Howl of the Dragonwolves

by Elphaba818

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

15. The Return of Familiar Faces

Welcome back to the next chapter of Howl of the Dragonwolves! For all you Lyaella fans out there, I'm sorry to report that she has yet to make a reappearance. I know you all are anxious to see what happens next in her storyline, but we still have one last Torrhen-centric chapter before we can return to her and Jon at the Wall. Don't worry, she will definitely return in the next chapter! I promise! But for those of you who want to criticize me for not doing my usual two chapters with each of the twins before cutting back to the other, keep in mind that I made a point of stating in my author's note in Chapter Thirteen that we might have to stay with Torrhen for three chapters instead of the usual two count in order to keep the story on track. I gave you all fair warning that this might happen, so it shouldn't be much of a problem. Although… I have a distinct feeling that many of you will be screaming at me to NOT cut back to Lyaella in the next chapter considering what happens in this last Torrhen-centric chapter. No spoilers though as to what I mean! You must read and find out for yourself! ;D

Also, because I know that the upcoming Chapter Sixteen will NOT be out anytime soon since I have yet to writing the basic chapter outline, I will therefore be unable to have it out on November 30th, the first anniversary date of Howl of the Dragonwolves. So, consider today's release on November 22nd 2020 to be an early first anniversary release for all of you readers! I know most of you are annoyed by the slow progress I'm making with getting through Season 5 alone, but I swear that we'll move on to Season 6 soon. There's only a few more chapters until we finally get to Hardhome/Harpy Ambush in the Fighting Pits. When those two major battles are over, it won't be long until Season Six finally begins!

Sadly, I still haven't had much luck in finding a job. Not even when applying for local part-time positions in my area just for daily money can I find work! I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but it seems like no one wants to hire me… *Sighs* I wish I could get any job at this point. I need to start making money! T.T

Once again, I'd like to thank my pals Longclaw and WrathofAvarice for their help with this chapter. They both helped me out in terms of writing roadblocks and even with minor editing for the opening scene, which I was struggling to trim down on my own. Thank you! :)

One last note before I move on to the review count. I know I said back in my last author note that I wasn't planning to go back and edit previous chapters for modern terminology that I forgot to edit out, but due to how I wrote something in this chapter, I WILL be going back to edit out one particular modern term in Chapter Twelve after posting this chapter here and on Ao3. No spoilers as to what it is! You'll understand after reading this chapter and then rereading that one. Don't worry, it won't be a major change in terms of changing the storyline itself in that chapter. I just need to change a modern term into a more time period-accurate word that's used repeatedly by the characters in that chapter.

Now, onto the review count! We managed to squeeze out 279 reviews for chapter 14, meaning we short by only 1 review. We were so close to our goal! Oh well… I suppose we'll just have to try again with today's chapter.

For the new review goal… hmm… I think we try striving for 300 this time. That's 21 reviews I'm asking for, which is only one less than the number of reviews that the last chapter received. If you all could band together last time and carve out 22 reviews before, I know that you can easily write out 21 reviews this time! Go for it, everyone! Tell yourselves that you can do it, and you can! Remember, reviews tell me that people like reading this story, which in return keeps me inspired to keep writing. More reviews - More writing from me! Lol!

I think that's just about everything I planned to say, so I'll be off now! Please, enjoy this next chapter and leave a nice review on it when you're done!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

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Chapter Fifteen: The Return of Familiar Faces

"Come now, sweetlings. Don't be like that."

They huffed at her, smoke billowing from their nostrils.

"Please, try for me. For your mother."

The white one blinked twice. The green one snorted, rumbling softly.

"Viserion, Rhaegal, listen to me. You need to try. That's all I'm asking."

Her dragons just glared at her before turning away, disappearing into the darkness.

"No, my sons! Come back!"

They didn't so much as flinch. They just continued deeper into the catacombs, their chains jingling behind them.

She sighed. Her sons were stubborn creatures. She always believed Drogon was the unruliest between the three, but Viserion and Rhaegal had their own streaks deep down. They just never let it show until now.

Shaking her head, Dany dejectedly strolled back to the stairs, where a squad of Unsullied guards stood protectively around the small boy sitting on the bottom step. "You promised you'd help me, did you not, Torrhen? Your advice makes no sense."

Torrhen didn't glance up from the sheets of parchment sprawled out across his lap, each one containing various notes written for him by Missandei. "I told you what I know. I can't help it if you don't understand."

"Yes, you can. I can tell you are not fully invested in assisting me."

"I told you, I'm not going to bond with your dragons. I won't go closer to help."

"Yet you consider me your queen, do you not? Well, as your queen, I order you to put away Missandei's notes and tell me what I'm doing wrong training my children."

"Me reading through these notes is my way of trying to help, your grace. I asked Lady Missandei to write down basic commands in High Valyrian. I think that's part of your problem."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

He finally looked up at her, his expression rigid yet fierce. "You talk to them in a mix of Valyrian and the Common Tongue. Aside from her own name, me and Lyaella only taught Sōnar one command in High Valyrian — dracarys. Anything else we tell her, we tell her in the Common Tongue because that's the only command we know. If your dragons know both languages, that might be why they're not listening. No promises, though."

"This was your idea, Torrhen. If you can't explain how you and your sister supposedly trained your dragon, I'm inclined to believe this Sōnar doesn't really exist."

Ice filled his eyes. "I've told you, your dragons are not Sōnar. They're not the same as her. They're yours. If you're their mother then you should know how to handle them."

"Handle them how?"

"How should I know that? They're not my dragons. Be their mother and learn for yourself."

"Learn what?"

"I just told you, I don't know. You should know that already."

Dany closed her eyes, doing her best to rein in her frustration. Torrhen's suggestion for her to train her sons was a valid one, but her patience was running thin by the little he told her regarding how. He demanded she trained her dragons, yet didn't give basic instructions on what to do. She'd been easy going with his bad behavior until now since he was under Ser Barristan's wing and it was his job to discipline his squire. That was obviously a mistake, though. It was time she started enforcing the rules around this boy so he knew to treat her respectfully.

"Torrhen, this behavior of yours stops now. I understand you don't think highly of some of my choices here in Essos. That's fine, you're entitled to your opinion, but just because you're mad doesn't give you the right to be sullen and vague in your instructions on how I can train Viserion and Rhaegal. If I'm to train them, you need to tell me how."

He scowled, shoving Missandei's notes back into his tunic and stood up. "I've told you what to do, your grace. It's not my fault you're not doing it right."

"Then explain better, or show me what I'm doing wrong."

"No, I won't make a bond!"

"Torrhen—"

"I told you, be their mother! Do whatever mother's do! Talk to them in the Common Tongue or High Valyrian! If you really wanted to do it, you could! Don't blame me for your problem!"

Without another word, he spun around and stomped up to the exit, not even halfway there before mumbling curses and swears under his breath. He'd likely go the rest of the day without another word to her. Aside from when she brought him down here to help her train her children like he promised, Torrhen now refused to speak to her whatsoever. Ever since the small council meeting he'd been giving her the cold shoulder, and despite how Ser Barristan and Missandei pleaded with him to look past the horrible things he'd accused her of, he stubbornly refused to move past it.

It was beyond disrespectful. Part of Dany wanted to order her Unsullied to drag the boy back here and force him to apologize… but it wasn't her place. Until she knew for certain whether he truly was related to her, there was only so much she could do when disciplining Ser Barristan's ill-tempered squire. It was the knight's duty to punish him. Once she had real, unquestionable proof that Torrhen truly was of Targaryen descent, she would step up more when he crossed the line. But for now she had to be patient. The truth would be revealed soon enough and she would deal with it then.

And besides, his words kept ringing in her head. She could admit — at least to herself — that she was doubtful that training her sons would amount to anything. Was the fact she didn't believe this would change anything the reason why her dragons wouldn't listen? Did her children sense her own self-doubt?

Shaking her head, she quietly ordered her guards to follow and climbed up the steps behind Torrhen. Whether or not that was why she was struggling with this she didn't know, but if it was, she couldn't deal with it today. There were too many important things to take care of in the city, and as queen, they had to take priority.

It was a good thing they left when they did, though. Upon the Unsullied sealing the entrance, she saw Hizdahr strolling towards them. "Your grace, I hadn't realized you were out here. I've been searching all over for you."

"Is something wrong? Has there been another attack?"

"Not at all. I simply received word from the fighting pens. They're pleased by your change of heart and invite you to tour them today."

It took every bit of willpower she had to school her features. "Ah, I see. Well, it wouldn't be right to keep them waiting, I suppose."

"You'll go, your grace?"

"Yes. Torrhen, please run ahead and find Ser Barristan, Missandei, and Captain Naharis. Tell them I'll meet them at the main entrance and we'll all depart together."

The boy stiffly nodded. Bowing politely, he shot off without a word.

Hizdahr frowned. "He still won't speak to you, my queen?"

Dany nodded. "Indeed. Only when with my dragons does he say anything to me, and never more than strictly necessary."

He shook his head, baffled. "Strange boy, your grace. I've never met a child quite like him… Still, as ill-mannered as he is, I don't deny he has a natural mind for politics. I'm glad his words convinced you to change your mind about the fighting pits."

She mutely nodded, not daring to speak. It sickened her to her very core, but she had finally given in to Hizdahr's wise words about tradition and the culture of Meereen by reopening the fighting pits. If there was one thing she could admit was true Torrhen about what said during the small council session, it was the pits needed to be reopened. Peace needed to return to Meereen, and if the fighters in the rings would be freedmen choosing to fight rather than being forced to… it was sadly acceptable. If both sides of Meereen wanted it and were all right with that stipulation, then Torrhen was right about how she was only ostracizing herself from the support of the people. It wasn't an easy choice, but it was the smartest one and what was best for the city.

Murmuring a quiet command in Valyrian to the Unsullied, they marched in unison around them as they walked on. "I won't deny I'm still privately against pit fighting, Lord Hizdahr, but why do you say Torrhen has a mind for politics? One good suggestion does not constitute a clear insight into his talents."

Hizdahr chuckled, though quickly stopped when he saw her fierce glare. "Forgive me, your grace, but I'm surprised you haven't had your soldiers go out on the streets to verify his claims."

She frowned. "His claims?"

"What he spoke of during the small council session. Why haven't you had some of your soldiers listen to what the people are saying, to find out if what he said about what the people think about your choices in the city are true ?"

Dany slowly blinked. It took her several moments to collect her thoughts and think up a reply. "Have you done so? Have you had your servants listening to the people in the city?"

"Not many. Just passing whispers they hear whilst in the market or port."

"And?"

He frowned. "And either way I answer, be it the truth or lie, you won't care nor believe me. You'll presume me to be lying."

Her eyes grew harsh. "You speak boldly, Hizdahr zo Loraq. Do you believe that to be wise?"

"I believe it to be fair, your grace. I won't deny that how my father died was horrible, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't still harbor resentment towards you, but I can see you're trying to be a good queen. The problem is that no one other than that boy has ever dared challenge your perspective before that you're not used to constructive criticism."

"Constructive criticism?" she mused.

"Some of his ideas are indeed unrealistic, your grace, and he may have wrong ideas on some of your choices, but still… he has a unique perspective on things. He made quite a few well-reasoned arguments, at least. I couldn't do that at his age. It took me years to learn how to think ahead and argue for my point of view like that."

