I'm familiar with Archmaester Pylos and his study of rare diseases," Ebrose said searching for another book.
"Oh, you are?" Samwell asked, impressed.
"Yes, and shall I tell you how he died?" Ebrose asked, adding the book to the pile. "From Greyscale."
Samwell's eyes widen, not expecting that, "Oh."
"The procedure's far too dangerous, which is why it's forbidden," The Archmaester said. Seeing that Tarly has a arms worth of reading, declared that would be enough for his apprentice leisure reads for the following week.
Meanwhile, Samwell thought about Ebrose's warning and from Archmaester Pylos instructions. Based on the documents, Pylos was an elderly man when he died. At first, Samwell thought it was merely age, not Greyscale. He assumed that the man's age affected his memory and muscle that he did not follow the procedure correctly, or the subject had touched him when madness took over. Ser Jorah hasn't reached the loss of humanity yet, appearing calm. Depressed, but still calm. Wanting to repay the life debt to Jeor Mormont, he had to save Ser Jorah.
So, by the evening hours, he went to the apothecary pantry gathering the herbs he needed. He stole a Maesters medical kit, and quietly sneaked through the halls to get the ointment prepped in a closet until it was the dead of night when the Maesters and Archmaesters are lost in their dreams.
.o0o.
Ser Jorah's POV.
Jorah couldn't sleep, for the past few days he contemplated on his decisions. The diagnoses from Archmaester Ebrose made it clear that death was inevitable in the next ten to twenty years. However, his sanity may be gone in six months or less. Whatever Quaithe saw in her vision of him finding the cure was sadly mistaken. Along with a waste of a potion that prolongs the spread. Unfortunately, he has finally given up.
So, he wrote letters to his friends, sending his final farewells to the people that mattered. Being careful not to touch the paper using the quill to move each parchment aside. He wrote to Ser Barristan telling him to take care of the girls, to Grey Worm, to Tyrion, to Daenerys, and finally to Alysanne. Her letter was the hardest to write, not sure how to address so many things on a single paper. Wanting to talk about when he fell in love with her, their times traveling, training, the blossom of their relationship, his commitment, and…the dream. Wanting to apologize that he could not give her what her heart truly desired, a home and family.
Each attempt he tried to write it he crumbled the paper up. His love for Alysanne was more than lust for a beautiful woman, devotion to a Queen, and love for a girl. He knew when the seed of love took root, he could never have her. Eighteen years, if he did the math correctly was their age difference. Recalling when news spread of Princess Alysanne's birth after the devastated execution of ten noblemen. A princess locked in a tower in Maegors Holdfast, kept away from society only to be exiled by the actions of Rhaegar and King Aerys the Second. An orphan girl out in the world trying to save what remains of her family alive. An orphan who became a battered woman by the hands of her abusive brother-husband, before rising up to become a Warrior Queen.
Jorah did not see the power in Alysanne's indigo eyes. The shade of purple that was almost a dark blue. A good Queen that Westeros needed. She did not want power, she wanted her family home, to bring Daenerys home. And when she entered the House of the Undying and saw a threat far more significant than war among men, she wanted to protect the people. A selfless woman. Even when people tell her about the Iron Throne, her response was, "It's just a chair."
A sigh left him, as he wrote the letter to her for the fifth time. It was late in the night, hearing nothing but the occasional seagulls and crackling of the Citadel's touch. That was when the sound of a cartwheel squeaking could be heard in the hall. Jorah assumed it was one of the apprentices collecting the evening bowls. Ignoring it, he went back to writing his letter.
Alysanne,
I came to the Citadel in the last hope that the Maesters could treat me, as Daenerys ordered. Even with all their arts, I am beyond any cure but the grave. I have had a longer life than I deserved, and I only wish I could've lived to see the world you're going to build, standing by your side. I have loved you since the moment I heard you sing by the fire sewing in the Dothraki Sea…
That is when the door opened. He placed the quill back in the ink jar before standing up. Jorah thought he was given a week, and it had only been three days since Ebrose gave him that deadline. So, there shouldn't be anyone entering. Unless it was the guards, who were going to force him on a ship to be sent to Valyria. Instead, it was Ebrose's apprentice, dressed in medical garb pushing in a cart.
"Hello," the apprentice whispered as he closed the door and went back to the cart.
The Knight noticed some herbs, bowls, and a large book, "What are you doing?"
"You're Jorah Mormont, the only son of Jeor Mormont." The apprentice said, setting up his station. "My name is Samwell Tarly, Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch, training to serve as Maester at Castle Black. I knew your father. I was with him when he died." Samwell turned around, facing him. "You are not dying today, Ser Jorah."
"West to Westeros, in the tower where knowledge resigns. A life debt will come in favor of your father." Quaithe voiced whispered in his head.
