Jon
Jon felt a sharp pain surging down his back as he tried to move. Slowly, he opened his eyes and narrowed his gaze against the bright sun. The smell of sweat and blood lingered in his mouth and nose as he tried to recall what transpired.
His memories were slightly blurred, but he recalled that a horde of Dothraki ambushed their camp.
"Jon," Tito's weary voice made him angle his head to look at his friend. "The Great Shepard be blessed…you are finally awake. I feared the worst."
Jon noticed that he was placed on the ground, a dusty cloak draped over his body.
"I…," Jon began and tried to sit up, but a sting of pain washing over his shoulder made him grit his teeth."What happened?"
"You don't remember?" Tito knelt down next to him and helped in a sitting position. "A small host of Dothraki ambushed and killed hundreds of our men. I lost you during in the chaos and tried to find you. Marli saw you kill the Khal and shortly after the Dothraki horde dispersed. You are truly a lucky bastard. How is it possible that his Bloodriders didn't kill you?"
Jon felt his head hurt from all this new information, but the fact that this warrior was a Khal stunned him.
"This man was a Khal?" Jon asked looked around. Their camp, consisting of several hundred men camped near the river, the dark woods of Qohor looming in the west. They must have crossed the river Darkwash. Jon recognized the landscape. "I see…those men were his Bloodriders. To answer your question…I think they mistook me for a dead man."
Tito howled with laughter and patted his knees.
"You are truly a lucky bastard, friend!"
Even now Jon winced when he heard the word bastard, though Tito certainly didn't mean it as an insult.
Jon sighed deeply.
"I am just happy to be alive," Jon replied and sighed deeply. "How long was I out and how many of our men remain?"
"Three full days," Tito explained and jerked his head towards the handful of tents erected close to a large tree that granted plenty of shadow. "Barely five hundred men remain, most of them Stormcrows. We are the lucky ones."
"Busco died," Jon added quietly.
Tito nodded his head, a sad smile curling on his lips.
"I know," he whispered and leaned closer. "But Mero died with him. Even the proud Stormcrows took heavy losses. One of their join-commanders died and the other one is wounded. The acting Commander Daario had us camp here for two days, hoping that his scattered men might find their way here to join us. He told me that he doesn't want to cash in the money without his men."
"Cash in the coin?" Jon asked. "But we were defeated."
"True," Tito agreed. "But the rulers of Qohor paid us to fight the Dothraki Horde…I doubt they expected us to win. Besides, we killed several high-ranking Dothraki warriors and you killed the Khal. It is only regrettable that we weren't able to salvage the body. Well, at least the Dothraki will be occupied for a while."
"How so?" Jon asked. "Why will they be occupied?"
Tito smiled and handed him his waterskin.
"First you drink and then I will explain," his friend said and patted his shoulder. "You sound like broken glass."
Jon nodded his head and drank greedily, the taste of the cool water like heaven on his tongue.
"When a Khal dies the successor is decided by competition. The warriors fight each other until one of them prevails, though it is not always that bloody. It depends on the khalasar. But first they will prepare the Khal's body for its departure to the next world. All of this can take weeks."
Jon nodded his head, but decided that he won't feel safe until they were back in Qohor.
"How long will it take us to reach Qhohor?" he asked and handed the waterskin back. "I need to return to Braavos. I promised to return within six moons."
"A week," Tito replied and picked a green fruit from his belongings. "Eat or you will not even make it back to Qohor."
Jon did as he was asked and took a bite rom the fruit. The bitter taste made him wince, but it was enough to water his mouth and to fill his stomach.
All the while Tito continued to recount what transpired in the last three days.
It was past midday when Daario Naharis announced their departure. Jon tried to make himself useful, but Tito commanded him to rest.
It was early evening when they climbed back on their horses.
Sweat was rolling down his cheeks and the movement of the horse didn't help to ease the pain in his shoulder, but he was relieved to return home.
Dany will be angry, but he was sure. I will have to ask for her forgiveness.
"You look much better, boy," Daario Naharis remarked as he led his horse next to Jon's. He looked more or less unscathed, a few bruises littering his cheek. "Last time I laid eyes on you I thought you will kiss the earth."
"We Westerosi are hard to kill," Jon replied curtly and earned himself an amused smile.
"And mad," Daario added and stroked his blue beard. "What madness possessed you to attack a Dothraki Khal?"
Jon shrugged his shoulders.
"I didn't even know that he was a Khal."
Daario Naharis howled with laughter.
