Howl of the Dragonwolves

by Elphaba818

9 years ago, the Mad Queen and the Queenslayer died and left their bastard twins grow up in the cold shadows of House Stark. Torrhen and Lyaella Snow know their parents never got the happy ending they deserved. Now they have the chance to change things. They'll ensure their parents win the game of thrones. Or they'll die trying. TIME TRAVEL AU! Co-Author: Longclaw 1-6 as of 2-22-21

20. Gladiator

Elphaba818:

We're back, people! We made it to Chapter Twenty! I know this must be such a slow burn fic for all of you, making it all the way to Chapter Twenty and yet we're only now approaching the end of Season 5, but I assure you all that the slow nature of this fic will make sense in time! Everything is happening the way it is for a reason, and with Season 5 almost over, we're just about wrapping up the opening arc of the story! Just wait and see! We are in for a bumpy ride as we go into Season 6, trust me! :P

Now, about this chapter in particular. I know you all were relieved when you saw Lyaella survived her encounter with the Night King and the army of the dead, but what about Torrhen? We must hop back into his storyline now to see how he's doing in Meereen. And we all know what the next big event is in Meereen — The Harpy Pit Attack! Longclaw and I are proud to present to you all the first half of the epic Season 5 finale battle in Daenerys' storyline! We hope you all will enjoy it!

On a side note, I should tell you however that the release of the next chapter might be slightly delayed. I'll be heading out of town this weekend and will be gone for about a week on a long road trip. I will try to get a little bit of writing done on the next chapter during the long car drive whenever I myself will not be driving, but I can guarantee that I will not be up to my usual writing standards considering my mom and I will be hanging out and chatting the whole time, lol. Even so, the next chapter is already fully outlined, so Longclaw and I only need to write it rather than brainstorm everything that will be happening in it. We'll get it online soon, just no guarantees as to when it will be due to my road trip.

One last thing before I wrap up my Author's Note and pass the microphone over to Longclaw: I was recently told in one of my reviews for the next chapter that it seemed like my review goals are being seen as 'review baiting' to you readers. First and foremost, I wanna state in advance that I am NOT upset with the reader who left this comment. On the contrary... I would like to thank them for telling me that my review goals are coming across that way to all of you. I never meant for my review goals to be seen as a mandatory review count for each chapter before getting the next chapter posted online. I post my chapters after they are fully written and edited by myself and Longclaw, regardless of the number of reviews I get for the story. I only made my little review count goals as a hopeful wish that I thought would be fun for readers to strive to reach. If anyone else out there is reading this story and purposefully not reviewing because they thought I was being demanding, I sincerely apologize. I never meant for my review goals to come across that way. As my way of apologizing, I'm officially stopping the review goal count as of this chapter. Don't worry about reaching anymore review totals, everyone. Just read and review if you want to!

Enjoy today's chapter everyone! Now, I'm proud to welcome Longclaw 1-6 to the stage!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

---

Longclaw 1-6:

Hey, all! Now that Lyaella is safe from the Night King, time to dive back into the adventures of Torrhen.

Great news! My new story about Maegor and the Conquerors have been posted. It's called Dragonshield and I would be so stoked if you guys checked it out!

---

Chapter Twenty: Gladiator

There was nothing that Missandei of Naath loved more than the study of language.

The realities of slavery and bondage discouraged the education of slaves. All cities in Slaver's Bay and most of the 'Free Cities' made it illegal to teach a slave to read in defiance of their master, and Missandei being stolen in early childhood from her home — a home she no longer truly remembered other than a few surreal memories — before she could learn to read seemingly destroyed any chance she had at an education. But she was smart, very smart. An intelligence and grasp for language that surpassed even the most learned of the masters. The irony was not lost on her.

And such, here she was. Identified by one owner in her past that she chose not to remember, Missandei was instructed by the best of the best on the languages other than her own and the bastardized Valyrian spoken by all the slaves. First High Valyrian and Ghiscari, followed by the Common Tongue. Those three became five, five became ten, ten became twenty, leading to her purchase as a translator by Kraznys mo Nakloz… and two years after, her freedom at the hands of Daenerys Targaryen.

Forever she would serve Daenerys as a free woman, but the luck of her lot allowed her to provide more help than any other freedman or freedwoman. Even the Unsullied. The fact she truly enjoyed the subject of her skill was merely a bonus.

That being said, the most delightful of tasks was passing on her knowledge to the next generation. In her free time, she taught at literacy classes for freed children and that truly filled Missandei with joy — but nothing was better than the task before her.

"Sīkuda dārȳ... ti se mīsio... hen teg... tegon." Accent heavy, not just of the Common Tongue but of the Northern dialect of the Common Tongue, it took a while for Torrhen Snow to work his way through the phrase. Closing his eyes as he exhaled deeply, clearly nursing some sort of headache, Missandei let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding when the violet orbs reappeared. "Was that good?"

Nodding, Missandei smiled. "Indeed, you're progressing well." They were both seated beside each other in her own private chamber — every luxury she could have wished for was available, but Missandei's indulgences were restrained. One permitted by her was a large, ornate writing desk that sat two. "Now, read it back to me, Torrhen."

Clearing his throat, Torrhen smoothed out the parchment with his written phrase upon it. The ink had long since dried, so it luckily didn't smear. "Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen lentor Targaryen, ēlī hen zȳhon brōzi, Dāria hen Andals, Rhoynar, se ēlī vali, Dāria hen Meereen, Muñnykeā Zaldrīzoti, Pryjatys hen Belma, Khalēssi hen parmenko embāzmā, Riñnykeā hen sīkuda dārȳti se mīsio hen tegon."

Again, his accent was strange to the ear, especially when used against the refined tone of the language of the Valyrian dragonlords Queen Daenerys and supposedly Torrhen were descended from. But even so… "Wonderful job, Torrhen." Missandei clapped her hands. "You did it perfectly."

The lad looked up at her with wide eyes. "Really?"

"Of course." Over the past few weeks, she had dutifully given him the language lessons every other day when Ser Barristan wasn't in need of him, and every day he had improved — slowly but surely. Today was the result. I am good. "You seem quite surprised."

"It's just…" He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "No one's ever truly praised me before."

Her smile faltered slightly at his words. "Well… I'm sure that's not true. Ser Barristan tells her grace many tales of your improvements in swordplay, and your family…"

Torrhen's expression darkened. "Ser Barristan, sure. I am his squire and I enjoy learning from him, but… those... people," he added, seemingly mindful of whom he was speaking with. "Wouldn't give me a second glance unless I made a mistake. My sister is my family, not them. They're just my relatives."

"You do have an education, Torrhen. I mean," she held up the parchment. "Your calligraphy is exquisite. Likely the best I've seen."

The praise seemed to elicit a bad memory within the young boy, but with Missandei he was always at the very least polite. "My elder aunt, she… quite cared for us to learn the social graces. Minding your manners, eating like highborns, and writing so delicately so that 'everyone can see how cultured you are, even being bastards.'" The last was in a sort of falsetto, indicating it was a direct quote. "So aye, I learned penmanship. My sister's better at it than me — she escaped cracks to the knuckles more often." He rubbed his hands, as if nursing an injury.

In her life, Missandei had endured and seen the most unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon people by their fellow people, but also the greatest of kindness — the latter often between family and friends. Mothers going without food so that their children could eat... Men enduring the lash to cover up for their younger sibling's mistakes... To see the closest of blood inflicting such pain on their own… "I'm sorry you had to endure that, Torrhen."

"Why are you sorry, Lady Missandei? It wasn't your fault. You're kind to me even when I make a mistake."

"You didn't deserve what you went through, Torrhen — you or… your sister." The mention of the faceless girl brought a sadness to Torrhen, one Missandei understood. She didn't have more than a smattering of memories of her siblings, but each of them filled a yearning in her heart. For someone that grew up only with one person they could count on and they were separated, she didn't blame Torrhen's sadness. I need to ease his heart. They needed to continue with the lessons, plus she rather liked the boy. "Tell me about your sister."

"Pardon, Lady Missandei?"

"You speak a lot of her, but I've never heard what she's like."

Closing his eyes, a gentle smile formed on his face. "She's the sweetest girl you could ever meet. While I take after our father in all but my eyes and my temper, Lyaella's the spitting image of our mother — a Targaryen through and through. If the Queen could see her, then there's no chance she could deny us."

Queen Daenerys… she can be stubborn when she wishes to be. Even Missandei didn't know the whole truth of the sorts of trauma she'd endured in her life — only Ser Jorah did and he wasn't talking — but Missandei was sure that her history kept her from embracing Torrhen. Likely would for this Lyaella as well. "Did she have an easier time of it? Being a gentle girl?"

Torrhen shook his head. "No. It just brought more ridicule… looking like our mother. She was personally hated by all of our relatives — for what I still don't know. It wasn't for stealing our father's heart. My aunts always used to complain of how stupid he was and I hated it!" When Missandei rubbed his back, he calmed down. "Sorry."

"It's alright."

Sighing, Torrhen pushed out his chair to turn and look her in the eye. "That place… without our parents it wasn't a home. Only one place could either of us have a home, at our father's grave."

Oh Torrhen… Missandei's heart ached for the boy. "Was your mother's grave there as well?"

"No… not that our relatives would put up a grave for her in the first place." He refused to say any more about it. "We carved her name into the tomb, so that she and father could be together. There was a statue of our father so we knew what he looked like, but never our mother." A tear pricked at his lid, in spite of his push to stay strong. "I… I like to think she looked like the Queen. Lya… she has many of the same features."

Missandei gave him a sad smile. "The Targaryen blood is strong." She clasped his shoulder warmly. "Thank you for sharing this with me, Torrhen. I find it eases the burden on one's heart to speak to someone trustworthy."

