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

17. Knowledge is a Mirror

Elphaba818:

Hello, dear readers! I'm pleased to announce that not only is a new chapter available for all of you to read, but more importantly, I'm no longer writing this story alone anymore!

To all readers in the Jonerys shipping fandom of Game of Thrones, please give a round of applause for my brand new co-author for Howl of the Dragonwolves: the amazing fanfic author Longclaw 1-6!

***Throws Confetti and Claps Eagerly With the Crowd!***

That's right, everyone! My good friend Longclaw 1-6 is officially co-writing this story with me from now on! He's been an awesome brain bouncer for plotting the overall storyline, so I decided to ask him if he'd be interested in becoming it's co-writer, and amazingly enough, he said yes! I'd have added his name in the story summary box up above, but there wasn't enough room to write it in, so I have to tell you here now. Longclaw and I are both excited to get to the long awaited twins reunion and for Jon and Dany to finally meet, so with any luck, perhaps the updates will come along a bit faster now. But no promises! Longclaw's got his own amazing stories to write too, you know, and I'm eager to read more of his amazing Jonerys fanfics! :D

For those who want to know that today's story song in the story is not mine or Longclaw's, I state for the record that the song "Frozen Heart" is the property of Disney Animation Studios films. Neither I nor Longclaw claim credit for this under appreciated song from the hit movie Frozen.

And I'm so proud of you all for reaching the review goal with 316 reviews! Woohoo! We went over the review goal again! I'm so happy!

For the review goal for this chapter... how about we try to reach 335 this time? That's only 19 reviews all together. I think you guys can do it. C'mon, people! Tell yourselves you'll review when you're done reading!

Well, I think that's all from me for now, so I'm going to pass the mic over to Longclaw now with his author's note! Enjoy today's chapter, readers! And please review when you're done!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

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Longclaw 1-6:

Hey everyone, Longclaw here! Been loving this story for a long time, and when my friend asked me to hop on as a co-writer... I couldn't deny such an honor! :D

Hoping to help get this amazing story out there! :D

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Chapter Seventeen: Knowledge is a Mirror

"First Ranger," Jon announced, the formality of the occasion reinforced by his icy tone. "You have command of Castle Black while I'm gone."

The ice was mirrored back to him by Alliser Thorne. "Lord Snow, I feel it's my duty to tell you that I believe this mission to be a mistake." While the Thorne of Jon's first days at the Wall would have likely cuffed him upside the head, now with Jon in charge he had to be peaceful… and he clearly hated it. "An insult to all the brothers who've died fighting the Wildlings."

"I thank you for your honesty, Ser Alliser. I will keep it in mind." No he wouldn't. He was sick of the bellyaching.

"At the very least, don't take the Targaryen girl with you. She should stay here. I'd watch out for her from the rest of the men."

On this, Jon conceded Thorne was genuine. "I don't want to bring her, ser, but I have no choice. We need her dragon, and it won't come unless she does."

Thorne raised a brow. "And how do you know that this isn't some plot by those reavers to kill her and that dragon? For all we know, they could be luring you to bring her out there to slaughter them both!"

"Well, I suppose I'll have to be on my guard if that's the case. Thank you for pointing it out, ser."

Thorne shot him an ugly glare, but dropped the matter before storming off. Jon was glad he did. He already had his hands full trying to co-organize the mission to Hardhome with the departure of Stannis' army leaving Castle Black. Not to mention the secret mission he'd assigned to Commander Cotter Pyke of Eastwatch.

Subtly checking over his shoulder that no one in Stannis' army was watching, Jon casually approached the ironborn bastard and checked over his horse's saddlebags. Meanwhile, he reached into his cloak. "You know your task, aye?"

"Yes, Lord Commander."

"You will ride to White Harbor immediately," Jon ordered, his tone low while tucking the scrolls and scale into the pack. "You will sail to Meereen on the fastest ship you can find, and you will personally give these to Daenerys Targaryen."

"Very well, Lord Commander."

Jon looked him squarely in the eye, his expression hardening. "You will give them only to the Dragon Queen. Not to the commander of her armies, not her advisors or hand, and not any potential co-ruler she may have married. Daenerys Targaryen herself, and no one else."

"I understand."

"Furthermore, you are not to return to the Night's Watch until you've done this, nor are you to breathe a word about Lyaella Snow or her dragon's existence to anyone other than the Dragon Queen. These letters and that scale are to stay in your possession at all times until you have delivered them to Daenerys Targaryen. We cannot allow word about Lyaella or Sōnar spreading beyond the Night's Watch to anyone except her. If you lose these letters or if word does spread about Lyaella to others aside from the Dragon Queen, I will consider it to be your fault and brand you an official deserter, Commander Pyke. I will order you to be hunted down and executed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lord Commander!" Pyke rasped, face flickering with fear. "I-I-I understand perfectly! I will not fail you, I swear it!"

He nodded firmly, satisfied. "Good. Safe travels, Commander Pyke."

The ironborn nodded, and with that he swung himself onto his horse, and kicked his mount into a light gallop as he exited Castle Black. Other than a few curious looks from Stannis' soldiers, no one in the Baratheon army paid him any mind, and a few minutes later he was out of sight.