"You are a strange boy," he added after his laughter had died down. "Any other man would have claimed this victory for himself. Not that the rulers of Qohor would believe us without a head, but we were able to salvage several other heads," he added and patted one of the bags fastened on his horse. The pungent smell and the blood seeping through the seam of the bag told him that is where kept the heads. "Mero is dead, but that you will receive your fair share. Daario Naharis always pays his debts, boy."
He sounds almost like a Lannister, Jon thought and forced a smile over his lips.
"I thank you," he answered and lowered his head. "But as I told you before…the boy is called Jon."
"Jon," Daario repeated and bared his teeth. "A rather plain name. You should choose a bloodier name to spread your reputation. A friend of mine is named the Widower and another one Bloodfinger, but Jon…Jon evokes nothing but boredom."
Jon knew he was just joking, but the sun was burning off his face and his shoulder started ache again. He felt the urge to put an end to this conversation.
"I have no interest to pursue this career further. I took part in the campaign, because I need coin…there is a girl waiting for me at home…a girl I am going to wed."
Daario's eyebrows wandered to the top of his head. He gaped at Jon as if he just proposed to cut off his balls and eat them.
Jon couldn't help but to laugh, despite the lingering pain his shoulder.
"Why this horror?" Jon asked sarcastically. "Does marriage scare a brave man like you?"
"Of course not," Daario snorted. "But even the most beautiful flower loses its fragrance. It is the same with women. There are too many beautiful flowers to choose from. Why settle for one?"
Jon laughed.
"What if I already plucked the most beautiful flower? Why would I have need of others?"
Daario Naharis gave him a dumbfounded look.
"You are twisting my words, boy," he replied and led his horse away.
Jon felt a hint of triumph and slowed down his horse to ride next to Tito.
"Did he mock you?" his friend asked.
"He was polite enough," Jon replied. "I will get my coin. That is all that counts to me."
"That is all that counts," Tito agreed, a strange expression playing on his face.
"Jon…," he began and started to fiddle with the reins of his horse. "I would like to accompany you to Braavos. I always wanted to see one of the Free Cities. Do you mind?"
Jon was surprised by his request, but saw no reason to refuse him. He doubted Dany would mind meeting a fresh face.
"Sure," he replied. "Come along if it pleases you, my friend."
A brilliant smile played on Tito's lips.
"I thank you, my friend."
…
Dany
She dreamed of home.
Again the house with red door appeared before her like a mirage. Everything was as she recalled and through a high window she spotted the lemon tree she had been desperately searching for.
"Little Princess," a soft and gruff voice called out to her. "Come to me, little Princess."
Princess.
She received names different names. Whore. Naerys. Dany.
Yet no one had ever called her Princess.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she beheld the face of her elderly caretaker. His grey beard and crinkled face filled her with a deep longing to rush into his open arms.
"Dragon…," an unfamiliar voice muttered behind her. "Dragon..."
Slowly, she turned around and another door opened before her. She wanted to rush back into the arms of her caretaker, but when she turned around she only found darkness.
If I look back I am lost, she thought and moved through the next door, leading her into a round drum-like room.
Sitting near a popping hearth she found a man, familiar and foreign at once. He was very tall, graced with long silver hair and dark indigo eyes.
The man's black clothing stood out against the red dragon embellished on his doublet.
"The Dragon…," he whispered to the woman perched on a great wooden bed. "The Dragon has three heads…"
She was very beautiful, graced with a heart-shaped face and long brown reaching down to her waist.
Her swollen stomach betrayed her pregnancy, but the smile playing on her lips was sad.
"My child will be the third head?" the young woman asked. "How can you be sure?"
"I saw it," the silver-haired man replied, a smile hushing over his lips. "I saw girl with silver hair and purple eyes. She looked like my Lady mother."
"A girl…," the young woman muttered, her grey eyes alight with wonder. "I always wanted a girl."
"Maybe it will be a boy," the silver-haired man added and rose to his feet. "Sometimes I see a boy…dark-haired and grey-eyed like you. It matters not…boy or girl…the dragon has three days," he added and placed a kiss on the woman's lips.
Instantly, the pair faded away like the morning mist and left her wandering along a narrow corridor. The walls were high, grey and dark as the night.
Only the gilded door looming on the other end of the corridor promised escape.
"Sweet sister," the voice of her dead brother whispered as she put her hand on the handle of the door. "Sweet sister…come to me."
Golden light blinded her as she pushed the door open, though it lasted only for a brief moment.
When she came back to herself she found herself sitting on a soft feather bed, garbed in a pale nightgown.
"Can you see this, sweet sister?" her brother asked. He was graced with a sharp-featured face, framed by silver hair and lilac eyes reminiscent of rose petals.