The boy was silent for a moment, saying nothing and instead going to read from the workbook they were using. It was clear he was trying to hide something by burying himself in work, much as he did with training… but this wasn't anger. It was something else entirely.

"Torrhen… Torrhen dear, please stop." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me." He hesitantly did so, face tense. "I know that must have been hard to tell me, and forgive me if I was prying too hard…"

He shook his head. "No, that's not it."

Missandei waited. "Then what's the matter? Please tell me." If he couldn't be open to her, then there was no hope he'd be open to the Queen.

"It's just…" He shifted uncomfortably. "My aunts, they never acted as a loving family to me."

"I noticed," she said snidely, immediately regretting the interruption. "Sorry, go on."

But he smiled at her. "I saw what other parents were like to their children around the castle where Lya and I grew up, but weren't close enough to others to see their extended families. Only a few… enough to know that neither of our aunts acted as an aunt should. One was cold and bitter, while the other was cold and soulless."

Missandei knew both types of persons, and wished she could slap them for what they did to this poor boy.

It was what he said next that completely surprised her. "I guess… the way you've treated me the last few weeks." He looked awkward and sheepish. "It's what I've always wanted in an aunt." Torrhen's cheeks reddened, as if a bit embarrassed. It was greatly endearing. The translator beamed, and in her joy at his comment drew him for a hug. Torrhen didn't resist.

A knock on the door startled Missandei. She disentangled from Torrhen, leaving him a kiss on the forehead. "Excuse me, I should see to that." The boy merely smiled back at her, pulling out a new sheet of parchment to write down the next lesson. Such a sweet, dutiful boy once you get to know him. His relatives don't know what they're missing. Chuckling to herself at her out of character internal insult, she made her way to the door and opened it. Missandei's eyes widened slightly. "Turgo Nudho."

The serious and slightly pained face of Grey Worm tried a tiny smile. It was awkward on his face, but it suited him. "May I come in?" They spoke bastard Valyrian, a much courser language than the more refined speech of the dragonlords.

She nodded. "Yes, of course." Missandei opened the door wider, allowing him entry. He eased himself in, movements slow, one hand clutching his still healing side. "Didn't the healers say you should still be getting more bedrest?"

"I am… just couldn't stay in that cramped chamber any longer." The translator giggled at his discomfort with bedrest. It was… oddly endearing. "What are you doing?"

"Giving the little dragon his lessons," she gestured to Torrhen, who looked up at that moment. Seeing Grey Worm, his eyes narrowed before burying themselves back into the work. Scribbling faster. Missandei swallowed, shifting her feet. "I know you wished to walk and have a decent conversation, Turgo Nudho, but why come here?"

It was his turn to look awkward — coming from a trained soldier of the Unsullied, it was quite a peculiar look. "I… I wish to see you."

Missandei blinked. "Me?" Her mind was drawn back to earlier… before the earthquake and Torrhen turned their lives upside down. Back when he had spotted her bathing in the river. It made her… insides flush. "Why?"

"No disrespect intended, my lady," he insisted rather firmly. "You teach the young dragon his lessons in High Valyrian… I wished to ask if you could resume your Common Tongue lessons for me." He paused. "I don't have much else to do with my time until the healers permit me to return to training."

If Missandei didn't know better, Grey Worm sounded like a green boy first approaching a girl. But just as with Torrhen, she enjoyed spending time with the enigmatic Unsullied. "When my schedule permits, I would like that." They smiled gently at each other.

"Finished," Torrhen barked, smacking his quill down harshly on the table.

Both looked at him, the boy staring daggers at Grey Worm. The Unsullied looked away, stone-faced. Missandei frowned. "Torrhen, don't be rude."

"What? I'm finished." His voice wasn't raised anymore, but he still shot Grey Worm a bitter look. "Can you please tell me if it's proper?" As Missandei took the parchment in hand, the door opened abruptly to reveal a large, furry black mass. Torrhen's mood improved almost immediately. "Shadow!" The direwolf bounded to him, licking his face. "Quit it, and watch the mouth, bud," he chuckled.

Ser Barristan followed. "Please pardon me, my lady," he bowed, eyeing Grey Worm curiously before turning back to the translator. "But I'm afraid I must cut this lesson short."

"Why?" Missandei asked.

"There is something I wish to discuss with Torrhen, nothing bad, mind you."

Nodding, Missandei looked at her little charge. "Well Torrhen, that concludes our lessons." She handed him the parchment. "This one is flawless as well, and if you don't mind I would like to take your last script to show her grace."

"You can do what you want with it." Torrhen rose, and to her surprise hugged her. "Thank you, Lady Missandei. I truly enjoyed our lessons."

Smiling, she hugged him back. "I enjoy them too… you are a delightful child anyone would love to be around." The smile faded when he glared at Grey Worm once more before Barristan led him away. What could that be about?

---

His days in the cell block of the Great Pyramid were hot and stifling. To move around at all sometimes seemed like more energy than it was worth. Today was definitely one of those days, as the Essos heat was unbearably hot and sticky. So when visitors approached his cellblock bars, he was half inclined to ignore them. Or at least, that was his plan until he saw who his two guests were.

"Torrhen, Barristan Selmy," he murmured, trying to hide his heat fatigue from showing. "Good of you to come visit."

"Ser Jorah, glad you're okay!" Torrhen exclaimed, smiling excitedly. "I'm sorry I couldn't come down to visit sooner."

He smiled, waving aside the apology. "It's all right. I understand the khaleesi is still angry with me." He could never be angry with Torrhen. Not since first meeting him and knowing he was her grace's family, and especially not now that he knew he was her future child and heir. Gods… I thought watching Daenerys walk out of the flames with her dragons was the most miraculous sight.

"Well, today's the day, Jorah Mormont. You're finally getting out of this cell," exclaimed Barristan, reaching into his pocket for the cell block key. "You're to come with us to prepare for the Great Games."

Jorah nodded and slowly pulled himself up from the small corner he'd been sitting in. It was the opening day of the Great Games in Meereen — and subsequently the day for his trial-by-combat. Part of him was indeed nervous, but he also was more than ready to face his upcoming challenger and get it over with. With any luck, he'd be able to win the battle easily and would then be allowed to meet and discuss with Torrhen and Barristan whenever he needed to. Considering what Torrhen had revealed to him and his fellow knight the other day regarding the truth as to who he really was, he was dying to know more.

As Ser Barristan unlocked the door, Torrhen glanced down to his direwolf. "Go on, bud. Go stand guard out in the hall. Let us know right away if anyone's coming."

Shadow's tail swayed back and forth. Lingering a moment longer to lick Torrhen's fingers, he turned and trotted back to the entrance to the cell block, watching diligently for any potential eavesdroppers who might overhear them.

Passing him a set of clean clothes, Barristan led him and Torrhen further into the cellblock where he could freshen up and use the privy. Still, Jorah's thoughts were miles away as he took care of himself. "I assume it's safe to say you've explained more to Ser Barristan about everything since I haven't seen you since you first revealed everything to us, correct, Torrhen?"

"No, actually. I've been waiting for today when we could finally talk to you again before saying anything more."

Jorah blinked, surprised. "Truly?"

"Aye. Ser Barristan here wasn't happy about that, but I insisted on waiting. It's easier to talk to both of you at once rather than remembering to repeat information again when talking to you separately."

"Well, thank you, Torrhen. That was very kind of you."

"Not at all, Ser Jorah… I just wish I could've stopped this whole thing from happening all together." He sighed, looking away in frustration. "Stuff like this is why people called her the Mad Queen in my world…"

"Torrhen, I told you not to call her grace that."

"I'm just stating a fact, Ser Barristan. I know you both don't believe that, but I swear it's true. She's earned the reputation of being the Mad Queen."

Jorah frowned, taking a thin knife to trim his growing beard. "Don't worry about me, Torrhen. I assure you I've survived far worse than simple mercenary fighters. And as for Daenerys… it's not that Ser Barristan and I believe you to be lying necessarily about that title… we just can't imagine how she could have become that in history. She's good and kind, Torrhen. More than you can imagine."

Torrhen shrugged. Kicking his boot against a scuff on the floor, he leaned back against a wall and folded his arms. "Not as far as I've seen. I know you both think I'm nuts for arguing with her all the time, but I don't know how else to make her correct her mistakes that people in Westeros criticized her for from this far back in time. They don't care if she's kind. They spun her deeds into all looking like they were bad choices, so I can't help that I kinda see what they meant by that…"

"Well, we assure you that neither of us have ever seen anything to suggest our queen will turn to madness one day, as you claim happened in your world, Torrhen," Barristan said.

The boy looked at them with his violet eyes — ones Barristan had said reminded him of Prince Rhaegar's and now Jorah could see were almost a mirror copy of the Queen's. "I'm not saying that as of now my mother is the Mad Queen from the stories… only that I could see how people would portray her as such given the way she acts."

"I think Ser Jorah and I need more information for us to understand how that could have happened."

"I agree. What can you tell us, Torrhen?"

"That's the point… I don't know what was true and what was just lies told to justify what my aunts and uncle did." Torrhen closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. "From what I can gather, mother thought an alliance with my father would solidify her claim to the realm, but she didn't realize the depths of the antagonism felt for her."

Muttering something unseemly under his breath, Jorah willed himself to remain calm. Jon Snow, if he was King in the North, it would have been a perfect alliance for her. Even loving her as he did, Jorah could admit that. "So them turning on her and her love for your father were what caused this?"

"I… I don't know exactly, but I'm sure mine and Lya's birth had something to do with it."

"Your birth itself? What do you mean?"

