Jorah Mormont blinked as the light of a lantern approached. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, which had grown used to darkness after two days in the dungeons.
"…Ser Barristan," Jorah said. "I already told you everything last night."
"I am not here with questions," Barristan said curtly. "I am here for your sword-arm. It is fortunate that you still wear your armour, that saves some time."
A jailer thrust a key into the lock of Jorah's cell door. With a click, the door opened.
"My sword-arm?" Jorah said incredulously. "You have thousands of soldiers under your command already."
Barristan held out a sword in its scabbard. It was the same sword that Jorah had armed himself with in the Second Sons' camp, almost two weeks ago.
"But none with any experience against Ironborn."
Jorah took the sword slowly. He could potentially unsheathe it and try to kill Barristan and the jailer.
But he refrained. Even a man like him, exiled from his homeland for engaging in slavery, still had his own sense of honour.
"What has brought Ironborn all the way to Meereen's shores?" Jorah asked. It was not out of doubt, since he knew Barristan would not lie to him. "And what are their numbers?"
Jorah attached the sword to his belt, left his cell and began walking down the corridor, together with Barristan and the jailer.
"About sixty ships," Barristan replied. "Primarily their own ships, but also some merchant ships they presumably seized. As for their purpose… they claim to be here to meet Daenerys, but it's unclear why. Are you ready to fight them if necessary?"
Jorah flexed his body. That caused the scars scattered all over his torso and limbs to ache. But he could still move normally.
"I am. Still, Ironborn seeking Daenerys…"
That mystery continued vexing Jorah as he walked out of the prison and towards the exit of the Great Pyramid.
Whatever their purpose, I doubt it is one our queen would agree with. It is likely to come to violence.
And for that, a son of Bear Island would certainly be useful. I sent many Ironborn scum down to their Drowned God during their rebellion. Should they attack now… then they can serve as the first step in my redemption.
On that note…
"What have you done with the dwarf?" Jorah asked.
"Lord Tyrion has been placed in a set of rooms, along with his companion Penny," Barristan replied. He looked coldly at Jorah. "Just what were you thinking, bringing the girl along as well?"
"I had no wish to," Jorah said. "But the widow… a merchant queen in Volantis, from whom we obtained passage on a ship. She decided to put the girl on the same ship as us. All because the girl's brother was killed, and that because of the price on Lannister's head."
Barristan grimaced at that. "Wishing her own brother dead, and uncaring of all the dwarves murdered by unscrupulous bounty hunters… Queen Cersei is a villainess without equal. Robert should never have agreed to marry her."
"Hmph. For once, you and I are in agreement on something."
"Speaking of queens, I have the reluctant approval of Her Grace, Queen Daenerys, in freeing you temporarily," Barristan said.
"Daenerys has returned!?"
"No, she is still on her way back. I spoke with her via one of the monsters' magical bracelets."
Jorah had heard about the strange magic that the monsters used to communicate instantly, no matter the distance. It was how the people of Meereen already knew Daenerys was returning. But he'd yet to witness it himself.
"Could I…" Jorah whispered. "Could I speak to her…?"
"You may not. Her Grace was quite clear on that. Remember, ser, you were exiled from Meereen for the crime you committed against her. A crime that might have seen another man killed."
Jorah clenched his fists. "As my return should demonstrate, my loyalty to her now is unwavering. If I must slay a hundred Ironborn to regain her trust, I will do it."
They left the pyramid and stepped into the morning sun. Several dozen soldiers were already gathered outside the exit. When they caught sight of Jorah, they began murmuring to one another. A few of them stared at the brand of a demon's mask that now marked his right cheek.
"Ser Jorah shall be joining us for today," Barristan announced. "It is true he was exiled from Meereen. However, he is willing to—if the situation demands—fight with us. There is no chance of any betrayal, for the Ironborn are old enemies of his people."
That was certainly true. Bear Island was quite close to the Iron Islands in a geographical sense. Moreover, its entire perimeter being coastline made it much more vulnerable to sea raids than places on the mainland of Westeros. It had experienced so many Ironborn attacks over the centuries that even the women learned to fight in order to repel them.
"And many of you have already seen his combat prowess personally," Barristan continued. "Finally, the queen has agreed to let him participate. Are there any objections?"