A great weight lifted off Jon's shoulders. He wasn't always the sharpest sword in the lot, but he'd had the sense to keep his plan a secret to everyone except Maester Aemon, Lyaella, Sam, Cotter Pyke, and — for leadership reasons only — Thorne. Maester Aemon needed Sam to transcribe his letter, and because Jon was leading the expedition to Hardhome, Thorne was to resume temporary command of the Night's Watch until his return. If by some miracle Commander Pyke made it to Meereen and back again if the winds were favorable before he returned with the Free Folk, Thorne had to know Pyke's temporary absence from Eastwatch was on his orders. Besides, as much as they mutually hated each other, Jon knew that in this regard the knight could be trusted. As much as Lyaella disliked the knight and avoided him since that day in the Main Lodge, Thorne was still a loyal supporter of House Targaryen. Had his original plan of taking only Sōnar beyond the Wall played out as he'd wanted, Jon wouldn't have been worried about leaving Lyaella here without her friend since Thorne would be in command. He would've looked out for her despite how much he hated him.

Approaching his own horse, Jon double checked his saddlebags. He'd stored away at least three weeks worth of Maester Aemon's tea mixture amongst his supplies for Lyaella's sake, but perhaps he ought to pack more? It was beyond freezing north of the Wall and the last thing he needed was her having breathing problems everyday while they were out there. If only he could just take her dragon and let her stay here, safe. It was going to be hard enough convincing the Free Folk he wanted to protect them in exchange for their help against the dead. Keeping an eye on Lyaella's breathlessness just added a whole new set of problems.

Speaking of Lyaella, where was she? He told her they'd be leaving first thing this morning before she went to bed. Was she still asleep?

"I-I-I don't think you should be t-talking to me." Ask and she'll appear. That was Lyaella's voice from around the corner, though Jon's brow rose. She did not sound happy. "I must be going."

"Heed my words, your grace…" Jon froze at Thorne's voice.

Lyaella's voice grew at that, clearly irritated. "Don't call me that. I am not a princess."

"Just remember what I said. There are many still loyal to your family and your blood, lords and knights I knew personally from my days serving Crown Prince Rhaegar." Fighting a snort, Jon knew Lyaella wouldn't assign Thorne more importance than he actually had — Janos Slynt claimed powerful friends in King's Landing, but they clearly weren't powerful since he ended up here. And died here. Thorne continued unbeknownst of Jon's presence. "You'd be safe there, away from usurper stags and wildling lovers."

"No!" Jon heard a foot pound the creaking boards. "I p-promised the Lord Commander to help him, and h-help him I shall. Good day to you."

Grunting, Thorne stomped away while Jon let out a breath. What was Thorne planning? It wasn't betrayal or insubordination, and could be spun away as protecting Lyaella. He'd have to keep a closer eye out…

At that moment Lyaella walked right around the corner into him, blinking up at him curiously. "Oh. G-Good morning, Jon." Clearly she didn't think he heard. "I wanted… I wanted to know which one's my horse."

"Morning, Lyaella." He wasn't going to further bother her about Thorne. "I didn't know if you could ride or not. I was gonna have you ride behind me."

"Oh, don't worry. I know h-how."

"You do?"

"Mm-hm, Tory and I both know. We love horseback riding."

"All right, then. I'll get one of the stewards to saddle up another one."

"There's n-no need. I can… I can do it."

Jon blinked. "You know how to tack them up?"

"Tory and I have known h-how to do it for over two years n-now," she smiled. "Ever since we were… we were s-seven. That's when we were f-finally strong enough to carry saddles together and tall enough to… climb on stools to put them on. We liked riding w-whenever we could."

"Still, does it take you a long time to do it?"

"Um… I guess? We n-never timed ourselves doing it…"

"Then let me have a steward take care of it. We need to get going, after all."

"Oh, okay then."

Signaling to the closest steward to take care of it, Jon turned back to her. "Is your dragon ready to go, too?"

"Yes, Sōnar's ready. She's just circling overhead one l-last time. I'll call for her when we're about to leave."

"Good. And how about you? Bundled up well? If you think it's cold here at Castle Black, it's practically a hot spring compared to beyond the Wall."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"Aye, that's right. So you sure you're warm enough?"

"I think so. I've… I've got my cloak and Gilly's scarf. My boots, too…"

"What about gloves?" he asked, noticing her bare hands. "And the tunic and britches Gilly made you?"

Lyaella bit her lip, chuckling nervously. "I don't have any gloves, and what about my sword training outfit?"

"You're going to need gloves when we get out there. You'll get frostbite otherwise, and go put on them on under your dress."

"What? Why should I—?"

"You're dress is a Northern dress, Lyaella. Warm wool. It's good for when it's cold here in the North… but it won't be enough out there, even with your cloak. You're going to want the extra layers, trust me."

Lyaella seemed perplexed by this news, but she slowly nodded. "All right, but what about gloves?"

"Here," he said, tugging off his. "I've got another pair."

"Oh! T-Thank you, Jon!"

"It's fine. Hurry up, you hear?"

"Y-Yes, Lord Commander."

Smiling sweetly, she turned and scurried back up the walkway to Maester Aemon's solar. Hopefully she'd be back in a minute. They really needed to get going.

He turned to find Stannis, but then he saw Edd approaching with Tormund still in chains. A necessity sadly for appearances sake, making it seem like the Free Folk man was still under their control while around the rest of the Night's Watch and the Baratheon army. At least until Edd brought him forward. Nodding respectfully, Jon tugged out the key and released him. The chains fell to the ground with a jingling thump. Tormund rubbed his wrists and nodded back, grateful. Others in the Night's Watch and Stannis' army all tensed and watched in a mixture of anger and fear, as though worried Tormund would try to attack them all now that he was freed. But Tormund didn't. Other than shooting a few dirty looks at those who were openly jeering at him, he didn't do anything except climb up onto his own horse and urge it towards the entrance of the tunnel.