Torrhen opened his mouth, but suddenly froze, second guessing himself. He soon closed it and shook his head. "I'd… I'd rather not talk about that too much, if that's okay. Not that I don't trust either of you, but… let's just say that the day we were born one of you had a vital role to play when that happened. I… I don't wanna mess too much with events that have yet to come for things that are actually good things for House Targaryen. Do you understand what I mean?"

Jorah blinked. Exchanging a moderately perplexed look with Barristan, he tilted his head, puzzled. "Well… considering it involves one of us and we at least need to know something, what can you tell us, Torrhen? We don't understand how Daenerys could've turned to madness based on the little you told us before. We need at least a few details."

He was silent for a few moments as he considered his request, but then slowly nodded. "All right, I can try to explain things as well as I can… but I reserve the right to pass on a question if it's too risky to talk about. If it's a question that you absolutely need an answer on… I'll tell you the bare minimum, and you both need to be satisfied if I can't say anything further. Agreed?"

Jorah nodded. "Aye, agreed."

"Agreed," Barristan echoed. "So first explain how Ser Jorah and I could have missed the signs of her sinking into madness in your timeline. Neither of us have seen any signs that she'd descend into madness one day. How could we have missed that if your story is true?"

Torrhen tensed, biting his lip. "Well… That's… That's because…"

"Don't tell me you can't answer that? I think Ser Jorah and I deserve a proper answer regarding this, Torrhen."

"It's not that, Ser Barristan. It's just—" He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "—you were both dead already when she finally tipped over the edge."

His hand slipped, the knife nicking his jaw. Dropping the blade entirely, he spun around, eyes bulging. Barristan's eyes were equally wide as he stared at Torrhen, shocked himself. Torrhen didn't dare look up at them though. He just stared glumly at his reflection in the looking glass on the wall.

Jorah's throat bobbed. "We were—? D-Did we hear you correctly? We — We both—?"

"With all due respect, I'd prefer to not have to repeat myself on that, so yes, you heard me correctly. Please don't make me say it again."

His swallowed, stiffly turning to Barristan. Barristan was equally floored, and could only shake his head in utter disbelief. "…How?" he asked. "How did we… When did we — if you're all right with telling us?"

"I don't mind explaining what happened to you, Ser Barristan, because technically it should have already happened. I apparently changed that outcome without even realizing I was. Not that I wouldn't have done so again if I'd been actively aware of what I was doing."

"What?"

"The day we met in the market? Right before the Harpies caused that street attack? I didn't remember at the time it happened, but even if I had I still would've gotten involved in that attack. I saved your life that day, Ser Barristan."

Barristan stared at him, lost for words. "I… I died that day in your past? Truly?"

"Truly."

The old knight blinked repeatedly and turned away, trying to let this revelation sink in. Jorah however had plenty of questions. "Well, what about my death? Has that happened yet?"

Torrhen shook his head. "No, that's still a good few years away."

"Then… how did I die?"

"That's the thing, I'm not sure if I should talk about that or not. I'm on your side, Ser Jorah, so it's not that I don't want you to survive that eventual day… but because it has yet to happen, I don't know if I should explain too much about it too soon. I don't wanna mess around with too much in the future by changing everything, you know?"

Jorah frowned. That certainly wasn't very helpful, but he understood Torrhen's logic. If his supposed-death wouldn't be happening right away, then he guessed it was all right to let Torrhen pass on answering this for now. Still, he felt entitled to know at least one thing. "Did I at least die protecting the Queen? At least tell me that."

There was a brief pause, then Torrhen hesitantly nodded. "Aye, you did… you died protecting me and Lyaella, too. That's why I trust you."

He straightened at that, surprised yet proud. He had given his life to protect not only his queen, but Torrhen and his sister, too? Her heirs? Knowing that made him feel a thousand times better. While it pained him to know that he'd sadly passed on and couldn't prevent the woman he loved from following her father's path into Targaryen madness, it was a relief to know that he'd died protecting her. Her and the Dragon Prince and Princess. Did that mean he'd found a cure for his greyscale? If so, where? And how long had it taken him to be healed? Perhaps later he could convince Torrhen to explain a few more details on all this.

"Well… if what you're saying is true, how long after I died did Daenerys supposedly turn to madness? Are you all right with explaining that?"

Torrhen briefly considered the question before nodding. "Aye, I think that's fine to tell you. As far as mine and Lyaella's history book goes, your death was actually one of several back-to-back catalysts that made her tip over the edge. It wasn't that long after you died that it happened."

"What kind of catalysts?" Barristan asked. "What happened exactly?"

"Sorry, but I don't think that's wise to talk about… at least not yet. Maybe when it gets closer to that time I'll tell you both what happened, but for now… let's just say that there's going to be a greater cause to fight beyond the war for the Iron Throne and for the sake of all things good and holy, the queen must get involved in that battle… even though it will cost her a good deal of her army."

Jorah jerked. "What? What do you mean?"

"No, sorry. That's all I'm saying for now. I'll explain things more when it gets closer to that time. Not before."

He sighed. That was annoying. Very, very annoying. Still, the serious frown on Torrhen's face confirmed how adamant he was about this. Prying further would be pointless, so if they wanted to get more information, they'd have to go about this differently.

The perfect idea came to mind, and he stooped down to collect his fallen knife. "Tell us about your father. Jon Snow," Jorah requested, rinsing it clean again. "What was he like? Or rather, is like?"

Torrhen blinked, surprised. "My father?" He parroted. "I — I told you, Lyaella and I were infants when he and our mother died. I landed here in Meereen when I ended up in the past. I haven't personally met him yet."

"Then what do you know about him?" Barristan asked, peering down at Torrhen intently. "I think I saw him from afar the one time I accompanied King Robert to Winterfell. He seemed like a quiet lad, very brooding… though the late Ned Stark didn't fight with his wife's insistence on shooing him away from the rest of the royal party. Aside from young Sansa Stark, his other siblings weren't pleased by how he was treated, bastard or not."

Torrhen raised a brow at that, intrigued. "Oh? That's… surprising."

"It is?"

"Aye, excluding the Bitch of the North, I mean. Her acting all uppity and self-righteous to not care about anyone with a 'Snow' surname is exactly like her. I can't speak for Robb Stark, but the Arya and Bran Stark I know in the future don't talk about him any more than Queen Sansa does, which is never. They never talk about him. Him or their dead parents and brothers. Though… I don't think Rickon Stark is like that. He seemed decent, far as I could tell…"

"Oh, I see. Then… you know nothing about your father?"

"I didn't say that. I said they never talk about him… what do you two know?"

Jorah blinked. "Come again?"

"What do you two know already about my father? Tell me that before I tell you what I can. How much do you two know about him?"

Jorah set down the knife, exchanging a well-disguised look of perplexity with Barristan through the looking glass. Torrhen… it didn't seem like he was intentionally trying to be evasive, but… he seemed too nonchalant about this. Like although he had a straight face and nothing in his body language signaled he was lying, it was rather convenient that he'd twisted the question back at them first. What did he want to know about his own father that he didn't want to ask them outright about?

Reaching for a hand towel, Jorah patted his face dry. "Well… considering Ser Barristan once saw him from afar, I presume he'd know more than me. I've never met him. I know he's the bastard son of the late Lord Stark… I'm clueless as to who his mother is, though."

"I don't think Ned Stark told anyone who his mother was," Barristan added. "I was never part of Robert's small council meetings even though I was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but I do know that not even Varys the Spider ever managed to find that out. At one point Lord Baelish tried using his… disreputable connections to figure that out himself, yet he never unraveled the mystery either. I do know though the young man joined the Night's Watch when Ned Stark accepted the position as Hand of the King."

Torrhen nodded, closing his eyes as he absorbed their words. "That's really all you two know about him?"

"Aye, lad."

"I think so, yes."

"I see…"

"Now, it's your turn, Torrhen. Explain what you know about your future father. We deserve to know if he's a good man, at least."

Opening his eyes again, he nodded firmly to Barristan, his violet orbs twinkling slightly with something that Jorah couldn't quite place. "Aye, you're right, ser. Sorry for being so evasive. I just needed to know if either of you were aware or even suspected something first before I said anything further."

Jorah cocked his head. "Suspected what?"

"My relatives may never have talked about him, but Lyaella and I've heard stories all our lives about how our father was exactly like the late Ned Stark. Good to the core and honorable… and sadly just as big of a fool as Ned Stark when it comes to the game of thrones. Everyone always criticizes and spits on his memory because he not only trusted our mother, but was stupid enough to fall in love with her."

Jorah tensed. Evidently he'd underestimated just how bad Torrhen's mental abuse had been when growing up in the North in his world. "I see…"

The boy scoffed, folding his arms and turning to glare at a crack in the marble flooring. "Personally, Lya and I don't think he was a fool for that… Though we do think he was stupid for trusting the Starks. We understand why he did — family, and all that — but he never saw just how selfish and manipulative they were. Monsters, all of them…"

He was falling into a brooding bitterness — Barristan had said it was a trait of Rhaegar's that apparently had crossed down from the Queen to Torrhen. Eddard Stark brooded, but I've never seen him free with his anger. Torrhen didn't take after that side of his family apparently. "Torrhen, please. You need not explain it to us…"

The boy sighed, rubbing his temple. "Sorry, it's just… the things my father did that people didn't like to talk about, the good things, I just always wanted to be like him. A mighty warrior."

"Anyone worth his salt at the Wall would need to learn to be a powerful warrior." Barristan clapped Torrhen's shoulder. "No doubt Jon Snow has become one."

His own father at the Watch, Jorah could agree… but that raised another question. "If Jon Snow joined the Night's Watch, how could he have become King in the North and fall for our Queen? Ned Stark was an honorable man in regards to his oaths and you said Jon Snow took after him. The Watch takes oaths not to hold crowns or father children."

