Happy New Year, dear readers!

I hope you all had a great start to the new decade! It's 2020, everyone! A new year, a new decade, a new start! Especially for me! I have yet to start my new internship, but it should happen any day now. I'm also going to be meeting with my college screenwriting teacher later today for a possible freelance job doing artwork for his website and his soon-to-be-published novel. I hope he hires me! Keep your fingers crossed for me, everyone! Lol! As far as the other freelance client goes, I haven't heard anything from them yet. I plan to email them shortly after my meeting tomorrow and find out if they're still interested in hiring me for another project. If not, oh well. At least I still have the internship itself to fall back on in the meantime.

Now, onto the news regarding this chapter. Finally, we return to Torrhen's POV! I'm sure lots of you have been excited to see things from his perspective for awhile now and to see how things will go regarding his first meeting with Dany. All I can really say for now regarding this chapter is... things would be boring if everything worked out well right away. I'm not saying anything else! Read the chapter and see for yourselves how Torrhen's arrival in Meereen plays out, lol! :D

I'm also thrilled that we reached the review goal this time! 70 reviews all together! Woohoo! I'm so, so happy! I personally thank each and everyone single person who reviewed Chapter 4 for contributing to the review count. Thank you! I think we can go ahead with a slightly easier review count goal this time as a reward! How does 85 reviews this time sound to all of you? That's only fifteen reviews that I'm asking for! Not that many at all! Come on, you guys can do it! Let's make it to 85 reviews!

I think I've said everything that I needed to. So, onto the story itself! Enjoy the new chapter! And please review when you're done!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

Chapter Five: The Direwolf of Meereen

Jorah's stomach was in knots as he marched through the winding corridors of the Great Pyramid of Meereen. How Barristan Selmy had obtained that royal pardon from Robert Baratheon was anyone's guess, but the Lord Commander of the queensguard was one of the most honorable men Jorah Mormont had ever met. There was no way he hadn't already told their queen the truth.

A thousand thoughts were running through his mind as he contemplated how he could explain his actions to his queen when they had first met. What could he say that could make her understand? He'd been a different man back then… He'd wanted to go home… He'd wanted to be with his family… He hadn't known what a good person she truly was…

Daenerys was a good woman, and an even better queen. She'd be angry, but she'd understand. Please, please let her understand!

He turned the corner and dipped under the archway leading into the audience chamber. The Unsullied guards on duty almost seemed to grip their spears even tighter than usual as he passed them, and their eyes followed his every move through the thin slit of their helmets without so much as blinking. It was unnerving, their abrupt change in behavior around him considering only a few hours ago these exact same guards had nodded politely to him when leaving a small council meeting, but Jorah forced himself to show no fear. Their anger was understandable. They were loyal to their queen: Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains. A betrayal against her was a betrayal against them. But Daenerys would convince them that he was still a good man. Everything was going to be just fine.

Speaking of Daenerys, she was a vision of loveliness, just like always. Dressed in one of her finest white silk dresses and silver hair fixed in one of its elaborate braided up-dos, she sat regally upon the black ebony bench she used as her throne at the top of the marble stairs, hands folded gracefully upon her lap. Barristan stood on the first landing below her to the left, his expression quite firm. To her right was Grey Worm, his helmet tucked under his arm and his eyes like fire. Missandei stood a few steps behind their queen, genuine sadness marring her face. Their expressions pained the old bear greatly, but not nearly as much as the wound he felt as he noted the look on Daenerys' face.

She was impassive, face like stone. Not even the echoing of his footsteps as he slowly climbed up the steps only to be immediately barred by Barristan and Grey Worm upon nearing the first landing could make her budge.

"Why did Robert the Usurper pardon you?"

Jorah tensed at her tone. It was neither harsh, nor kind. Just frank and to the point. "If… If we could speak alone—"

"No. You will explain this to me here. Explain how a man who was sentenced to death by the Warden of the North, best friend to the Usurper himself, was decreed a royal pardon and promised safe return to Westeros."

He thickly swallowed. This was not good. "Who do you think sent this information to Meereen?" he asked. "Who profits by turning us against each other? That's what it is happening now. Tywin Lannister wants you to hate me."

Daenerys was unfazed. "The pardon was not signed by Tywin Lannister. It was signed by Robert Baratheon himself. The same year we met."

Jorah bit his tongue. It was impossible for him to talk his way around that fact.

"Tell me honestly, Jorah Mormont, was this document forged?"

"…No, it was not."

"Then tell me why you were pardoned."

Heaviness fell over him. He fought the urge to look down at his feet. "I sent letters to Robert's spymaster, Varys."

Daenerys' lips pinched tight, her eyes cold. Jorah had grown accustomed to seeing that intense gaze from his queen ever since she found the strength to stand up to her wretched brother Viserys… but never had he seen it directed at him. "What was discussed in these letters?" she asked, slowly.

Jorah stiffened. It took all the willpower he had to answer her. "Information."

"What information?"

"When you and Viserys arrived in Pentos… how he and Illyrio arranged your marriage to Khal Drogo… when you were married… when Viserys himself died…"

Every revelation seemed to make the muscles in her face grow tauter and tauter. She didn't so much as blink. "And what else?"

He winced and didn't reply. One didn't have to be smart to know what she meant, but even so, he was the only in the room who did. His queen never talked about this, hence why Barristan, Missandei, and Grey Worm glanced towards her momentarily with questioning looks. She was so focused on him, she didn't even notice.

"What else?" she repeated, her voice low and dangerous. "What else did you reveal in your letters?"

He sighed and let his eyes wander. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Looking back, he couldn't believe he had revealed what he did, and he couldn't fault her for being angry.

"You told them, didn't you?" she hissed, fire in her eyes. "About him… about Rhaego."

"Khaleesi—"

"Don't call me that. Yes or no?"

The others were still confused. The name Rhaego meant nothing to them. In all honesty, Jorah was probably the only one still alive aside from Daenerys herself that knew who Rhaego even was. It only made the truth all that more unforgivable. "Yes."

Silence. Complete silence. One could hear a pin drop, it was so silent.

The queen ever-so slowly stood up and descended down the steps towards him. Every step she took seemed to echo throughout the large, open room. "That wine merchant tried to poison me, because of your information."

"I stopped you from drinking his wine."

"Because you knew it was poisoned."

"I suspected."

She stopped directly in front of him. Her lower lip was quivering, she was so angry. But Jorah had been in his queens' service for four years now. He knew her better than anyone, the only exception being possibly Missandei. To everyone else here, she was simply angry, and rightfully so. To him, though… the ways her eyes were shining, how the muscles in her throat were tensing… she wasn't just mad. She was fighting back tears of grief.

Grief for her son.

"You betrayed me… from the first. You betrayed him."

Hearing those words broke whatever resolve he had left. He fell to his knees in front of her. "Forgive me," he begged. "I… I never meant… Please, Khaleesi…"

But Daenerys' eyes didn't so much as flicker down at him. She simply swallowed and kept her eyes fixed on the intricate murals lining the walls next to the archway leading out to the main corridors. "You sold my secrets to the people who killed my father—"

"I have served you—"

"—butchered my brother Rhaegar's children—"

"—fought for you—"

"—stole my family's throne — my family's legacy—"

"—protected you—"

"—forced me to live on the run, like a dog—"

"—I stopped that wine merchant — I protected Rhaego from—"

SLAP!