Suppressing a sigh when his fellow brothers turned their sneers to him, Jon ignored them and made his way to where Stannis was. As the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, it was his duty to see him out. Sure enough, the stag king waved off two of his army commanders he'd been speaking with to give him his full attention. "I hope you know what you're doing with these Wildlings, Lord Commander. The Red Woman assures me the true war is here in the North with the Long Night soon coming, but until it does, I hope saving these people won't be a mistake. I need those ships, you know."

"You'll get them back. I swear it."

"Good."

Jon nodded in respect. "Thank you for everything you've done for the Night's Watch, your grace. I hope you have a safe journey."

"You as well, Lord Commander. You as well." He turned to go—

"Are you sure you won't reconsider my father's offer, Lyaella? If you want, I'll ask him to legitimize you under the official Targaryen surname."

"N-No, no, Shireen. I've… I've already told him no, and even if y-you did, he wouldn't. He'd never make me a proper Targaryen… and I d-don't want him to."

"You don't? Why?"

"It's a l-long story, Shireen, one I don't have time to explain. I… I-I-I wish you could just stay here at Castle Black for now, at least until y-your father takes Winterfell… Do you really have to go?"

"I am Princess Shireen of House Baratheon, Lyaella. I have to be there when my father overthrows the Bolton's."

"No, you don't… you s-should stay here, safe. There's no reason you should go, too!"

Everyone turned to the walkway steps. Lyaella and Shireen were deep in conversation as they joined them. The young princess was definitely dressed for hard riding, her hair pulled back in a somewhat fancy twist and a heavy cloak with the emblem of stag antlers embedded in the fasten. Lyaella definitely looked bulkier now under her own gray cloak, and although she moved slightly slower than before, she was certainly warmer. Tugging on the gloves he'd given her, Lyaella bit her lip before reluctantly meeting her friends' eyes.

"The Bolton's are d-dangerous, Shireen. They… They took the N-North for themselves, and their sigil is the f-flayed man… My aunts and uncle never told me or Tory a lot about t-them, but we know they really do t-that to their enemies. I d-don't… I don't want them to do that to you, or… or something worse! Please… Please, stay!"

This time it seemed like her words had their desired effect, as Shireen's innocent smile faltered slightly. "The Bolton's flay their enemies?"

"Did no one tell you? Yes, they do! And that's just—!"

"Shireen, come here. Now."

The girls turned. Queen Selyse was waiting expectantly next to hers and Shireen's horses, her cold eyes boring holes at the two girls.

Lyaella instinctively bowed her head and stepped back, but Shireen only sighed, glancing between her and her mother sadly. Nodding in exasperation, the little doe turned back to her friend and pulled her into a friendly hug. "I'll miss you, Lyaella. Take care of yourself while you're out beyond the Wall."

Jon blinked at how unnaturally tense Lyaella became. It was like she froze, her back suddenly stiffening and fists clamped at her sides. Not to mention how her eyes went as wide as saucers as her lips parted. Was being hugged by others such a foreign concept to this little girl? If so, why had she clung to him in terror that first day she tried wandering around Castle Black? Was it simply because Lyaella herself initiated that contact, or was it a reaction to how frightened she'd been around everyone? Jon had no clue, but one thing was clear — the more he learned about Lyaella, the more bewildered he was by her overall person. How could people raise a child to be this unnaturally shy, fearful, and uncomfortable around others?

But then again, he'd been luckier than most bastards. His father brought him to Winterfell despite the shame of having fathered a child out of wedlock. Lady Catelyn had never hidden her hatred of him. From his earliest memories he remembered her cold glares and snide remarks. But even so, his father ignored her cold treatment and loved him regardless, raising him alongside his other trueborn siblings. Sansa could occasionally be caring towards him, but her desire to be a proper lady made her keep her distance from him. Rickon had been so little he couldn't blame him for them not being super close, but Robb, Arya, and Bran? They'd loved him unconditionally. Had they and their father not cared about him, wouldn't Lady Catelyn's attitudes have done the same to him? Especially with Sansa always trying to imitate her?

Perhaps Jon knew firsthand the kind of people her relatives were.

Shireen started to pull away, but Lyaella awkwardly wrapped her arms around her and hugged back. "I… I'm g-gonna miss you too, Shireen… M-More than you can imagine… Don't be afraid to c-come back to Castle Black if… if you're scared or feel like it's too dangerous w-with your father's army."

"Thank you, Lyaella. I'll keep that in mind." Smiling brightly, Shireen broke away and glanced up at the sky. Sōnar was circling overhead for now, as there was simply too many people in the courtyard right now for her to land. Walking over to her mother, Shireen waved happily to the dragon. "Goodbye, Sōnar! Keep Lyaella safe while you're out beyond the Wall!"

Everyone except Lyaella and Shireen jumped at her answering roar. Giggling lightly, Shireen hurried past the rest of her father's men to join her mother by their horses. Despite how she quietly chided Shireen for not coming immediately when called, everyone could tell Selye's eyes were focused on Lyaella than her daughter. The little girl tensed, squeezing her pendant as she made a quick curtsy, yet Selyse's eyes didn't lose their edge. Flinching back, Lyaella nodded and hurried up to Jon even though he was still with Stannis. Nodding to the stag king, she clung to Jon's cloak with a vice-like grip, refusing to glance back at Selyse.