"A crown," she replied softly. She sounded different. Almost like a child. "It is a crown, brother."
An almost loving smile spread over her brother's pale lips as he held up the precious crown. It was a simple band of gold, set with seven gemstones, glittering in the candlelight like jewels.
"Our Lady mother carried this crown," her brother continued to explain and carefully placed the crown on her head. "She was a gracious Queen to our Lord Father and one day you will be my Queen."
He seemed elated, though his words evoked only confusion inside her.
"Your Queen?" she asked softly.
"Yes, sweet sister," her brother answered and leaned down to kiss her head. "One day I will go home and then I will kill the usurper dog's."
Dany shivered and her brother trembled, a gleam of madness apparent in his lilac eyes.
"I don't like dead men…they smell," her younger self complained, but her brother didn't share her opinion. His fingernails started to dig into her cheek and tore a whimper from her lips.
"You are Princess Daenerys Targryen!" he snapped at her, like a monster from a terrible nightmare. "The blood of the dragon does not weep!"
"Viserys!" she begged." You are hurting me!"
He didn't stop, her cheeks awash with pain, blood trickling down her neck and shoulders as the darkness swallowed her whole.
A moment later she found herself back in her home. The home she and Jon found in Braavos.
Everything was as it should be. The fire in the hearth was cackling and the eggs lay nestled between the swirling flames.
Carefully, she tried to pick the eggs from the flames, but it was no use. The flames were lashing out at her like whips. She coiled away, but the fire blazed, the flames feasting on her dress, hair and skin. She tried to scream, but no sound left her mouth.
You are the blood of the dragon!
The blood of the dragon does not weep!
The flames continued to engulf her as her body was wrecked by pain.
Gritting her teeth, she curled her fingers around her womb. She closed her eyes to block out the pain, but a distant voice snapped her out of her nightmares.
"Dany," Mara's voice, rang soft in her ears. Something cool and wet touched her brow as she turned her head to look at Mara. "You are finally awake."
Mara looked exhausted, her red hair dishevelled and her eyes red-rimmed.
Dany recalled the visions, but what happened before was nothing more than a blurred memory.
She only recalled collapsing from the pain.
"How long was I gone?" she asked, her voice strained and distant to her ears. "Where is my child?"
"A boy," Hadi said and moved to her bedside, carrying a whimpering bundle. "It is a boy."
"Give him to me!" she demanded anxiously and stretched out her arms. It took all her effort, fatigue making her sleepy and feverish.
Her son was a tiny babe, graced with silver hair. She expected purple eyes or grey eyes, but then she recalled that all babes have blue eyes after birth.
It will change over time.
He whimpered a little as she held him close, tears trailing down her cheeks.
"He is a bit small," Mara added softly, her voice heavy with worry.
"He is a dragon," it escaped her involuntarily. The pain was still there, burning inside her womb, something warm soiling her thighs. "He will grow strong."
Mella gave her a confused look and touched her brow.
"Of course," Mara replied and brushed away the bedding. "It is not your boy I am worrying about…your bleeding has yet to stop. And you are burning with fever."
Fear gripped her heart as she saw the blood.
Dany shook her head.
She can't die. Not after she realized the truth.
She is Daenerys Targaryen. Her brother was Viserys Targaryen and the Prince from Jon's letters was her other brother. The brother she only knew from Viserys' stories. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.
Jon was my nephew and I sent him to his death.
I sent my brother's son to his death.
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she recalled Rhaegar's words.
The dragon has three heads.
Three heads, three eggs.
"Mara," she said and angled her head to look at the other girl. "Did you get Jon's box? I recall asking you to take it with you"
Mara smiled and brushed her hand through Dany's wet hair.
"Aye, I brought Jon's box," Mara replied and pointed at the box placed next to her bed. "Don't fret. Nobody will be able to steal your jewels. This is the Tempel of Light. We are safe here."
"The Tempel of Light," she repeated and placed her boy back in Hadi's arms. Slowly, she pulled her feet out of the bed and leaned down to open the box.
Carefully, she smoothed her hand over the rough surface of the eggs. They were hot as a brazier, something deep inside them pulsing with life.
"Fire," she muttered to herself as if in prayer. "I need fire. The hottest fire you can find."
"Dany…," Mara muttered, worry written all over her face. "Your fever is speaking…"
"I am not mad!" she snapped back, surprised by her temper. "Please…these are not jewels….these are dragon eggs…I need a fire…it has to be now or never."
"Dany," Mara began, but Hadi cut in.