There were none. Barristan, Jorah and the soldiers thus began marching along the road leading westwards. Jorah turned his head from side to side, taking in the sights.
When I was still in the queen's service, I was not here for long, and much of that time was spent fighting.
Meereen was bigger than the other two cities of Slaver's Bay: Yunkai and Astapor. It had a far greater variety of colours, unliked yellow-dominated Yunkai and red-dominated Astapor. The largest features were the pyramids inhabited by the nobles, but also prominent were the fighting pits scattered around the city. Jorah was currently walking on a wide road paved with brick, but there were also smaller roads and narrow alleys.
And it is a well-defended city, Jorah thought, looking at the high and solid walls. Even an army with siege weapons could not easily intrude, and the Ironborn are novices at such warfare. It would be foolish for them to attempt anything violent.
…Then again, Ironborn are often cursed with irrational leaders, as the Greyjoy Rebellion showed…
They reached the western wall and climbed stairs to reach the top. Hundreds of soldiers were already here.
Jorah looked down at the Ironborn ships floating in the bay. A familiar sight, though Ironborn not currently engaged in fighting was less familiar to him.
Countless Ironborn could be glimpsed on the ships. Some looked briefly at the new group of soldiers to appear on the wall. Some others were looking northwards. The majority were maintaining their ships or passing the time with games; even hardened fighters couldn't maintain readiness constantly.
Jorah rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "When will Her Grace return?"
"From what she said most recently, she should be returning…" Barristan checked the position of the sun. "…within the hour. When she comes near, Lady Wilmarina will notify her daughters, who in turn will notify Viserion, who plans to fly out to meet her family in the sky."
Family, hm? Daenerys has always referred to the dragons as her children…
Half an hour passed. Jorah soon began leaning against the battlements. Most of the other Meereenese forces did the same or even sat down on the floor. Only Barristan continued standing, as straight and tall as an oak tree.
It's difficult to think of him as the oldest one here…
Then Jorah heard a commotion from within the city. He turned to see a pale gleam heading out from the Great Pyramid's apex.
The resurgence of dragons has truly heralded a new era. In my youth, magic was the stuff of myths.
Jorah turned northward. After a few seconds, he spotted dark specks in the blue sky. They might be mistaken for ordinary birds at first, but after a minute passed, he saw three pairs of membranous wings: two black, one green.
Daenerys… at last, you have returned!
Out of the corner of his eye, Jorah noticed the Ironborn massing on the northern parts of their ships, trying to get the best view. It was a reminder that even one's foes could still have humanity in them.
The trio of fliers came closer, ever closer. Their altitude decreased as well.
Jorah caught a glimpse of silver hair above the green flier. It almost made him wonder if it was all a dream. Perhaps he was still a slave, and fantasising about this reunion. Perhaps he was dying, and all this was just an illusion conjured up by his fading mind.
Viserion met the others in mid-air. It was still too far to see much detail, but from the way they were flying around playfully, Jorah guessed that they were rejoicing at being together once more.
A minute later, they finally landed atop the wall. Jorah recognised Rhaegal and Wilmarina as two of the fliers from the north. The third, black-scaled and also bigger than the rest, could only be Drogon. And, previously clinging to Rhaegal's back but now moving away…
"I have returned. And to most of you, I extend my deepest gratitude for helping keep Meereen safe."
Her yellow silk tokar was ragged from time spent in the wilderness. Her dainty feet were stained with mud. Her silver hair was an utter mess from flying through the sky at high speed. And when her purple eyes looked upon Jorah, there was obvious hostility in them.
But Jorah dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "My queen. I am at your service once more."
"Meereen stands strong, Your Grace," Barristan said, also kneeling. "Your orders?"
"Should just burn them."
That caused all eyes to turn to Drogon. Some—only some—eyes turned away in embarrassment, for Drogon was not wearing a strip of clothing.
It wouldn't have been easy to get a wild beast to wear anything, Jorah thought. He was one of the ones averting his gaze, since he didn't want to risk angering Daenerys more than he already had. Nor to find clothing capable of fitting such an unusual figure. And since they needed to return to Meereen urgently, they would not have had time to solve these issues.