Torrhen held a cagey look. "No one actually knows… but he did. He was named King after defeating his rivals in the North… and then fell for my mother. Based on what the few people that held no ill will for either of them have told me and Lyaella, it was a connection that formed quickly." He sighed. "Not that it ended well for either of them."

Sharing a look with Barristan, Jorah let himself rest against the wall of the cell. This was gonna be an uncomfortable question. "Torrhen… I hate to ask this of you because your existence depends on that of your parents becoming lovers." He tried not to chuckle as Torrhen's face blanched at the thought. "But even as King in the North, is Jon Snow worthy for our Queen?" Perhaps he was being a little jealous of the man who would take his Queen's heart, but Barristan didn't object to the question — it was legitimate. "Why subject the Queen to your relatives?"

Blinking, Torrhen looked… unsure of what to say. "I… I…"

"Unless there's a special reason that's specific to Jon Snow." Barristan crossed his arms. "Queen Daenerys wouldn't give her heart to just anyone."

Understanding that, Torrhen was quiet. When his reply came, it was so soft Jorah barely heard it. "He's a dragonrider…"

Jorah's jaw dropped. "What did you say?"

"My father was Rhaegal's rider." Torrhen was still subdued, but spoke louder. His eyes darted about, as if reassuring himself that they were still alone. "It's… it's in his blood too. Lyaella and I are dragons on both sides."

Barristan shook his head. "I… there's not… I cannot think of a woman Eddard Stark could have bedded that had Valyrian blood. There were no maidens left…"

Torrhen took another deep breath. "Eddard Stark wasn't my father's father. He bore his Stark blood from his mother."

"What?" Jorah was completely confused. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand…"

His train of thought was interrupted as Barristan staggered back, his face so pale as if he saw a ghost. "By the Seven above…" he murmured. "It wasn't a coincidence, the voice I heard."

"How do you mean, Ser Barristan?"

"T...Torrhen's voice. His eyes. They're the same as Rhaegar's." He stared in wonder. "You're Rhaegar's grandson… Jon Snow is…"

Now Jorah caught in, his eyes widening. "Lyanna Stark had a child? And that child is Jon Snow?" The high and mighty Ned Stark keeps getting more honorable. He understood first hand just how badly Robert Baratheon wanted all Targaryens dead. Even a bastard Targaryen. "So Rhaegar's kidnapping of Lyanna Stark bore a child."

"NO!" Torrhen immediately quieted down, but remained firm. "That was a lie."

"I knew it." Barristan sighed, eyes closing. "I knew him to be impulsive, but Rhaegar would never have done such a horrible deed."

"Do you know this for sure, Torrhen?"

The boy nodded. "Queen Sansa, once when she was deep in her cups with Lady Arya… she mocked her father and our grandparents. Saying that my father got his foolishness and stupidity from Prince Rhaegar, Lady Lyanna, and their father, Ned Stark."

Barristan bristled. "While I understand why your aunts would consider the late Lord Stark to be foolish with the choices he made, why would they mock Rhaegar and Lyanna? If they knew and told people that Rhaegar never kidnapped her, then why…?"

"They told only who they needed to tell about Rhaegar and Lyanna's forbidden love. The ones who could help them overthrow the Queen so they could get their crowns. Once they got power, they never let the story become common knowledge. Seven hells, Lyaella and I wouldn't even know about it ourselves if we hadn't eavesdropped on them one night."

"Let the Targaryen name die out with your father…" Jorah understood. Robert and Tywin had sought as such.

"Not as simple as that, Ser Jorah. The Starks in our timeline don't believe in love. Queen Sansa is like a literal ice queen, no form of kindness or affection left inside her, and Lady Arya learned how to be cold and ruthless after training with the Faceless Men to become a heartless assassin. And King Bran? He scares the shit out of me and Lya. He never shows any emotions other than smirking or frowning, and even then it's like he's detached from reality. Why do you think I don't wanna learn how to use the Sight? Between his selfishness in how he used his gift and how emotionless he is on a daily basis, I want nothing to do with greensight. Lya and I vowed a long time ago we'd never be like the three of them, no matter what. We don't wanna die before we can restore our parents to their former glory, but if we did, we'd rather do so now as children rather than risk growing up and unintentionally imitating them."

Jorah frowned. "Wait — Wait a second… how could your father being the bastard son of Rhaegar and Lyanna give your relatives the opportunity to get power for themselves? And that doesn't explain how Daenerys descended into madness."

Torrhen shifted uncomfortably, blowing a loose curl out of his eyes. "It's… It's complicated. For starters, my father is a Northman, Ser Jorah. As a fellow Northerner… surely you understand he wasn't raised to believe incest is right, right?"

Jorah tensed. Of course… if Jon Snow never realized he was truly of House Targaryen until after he'd met and fallen in love with the Queen… The son of the honorable Ned Stark would've naturally been put off by that revelation. Still… "…Aye, I can see why that would've been a shock to him… but he had you and your sister already, lad. Don't — Don't tell me he abandoned you both and the Queen the moment he found out about his heritage?"

Barristan looked pained. "I don't want to believe the so-called bastard son of honorable Ned Stark who brought him back to Winterfell would do such a thing. Nor do I imagine it possible if he's really the bastard son of Prince Rhaegar…"

"I — I actually don't know the full details on that…" Torrhen murmured, looking away. "Lyaella and I… we've had to piece together on our own what happened exactly regarding us. Our history book wasn't very specific on those facts, and the Starks sure as hell never talked to us about it. The little we know comes from bits and pieces others who knew our parents have told us."

"Well, what do you both know, then?"

"From what we understand, our father didn't intentionally abandon our mother when he found out the truth. He was shocked of course, but he still loved her… the problem was that his honor compelled him not to be in love with her. Lyaella and I assume he was… confused as to how he should treat her after he learned the truth."

"And what about the two of you? He didn't willingly abandon you both, did he?"

Torrhen stiffened. "That's… That's complicated. And I can't talk about that."

"What? Torrhen, how can we understand if—"

"For starters, to talk about that in specifics is something Lyaella and I never talk about. Ever. Don't ask why, because there's nothing either of you can say that can make me explain. And secondly, it's not like our father intentionally left our mother alone when she was pregnant with us. They barely even had a chance to find out who our father really was before they were… forcibly separated."

Jorah exchanged another incredulous look with Barristan. "How could anyone ever force our Queen to stay away from someone against her will? I mean… she has three dragons—"

"The answer to that is related to what I said before about how circumstances will lead my mother to fighting a greater threat than the war for the throne. I'm not opposed to telling you both more… just not until we get closer to that point. I don't wanna mess with stuff too far into the future just yet."

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose. They were going around in circles at this point…

"I still don't understand how our Queen descended into Targaryen madness, though," Barristan cut in. "I — I understand how Jon Snow would have been perturbed when he realized all this, but I don't get why any of this would have led her grace into committing mass murder on King's Landing. Queen Daenerys is kind and gentle. Ruthless only when necessary…"

"Indeed, and she's been alone for a long time, Torrhen. As soon as she accepts that you're telling the truth on your Targaryen heritage, she'll be elated, I swear she will. Other than Viserys, she's never had a real family, and even then… he certainly never treated her like family should."

"Uncle Viserys? Lyaella and I don't know a whole lot about him, actually. He was only mentioned fleetingly in our history book that he died when our mother was with the Dothraki. What happened?"

"That's… That's not my place to say, Torrhen. I'm the only one left in her grace's employ who knew him… but the Queen should be the one to tell you about Viserys, not me. If you wish to know more about him, ask her to tell you what he was like after she sees you really are of House Targaryen."

"Oh… okay, then."

"We're getting off track. The point is, we don't see how any of this could cause the queen to go mad. Please, explain how that happened, Torrhen."

"Fine, Ser Barristan. I'll try to explain the best I can. It — It wasn't just because Jon Snow was uncomfortable being with the Queen when she's technically his aunt. Again, you'd just died, Ser Jorah, so she was grieving you, too. You and Missandei, Rhaegal, and Viserion."

Jorah's breath hitched. "Missandei and two of her dragons?!"

He nodded. "I can't tell you the specifics on Viserion. Not until I feel it's okay to tell you about what causes my mother to divert her quest for the throne. But I can tell you that Rhaegal and Missandei were killed due to the war for the Iron Throne. Cersei Lannister laid a trap for them. Rhaegal died during the attack and Missandei was taken prisoner. Daenerys tried to petition Cersei to release her, but Cersei didn't. Instead, she had Missandei beheaded right in front of her on the rampart walls of the city gates."

Barristan paled. "She… She did what?"

"It's true. As you can imagine, my mother… she apparently didn't take all those back-to-back losses so well. We presume she was very upset. Now, add in how our father was conflicted on his emotions since he found out the truth about himself. Obviously that made my mother feel even more lonely and unloved."

"But what about you two? You're father couldn't look past his own insecurities even though you and your sister were already in the picture?"

"And the queen… I can't imagine how alone she must have felt and lost in her grief, but I still don't see her turning to madness and destroying King's Landing just from all that, especially if she had you two. There had to be something else that happened…"

Torrhen sighed. "Again, Lyaella and I don't know either regarding both of us. The Starks wouldn't tell us anything and the handful of people who are still alive that knew our parents only told us vague details. We don't understand that part either… but you are right Ser Jorah when you say there is something else that happened. One other thing was going on behind the scenes that Lyaella and I only know because we eavesdropped on our relatives and heard them talking about it. And it totally proves us right when we say that our relatives were selfish for power and didn't care about acting like monsters to get their own brother and the woman he loved out of the way to get it."

