The Dothraki named the comet shierak qiya or the Bleeding Star. The older men muttered that it was a bad omen, but Daenerys Targaryen had first seen it when she burned Khal Drogo's dead body. The night she had awakened her dragons – a feat that people had deemed impossible, seeing as people had told her that her dragon eggs were stone and dead. But it was also the night she had seen last seen the Professor.

She remembered that another man had appeared. One that the Professor seemed to know quite well, and he had run off in his brown box he called a ship to help him with something. The Professor had told her he would be right back, but that was days ago.

But the comet was still in the sky. Every time she looked at it, she told herself it was the herald of her coming. The gods had sent it to her to show her the way.

Yet when she put the thought into words, her handmaid Doreah quailed. "That way lies the red lands, Khaleesi. A grim place and terrible, the riders say."

"The way the comet points is the way we must go," Daenerys insisted. Though in truth, it was the only way open to her now.

She dared not turn north onto the vast ocean of grass they called the Dothraki sea. The first khalasar they met would swallow up her ragged band, slaying the warriors and slaving the rest. The lands of the Lamb Men south of the river were likewise closed to them. They were too few to defend themselves even against that unwarlike folk, and the Lhazareen had little reason to love them. She might have struck downriver for the ports at Meereen and Yunkai and Astapor, but Rakharo warned her that Pono's khalasar had ridden that way, driving thousands of captives before them to sell in the flesh marts that festered like open sores on the shores of Slaver's Bay. "Why should I fear Pono?" Daenerys objected. "He was Drogo's ko and always spoke to me gently."

"Ko Pono spoke you gently," Ser Jorah Mormont had told her. "Khal Pono will kill you. He was the first to abandon Drogo. Ten thousand warriors went with him. You have no more than a hundred."

No, Daenerys thought. I have four. The rest are women, old, sick men and boys whose hair have never been braided. "I have the dragons," she pointed out.

"Hatchlings," Ser Jorah said. "One swipe from an arakh would end them, though Pono is more like to seize them for himself. Your dragon eggs were more precious than rubies. A living dragon is beyond price. In the world, there are only three. Every man who sees them will want them, my queen."

"They are mine," she said fiercely. They had been born from her faith and her need, given life by the deaths of her husband, unborn son, and the maegi Mirri Maz Duur. Daenerys had walked into the flames as they came forth, and they had drunk milk from her swollen breasts. "No man will take them from me while I live."

"You will not live long should you meet Khal Pono. Nor Khal Jhaqo, nor any of the others. You must go where they do not."

Daenerys had named him the first of her Queensguard, and when Mormont's gruff counsel and the omens agreed, her course was clear. She called her people together and mounted her silver mare. "We follow the comet," Daenerys told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Khal Drogo's people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law.

They rode by night and, by day, took refuge from the sun beneath their tents. Soon enough, Daenerys learned the truth of Doreah's words. This was no kind country. They left a trail of dead and dying horses behind them as they went, for Pono, Jhaqo, and the others had seized the best of Drogo's herds, leaving to Daenerys the old and the skinny, the sickly and the lame, the broken animals and the ill-tempered. It was the same with the people. They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, they must see only Drogo's queen when they look upon my face.

Three days into the march, the first man died. A toothless oldster with cloudy blue eyes, he fell exhausted from his saddle and could not rise again. An hour later, he was done. Blood flies swarmed about his corpse, carrying his ill luck to the living. "His time was past," her handmaid Irri declared. "No man should live longer than his teeth." The others agreed. Daenerys bid them kill the weakest of their dying horses, so the dead man might go mounted into the night lands.

Two nights later, it was an infant girl who perished. Her mother's anguished wailing lasted all day, but nothing was to be done. The child had been too young to ride, poor thing. Not for her the endless black grasses of the night lands; she must be born again.

There was little forage in the red waste and less water. It was a sere and desolate land of low hills and barren, windswept plains. The rivers they crossed were dry as dead men's bones. Their mounts subsisted on the tough brown devilgrass that grew in clumps at the base of rocks and dead trees. Daenerys sent outriders ahead of the column, but they found neither wells nor springs, only bitter pools, shallow and stagnant, shrinking in the hot sun. The deeper they rode into the waste, the smaller the pools became while the distance between them grew. If there were gods in this trackless wilderness of stone and sand and red clay, they were hard, dry gods, deaf to prayers for rain.