She considered this for awhile before nodding. "I can't deny that. His arguments were rather surprising for a boy his age."

"He has a temper, your grace, one he must learn to keep in check if he's to survive in this world, but I stand by my opinion. He has the insight to become an exceptional politician one day, and if he is telling the truth about being of your House… well, permission to state my opinion, my queen?"

"Certainly."

"If you legitimized him, then you'd have an official heir. I mean no disrespect to any potential children you might one day have, your grace. If and when you do marry to produce a true heir in Westeros, they of course would take priority over Torrhen. I only mean hypothetically if you never make it to Westeros, your people would still have someone to push your House's claim. I know what a mess the line of succession is across the sea right now. If you teach him to control his temper, he has the makings to be a smart king. Better than the false King Joffrey, in any case."

She nodded lightly at the comparison, for as little information as they were able to gather about the current state of Westeros, even they were aware of the Lannister bastards' lust for cruelty. Torrhen Snow was young and immature with a terrible temper, but there was nothing about that boy that suggested he was cruel or dangerous… except for maybe that direwolf of his, but only when it was trying to protect its master or further expressing Torrhen's anger. Most of the time the wolf appeared tame and gentle. Still, she wouldn't be dropping her guard around that beast just yet. She rather enjoyed having all her fingers.

"I won't deny I've been thinking that myself, Hizdahr. Still, I first must know whether he is truly an illegitimate Targaryen child, and I need to know more about his character. My family lost the Iron Throne to our long history of madness and insanity, and Torrhen has a temper to him."

"I'm sure that's just childish immaturity, your grace. Nothing worth worrying about, at least not to that extent."

She merely smiled politely in return, spared from answering by the fact they had arrived at the main entrance. Missandei and Daario were already waiting for them, as were a number of the Second Sons and a handful more Unsullied. Ser Barristan and Torrhen however were nowhere to be found. Upon inquiring about their whereabouts, Daario snorted.

"The knight's making him saddle up both their horses. Says doing it for himself builds character, or something …"

Forcing a murmured thank you to the sellsword for the explanation, Dany nodded politely to Hizdahr for his counsel and moved to wait near Missandei, too irritated by Daario to continue the discussion while he was there. Thankfully, her friend seemed to guess the source of her annoyance with only a single look, and waited until the Unsullied formed a unit of protection around them before turning to her.

"Which one is annoying you, your grace?" She whispered in Dothraki. It was the perfect language for them to use right now, as neither man spoke it. "Lord Hizdahr or Captain Naharis?"

Dany sighed. "Both really, though more Daario this time than Hizdahr."

"Truly? I'd have thought it'd be the other way around."

"I know, it surprises even me. But believe it or not, Hizdahr was actually providing me with surprisingly insightful counsel this time. It was only the last bit I didn't like."

"What was it, your grace?"

Still speaking in Dothraki, Dany loosely explained her time with Torrhen in the catacombs followed by her short conversation with the Meerenese councilor. No one even glanced twice at them. They were used to the pair weaving between languages as they spoke. Missandei was an attentive listener, but upon hearing her explanation at the very end, she blinked repeatedly. "Do you fear Torrhen could be mad, your grace? Truly?"

She shook her head. "No, no. I don't believe he's mad… more like at risk of possibly going mad one day."

"Because of his temper?"

Dany sadly nodded. "If his behavior is just childish immaturity, that's fine. All children have those stages they go through. But if it's not just a phase…" she sighed, her expression quite fixed and rigid. "I don't know… I could never harm a child, but my brother Viserys was also an angry boy who grew up without any discipline. He descended into madness because no one ever kept him in check…"

Missandei nodded, turning away slightly to muse over the predicament. "I don't believe he could turn out that way, your grace, though I understand why you think so. But from what you've told me about your late brother, there's still two key differences between him and Torrhen."

"Oh?"

"You told me yourself that he often struck you, your grace, and that he took great pleasure in reminding everyone he was the rightful heir. Torrhen might share his anger, but I've heard no one mention him possibly losing his temper enough to outright attack someone. He doesn't want to be called a prince and he's angered by the very notion of being called royalty. I doubt he'd be any happier if all of us decided to turn from you to support him as king."

A small smile cracked at those words. "True. Very, true. Thank you, Missandei."

"Of course, your grace."

Torrhen and Ser Barristan arrived a few minutes later, already riding their horses as they lead a few more soldiers bringing additional horses over for herself, Missandei, Hizdahr, and Daario. Torrhen barely even glanced at any of them as he hopped down from the saddle to beckon Shadow to hurry along, as he'd been trotting along tiredly behind the procession. The poor wolf was panting heavily from the intense heat of the sun today, dropping down onto all fours as soon as he reached his young master. Aside from passing Torrhen an extra water skin from the pockets of his saddle bag, Ser Barristan smiled kindly to all of them as he dismounted and bowed in greeting. "My apologies for our tardiness, your grace. I haven't yet gone over with Torrhen how to fully saddle and prepare my horse whilst heading out in the city. But my squire surprised me by already knowing everything there is to know about saddling up horses and beginners riding."

"Oh?" She said, glancing to Torrhen curiously. "You've been taught about horses?"

Fetching a small tin water dish from his own saddle bag, Torrhen shot her an ugly look. Pouring some water in it, he set it down before his friend. Shadow darted towards it, eagerly lapping it all down. With his wolf refreshed, the boy focused on her again to give a noncommittal shrug and wordless grunt.

Ser Barristan frowned. "Torrhen, you said you wouldn't ignore the queen today."

He glowered at his mentor. "I didn't ignore the queen, ser. I acknowledged her, didn't I?"

"Torrhen…"

"You said before it was dishonorable and disrespectful to speak to the queen the way I did at the small council meeting. I'm not talking to her like that now, am I?"

"No, but you are still being disrespectful. Come here and answer her grace properly."

He fumed. Clenching his fists, he stomped forward and made an exaggerated, mocking bow. "My sincere apologies, Queen Daenerys," he spat, glaring at her shoes the entire time. "Yes, I know how to ride. Me and Lyaella both learned."

Dany's eyes narrowed, temper flaring. "I have been exceedingly patient towards you, Torrhen. I have put up with your course language and temper, but that was in the privacy of the Great Pyramid. We are going out into the city today. You will treat me with respect at all times if you wish to stay in my court. Is that clear?"

The boy tensed, pressing his lips into a thin line. Finally he sighed and forced a nod. "Aye," he mumbled.

It was so odd, how easily he backed down like that. It reminded her of his pouting when she chastised him during their first meeting in the council chambers. It was like he was sulking from being reprimanded by his mother…

She nearly swallowed at the thought, but caught herself at the last moment before turning to her followers. "Let's be off, then. It would not be wise to be late."

Nodding, her knight and his squire remounted their horses as her other advisors climbed on top their own. A few minutes later the Unsullied and Second Sons were in formation, and at last they set off through the city. Aside from a few passing remarks Hizdahr made throughout the course of the journey regarding the history of the fighting pits, everyone was relatively quiet to Dany's gratitude. Outwardly, she appeared to be everything people expected when they imagined her as a regal, powerful queen to those they passed. Inside, her mind was a whirlwind of repressed emotions and memories.

Rhaego… Her precious little prince… Why couldn't he be here right now? She would never have allowed him to grow up as ill-mannered and short tempered as Torrhen had…

She tightened her grip on the reins and sat up straighter in the saddle. No, don't think about that. Don't remember it. If she looked back, she would be lost…

Upon arriving at the fighting pens, they were greeted by a former master and escorted to a designated viewing box set up specifically for her arrival. With a colorful tarp hanging overhead, a low side table with a bowl of fresh fruit, and a cushioned seat for her to sit and watch the proceedings, it was clear the former masters were trying to show their appreciation and be welcoming towards her. But Dany couldn't help the involuntary grimace that shot across her face as she slowly sank into the chair.

She waited until their escort scurried off to the fighting pens to inform the fighters of their arrival before turning to Hizdahr. "I thought the Great Games were supposed to be the main spectacle. Will I be watching countless men die before then?"

"It is tradition for Meereen's ruler to tour the lower pits and pay respect to the fighters there in the time leading up to the Great Games," he explained. "The fighters consider your presence a tremendous honor, your grace."

She only nodded in return, not trusting herself to reply appropriately. There was nothing worth honoring in this gruesome affair. This was human slaughter in the highest degree, and every principle in her body was screaming it was wrong.

Dany waited until she was certain Missandei was also settled and Daario, Ser Barristan, and Torrhen had all found appropriate positions to stand and keep guard whilst attending to her before signaling the watchmen to bring forward the fighters. If she had to pay her respects as the queen of Meereen, better to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. With any luck, they'd be able to leave within an hour. Two at the most.

The pit fighters emerged from the fighting pen a few minutes later, all of them being hurried along by a wealthy former master in relatively expensive silks. Clearly the one in charge of these fighters, but by no means the wealthiest former master in all the city. Even Hizdahr's silks and overall presence showed he was richer than him.

Still, the former master didn't even notice them at first. He was too busy ushering out the fighters from the pens. "Come, come! Move yourselves! Today's the — oh!" he cried, now noticing her and her retinue. He rushed forward, politely bowing. "Your grace, thank you for coming. You honor us with your visit."

Dany barely had a chance to even nod in return before he hurried back to the fighters, hissing loudly to stand up straighter and bow in respect. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, wishing more than anything to march forward and smack him for how he manhandled one man to puff out his chest a bit more. She had a sinking suspicion this so-called former master wasn't actually a former master, but more like a master who ignored her decree ending slavery and continued the trade in secret. She'd have to remember to order Daario to have a few of his Second Sons discretely follow him when they were done here. If he really was a master still engaging in the slave trade, she'd have to make an example out of him.

When he was at last satisfied with their presentation, he clapped once, and the fighters jolted to attention. "We fight for your glory and die in your name, oh glorious queen," they chanted in unison.

She stiffly nodded in return. They shouldn't be calling her glorious, not when she was willingly allowing them to die for sake of peace.

A moment later, their escort banged a drumstick against a gong. And with loud metallic ringing the fighting commenced. The fighters drew their weapons and launched themselves at one another, bloodlust running rampant in their eyes. Dany sucked in a breath as one particularly muscled fighter managed to knock a younger man's knife out of his hands and forced him to his knees. Her stomach churned as his arakh neatly sliced the warrior's throat, blood gushing everywhere as he fell to the ground.

Hizdahr seemed to notice her discomfort, and quietly stepped forward. "I can see this upsets you, your grace, but it's tradition for our ruler to stay and congratulate the victor personally," he whispered.

"Congratulate?! I'm to smile and express my joy at the winner?!" She hissed.

"It is customary for the Great Games. Please…"

"I've already sacrificed my principles by allowing this to happen. What more must I—?!"

"Torrhen—! Oh, dear… sit down, lad. Sit down, head between your knees."

Dany turned. Ser Barristan was assisting his squire to slow sit down on the edge of the platform off to the side. He had to, as Torrhen was paler than usual and swaying lightly from side to side, his eyes bulging as they stayed fixed on all the bloodshed happening in front of him.

