A/N: We're back!

After a long hiatus from all things Game of Thrones related, the boys and I have come back to our stories. Rewatched season four today, compared it to eight, and shook my head. Ach, the shame of it all. Where did all that talent go?! So much potential wasted.

In any case, I apologize if this seems short to some. We're going for smaller, more rapid updates for this and "I Am Not the King". Rest assured, it won't affect our workload and they'll be another update -not saying what!- tomorrow as well, provided my health holds.

Sorry for that, but I'm trying me best. My fever is being...odd. It seems to come and go. One day I'll be fine, and the next I'll feel like death warmed over.

*Bows humbly*

"What do I want? It doesn't matter what I want. I'll never get it. But you...there's still hope for you."

~Viserys?

Spreading Your Wings

Left.

Right.

Center.

Dodge. Step. Block. Parry. Deflect. Strike. Catch the hilt, step in, strike at his face. I chanted the words -actions really!- like a mantra in my head as I forced my body through the steps, willing myself to focus on the blade before me to the exclusion of all else. It was...well. I wouldn't call it sloppy, but it was a far cry from what it had once been. Against my better judgement, I felt a small stirring of hope. Maybe today would be the day. Had I finally improved enough to-nope.

Jorah the Andal knocked my sorry ass to the dirt after a minute and thirty seconds. Hello ground, my old friend. We meet again.

Only a few days ago, I hadn't been able to last even a minute against him. Surely that was an improvement, right?

When he offered me his hand, I took it; because I had no other choice.

"Again?" he was smiling, the bastard.

"Again." I groaned.

He barely gave me time to stand before he came at me again. What I wouldn't give for a shield right now!

The first strike came in hard at my legs. I'd tried to jump over such an attack once. Once. Never again. Flashy moves like that got you gutted in a swordfight. Or in my case, knocked right to the ground. This time I parried it and cut out at his right hand, only to find myself on the back foot once again as Jorah pressed his assault.

Even now it was all I could do to fend him off, and he wasn't even trying to kill me. He was stronger than me, and always would be.

Viserys and his arms -my arms!- hadn't been built for swordplay, but I'd steadily gained muscle where it counted as time dragged on. I was still no match for a proper warrior like Jorah, but this body of mine was a far cry from the weakling it had been before these sessions. Still wasn't enough, though. I'd seen him fight; if he wanted me dead, I would be.

Parry. Parry. Parry. I was so very sick of parrying. I was always reacting, rarely taking the initiative.

Another problem to deal with; my style, like me, was just too bloody passive.

I saw the knockout blow coming; Jorah caught my sword and I feinted at his face; his elbow rammed into my palm, but any brief triumph I might have felt at anticipating him this time was swiftly quashed as he swept my legs and, yes, ladies and gentlemen, knocked my sorry ass to the dirt once more. I had his sword to my throat before I could think to rise.

"We'll call it here for the day." he said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Anymore than this, and you won't be able to move tomorrow."

I didn't sink tot he ground. I outright collapsed. "Bastard...absolute bastard."

How much time had passed? Days? Weeks? Months? Without a watch I couldn't be certain. Time tended to...blur when you lacked a clock, but I still had some semblance of awareness as to "when" I was. Only a few days ago, I'd seen Daenerys eat a heart whole. She hadn't even gagged once. Fierce little thing. If we'd come that far

I knew what was coming. My death.

...and what came after.

It would be soon, of that much I was certain. First, Viserys got his "Crown". Then came the poisoner. Followed by the witch. Drogo taking a wound, falling off his horse, and all the nastiness that came afterward.

Then the dragons.

Well, in theory the first event wouldn't take place, so long as I was careful. "Viserys" wouldn't die if he didn't get himself drunk and go prancing about like some pompous ponce at Drogo's feast. I certainly wasn't about to follow in his footsteps, since I'd effectively become him. With no intention of doing such...did that mean I was safe? Or would fate simply concoct a new way for me to perish? I'd seen Final Destination. Death doesn't like being denied her due. Mine had to be coming soon...unless I started making changes.

...might as well start now.

Against my better judgement, I took a leap of faith.

"So." I stood and broached the topic about as eloquently as a fool could, "How long have you been sending letters to Varys?"

Jorah went absolutely still.

Now came the moment of truth and I watched him like a skittish hawk. Would he kill me to ensure my silence? It wouldn't be difficult. We were a good ways from the main camp. He could claim I fell off my horse on the way back and broke my neck. There was an ugly thought. He probably could break my neck if he wanted to. Urk. Why had I thought this a good idea again?!