Wine gave out first; soon after that, the clotted mare's milk the horselords loved better than mead. Then their stores of flatbread and dried meat were exhausted as well. Their hunters found no game, and only the flesh of their dead horses filled their bellies. Death followed death. The cruel land claimed them all: weak children, wrinkled older women, the sick, the stupid, and the heedless. Doreah grew gaunt and hollow-eyed, and her soft golden hair turned brittle as straw.

Daenerys hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her daily until she was lean and hard as a stick, yet it was her dragons she feared for. Her father had been slain before she was born, and her splendid brother Rhaegar was also. Her mother had died bringing her into the world while the storm screamed outside and around the island of Dragonstone. Gentle Ser Willem Darry, who must have loved her after a fashion, had been taken by a wasting sickness when she was very young. Her brother Viserys, Khal Drogo, who was her sun and stars, even her unborn son, the gods had claimed them all. They will not have my dragons, Daenerys vowed. No one will.

Her dragons were no larger than the scrawny cats she had once seen skulking along the walls of Magister Illyrio's estate in Pentos until they unfolded their wings. Their span was three times their length, each wing a delicate fan of translucent skin, gorgeously coloured, stretched taut between long thin bones. When you looked hard, you could see that most of their body was neck, tail, and wing. Such little things, she thought as she fed them by hand, or rather, tried to feed them, for the dragons would not eat. Instead, they would hiss and spit at each bloody morsel of horsemeat, steam rising from their nostrils, yet they would not take the food. However, Daenerys did recall something Viserys had told her when they were children.

Only dragons and men eat cooked meat, he had once told her.

When she had her handmaids char the horsemeat black, the dragons ripped at it eagerly, their heads striking like snakes. So long as the meat was seared, they gulped down their weight several times daily and, at last, began to grow larger and stronger. Daenerys marvelled at the smoothness of their scales and the heat that poured off them, so palpable that on cold nights their whole bodies seemed to steam.

Each evenfall as the khalasar set out, she would choose a dragon to ride upon her shoulder. Irri and Jhiqui carried the others in a cage of woven wood slung between their mounts and rode close behind her so Daenerys was never out of their sight. It was the only way to keep them quiescent.

"Aegon's dragons were named for the gods of Old Valyria," she told her bloodriders one morning after a long night's journey. "Visenya's dragon was Vhagar, Rhaenys had Meraxes, and Aegon rode Balerion, the Black Dread. It was said that Vhagar's breath was so hot that it could melt a knight's armour and cook the man inside, that Meraxes swallowed horses whole, and Balerion . . . his fire was as black as his scales, his wings so vast that whole towns were swallowed up in their shadow when he passed overhead."

The Dothraki looked at her hatchlings uneasily. The largest of her three was shiny black. His scales were slashed with streaks of vivid scarlet to match his wings and horns. "Khaleesi, there sits Balerion, come again," Aggo murmured.

"It may be as you say, blood of my blood," Daenerys replied, "but he shall have a new name for this new life. I would name them all for those the gods have taken. The green one shall be Rhaegal, for my valiant brother who died on the green banks of the Trident. The cream and gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel, weak, and frightened, yet he was still my brother. His dragon will do what he could not."

"And the black beast?" asked Jorah.

"The black," she said, "is Drogon."

Yet even as her dragons prospered, her khalasar withered and died. Around them, the land turned ever more desolate. Even devilgrass grew scant; horses dropped in their tracks, leaving so few that some of her people must trudge along on foot. Doreah took a fever and grew worse with every league they crossed. Her lips and hands broke with blood blisters, her hair came out in clumps, and one evening, she lacked the strength to mount her horse. Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Daenerys remembered a night on the Dothraki sea when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Khal Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering.

Daenerys looked down at Doreah's lifeless body, still holding onto her hand, as she thought of the times she had known the handmaiden. She was lost in her thoughts until she heard something. A wheezing and groaning. It was faint but a sound that Daenerys had longed to hear. However, it didn't sound how she had heard it the other times. It sounded weak. She looked around, following the sound until she saw the faint outline of a brown box. It grew brighter until it formed a solid figure. The doors opened, and the Professor exited.

Daenerys sighed in relief. "You're back," she said as she approached the Time Lord. She reached a hand out to touch him as if to make sure he was there and not her mind playing tricks on her.

The Professor nodded. "Did you have any doubt that I would?"

Daenerys bit her bottom lip. "You were gone for days. I thought … I thought you abandoned me. Abandoned us."

The Professor felt his hearts sink when he heard that he had been gone for days. He hadn't wanted to have been gone for days. He didn't want to be gone for days. "I could never abandon you," he told her and hugged her tightly. A warm embrace. He pulled apart from her. "I promise you, Daenerys, I will make it up to you. I promise I will make everything up to you." He remembered what felt like yesterday to him. Daenerys had said he killed her son. He hadn't meant for that to happen. He wanted to save Daenerys and give her the child she wanted. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I killed your son."