Missandei swiftly hurried towards them to assess his condition, but Daario snickered. "Well, well, seems the little prince's got a weak stomach. Can't handle a few nosebleed fights?"

Torrhen groaned, not bothering to look up. "S-Shut up…"

"Are you all right?" asked Missandei, slowly tilting up the boy's head to look him over. "Do you feel sick?"

"A little dizzy… I do feel a bit better, now…"

"I could fetch a pitcher of water, if you like."

"No, I-I-I can get it… I can walk…"

"Are you sure, Torrhen?" Dany asked, concerned. "There's no harm in having Missandei get some if you're not feeling well."

He rubbed his temples before wordlessly shaking his head, not even turning to her as he did so. Even when he wasn't feeling well, he hadn't forgotten his anger. Torrhen slowly rose back up and looked up at his mentor. "Can I go and get some water, Ser Barristan? I'll bring back more for the queen, too."

"Are you sure you're alright to walk around?"

"Aye, I'm fine."

"Very well, then."

"Thank you, ser."

Clicking his tongue to get his wolf's attention, Torrhen slowly hopped down from the platform, leaning up against Shadow for support as he trudged off towards the fighting pens to find a well.

"Wait, Torrhen, you forgot to bow," Ser Barristan called after him.

He paused right where he was, fingers clenching tightly through Shadow's black fur. He slowly turned back around, but stared pointedly at his feet as he forced a bow. Luckily, he kept his mouth shut this time and made sure to cling onto his wolf as he helped himself back up, setting off again without a word.

Ser Barristan sighed. "I apologize, my queen."

"It's all right, he didn't insult me this time. It's a start, if nothing else."

The knight didn't look entirely pleased. Dany turned to look back out at the rest of the fighters, but between her overall disgust at all the needless bloodshed and her thoughts still swirling around a certain young boy, it was all but impossible to stay focused on the pit fighters. Torrhen Snow… she had never met a little boy quite like him before. Despite his foul mouth, temper, and lack of manners, he still had a limit to how far he went. He never physically attacked anyone in a moment of rage, which still made him better than Viserys. And there were times he could be rather cynical and uncannily direct, but there was still a vulnerability to him, one she couldn't really explain. When Ser Barristan told her all about his private conversation with the boy in his solar regarding what his life with his relatives was like, she'd been shocked. She'd seen for herself how he'd been when talking about his life back in the North, so she knew the knight hadn't been lying, but even so… what type of life had this little boy been forced to live? What suffering had he and his sister endured that made him push people away every time he spoke? He was rude and downright offensive sometimes with his choice of language, but he clearly knew what manners were. Whenever he wasn't angry, he remembered to act respectfully towards her and her small council members, the only exceptions being Daario, Grey Worm for reasons unknown, and now herself after the previous meeting. What caused him to snap so much and act so deplorably?

Then again, she supposed he made some good points. His attitude needed to change, there was no doubt about that, but perhaps it'd been a good thing that he told her what he thought about her past choices before it had. Granted, his idea about her hiring the Golden Company was completely infeasible and she disagreed entirely about what he thought about her execution of Mossador, she couldn't help but muse some more over his other criticisms. His Northern heritage gave him a unique perspective of Ser Jorah, and when thinking over what he said about that golden harpy statue, she could understand his point. Growing up on the run, things like customs or traditions had meant little to her. Viserys had hardly ever spoken of such matters when she asked about their House. He preferred telling her stories about their ancestors being fearsome dragonlords and uniting the realm through fire and blood. Had the rebellion never happened, what would life had been like for her in the Red Keep? Would she have grown up visiting the Sept of Baelor once a week for prayer? What did House Targaryen do when celebrating together?

She nearly sighed as she thought about it all, but a sudden scream from within the ring brought her back to the present, and she sucked in a breath as she watched a man be pinned to the ground by his opponent and stabbed cleanly through the hand by a sharp blade.

Dany stiffened, her mouth going dry. What Torrhen said about the former masters she'd had crucified… they were echoing through her head now in an endless cycle. Had she done the right thing that day? When she liberated the city, it seemed like the appropriate punishment. All those children she'd seen nailed to crosses and left to rot on the roadside had horrified her when she first saw it. Disgusted her in ways she'd never known. Like she told Torrhen, she had looked into each one of those little faces and whispered her apologies that she couldn't have come to liberate them sooner. She had her people stop no less than one hundred and sixty-three times during their march to Meereen to dig them all graves, and before they continued, she would gather whatever wildflowers she could find and lay them upon their burial mounds. Her only regret was that she hadn't known the children's names and couldn't have proper tombstones put up.

Was she sorry she had ordered the former masters to be crucified in the same manner upon liberating Meereen?

No, absolutely not.

Was she sorry though that she never took the time to learn which of the masters were directly responsible for the children's crucifixions?

…Yes, sadly yes.

It pained her to admit it, but Torrhen's cruel judgment of the matter had a fair point. She had never taken the time to find out which of the masters in particular were the ones who deliberately decided to murder all those children. She had judged them all upon arriving in the city and had simply order the Unsullied and Second Sons to round up exactly a hundred and sixty-three masters. Ser Barristan had politely pulled her aside and asked her to show the people mercy, but she had ignored his council and continued regardless. She hadn't regretted her decision until Hizdahr later visited her court.

When he explained how his father had personally been against the children's crucifixions and yet was one of the masters she'd crucified in return, she'd felt guilty. Whether that was true or not would forever remain a mystery because she hadn't tried to find out who had and hadn't been involved. It was a miracle the man was still willing to work with her to restore order to Meereen if it was true. Assuming he hadn't been lying when they met, what were the odds there had been others who were also against those children's deaths that had died? Moreover, what if she hadn't rounded up all those who were responsible for the crucifixions? Had she stopped and taken the time to find that out, perhaps Hizdahr's father would still be alive. Perhaps whoever was the mastermind behind the Sons of the Harpy wouldn't have had the chance to build up the terrorist group. Things could have been so much different…

She closed her eyes and sighed. Torrhen had been right in that regard. Why hadn't she stopped to find out who was and wasn't responsible for those innocent children? Why had she punished all of Meereen as a whole and not only those who were truly guilty? Why?

"Is everything all right, your grace?"

"Oh, yes, Missandei. I'm—"

A loud crash cut her off, followed by a great deal of shouting and clattering. The fighters still hacking away at each other in the ring all immediately stopped. Everyone dropped what they'd been doing and whipped around.

More furious shouting and clanging resounded. And it was coming directly from the fighting pens off on the side.

---

"Ugh… it's hot. Too hot. I hate the heat…"

Red eyes blinked up at the boy, taking in his sweaty tunic and flushed cheeks as they trudged down the path. He tried nuzzling against him like he knew Torrhen liked, but Torrhen pointedly pushed him away, shaking his head with a tired sigh.

"No, no, Shadow. No nuzzling," he groaned. "It's too hot for that. You're… You're fur's the last thing I wanna touch right now, boy. I can't imagine how hot you must be right now. Remind me to sheer some fur off you later, all right? No reason we should both suffer in this heat…"

Shadow whined, desperately wanting the haircut now. Despite Torrhen's protests, he sluggishly moved closer to his boy, wriggling his head under his boy's arm for attention. Torrhen felt his headache throb just from touching Shadows' fur, but he ignored it and set down the heavy jug to scratch him behind the ears. He was feverish, his head was pounding, and he was tired and crankier than usual from the scorching sun, but it didn't matter. Shadow wanted attention. He couldn't deny his friend that.

He knew he should head back to the viewing platform with the water, but surely they wouldn't care if he lingered around for a minute, right? Between the heat and his disgust of the pit fighters mercilessly slaughtering one another, he'd been so nauseous and lightheaded he wasn't sure whether he would thrown up or passed out first if he'd stayed back there.

Wiping away the sweat from his brow, Torrhen seized the water jug and moved into the shade of the fighting pen. "Ah, better. Much better," he sighed. "The queen's next decree should be outlawing the sun. I never knew I could be this hot. Why couldn't I have stay back at the Great Pyramid? I'm not even doing… I should be writing down everything I can remember from mother's and Lyaella's songs onto new parchment, not scorching to death…"

Shadow made a small whimper of agreement, but before Torrhen could say anything further, his wolf ears suddenly perked up, head snapping around.

Torrhen blinked. "What's up, bud? You hear something?"

Shadow ignored him. He stared intently at the back entrance of the fighting pen, black nose twitching as he sniffed the air. Torrhen didn't have a clue as to what caught his attention, but it didn't matter. They had to get back to the viewing platform before Ser Barristan or the queen sent someone looking for them.

Clicking his tongue to get his pal's attention, Torrhen bent down to collect the pitcher, but froze when Shadow ignored him and bolted to the entryway.

"Shadow, no—! What're you doing?!" Torrhen hissed. "Get back here!"

Shadow paid him no mind and vanished inside. Shouts of alarm erupted within less than a second.

Torrhen sighed. Dropping the water pitcher, he blew a loose curl out of his eyes and trudged after his friend. "They better not get mad at me for this. This is Shadow's fault, not mine…"

He just entered the enclosure when he spied Shadow trying to squeeze past several fighters failing to block him from going further in. Many of the were shouting in rapid High Valyrian so didn't understand. He'd have to keep reading through Missandei's notes on the language diligently later. His future mother had been right about him needing to learn the language if he was to stay in Essos.

Seeing a handful of them unsheathing their blades made him rush forward. "Sorry! Terribly sorry about this!" He said quickly, raising his hands unthreateningly as he hurried to Shadow. "Didn't mean to interrupt you all! Sorry! We'll — We'll be going now! Come on, Shadow!"

Torrhen whistled and tried steering him back out. Shadow only yipped and bit down on the hem of his tunic, dragging him further inside.

"Hey! Shadow — Shadow, stop that! What — What're you—?!"

"A direwolf in Essos…? What in the world—?"

"Torrhen?! Is that you?!"

Torrhen froze. He knew those voices. The first sounded rather bewildered and belonged to a certain half-man he'd last met in his own timeline at the memorial feast. The other was of a Northern dialect, and he'd met only one Northerner since his arrival in the past.

He whipped around. Sitting on a bench a short ways off was none other than Jorah Mormont and Tyrion Lannister, both looking filthy and tired — not to mention much younger in Tyrion's case — but there was no mistaking it. It was them.

Blinking repeatedly, Torrhen let go of Shadow and squeezed his way past the pit fighters. He needed to see them, talk to them. It was the only way he'd know he wasn't hallucinating. Still, as surprised as he was by Tyrion's appearance, the dwarf would have to wait. He technically hadn't met the dwarf of Casterly Rock yet in the past.

"Ser Jorah! I… I can't believe it! What're you doing here?!"

The knight shook his head, eyes wide as saucers. "No, that's my question, lad. Why are you here? Were — Were you not able to meet the queen?! Did they capture you, too?!"

"Capture me? What—?"

"Oy, brat! Get outta here!"

"Beat it, boy! Or we'll throw you in chains and carve up your mutt for lunch!"

Torrhen whirled back around. While most of the fighters were trying to stay out of the way to avoid Shadow's fangs, a few of the braver warriors were still brandishing their blades as they inched closer. They kept one eye trained on him and his wolf, the other on the highborn spokesman who'd acted as the announcer out in the fighting ring.