Jorah thought it was nonsense. But now a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch was here to cure him. He questions this, for the Maester was in his eyes a boy in a sense. Not even a trained Maester yet.
Samwell grabbed a waterskin handing it to Jorah, "Drink this?"
"What is it?" Jorah asked.
"Rum," Samwell answered. "Drink it all, please. I'm afraid this is going to hurt."
Jorah nodded, grabbing it with his right hand to take a sip. Before Jorah brought it to his lips, Samwell stopped him, taking the waterskin and took a good swig to calm his nerves. When given the waterskin, Jorah drank all of the rum, ignoring the slight burn from the alcohol. Jorah was a bit hesitant, wondering if this was wise. The young man opened the book and found his page.
"If you could take off your shirt," Samwell instructed.
Jorah nodded, handing him the waterskin then took off his shirt. A groan of pain as the fabric brushed against the scale. Samwell stared at the affliction, seeing the black and dark grey scales, and the red sores underneath. Shaking his head, he grabbed the leather.
"If you wouldn't mind, bite down hard," Samwell instructed, giving a nervous expression. "I'm sorry, but no one knows I'm here, and if they hear you screaming, then we're both finished."
Jorah was now more concerned, watching the young man pulling out the stool. Then placed the book on the desk closer to the stool.
"Have you ever done this before?" Jorah asked.
Samwell paused, taking a moment to stand up and faced him, "No."
Jorah raised a brow.
"But no one else will try it, so I'm the best you've got," the young man said. Then pointed to the stool, "Have a seat."
Realizing the Crow had a point, he took a seat. This was his only chance to be cured and return to the girls. Return to Alysanne. He doesn't know where their relationship stood at, but he promised Rhaegar to protect her. From all the Targaryen spirits talking about the Long Night, and the visions Alysanne had, he had to be there. So, he sat down and placed the folded leather in his mouth.
Samwell came over, "I'm going to have to remove the entire upper layer of infected tissue, then apply a medical ointment to the…"
Jorah gave him a look that says, 'Just do it.'
The Crow nodded, collecting the tools needed and started. Using a pair of tweezers, Samwell grabbed a portion of the infected tissue. Pain similar to be being struck by an arrow, shot through his chest, causing Jorah to groan and the body's reaction to pulling away.
"Shh, shh!" Samwell whispered. "Again, I'm sorry, but please try not to scream."
Jorah took a few deep breaths, glancing at the door. If the Maesters or guards find out, then Samwell will be expelled from the Citadel and he would be shipped off to Valyria. Both were risking everything on this chance. So, with a deep breath, he nodded to the apprentice. Samwell took a deep breath, using the tweezer to grab the infected tissue and the scalpel to start cutting it off. A foul smell engulfed the room, as green puss started to leak out. Jorah grunted, clenching his fist and biting hard on the leather. Out of all the injuries he'd acquired in wars and adventures, being shot by arrows, cut, stabbed, beaten and trampled, this is by far the worse he has ever felt. It was impossible to describe it, only that it hurts like hell. Making him whimper and grunt, reconsidering it to stop. He glanced down, seeing the process, exposing in what he thought was flesh. Samwell noticed this and started cutting vigor yet still careful. Jorah whimper and groan, until Samwell cut a large portion off, almost ripping it that almost made the knight shout if the leather hadn't muffled it.
Jorah panted looking down again seeing the large portion of the Greyscale gone from his peck. Staring at it, he thought this was his only way to survive. He then glanced at the shirt on the ground, faintly seeing the AT embroidery on the collar. As much as it hurt, he made a promise to be there for Alysanne. So, looking up at Samwell, he stared at Jorah with a silent question if he should continue. Jorah nodded, clenching his fist as the Tarly went in again.
Being flayed alive was the worst thing imaginable. Almost made him wonder if Samwell was a Bolton. Each slice digging in, cutting off his skin, before yanking it off. All his sins being condensed into the disease. From selling two poachers into slavery, killing men for gold to fund Lynesse the physical form of lust, betraying his Liege Lord, betraying Daenerys and Alysanne, dishonoring his House, was being cut off piece by piece. Freeing the slaves from the Masters in Slaver's Bay wasn't enough, selling himself into the fighting pits wasn't enough to atone for his crimes. Years of running away instead of facing his wrongs. Losing his honor all because of lust and debt. Even when Alysanne and Daenerys forgave him of his betrayal, before getting to know each other, the burden was there. There were times in Pentos when he saw Viserys and Alysanne he could have stopped the abuse. Could've been his father and marched in there and beaten the man for striking a woman out of rage.
Memories flashes over the years of knowing the Targaryen siblings. Seeing Alysanne officially in her black dress at Daenerys wedding, silent, observing, only to tense when Viserys whispered in her ear. The journey to Vaes Dothrak, covered in bruises, then the moment after her assault from Viserys, seeing a broken woman not wanting to be touched. Her fear after striking Viserys. Her gratitude when giving her a long surcoat, falling into the firepit, the joy in the western market then caution, time spent training. So many memories, from Qarth struggling on the decision to marry Xaro Xhoan Daxos or not. That moment alone in the room of where to go was when it all started. Unable to express his feelings for her. And yet…he gave her time.