Daenerys looked up at the Professor. She reached her hand up and brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. "Yes, you did. But I have three sons now. And they need protecting," she said before seeing the doors to the Professor's TARDIS, and that man that had left with the Professor exited, followed by a brown-haired woman in strange clothing. She pointed to her. "Who's that? Where did she come from?"

Turning around, the Professor looked to see what Daenerys was looking at. Rumplestiltskin and Belle, who was still in her olive green overcoat, light grey top and dark grey skirt. "They are friends of mine." He pointed to Rumplestiltskin. "That is Rumplestiltskin, and with him is, his girlfriend, Belle."

Belle looked around at all the remaining Dothraki in Daenerys' khalasar. Then she looked over at Daenerys. "Where is this place?"

Jorah Mormont stepped up. "This is Essos, my lady. A part of Essos known as the Red Waste."

Belle looked around again. Apart from them, it looked deserted and seemed to suit its name. "Are you lost?"

Daenerys looked over at the TARDIS, then at Belle. She smiled. "No. I don't think we are anymore," she said and stepped up to the brunette. "I'm Daenerys of House Targaryen."

"She is quite special," Rumplestiltskin began. "She walked into a fire and came out unscathed. And with three dragons." He was silent for a moment before thinking back to what he had seen on the Valyrian steel dagger and the inscription embedded in the blade. From my blood comes the Prince that was Promised. And his will be the song of Ice and Fire. "The fire…" he muttered.

"What fire?" the Professor asked.

"The fire embedded in the blade. I believe that is you."

Daenerys looked at Rumplestiltskin, then over at the Professor. "Does he always talk in riddles?"

"Occasionally, yeah," the Professor answered. "What fire in the blade?"

"There's this dagger I saw," Rumplestiltskin said. "I uncovered a description in the blade. 'From my blood comes the Prince that is Promised. And his will be the song of Ice and Fire'. I don't know who this Prince that was Promised is, dearie, but the fire it spoke about ... it must be you. The one who hatched fire-breathing dragons. I'm certain of it."

"Even if I am this fire, I am not a prince," Daenerys said.

"Take it from someone who has dabbled in prophecies for all his life, dearie. They are never exact. They never mean what they say. And what they say is never what they mean. You know, when I first came to this realm, I had a vision. I didn't know what it meant. I never saw it long. But I saw darkness fall upon the lands, entangling a wolf. I still don't know what it means, but I think I need to go back into it."


Rumplestiltskin moved to sit on a boulder. He perched upon the top, closing his eyes, and held up his hands. He breathed silently, focusing on his seer abilities and, also, the vision he desperately needed to see. He took a gasp as he was transported to it in his mind.

He looked around. He saw he was on a battlefield. One that looked like something - or someone - had frozen it in time. He turned around and saw the giant wolf. The one he had thought meant the Starks. But he saw other giant animals, too. A fish. A stag. A lion. A bird. All entangled together, surrounded by darkness.

But ahead of them, as it was leading the charge, was a dragon. And not just any dragon, a three-headed dragon. He walked forward but was stopped when he heard something behind him. A gush of darkness leapt up and over at him, and he opened his eyes. He found himself staring back at Belle, the Professor and Daenerys.

"Rumple, what did you see?" Belle asked.

"A battlefield," Rumplestiltskin answered. "One surrounded by darkness. But the armies ... they were all led by a dragon. A three-headed dragon."

"Then that's me?" Daenerys said. "My house sigil is a three-headed dragon."

"That explains the other animals I saw. There was a wolf, a stag, and other animals. This must be hard for you to take in, dearie, but I promise I will find more information to help unravel this vision. Wherever it may take me."

"Perhaps you can try the Citadel in Oldtown," Jorah said as he approached them. "There's a vast library there. Maybe you'd find something there that might help in what you're looking for."

"A library?" Belle repeated.

"Thank you…" Rumplestiltskin began, but he didn't know his name to thank him properly.

"Ser Jorah Mormont," Jorah said.

Jorah Mormont? He remembered back when he was in King's Landing. He wanted to find out who had told the small council that Daenerys was pregnant. He had found papers and letters signed by a Jorah Mormont with the information they had known. And now he was speaking to him? Rumplestiltskin stepped closer to the knight. "So you're the Jorah Mormont who wrote letters to the small council of King's Landing? The one who told them Daenerys was pregnant?"