Shadow growled, hackles rising as he crouched down. Torrhen glared at the closest swordsman, his fingers inching towards the pommel of his training sword.

"One, never threaten me or Shadow," he snarled. "Only fucking fools poke a sleeping wolf! Two—"

"You calling us fools, boy?!"

"Little shit! I'll teach you 'bout running your mouth!"

"—what's going on?! What're you doing here, Ser Jorah? You said you were gonna find a way to get Queen Daenerys to forgive you, so why're you here? And — And what d'you mean by, 'did they capture me?'"

For all his so-called smarts, Tyrion Lannister looked completely puzzled. "Who is this boy, Mormont? Does he know the queen?"

Ser Jorah ignored their questions. Instead, he leapt to his feet, shoved Torrhen behind him, and snatched up a sword and helmet upon seeing the nobleman try to yank him away. "Why is this boy here?!" he demanded, jamming on the helmet as he held up the blade. "If you grabbed him and his wolf off the streets, you will answer to me!"

"We did nothing of the sort! He's not ours!"

"Then why is he here?!"

"How should we know?! You're the one stopping us from throwing him out!"

Then it hit Torrhen. He knew exactly what was going on. He hadn't paid close attention to his future mother's history as he had his future father's, but now he remembered — this was the day Ser Jorah first tried appeasing his mother after she exiled him by capturing Tyrion Lannister. Sadly, she kept Tyrion as an advisor but dismissed the knight again.

This was it. This was his one and only chance to start seriously changing her future in regards to the North. If there was any hope at all in her dealing with the fucking Starks and Northern lords, it depended on her welcoming Ser Jorah back into her council now. Today. Not after the big sneak attack from the Harpies in the Great Games. Not after she took control of the Dothraki khalasar sometime next year. Now.

"I'm here with Queen Daenerys, Ser Jorah!" He cried, grabbing hold of his arm. "She's outside right now, watching the fighters!"

Ser Jorah jerked, as did Tyrion. Both their heads swiveled around, incredulous.

"The queen? She's here? Now?"

"What? But — But then what're you—?"

"Shadow dragged me in here. He must've smelled you, and I'm glad he did! Oy!" Torrhen snapped, turning to glare at the spectators. "What's going on?! Do you know who this man is?!"

The nobleman snorted, amused. "He is my fighter, boy. He sold himself into slavery willingly. Who he was before doesn't matter."

"The queen outlawed slavery! She'll have your head for this!"

"No, she won't, because you won't be telling her." He jerked his head at his fighters. "Kill him. The wolf, too."

The pit fighters pressed forward. Torrhen jumped, dragging Shadow closer as he fumbled for his training sword. His direwolf started snarling furiously at the advancers until Ser Jorah leapt forward, just barely blocking a swing of an arakh. Parrying another strike, he overpowered the man and knocked him to the ground with a firm kick to the knee.

"Torrhen, run! Now!" the knight ordered.

Torrhen wanted to ignore his order and whip out his training sword to help — he'd helped Ser Barristan during the riot, after all — but there were a fair share of fighters closing in on them right now. Ser Jorah needed help from experienced swordsmen rather than him. Ser Barristan was just outside, as was the queen. Daenerys needed to see Ser Jorah fighting to protect him. If she saw that, maybe she'd let his mentor help him. More importantly, he'd finally prove he'd not only met the Northern knight, but that Ser Jorah was still loyal to her and her claim to the Iron Throne.

He dashed to the exit leading out to the fighting ring. "S-Shadow, come on!"

An armored Lysene tried to block him off. "You're not goin' anywhere, whelp!"

He reached for his arm, but Shadow sprung forward, snarling wildly as he clamped down on his fingers. Torrhen didn't stop even when the man yelped and tumbled backwards into a stack of heavy barrels. He just vaulted over his fallen form and bolted outside.

All the men slaughtering each other in the fighting ring froze as he and Shadow burst out. Daenerys and her entourage were equally alarmed. She scrambled to her feet, royal propriety completely forgotten. "What—?!"

"Torrhen!" Ser Barristan cut in, stepping forward. "What's going on?! What were you—?!"

"Y-Your grace! Ser Barristan! You — You've gotta—!"

"Insolent boy! Get back here!" The nobleman slaver dashed out behind him, his whole face puffing a vivid shade of scarlet. Several other pit fighters followed, their weapons still in hand. The slaver didn't even glance at them as he thrust his finger at Torrhen, nor did he notice the important figure on the viewing platform. "Seize him!"

His pit fighter slaves jerked. "Master—?!"

"B-But — But master—!"

"Skin that beast's hide and bring him here! Now!"

The fighters bit their lips, but reluctantly ran towards Torrhen. Within seconds, Ser Barristan drew his sword and rushed to the platforms' steps. Daario simply ignored them and leapt down while reaching for his arakh.

"What is going on?!"

"Torrhen! Get back!"

"These your slaves, good man? Well, you chose the wrong day to—"

Clang!

Daario cut himself off, blinking in surprise. Ser Barristan mirrored his expression while Daenerys, Hizdahr, and Missandei simply stared, all of them stunned. Despite his own shock, Torrhen couldn't help but smile when he saw one pit fighters fall to the ground. He was out cold, courtesy of Ser Jorah.

"So long as I live, none of you shall harm the Dragon Prince!" he shouted, dashing to another would-be assailant.

Torrhen blinked. Dragon Prince? Was that how Ser Jorah saw him? Unlike Daario, he could tell the Ser Jorah was trying to show him respect with the title, but he'd have to tell him later not to call him that. He and Lyaella were not a prince or princess, nor would they ever become as such. They were just Torrhen and Lyaella Snow. Nothing more, nothing less.

Daario suddenly yanked the back of his tunic, dragging him roughly to the platform. "You stupid, boy?! Move it!"

Torrhen didn't answer, but hastily nodded and whistled to Shadow to stay close. Ser Barristan ushered them up the platform steps, nodding appreciatively to Daario before checking Torrhen over for injuries. "Are you all right Torrhen?! What happened?!"

"I'm fine, ser, really! I — I didn't mean for any of this to happen!"

"What were you doing in the fighting pens? We sent you for water!"

"And did I hear those men right? Did those fighters refer to than man over there as 'master?'" asked Daenerys, her expression hard.

Torrhen nodded, his gaze wandering back to Ser Jorah as he defended himself from a man with a spear. "Aye, your grace. All the fighters he brought are his slave fighters. He — He was angry when Shadow burst in there and I followed after him. He wanted to kill Shadow and put me in chains."

The queen's eyes could cut steel, she was so angry. "Dovaogēdy, gūrogon bona vala! Pryjagon se belma hen tolvie buzdari ziry maghatan kesīr!"

Numerous Unsullied bowed and marched at once to the master in question. The man sputtered as he was dragged past Daenerys, but she barely spared him a glance. Waving him off to be brought back to the pyramid and dealt with later, she turned back to Torrhen. "How many slaves are still back there, Torrhen? The Unsullied shall go free them immediately."

Torrhen blinked. "I didn't count. But never mind that, your grace, I—"

"Never mind…?! I am the Breaker of Chains, Torrhen! I must have my soldiers free them at once!"

"Fine, send them, then! But — look!"

He pointed sharply to the fighting ring, making everyone turn and watch the mysterious fighter with the helmet defeat everyone who dared approach the platform, and all without killing a single one either. Everyone Ser Jorah defeated, he did so by knocking them out. Everyone in Daenerys' company watched, amazed. It was so rare to see a pit fighter fight without killing his opponents in battle. Daenerys especially studied the swordsman with great interest, and Torrhen couldn't help but swell with hope. Please let things be different this time around. Let the fact that Ser Jorah had protected him right now mean something to his future mother so she'd forgive him.

Finally, Ser Jorah was the only one left. Panting heavily, he slowly turned and approached the platform, his eyes immediately seeking Torrhen. Sighing in relief that he was okay, he then turned to Daenerys. There was a definite pause as he gazed up at her, and then he removed his helmet.

It was like she was already prepared to be angry, how fast her face changed. One moment, the queen was examining Ser Jorah curiously, the faintest traces of a neutral smile tugging at her lips. The next, Daenerys' whole face hardened as she rose up again from the bench, towering over him in suppressed rage.

"Take him away," she ordered. "Have his head thrown into Slaver's Bay as I decreed."

"Certainly, your grace," Ser Barristan murmured, bowing politely before heading back down the steps to join some Unsullied in carting the disgraced knight away.

Ser Jorah's shoulders sagged as he took a hesitant step forward. "Khaleesi, please—"

"Your grace, no!" Torrhen begged, his stomach dropping. "He helped me! Twice, now!"

"That doesn't matter, Torrhen."

"The hell it doesn't! Don't do this!"

He dashed back down the platform steps, determined to yank away Ser Barristan and every guard trying to drag away his fellow Northerner, but his liege knight caught him and held him back.

"Torrhen, enough!"

"No!" He yelled, fighting relentlessly. "Let me go! Ser Jorah!"

Daenerys didn't even look at him. She turned her back to everyone and waited for her guards to drag him away. "Please be sure to be harsher when disciplining your squire for speaking out of turn from now on, Ser Barristan."

"I certainly will, your — y-your grace! Torrhen, stop! T-This is—!"

"I'm glad you met the Dragon Prince, khaleesi!" Ser Jorah called out, managing to pull away from the soldiers. "Has he told you how we met?! How I found him and his wolf after the earthquake?! He hurt his ankle! He could barely walk! I took him to a sick house before the Unsullied came for me!"

There was a long pause. His story coincided with what the boy told them before. Torrhen had been telling the truth.

"I've brought another gift, khaleesi," he went on. "One which will interest you!"

Daenerys spared a hesitant glance over her shoulder, curious.

Daario chortled as he sheathed his dagger. "A gift? What kind of gift? Don't tell me you found Prince Snow's sister. You traded in the queen for a so-called bastard princess?"

"Prince Snow? He's a bastard? You never mentioned that, Mormont, let alone a missing princess."

The new voice caught everyone off guard. Torrhen held his breath as Tyrion stepped out from the fighting pens and approached the platform. He casted the boy an intrigued look before focusing on the queen.

Ser Barristan was the only one amongst the queen's councilors who didn't stare in bewilderment at the dwarf. He sucked in a breath, releasing his squire in his surprise.

Tyrion halfheartedly chuckled. "Ser Barristan Selmy, it's been a long time. I believe the last time we saw each other was back in Winterfell."

The knight nodded, his mouth set in a firm line as he gently pushed Torrhen back towards the platform. "Indeed. Though your choice of company back then was quite different, I must say."

"You know this man?" asked Daenerys, eyes flicking to the queensguard.

"Yes, your grace. Though I never expected to see him again until you took the Seven Kingdoms."

Her gaze snapped back to the dwarf. "Who are you?"

Tyrion bowed. "I am Mormont's gift. It's a pleasure to meet you, your grace. You and the Dragon Prince," he paused, glancing at Torrhen again. Shadow moved a few steps in front of his master, not in a threatening way, but rather to put some more distance between Torrhen and the imp. Tyrion raised a brow at the direwolf's protectiveness before turning back to Daenerys. "I must say, when Mormont first mentioned how he 'gifted you with a prince' before, I assumed he meant something like a marriage alliance. I never expected the Dragon Prince to be a child, let alone a Northern bastard."