When he finally spoke, his voice was a hoarse rattle. "How did you know?"

How did I know? Bullshit. That's how. Too much time reading Martin's books and far, far, too much time watching the show. I was a master at the art of bullshit. Mine was no silver tongue, but I was certain I could pass any persuasion check. Gah. Geek-speak. Bad Ryan! Bad! Stop it!

"You always sneak away from camp." Hopefully that would allay his suspicions. "It wasn't hard to put two and two together."

His hand flew to the hilt of his sword. "What do you gain by telling me this? What do you want?"

"Want?" Damnit, I didn't think I'd get this far. A small, hysteric laugh burst past my lips. What did I want? What did I want?! I wanted to go home! I wanted everyone to live! I wanted to prevent the senseless loss of life that I KNEW was going to occur soon, or barring that wake up and pretend this never happened! But that wasn't going to be the case, was it? No matter what I said or did, someone would die. And this was no dream I'd be waking from anytime. My aching muscles stood in testament to that much.

Instead I said the next thing that came to mind. "I'd like to know where your loyalties lie."

A beat of awkward anger passed between the two of us.

"I don't expect you to be loyal to me," I laughed after an awkward pause. "You're clearly fond of my sister. I'd like to know if that's genuine."

...it is." I wasn't at all surprised when Jorah released his sword with an anguished look. "Please, you mustn't tell your sister about this. It...it will destroy her."

"I won't say a word." Why would I? Telling her the truth now would do exactly as he'd said. Without Jorah, Dany would fall apart in the coming storm; a storm I wasn't sure I could prevent. Besides, I liked Jorah. He was a bro. Just the sort you'd want to have at your back during a fight. Dany would need him in the coming days. More than she needed Viserys. Or someone wearing his skin. Right. With this, maybe I could turn things around for her sake, prevent her impending demise at the very least. This couldn't possibly come back to bite me.

"Why?"

It came back to bite me. "Why what?" I tilted my head. "I didn't catch that."

"Why trust me with the truth?" he stepped to meet me and I jerked backwards. "I could kill you where you stand."

"All men deserve a second chance, Jorah the Andal." What! They did! Especially this man, of all people! "Consider this yours. All I ask is that you stop corresponding with the Spider at once."

Another moment of painful silence passed us by. I expected many things. Anger. Suspicion. Even doubt. What I received was...not at all what I'd expected. A small skittish part of me was still tense, bracing for a sword in the gut the moment I lowered my guard. Given what followed, I would've preferred the sword.

"You have my thanks." at all once, Jorah lunged forward and seized seized me in a crushing embrace. "Thank you. A thousand thank yous. I'll not forget this! You have my sword, now and forever!"

My ribs absolutely creaked. "Joy of joys...can you let me go, now?"

The old bear only clung on tighter.

Well, I'd gone and cocked that up, hadn't I? For better or worse, I'd joined my fate to his. Now, assuming Daenerys every learned of his "treachery" I might be able to talk her down and spare her what followed. But that would be a matter I wouldn't have to worry about for years, if not longer. That would complicate matters with Tyrion down the line, I just knew it, but he didn't need Jorah. I did. Perhaps that was selfish of me, altering events merely to save my own hide. I wasn't being selfish, surely. I was no dragon. I just wanted to survive.

Everything would work out in its own way. It had to.

This was for the best...wasn't it? Surely.

...right?

A/N: Sorry if I'm rusty, its been a bit since I wrote first person.

Just don't ever asked me to write something in present tense. Gah. That's one of my weaknesses.

This story really delves into a lot of gray areas. By no means are the Dothraki good people. They do horrible things. And yet, Daenerys and Drogo love one another. We all know where that leads, do we not? Seems our MC has a choice to make...

So, in the Immortal words of Atlas...

...review, would you kindly? And of course, enjoy the previews! Rough, though they are.

(Preview)

"Don't drink that!" I dashed the cup from her grasp before she could place it against her lips.

And the nasty little "merchant" stabbed me for my kindness. Just a small blade, little more than a dirk, but it still sank between my ribs like butter. He should've aimed for the head. I almost wished he had. That would've spared me from living this husk of a life. Maybe I should've let him finish the job. Instead I found myself tackling him, bearing him down to the ground with a roar.

"Are you kidding me...?!"

"Kill the witch. Kill her before its too late."

"Brother?!"

"KILL HER!"

R&R! =D