He exchanged a confused look with Barristan before turning back to the boy. "What do you mean?"

"I just told you how my father is really the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Now, my relatives despised my mother, yet they grew up considering my father was really their brother. What do you think they did when they found out the truth of my father's identity?"

There was a long pause, the color draining slowly from Jorah's face as the realization dawned on him. "No… I don't… I don't believe that. Your relatives… surely they—?"

"Don't tell me they used your father's status as Rhaegar's bastard to make him a claimant for the Iron Throne?!" Barristan's eyes were impossibly wide, and he could only shake his head in disbelief. "He loved the queen, and they didn't care?! They tried gathering support so others would force him to become a claimant?! Even though Daenerys was still technically the rightful heir?!"

Torrhen didn't answer. He just folded his arms and kept his eyes fixed firmly on his feet.

"I don't believe this… I truly can't believe it…" the older knight murmured, pacing back and forth. "I never personally spoke to Jon Snow or his siblings in Winterfell or when Ned Stark brought his daughters with him to King's Landing, but I could see them from afar. I can't believe they grew up to become so heartless. So power hungry…"

The initial shock started to fade, and in its place, Jorah felt the red hot flames of rage envelop him. "I understand now… I understand how you call them cruel and power hungry, Torrhen," he growled, struggling to keep his tone level. "Unbelievable…"

"It goes without saying that absolutely no one can be told about any of this. I'm already taking a big risk by telling you both all this, so you can't tell anyone else. Not Queen Daenerys, not Jon Snow, and not any of her other councilors. No one else, all right?"

Barristan frowned. "Perhaps we should tell her grace, Torrhen. If — If she knew about all this, then surely—"

"No, we can't. The red priestess who helped me and Lya come back in time told us specifically not to tell anyone about who we really are unless we completely trust them, and to not tell our parents about us or the future until the time was right."

"Well, when will it be the right time, Torrhen?"

"I don't know, Ser Jorah. All she said was we'll know when it is. I'm clueless as to when that will be exactly, but I do know I won't be talking to her about all this until I find Lyaella again. With any luck, maybe my father will be around and we will only have to explain all this to them once, but I'm not saying anything until I'm with my sister again. End of story."

He was so firm and straight faced when saying this it was impossible to miss how dead serious he was. Even so, Jorah wasn't entirely certain if this was right. If they wanted to help Daenerys, shouldn't they tell her all the facts? A quick glance to Barristan confirmed that he thought the same. Still, they'd both given Torrhen their words that they'd keep quiet about all this. Plus, Jorah did see his point in regards to wanting to at least wait to explain all this whenever he was reunited with his sister. It was better to keep all this to themselves, at least for now. Later they could try convincing Torrhen they should consider confiding in at least one more person in the small council if not necessarily the queen.

"All right, we understand, Torrhen."

"Aye, we'll let it go for now. When we find your sister though we should all discuss this again. Fair?"

"Aye, fair."

Their conversation was abruptly stopped though when Shadow suddenly began howling from further down the hall, followed by a gruff snort of derision.

"What's up with you, mutt? Why aren't you with the little prince? Thought you trailed him around everywhere like the guard dog you are…"

Daario. Damn. Nodding to Barristan and Torrhen that they'd continue this discussion later, Jorah swiped the knife again and busily made it seem like he was trimming away the last few strands of his beard as the sound of footsteps grew closer and Daario appeared in the entrance. Shadow darted in behind him, trotting directly up to Torrhen for pets and scratches.

The sellsword flashed a jaunty grin as he strutted forward. "Making yourself look pretty for today, old man? You think the other fighters will spare you if you look like a storybook knight from all the Westerosi tales?"

"Captain Naharis, a pleasure," Barristan greeted, nodding neutrally. "Is something the matter?"

His smirk grew. "Not unless you call being late to escort our beloved queen to the Great Games a problem, Ser Barry. She's all ready, so all she needs now is for you and your little Snow squire to hurry and drag this old traitor upstairs so we can all get going. Need me to make him hurry up? I'm sure her grace won't mind if I slice off a finger or two…"

"That won't be necessary. Ser Jorah is just about ready. Right, Ser Jorah?"

"Aye, right. Let's be off."

Dropping the knife, he held out his wrists and let the other knight lock the chains in place. Torrhen scowled as he watched him be led down the hall, but aside from whistling to his wolf to follow, he kept his mouth shut… or at least he tried to until—

"Hope you said your goodbyes to your fellow countryman, Prince Snow. He's up against some of the strongest pit fighters who've entered the games, today."

"Argh! Shut up, Daario! And don't call me a prince!"

"Torrhen, control yourself. Captain Naharis, stop antagonizing him," Barristan chided.

Daario chuckled. "Fine, fine. As you command, great knight."

Torrhen huffed. "Asshole…"

Barristan fixed him with a cross look. "Torrhen…"

He growled, irritated. "Okay, I'll stop! Sorry…"

Still, the older knights' brows stayed furrowed. "Do you have any willow bark on you? And what about that flask with the water laced with that special herb? I don't see it anywhere…"'

"No, they're both back in my solar. The healer told me to only drink that herbal stuff from the Basilisk Isles if I'm suffering from excruciating headaches and the willow bark doesn't help. Well, I'm not chewing the bark, period. I don't wanna get dependent on the herbs though, so I thought I should leave it there unless I absolutely need it.""

"Go get them. Now."

"What? But Ser Barristan—!"

"I know you don't like the willow bark, Torrhen, but it's safer for you to take that if you start getting headaches than drinking form the flask. Even so, we'll be gone for most of the day. What if you get a headache or start having one of your… 'fire flicker' moments, as you call them."

"Or if you fall over and thrash while pissing yourself. Though this time I hope you don't soil our queen's dress if you do that."

Jorah shot Daario a cold glare. "Enough. That was beyond Torrhen's control. Do not mock him for that."

Daario rolled his eyes. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Jorah the Andal…"

"You really are an asshole! I told you before it's insulting calling Northerners Andals! You could at least try to not be deliberately rude, Captain Naharis!"

"At your command… little prin—"

"Enough. Stop antagonizing him, Captain Naharis. Torrhen, go get your willow bark and the flask."

"Come on—!"

"Now."

The boy scowled. "…Fine. I'll meet you outside. Come on, Shadow."

---

It was rather tedious being forced to wait in private while the rest of the people of Meereen were able to take their seats right away, but as queen, she was expected to make a grand entrance worthy of her station. Because that would mark the time when the Great Games were ready to begin. The tunnel entrance just behind the royal box was hot and stuffy, but she was a dragon. The heat never bothered her before and she refused to let it start bothering her now.

Upon their arrival, she'd ordered for a few of the Second Sons to escort Jorah to where the other voluntary pit fighters were busy preparing for their upcoming matches and to remain there with him until his match began. It wasn't an easy decision on what to do with him — while she couldn't forgive his betrayal regardless of how much Torrhen begged her to forgive him, she could leave the final judgement of his crimes in the eyes of the only beings who held more power than her — the eyes of the gods. Something understood in both Essos and Westeros to be fair and practical.

Simply put, Jorah was to be put on trial for selling her secrets to her enemies. A trial by combat. If he died, the gods will have determined that he was guilty and Torrhen couldn't get upset with her for killing him since his death wouldn't be the result of her direct actions. If he lived, Torrhen and the people would see that she was merciful by allowing him to stay in the Great Pyramid. A message all would understand. I'll never trust him again… but I'll give him the chance to serve me when the time comes.

That was if he lived.

Still, that didn't make it any easier for Torrhen for accepting that she couldn't fully forgive his fellow countryman yet. If anything, he had made it his mission to not even look at her as they waited for their signal to enter the arena. He'd been leaning back against the wall ever since they'd arrived, glaring at his boots and drumming his fingers across his folded arms the whole time.

She'd never admit it out loud, but it bothered her deeply having him upset with her. "Torrhen, while I appreciate you haven't tried starting any arguments or been verbally disrespectful to me today, would you please look at me?" She asked. "We'll be entering the arena soon, and I do not want the rest of the city seeing just how angry you are. So if you have something you wish to snap at me about, I'll give you a pass to do so now and get it out of your system."

Torrhen shook his head. "Thanks but no thanks, your grace. I'm practicing keeping my anger directed at something other than you right now, so if I get mad while we're out in front of the city, I'll just glare at something other than you until I calm down."

She raised a brow, impressed. "Oh? I wasn't expecting to hear that."

"Mm," he shrugged, not saying anything more.

"Would you like to sit down for a moment?" Dany asked, sliding over on the cushioned bench she'd been resting on to make room. "I'm sure we'll be waiting here for at least a little longer. You can take a break from your guard duty, if Ser Barristan is all right with that, of course."

Torrhen glanced up at his liege knight for permission. Barristan nodded. "That's fine. We'll be standing over her grace on duty as soon as we're at the viewing box, so you may sit for now."

"'Kay, thanks," he mumbled. Whistling to Shadow to follow, he crossed the chamber and slumped down next to her, sparing her a brief nod of thanks before patting his wolf with one hand and reaching into his tunic with the other. He pulled out his song sheets first, followed by a quill and a small bottle of ink.

Within seconds, Barristan's friendly smile reversed into a stern frown. "Torrhen, when I gave those back to you, you promised me you wouldn't work on them whilst in the middle of your squire duties."

"I know, Ser Barristan, but you just told me I could relax for now, which is why I'm now pulling them out," he countered, unscrewing the ink cap. "Moreover, I'm not gonna spend my whole time sitting here working on this. I'm just writing a note for myself for later when I can really focus on this. Here, see for yourself."