Despite being a seasoned warrior, no amount of hard training could have made Jorah fast enough to dodge the slap across his cheek. Missandei's lips parted slightly as she gaped at the queen's actions. Barristan flinched slightly and blinked repeatedly, taken aback. Grey Worm appeared unmoved, his lifetime of training with the Unsullied having taught him how to hide his emotions, but Jorah had known the man for over a year now. The way his fingers tightened for a half-second around his helmet meant he too was shocked. Their reactions meant nothing, though. It was Daenerys herself that Jorah focused on. Her beautiful violet eyes, normally shining with warmth and kindness when speaking to him, were narrowed into thin slits, the fire he'd come to love in her gaze blazing straight through his soul.

"Don't—" she hissed "—ever — say — his — name — again."

"K-Khaleesi—"

"Don't call me that. And don't say his name. You… You have no right to say his name. You have no right to ask me for forgiveness."

It was as though she had plunged a knife into his heart. He didn't blame her for her fury. She had every right to be angry. But still… did this one mistake mean nothing he had done to protect her and her children right after he became fully devoted to her cause meant anything anymore?

He stopped Viserys from stealing her dragon eggs before he died, her new sons. That spineless little shit would traded them off for gold to buy the first army of sellswords he could find, and then surely would have gotten his throat slit by them the next morning when they realized just how stupid he really was… Had it not been for him, his queen wouldn't have her beloved sons Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal. She would've never become the Mother of Dragons.

He protected her and Rhaego right before he was born. He had stopped that Dothraki bloodrider from harming her when she had pleaded for that horrible witch to help Khal Drogo with blood magic — a mistake on her part, certainly, trusting that awful woman, but he protected her from that man. And the stress of the fight itself caused her to go into premature labor.

He… He had spared her the pain of seeing what Mirri Maz Duur's petty vengeance caused Rhaego to become upon his birth. Just thinking about that… thing that had been her son — an innocent little babe — was still enough to make him sick. Even so, he protected his queens' gentle heart by burying her son before she awoke. She had fallen apart just from hearing his description of her little boy, her little prince. Had she seen him for herself…

He had turned his back on returning to Westeros because of her. For so many years, he had dreamed about going home, returning to the North. Not to resume his lordship of Bear Island, but just to go home, see his family. Reconcile with his father and apologize to him for disgracing him. Disgracing their House and forcing him to take the black because of his mistakes… but then he'd met her. This incredible young woman and queen. The rightful queen. She was the closest thing he had ever had to a daughter, and the only person he'd ever met who was actually worthy of sitting on the Iron Throne.

But none of that mattered anymore. The fact that he had betrayed her and almost inadvertently caused her to be in danger was the only thing she could focus on.

He was brought back to the present as Daenerys closed her eyes. It was only for a moment, but when she opened them again, her regal mask had returned. "Any other man would have you executed, Jorah Mormont," she declared, still refusing to look down at him. "But you… you I do not want you in my city. Dead or alive."

Jorah stared at her. It was a good thing he was already on his knees. If he hadn't been, he would lost the strength in his legs. The sound of the wind starting to blow a bit stronger outside was literally the only thing he focus on, though he couldn't understand why he was even taking note of that.

"Go back to your masters in King's Landing. Collect your pardon, if you can."

His vision blurred, tears welling up in his eyes. Despite how his legs were shaking, he slowly rose. "D-Daenerys, please-"

He tried to take her hand, to squeeze it pleadingly, but Barristan reached for the hilt of his sword and Grey Worm dropped his helmet and drew his knife. Daenerys whipped her hands away from him and signaled them not to interfere. She still refused to meet his eyes.

"Don't ever presume to touch me again, let alone speak my name or Rhaego's. You have until midday to collect your things and leave Meereen. If you're found in the city past that time, I'll have your head thrown into Slaver's Bay."

The tears trickled down his cheeks, but Daenerys still wouldn't look at him. Even so, the wind sounded like it was howling now out beyond the windows. Bad day, no doubt. And it seemed to match her mood.

"Go. Now."

Jorah stared at her, silent with disbelief. Exile. That was his punishment. Again. He wanted to say something — anything — to make her understand, but he wasn't stupid. That look on her face, that cold, emotionless mask… her threats weren't idle. She would do exactly as she said if he didn't leave now. Moreover, she chose the perfect punishment, too. Those who believe death is the worst possible fate didn't know what it felt like to be alone. Exile was a thousand times worse. Cast off on your own, with no support, no friends, no one but yourself for company. Alone and isolated… nothing was worse than that.

With a heavy heart, he bowed his head in acceptance and descended back down the steps. No one said anything as he silently left the room. He had to pack. It'd be midday in less than two hours. His life wasn't worth much of anything if he couldn't serve Daenerys, but still, it was his life.

He was halfway across the room when he abruptly stopped. One of the decorative torches lining the walls of the chamber had caught his eye.

"Did you not hear me the first time?" Daenerys called out, her tone now quite sharp. "I told you to leave."

Jorah never thought a day would come when he would disobey a direct order from his queen, but still, he disregarded her. Something about that torch seemed… off. Almost like its flames were jumping up and down too much. Every instinct in his body told him something was wrong, so instead of heading out of the room, Jorah turned and approached the torch.

"Ser Jorah, what are you doing? Go."

The Unsullied guard on duty close to the torch turned to him sharply and raised the tip of his spear in warning, but still, Jorah paid him no mind. He was too busy studying the torch himself to even notice the guard. He had been quite certain before that the flames were moving too much a few seconds ago, but now, it seemed like they were behaving normally again. He tilted his head, puzzled. Had it simply been a figment of his imagination? Was the heartbreak of being forced out of Daenerys' service causing him to see thing?

"This is your last warning. Leave now, or I'll have the Unsullied throw you out of the city themselves."

The Unsullied warrior gripped his spear even tighter. Jorah knew how deadly the Unsullied truly were with their spears, so he nearly turned to leave again. Just then, the torch jostled. Not enough for Daenerys and the others up on the platform to notice, but enough that Jorah knew for a fact he saw it this time. Moreover, the guard saw it, too. The torch… it was shaking.

"Have it your way, then. Dovaogēdy, nādīnagon ser Iōrah—"

"Get down from the platform! Now!"

His queen seemed to have forgotten what it was like to be yelled at and have people demand things of her after being the one in power and giving orders for the past few years. She jerked at his words, blinking in surprise.

"I beg your pardon, Ser Jorah? You have no right to—"

"Don't argue! Get down, now!" Jorah cried.

"My queen!" yelled the guard. "Listen to him! I think there's—"

He was cut off as the whole room started to tremor. It wasn't all that bad at first, but it was still strong enough that everyone there could feel it, including those up on the platform. Daenerys and Missandei both glanced down at their feet, puzzled. Barristan and Grey Worm though overcame their slight startle much faster. Within a split second, they realized what it was that Jorah and the other guard were warning them about. Nodding to one another, Barristan seized Daenerys' wrist and began dragging her down the steps while Grey Worm did the same with Missandei. Ignoring all past resentment towards Ser Jorah in light of what they realized was about to happen, the Lord Commander of the Queensguard and the Commander of the Unsullied made no objections when they saw him and several other Unsullied guards hurry to the base of the steps.

"Ser Barristan!"

"Grey Worm?"

"This way, your grace! Hurry!"

"We explain later, Missandei! We must—"

Grey Worm was cut off by the sudden screeches of three terrified creatures. Large creatures by the sound of it, ones that could fly judging by how the flapping of wings resounded over the roaring wind. Everyone there knew what those creatures were, but none more-so than Daenerys. She sharply jerked her hand out of Barristan's grip and snapped around to the nearest window overlooking the city.

"My children…" she breathed, worried and confused. "Drogon—?"