From what Jorah had glimpsed before, Drogon continued to be the largest of the three dragons after transformation, being comparable to Greatjon Umber or Sandor Clegane in height and muscularity. However, while those two men had large chests, theirs weren't large in the same way as Drogon's. Nor were their hips nearly as wide as Drogon's. And of course, they didn't have black teeth, horns, fin-like ears, wings or a tail.
Also, Drogon had a crooked nose and several of her teeth were missing. Jorah guessed that these were the result of fighting with Wilmarina earlier.
Meanwhile, Viserion is at the other extreme…
Viserion was now clad in a dazzling white dress that seemed to glow in the light of the morning sun. It had no sleeves, allowing her wings to flap freely, and the short skirt ended just above where the scales on her legs began. The chest and shoulders were decorated with gold embroidery, matching the colour of her hair and horns.
However, Jorah was almost alone in looking at Viserion instead of another dragon.
"My subjects, focus your attention either on myself or on this strange fleet at my shores," Daenerys said coolly.
The crowd snapped to obey, many of them looking sheepish. Jorah and various others looked towards the Ironborn fleet again.
"Wait… what is that!?"
Jorah's warning caused the rest to turn as well. They saw the same thing he did: a black and curving horn, long as a man was tall, decorated with gold and silver bands. A nervous-looking man was pressing his lips to the horn. Nearby, and watching on, were a man recognisable as Victarion Greyjoy and another who was the red priest Moqorro.
"Stop them!"
Daenerys' command was prompt, and yet still too late. The horn sounded.
The sound was like nothing Jorah had ever heard before. He slapped his hands over his ears, but that did nothing to stop the auditory assault. It set all his teeth on edge and caused his limbs to shiver.
After what felt like an eternity, the sound stopped. That wasn't due to the hornblower stopping willingly. Rather, a spear of ice had flown out from Wilmarina's hand, crossed over the docks and fifty yards of water, and impaled the hornblower. Man and horn fell to the deck amidst a pool of blood.
"By the Seven, what was that!?" Barristan said, already drawing his sword. "Was it an attempt to incapacitate us, in preparation for their attack!?"
"Sound… it was strange!" Viserion said.
"Just now…" Rhaegal said, sparks flying from her mouth. "Felt like wanting to… go over there!"
"The magic of that horn, it felt like the sort that affects the mind!" Wilmarina said.
"Did they just attempt to steal my daughters from me!?" Daenerys said. "Then there is no need to consider negotiation. Show these Ironborn the meaning of fire and blood!"
The three dragons spread their wings, ready to take off.
"Wait!" Wilmarina commanded. That alone was enough to make the dragons freeze. "Your Grace, I believe your city is in need of more ships?"
Daenerys blinked. "You are suggesting that we capture the ships instead?"
As of this moment, the Ironborn on those ships were milling about in confusion. Clearly, they hadn't expected Wilmarina to kill the hornblower with a clear demonstration of magic. But that confusion would not last forever.
"Your Grace, I have a suggestion," Jorah said. "Some of us, your human forces, can go out there while carried by the dragons! We can then—" it would be unwise to say 'order' here, "—advise them on the best ways to attack the Ironborn, while damaging their ships as little as possible!"
"That… may work," Daenerys said with deep reluctance. "However… my daughters, do you agree to this?"
"Humans too weak!" Drogon sneered. "Go into fight with them, they break too fast!"
Well, that was to be expected from the wildest of the dragons. Jorah himself had little desire to be carried by Drogon, and he suspected the same was true for the other humans here.
"Can do it!" Viserion said. "But only with… what's the right word? Trusts! With humans that Viserion trusts!"
"With the weaker humans, not good idea," Rhaegal added. "Should only try with the strong. Jow-rah, Barristan, or Daree-oh."
Jorah thanked the old gods for being included on that list. He also thanked the old gods for Daario not being present right now.
If that accursed sellsword has died, that will make things far easier.
"Drogon," Wilmarina said. "You may burn that big ship, where the sound came from. For the other ships, please only attack the humans on them. Try not to use your fire on them."
Drogon visibly seethed at this order. However, she didn't say or do anything to reject it.
…Being able to intimidate Drogon into obedience… can only be described as terrifying. If this monster so wished, she could have easily seized Meereen for herself. Indeed, with the capabilities she's shown, seizing the entire world might be possible.