He peered over Torrhen's shoulder to check, then slowly nodded. "All right, you have a point, so I'll let it slide… but do not take it out after we go out to the viewing box. I'll confiscate them again if you do."

"Aye, I understand. I won't, I promise."

The knight nodded and relaxed again, but Dany glanced down at one of the extra music pages he'd pulled out and set off to the side. "May I see, Torrhen? I never did finish looking through these the last time I saw you working on them."

He quill stopped and he turned to her, blinking repeatedly. "Huh? Oh, right," he said. He leafed through his sheets of parchment, selectively pulling out a few and passing them to her. "Here, you can see these." The rest he pointedly kept on his lap, keeping them facedown so no one could see them.

Dany furrowed her brows. "Why so adamant to not show me those ones?" She asked. "Are you hiding something?"

His face flamed red. He snatched his quill and began furiously scribbling the rest of his self-reminder for later. "N-No, I just — well, I — it's… it's nothing, okay?!"

"If it's nothing, then why can't our queen see it?" Daario grinned, jauntily marching closer to watch them. "What… is that a love letter, maybe? Have you fallen for some cute girl you saw while out on the streets before? Or maybe you prefer going along further with this lie of being a Targaryen and you have a crush on your sister?"

"You're disgusting! Why can't you ever just mind your own business, Daario Naharis?! We weren't talking to you!"

"Torrhen—"

"With respect, Ser Barristan, I have every right to be pissed this time! He's insinuating I'm going to fall in love with my twin sister one day!"

Daario smirked. "Targaryen's were marrying brothers and sisters together for centuries, little prince. If that disgusts you, that proves you're no real Targaryen."

"For the last time, stop calling me a prince! And I am a Targaryen bastard!"

"Really? You just said—"

"I'm a Targaryen bastard from the North, stupid! The North worships the Old Gods, and the Old Gods forbid incest!" Torrhen snapped. Everyone blinked at that, even Dany. Torrhen scoffed and rolled his eyes at their surprise, annoyed. "Just another example of Northern prejudice and turning a blind eye to their own faults, in actuality…"

"I… I beg your pardon?"

"Exactly what I said, Queen Daenerys. Go and find a copy of House Stark's family line. There's instances in the history of House Stark where uncles have married their nieces in the past." He closed his eyes, as if fighting a headache. "Northerners make the rules for everyone except themselves. Unless the North itself is being portrayed in a positive light, we'll spit on everything that started outside the North and will willingly forget that we do the same things ourselves despite our motto being 'the North remembers.' And that's the truth."

Dany was silent for a moment, her eyes flicking to the others, but then she realized something and turned back to him. "And you consider yourself an exception to that rule?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I get the impression you and your sister believe yourselves to be the exception to that stigmatism. Is that true?"

Torrhen blinked again. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally he glanced away, furrowing his brows.

Daario snorted. "Incredible, you can't stand hearing the truth, Prince Snow?"

"Don't call me that, and shut up! I'm thinking!"

"Thinking? Thinking about what?"

"I'm thinking over her grace's question thoroughly, all right?! I wanna make sure I'm being honest when I answer her, so quiet!"

Daario rolled his eyes, but a sharp glare from her made him bite his tongue and stay silent. Feeling her eyes drift over to Barristan and Missandei, Dany did her best to not seem overly curious as she waited for Torrhen to respond.

An eternity seemed to pass before he finally sighed and offered her a weak shrug. "You're both right and wrong."

"Pardon?"

Torrhen avoided her eyes, bending down to pet and scratch his wolf. "I won't lie and say that Lya and I aren't the Northerners we were raised to be. It's our culture to be that way, and personally we probably extend that prejudice directly to our relatives. We hate them more than anyone else in this world… but it's not like we ever actively decided to be raised with these beliefs. It's just the way of the North, your grace. Few can understand without living it."

Hence why he wishes that I accept Jorah back into my council. Dany didn't agree with it, but Torrhen's thinking made sense. She would have to be very cautious of culture when conducting diplomacy in Westeros, especially where the North was concerned.

Not privy to her thoughts, Torrhen continued. "The rest of the North treated us like shit because of their own prejudice, so we learned to be prejudiced back at them. Maybe we do see ourselves as somewhat of an exception to that way of thinking, but we don't deny we do it too. I just... really don't know how to answer you on that…"

Dany could tell he was indeed being honest about this, but it didn't help her to understand him better. Figuring out anything new about Torrhen Snow always raised more questions and confused her further. It was all so strange…

Clearing her throat, she gently nudged Torrhen's shoulder to get his attention. "We seem to have gotten off track a bit. We were discussing why you didn't want me to look at a few of your song sheets in particular, as I recall."

His face flushed red again, and he pointedly averted his eyes. Huffing hotly, he sharply thrust the fore mentioned pages to her. "Fine, here! Look at them if you want!" He grumbled.

"Torrhen, mind your tone. You are speaking to the queen."

"Fine, Ser Barristan. Fine…"

Dany ignored them, her attention caught by the song title at the top of the first page: 'Untitled Queen Daenerys Tribute.'

A warmth spread throughout her chest, her lips curling up into a small smile. "You're — You're writing a song for me, Torrhen? Truly?"

Everyone glanced to Torrhen, equally surprised. Torrhen was so red, his face almost blended in perfectly with his orange tunic. "Hmph. You can read, can't you?"

She let that go, signaling to Barristan to do the same. He was only being rude this time out of embarrassment, not to pick a fight, after all. "I'm flattered! Perhaps you could try playing what you've written so far after we return to the pyramid later? I'd love to hear it."

"N-No way! Not happening, your grace!" He spat, snatching the pages back and swiftly tucking all the music sheets back into his tunic. "I — I don't let anyone other than Lyaella listen to my unfinished work, and it's not done yet! I'm not letting anyone but her hear it 'til it's finished!"

Dany frowned, but nodded gently. "Ah, I see. You prefer having people hear the final draft instead of listening to the rough work-in-progress. Well, do you have any rough idea then as to when you might be done writing it?"

"No, no clue!" he snapped, capping the ink bottle and jamming it and his quill back in his pockets. "No idea whatsoever when it'll be finished!" He was glowering, but his expression seemed more pained than angry. "Probably would've finished it already if you were the kind and strong queen Lyaella and I always imagined you were…"

Her expression immediately hardened. "Mind yourself, Torrhen. I get you're embarrassed, but watch your words. Understand?"

"Aye, I understand," he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned away. "Sorry…"

Dany pressed her lips together, trying to rein in her own rising temper. He clearly didn't consider her words to be a real warning. Had she been too relaxed in how she'd been dealing with Torrhen up until now? If so, perhaps it was time she took a firmer stance with him. Not enough to potentially make him blow his top like the healer warned. Just enough to warn him in harsher terms about this continued attitude of his. She opened her mouth to lecture him, but at that moment Hizdahr suddenly entered the enclosure, smiling brightly.

"They're ready for you, your grace."

Swallowing back a heavy sigh, Dany nodded as she rose to her feet. Allowing her guards and advisors to assemble around her, she waited for Missandei to formally announce her arrival before leading the way across the arena to her private viewing box. Outside, all the citizens of Meereen cheered and clapped happily as they watched her party take their seats and guard positions upon the ground level box at the base of the fighting pit. The royal box had a cushioned seat for her to rest on and a canopy overhead for shade, but despite her neutral nod at her happy subjects, she found no comfort in the luxuries as she sat down. The masters had watched the brutal cockfighting about to start in these same comforts, and now here she was about to do the same.

Hizdahr, Tyrion, and Missandei all took their seats in the smaller chairs off to her sides while Daario, Barristan, and Torrhen stood directly behind her. Torrhen's wolf panted heavily as he joined them all in the box, and quickly slumped down on all fours as soon as he joined his master in the shade.

Torrhen frowned, patting his head comfortingly before turning to her and his liege knight. "Shadow's miserable in this heat. May I pour him some water, Ser Barristan, your grace?" He gestured to the refreshment table beside Dany to explain, a pitcher of water and an assortment of fresh fruits assembled on top.

Dany nodded, motioning to Barristan to go ahead and let his squire pour however much water his direwolf needed. As Torrhen collected a bowl and the pitcher, a trio of men entered the arena from off in the waiting pens where the pit fighters were assembled to prepare for each of the matches. Two of them definitely looked like pit fighters as they were garbed in protective leather armor and carried weapons, but the third appeared to be one of the former masters judged by his fancy silks and fine adornments. He raised his hands for silence as soon as the three of them were in the center of the ring.

Missandei turned to the Torrhen as the crowd gradually hushed. "He's going to address everyone in High Valyrian. This is good practice. Try translating what he says out loud, and I'll tell you if you're correct."

Torrhen jolted, surprised. Setting the water dish down in front of his pal, he quickly straightened to attention, listening carefully.

It took a few more moments for the crowd to quiet down fully, but at last the announcer smiled and lowered his arms. "Dāez gierion hen Mīrīn! Tubī iksis iā rōvēgrie tubis, skoriot īlon biarvī manaeragon se return hen mēre hen Mīrīn's uēpa traditions! Ondoso se dārōñe hen īlva jaqiarzus dāria, Daenērys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor, issa ñuha rigle naejot jiōragon jeme naejot se Rōvēgrie Vēttīlaksir!"

The crowd went wild, screaming at the top of their lungs and clapping eagerly in excitement. It took everything Dany had to fight the urge to recoil at their cheering and instead turn nonchalantly to Torrhen. Missandei had showed her Torrhen's progress with the language just before they left the Great Pyramid with the simple High Valyrian calligraphy he'd done on his own during his lesson today. She'd been flattered he'd written out her names and titles in the ancient tongue, so she hoped his progress extended to understanding the language in everyday conversation. Torrhen had his arms folded across his chest and his eyes squeezed shut as he racked his brains for the proper translation.