Jorah took a step back and gulped. He didn't think it would ever come up. He had hidden and destroyed the pardon he had received.

Daenerys stepped forward. Was what she heard true? One of the people closest to her had told her secrets to her enemies in the Seven Kingdoms. "You told them I was carrying Drogo's child?"

Jorah nodded. "Aye."

"What else?"

"When you and Viserys arrived in Pentos. His plan to marry you to Khal Drogo. When you were married. When your brother died."

"That's why you disappeared for a few days," the Professor began, "when I started travelling with you all. You disappeared to …Qohor, wasn't it?"

"Aye," Jorah answered softly.

"That wine merchant tried to poison me because of your information," Daenerys said.

"I stopped you from drinking his wine."

"Because you knew it was poisoned."

"I suspected it was poisoned."

"You betrayed me. Since we first met."

Jorah dropped to his knees. He wanted to be forgiven. He needed to be forgiven. "Please, Khaleesi. Forgive me. I never meant …" He sighed. "Please, forgive me."

"You sold my secrets to the man who killed my father and stole my brother's throne, and you want me to forgive you?"

"I have protected you, fought for you, killed for you."

"Only from those you told because you knew they were a danger to me. Go, now. I don't want you travelling with me."

Jorah got up from his knees. "Where do I go?"

"Anywhere but here," Daenerys said. "You can go back to King's Landing to seek out your masters for all I care."

Rumplestiltskin stepped forward and waved his hand, engulfing the knight in maroon smoke and poofing him away. Daenerys looked at him. "Where did you send him?"

"Somewhere far away," Rumplestiltskin said. "Where he won't cause you any trouble."

Daenerys nodded. She looked over at Rumplestiltskin. "Wherever you go, I want you to collect information for me. Become my master of whispers. Tell me whatever I need to know."

"Of course, dearie. You have my word," Rumplestiltskin said as he walked over to Belle. He took her hand, and the two disappeared in a cloud of maroon smoke.

Once they were gone, Daenerys looked to the Professor and then at his TARDIS. After everything she had gone through the past few days, she wanted it to be over. Maybe the elders were right, and the red comet was a bad omen? Perhaps she shouldn't have followed the comet into the Red Waste. She just wanted to get out of it now. She had lost too much.

"I think I would like to enter the TARDIS now," she said as she approached the brown box.

The Professor nodded, and he moved to unlock the doors. She entered, and the Professor also helped the others enter the ship. He found rooms aboard the TARDIS that could double as stables for the remaining horses.

Once everyone was settled aboard the TARDIS, the Professor moved to where Daenerys was at the console. She looked at the centre time rotor, not looking away from it. "Are you alright?"

Daenerys didn't look away from the time rotor. "I'm fine," she said. However, she didn't know if she was. She had just found out someone she thought she trusted had been telling enemies of hers her secrets, her plans, what she was doing, and where she was going. And it nearly got her killed.

The Professor could feel she wasn't okay, but he didn't want to push. Maybe she'd come around by herself to let him in. He had known others who were the same, who built up walls around themselves so they could never be hurt. He moved to the keyboard on the console and typed away at it, pulling up a map of the surrounding area of Essos on the monitor. He studied it carefully.

"The closest city to where we are is Qarth," the Time Lord mused.

"Qarth?" Daenerys repeated as she looked over her shoulder to see what the Professor was looking at. "Looks like a seaside city."

Daenerys looked at the Professor, then moved closer to look at the map more. "Can we go there?"

"Sure," the Professor said, nodding as he flipped some switches and levers. He pressed a few buttons, and the TARDIS took off, flying through the vortex before stopping at its destination. He walked over to the doors, opened them and took a step outside.

He looked around, noticing they were in what looked like a plaza, with trees and ivy plants growing around arches. Daenerys exited the TARDIS and joined the Professor before seeing three figures approaching them.

"Who are they?" she asked, squinting her eyes as she tried to see who they could be.

The three figures stopped before them. The pale man with blue lips spoke first. "We've been expecting you for quite some time," he said. "It was prophesied a brown box would fall from the sky, carrying with what we seek."

Daenerys stared down at the three strangers. "First, tell me your names."

"I am Pyat Pree, the great warlock," the pale man with blue lips replied.

"I am Xaro Xhoan Daxos of the Thirteen, a merchant prince of Qarth," said the bald man with jewels in his nose.

"I am Quaithe of the Shadow. What we seek are dragons," replied the woman in the lacquered wooden mask.

"Seek no more," Daenerys Targaryen told them. "You have found them."