"We built a pyre for the dead…," the younger girl explained, but Mara interrupted, anger visible on her face.
"Stop encouraging her in this nonsense, sister," Mara said and jerked her head at Dany. "Her fever is speaking."
"I don't think so," Hadi replied determinedly and touched her amulet wrought in a red flame. "The God of Light touched her. "
"Fuck your God of Light!" Mara shouted, but lowered her voice when Dany's babe started to cry. "Why did your God of Light not save our mother when he is so almighty and all-knowing?"
Dany heard enough and rose back to her trembling feet.
"Aemon," she said and kissed the babe's head. "Call him Aemon…for the Dragonknight."
Jon told her that he wanted to be like him. A knight…honest and true. Jon was no knight, but he did what knights are supposed to do. He protected her when he could have left her rotting in the North.
Then she turned back to Hadi.
"Will you show me the way and help my carry the box?"
"Of course," Hadi explained and touched her arm."I will show you the way."
"Will you come with us?" Dany asked Mara.
Mara shook her head.
"I will not be part of this madness," Mara replied stubbornly. "I will take care of your boy while you are gone."
Dany swallowed hard and nodded her head in understanding.
Hadi had to steady her as they made their way to the great sanctuary. There she found a large wooden pyre, the corpses wrapped in white cloth. Dany had visited the Temple of Light a dozen of times and often enough the dead were given to the flames to receive the blessings of the God of Light.
Death by fire is the cleanest death.
As they climbed up the steps leading to the pyre, they were accompanied by the soft song of the acolytes.
"I heard of such eggs," Hadi said as they came to stand before the pyre. "The dragonlords of old possessed such eggs."
"Aye," Dany replied softly. "I am of their blood…the blood of the dragon."
Her feet felt wobbly as she approached the pyre. Yet she knew what to do. She felt it.
The dragon has three heads.
"Could you light the pyre?"
Haid nodded her head and touched her torch in the cup of fire.
The flames danced and the singers continued with their song. As if stirred by their song the flames leapt higher and higher.
Dany swallowed hard and cradled the box in her arms as she stepped in the flames.
Fresh blood trickled down her thighs, tainting her nightgown in crimson blood.
Sweat was rolling down her cheeks as the flames touched her naked skin. The fire whispered and cracked, touching her feet and upper body. The touch of the flames was hot like a brazier, but there was no pain. It felt like a warm embrace. A mother's touch.
The world around her disappeared, the blazing flames painting her surroundings in a golden glimmer.
She closed her eyes, but when she opened them she was still there.
This was real. She should be ash, but her heart was still beating.
Like a storm the flames whirled around her, images forming before her very eyes.
She saw her brother Rhaegar slain by a mighty warrior. Heard a woman's cry as a babe was cut from her womb. Heard Viserys' whimpers as his face caught fire and turned red like a terrible wound. Saw an old dragon sitting on a wall of ice, bloody tears rolling down her cheeks as he wept for his lost family…
The sound of cracking of stone chased away the visions, white flames swallowing her up. Then everything faded into darkness, sweet and pleasant as if she was cast back in her mother's womb.
She woke naked and covered in ash. Her eyes burned from the smoke, but she was still alive and breathing.
She felt the small creature's touch on her naked skin, its hot scales digging into it as it crawled up her arm.
Dany started in wonder at the creature. It was a dragon, graced with black wings and red scales. A second dragon, golden and bluish, clung to her thighs. The third one, green and golden, hopped on her shoulder and curled his head in her neck.
Weak like a newborn babe she rose to her feet and the dragons started to shriek, giving their greeting to the world.
…
Robb
Robb tried to straighten himself as he observed the approaching column of riders, the joined banners of House Lannister and Baratheon fluttering in the soft breeze.
King Joffrey is a bastard, so much he knew after Stannis Baratheon revealed the truth to the realm. It confirmed his mother's suspicions that Bran's fall was more than a mere accident.
Maybe he saw the Queen and the Kingslayer, his mother had offered as a possible explanation.
The truth stirred fresh rage inside him.
Robb called the banners after his father's imprisonment and won one victory after another. And now he was forced to come here to crawl in the dirt before The Lannisters.
You are doing this for your Lord father and the girls, his mother had reminded him upon his departure from Riverrun. There is no dishonour in kneeling if it saves the life our loved ones. If King Torrhen was able to do it, you can do it as well.
Yet Torrhen Stark bent the knee to a dragon and not to a bastard, who dared to imprison his Lord father.
He wanted to do nothing more than to cast Tywin Lannister's offer in the roaring flames, but then his Lord Father would suffer a traitor's death.