"Um… For the first half, I think he said, 'Free people of Meereen… Today's a — a good day? A good day where Meereen's past traditions… past traditions… come back…?'"

Missandei smiled. "Close, very close, Torrhen. He said, 'Free people of Meereen. Today is a great day, where we celebrate the return of one of Meereen's ancient traditions.'"

"Oh. Sorry…"

"It's all right. And what else did he say?"

"I didn't understand what he said right after that, but I know he said something along the lines of, 'Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen… is… is honored to be welcomed to the Great Games?' I'm sure that's probably wrong, though. Sorry if you're offended by my bad translation, Queen Daenerys."

"It's all right, I know you're trying, quite well I might add," she answered, offering well-earned praise for Missandei's pupil. "He said, "By the grace of our glorious queen, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, it is my honor to welcome you all to the Great Games.'"

"Ah, I got it."

"Just keep trying, Torrhen. The more you practice, the better you'll get."

Torrhen smiled, but wasn't able to say anything more since the two fighters who'd accompanied the announcer out into the ring stepped forward. The announcer smiled and gestured to them both. "Syt īlva ēlī vēttīlaksir, īlon rudhy īlva kostios, aōha dārōñe. Qilōni kessa ērinagon: se kostōba, iā se adere?"

"What did he say just now, Torrhen?" Missandei whispered.

"'Um… For our… For our match — no, for our first match… we present… present…?' Sorry, I don't remember the exact word there, but I do know he said 'your grace' at the end. After that… I think he said something about strength and speed?"

"Very good, Torrhen. Aside from not remembering the word 'champions,' that was almost perfect for the first part."

"Really?"

"Indeed. and while you didn't get the full question at the end right, you were on the right track. He asked, 'Who will triumph: the strong or the quick?'"

Torrhen nodded in understanding as the more muscular of the two fighters took another step forward and bowed before them. "Nyke vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt aōha jaqiarzir, oh jaqiarzus dāria."

He stepped back, and smaller man came forward, also bowing respectfull. "Nyke vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt aōha jaqiarzir, oh jaqiarzus dāria."

Torrhen scrunched his brows. "They said the same thing right now… and I think it was 'I fight and die for… for… your glory…?' Aye, glory… Then at the end it was 'glorious queen,' I think."

A genuine smile spread across her lips as she nodded. "Indeed. That was exactly right, Torrhen. Well done."

He flashed her a rare smile of his own in return. "Thank you, your grace."

"Not to interrupt, but everyone's waiting for you, my queen."

Dany frowned, glancing to Hizdahr. "Beg your pardon?"

He discreetly nodded to the rest of the silent, confused arena. "They can't start until you give the go ahead," he whispered. "You're our queen. Clap your hands."

Dany slowly turned back to the rest of the crowd. Sure enough, the spectators were watching her with impatient, confused stares while the fighters stood at attention, ready for their signal to move into position. Dany swallowed, fighting back repulsion. This was going to be a long day for her as she tested her patience and acting skills.

Sucking in a silent breath for courage, she slowly raised her hands, clapping only once.

That was all it took. Within seconds a deafening cheer exploded all across the fighting pit. The two fighters eagerly soaked up the applause and waved happily to the crowd before moving to their starting positions at a respectable distance from each other, both drawing their swords. A gong was struck, and the fighters charged at each other.

They showed no hesitation, no fear. The smaller man was indeed quicker, as he easily blocked his opponents attacks with his small shield or would dodge in the nick of time, but the stronger man was powerful. Every attack the skinnier fighter made, he effortlessly blocked and parried, counting on his mere physical strength and endurance to win out. It was anyone's guess which of them would win.

Or at least, that was Dany's opinion. Daario apparently thought otherwise. "The shrimp'll win. Hands down."

"The smaller man, indeed," agreed Tyrion, watching the fight neutrally. "They tend to be overlooked, and end up being quite surprising."

"Ten gold dragons he wins… Got any pocket money, Prince Snow? I'll honor the gamble if you win, I promise."

"No, no way," Torrhen scoffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "I don't play games with peoples lives."

"Nor I," said Dany, flinching ever so slightly as the smaller man managed to slash away at his opponents leg. "I will not be partaking in any gambling in events such as this."

"It's good you didn't plan to, your grace. The people would've been very insulted if you did," Hizdahr noted. "The rulers of our city have never betted on the Great Games. I suggest your sellsword go find someone who does."

Daario sneered. "Rich pricks like you were always betting against me when I was a pit fighter. I'm sure you would've been one of them. Stupid noble mistake."

"I grew up in this city, Captain Naharis. I've spent much of my life watching the Great Games, and from what I've seen in the past, large men tend to triumph over the small far more often than not."

Dany's temper bristled. Did they have to talk at all right now? Could they all not just sit and watch silently? She opened her mouth to hopefully make them both shut up, but another voice beat her to the punch.

"The strong always triumph over the weak. And they play their stupid games with them for their own amusement." Everyone turned to Torrhen. He was trying but failing miserably at hiding his horror at the match before him, his eyes bulging and throat bobbing up and down. Still, he kept his eyes focused out there rather than turning to address them. "They let the small think they have a chance, and just when they think they have a shot, they yank it out from under their feet. It's the way it's always — ah!"

Dany's head snapped back to the fight. The smaller fellow had managed to trip up his opponent and land a sharp slash against his shoulder. Blood spurted everywhere, across both opponents and the sand and dirt, yet the larger man wasn't beaten. He ignored his injury and pressed on, ready to return the favor.

Barristan laid a hand on Torrhen's shoulder as the boy started paling. "I take it that day in the alley when you tried to fight the Sons of the Harpy was the first time you ever saw real combat?"

Torrhen stiffly nodded, finally turning away from the match as more blood was spilt. "Mm-hmm. It all happened so fast, though. It wasn't… It wasn't anything like this… Not a spectacle of people cheering on needless killing."

Hizdahr frowned. "As I recall, you supported the idea of reopening the fighting pits, Torrhen Snow. Yet you dislike it?"

"It's just another cultural thing amongst Northerners," he shrugged. "In the North, we learn fighting skills for basic survival, so we dislike fighting and killing in tournaments like these. It's mock combat, and we don't like showing people how we fight in the event we one day have to fight someone for real."

"Seriously? I thought tourneys were a big deal in Westeros. Northerners never enter them?"

"For things like jousting or archery, we don't mind entering. I personally would love to enter the jousting someday if they let me ride Shadow during it, but as for fighting melees… once in a while a Northerner might enter if they're desperate for glory or wealth, but other than that, not really. Like I said, it's mock fighting. We're not like Southerners who waste time on frivolity or material luxuries, and that's exactly what tourneys are."

"Your countrymen sound like a dreary lot, little prince. Very dreary."

"Don't call me—!"

"Why did you support the reopening of the fighting pits then?" Hizdahr interjected. "If you were raised to dislike mock fighting, why were you on my side when it came to convincing her grace to reopen the pits to freedmen to fight?"

Torrhen sighed. "Because like you said, the Great Games are part of the history and culture of Meereen for both you nobles and the freedmen. I don't like watching any of this anymore than the queen does, but as a Northerner, I respect your city's value for its history and culture. Northerners have kept true to its culture and traditions even when the Andals invaded Westeros, so I can't blame your people for trying to hold onto what remains of your own culture even if Queen Daenerys has outlawed slavery."

Hizdahr blinked in surprise, yet smiled appreciatively as he nodded. Dany was silent, her thoughts reeling. She'd never thought of it like that before, but perhaps Torrhen had a point. She'd conquered Slaver's Bay in order to outlaw slavery forever and that was nonnegotiable. But as for other cultural matters in Meereen, she never intended to wipe them out. Since she'd reinstated the Great Games the Harpies had stopped and the people were happier. For the sake of peace, her trying to respect the traditions and culture of Meereen did seem to be paying off somewhat.

Daario didn't care about Torrhen's point though, and twirled his dagger between his fingers. "Your people are ignorant then as to how experienced fighters operate in the rest of Westeros, little prince. It's no wonder why the South was able to trample over them in the war going on over there."

"What?"

"Well, that Robb Stark guy who lost his head? I don't much about him other than what you told us, but if he assumed winning that war meant only winning through brute strength, then he was idiot."

Torrhen fumed, but Barristan quickly squeezed his shoulder, warning him to stay quiet. "Captain Naharis, I'd ask you to be respectful of the deceased King of the North."

"I'm just stating the obvious, Ser Barristan. Someone's gotta remind your squire that being too nice all the time will get him killed."

"Still better than being a cocky asshole, though," Torrhen grumbled.

Barristan fixed him with a quick glare. "Torrhen."

He huffed. "Fine. Sorry…"

Daario only snorted, amused.

No one had a chance to comment further though, because at that moment, the stronger fighter beheaded the smaller man, winning the match. Torrhen yelped in alarm as the man's head went rolling across the pit, blood squirting out behind it. The decapitated body slunk to the ground, sprawling out sporadically like a discarded rag doll.

At the stronger fighter cheered at his victory and waved to the adoring crowd, Daario blinked in astonishment, slowly sheathing his dagger again. Dany herself was repulsed, but her queenly mask saved her from visibly reacting beyond turning to smile comfortingly at Torrhen, who was firmly patting Shadow to avoid looking out at the arena. Even Tyrion and Missandei were shaken by the sight, yet they remained silent.

Hizdahr only dared comment on Tyrion's reaction though. "You dislike this too?"

Tyrion wore his own neutral mask to keep his tone polite. "There's always been more than enough death in the world for my taste. I'd prefer not to tangle with it more than strictly necessary."