The whole room violently rocked, and had it not been for Barristan swiftly wrapping an arm her waist, their queen would have fallen backwards over the edge of the steps. Daenerys didn't even get the chance to thank him before sharp tremors jolted the room a second time. She nearly fell over, but Barristan kept her stable. The whole pyramid was shaking, and out in the city, they could all hear people screaming in terror as buildings collapsed. But the screeching of the dragons outweighed the screams of the citizens. A flash of movement from one of the windows revealed that they were flying wildly over the city, confused and terrified by the unexpected disaster.

Earthquake… Jorah had personally never experienced a powerful one before, but he'd heard enough horror stories in his life. Especially those that struck major cities. Judging by how particles of sand were slowly drifting down from the high ceiling, this one in particular was bad.

"Protect the queen!" Barristan shouted. "Get to the hall!"

No one argued. If the ceiling collapsed, they'd all be crushed to death by marble and then buried in sand. There weren't any protective surfaces to duck under in the pyramid passageways, but at least out there they could escort the queen to another chamber, one where she would be better protected. Jorah was lucky that none of the Unsullied or Barristan objected as he joined them in forming a protective ring around Daenerys and Missandei as they hurried down the last few steps. In light of current events, Daenerys' previous decision to exile him meant nothing unless she survived this unexpected disaster.

The Unsullied guards all kept their shields raised over Daenerys' head as they all did their best to hurry across the room. It was difficult though, ignoring how the floor was rattling underneath them with every step. Missandei in particular had a very hard time standing upright, and when a particularly strong tremor made the floor jolt unexpectedly, she tripped over herself and fell.

"Missandei!" Daenerys cried, kneeling down low. "Missandei, are you all right?"

"Y-Yes, your grace," said the interpretor, trembling fearfully as she struggled to stand. "Don't worry about me. I'm — argh! — I'm fine." She was standing up fine, but clutching her left shoulder with her opposite hand, painful tears streaming down her face. Grey Worm didn't waste any time. Dropping his helmet all together, he scooped Missandei up bridal style.

"Grey Worm—!"

"You hurt. I carry you."

There was no time to argue about it, not when they all heard the terrified screams from the citizen outside become twice as loud as the distinct rumble of a building collapsing echoed through the air. Sucking in a breath, Missandei nodded silently and allowed Grey Worm to support her.

They made it out into the hall with only minimal difficulty after that and hurried into the closet chamber. Luckily, there was a large, sturdy marble table inside, as well as many open archway windows that stretched from the floor and almost all the way up to the ceiling.

"Hurry, your grace," Barristan urged, he and the rest of the men steering her towards it as Grey Worm lingered a few steps behind with Missandei. "Get beneath this, please! For your own protection!"

"Missandei, first. She's injured."

"Your safety is all that matters! Please, crawl under it!"

"What type of queen am I if I were to stay safe when my friend is both hurt and would be left in danger?! Missandei fir—"

Daenerys was cut off when the pyramid itself start to groan from somewhere high up above. Rather loudly, too. They all froze. Despite how much the earth was still rattling without respite, the groaning and creaking of the pyramid seemed to happen in slow motion to their ears. Jorah's heart dropped into his stomach as his throat bobbed. The pyramid… it was going to collapse! There was nothing any of them could do to stop it… but he'd be damned if he'd left his queen die because of this natural disaster! Without thinking twice, he seized her wrist and ignored her protests entirely as he forcibly shoved her under the table, Grey Worm following his example by doing the same with Missandei. They just barely managed to get them both under there before the entire pyramid shuddered, then almost seemed to violently totter back and forth.

Missandei gasped, terrified, and Daenerys nearly hit her head on the underside of the tabletop as she jumped, eyes bulging and lips parted. The others didn't have the luxury of allowing themselves to be afraid, though. They pressed themselves up against the open areas of the table, creating a human shield to protect the two women. Jorah squeezed his eyes shut, keeping one hand clutching the edge of the table and the other shielding his head. There was no point in looking for his own form of shelter. All that mattered was making sure Daenerys survived. If he were to look for shelter himself instead of doing everything in his power to protect Daenerys from whatever part of the pyramid was crunching high above them, then he was no different from the man he was four years ago when he first met his queen: the one willing to sacrifice an innocent young girl for his own self-interest.

Wait, crunched? Sand didn't crunch. Was that… metal?

The thought had barely occurred to him before there was a sharp crack, and the pyramid jolted harshly as something obviously large and heavy further up seemed to snap off and partially strike the building. The ceiling rattled, distinct chucks of sand and reinforced marble crumbling slightly before a small portion of the overhead beams near the windowed wall and the wall itself caved in. Missandei screamed, and even Daenerys shrieked as the enormous gold harpy statue that had always been situated at the pyramid's peak partially knocked into their structure. Sand and marble flew everywhere as it went tumbling to the ground. It was a good thing the men were shielding Daenerys and Missandei, because some smaller chunks of marble whacked into them as they broke off. Jorah groaned as one piece of debris somewhat bigger than the other bits knocked into his arm.

Strangely enough though, there was a bright flash of white light as the golden harpy hurdled past their floor, and Jorah and the others all had to turn away and cover their eyes for a few seconds until it vanished. Right when it did, all the shaking and rattling seemed to die off, and all was silent in the Great Pyramid. The same couldn't be said about the rest of the city. People outside were still screaming and crying in the aftermath of the catastrophe, buildings that had suffered structural damage were either groaning or still partially collapsing, and way overhead the dragons were still screeching in terror.

"My children!" cried Daenerys, worried. She hurriedly tried pushing her way past the guards and crawl out, but Barristan gently held up a hand.

"Just a moment, your grace. The room is very unstable now. We must all be very careful as we escort you out of here."

Daenerys looked like she wanted to protest, but Jorah, Grey Worm, and the other Unsullied all wordlessly nodded in agreement. One by one, they carefully stood up and assisted in helping her and Missandei out from below the table. Once again, Grey Worm personally assisted the Naathi interpreter, but instead of carrying her this time, he wrapped one arm securely around her waist to allow her to lean into him as they walked. The journey across the room was a slow process, as none of them were willing to hurry and risk the overall stability of the partially damaged floor by stepping down wrong and causing their mostly undamaged area to crumble away. Luckily, nothing of the sort appeared to happen, and they were all able to safely exit without any mishaps whatsoever.

Waiting for them out in the hall were numerous other Unsullied warriors, having been stationed elsewhere in the pyramid when everything happened. Daenerys looked quite a mess in the aftermath of the disaster. Her white dress was all wrinkled and so dusty it was bordering on gray, and her usually flawless crown of braids was quite disheveled and untidy now. That didn't matter to the soldiers, though. To them, she was still Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons and the Breaker of Chains, and they immediately knelt down on one knee.

"I am most relieved you are all unharmed, but please rise. There is much to be done in light of what has just happened," Daenerys declared. Her tone was somewhat shaky from shock, but she was their queen. It was her duty to assume leadership and be strong for everyone. "Missandei is injured. Grey Worm? Please escort to her chambers and have her rest. I shall need someone here to fetch a maester from in the city to check her over, as well as any other men in your ranks who might also be hurt."

"At once, my queen."

"I would also ask that you send any able-bodied men into the city itself to help the people, freedmen and former masters alike. Have them clear out debris, search for survivors in the wreckage. Escort the injured to the sickhouses for treatment… and have the deceased brought to the Temple of the Graces. Funerary arrangements shall be made at a later date."

Grey Worm nodded. Passing the orders along to his men in a rush of High Valyrian, the Unsullied turned and bowed respectfully to Daenerys one last time before swiftly turning and marching away to carry out her orders. Grey Worm did the same, keeping a firm hold on Missandei as he carefully led her down the hall to her personal bedchambers. Missandei didn't seem to mind. She still clutched at her shoulder, but she leaned her head softly against his side as they slowly walked down the hall.