Her motivations remain unclear, but for the moment, she fights with us.
They quickly settled on the plan. Viserion would carry Jorah and Rhaegal would carry Barristan. Drogon and Wilmarina would fight on their own.
A mid-air battle over the sea… is not something I ever expected. But I cannot falter now. Her Grace will not tolerate weakness.
Viserion approached Jorah. She was beautiful to an extent that many women to kill to achieve, yet Jorah felt not the slightest trace of lust for her. Perhaps it was because he'd known the dragons from even before their hatching. Despite the difference in species, they seemed more like nieces to him than objects of desire.
"Alright, time to fly, Jow-rah!"
Viserion leaped into the air and her feet gripped Jorah's shoulders, lifting him up. Were it not for Jorah's armour, his shoulders would already be bloody from the dragon's claws.
Mustnotlookdown!
As he tried to keep the contents of his stomach in place, Jorah looked at the fleet in front. Said fleet was growing closer at a rapid pace.
"BURN!"
Drogon was already ahead of the rest. She flew past the flagship, where Victarion and Moqorro were, breathing black flames suffused with red. The entire port side of the flagship ignited, along with at least twenty Ironborn.
"Aaaaghh!"
"Drowned God, save us!"
"Water, waterrrr…"
Viserion headed towards the flagship as well.
"No!" Jorah called out. "Right! Go for the ship on the right!"
Viserion veered right towards a still-intact ship. The men on board watched with horrified expressions.
"Burn just one or two humans!" Jorah said. "And slow down!"
When they reached the ship, Viserion opened her mouth and unleashed a cone of golden flames, with scatterings of red and orange. Three humans were struck and began screaming in agony.
"Surrender!" Jorah called out during the slow period of the flight. "Or you shall meet the same fate!"
The remaining Ironborn threw down their weapons and dropped to their knees.
With that ship dealt with, Jorah ordered Viserion to move on.
They forced other ships to surrender in a similar fashion. Sometimes, an arrow or throwing axe would come flying their way, but Viserion always managed to dodge in time, more for Jorah's benefit than her own.
Jorah also caught glimpses of the other three parties on his side. Rhaegal and Barristan were proceeding in a similar way to him. Drogon was tearing through Ironborn with claws and tail, like a fox turned loose among helpless chickens. And Wilmarina…
I am deeply, deeply grateful she turned against the Yunkish army… for if she had chosen to side with them, Meereen would have stood no chance.
Each of the ships left in Wilmarina's path had no damage whatsoever, unlike the ships attacked by the others. Instead, there were over a dozen neatly bisected men on each of the ships, their blood staining the decks. There were also uninjured men as well—though their haunted expressions showed that only their bodies were uninjured, not their minds.
Soon, Jorah and Viserion were coming to ships whose crews surrendered even without a fight.
The battle is nearly over… now we need only decide what to do with these fools…
Wait… that ship is…!?
Near the docks was a single large ship that was not burning, though it did have blackened timbers along one side. It was the flagship of the Iron Fleet.
"How did that happen?" Jorah wondered. "Fires started by dragons are nigh-impossible to extinguish, save… with magic."
Even as Jorah came to that realisation, a familiar blue blur was racing back towards the flagship.
"Viserion! We should go back there as well!"
The pair turned around. They headed towards the flagship at high speed, so fast that Jorah had to shield his face from the wind, yet Wilmarina remained in front of them.
Jorah saw Wilmarina land on the flagship's main deck. The men nearby were cut to pieces in the next instant by a huge arc of blue light.
Yet one remained standing.
"DIE!" Victarion Greyjoy roared, as he swung an axe blazing with flames. It was this axe which had split the arc before it could split his body.
The axe clashed with Wilmarina's purple sword. Unlike everything else that came into contact with that sword's edge, it remained intact.
"Big human has magic too!?" Viserion shrieked. "Should I burn him!?"
"For now, just land!"
Viserion flew towards the poop deck of the ship and her feet released Jorah's shoulders. Jorah almost crashed, but he managed to stay upright and skid to a stop.
When Jorah looked at the battle again, Victarion was on his knees and screaming in agony. His right hand had been severed below the wrist.