Luckily, Selyse dropped her glare. She still kept one eye on Lyaella, but she focused instead on mounting her own horse and criticizing her daughter about something.

Swallowing thickly, Jon took that moment to turn back to Stannis and offer his hand. It was obvious Lyaella was looking to him as a protector for some reason, yet she was still uncomfortable being around Stannis. The sooner he dragged her away, the better. "Good luck, your grace."

Stannis nodded, accepting the handshake. "You as well, Lord Commander. You as well."

Nodding firmly one last time, Jon wrapped his arm around Lyaella's shoulders and steered her towards their horses. They only made it a few steps however before Lady Melisandre swept in front of them. Lyaella squeaked and crept closer to him.

"You are rejecting R'hollor's will by not accompanying the Prince that was Promised, Lyaella Snow," she stated. "I have seen you in the flames at Winterfell with Princess Shireen, both of you wearing hooded cloaks as you hurry through the courtyard. I've seen your dragon standing tall and proud in front of the Bolton's army, roaring at the enemy soldiers. It is destined to happen, the Lord has willed it so. Please, reconsider his grace's request."

Clutching his cloak tighter, Lyaella shook her head. "I'm n-not against the Red God. Not when another red priestess helped m-me and Tory… but he's not my god. I'm not helping S-Stannis Baratheon get the throne… especially when there's a chance I might find Torrhen if I go with Jon to Hardhome. I'm going with him!"

Lady Melisandre frowned, but thankfully didn't push the matter. Furrowing her brows, she nodded and hesitantly turned to mount her horse.

Lyaella started sighing in relief before suddenly catching herself, lower lip trembling. Tugging lightly on his cloak, she nervously looked up at him. "You… You don't think I'm making a mistake by not going with them, do you?" she murmured. "I like Shireen, and Ser Davos is nice, but… but I don't trust Lady Melisandre, and Stannis… I wouldn't support him over House Targaryen, but his offer was insulting… Do you think I'm being stupid, Jon?"

It took everything Jon had to smile. "It's your choice what you do, Lyaella. If you don't want to go with Stannis, you don't have to. And if that's how you feel about it, there's nothing wrong with that."

She slowly smiled. "Are you sure?"

"Aye, I'm sure. I know something about not being in control of your own destiny… and this time you can decide your own fate."

"All right…" She looked up at him in… awe? Gratitude? Something else entirely? "Thank you, Jon."

Without warning, she threw her arms around his waist and gave him a tight hug. Jon jerked, but before he could do anything, she'd already let go and was darting past other watchers and soldiers to quietly bid farewell to Maester Aemon over by the library entrance.

Jon only blinked as she sped off. It was moments like this where he didn't know what was going through Lyaella's head. Most of the time she was a shy, quiet little mouse that didn't even seem to remember how to be happy… yet in rare occasions, the simplest thing could make her smile. Lyaella Snow was an enigma. An enigma he didn't wish to see hurt, yet one that had to be dealt with when Cotter Pyke returned from Meereen with the Dragon Queen. The sooner this little girl was out of Castle Black, the better. She was not cut out to survive the world south of the Wall without Daenerys Targaryen's protection.

At a sudden push on his side, Jon was drawn out of his pensive musings by the large white puffball that he had raised from infancy. With a snort, Jon reached down to ruffle Ghost's fur. "Where'd you come from?" Ghost did nothing, just looking up at him. "I should fit you with a bell round your neck. Then I'd know when you try sneaking up on me."

The direwolf merely cocked his head, red eyes staring up expectantly.

Jon merely chuckled, continuing to ruffle his fur. "You're close with Lyaella, boy?" The mention of Lyaella made his tail wag. "Maybe you can give me some advice."

Ghost nudged him further, tongue lolling out in a wolffish smile.

"Should I send her to her only family… well, the only family that likely cares for her in any way?"

In response, Ghost wrapped himself around Jon's legs, whining softly as he looked up right into Jon's eyes with the most expectant expression. Resting his furry head against Jon's stomach.

"Well…" Jon smirked in spite of himself. "I suppose I know where you stand then."

---

The black wolf panted happily, tail swaying back and forth. The curly haired boy laughed and threw a stick. It shot off after it, quick as a flash.

Torrhen blinked, curious. He'd been wandering aimlessly around the wilderness of the North for the longest time, and yet he hadn't recognized anyone or anything he came across. He only knew he was in the North because he knew what the North was like, it's overall landscape and how people behaved in their daily lives. No one noticed him, though. Not even when he tried waving his hand in front of their faces. It was like he'd become a ghost.

Just how long had he been stumbling around the North, now? A few minutes? A few hours? Days? Perhaps weeks. Or months. May the gods help him if it'd been years. Was he dead, maybe? That'd explain his invisibility to those he saw. Still, if he was dead, was this what awaited everyone when life was over? Unlike New Gods worshippers that believed in seven heavens and seven hells, Old God worshippers never really talked about what happened when people die. Was wandering the North forever and alone what happened in the end? What a lonely existence he was destined for if that was true. Still, something told him he was wrong.

Whatever the case, it was still lucky he'd stumbled across this other living boy and his wolf right now. Because Torrhen recognized them. This was the exact same moment he saw in his first vision back when he first tried meeting his future mother before Daario threw him out. Which meant this was the same boy who seemingly saw him during his other split second vision awhile back and possibly tried talking to him.