"Ser Jorah."

Jorah stood at attention, hoping rising inside him. Had his queen forgiven him? Had she changed her mind regarding his apparent exile.

He realized right away that he wrong. She wore her queenly mask so well, one wouldn't know she had been involved in an earthquake just now at all. She stared straight ahead of her at a crack in the wall, refusing to turn her head and address him directly. "I know I said before that I expect you out of my city by midday, however… considering the recent circumstances, I shall change that time to dusk."

"K-Khaleesi—"

"Do not speak. I appreciate your warning about the earthquake, and for that, I shall allow you a few more hours to go visit a maester for your arm. I shall inform the Unsullied that they are not to harm you past midday so long as you are there. If in any event you cannot be seen by a maester prior to sundown, the Unsullied will have permission to rush a maester directly to you and then escort you personally out of the city. However, if you are found elsewhere in Meereen or return to the city after sunset, my prior warning still stands. Your head will be thrown into Slaver's Bay."

Jorah's lower lip trembled, but he bowed his head gratefully. It killed him that Daenerys couldn't find it in her heart forgive him even after what had just happened. Still, it was nice she was providing him with more time to leave. His arm had a nasty cut where that piece of debris had struck it, and now that he was focusing on it, he could definitely feel a dull throb ebbing from it. Allowing him the time for a maester to check on it was incredibly kind.

"Be on your way, Ser Jorah. Ser Barristan? Could you escort me to my chambers? I'd go myself, but I'm worried they might have been damaged in the destruction. Or the way there might not be safe."

"I could go first and check for you, your grace."

"Thank you, but I must call for my children right away. Calm them down. They sounded quite frightened by everything, and if my chambers are safe enough, I need access to my balcony straight away. I don't want them accidentally hurting people."

"I understand, your grace. This way."

Without another word, Daenerys turned sharply on her heel and marched down the corridor with her head held high, Barristan dutifully falling into step behind her. Not once did she glance back at Jorah or falter in her steps.

Jorah was left alone. His heart ached, but there was nothing more he could do. Daenerys still didn't want to even look at him, let alone listen to his apologies. It would take a miracle on his part to get her attention long enough to listen to him again. He sighed at the thought, and then headed sullenly down the hall to his solar. To his relief, the only damage were a few pieces of furniture knocked over and a handful of decorative pots shattered on the floor. The room itself was still in condition, so collecting his belongings took no time at all. He didn't have much. Years of exile prior to first meeting and pledging his service to his queen had taught him to travel lightly. Aside from necessities such as his sword, armor, spare clothes, and medicinal herbs and bandages, there was nothing else he had. He simply needed to purchase a horse for himself and a few days worth of food prior to leaving the city and he'd be fine.

Easier said than done, though. Upon leaving the pyramid, he found that the overall destruction of the city was far worse than it had appeared high above. So many buildings had collapsed, leaving great piles of debris covering the streets. The citizens were still in shock. Those that had luckily gotten through the earthquake unscathed were either searching for survivors in the wreckage, or helping the Unsullied gather those that were injured or deceased to the nearby sickhouses and the Temple of the Graces. But the fallen harpy statue… that was a project all on its own. Jorah hadn't seen it up in the Great Pyramid, but the statue hadn't just damaged the pyramid alone. Two other buildings had been left in shambles as landed on them, and it looked like many had been crushed to death. Those who had managed to run out of the way of the impending doom still ended up getting injured or partially trapped by the flying debris, and many were working to dig them out. It was such a horrible disaster. Meereen would definitely need a long time to recover from this mess.

Jorah stopped to figure out which way to go to find the nearest sickhouse, but a low groan in particular reached his ears amid all the shifting rubble and sobbing people.

A child's groan.

It was hot. Blazing hot. Sitting bundled up in front of a fireplace back in Winterfell on the warmest Winter day imaginable couldn't compare to how hot he was now.

Torrhen struggled to open his eyes. He was lying flat on his back on what felt like a hard, gravelly ground. He was staring up at the sky, bluer than he'd ever seen it before compared to how gray he was used to it being, and the clouds perfectly fluffy and white. In the back of his mind, he vaguely registered that his left ankle was throbbing dully in the confines of his boot, and he felt hot. Way too hot. The longer he laid there trying to get his bearings, the more he broke out into a heat-induced sweat through his long-sleeved navy-blue shirt, leather jerkin, and pewter gray cloak. It was so bad, it was enough to make his head pound in tempo with his pulse, drowning out all other sounds in the nearby vicinity.

Still, he just stayed sprawled out on the ground for a few moments. It was too hot to move, and he needed to sort out his memories anyway. What happened to him? The last thing he could firmly remember was seeing Lyaella and Sōnar running through the trees to him and Shadow before the fire circles from Lady Kinvara's spell did… whatever it was they did with that flash of light. Lyaella had nearly reached him, too. They'd been only inches away from each other before that flash, and then… poof. He had no memories after that. His fire flickered twice already in the past twenty-four hours. It never happened twice in one day before… Had it flickered again? Was that why he couldn't remember anything?

It took all his energy to sit up. The simple movement combined with the unnaturally bright sunlight made the drumming in his head ten times worse. He snapped his eyes shut and brought a hand up to his brow. Stupid fire flicker. Headaches sometimes happened after they happened. Not always, only sometimes, and not often or bad enough to make that old windbag Maester Marlon consider it a real symptom. Stupid oaf. He needed ice. Without any pain relief medicines, pressing ice and hardened snow clumps against his head was the only thing that helped when he occasionally got these headaches.

He groaned and massaged his temples. "Lyaella…? My head's pounding. Can you find me some ice?"

Despite how he still couldn't hear anything over the sound of his heartbeat drilling through his head, Torrhen still expected to hear his shy twin sister whimper a bit before mumbling out an affirmative. To his surprise, that didn't happen. Had she not heard him?

"Lyaella, did you hear me? Get me some ice. Please."

Nothing. Still nothing. She must've passed out after that white light flashed.

"Ugh… Hey, Shadow? Sōnar? Get Lya for me…"

But there was no familiar rumble or soft panting. There was just… nothing.

Ignoring the consistent pulse in his head, Torrhen slowly opened his eyes again, shielding them this time from the harsh sunlight until they fully adjusted. To his disbelief, he wasn't in the Winterfell godswood anymore. He was pretty sure he wasn't even in the North itself anymore. It looked like he was in a back alley of some sort, a very sandy and dust-covered alleyway with a gravel-covered ground. There was no snow to be seen anywhere, and the buildings in his nearby vicinity looked nothing like the gray stonework of Winterfell castle or the simple log cabins in Wintertown. No, these buildings were more of a neutral beige color, and they were made up of something else. Something earthy, yet smooth. Whatever the material was, he'd never seen it before. Oddly enough, one of the buildings looked partially destroyed, as its roof had collapsed and a huge pile of debris was lying right at its base. He himself was sitting near the wall of another building right across from it. No one else seemed to be here.

It was jarring, how different everything here was. Jarring enough to distract him from his headache. This place was definitely not Winterfell. Where on earth was he? More importantly… where was Lyaella? Where was Sōnar and Shadow?

"Lya?" he called out, slowly rising. "Are you there? Sha— argh!"

He fell to the ground as sharp pain shot through his left ankle. It happened so fast and was so unexpected, it made his eyes water. It hurt so much!

Torrhen waited a few seconds until the pain gradually pandered off, then tried to stand again, slowly this time. Sure enough, the moment he put weight on his left foot, pain exploded through his ankle.