What happened to his hand!? It looks like it has been burned to a crisp… is that a result of Wilmarina's sorcery? Or—
Jorah turned his gaze to Moqorro. The red priest had raised his right hand, gripping a dragon-headed staff, and he said the following word.
"PERISH!"
A cone of flame shot out from the staff. It was not orange or blue or any other colour natural to flame. Rather, it was a pure crimson.
The flame struck and engulfed Wilmarina. After a second or two, it subsided… revealing the monster now on her knees. She'd been holding her sword in front of her body, and a shield of ice floated in front of that, but now the sword slipped from her hands and the shield fell to the deck.
Impossible! She can withstand even dragonfire, I've seen it!
Yet Moqorro wasn't unscathed, either. When Jorah looked back at the red priest, he saw the staff crumbling into ash and falling from Moqorro's hand. Furthermore, Moqorro's right arm now hung limply at his side and gave off a cloud of smoke.
"You," Jorah growled. "What have you done?"
"What was necessary," Moqorro said without a hint of regret. "By becoming a conduit for the Lord's flames, I slew a servant of the Great Other." He glanced at his limp right arm. "A staff, a single limb… and an offering of king's blood is a cheap price to pay for that."
Jorah knew little of magic. He'd seen the blood ritual by which his khaleesi had awakened three dragons, and he'd seen the various miraculous spells that Wilmarina had cast a few days prior. Even so, there was much he did not know of the arcane mysteries.
But he knew steel and force well enough.
Jorah jumped down to the main deck, ran forward and brought his sword down in a diagonal slash, cutting off Moqorro's left arm.
From what I've seen, even a sorcerer uses their hands to channel magic, much as a normal man uses his hands to wield tools!
Moqorro merely grimaced at the loss of his left arm, as though he'd suffered a tiny scratch. In fact, he hadn't tried to fight back against Jorah at all. It was as if his purpose was done and he cared nothing for his own life.
"You fool!" Jorah said, gripping Moqorro by the collar. "She brought salvation to Meereen, even bringing back its queen, and you—"
"All tricks," Moqorro said. The blood flow from his stump slowed even as Jorah watched, eventually stopping entirely. Though the smell of burnt flesh now filled the air. "A scheme to deceive Azor Ahai, luring her to the cause of the Great Other…"
Jorah shook his head. There was no meaning in exchanging words with a zealot. He raised his sword.
"Wait, Ser Jorah!"
That familiar voice caused Jorah to freeze instantly. He slowly turned his head.
Black-scaled Drogon, now covered in ash and dried blood, flew in and landed on the deck, and clinging tightly to Drogon's back was Daenerys. Her eyes widened in shock at the kneeling Wilmarina.
"Just what has happened here!?"
Jorah was tempted to warn Daenerys that it wasn't safe here, but there was no point protesting that now. Instead, he gripped Moqorro by the hair and pressed his sword against the man's throat. "It's the work of this red priest, my queen! I know not what foul sorcery he worked, but it appears he was supporting the Greyjoy with his magic, and then… then he managed to…"
"I am not dead just yet, Jorah Mormont…"
Jorah looked at Wilmarina again. He hadn't had the time to look carefully before, but he now saw that she had no burns on her skin, nor were her clothes damaged. At the same time, she was clearly unwell: her eyes were unfocused and her limbs shaking even as she stood up.
"The red flame… left no mark on you?" Jorah gasped. "Then what…?"
"Not for… lack of trying," Wilmarina said. She raised her sword in an unsteady grip. "His 'Lord's flames'… were a very powerful death spell… enough to kill fifty or a hundred humans… but for me?" She breathed in and out. "I managed to keep the effects… limited to the surface…"
"No…" Moqorro said. For the first time since Jorah had known him, he sounded shaken. "This cannot be! No servant of the Great Other could withstand the purifying flames of the Lord of Light!"
"I have no relationship with this Great Other!" Wilmarina snapped. "The only god I could be said to worship is my husband!"
"…Red priest," Daenerys said. She looked on Moqorro with an expression that Jorah recognised as tranquil fury. "You claim that Lady Wilmarina is a… servant of the Great Other. On what do you base this claim?"