Torrhen stared as the boy kept playing with his wolf — or rather, his direwolf. That was definitely a direwolf upon second glance. He had a black direwolf himself, after all. Thoughts were racing through his mind, yet they were all so jumbled and frantic he couldn't sort them out to think clearly.

Who was this other boy?

Why did he have a direwolf?

Why did he keep having visions about him?

Was he an enemy or a threat to him, Lyaella, or their parents?

Where were they in the North, anyway?

Did he have visions about him or other random things, too?

Would he see him like he did before if he dared move closer?

Torrhen's breath hitched at that last thought. That's right, the last time he randomly saw this other boy, he could have sworn the boy tried talking to him before he jolted back to reality. Was all this another vision he was experiencing? If so, how long had he been stuck in it? Moreover, if he tried talking to that boy directly, what would happen? Would he escape this seemingly never ending time as a ghost, or would the other boy hear him?

He thickly swallowed as the boy scratched the direwolf behind the ears. Dropping the stick, he sat down against a boulder some ways off. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out some parchment and something small and black, and after glancing up briefly one last time at his direwolf, he started moving the black thing across the parchment, his eyes riveted on the page.

Torrhen cocked his head. What was he doing? He and Lyaella often carried spare parchment, a quill, and at least a small bottle of ink wherever they went in case they had spur of the moment ideas for their music, but if that boy was writing somehow, then where was his ink pot and quill? How could he write without them?

At that moment the boy yawned, dropping whatever he'd been holding to cover his mouth. As he looked up again, he happened to glance over at where Torrhen was. Within seconds he was on his feet, eyes bulging.

"You!" He cried, stumbling forward. "You — You, you're the — I've seen — It's you!"

Torrhen jerked. "Huh?"

"You! It's you! You're — You're the ghost boy!"

"I'm… I'm the what?!"

"So I'm not crazy! Please, you need to come with me right now! I have to show you to Osha right away! She thinks I made you up!"

Without warning, the other boy grabbed his hand and pulled him along. Pausing only to grab the parchment and the small black writing material he'd dropped, he dragged him towards a large Northern keep in the distance. Within seconds, Torrhen yanked himself free.

"Hey! Hey, let go! Get off me!" He snapped. "First of all, I'm not a ghost! Secondly, you're the real mystery boy between us! You're the ghost to me, so why do I keep seeing you? I know you're a Northerner like me, but who are you?"

The other boy blinked. "Those are my questions, actually. I want to know why I saw you the other day when I was playing with Ned, but neither he nor Osha saw you. Why are you haunting me? If — If you're some wandering dead spirit, then—"

"I'm not dead! I mean — I'm not sure how long I've been wandering around here exactly, but I don't think I'm dead!"

"Aye, that's what spirits who've just died say when they don't realize they're dead yet! How do I know you're not that?!" He reached for his belt, drawing a dagger. "You — You try dragging me to the afterlife, and I'll use this! My father's dead! My mother's dead! So's my oldest brother! For all I know, my sisters and next oldest brother are dead, too! Maybe even my third brother who abandoned me! I'm not dying yet, though! Not today!"

Torrhen scowled, reaching for his training sword. "If I was trying to kill you by being a wandering dead spirit, I wouldn't need a sword now, would I?" Carelessly knocking the boy's knife out of his hand, he tossed away his own blade and folded his arms. "Now, explain to me why I keep seeing you in my visions. And how in seven hells did I end up back in the North again?"

The boy blinked, terror slowly ebbing away into confusion. "I… I can tell you're a Northerner like me, your accent and all, but… but you're not in the North yourself?"

He scoffed, gesturing to his lightweight Essos attire with a wave of his arm. "Look at what I'm wearing! I'm all the way across the Narrow Sea, right now! In Meereen!"

There was a momentary pause as the other boy slowly considered this, then he slowly grabbed his knife. "All right, sorry for panicking. But try anything and I'll gut you like a fish! Osha's taught me how to use this and I can name five different ways I can kill you before you pick up your sword again."

Torrhen snorted, swiping his sword and replacing it in its sheathe. "Oh? I'm sure you could if I was really here, but you're the one who just called me a ghost. Last I checked, no ghosts have ever been killed with everyday daggers."

That shut him up… at least until the shaggy black direwolf trotted forward, tail wagging as he nudged up against Torrhen's legs, forcing his head under his hand for pets and scratches. The other boy groaned.

"Ugh! What've I told you about doing that to strangers, boy? Come on, back off!"

The wolf yipped but kept nuzzling away, even trying to lick his fingers. Truthfully, Torrhen didn't mind. At least this direwolf wasn't trying to tackle him over and slobber all over his face. So long as he kept his tongue away from his lips, he was used to it. "Friendly, aren't you? Hey there," he chuckled, ruffling his fingers through his fur. "You smell Shadow on me, don't you, buddy?"

The other boy blinked. "I'm surprised you're not scared of Shaggy, and that he can see you. Most people won't get close to a direwolf, even a tame one. And who's Shadow? Your dog?"

Torrhen shot him a half-glare. "Shaggy? You named your direwolf Shaggy? What a strange name for a direwolf. I'd expect someone to name a real dog that."

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, that's all. And I should know! Shadow's no dog, he's my direwolf."

"Your direwolf?!" the boy gawked. "That's… That's impossible!"

"It's true, I swear. Now tell me where you got yours. I thought Shadow was the only tame direwolf left South of the Wall. Where'd you find him?"

The boy just stared. "No… that's impossible. The only direwolves South of the Wall belong to me and my siblings!"