"Ow!" he yelped, falling again. Gritting his teeth as unwanted tears streamed down his cheeks, he scooted himself backwards on the ground to lean up against the wall. Again, he waited for the pain to fade away a bit, but instead of standing again, he hesitantly touched his ankle through the leather of his boot. He sucked in a breath when his ankle instantly throbbed. It hurt from even the slightly bit of pressure. Fuck, what if it was broken?

Torrhen shook his head at the thought and stretched out his foot. The throbbing in his head didn't hold a candle to this new pain. What happened to cause this injury anyway? He wracked his brains, trying to remember everything that happened prior to arriving… wherever this place was. It took him a minute, but then he remembered. Curse his luck in tripping over the roots of that stupid tree back in the godswood! This was bad. Really bad. No one was around, and he couldn't even stand. He needed his sister. He needed their direwolf brother and dragon sister.

"Lyaella? Lyaella, are you there? I can't stand! I need your help!"

There was no reply. No quiet murmur agreeing to help him or a desperate call of his name from some ways off. It was completely silent.

"Sōnar…? Can you hear me? Are you out there?"

Nothing. No flapping of wings. No warbling reply. Just nothing.

"Shadow! Shadow, come on! Answer me, please!"

He listened, but he heard nothing. It was no use. His twin sister and their pets weren't out there. He was completely—

A low whine suddenly resounded from beyond the alleyway, followed by the trotting of soft paws. Torrhen's heart leapt in his chest at the familiar sounds. He wasn't alone after all! Thank all the gods out there! Moments later, the black furry head of his direwolf poked around the corner from the alleyway's entrance, his lute still clenched in his jaws. The moment Shadow spotted him sitting there, he bounded up to him, his tail whipping back and forth excitedly the whole time. As soon as he was close enough to his boy, the wolf dropped the instrument and all but tackled Torrhen to the ground, smothering his face in happy licks.

Torrhen laughed, trying to both happily run his hands through Shadow's black fur and shove him off him at the same time. "Shadow! I'm… I'm happy to see you too, boy — yes, yes I love the licks, but let me—" he abruptly turned his head, spitting in disgust. "Ugh! Gross, Shadow! You got your drool in my mouth!"

Shadow reluctantly stepped off him as he kept spitting away his wolf germs, but Torrhen kept one hand scratching him behind the ears so he'd know he wasn't really angry. It took almost a full minute until he finally stopped and wiped away the excess drool on his chin.

"Ugh, disgusting… Shadow, next time you wanna tackle me to ground and lick me like that, avoid the mouth! That was vile!"

Shadow only wagged his tail and butted his head back under Torrhen's hands in reply. Torrhen couldn't help but chuckle and gave him his desired pets and scratches. Shameless beast. Wasn't even sorry about his actions.

Eventually, Shadow got his fill of pets and broke away from Torrhen to approach the discarded instrument. Collecting the boy's lute between his teeth, he trotted back up to his young master and dropped it on his lap.

Torrhen grinned and patted his head. "Good boy, Shadow. You kept my lute safe. Thank you."

The direwolf panted, pink tongue lolling off to the side in what looked like a happy wolfish smile.

"Okay, look buddy. I woke up here all alone. I hurt my ankle, and my head really hurts, too. We gotta find help, but we also gotta find Lyaella and Sōnar. Have you seen them?"

Shadow simply stared at him, red eyes blinking twice.

Torrhen sighed. "I'll take that as a 'no.' We'll have to keep an eye out for them, I guess. Meantime, we gotta find help, and we need to figure out where we are. Can you help me up?"

Without and further commands, Shadow briskly moved behind Torrhen and began pushing his back with his furry head. Torrhen took advantage of the additional leverage by putting both his palms flat against the wall of the building next to them to hoist himself up, and as soon as was up high enough to put weight down on both his feet, he tucked his left foot underneath him, balancing on his right foot instead. Shadow promptly returned to his left side and collected the lute again, acting as support for the boy to keep balancing on as soon as they reached the end of the alley and he ran out of wall to support him. They took an incredibly long time reaching the alley's entrance, what with Torrhen having to hop along slowly on only one foot and occasionally falling down and needing Shadow's assistance in rising again. But after four falls, they finally reached the exit.

Upon seeing what was going on out on the main streets, Torrhen couldn't help but blink. As he predicted, he was certainly not in the North anymore. Northerners always had pale skin and wore thick furs and dull, dreary clothing. They did everything they could to keep their blood as pure as possible by mixing it with only other Northerners to maintain the blood of the First Men. They didn't want to mix it with those of Andal descent, which meant they hardly ever married anyone from outside the North. But everyone he saw now was as far from any Northerner he had ever seen. The people here were of different skin colors. Some were pale, some were bronze-colored, and some were dark-skinned. They wore airy clothing to combat the heat, a few even wearing shirts or dresses that were entirely sleeveless. And the colors they wore were all so bright. Yellows, blues, reds, orange… A perfect rainbow of bright colors, not at all like the dark, muted colors in the North. As far as he knew, he and Lyaella were the only Northerners out there who actually bent the rules on traditional Northern dress code by choosing to wear blue all the time. He wore long-sleeved navy-blue shirts, she wore ice blue dresses. Granted, the only reason they did that was because they were strictly forbidden from wearing the color combination of black and red together in accordance to House Targaryen, and they adamantly refused to wear the colors of House Stark in anything aside from their favorite winter cloaks. They liked blue because it was their way of deliberately telling their damnable relatives to fuck off. If they were forced to live with the same people who were deliberately responsible for making them orphaned Snow bastards, then they would embrace that name. The name Snow meant Winter itself, so they wore wintry colors and added snowflake emblems to their cloak clasps, the embroidery on Lyaella's dresses, and the mounts on his black basket-weave sword belt.

Still, these people didn't seem to care at all what they looked like right now. Everyone looked to be in as state of panic. Screaming, shouting, crying… Some sort of disaster must've just happened, because buildings all across the street had either partially collapsed or were completely destroyed, and oddly enough, a humongous gold statue was sprawled out across the road. It too looked as though it had been destroyed and had accidentally caused the destruction of other buildings lining the street. So many people appeared to have been hurt in whatever happened, but those that were unharmed were trying to dig for survivors amongst all the wreckage. It was complete pandemonium.

Torrhen stood there quietly for a moment, too stunned by it all to move. "Woah, what a mess… Did a riot happen?" he mumbled. It had been a rhetorical question to himself, but Shadow pressed up closer against his legs, his ears flattening themselves against his furry head. The wolf didn't know anymore than he did, but he was clearly on edge from all the commotion. Shadow made for a good protector for himself and Lyaella, but he was also more than that. He was their friend, their direwolf brother, their only connection to their father through House Stark that they were genuinely delighted to have. And now that the two of them had apparently landed dab smack in the middle of whatever city this was without any sign of his younger twin sister and their dragon sister, it was their job as the big brothers to find them. It didn't matter that they had no idea where they were or that he himself was hurt and could barely stand without Shadow's help. The four of them were all each other had. They were family. Family never gives up on family.

He took a deep breath for strength, then did his best to hop fully around the corner. It was so hard for Torrhen, staying close enough to the street buildings for extra support as he limped along. In addition to moving at a snails pace even with Shadow by his side, his headache was worsening from all the noise. He'd been too disoriented and confused when he first landed… wherever he was in history to take note of anything except his immediate surroundings, but now that he was up and moving around, he couldn't ignore his sense of sound. With every scream or loud shift of rubble, tiny hammers drummed inside his skull. Were it not for the fact he had to hang onto to both Shadow and the walls to stand, he'd have both hands slammed over his ears to deafen the noise.