"I'm not—"

"I asked you a question. You would do well to answer it," said Daenerys sharply, cutting off Torrhen. "Who are you?"

He forced a smile. "My name is Tyrion, your grace. Tyrion Lannister."

Her lips parted and she carefully gazed down at the imp. For the longest time, no one dared to say anything. Torrhen kept his mouth shut too, but ever fiber of his body was mentally praying that Daenerys would make a better choice in this timeline regarding Ser Jorah. Please let things be different!

An eternity passed before she turned to Daario. "Have the Second Son's tie them up. They are both coming with us to the pyramid. Immediately."

"Gladly, your grace."

The return trip seemed to go by incredibly slow, yet somehow fast at the same time. It went slowly because Torrhen hated watching as Ser Jorah and Tyrion were bound in heavy ropes and forced to walk behind while guarded by the Unsullied and Second Son's. But it also went fast because his mind was racing the entire time. He was trying to remember everything he'd read in the history book about his mother's actions in the original timeline. He knew she'd banished Ser Jorah again when he came to her with Tyrion, but what he couldn't remember reading about was if she banished him before or after they arrived at the Great Pyramid and spoke to Tyrion privately. How much time did he have to convince her not to send the knight away?

Finally, they returned. As Daenerys ordered Daario and his men to escort Ser Jorah and Tyrion to the audience chamber, Missandei excused herself to fetch Grey Worm from his chambers so he too could be part of this meeting, and Hizdahr hurried after Daenerys as she went on ahead to ready herself on top the dais. Torrhen tried following them, but Ser Barristan clamped a hand down firmly on his shoulder. "One moment, Torrhen."

It took every bit of civility Torrhen had not to scowl. "Ser Barristan, please! I need to see this!"

"You can come in and watch from the sidelines, but on one condition."

"What?"

He pressed his lips into a firm line. "You are to conduct yourself in the utmost respect. You will not interrupt. You will not shout. You will not argue or contradict whatever her grace decides. You are to pay attention the whole time and stay alert in case something should happen. Should you not, I will dismiss you as my squire immediately. Is that clear?"

Torrhen could've screamed, he was so frustrated. How was he supposed to help his future mother if he wasn't going to be allowed to say anything?

"…Can I at least request the queen's permission to speak in Ser Jorah's defense before she questions him and Lord Tyrion? I won't yell or argue if she won't, but can I least ask?"

The knight paused, considering the idea. "I will ask in your stead. If her grace allows it, you may speak in his defense, but you will remember your manners while doing so. If not, you will not argue or plead her to change her mind. Understood?" Torrhen visibly sagged and nodded. "Good. Now, come along."

Torrhen waited for his mentor to turn and lead the way into the throne room before following with a scowl. What was the point in talking if he couldn't say what he wanted when he wanted? Annoying, beyond annoying.

Daenerys was already sitting on top the dais, and Hizdahr was standing quietly off to the side behind her. Other than offering a brief nod as they climbed the steps to stand on the lower platform beneath her as per their guard duties, Daenerys hardly even looked at them. Her whole face was blank as she stared stonily at the entrance to the reception hall. Missandei arrived a few moments later with Grey Worm. As the soldier slowly made his way over to where Hizdahr was, Missandei took her own position on the dais behind the queen.

With everyone finally assembled, Daenerys straightened to attention. Before she could do anything though, Ser Barristan stepped forward.

"Your grace, before you have them brought in, my squire has respectfully requested permission to speak in Ser Jorah's defense."

"No."

Torrhen's breath hitched. "Your grace—!"

"Torrhen, this is the only warning I'll be giving you. Hold your tongue."

The queen nodded, fix him with a cutting glare. "Ser Barristan is correct. I've tolerated your arguments and interruptions for far too long. You will not do so now. Whatever warnings Ser Barristan may have given you before coming in here, I'm adding to it. One word, Torrhen, and you'll be out of my court immediately. Understood?"

He fumed. She clearly hadn't been considering his advice on forgiving his fellow Northerner. She was determined to either exile again or kill him. How was he supposed to prevent Ser Jorah's second banishment if he wasn't going to be able to say anything?! Still , he clenched his fists and stiff nodded.

Appeased, she looked back to the entrance. "Send them in, Captain Naharis."

Footsteps sounded, and then Daario appeared in the entrance, his men dragging the dwarf and knight behind them. Bowing to her, Daario murmured a quiet order to his fellow sellswords to cut the men free from their bindings and then climbed up the steps to take up the other guard position.

Silence resounded, no one daring to speak. Torrhen hated that. It was torture to keep his mouth shut like he'd promised.

"Khaleesi," murmured Ser Jorah, taking a hesitant step forward. "I — I would like to say—"

"You will not speak," she said sharply. Waiting until stepped back again, she focused her attention on Tyrion. "Were it not for how Ser Barristan recognized you, I'd be a fool to blindly believe you are who you say you are. Do you take me for a fool, Tyrion Lannister?"

The dwarf shook his head. "Only a fool would say yes to that question."

"Very true. I take it you consider yourself a clever man?"

"Some would say so, your grace."

"Well, then tell me why I shouldn't execute you now? After what your family did to mine, some would say I'd be foolish not to."

"You want revenge against my House? I am your best chance for that."

Daenerys tilted her head. "Oh?"

"Indeed. I killed my mother, Joanna Lannister, on the day I was born. I killed my father, Tywin Lannister, with a bolt to the heart. I did so because he was going to execute me for the murder of my nephew, Joffrey, which I had nothing to do with. One might say I am the greatest Lannister-killer of our time."

She raised a brow. "For all the people who call my father the Mad King, you'd think they'd have a similar name for Joffrey Waters. Even across the Narrow Sea we've heard of your nephew's cruelty. You'd think Westeros would have thanked you for that service if you were responsible."

He let out a humorless snort. "Had you grown up in Westeros, your grace, you would understand. Dwarves are not looked on favorably by others, let alone their own families."

"Still, none of those are good reasons as to why I shouldn't kill you. It'd be reckless to welcome you into my service just because you've murdered members of your own family."

Tyrion frowned, seemingly puzzled. "Into your service? With respect, your grace, we have only just met. I need time to determine whether or not you deserve my service."

Ser Jorah glanced down incredulously, but Tyrion ignored him. Torrhen could only gape at the dwarf, but Ser Barristan subtly signaled him to tone back his look of shock. He tried to, but Daario had no qualms about hiding his inner thoughts. He loudly snorted, shoulders quivering as he struggled not to laugh. He stopped though when the queen's eyes flicked his way.

"Would you prefer my men escorted you back to the fighting pits?" she quipped, glancing back down. "Just say the word."

He wisely shut up at that, swallowing thickly. Torrhen had no idea what Tyrion could be thinking, but he didn't care to think about it. He was stressed enough trying to help Ser Jorah. He couldn't waste time right now thinking about Tyrion. Yes, the dwarf had played a role in his parents deaths, but he'd been decent to him and Lyaella in their timeline. He'd shown them remorse about the necessity in their parents, which was more than they'd ever seen from the Stark's. Figuring out whether he should caution the queen against following Tyrion's advice had to wait. Right now, Ser Jorah was who needed to focus on.

"When I was a young man," Tyrion went on, "I heard a tale about a baby. A baby born during the worst storm in living memory. She had no gold, no lands, no armies. Only her name, and a few supporters who planned to use that name to their advantage. They soon sold her off to some Dothraki horse warlord, and that seemed to be that. But a few years ago, the most well-informed man I know told me that somehow, that girl had acquired not only wealth, lands, and armies in a very short time, but also three dragons. He believed she could be the best chance Westeros has to build a better world. I thought you were worth meeting, at the very least. And I must say, I'm quite glad I did," he paused, turning his gaze to Torrhen. "If nothing else, I'm glad I got to see the so-called Dragon Prince. I'm curious what his story is, seeing how he's a Northerner, a Snow, and has a direwolf for a pet."

Torrhen gritted his teeth, ignoring the growing ache he felt in his temples. What was wrong with everyone? He was not a prince, and Shadow was more than just a pet. It was really annoying him, how many times he'd had to correct people about these things since traveling to the past.

Thankfully, no one noticed his building anger. Ser Barristan stepped forward, blocking him from the dwarf's view and the queen fixed him with a scrutinizing look.

"The only life you should be concerned with is your own, because I don't see why you are worth meeting," she declared. "Why should I care you are here? Why should I listen to you? What makes you different from the rest of my advisors?"

"Because you cannot build the world you you dream of alone. I mean no disrespect to your advisors, your grace, but none of them understand how Westerosi politics work, the games the played at court. Without someone who knows these things, you'll never form alliances with the high lords or know which will support or oppose you."

"I will have a very large army, not to mention very large dragons."

"Politics isn't the same as war. When I served as hand of the king to my nephew, I did quite well in the position considering the boy preferred torturing animals to ruling his people. I could do an even better advising a ruler worthy of the name, if you truly are a good queen."

Daenerys was silent as she considered this, but her queenly mask never faltered. "You wish to advise me, you say?" Tyrion nodded. "All right, then. Consider this a test of your abilities. Tell me, what would you advise me to do with him?" Her gaze shifted to Ser Jorah. The knight bowed his head even deeper at the acknowledgment. "I swore I would kill him if he ever returned."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"The people would have no reason to trust a queen who can't keep her word," she went on. "However, the youngest member of my court brought up a valid point the other day. He reminded me that Jorah Mormont was once the Lord of Bear Island. He is from the North."

Tyrion and Ser Jorah exchanged puzzled looks, but the pressure that'd been gradually building in Torrhen's head lessened slightly as he straightened. Had he been too quick to judge his future mother? Was she considering what he'd told her before?

"With respect, your grace, what does that matter?"

Her eyes grew steely. "Because Torrhen explained just how different the North is from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Granted, he wasn't very polite while explaining this so I don't know whether he was exaggerating or not, but he made sure my small council and I understood how the North will see me in the future unless I have a Northerner's advice on politics and their customs. The one thing I do believe he spoke truly of was how they won't give me a chance to prove myself from them, not after the Red Wedding."

Ser Jorah only stared blankly, but Tyrion tensed, his gaze flicking from his companion to Torrhen.

"I see… He told you all about that, did he?"

"Yes, he explained everything. Between the dishonorable murders of the self-proclaimed King of the North Robb Stark, his pregnant wife, and mother, to the bloodbath of all his slaughtered banner men celebrating outside the keep. Not to mention the disgusting desecration of the king's body with his direwolf's head being sewn on and paraded about."

Tyrion winced, but Ser Jorah's face drained of color. He stumbled back, shaking his head in disbelief, and covering his mouth with his hand. Despite her anger, the queen didn't comment on his reaction. She simply waited for him to regain his composure before continuing.

"It's complicated, taking that into effect. If I forgive him, I gain a valuable ally for placating the North, but I lose the trust of the Meereenese people because I don't carry out my promises. If I kill him, it's the opposite. The people will know I don't make idle threats, but I'll struggle later when it comes to Westeros. You wish to advise me, Tyrion Lannister? Counsel me, then. What do you think I should do?"

The dwarf was silent for several moments as he considered her question, glancing between her, Ser Jorah, and Torrhen the whole time. Torrhen did his best to keep his face as neutral as possible. He hoped whatever he said would be favorable for the knight.