Torrhen jolted. It — It couldn't be… could it?

Swallowing thickly, Torrhen looked directly at the other boy. "Shaggy… That's a nickname?"

"What?"

"For your wolf. It's a nickname," he clarified, jerking his head in the wolf's direction. "It's… It's short for 'Shaggydog,' isn't it?"

"What? How'd you—?!"

"You're Rickon Stark," he breathed. "Ned Stark's youngest son…"

The boy still seemed puzzled, but nodded nonetheless. "Aye, I am. What's that matter to you?"

"I… I'm just surprised… I never expected to meet you in person…" A half-truth, the only one Torrhen could even think of right now. Rickon Stark. His and Lyaella's youngest uncle whom they'd never met. No one ever really thought about him when remembering the fall of House Stark — not unless they were talking about his murder during the Battle of the Bastards. He'd been so young when things fell apart for his family, too young to be seen as anything other than the youngest child of Ned Stark that never did anything noteworthy other than running in terror to his 'half-brother' on the battlefield the day he died.

Torrhen didn't know what to think. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd meet one of his dead uncles while in the past. But then again, what if none of this was really happening? What if this was all just some bizarre, vivid dream? If so, why was he dreaming about Rickon Stark? He and Lyaella had nothing against him or Robb Stark — they were blameless of what their siblings had done to them and their parents — but what possessed him to dream of Rickon specifically? Why wasn't he dreaming about Lyaella, wherever she was? Or their father? Even dreaming about their mother in a fantasy where she was the perfect queen he and Lyaella had always envisioned her to be would make more sense. What was going on?

Rickon blinked. "Ah, right. Because Theon Greyjoy sacked my home. How me and my brother Bran supposedly died." Torrhen noncommittally shrugged, unsure how to answer that while following the rules to Truth or Half-Truth. "Well, it was all a lie. He couldn't find us. He killed and crisped two farm boys to fool everyone."

"Oh. Oh, I see…" he muttered. "You — You shouldn't be too quick to admit that to people, you know."

"What?"

"I'm not against you personally, Rickon, but there's plenty out there who'd gladly see you dead. You're… You're your father's only living trueborn son who can carry on the Stark name. You should be careful." Torrhen really didn't know what to say except that. What did someone say to a dead relative they'd never met and knew nothing about other than how they died?

Rickon shrugged. "Aye, Osha and Lord Umber's always telling me that, but I'm safe for now. Lord Umber was a loyal bannerman to my father, and he's been good to me and Osha. I'm even friends with his son, Ned, you know."

Umber… Umber… Wait, didn't the Umbers side with the Boltons at the Battle of the Bastards? Torrhen couldn't remember — it was his father's exploits in that battle he'd been interested in, not the Boltons side. "Still, you should trust anyone who hasn't truly earned it. Keep your House's words in the back of your mind from now on. Winter is coming, which means the worst is still to come."

He scoffed. "I'm not sure how much worse things can get, actually. My parents are gone, my eldest brother's gone, my sister's and other brother could be anywhere, and Osha won't take me to my half-brother at Castle Black. She refuses to go to the Wall. As far as the world knows, I'm dead, so I'm fine to say whatever I want 'cause no one'll believe me."

"Normally you'd be right, but you forget him." He jerked his head at Shaggydog. "One look at him, and anyone'd believe you're the real Rickon Stark. I'd be careful, if I were you."

Rickon silently considered this, then shrugged and met his gaze. "Hmm, maybe. I'll keep that in mind, but enough about me. You still haven't explained who you are and where you came from."

"My name's Torrhen, Torrhen Snow. And I told you, I'm in Meereen. All the way across the Narrow Sea."

"Then why are you here? What do you want with me?"

"Well, I—"

"Rickon! Time to go in, it's gettin' too cold out here, Little Lord."

The boys turned. Approaching them was the Wildling woman Torrhen had seen in his previous vision of Rickon Stark. And once again, here attention was focused solely on Rickon and his direwolf, her eyes sliding past Torrhen as though he wasn't there.

Rickon also recognized this. "Wait, Osha. Remember how I told you the other day I saw someone? Someone no one else saw even though he was here with us?"

Osha's eyes suddenly grew sharp. "Aye. Yeh gave me a right scare when yeh said that. If someone's out there watchin' us…" she shook her head, eyes scanning the shadowy trees. "Did yeh see someone else right now? Is anyone here?"

"Aye, but—"

Quick as a flash, she roughly seized his wrist. "Come on. Now. We're goin' back in."

"No, you don't—"

"Don't argue with me, Little Lord. I'm keepin' yeh alive, no matter what. We're goin' back in!"

Whistling to Shaggydog to follow, she dragged him back to the keep without another word. Rickon was powerless to resist and shot Torrhen an apologetic frown. Torrhen wasn't ready to give up so easily, though. He darted forward, trying to block them off.

"Hey, wait a second! Can't you—?"

She walked right through him as though walking through smoke, oblivious of his presence.

Rickon's eyes widened, but Torrhen froze, horrified. What was going on? How come the uncle he'd never met could see him yet this Wildling woman couldn't? Rickon's direwolf was aware of him too, but she wasn't? What was happening? He… He couldn't really be dead, could he?

The thought echoed so loudly in his head he couldn't help but scream. Rickon jumped and tried to tug away, but Osha's grip on him was too firm and a few moments later they disappeared between the trees.