"Fair point, I'll give you that," Hizdahr acknowledged, "yet it's also fair to ask the unspoken questions: what great thing is ever accomplished in life without killing or cruelty? Does it make those who have power mad for doing what they had to to secure their positions?"

Torrhen frowned, but Tyrion's mask never faltered. "It's easy to mix up the ways things are with how things should be," he countered. "Especially when the way things are has always worked out for those with power."

"Don't misunderstand. I'm not referring to myself or the master's in general. I'm referring to what the difference is between greatness, and madness."

Dany's eyes narrowed. "And this event isn't mad? This is greatness in your—?"

"I can answer that. Easily. The difference is killing only when it's absolutely necessary to kill. Otherwise you get called mad by everyone."

Everyone turned. Torrhen was stone faced as he knelt down to pat Shadow, not daring to meet anyone's eyes or look out at the arena where some men were carting off the dead body and the decapitated head. But there was no doubt whatsoever that he wasn't aware of their stares. He was lingering on the ground far too long to not be aware of it.

Hizdahr quirked his head, intrigued. "Oh? What makes you so certain? I understand you've had a hard life, but why are you so sure of that?"

Torrhen didn't answer. He just kept stroking Shadow, his whole hand stiff as a board.

"Torrhen, answer him, please. I'm curious myself as to why you think as such."

He sighed. "Fine, if you insist, your grace," he muttered, rising back up. Pausing long enough to steel his thoughts, he glanced back to Hizdahr. "I've told you I'm a Northerner, and the North hates House Targaryen. The last mad ruler… they fucked up so many times and when they finally snapped, it was the last straw. Almost everyone who was their friend turned against them, thinking they'd kill them next. They killed so many people for stupid reasons that everyone was too scared to stand against them. That's why everyone thinks of them today as mad rather than great. If you kill all the time and don't ever show mercy, people will portray you as mad, too. That's just the way it is."

Tyrion's brow rose. "You're an interesting boy, Torrhen Snow. I wonder what my father would've thought of you. While you would die for being a threat to Joffrey's claim… you're smarter than you probably realize. I think my father might've liked you in that regard."

Torrhen blinked. "Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?"

"Take it however you wish, as I meant it as neither. It was an educated remark, nothing more."

Torrhen still appeared perplexed by his words, but Dany ignored them momentarily as the announcer from before stepped into the middle of the ring again. At least a half dozen more pit fighters filled in behind him. "Īlon epagon arlī: qilōni kessa ērinagon?" He called out to the crowd. "Iā Mīrīno kosh?"

The first fighter in heavy armor and holding a spear stepped forward. "Nyke vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt aōha jaqiarzir, oh jaqiarzus dāria."

As the other men in line were presented and repeated the greeting, Dany glanced back to Torrhen. "Translation, Torrhen?"

He bit his lip, brows furrowing. "Um… the fighters are all saying the same thing the other fighters said before. 'I fight and die for your glory, my glorious queen…' as for what the nobleman said… I think it was, 'now who wins?'"

Missandei frowned. "Not bad, just a very slight error. He said, 'we ask again: who will win?' You almost got it."

Torrhen nodded, but before he could say anything more, the announcer presented the final combatant. "Iā sesīr iā Vesterozia azantys?"

Dany jolted. Or even a Westerosi knight? Surely it couldn't be—?

"Nyke vīlībagon se morghūljagon syt aōha jaqiarzir," called out a familiar voice. "Oh jaqiarzus dāria."

Her stomach dropped. Ever so slowly, she glanced down at the assembled fighters. Sure enough, standing at the end of the lineup was Jorah, sword in hand and eyes shining with determination.

Her mind went blank. Dany didn't know what to think. She'd approved of Jorah taking part in the Great Games as her equivalent of a trial-by-combat, but she never authorized this — for him to fight against several others all at once. This wasn't good…

In the back of her head, she could have sworn she heard Torrhen gasp and try to move forward, but Barristan grabbed hold of his shoulder, halting him. Dany didn't know what to do. Should she allow this to proceed as Jorah's official trial, or should she demand that Jorah be swapped out with another pit fighter for a guaranteed one-on-one match?

"Queen Daenerys—!"

"Torrhen, shush."

"But — But Ser Barristan—!"

"Shush!"

The boy shot his mentor a furious glare, but then turned to her pleadingly. Like Barristan ordered, he kept his mouth shut, but his whole face was screaming at her to call off the fight. Dany's heart clenched, but seeing his desperation only furthered her resolve. It didn't matter that Jorah had been unluckily thrown into the games with multiple opponents. The gods were the ones who had decided that twist, not her. If she insisted on making it fairer for Jorah, it would potentially be seen as favoritism.

With a heavy sigh, she slowly raised her hands and clapped.

Once again, the crowd went wild with cheering, everyone screaming out their praises for whoever they wished would win. As the men assembled into fighting positions, there was a distinct pause, and then the gong rang out with a loud clang.

And thus it began, all the fighters lunged at each other with their weapons raised high.

Torrhen's head reeled back and forth between staring at her in disbelief and watching Jorah worriedly. He was already clashing blades against a rather burly man with bulging muscles. "Ser Jorah…"

Even Barristan was tense. "…Knights do not comment on official matters such as trial-by-combats, Torrhen," he said gruffly. "We stay silent and focus on protecting our charges."

"Listen to your mentor for once, brat," Daario agreed, his eyes locked on Jorah as he stabbed his sword through his opponents gut. "He's actually right, this time."

"Shut up, Daario. I wasn't talking to you."

"Whelp—"

"This isn't right!" Torrhen snapped, whirling around to glare at her. "You know this isn't right, your grace! You can stop this with just a wave of your hand! Why don't you?!"

"Torrhen, that's enough. Stand back with Ser Barristan and stay quiet," she said evenly, trying to focus on the match as opposed to him. "And I cannot do that."

"You're the queen! You can do anything you want!"

"There's far more to being a ruler than simply getting your own way all the time, Torrhen. It's not that simple."

"Then explain to me why you can't! Why are you letting this happen?!"

Dany didn't answer. She had no reason to defend herself when the one asking was simply an immature child. If he truly was of House Targaryen, he needed to learn what happened to those who betrayed her. She didn't enjoy subjecting Jorah to this, but it was necessary. He needed to understand that.

Torrhen fumed,clenching his fists tightly. "You want him to die don't you?" He glared. "Admit it, your grace. You don't have it in your heart to forgive him, so this is your solution to kill him without blood on your hands."

She watched as he dodged a swing, thrusting his sword into the man's gut. "He betrayed me, Torrhen. I can't let that go unpunished."

He rolled her eyes. "There's a whole continent of people who betrayed our family. Swore oaths to your father but then swore oaths to Robert Baratheon. Seven Hells, you have one of the family that most tried to kill you right here." Torrhen stabbed his finger at Tyrion.

"Jorah is different," she said without conviction. "His betrayal was personal."

"No, it wasn't. He told me what it was, how he could go home if he killed you… but he didn't. You won him over." They looked back out at the pit, watching as Jorah engaged the last of the fellow fighters. When their eyes locked again, his were full of pain. "Maybe if you worried more about how to gain the loyalty of those that betrayed our family rather than punishing all those that did, you wouldn't be called the Mad Queen by everyone."

"Torrhen, that's enough!" Barristan hissed. Missandei looked hurt by his comments, while Daario laughed — mumbling something about the kid 'showing his true colors.'

Dany, for her part, simply stared at Ser Jorah fighting. In her mind, she heard all the names she'd been called. Mad Queen, Dragon Bitch, Mother of Monsters, Butcher, Whore… She let them all slide away like water off a duck's back, but hearing it from Torrhen — even if he didn't necessarily insult her but merely relayed the insult — was painful. Is that really what he thinks of me?

Would Rhaego have thought of me as such?

The crowd then erupted in cheers, pulling her back to the pits. The last challenger was dead, Jorah's blade dropping as he was the final one standing. "He is alive," she heard Hizdar say. "By the will of the gods he is innocent of the charges against him."

"Lucky bastard," Daario mumbled.

In that moment, all Dany could feel was a sense of relief.

Suddenly, Jorah's eyes widened. "Khaleesi!"

Tensing, Daenerys looked frantically around her… eyes falling on the first threat she could see. Missandei screaming behind her, Torrhen was drawing his small sword, the blade gleaming in the sun. Dany's eyes widened, heart pounding in terror. Beside her, Daario grabbed at his arakh… meaning to strike the boy down before he could hurt the queen.

But Torrhen was too fast, and had the advantage of a head start. The steel sword flashed as he swung it down… Dany closed her eyes and waited for the pain to set in…

There was a loud, piercing shriek of agony, but Dany didn't feel a thing. Opening her eyes, she saw a severed hand resting on the floor, dagger still clutched tightly. With an enraged shout, Torrhen thrust his blade past Dany… right into the handless Harpy that had charged straight at the royal box.

Dany looked from Torrhen to the corpse and back to Torrhen — he had saved her life…

"Sīmonagon!"

The cry came out booming in bastard Valyrian from a hundred throats. That meant 'rise.'

"SĪMONAGON!"

"SĪMONAGON!"

"SĪMONAGON!"

---

Longclaw 1-6:

Dany, I know Daario could believe that Torrhen would strike you, but did you really believe that?

Well, there you have it. Barristan and Jorah know plenty enough about the past to practically scar them for life. Hope they make good decisions from here on out.

I couldn't help but put in the Missandei scene. Never had a chance to see her sweet side on the show, and I think Torrhen and Lyaella deserve a loving female figure in their lives that isn't Dany, considering how Sansa and Arya shit on them in their past.

Be sure to check out my new story Dragonshield!