Some people hurried past on his left, a middle-aged couple in dust-covered clothes and shock etched on their faces. The woman carried a small, sobbing girl much younger than Torrhen was up against her chest, holding a rag of some sort against a deep gash on the child's temple and whispered sweet soothing murmurs to her as they dodged around the boy and his wolf to keep going. Or at least, they tried to.

"Hey, excuse me!" Torrhen called out, limping as fast as he could after the small family and signaling Shadow to keep up. "I need help!"

The father yelled something back over his shoulder, but whatever it was sounded like an incomprehensible jumble. Was it because of his headache that he couldn't understand him, or was all the noise around drowning out his words? Either way, he needed to get closer so the man could repeat himself.

"W-Wait up! Please!" Torrhen said, hopping along unsteadily to keep up with them. "I need your help! I need a maester, and I can't find my sister!"

The woman was sobbing as she urged to husband to hurry, so he ignored Torrhen this time. Were it not for Shadow's help, Torrhen never would have caught up with them. He grabbed the back of the man's shirt to stop him from leaving yet again.

"Listen, I hurt my ankle! I need your—"

Without warning, the man abruptly turned and shoved Torrhen off him so hard, he lost his balance and fell over with a loud groan. The man paid no attention to his pain and started yelling at him wildly. But Torrhen couldn't understand him. The language the man spoke… it wasn't in the Common Tongue, and he'd never heard such a bizarre accent before. It was all gibberish to him. Torrhen stared up at him blankly through his pain. Did Lady Kinvara's spell do more then send him back in time? Was he in some other world where no one spoke his language?

He had no time to mull over these questions because the man suddenly started yelling at him expectantly, looking for some sort of a reply. Torrhen quickly threw up his hands apologetically.

"S-Sorry! I don't understand you!"

That wasn't good enough for the man. He raised his fist as though to strike him, but Shadow dropped his lute and sprang forward, teeth bared and ready to defend. The man and his wife instantly backed away, fear in their eyes. Torrhen quickly stroked his fur to keep the wolf from attacking, but he didn't call him off either. He wasn't going to let Shadow hurt a man with a frightened wife and injured little girl, but he also wasn't going to let him hit him when all he wanted was directions to a maester or if they'd seen any sign of Lyaella around. Language barriers didn't matter, because the man seemed to understand the unspoken truce Torrhen was offering him. He swallowed thickly before turning and ushering his wife to hurry around the corner without another word.

Torrhen sighed irritably and maneuvered himself to sit up against the wall of a partially ruined house. "Thanks for the help. Now I'm on the ground again…"

Shadow collected his lute and paced up to him. Dropping the instrument onto his boys' lap, he silently butted his head under Torrhen's arm and began licking his face.

Torrhen snorted, running his fingers through the wolf's thick black fur. "Don't worry, pal. We'll think of something."

At that moment, a man came around the corner. A swordsman of some sort, judging by his armor and the sword at his hip. He carried a small knapsack with him, and unlike others in the city who were all completely panicking, he was relatively calm, and aside from his arm was bleeding a bit, he didn't appear to be injured. The oddest thing though was that even though the other people he saw wandering around the streets were all slightly bronze-colored, this man's skin was pale like his own. If Torrhen didn't know better, he'd say the man looked Westerosi.

The moment the stranger saw him, he dropped his rucksack and hurried up to him, kneeling down to his level. "Are you all right, lad? Are you hurt?"

The Common Tongue. This stranger spoke the Common Tongue. And his accent…

"Your voice — you're from the North!"

The man blinked at him. Pausing momentarily to glance curiously at Shadow and his clothing, he soon nodded. "Aye, I'm a Northerner. You seem to be, too. Northern cloak and clothes, and if that's not a direwolf, then I'm shocked."

Torrhen's hopes soared, tension he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying on his shoulders disappearing entirely. He wasn't in some strange, alternate world with no hope of ever seeing Lyaella or Sōnar again. This was an unfamiliar place and some people might not speak his language, but it was still his world. And even though Northerner's were all so prejudiced and distrustful of others, this man had no reason not to help him. Thank goodness he took so much after his father rather than his mother aside from his eyes. Had he inherited the obvious Targaryen feature of silver hair like Lyaella, there was no way this man would have ever stopped to help him.

"Can you help me? My ankle… It's…"

"Can't walk?" Torrhen nodded. "Not a problem. Give me your arm."

Smiling appreciatively, Torrhen collected his lute and let the swordsman pull him up. He winced when he accidentally knocked his bad foot into the strangers' leg.

"Easy, lad. No need to rush. Let's get you to the sickhouse."

"Thanks. C'mon, Shadow."

Shadow rose and moved quietly behind them like a Shadow itself, and together, they slowly headed down the road.

"I appreciate your help, my lord. I could barely walk at all without hanging onto walls, and I didn't know where to go, really."

The man chuckled. "It's no problem, really. But I'm no lord, lad. I'm… I'm just…" he trailed off, looking rather troubled for some reason.

Torrhen tilted his head, puzzled. "But your armor… it's looks like what other Northern lords use. I thought…"

"I was a lord. Once. Now…" he sighed. "Just call me Ser if you need to address me."

Torrhen's breath hitched. This man… he was a Northerner, but was also an exiled knight. There were multiple reasons why people were forced to flee from Westeros, but knights were exceedingly rare in the North… Torrhen glanced around. The people in this city, they didn't look like any Westerosi he'd ever seen before, and they apparently spoke an entirely different language. Was it possible he wasn't in Westeros at all? Was this Essos? If so, then this man… could it be?

"Are you Jorah Mormont? The exiled knight?"

The man's head whipped around to stare at him, lips parting a bit in surprise. "You know me?" he asked. Torrhen nodded. "I didn't realize my past dishonor was still discussed in the North."

It took all of Torrhen's willpower to neutrally shrug. Thank goodness he and Lyaella were so good at playing Truth or Half-Truth. "I've heard stories here and then. The North remembers, after all."

Ser Jorah chuckled. "Been a long time since I heard those words. Aye, that's right."

Torrhen couldn't help but feel thrilled as he, Ser Jorah, and Shadow continued down the road. He had found his mother's most faithful follower. The one who the history books say had had been the first to pledge his support to her in the earliest days of her reign. Although Torrhen preferred familiarizing himself with the stories regarding their father and Lyaella spent more time reading about their mother, the tales about Ser Jorah Mormont had always been some of his favorite parts to read in his mother's adventures. He'd made mistakes both before he'd met his mother and after he'd joined her service, but Ser Jorah's deeds throughout all the tales revealed he truly had been loyal and devoted to his queen. He'd protected her from countless dangers, and had even died protecting her one last time during the War for the Dawn. And if that wasn't enough to prove one's loyalty and unwavering devotion for someone, then how about the fact that in addition to dying to protect his queen, Ser Jorah died protecting both of them. He was incredibly lucky to have stumbled across Ser Jorah upon arriving in the past.

There were so many things Torrhen wanted to ask the great knight, but before he could organize his thoughts and decide what he wanted to ask first, Ser Jorah turned and steered him into a sickhouse. The place was already jam packed with dozens upon dozens of injured citizens, and the maesters on duty were rushing themselves to hurry and treat patients as fast as possible. Ser Jorah and Torrhen were forced to wait at the end of the long queue of people all waiting to be seen, and due to how noisy it was at the front entrance, Torrhen was forced to hold all questions until they could be moved to the back. Despite how Shadow's presence definitely made others in line scared and nervous even though the direwolf was sitting quietly by Torrhen's feet and not bothering anyone, nobody was willing to let their party skip ahead. It took them hours to make it to the front and be seen by a maester.