---

It'd taken much to rip Dany from Torrhen's bedside. Knowing how fond she was of the boy — so desperately wishing his stories were true and the loyal and sweet, if feisty, lad was her blood — Missandei and Barristan left her with him until it was clear she needed something to eat. Reluctantly, she headed to her chambers and numbly ate some bread smeared with goat cheese and a sliced apple, washed down with watered wine.

The numbness was still there, but at least the gnawing pit in her stomach was filled. A little better.

"No change?" she asked Missandei.

The beautiful translator shook her head, frizzy hair pulled back in a bun like the day they'd met. "His convulsions have stopped, but he's still asleep… and clammy with fever."

Dany sighed. "Gods… the Targaryen curse, I suppose. If not mad, then dead with some sickness or vapor." Daeron II's attempt to broaden the size of the family destroyed by the Spring Sickness, and now Torrhen — if he truly was part of her House, that is. She needed a distraction. "Are they still here?"

Missandei didn't need an explanation of who 'they' was. "Still confined in the council chambers. One is quiet, the other… won't stop demanding to see young Torrhen."

"Just Torrhen?" Dany raised an eyebrow, knowing it was Ser Jorah.

"Yes, just Torrhen. I think he realizes the futility of seeking you out."

He should have realized the futility of trying to betray me. Dany's bitter thoughts nevertheless felt unsettling with all that was happening with Torrhen. With all the fear she had, the queen didn't have room for more negative emotions. She shook her head. "You think I should talk to him?"

Missandei was quiet for a moment, preparing her comments. "I remember he was your closest confidant while we were still strangers to each other, your grace. While his betrayal is inexcusable, such a relationship cannot be sundered so quickly. Jorah may feel differently, but you looked at him as the father you never had… and still do I believe."

Dany bit her lip. She hated feeling vulnerable but sometimes she couldn't help it. "Alright, might as well get it over with." Setting a hand on Missandei's shoulder, she smiled softly. "Let me know if something changes in Torrhen's condition."

"Of course, your grace."

Four Unsullied guards and Barristan waited within the council chamber as Dany walked in. From where Jorah sat, he immediately stood while Tyrion was a bit less… immediate. "You may sit," she said, taking her own seat at the head of the table as Barristan immediately moved behind her. Tyrion did so, while Jorah remained standing.

The silence felt interminable. Both her 'guests' seemed to want to speak, but refrained. Dany's queenly glare — an imperious scowl that shifted from Tyrion to Jorah and back to Tyrion again — kept them quiet. Her stare was more enraged to Jorah, while for Tyrion it was more… curious.

"Tell me something, Lord Tyrion."

Blinking, it took a moment for Tyrion to shift his attention from the empty gold goblet in his hand back to the queen. "Um… yes, your grace?"

"You were… embarrassed the last time we spoke in regards to the 'Red Wedding.'" Embarrassed of mass murder. "Your father killed my niece and nephew through his minions, and now he killed Robb Stark and his pregnant wife and mother in the same dishonorable manner." Tyrion winced, but didn't avert his gaze despite his obvious shame. "Did you know of this?"

He shook his head. "No, not at all. I was married to Lady Sansa Stark at the time… a sham marriage I assure you, but I wouldn't hurt her that way." Tyrion shrugged. "Besides, my father hated me and wouldn't bring me into his plans unless truly desperate."

"One of the causes of you killing him, I suppose," Dany mused. "But the deed was done, and by your family. What did happen to the North as a result?"

"My father made the Lord of House Bolton as Warden of the North."

"So he didn't try ruling it himself or one of his bannermen — he used a puppet Northern Lord?"

"I wouldn't call Roose Bolton a puppet, but yes. He chose an ally to rule rather than place a family member there… invade the North? That would be madness."

Nodding, Dany shifted back to Jorah. Tyrion was a man that could deceive, but here he was genuine. Desperate to save his skin, but genuine. Jorah on the other hand… "You remember what Tyrion told me about what I should do to you? He was the middle ground of the advice I was given. Missandei and Barristan wanted you gone, Grey Worm and Daario wished I kill you, but only Torrhen defended you and wished me to forgive you."

Jorah said nothing, but met her gaze — unlike Tyrion, he stood, hands clasped behind his back and completely deferent.

"I cannot let you in, not for one second, but I am curious as to the advice Torrhen says you can give me. Advice that he, as a Northerner, cannot."

"Well, your grace," Tyrion said. "He's a half-Targaryen child…"

"Silence Lord Tyrion, I am not speaking to you." He shut up. "Now, Ser Jorah. I want to know why you convinced Torrhen you can help me, so tell me… How would the so-called Red Wedding apply to me when it was the responsibility of House Lannister and that they accept the authority of someone that killed their king?"

Clearing his throat, Jorah shifted his feet. "While you were caring for the Dragon Prince, I… made Tyrion tell me everything about it that he knew."

"My nephew liked hearing about everything that happened. Got a sick thrill out of it…"

"What part of silence do you not understand?"

Waiting a moment, Jorah continued. "As a Northerner, I know the feelings they have, for I share them myself. Tywin was… wise not to impose a southern ruler upon the North, for they would never be allowed. And as to Lord Bolton… he is one of us. He can use fear and anger held against House Stark to maintain control in a way that no Lannister could… and unfortunately that you can't, khaleesi."

It was one thing when Torrhen said it, but hearing it from Jorah made the sentiment all too real for Daenerys. "I… I've done nothing to the North. Why would they hate me as they do the Lannisters?"