"It is the Imp," the Greatjon grumbled as he spotted Tyrion Lannister perched on his horse, leading the column of riders. "Gods, these Lannisters know no shame."
"Better than Joffrey," Robb muttered to himself and led his horse closer, his gaze searching for his little sister Arya.
"Robb!" he heard Arya's anxious voice rolling over the meadow spreading before him. "Robb!"
His heart skipped a beat as he saw her winking back at him. She sat perched on a palfrey horse, her brown hair untidy as ever.
"Lord Stark," Tyrion Lannister interrupted his moment of happiness. "I understand that you are anxious to reunite with your sister, but there are formalities that demand your attention."
"Indeed, let us proceed. As stated in my last raven…I accept your Lord Father's peace offer and the following conditions: My sister Arya will be exchanged for your brother Ser Jaime Lannister while my sister Sansa remains betrothed to King Joffrey. My Lord Father will be allowed to join the Night's Watch and remain unharmed. I myself will bend the knee and keep out of the brewing war between Stannis Baratheon and your family," he forced the words over his lips. "Do I have to crawl down from my horse to bend the knee?"
Surprisingly, the dwarf remained polite as ever.
"Of course not," Tyrion Lannister assured him. "But there is no need for such humiliating gestures. My Lord Father understands that you are a honourable man who keeps his word."
"Aye," Robb replied and jerked his head at the Greatjon. "Bring Ser Jaime."
Moments later the Kingslayer was dragged forward, walking after Lord Karstark's horse. The Kingslayer was garbed in simple clothing, his blond hair and beard freshly shaved. Robb showed him no courtesy, for he feared that Lord Karstark would hold it against him.
A subtle smile showed on Lord Tyrion's face as his brother's bonds were cut. The Kingslayer returned his brother's smile, but when Robb met his gaze he only saw rage.
"Give my brother a proper horse and cloak," Tyrion Lannister declared and turned to look at Arya."You may now join your brother, Lady Arya."
Arya didn't hesitate and urged her horse forward. His men parted, allowing her to find a protective shelter.
"Sister!" Robb exclaimed and opened his arms to receive her. It took barely a few seconds before she hopped into his arms. "It is good to have you back."
"Robb," she said and nuzzled his neck. "Will you take me home?"
Her sad voice filled him with a burning rage. It took all his strength to keep his composure. For father.
"I am thankful for your cooperation," Tyrion Lannister said and led his horse closer. "But before I take my leave…I wanted to tell you…I didn't harm your brother."
"I know," Robb replied coldly, holding Arya close to his chest. "My Lady mother informed me about the result of the trial. The gods decided in your favour. I accept that. Good luck with your war, my lord."
"I thank you," the dwarf quipped back and graced him with an amused smile. "Give my greetings to your Lady mother and your bride."
"I will," Robb replied coldly, though he hand no intention to fulfil the dwarf's wish. "And now I will take my leave."
They didn't make it back to Riverrun before nightfall and camped on a small clearing, not far from the road, leading back to Riverrun.
Arya refused to leave his side and made use of every moment to inform him about her trials.
Robb listened attentively, but it took all his strength to keep his composure.
"And Sansa," he said carefully. "How is she holding up?"
Arya paled and grew very silent, before she finally answered.
"She still thinks Joffrey is in love with her," she said, her voice laced with bitterness. "I told her how stupid that sounds, but she didn't listen to me. She called me an unruly child."
Robb nodded his head in understanding and smoothed Arya's hair.
"Arya," he said and sighed deeply. "Please don't speak like that in front of our Lady mother. She frets about Sansa."
"Of course," Arya replied and leaned in his touch. "I won't tell her. I promise."
She looked distraught as if something was weighing on her mind.
"What is wrong?" Robb prodded gently and pulled his hand away. "Is there something you want to say?"
She nodded her head, her eyes glossy and sad.
"Mother frets about Sansa," she said and averted her gaze. "Did she fret about me?"
Robb was taken back by her question.
"Of course she did," Robb assured her. "She is most anxious to see you."
A ghost of a smile tugged on Arya's lips and she hugged him again.
"Thank you for bringing me home, brother."
Instantly, all his feelings of rage and humiliation were blown away.
"Robb!" Arya exclaimed and pointed at the sky. "Look!"
Robb lifted his head and gasped.
A red star was piercing the sky, leaving a bloody wound in its wake.
"What could it mean, brother?" Arya asked, her voice filled with excitement and wonder.
Robb couldn't speak, for he knew what it meant.
The realm will bleed again.
…