Unlike stupid Maester Marlon who took great pleasure in being a crotchety old oaf, this maester didn't speak the Common Tongue, but Ser Jorah knew the local language well enough to translate for Torrhen. A quick examination revealed that his ankle was broken, just sprained. Torrhen was beyond relieved. Sprain took far less time to heal than broken bones.

"He says you should stay off it for the next few days," Ser Jorah explained as the maester turned to examine his bloody arm. "Are you part of a trade ship from Westeros? I can go look for your people down by the docks, tell them where to find you."

Torrhen tensed and shook his head. He was relieved his headache had gone away on its own, because if it hadn't, he was certain it would be pulsing into a splitting migraine due to his sudden nervousness.

"Where are you from then, lad? You can't have gotten here all on your own." Shadow had been lying quietly on the floor near Torrhen's feet, but his head shot up abruptly at those words. A low growl emanated from the back of his throat. Ser Jorah chuckled nervously. "Sorry, not entirely alone… But on your own with a direwolf." Shadow relaxed and curled back down on the floor.

Torrhen snickered and bent over a bit in his chair to scratch his buddy behind the ears. "Never discredit Shadow. He's just as smart as you and me."

"I'll remember that. But you didn't answer my question, lad. Come to think of it, you haven't told me your name yet."

"It's Torrhen. Torrhen Snow. And I'm not alone with just Shadow… or rather, I wasn't supposed to be."

"What do you mean?"

"I was supposed to be with my sister, Lyaella. And Sōnar. We were all supposed to come here together, but…" he trailed off for a moment, thinking how to explain himself without lying. "…but we got separated. I don't know where they are."

Ser Jorah nodded, understanding. "Did it happen during the earthquake? They might be looking for you now."

Torrhen started to shake his head, then stopped, considering. "I… I'm not sure what happened, to be honest. It all happened so fast… but now that I think about it, I don't think they made it to Meereen at all."

"Why?"

"Because I know Sōnar wouldn't go anywhere without Lyaella, and if Sōnar was here, people would start wondering when the queen got a fourth dragon."

Ser Jorah jerked as he twisted around to look at him. The maester snapped at him in his foreign tongue due to needing him to stay still as he wrapped up the cut, but Ser Jorah ignored him. His full attention was directed at Torrhen. "Say that again, lad?"

"Our dragon. Sōnar. She's the size of a horse."

Ser Jorah stared at him, incredulous. Torrhen didn't have to read minds to tell he thought he was lying. "Lad…"

"Ser, I'm not making this up, I swear! Sōnar's real, and she really is a dragon!"

"Well… where is this dragon, then? And where's your sister?"

"I told you, I don't know. But I know it's a good thing I met you. You're one of Queen Daenerys' queensguards. You can take me to her once we're done here. It's important that I see her."

Ser Jorah closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He seemed quite troubled. "Lad, I…" he began uncertainly. There was a long pause, then he sighed, exasperated. "You understand why it's hard for me to believe you, right? Why I can't just blindly believe there's another dragon out in the world and you happen to know all about it."

Torrhen frowned. "You want proof? I can't get you any. I don't know where Sōnar is."

"Then… explain to me how you and this sister of yours came to have one. If you do have a dragon, then why would it listen to you both? Only Targaryens were known to have dragons."

"Easy. Me and Lyaella are Targaryen bastard twins."

The slight skepticism on Ser Jorah's face morphed at once into complete disbelief as he frowned. "The lies stop now. Tell me the truth."

"But I'm not lying!" Torrhen insisted, irritation sinking into his tone. "Lyaella and I hate it when people lie! We're not liars! I'm telling you the truth! Here, look for yourself!" Fiddling with his sword belt, he unclipped the black leather and passed it along with his sword still in its scabbard to the older man. "Take a look at the scabbard, at the emblem!"

Ser Jorah blinked at him for a moment before studying the leather casing. His mouth fell open a bit in surprise when he finally found the tiny emblem of the Targaryen three-headed dragon stitched into the scabbard, but it lasted only for a moment. He pressed his lips together in a tight line as he passed it back to the boy. "I can see that's the symbol of House Targaryen, but anyone could have stitched that design."

"Come on! What Northerner would sew the Targaryen dragon on their clothes unless they weren't related to the dragon house?!"

"And yet you have no obvious traits of a proper Targaryen?"

Torrhen huffed. He'd always thought he'd been lucky to have been born with dark hair like his father. People in the North still hated him, but his minimal Targaryen features made him less of a target to abuse than Lyaella was since she apparently looked almost exactly like their mother. But now when he needed to look more Targaryen-like in order to get someone to believe him about his heritage, his Northern coloring was a problem. Damn irony. "You mean the silver hair? My sister has silver hair, I got Northern dark hair. We're not identical twins. But where she has Northern eyes, I have Targaryen eyes."

Ser Jorah blinked. "What?"

The boy grinned. "You didn't notice before? Take a look. Lyaella's got gray eyes, but mine are violet."

Once again, Ser Jorah ignored the protests of the maester and peered in closer to Torrhen, staring intently at his face. Torrhen was slightly unnerved by how close he got, but he held his ground and let the knight look at him as long as he pleased. After what felt like an eternity, Ser Jorah finally saw whatever it was he was looking for in terms of subtle family resemblance to the Dragon Queen and blinked repeatedly, eyes widening like saucers.

"Seven hells…"

Torrhen smiled. "I know it's hard to believe, but you can tell, right? You're close to the queen, so you can see we've got the same eyes. You need to take me to her once we get out of here. If Lyaella and Sōnar are in Meereen like me and Shadow, they'll be trying to meet her, too! Please, you've gotta help us!"

Ser Jorah stared at him for several seconds, seemingly lost for words on what to even say to him. Torrhen didn't think too much about it. He understood it must be a huge shock for the older knight, learning that the Mother of Dragons actually wasn't the only person with Valyrian blood left in the world anymore. But what did surprise the boy was how Ser Jorah sighed in defeat and looked away.

"What's wrong?"

"Lad, there's nothing I'd like more than to take you to the queen, but—"

He was cut off by the flap of their curtained off area being swung open. Two dark-skinned muscular soldiers dressed in black leather marched inside. The maester abruptly jumped to his feet and started babbling something in his language, but the soldier on the right said something back in the same foreign tongue. Whatever it was, it made the maester blink but quietly sit down without any further complaints.

Torrhen stared at the soldiers, bewildered as to what they wanted, by then he saw how Ser Jorah immediately stiffened. It only made him even more confused. What was going on?

"Ser Jorah," said the soldier on the left, thankfully speaking in a heavily accented Common Tongue. "Time is up. We here to carry out queen's orders."

Ser Jorah's expression fell. "I see."

"Orders?" questioned Torrhen, brows furrowing. "What orders?"

The soldier on the right turned to him, fixed expression not changing at all. "Queen Daenerys exiled knight. He betray her. He leaves city by dusk, or he be killed."

It took all of Torrhen's willpower not to gasp. Now he knew what the current time period was. He'd landed in Meereen on the same day his mother had dismissed Ser Jorah from her service for a short time. This was bad. Ser Jorah wasn't only his way into actually meeting the queen, he was a good man and a devoted follower to her cause. He and Lyaella had never understood why their mother had banished Ser Jorah from Meereen based on what they'd read about her reign — their history book never mentioned her reasons for doing this — but now that he was here in the past and could change things, he had to stop this. It didn't matter that Ser Jorah had brought Tyrion Lannister to her later shortly after his banishment. The dwarf had already been on his way to Meereen to meet the queen prior to the knight abducting him. More importantly, if Ser Jorah hadn't been exiled, he never would have contracted greyscale over his travels. If that hadn't happened, he could have returned to Daenerys' service immediately after she finally pardoned him. Stopping these guards from carrying out their orders was crucial to changing history for the better.