"I don't know how that boy met Ser Jorah. He kept Torrhen's existence secret during our travels, but it's clear he's as loyal to him as he is to you. He calls him the Dragon Prince and fought off dozens of men to protect him safe, after all."

"Indeed, but we are not discussing Ser Barristan's squire. We are discussing Ser Jorah."

"I know, but without knowing the story behind their past meeting, all I can really say at this time is that whomever Ser Jorah was when he first began spying on you, he is no longer that man. I'm not sure I've ever met a man who is as devoted to serving anyone as he is to serving you. And that boy… Torrhen, wasn't it?" Daenerys nodded. "The one time he vaguely mentioned Torrhen while we were traveling, I mistakenly assumed the Dragon Prince was your prince consort and he was jealous for your affections. He didn't stand for my teasing, mainly because he refused to let anyone mock you or Torrhen in his presence. He claims he'd kill or die to protect you both and I've yet to see any evidence to suggest otherwise… but he still betrayed you."

Torrhen clenched his fists, his pulse pounding through his skull again. Damn it! Maybe things weren't going to change for the better after all.

Tyrion hesitantly stepped onto the stairs. The Unsullied immediately raised their spears, but Daenerys merely raised her hand, stopping them. He climbed up two more before stopping. "Did he have a chance to confess his betrayal?"

"Yes," she hissed. "Many opportunities, but he didn't. Not until forced to do so."

"That he did not trust you to forgive him is why under normal circumstances you could not welcome him back. As far as him helping you appease the North… I must ask, are you aware of why he was forced into exile from Westeros?"

Daenerys nodded. "He was forced to flee after the Warden of the North sentenced him to death after being caught selling people into slavery."

"Yes, that's right. Even if you forgave Ser Jorah, the North won't have forgotten his past crimes. He wouldn't be of much help in that area, sadly."

"Then how could I appease the North? When I sail for Westeros, I intend to be seen as a benevolent liberator to the people rather than a foreign invader."

Tyrion paused, thinking carefully. "As Northerns know from the Stark words, winter will be coming soon. The North isn't exactly known for its plentiful harvests in the coldest months. Bring them grain and food from here in Essos, your grace. Supplies they'll need to build more homes to keep warm. If you show them you wish to take care of them rather than force them to submit, they might be willing to listen to you."

Daenerys was silent as she absorbed his words, still not showing any sign as to what she thought about this. Torrhen grit his teeth and try to hide his scowl. He and Lyaella had always known that Tyrion was smart, but he didn't know what he was talking about. With the Bitch of the North in charge of Winterfell when his future father left the North to form an alliance with his future mother, she'd seized the chance to poison all the lords into not believing in the queen's generosity. And even if she hadn't, her kindness wasn't enough for the smallfolk. They didn't care because their lords and ladies hadn't cared. His suggestion would amount to nothing and just be a stupid waste of food and supplies, giving them to people who truly didn't deserve it considering their lack of gratitude in the original timeline. Just thinking about it made him angrier, and his head throbbed harder, too.

Taking a small step back to hide behind Ser Barristan, Torrhen cringed as he rubbed his temples, only barely listening to Daenerys. "I should kill him, then?"

Tyrion frowned. "Rulers who execute those devoted to them are not rulers who earn devotion from their subjects. You will have to earn the loyalty of the people if you're to ever rule across the Narrow Sea… but you cannot have him by your side when you do."

She pursed her lip before nodding. "Remove Ser Jorah from the city."

The knight's eyes shined with heartbreak as some of the Second Son's moved to grab him, but he still didn't say a word. He let them forcibly drag him to the exit.

That was the last straw for Torrhen. Ignoring his headache, he pointedly nudged Ser Barristan's side to get his attention and thrust out his hand. "Give them back."

"Torrhen, shush! Don't—"

"My song sheets. Give them back."

"What? No, I took them away for a reason. And this is not the time for you to—"

"No, it's the perfect time, ser! I'm done with all this!"

Everyone stopped, turning to stare at them freely. Ser Barristan could only gape at the furious boy. "You're… You're done?"

"Aye, done! I'm not staying here if Ser Jorah's not welcome! He leaves, I leave! So give me back my music sheets!"

Tyrion blinked and studied Torrhen curiously, but Ser Jorah jerked, twisting around to gaze back at him. "What?! No — No, Torrhen! You mustn't leave just because of me! It's too dangerous! You're the Dragon Prince, so you have to—"

"Don't call me that, ser! I'm no prince, I'm Torrhen Snow! And I'm not staying here a minute longer if the Mother of Dragons would rather cling to her anger and hatred than try to forgive others for their mistakes! I'm not sticking around to watch her spiral into madness!"

Ser Jorah flinched, but Torrhen didn't notice. Not when the queen had abruptly risen from her seat and joined his liege knight in bending down to Torrhen's level.

"Torrhen, you promised you'd not let your temper get the better of you."

"Aye, and I kept my promise, your grace! The meeting's over, isn't it?!"

"It's over when the queen says it's over. Apologize right now, then return to your solar."

He would've glared, but the constant drumming in his head was starting to make his feel queasy. Aside from his concussion, he'd never had a headache this bad before. He didn't have time to get in the middle of a huge fight. He had to brush off this pain and go gather his stuff before Ser Jorah was tossed out of the city.

Wincing as he kept rubbing his temples, his vision suddenly shifted in and out of focus. It took him a moment to blink enough and force his eyes to go back to normal, and even then he made sure his voice sounded bitter. "Fine, I'll go back to my solar. I need to get my stuff anyway! I'm sure as hell not leaving them here! C'mon, Shadow!"

Shadow obediently trotted down the dais behind his master as Torrhen trudged down. Missandei halted him after only a few steps, seizing his shoulder.

"Torrhen, I know you're angry, but you can't just—"

He jerked away, trying to walk faster. "Thank you for the notes you gave me on High Valyrian, Lady Missandei. I really appreciated your help. Now, excuse — woah!"

"Torrhen!" she cried, grabbing him just before he tripped and tumbled down the rest of the stairs. "Are you all right?!"

"A-Aye," he croaked, struggling to right himself. His stomach was churning even more now. Fucking headache, making him all lightheaded. "Aye, I'm — I'm fine."

Off on the sidelines, Grey Worm and Hizdahr exchanged worrying looks. "Is everything all right?" Hizdahr asked, both of them moving closer. "You — You don't look good, Torrhen…"

Blinking again as he tried to focus on them, Torrhen forced a scowl. "Aye! I just got dizzy for a second, that's all."

Mindful of his injuries, Grey Worm slowly tried to climb the stairs. "Dizzy? You sick? Sit down and—"

"I'm fine! I don't need any help!"

Shoving past the soldier, Torrhen ignored the drumming in his head and stormed down the steps. He didn't even glance over at Ser Jorah or Tyrion as he stomped to the exit. He had to concentrate on walking in a straight line despite his dizziness and the pain. What in seven hells was happening to him? Was he about to have a fire flicker? He couldn't recall a headache ever happening prior to one, even before he started experiencing those bizarre visions.

Well, if his fire was going to flicker out again, it was a good thing he was already leaving. No reason why he should let his future mother's court know about his weird problem if he wasn't staying. He just had to get to the exit and—

"You're leaving so soon, little prince? Oh, what a shame!"

"Captain Naharis, don't."

"Lighten up, old man. It's a shame your squire's leaving us already. He has yet to prove to our queen that he's been lying about his Targaryen lineage. I figured he'd be begging her to legitimize him and that he sister he's mentioned as real Targaryens before he gave up and stormed out of here."

"That is none of your concern. You'd do well to—"

"Do you ever fucking shut up, Daario Naharis?!"

Everyone whipped around. Torrhen had lost his temper more times than he could count since arriving in the past, but he hadn't been this angry since the night of the memorial feast. His whole face was flushing so hard it was on the verge of splotching purple, and his eyes were bulging wildly. The muscles in his neck pulsed as he stood there glaring daggers at the sellsword, his whole body trembling under the haze of red hot fury.

Ser Jorah and Tyrion had no experience with his anger problems and could only gape at him in shock, but even the rest of the queen's court was speechless by the pure hatred radiating off the boy. Torrhen was oblivious to them though, his eyes fixed on only one person — the Captain of the Second Son's staring bewilderedly at him from atop the dais.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he marched back to the stairs, the throbbing in his skull muted in the burning flames of rage. "You," he spat, stomping up the steps. "You — How dare you—!" He vehemently shook his head. "Don't ever taunt me about that!"

Missandei and Hizdahr couldn't help but flinch at his shout, but everyone else glanced at each other in complete disbelief. Daario backed up as Shadow crouched down on all fours, snarling as his hackles rose. "Um, what—?"

"Shut up and listen!" He jabbed a finger into Daario's chest. Hard. "Make fun of me all you want! Call me a prince! Doubt my Targaryen lineage! Do whatever the hell you want, but don't ever — ever jest about legitimization again! You… You have no idea what being a bastard means! No idea what it's like! You will never understand that… so you will never understand just how cruel and insulting it is when a bastard is legitimized!"

Everyone did a double take at that, and moments later they all started speaking all at once, asking him to explain himself or if he even understood what he was talking about. Torrhen couldn't hear them, though. The rush of blood in his ears from the pounding in his head was just too loud. Focusing on his anger rather than the pain was the only way he could still function around everyone. It was a miracle he hadn't snapped from both yet, and the fact everyone seemed baffled by what he'd said infuriated him more. For all the criticism people gave Jon Snow in the future for being a fool, it seemed like all adults in this era stupid. How could none of them understand the simple honesty in what he said? It wasn't a lie or a half-truth, it was just the truth, plain and simple. Any bastard who was legitimized was actually being spat on and insulted by those who did it. Why were they all staring at him as though he was insane for knowing this fact?

Daario awkwardly cleared his throat to shush everyone, and then slowly glanced to Daenerys and Ser Barristan with wide eyes. "You both believe me now, right? You agree this boy is crazy?"

Daenerys shifted uncertainly while Ser Barristan tensed.

"Captain Naharis—"

"Captain… I—"

Torrhen snarled, and dug his finger harder into Daario's chest to make him look at him again. "Maybe I am insane! Madness's supposed to run in House Targaryen, so I don't know! If I am crazy, I'm sane enough to know it! But if by madness you mean anger, then damn it, I am mad! I'll stay mad too if that means making you understand I'm serious! Don't — ever — suggest— that — again! For me or Lyaella! Me and Lyaella… we're Snow's! That's who we are, and that's all we'll ever be!"

Ser Barristan finally snapped out of his shock. Seized Torrhen's shoulder, he forcibly spun him around. "Torrhen — you're not making sense. Why would you say that? Don't you realize if you and your sister were to be legitimized, you'd be recognized as true members of House Targaryen? Once our queen takes the Iron Throne, she'll need heirs. One of you could rule Westeros one

Torrhen shot him a scalding look, then spun around and heatedly marched back down the steps. "We don't care about the throne! We don't give two shits about who's sitting on that pile of swords! If Queen Daenerys decided not to rule, that's fine with us! We only support her going for it because she cares about it! But if you think we'll smile and thank her for wanting to use us in whatever games she plays, you're wrong! We won't be used like that! Not now, not ever!"