"Every aspect of her existence!" Moqorro retorted. "Look upon her, and the truth is clear! An inhuman creature who wields the powers of ice and darkness, which are the tools of the Great Other!"
Wilmarina let out a humourless chuckle. "Ice, I'll grant you. But I fail to recall when I wielded any dark magic. Are you not projecting your own beliefs onto me?"
Indeed, when Jorah considered the situation, unnatural flame fuelled by sacrifice and which caused instant death… was a stereotypical depiction of dark magic.
"How did you know she was here, know to prepare your sorceries?" Jorah asked, pressing his sword more firmly. Blood trickled from Moqorro's throat. "You did not even meet her until this morning!"
"I saw her… in the flames…" Moqorro replied. "Her working magics on the unsuspecting populace of Meereen. I passed this information on to Benerro."
Jorah recalled the high priest of the Lord of Light. From what he'd seen and heard back in Volantis, Benerro was just as fanatical as Moqorro. Furthermore, based on what he'd just heard…
"So you have spells for scrying, and for communicating at a distance…" Wilmarina said. "I've underestimated the magic of this world, clearly."
"Benerro and I agreed that you must be eliminated," Moqorro said harshly. "No price would be too high to pay for saving Azor Ahai from evil's temptations."
"You mentioned king's blood before… did you, or rather this Benerro, sacrifice human life for that?" Wilmarina asked in disgust.
"Do not feign empathy for humanity," Moqorro said. "You may be able to fool many, but the Lord's light allows me to see through all illusions! You shall not—"
"I have heard enough."
Daenerys walked to a point on the deck immediately in front of Moqorro. She looked at the red priest with pure contempt.
"You call me 'Azor Ahai', treat me as a chosen figure of your faith. Yet you try to seize control of my daughters—" Drogon hissed. "—align yourself with pirates, and sacrifice lives all in a failed attempt to kill my benefactor? If there is any servant of an evil god, it is quite clearly you."
"I did not intend to seize the dragons from you!" Moqorro said, now sounding desperate. "Only to free them from the influence of this demon!"
"But that was Greyjoy's intention, wasn't it?" Jorah said, nodding towards the man now lying on the deck. "To have the power of dragons for himself."
"He was but a fool who did not truly comprehend the Lord's light," Moqorro admitted. "Yet even if the horn, Dragonbinder, had worked, it would not have given him control—"
"You have no proof of this," Daenerys said, as cold as a glacier in midwinter. "Meanwhile, the one you call a 'demon' has helped me and my cause beyond measure."
"Azor Ahai, you must not listen to whispers of evil!" Moqorro insisted. "The Lord of Light is humanity's only hope against the coming darkness, the creatures of deathly cold! You are of the bloodline of fire and blood—"
"My house's words are not for you to speak," Daenerys said. Her eyes then flicked to the side. "Ser Jorah. Since you are so eager to return to my service, here is your first chance at redemption. I do not wish to hear any more of his words."
Jorah promptly drew his sword across Moqorro's throat, causing red blood to gush onto the deck. He dropped the body and, on a whim, stabbed it through the heart as well.
With a man of magic, there is no sense in taking chances.
Daenerys approached Wilmarina with a worried expression. "You… just how has his dark magic affected you, Lady Wilmarina?"
"…Well, to put it simply, I can no longer see you, or anything else here."
Jorah and Daenerys both sucked in breaths. Blindness was among the most terrible of afflictions, depriving people of their most valuable of senses. In a few cultures, such as the Dothraki, those who became blind were killed so they would not become burdens to others. Even in other cultures, the blind often lived miserable lives dependent on charity.
"Is… there any spell of yours that can cure this?" Jorah asked.
"That's not the end of it," Wilmarina said in a harsh tone. She slowly brought a hand up to touch her face. "I cannot feel this… neither with my hand nor my cheek. Nor can I feel the deck beneath my feet."
"You've lost your sense of touch as well!?" Daenerys exclaimed.
"As I said earlier, that priest's spell was death magic," Wilmarina said. "You could think of it as burning away the… spirit, instead of the flesh. That property allowed it to disregard any physical obstacles. I then used my own magic to keep it at bay, so the effects are merely limited to the surface of my body. That includes my eyes and my skin, so I have lost the associated senses."