Two introverted people coming together.
Until the betrayal was discovered. Jorah seeing the agony in her eyes as she banished him. As he reached out to touch her, only to be smacked away, as she seethed, ""Don't ever presume to touch me again or speak my name," Each painful memory intensifying as Tarly continued cutting away at his flesh. Being punished for every moment he did wrong in history.
Hours of being flayed alive so he can be with Alysanne again.
Once Samwell removed the infected tissue, he applied the ointment that stung like acid on the exposed flesh. Jorah nearly dropped the leather in his mouth screaming. Clenching his fist, he bears through the burning sensation, lathered in ointments and herbs. When the Crow was done smearing the salve, he guided Jorah to the bed and told him not to move.
"I'll be back tomorrow night to make the next application of the ointment. Try not to move." Samwell said.
Jorah nodded until sleep claimed him from exhaustion.
The rest of the week was like that. Every night, Samwell will come into his chamber to apply the ointment. Whatever was in it, must have a magical quality, as the damaged flesh began to mend itself. On the sixth night of his stay, Samwell was about to add the next coating only to stop seeing his skin was almost back to normal. However, there was scar tissue, raised skin in burning reds and pinks all along where the greyscale used to resign. Applying the ointment, Jorah wonders if this will be the last. All three days, he felt like his skin was inflamed.
So, on the eighth day, the day he was supposed to leave, Sam rushed in the morning to remove the ointment and apply fresh sheets and linens to mask the fact something else happened here. When the sun has risen, two guards entered to escort Jorah out but stopped not seeing the Greyscale. Both guards were confused and left to fetch the Archmaester.
A Maester who was on the floor came in and ordered to get fresh clothes for him. His apprentice did so before the Maester told Jorah to strip and change into the new clothes. Jorah complied, putting on the clean trouser and boots. Unfortunately, Maester came in taking his previous clothes.
"Let me keep the shirt," Jorah said.
"Ser, the shirt is contaminated with Greyscale, it must be destroyed, so it doesn't spread," the Maester explained.
Jorah sighed, watching as the only thing he had of his paramour be taken away.
It would be an hour later, when Archmaester Ebrose and Samwell entered the room. The old man took out his retractable baton and started touching the exposed skin. Jorah winced slightly since the skin was tender. The Archmaester probed around.
"Does it hurt?" Archmaester Ebrose asked.
"A bit. Less than before," Jorah answered.
"The infection no longer appears to be active," Ebrose said.
Jorah sighed in relief.
"Unusual." Ebrose continued, examining him. "Unlikely. One could almost be forgiven for thinking the entire upper layer of diseased skin was debrided and the underlying region treated with some sort of unguent."
"Don't know anything about that. I just started feeling better." Jorah said, watching as the baton retracted. "I assumed it was the rest that did it. And the climate."
Samwell bit his lips behind Ebrose thinking that was a bit too much.
"The climate," Ebrose said, having doubt written on his face. "You're free to go, Ser. This chamber is needed for the infectious, which you are no longer."
Jorah nodded, pleased to hear that.
Ebrose started to leave, saying, "Tarly, I'd like to speak with you in my study this evening."
Once the Archmaester was gone, the two men look at each other.
"How bad is it?" Jorah asked.
"Suppose I'll find out this evening," Samwell answered.
Jorah nodded as he went to grab his new shirt putting it on.
"Where will you go?" Samwell asked.
Jorah grunts slightly, putting the muslin on, "I surrendered to this sickness the moment I first saw it. I knew it would kill me, or I'd killed myself before it could. Daenerys Stormborn convinced me otherwise. The only place for me is back with the Dragon Sisters."
And finally returnto Alysanne's side, he thought.
"I owe my life to them and you," Jorah added, facing the young apprentice.
Samwell chuckled slightly, "Your father saved me more than once. It's the least I could do."
Jorah nodded, "Perhaps our paths will cross again."
"I hope they do," Samwell agreed, offering a hand.
This surprised the Knight, hesitantly he shook Samwell's hand. Having the official touch since Alysanne in Meereen. He felt so much gratitude, no longer rejected by society because of Greyscale. Able to feel accepted. Samwell could see that, knowing he did right. Nothing else to say, the Tarly left leaving Jorah to finish getting dressed. Jorah sighed, staring out the window as the sunrays lighten the room.
.o0o.
The North.
