Ser Barristan Selmy stood in a sweltering hot courtroom, packed with the harsh, finger-pointing noblemen of Mereen. His underclothes clung to his body, and feverous sweat trickled down his neck in tiny droplets. Stiffly, he stood in his glistening metal armour, a white cloak on his back, though he was no longer quite sure what it stood for. The noblemen had ignored his arguments – it seemed to him that they had only come to prove him wrong and leave with upturned noses and a purse full of coins.

Yet Ser Barristan knew it was not his place to intervene. He was merely a humble servant of his rightful queen, and so he was trying to tell these prissy snobs that he could do nothing until Queen Daenerys arrived at court. He wondered when she would come. The girl would not take it well - she had a gentle soul, clearly, although she tried meticulously to hide it. He had attempted to at least calm the nobles for a while, but they were too absorbed in their ignorance to listen. They were all only a herd of pink little men, aristocrats with soft, supple hands and smooth backs that had never known a day's labour. Many wore tokars, fringed with baby pearls and ivory silks, velvet skirts with cloth-of-gold embroidery. The sandals that lay on their feet were embellished with richly coloured jewels, making their feet heavy (and expensive).

They had been waiting for an audience with her since dawn, and now their patience had grown thin. Some shouted profanities at him, crying:

"Where is the whore queen, old man? Did she cut off your ears as well as your balls Ser Grandfather?"

Some of them had mistaken him for an Unsullied soldier. Even he had to admit that his Queen was delaying too long. He had sent Missendei to fetch her ages ago, it seemed, but neither had returned. Perhaps he should summon another to see what was going on. Grey Worm would've been the best option, but he was busy organising his men to be deployed into the city, who were sorting out the Astapori crisis. The defences had been overwhelmed, and swarms of pox-ridden men, women and children had flooded into their city.

He had gone with Missendei to see what was in store for them. It was a horrific site. In the struggle with the sellswords, many had been torn, scratched, bitten and bruised. Once they saw a child no more than three, alone, his eyes sunk into skull, the mark of starvation on his skinless bones, crying for his mother. In the end, that child had been stoned to death over a crust of bread that he had found on the floor. The girl that killed him was no more than eight herself. An ancient, wrinkled man that hardly had the energy to stand had needed to beat a young boy with a stick to get him away. He had been trying to steal the thin sandals from his feet. The little scribe Missendei had lent on his shoulder and wept and wept and wept. Her sharp, shuddering sobs did not stop, and by the time she was done, the cloth on his shoulder was soaked through. In the end he had sent her away.

So now he stood in a room full of nobles in the merciless heat that came with residing in Mereen. Ser Barristan could wait for the queen no longer, as even he had grown restless. He lent over the shoulder of one of his attendants, and whispered to him that he was going to retrieve the queen from her chambers. Then, he promptly stood up and marched out of the room to the beat of his own racing pulse. The nobles only erupted into an even fiercer whirling storm of raw anger. One man even ran forward and attempted to spit in his face, but the guards held him back. They had promptly started to beat him up, but Ser Barristan paid no mind to them. He had a mission now, and that was to find Queen Daenerys.

It was when he was stomping down the torch-lit corridors in the centre of the pyramid that he heard the screams. He turned towards the sound, and ran. His armour clinked as he sprinted, so he tore it off and threw it to the ground, along with his worthless white cloak. Pacing steadily, the screams were long and agonising, but they felt distant, foreign. Though his youth had long abandoned him on the steps of King's Landing, Ser Barristan Selmy was a purely spirited and determined soul, intent on duty. He had to find his Queen.

He turned around dozens of corners, all identical, and still he came no closer to the piercing screams that made no motion to stop. Eventually he staggered and tripped directly on his face. He swore loudly, but no one heard him. Only the rough stone floor stared back through his eyes, searching for his soul. He kicked it sharply, and at the next corner, saw Missendei from Naath yelling and banging her small fists on the door to the Queen's chambers.

"Missendei?" he said. "What's going on?" She made no move to answer him, but continued to hammer her tiny fists into the great brass door. He stormed over to her, and yanked her away from the door. Forcefully this time, he asked her in a booming voice – "Was that you screaming just now?"

There was no answer.

"Speak girl!"

The girl only whimpered and struggled in his arms as he shook her, but the question answered itself when a deep moan, thick with anguish was heard by them both. It was coming from the Queen.

"Who…is that…Daenerys?" Ser Barristan stuttered, but his doubt was futile. They both knew the Queen was in trouble. They both knew they needed to get her out. He took three sharp breaths to calm himself, then pummelled his entire body weight into the brass door. Nothing shifted. It might as well has been stone. The cries continued within, longer and louder, until it turned into one whole, painful high-pitched shriek, that went on…and on…and on…..Until suddenly it stopped.

All his frustration was released from him at once, and Ser Barristan threw himself into the brass door a hundred thousand times, it seemed to him. He was a horned, red-faced bull, drilling and battering and ramming and knocking himself into the great stern brass door that would not shift. Through bombs and storms and earthquakes, it seemed that this great door would never budge.

Until it did. Just when he had almost given up, the door gave way. It had not even been locked. It appeared it had merely frozen in place. The door was deathly cold where his hand stroked it, but he did not bother lingering. Missendei and Ser Barristan rushed inside, expecting to find a massacre in their wake, or at least a broken window, or anything at all….

But the chambers were spotless. Not a stool untouched, not one piece of gold was missing, he might've even said that it was cleaner than when he had last seen it. The Queen appeared to have disappeared from the face of the Earth – until Missendei released a tiny gasp and began to weep silently, choking on her tears.

"Missendei, is she there?" But the girl was as wordless and silent as the Queen, who was naked, lying face down in a tub of water. He yanked her up by the hair, her body stiff and cold. There were bruises in the shape of fingerprints round her neck – a deep purple colour. Dark circles hung low underneath the eyes making her face sag. Her lip was cracked and bleeding, and her arm was sticking out at an odd angle. When he touched her skin, it was rock hard to the touch, freezing as well. Crimson liquid poured out of her nose, eyes, and mouth. Dany's' dress lay in crumpled heap a few metres away, and what had once been a beautiful silk had been torn viciously. Rags were all that remained.

He slapped her face in his desperation, again and again. After eight times he stopped. Ser Barristan Selmy lay his rightful Queen down on a sleek marble floor, gently as a new born babe. He bowed his head respectfully, silent and solemn in his grief. Missendei sucked in a breath sharply, and in her frustration struck her hand out, silver wine goblets shattering to the floor.

He heard a mewling sound, like a small animal. A kitten perhaps – there were thousands in Mereen. But the sound wasn't coming from far away. It was coming from his Queen. Her breaths were quick and laboured, her chest bouncing. Ser Barristan turned towards her. Surely not? he thought.

Daenerys Targaryen opened her eyes full of fear, and whispered four chilling words that he would never forget.

"I woke the dragon."