Jorah could understand it when phrased in those words. He'd heard tales of magic that left no visible mark on its victim, so the idea wasn't new to him.
The Lord of Light is, according to many, a god… so what does it make her, who survived a curse from a god?
Daenerys lowered her head in shame. "I… am deeply sorry for the loss you've suffered, while fighting in my service. If there is any compensation I can make—"
"What I ask of you remains unchanged," Wilmarina said. "Resume your leadership over Meereen, so that it remains a safe refuge for my daughters and I until we can return home."
"That is certainly something I can grant you. I suppose, then, that you wish to return to your daughters as soon as possible?"
"Yes. Though… in my current state, I do not trust my own wings to carry me…"
Daenerys gave a command, causing Viserion to begin carrying Wilmarina back to the Great Pyramid. It was at this point Jorah noticed something odd: Viserion's flesh was covered in ash and dried blood from the fighting, much like her sister, but her dress was still pristine.
It was no ordinary seamstress who made this dress.
Once Viserion was just a speck in the sky, Jorah looked at the other dragon.
"Drogon," Jorah said carefully. "It has been a long time. Do you recognise me?"
Drogon glared at him. It might have been Jorah's imagination, but she seemed fractionally less hostile than she was with other people.
"…Jow-rah. Mother's protector."
"He was that, Drogon," Daenerys said softly. "But then he… he'd done something terrible, and I had to send him away."
Trying to change the topic, Jorah said, "Your Grace, I am surprised you managed to persuade Drogon to come back to the city for you."
Drogon growled. "Killed some humans. Then changed… changed…"
"Changed your mind?" Jorah suggested. Perhaps the black dragon wasn't as wild as she initially appeared.
"Changed mind, so go back. Mother wanted to fly, now."
"I saw the unusual situation on this ship, and needed to know more," Daenerys elaborated. "As Drogon would not carry any other human, that left only one option."
"Still, Your Grace, it was risky," Jorah said. "Even on dragonback, if a single stray arrow had hit you, House Targaryen would have come to an end. And even now… Drogon. Could you stand next to your mother and cover her with your wings? It's to keep her safe."
Drogon was confused by this instruction but did as she was told.
"You sound quite concerned for my safety, Ser Jorah," Daenerys said, now shielded by a blanket-sized sheet of draconic wing. "I only wish you had always been so concerned."
Jorah dropped to one knee. "That is my mistake, and mine alone. I do not blame you if you desire my death, but—"
"Mistake?" Drogon cut in. "Mother, what mistake Jow-rah do?"
"Well, Drogon, you see…"
Daenerys began to explain Jorah's past as a spy, but she'd only gotten a few sentences out before Barristan and Rhaegal landed on the flagship.
"The rest of the fleet has submitted, Your Grace," Barristan reported. "But just what has happened here? This ship was aflame before, and now it is not. And I saw Viserion flying off with Lady Wilmarina, is she injured?"
"I suspect that red priest was responsible for the first," Jorah said, nodding towards Moqorro's corpse. "His temple is certainly associated with flames. I would not be surprised if they have magic for extinguishing unwanted flames. As for the second…"
Jorah and Daenerys filled in Barristan on the rest of the situation. That led them to another problem.
"What shall we do with Victarion Greyjoy?" Jorah said, kicking the man in question.
Victarion was the only living Ironborn on the upper decks of the ship, all others having died or jumped into the sea. The stump of his right hand wasn't bleeding due to a covering of ice. But even magical ice would eventually melt, so he'd die if left untreated.
"…Kill me…" Victarion murmured, still face-down on the deck. It didn't seem like he'd even felt the kick. "I am now a cripple. I betrayed the Drowned God, fell for the tricks of that accursed priest. I… the day my men brought him to me, I should have just thrown him overboard…"
"Enemy khal," Drogon growled. "Just kill him."
"He is no longer a threat," Barristan protested. "We should take him prisoner and question him as to his motives."
"His motives seem quite clear: he wanted to steal my daughters with that strange horn," Daenerys said angrily. "Although… it is true that he needs to be questioned. Victarion Greeyjoy, just where did you get this horn from, and why did you believe it could be used to control dragons?"
Victarion said nothing. He seemed just as defeated as his men were now.