Daenerys swallowed, brows furrowing. "Torrhen… what are you talking about? I don't understand…"

"Don't insult my intelligence! You know perfectly—!"

---

"Jadat she, jadat she! Lanat!"

Dirt and grass kicked up in his face as he scrambled after the others. His lungs heaved, but he didn't dare slow down. If he did, he'd be trampled for sure. They all would, actually. If they wanted to live, they had to run.

Still, not all of them had the same instincts about survival as he did. He turned his head at the whistle of an arrow, only to go wide-eyed in shock.

---

"—well what I'm—! Gah!"

The whole world tilted sideways as he tripped over himself, skidding and slipping down nearly the entirety of the stairs. He would have toppled over and rolled down the rest of the way had Ser Jorah not lunged past the Unsullied guards and caught him just before he cracked his skull on the edge of the steps.

"Torrhen!" he cried, helping him back to his feet. "Torrhen, are you all right?!"

"A-Aye… Aye, I'm — Argh! Ow!"

His vision blurred as his head suddenly exploded. Pain. White hot pain. It was pounding through his whole head, like someone was whacking him over and over again with a mallet. It erupted so suddenly he couldn't even mentally prepare for it, and he tripped over himself a second time, nearly knocking over Ser Jorah as he tumbled down the last handful of steps.

Daenerys and Missandei gaped as he struggled to stand again, but Ser Barristan immediately hurried down the steps to help, as did Hizdahr and Grey Worm from their spot on the side.

"Are you hurt?" asked Ser Barristan, checking him over.

"My… My head…"

"Your head? Did you hit when you fell?" Hizdahr asked.

"Might be concussion. Again," said Grey Worm, squatting down in front of Torrhen. He held up two fingers. "How many fingers, boy?"

Torrhen ignored him, clutching both sides of his head as another wave of pain shot through him. They were standing so close that every time they spoke it sent fresh tremors ringing through his ears. "Shit…! Shit, shit, shit, this hurts!"

"But where, specifically? There's no blood, so—"

"Stop talking, your making my headache worse!"

It was a struggle to think clearly, but he mustered up enough lucidity to stumble away from the adults and towards the exit. The whole audience chamber was rocking back and forth so much he was sure he was going to be sick. He had to get back to his solar and lay down. If he took it easy for awhile, perhaps he'd—

Tyrion suddenly entered his line of site, frowning distinctly in his distorted vision. "Perhaps you ought to sit down on the stairs over there. You don't—"

He completely smacked into the half-man despite trying to move around him. Between being in too much pain to think clearly and too dizzy to see straight, Torrhen didn't apologize. He simply focused on staying on his feet and not toppling over again.

An obnoxious chortle suddenly echoed throughout the chamber. He instinctively yelped and slapped his hands over his ears to deafen the sound. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Madness. He's got the madness."

"Captain Naharis, this is not the time!"

"Can you not see there's something wrong, here?!"

"Wrong? There's nothing wrong. He's just making this up to earn our beautiful queen's sympathy."

Ser Barristan scowled. "You honestly believe that? Look at him! He's in pain, and clearly disoriented!"

"It's an act, oh great knight. A very convincing one, I'll admit, but he's only pretending. I'll bet you anything he stopped talking mid-sentence and spaced out for that half second because he thought up this little ploy. He's always doing that whenever he loses his temper. You agree with me, right? Queen Daenerys?"

His future mother ignored him, electing instead to slowly go down the dais to see for herself if he was okay. Missandei was right on her heels, and after a derisive snort from the sellsword, Daario reluctantly followed, too.

"Your grace, you're only indulging this boy by believing this act. He's not—"

"Captain Naharis, if you wish for yourself and the rest of the Second Son's to remain in my employ, then stay silent. I will not warn you again," she snipped. He wisely shut up. Appeased, the queen signaled the others to step back and approached Torrhen herself. "You have a headache, you say? Are you sure you didn't hit your head a moment ago?"

Torrhen didn't answer, nor move his hands away from his ears. Noise, noise, noise! Why didn't they understand that all their talking was making things worse? Every syllable uttered was like a gong clanging in his head. It hurt so much, he could feel tears starting to form.

"Torrhen, we can't help you if you don't explain what's happening. What's wrong?"

He groaned. If nothing else, he had to tell everyone to shut up again. They had to stop talking. They were making things a thousand times worse with every word.

Shaking his head slightly to focus himself, he reluctantly opened his eyes to try to explain, but a chill suddenly went down his spine. He immediately snapped his mouth shut, the hairs on the back of his neck quickly rising.

Something… Something didn't feel right. Something was here right now. Something he couldn't see. Or someone…

Clutching his head tighter, he turned to leave. Either he was so lightheaded and in pain he was imagining things, or his haze of rage was dwindling instead to paranoia. Either way, he had to get out of here now. This strange feeling was getting worse and worse. He didn't know what it was, but if he didn't get out of here soon… something was going to happen, he could feel it.

A hand caught his shoulder. "Where are you going? Come, sit down on the stairs and rest. At least until this headache subsides."

He swallowed a groan, forcibly shaking off Daenerys' hand. "N-No. I… I've got to — got to—"

"—you hear me?"

Torrhen jolted, eyes popping wide open. "H-Huh?"

"You… relieved… who are you?"

It was like someone was shouting all across the room, their voice echoing so much he could barely understand them. What was happening to him now?

"I'm… I'm me… I'm Torrhen S-Snow…"

"What? Well, of course you are, Torrhen, but why does that—?"

"What d'you want?!"

"Tell me… do you?"

It was official. He was mad. Crazy. Insane. People could label it it however they wanted, but it didn't matter. It was clear he had succumbed to Targaryen madness.

"Go away!" He screamed, screwing his eyes shut as he stumbled towards the exit. He didn't want to see the shock and horror on everyone's faces right now as they saw him descend into madness. Especially not his future mother's. "Shut up! Go away!"

In the back of his mind, he vaguely registered that someone in the background was saying something, but he couldn't focus on them. The only thing that mattered was—

---

The man's eyes were wild as he poured over books, bloodshot and red and his hair oily and dirty as it hung over his face. When had he last bathed? Moreover, when had he last left this room? Other than a few flickering candles and a crackling fireplace against the wall, the room was shrouded in darkness, and the chambers' floor was covered in half-eaten plates and tossed aside books. It was no good. No good at all. None of these texts had the information he sought.

Torrhen stared at the stranger in utter disbelief. Who was this man and what was he doing? He looked like a Targaryen of some sort judging by his silver hair, but Torrhen didn't know of any living Targaryen descendants aside from himself, Lyaella, and their future parents. Was there someone else of the ancient Valyrian House that had escaped notice during Robert's Rebellion? If so, who were they, and what was this survivor doing?

Growling thickly, the man suddenly slammed his current text shut and threw it against the wall with all his might. "Damn it!" he snarled, Torrhen flinching at his tone. "I've read almost everything! How much longer will this take?!"

Torrhen blinked as he huffed and swiped a new book off the stack next to him. How much longer would what take? What was he looking for?

Whatever it was, this stranger didn't find it in this new book. Nor in the next three books he skimmed through after it. As he leafed through the pages of the fourth book however, he suddenly stopped, blinking repeatedly in disbelief before quickly shuffling back several pages and reading carefully. For reasons Torrhen couldn't explain, a stone settled in his stomach as the man fished a silver ring out of his pocket. A dark smirk slowly spread across his face as he twirled it between his fingers. The more he read, the more twisted and maniacal his grin became, and after a awhile he reached over for a discarded book lying open next to him and started comparing notes between the two.

The boy gulped. Whatever was going on, he didn't like it. Everything about this screamed pure evil, though he had no idea why.

A joyful shriek suddenly erupted from the man, making him jump. He was laughing, his red-rimmed eyes bulging as he dropped the book and climbed off the floor. "At last! At last, I've found it! The secret I've been searching for!"

Torrhen yelped and jumped aside as the Targaryen shot past him, but once again, he was apparently invisible in this vision as he had been to others aside from that one time he saw that Northern boy with the direwolf. The stranger seemed half-possessed as he dashed to the fireplace, the flames almost singeing his nose as he moved as close as he could to the hearth.

"Come to me," he begged, dipping his hand holding the ring into the flames. Torrhen jerked back in alarm as his skin reddened and bubbled as it burned and the silver of the ring started to melt onto his fingers, yet the man was unfazed by the pain. "Come to me! You're the only one who can help me now!"

For a long moment, nothing happened, then the temperature in the room seemed to drop significantly. Torrhen cringed, a shudder creeping down his spine. That evil feeling he'd felt before… it was here now. It was here and much, much stronger than it had been in the audience chamber.

The man apparently also sensed the presence, because he whooped with joy and merrily laughed. "You came! You came to me! I thank you! I thank you for your mercy. Please, I beg you for help! I need your power! The power for her!" He dropped the molten remnants of the ring into the flames, sending sparks everywhere. "Help me have her! Please, help me have her! I'll do anything!"

Torrhen trembled, slowly backing away. Whatever the hell was going on in this vision, he was in the presence of a true Targaryen madman, a dangerous one. He didn't have any idea who he was or what he was doing, but he silently prayed that whatever he did, he'd remain invisible to this man and this bizarre evil feeling. He needed to escape from this vision somehow before they realized he was here!

Sadly, that appeared to be only wishful thinking on his end, because out of nowhere the ominous force suddenly shifted away from the stranger and swept across the chamber. Torrhen gulped and tried to press himself flat against the wall, but the entity seemed to know exactly where he was and flew straight towards him. The boy nearly lost his lunch as the icy chill of pure evil washed over his entire being.

"Death shall come for you, Torrhen Snow," a haunting voice whispered. Torrhen froze. "It came for your parents before, it shall come again. And this time, you and your sister shall join them."

Torrhen couldn't stop himself. He screamed.

---

"Torrhen? Torrhen, can you hear us?"

"Boy? Boy, talk."

"Torrhen!"

"Say something, Torrhen! Please, anything!"

Dany bit her lip worriedly as Ser Barristan maneuvered his way to the front of the group and squatted down to his squire's level. "Torrhen, if… if you're just staying silent right now because you're angry at all of us, please stop. You're starting to scare us. At least show us you're listening and watch my hand." He waved his hand slowly in front of the boy's face. Still, Torrhen didn't move or acknowledge the hand. He just kept standing there, face blank and dark curls covering his eyes, oblivious to the world.

It was so strange. One moment, Torrhen had been arguing with all of them, his temper shot and face flushed with rage. The next, he'd gone stiff as a board and his face was wiped clean of emotion. He didn't respond to anything anyone told him, nor did he move when any of them did anything. One would assume he was faking all this out of sheer childish immaturity, but the frightening thing was that there wasn't even the subtlest sign to show he was consciously listening. No twitch of a finger or trace of an eye flicker. Not even a grimace if one of them poked him. It was like he'd become a living statue out of nowhere.

The imp awkwardly cleared his throat. "I take it this sudden silence is not a common occurrence with this boy?"

Missandei shook her head. "No, not really—"

"Wrong. Very wrong, Missandei."

Dany, Missandei, and Hizdahr turned to him, puzzled. Missandei in particular blinked repeatedly in gentle confusion. "What? None of us have ever seen him—"

"You've never seen him go silent and rigid like this when he loses his temper," Daario chortled. "I have, and so've these two, here."