As the soldiers moved further into the room and roughly hauled Ser Jorah to his feet, Torrhen ignored the maester's protests and slid off his chair on his good foot. "Wait, don't!" he begged. "You can't!"

"This not concern you, boy," said the second soldier. "Sit. Rest."

"S-Ser Jorah helped me!" Torrhen insisted, wobbling a bit as he hopped as fast as he could to the three of them. "He's a good man!"

"He betray queen. We follow queen's orders," said the first. "We take him out of city. He resists or comes back, he dies."

"That's bull— woah!" Torrhen mistimed a hop and nearly teetered over. Were it not for Shadow trotting over and offering him some support to balance himself, he definitely would have fallen. "That's bullshit!"

"Torrhen, it's all right," the knight assured him. "Sit down before you hurt yourself even more." Torrhen scowled, but did as he was told and slowly hopped back to his chair. Not because he wanted to, but because it was getting harder and harder to stay balanced on only one foot even with Shadow at his side. He needed to sit. Nodding in satisfaction, Ser Jorah turned back to the soldiers. "I know what the queen said. I understand you're just following her orders, but please… I need to stay longer. I have to—"

"No. Maester treated you. We take you out of city now."

"But the queen—"

"Queen gave us orders. We obey them. We take you out of city, or we kill you."

"I need to take this boy to her! She must meet him!"

The guards glanced back over at Torrhen, one looking completely indifferent, the other curious, then looked at each other. Whatever it was they silently conveyed, it made them shake their heads at each other before focusing back on the knight.

"Boy can't walk. We can't take him."

"Queen not mention him. He stay in city, meet her when better."

"What?! No!" Torrhen snapped, leaning forward a bit in his chair. "I need to see her immediately! And Ser Jorah helped me! You're not taking him anywhere!" He reached over for his discarded sword belt. He might have a bad ankle, but he'd be damned if he let this happen without a fight.

"Torrhen, enough," said Ser Jorah, sliding the sword belt closer to himself and out of Torrhen's reach. "It's all right. I… I have to obey the queen's orders." Sighing a bit to himself, he nodded sullenly to the guards. "I'll go with you freely. Just let me say farewell to the boy. I'll be right out."

That satisfied the soldiers, and they stepped back out from their curtained off section without another word.

Once they were gone, Ser Jorah turned to face Torrhen and smiled kindly. "I know this must seem unfair from your perspective, lad, but the Unsullied are only carrying out the queen's orders. I did something terrible, and this is my punishment. I must leave the city."

Torrhen scowled. So those were the Unsullied. Two of the men under the command of that asshole Grey Worm. He made a mental note to figure out which soldier in particular was that fucker another day. In the offhand chance he and Shadow were the only ones to have traveled back in time and he failed to change the past for the better, making sure that cockless shit didn't demand justice for his mother with the life of his father would have to be a top priority. Just one he couldn't dwell on right now. "But how am I supposed to see Queen Daenerys without you?" he protested. "She knows you, not me. How am I even going to meet her?"

Ser Jorah chuckled. "The queen holds court every day for the common folk to come to her, speak to her about their problems and ask for her help. When you're better, go to the Great Pyramid and request a meeting. The Unsullied on duty will let you in."

"Really?"

"Aye."

"Well… okay. I guess that might work. I'll put in a good word for you with her, Ser Jorah. I promise. So try to come back as soon as you can. If I'm lucky, she'll forgive you right away and you can rejoin her queensguard immediately."

The knight chuckled. "Thank you, lad. That means a lot. But it's not that simple. It'll take a lot more than just helping you meet her to make the queen forgive me."

"Well, do whatever you have to do, then. Just… don't go too far or take too long. You've gotta come back and rejoin the queen as soon as possible!"

Ser Jorah smiled. "I'll try, lad. Take care of yourself 'til then, you and that wolf of yours."

"You too, Ser Jorah. Come back soon!"

Torrhen smiled kindly to the Northern knight as he left, but as soon as he was gone, he let out a long sigh and slumped over in his chair. He had no idea what it was the maester was trying to tell him, but what did it matter anyway? He couldn't go and follow Ser Jorah's advice regarding how to meet his mother right now with his ankle as bad as it was. He was stuck here for the next few days. He couldn't do anything to prevent Ser Jorah's banishment. It made him feel useless.

Shadow seemed to instinctively know that he was upset, because he scooted closer to his young master and rested his head on his lap, red eyes staring up at him inquisitively. Torrhen smiled lightly and ran his fingers through his fur. "Thanks, boy. I'm glad you're here. If you weren't, then I'd really be alone."

Licking his fingers a few times, Shadow slowly laid down on the ground near his feet and shut his eyes, content to nap and rest now that they were out of immediate danger. Torrhen wished he could do the same, but he didn't dare. There was too much on his mind to be able to rest. More importantly, people could start screaming any minute now that a little girl with a dragon had been spotted wandering around the city calling his name. If Lyaella and Sōnar were out there somewhere, he had to stay alert so they could find him. He was the big brother, she was the little sister. It was his job to find her and protect her. Once he managed to meet their mother, it'd be easier for him to find them. Torrhen could only hope she and Sōnar could hold out until then.

"I'll find you, Lyaella," he murmured, grabbing hold of his lute and squeezing it tightly. "I promise…"

Instead of dragging him out of the city straight away, the Unsullied guards were nice enough to escort him to the bazaar so he could purchase a horse and a few days worth of supplies. Not that they said a word to him the entire time or let him go anywhere else after. Once he had everything he needed, they took him directly to the main gates.

"Don't come back to Meereen, Ser Jorah," one of them warned him. "We obey our queen, and queen serious in commands."

Jorah nodded as he rode off, but inside, his thoughts were a scattered mess. He had found a Targaryen child, and a boy, on top of it! Had Torrhen's last name been Targaryen instead of Snow, he'd have a better claim to the Iron Throne than Daenerys did…

Where on earth had that boy come from? And aside from that wolf, why was he alone? He mentioned something about having a twin sister that looked more Targaryen than he did, and according to him they had a dragon too… but where were they? What about the rest of their family? Their parents? He wished he'd had more time to talk to Torrhen before the Unsullied had arrived and dragged him off.

Hopefully, that boy would be able to see the queen right away once his ankle was better. Jorah wasn't naive enough to expect Daenerys to automatically forgive him even if Torrhen mentioned him in passing to her whenever they met, but one thing he did know was that his queen would be overjoyed to discover she wasn't alone anymore as the very last Targaryen. He could only hope that boy could meet her soon.

Still, that didn't solve the mystery about why Torrhen Snow was evidently alone aside from that direwolf of his. Jorah would have to keep his eyes and ears open regarding any rumors about a silver-haired little girl with a dragon from now on, or if there were people out there searching for a little boy with a direwolf matching Torrhen's description. He'd promised that boy he'd try to find a way to get back into the queen's good graces soon. He'd made the decision long ago to stay faithful to the rightful heir to the Iron Throne upon realizing what a good person Daenerys Stormborn truly was. He made mistakes before which was why he was being banished back into exile, but his loyalties hadn't wavered.

He would find a way to earn Daenerys' trust once again. He was loyal to the Dragon Queen, and he was devoted to the Dragon Prince now, too.