With no answers from him, Jorah and the others turned their eyes to the horn. It lay on the fire-blackened part of the ship, and even though its former user had been reduced to ashes, it was still intact. From this close distance, Jorah saw writing on it, letters of a language he did not know.
"Those are Valyrian glyphs on it," Daenerys said. "But an old type, not one I was ever taught…"
"Could it be a relic from the Valyrian Freehold?" Barristan said.
If so, the glyphs would be of a language four centuries old. Small wonder that they could not be read by any here.
"That thing… bad smell," Rhaegal said. "Smells like… like… like the chains Rhaegal, Viserion had before."
Daenerys and Barristan looked guilty at that, for reasons Jorah didn't quite understand. He decided not to ask for details now.
"In any case, we must destroy the horn," Daenerys said. "Even if it is a relic of my people, it does not appear to have any good use."
Drogon and Rhaegal walked over to the horn and angrily stomped on it together. The wood was smashed into splinters, the metal parts flattened.
Though at the moment of destruction, Jorah heard a faint, unearthly sound, like the scream of a furious demon. He shuddered.
I've had enough of magic for a lifetime—for several lifetimes.
"Now, Ser Jorah…" Daenerys said. "I would like to discuss your actions, but now is not the ideal time for that."
Jorah bowed his head. "Until that discussion, I will continue to serve to the best of my ability."
Daenerys turned towards the docks of Meereen. Soldiers were heading out in boats and beginning to board the Ironborn ships.
"Then, as you are familiar with the Ironborn, you will oversee the transport of these men off their ships."
"They will not be just men, and not just Ironborn," Jorah advised. "If we simply take a look below decks…"
Jorah walked to the nearest hatch. Several pairs of frightened eyes looked up at him. To reassure them, he slowly set his sword down on the deck.
"We mean you no harm, so long as you intend none to us," Jorah said in High Valyrian, holding up his empty hands. "You may come up." He then repeated his words in the Common Tongue.
After a few moments, people began trickling up to the main deck. Some showed the features of Ironborn, others the features of different regions of Westeros, and still others looked Essosi. There were men and women, adolescents all the way up to the middle-aged. The one thing they had in common was their fear.
When they came to the main deck, many stared in amazement at Daenerys and the two dragons.
"These are thralls and salt-wives, captives taken by Ironborn in their raids," Jorah explained.
Daenerys looked at the captives with an expression of deep empathy. "I am sorry for all the suffering you have endured. My name is Daenerys Targaryen, queen of this city of Meereen. You have my word that you need not be slaves to another again."
The thralls and salt-wives didn't look very reassured by these words. That was quite natural, for most leaders in the world cared little for the smallfolk beneath them. It would take time for them to realise that Daenerys was different.
Over the next hour, the Iron Fleet was moved to the docks and unloaded of its people. It was a lengthy process since Meereen didn't have enough docks for all the ships at once, so the ships had to take turns. Some people arrived not by ship but by swimming up to the docks, due to having fled ships that were set on fire.
Jorah saw thousands of Ironborn step off the ships. It was a great insult for Ironborn to lose to "greenlanders", but not a single one resisted. Most just stared blankly at their feet.
They weren't nearly so broken at the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, when the rest of Westeros crushed them… I suppose this is the result of facing dragons for the first time in over a century.
As well as one of these strange monsters…
Jorah was a fairly worldly man, having travelled around both Westeros and Essos, spoken and fought with people from dozens of cultures. He'd heard of countless myths and legends as well. Yet he'd never heard of a race of attractive, inhuman women with extremely versatile magic, including the ability to convert others into beings similar to them.
She did that by impaling the dragons with her sword… yet that same sword has also taken the lives of countless humans. Is the difference due to dragons being creatures of magic?
As the last few left the Iron Fleet, Jorah let out a sigh.
My sword-arm hasn't been the only thing keeping me alive. My willingness to absorb new knowledge has been equally important. I must learn what I can about these monsters and their magic.
If I can continue being useful, Daenerys should accept me once more.
AN: Wilmarina's loss of senses wasn't always planned. I added it in so this fic wouldn't just be a complete stomp by the MGE side. I've had several ideas on how to implement it, with the most extreme being a loss of all biological senses (meaning only her sense for magical energy would be left).
Next will be Daenerys' perspective.