He jerked his head at the other two important warriors in her employ, a glimmer of amusement twinkling in his eye. Dany ignored him though and focused on Ser Barristan and Grey Worm, her thoughts too scattered and confused to try and make sense of. "This — This has happened before? This silence?"

Grey Worm frowned. "It only happen once Ser Barristan and I know of. Maybe two, but we not sure."

"What? What do you mean?" Hizdahr asked.

Ser Barristan lowered his hand and sighed. "Remember what I told the healer the day I brought him here, your grace? During the riot he seemed to… freeze up like this for a few seconds, but it happened so fast neither Grey Worm nor I were entirely sure whether he froze out of fear or not, and we didn't really get a good look at his face. The second time was just the other day out in the training yard."

"What happened?"

"Well, it's just like now, your grace. He lost his temper and I sent him off to train alone until he calmed down. He just… froze up while attacking the training dummy. Mid-swing, too."

"We all try talking, he no respond. At all. Then he fine, finish attack like nothing happen. Though lose balance and fall."

"And that's not counting in how he put on this act the day I first threw him out."

She whipped around. "Excuse me?"

Daario chuffed. "He did this the day he came here, my queen. I told you before how I didn't believe his story and had him tossed out. Well, he—"

"You what?! You rejected him when he first came here?!"

"Silence, Ser Jorah. I warned you before to hold your tongue. Now, please continue, Captain Naharis."

He smirked. "As you wish, my queen. Anyway, I had one of my men cart him out of there, but he kept screaming at me the whole time — or at least until he cut himself off mid sentence and just went quiet like this."

Dany's lips parted, alarmed. "He did? Truly?"

Daario shrugged. "My men say he started yelling again right as they were tossing him out. It's a weird con he's putting on, but it's not worth entertaining. If you ask me, we should just ignore him. He'll snap out of it any minute now and—"

She stepped past him, kneeling down directly in front of the boy to be level with his face. "Torrhen? Torrhen, can you hear us?" she asked, gently shaking his shoulders. His head wobbled lifelessly for a few moments, but he still gave no response. "Please, say something. Move, at least."

It was no use. It was like talking to a doll, how detached he was.

A small whine at her side made her look down. Shadow was sidling past them all to press up worriedly against Torrhen. The direwolf truly loved his boy and kept nuzzling his head underneath his arm, licking away at his fingers. Still, Torrhen seemed to be completely unfazed by the sensation. He just kept standing there with his dark curls covering his eyes, oblivious to the world.

Dany thickly swallowed, her mind racing. Daario could believe whatever he liked, but it was clear everyone else here shared her opinion rather than his. This… This wasn't normal. If Torrhen was really faking this, he was a better liar and actor than anyone she'd ever met. As much as people could pretend to ignore someone else, there would still be visible signs that they technically could see and hear whoever they were blocking out. A clenched jaw, flinching fingers, narrowing brows, an involuntary eye flicker… or something. Yet none of that was happening here. It was like someone or something had cut the thread that linked Torrhen's consciousness to the rest of his being and only left the shell of his body behind.

"Torrhen, I need you to give some sign that you hear me. If… If you don't, I'll assume you're—"

"Oh, for the love of all things good and holy, little prince! Come on!" Daario shoved his way to the front of the group, firmly shaking Torrhen's shoulder. He'd apparently lost his prior amusement by now and was frustrated by this unexplainable silence. The boy's head wobbled quite a bit this time as he groaned, but other than that he still didn't budge. "Move, damm it!"

Everyone glared at the sellsword. Ser Barristan, especially. "Captain Naharis, that is not going to help."

"Acting nice isn't helping things, either! If none of you are gonna be tough with this brat, I will! Oy, Prince Snow!" he snapped, cuffing the boy in the back of the head. "Enough with the silence already! Time to—!"

Daario cut himself off with a startled yelp, jerking back in alarm. No one could blame him, though. Not when Torrhen suddenly fell helplessly to the ground and started convulsing wildly.

"Torrhen!"

"Seven hells!"

"What — What's happening?!"

"Back! Get back! He need space!"

Were it not for Grey Worm's insistence and forceful shoving away of Shadow when the wolf howled anxiously and tried dashing to his master, Dany was sure she would have screamed. Her queenly mask was wiped away in her horror, blood draining from her face as she watched Torrhen shake. He was frothing at the mouth, spittle trickling down his cheek and neck as he kept biting his tongue. His limbs flailed sporadically the whole time, for what reason Dany didn't know. But as horrifying as all this was, there was one thing in particular that frightened her the most.

His eyes. Rather than being unconscious as one would expect, Torrhen was still awake.

Or rather, he seemed to be awake. It was impossible to know for certain since his normal violet orbs had rolled up in the back of his head and all that could be seen was just the whites.

"T-Torrhen!" she cried, falling to the ground and reaching to tug him up. "Torrhen, what — what's—?!"

"Your grace, no!" Strong hands clasped her upper arms, dragging her back. "F-Forgive me, my queen, but don't! Don't touch him!"

She numbly shook her head, weakly trying to break free from Ser Barristan's grasp. "B-But — But I — Look at him! He's sick! W-We can't just—!"

"He needs to ride it out, khaleesi," said Ser Jorah, tugging off the leather armor chest piece he'd been wearing all this time and rushing forward. Moving to stand directly behind Torrhen's head, he squatted down and carefully tilted his head up to slide the leather underneath as a cushion. While he didn't try to restrain the boy, he did his best to keep Torrhen's mouth open so he could breathe. Swallowing thickly as he gazed at his rolled back eyes, he shook his head in disbelief. "The shaking sickness… I'd no idea Torrhen had it when we met. Let alone the Sight…"

The Sight? What was the Sight? What was Ser Jorah talking about? Dany filed these questions away for later, though. Right now, the only thing that mattered was Torrhen.

"What can we do in the meantime?!" Missandei asked, her voice frantic. "Can't — Can't we stop it?!"

"Ask him!" Hizdahr snapped, shooting Daario a sneer. "He smacked the boy!"

"I — I barely touched him!" Daario protested, throwing up his hands as he backed away a few steps. "Just a small cuff on the head! That's all!"

"This wasn't your fault, Captain Naharis," said Tyrion, eyes wide as he watched the boy continue to thrash. "The shaking sickness is just one of those things. You… You just happened to touch him right before it started, that's all…"

"But how do we stop it?!" Dany demanded, flinching back as Torrhen's foot nearly kicked her in the stomach. "There — There must be something we can—"

"There isn't, your grace."

"He must go through it. We wait. Help him when over."

Tears formed in Dany's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She'd come to know many types of fear throughout her life, but the dread seeping over her now was a kind she'd never experienced before. This wasn't the same as fearing for her own life or praying for her soldiers to stay safe during battle. The enemy here was of an invisible nature, one which couldn't be defeated with swords or dragon fire. There was literally nothing she could do for Torrhen except sit here with him until whatever was happening finally ended.

Time ticked past, seconds turning to minutes. Torrhen showed no signs of stopping his thrashing, though. Not even when he lost control of his bladder and a yellow puddle formed underneath him.

"Ack! Gross!"

"Hold your tongue, Captain Naharis, or lose it!"

Daario knew better than to test her with that tone. He wisely shut his mouth and kept his disgust to himself.

It was at least another minute or so before the shaking subsided. Torrhen eyes fully closed, now unconscious, and Dany let out a deep sigh of relief she hadn't even realized she'd been holding in all this time. It was over, whatever all that was. Relieved couldn't even begin to describe how thankful she was.

As Ser Jorah carefully rolled Torrhen onto his side, the boy groaned, listless and disoriented. "Ugh… I… I…?"

"Torrhen!" she gasped,reaching for his hand. "Can you hear me?!"

His fingers twitched in her grasp. Face cringing, he weakly cracked his eyes open. To Dany's relief, they were back to normal. Still, it seemed like it took him a great deal of effort to focus on her. "Y-Your… Your grace…?"

She lightly brushed a loose curl away from his face and forced a smile. "Hello, Torrhen. How are you feeling?"

"F… F-Foggy…" he croaked, free hand rising to his brow. He cringed the moment he touched his temple. "Hurts…"

"What? What hurts? Did you hurt yourself?"

"Uh-uh," he murmured, barely managing to wiggle his head back and forth. "Just… hurts. Another headache…"

Another headache? He's had more headaches beyond his concussion? She opened her mouth to ask more, but a blur of black shot past her, rushing straight to Torrhen's face.

"Ugh…! S-Shadow, no! No kisses! I'm wet enough…! Wait, w-wet…?"

Shoving his direwolf away, Torrhen did his best to sit up. He only made it halfway though before he realized he was lying in a puddle of his own making. Within seconds, he went completely white and lost consciousness.

Chaos ensued again as everyone tried to speak, but this time, Dany didn't contribute to the pandemonium. She swiftly rose and clapped her hands, silencing everyone. "Missandei, would you be kind enough to…" she waved her hand vaguely at Torrhen, unsure how to politely phrase her request.

Missandei nodded, not at all disgusted or deterred. "Certainly, your grace. I'll get him cleaned up."

"Thank you."

With a rushed curtsy, Missandei promptly signaled a nearby Unsullied guard to help her collect the child, and with one last polite nod her way, they hastily sped out. Shadow trotted after them, red eyes locked on the unconscious form of Torrhen in the soldier's arms.

"Grey Worm, could you please find someone in your ranks to bring a healer here from the nearby sickhouse? I don't know what just happened, but I think it's wise for Torrhen to be checked over right away."

"At once, my queen," he said, forcing a slight bow.

She smiled in gratitude, and then turned to Ser Barristan, Tyrion, and Ser Jorah. "Ser Barristan, please escort Ser Jorah and Tyrion Lannister to two separate guest chambers and inform the Unsullied to stand guard."

"Your grace?"

"I'm still unsure of whether or not to execute you, Tyrion Lannister," she said, glancing to the dwarf, "but considering the present circumstances, I shall have to think that over later. As for you, Jorah Mormont, I have questions for you."

"Khaleesi?"

"Questions which you will answer honestly about after Torrhen is better. After that…"

Ser Jorah frowned at how she trailed off, but still nodded obediently. Ser Barristan didn't allow him or Tyrion the chance to say anything further, though. He simply nodded himself before escorting them both out the door behind Grey Worm.

Turning to Hizdahr, she flashed an apologetic smile. "I am sincerely sorry that the visit to the lower fighting pits went so terribly wrong. Provided that the illegal slave owner there has been arrested as I ordered, would you please extend my apologies to the pit owner for our hasty departure earlier."

"Of course, your grace. Excuse me."

"What about me?" Daario asked as Hizdahr headed out. "What important task do you require of me, your grace?"

He tried to grin, but he immediately stopped when he saw her heated glare. "Find some of your men and have them clean this up," she ordered, eyes flicking to the puddle. "Immediately, if you will."

"What?! Your grace—!"

Dany walked off without another word. She didn't have time to listen to his protests right now. She needed to return with all haste to her chambers and change out of her soiled dress before the healer got here. She didn't understand what just happened to Torrhen, but she knew he needed be examined right away. Whatever was wrong with him, the healer would figure out, and she intended for him to relay the boy's diagnosis to her personally.