A letter from the Citadel arrived for Jon. The King in the North was wondering why he keeps on getting letters. First, from the other Northern lords seeking forgiveness in not supporting the Starks during the Battle of the Bastards, next Queen Cersei ordering him to bend the knee, then Queen Alysanne Targaryen inviting him to Dragonstone to forge an alliance, and now this letter. Jon had a feeling he knew where the raven came from, accepting the scroll and read it.
It was from his best friend Samwell, informing him there is an abundance of dragon glass that could be found on Dragonstone. Jon appreciated this information, but then he stared at the map where Dragonstone was. Since receiving the raven scroll from the Dragon Queen, the past week he has been thinking about the decision to meet Alysanne Targaryen and discuss a truce. The problem was, he did not know what kind of Queen she was. The North doesn't get much news on what is happening around the world. The farther North you go, the longer it takes. Based on Tyrion's letter, it doesn't mention about bending the knee, and it addressed him as King Snow, not Lord Snow or bastard.
So, what should he do? Winter was here, and the army of the dead are marching south. The Wall is the only blockade the realm has before the Night King finds a way to break through and unleash the Great War. Does he wait until the time comes, or does he take this dangerous opportunity to get the dragon glass and a powerful ally?
Making the decision, he summoned a gathering.
"This message was sent to me by Samwell Tarly. He was my brother at the Night's Watch, a man I trust as much as anyone in this world." Jon announced holding the raven scroll. "He's discovered proof that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragon glass."
Murmurs were passed around. He handed Samwell's letter to Lord Robert Glover.
Jon lifted the other scroll up, "I received this a week ago from Dragonstone. It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister."
Many lords began to talk since they did not trust a Lannister.
"He is now Hand of the Queen to Alysanne Targaryen. She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei. She has a powerful army at her back and, if this message is to be believed, three dragons." Jon said, which the lords began to protest. "Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Alysanne. And I'm going to accept."
The Lords agued. Jon looked at Sansa, seeing his sister in shock.
"We need this dragon glass, my lords!" Jon shouted to silence them. "We know that dragon glass can destroy both white walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons. But more importantly, we need allies! The Night King's army grows larger by the day. We can't defeat them on our own. We don't have the numbers. The Targaryen Sisters has their own army, and they have dragon fire. I need to try and persuade them to fight with us. Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbor tomorrow, then sail to Dragonstone."
"Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?" Sansa asked him. "The Mad King invited him to King's Landing and roasted him alive."
"I know that," Jon replied.
"She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms." Sansa continued. "The North is one of those seven Kingdoms. This isn't an invitation; it's a trap."
"It could be, but I don't believe Tyrion would do that. You know him. He's a good man." Jon said.
Lord Royce stood up, "Your Grace, with respect, I must agree with Lady Sansa. I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen cannot be trusted. Nor can a Lannister."
"Yeah!" All the lords agreed.
Lord Glover stood, "Aye. We called your brother King, and then he rode south and lost his kingdom."
"Winter is here, Your Grace." Lady Lyanna Mormont said, standing up. "We need the King of the North in the North."
"Aye!" the lords agree, pounding their fists on the table.
Jon sighed, looking at everyone, "You all crowned me your King. I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it because the North is my home. It's part of me, and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter the odds. But the odds are against us." Jon took a deep breath. "None of you have seen the Army of the Dead. None of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies, powerful allies. I know it's a risk. But I have to take it."
"Then send an emissary. Don't go yourself," Sansa pleaded.
"Alysanne is a Queen. Only a King can convince her to help us. It has to be me," Jon said.
Sansa shook her head, "You're abandoning your people! You're abandoning your home. "
"I'm leaving both in good hands," Jon assured.
"Whose?" Sansa asked.
"Yours," Jon answered.
This caught Sansa off guard.
"You are my sister. You're the only Stark in Winterfell. Until I return, the North is yours," Jon said.
All eyes were on Lady Sansa until she nodded.
Jon knew what he was doing. If the subtle notes in Tyrion letter are accurate in what he thought, Queen Alysanne isn't here for the North. The Dragon Queen addressed him as King Snow, and request to form an alliance and a truce. He has to take the risk in order to ask the Targaryen Sisters to help him fight against the Army of the Dead. Being able to mine the dragon glass and receive aid from the dragons. He was willing to help the Targaryens reclaim King's Landing if the negotiation goes well.
Although, his one regret is leaving his sister alone with Littlefinger.
He almost killed the man in the crypts when he caught him proclaiming his love for Sansa. After his threat, he made sure Lord Royce and Lady Brienne are by Sansa side at all times. He said goodbye to Sansa before riding South to White Harbor to meet the Dragon Sisters.
To those who ask about Grey Worm not getting an erection, I did some research. A man who gets castrated (The removal of the testicles) is still able to get an erection. However, it will take a lot of effort. In Grey Worms case, since he doesn't have a lot of testosterone, he's on the small size. It's emasculation that can't get it up, because…well there's nothing there to get up.
Thanks for reading and please leave a review!