Jorah looked ashamed himself. "Forgive me, khaleesi. I never told you because I feared it would hurt…"

"Tell me!"

"Your father," he said softly.

Dany blinked. "My father? What does he have to do with this? He was killed by Jaime Lannister in order for Tywin to take the throne for Robert the Usurper." Jorah winced, while beside him Tyrion did as well. "You mean the deaths of Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark?" Is there something I don't know?

"Your grace, forgive me for interrupting," said Barristan suddenly, "But in this case I'm inclined to agree with Ser Jorah. It… It was a shameful day for me to be a kingsguard serving your father when he executed the late Lord Rickard and Brandon."

She whipped around to Barristan, stunned. "Pardon me?"

"Khaleesi, do you know how they died?" There was silence. "No, I don't presume your brother would have told you." Jorah always had contempt for Viserys. "After your brother Rhaegar abducted Lady Lyanna, Lord Rickard and Brandon travelled to King's Landing to petition the king to convince his son to set her free. Your father responded by having Lord Rickard tied to a stake and burned alive with wildfire. Brandon was tied up with a noose over his neck and a sword to save Lord Rickard dangled just out of reach, and while your father watched he strangled himself to death trying to save his father. That is why the North rebelled."

Each new word made Dany sicker to her stomach — hearing it, these were the same atrocities she had the Masters executed for doing to their slaves. One look at Tyrion and Barristan confirmed what Jorah said. "I am not my father," she said quietly.

"It doesn't matter. The only reason the North accepted Targaryen rule was because we were left to our own devices by Aegon the Conqueror. A slight… it takes extraordinary circumstances for a Northman to forgive a slight, even against our own. The Lannisters will always be our enemies for the Red Wedding, as will be the Freys. While Northerner's will respect the Bolton's for being one of us and they'll rule the country through fear, they'll always be seen as oath-breakers… and House Targaryen will always be the enemy of the North for what your father did."

"So… it's hopeless then?" Torrhen thought so — for all he begged her to take Jorah, the boy was completely fatalistic.

But Jorah's response… "If I could become yours, khaleesi, then there is still hope."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Dany's head hurt. The stresses of ruling were one thing, but with Jorah… he'd been through all her trials and tragedies since becoming Drogo's wife. From the rape, to her brother's abuse, to Rhaego… no, she wouldn't think of him, much too painful. But Jorah had seen her through it all. He was practically the only father she'd ever known, and now after learning of how until that fateful Harpy Attack that nearly killed both Grey Worm and Barristan, he was the only one who gave Torrhen the time of day…

"Why must you torture me so, Ser Jorah?" she finally breathed.

Jorah looked close to breaking down. "Khaleesi…"

Dany cut him off with a raised hand. "Until I obtained the Unsullied, you were my only protector, Jorah. The only person between me and dying on the ground with a knife across my neck." Her eyes found him, but they were worn. "I thought you truly were there for me, but you were in the Usurper's employ for much of it."

"If I could take it back, I would."

"No, you wouldn't." She sighed. "And truthfully, I don't blame you — it's why I let you live rather than have you beheaded." Their lives, there were parallels between them. "You wanted to go home, to return to the lands of your father and aunt and cousins. Such a yearning is not strange, but human, and you chose the closest path to get there." She chuckled in spite of herself. "Ironic, that you chose me instead, for I offer the longest path of all your options."

"You won me over, khaleesi. More than any bribe or payment, I believe in you… I… I love you."

Dany heard Tyrion mutter something akin to a groan, while she merely closed her eyes. "I cannot feel the same."

Bowing his head, Jorah seemed resigned to that fact. "I understand. There was never a chance, yet my heart and loyalty remain the same, you must know that."

"But how can I? That's the problem." She turned away from them, looking off into the distance from the window. "If it weren't for how you made an impression on Torrhen, I'd have had you banished again." Likely back to the secret slaver, ironically enough. "He defended you greatly, almost…" Dany remembered how she nearly had him thrown out of her court over just seeking to defend Jorah, without even hearing him out. Not a moment she thought well of, considering what happened next. He needed discipline over his temper, but he hadn't lost his temper when she threatened him. "He was willing to leave simply because I intended to banish you again. His only family of House Targaryen other than his sister, if he is to be believed."

The knight didn't meet Dany's gaze — he looked profoundly ashamed and humbled. "I would never have asked that of him, to leave you. From the one time I met him, all he wished was to find you."

Her heart clenched. "Just... tell me something, Jorah… why did you believe him?"

"Khaleesi?"

"Torrhen." She turned to look him in the eye. He was a head and a half taller than her, but her violet gaze was withering. "Daario didn't believe Torrhen. It took a miracle for Barristan to. I'm still skeptical, myself. So tell me, why did you believe him?"

Closing his eyes, it took a moment for Jorah to respond. "At first it was because he is of the North. Exiled for years though I was, being raised of the North cannot ever abandon you — with winter as harsh as it is, we as a people both remember and stick together." Dany fought the urge to bite her lip. Torrhen was right about another thing. Beneath his rage and bitterness were kernels of truth… hard truths she didn't wish to consider.

"The people drink secret toasts to your health." Her brother was truly stupider than she ever thought to believe this, but perhaps Illyrio's false words found purchase with her as well.

"Was that all?" she finally asked. "Ethnic solidarity?"

"He had a direwolf, khaleesi. Only those blessed by the Old Gods can hope to bond with one."

From where he sat, listening quietly, Tyrion spoke up with a question. "I thought only the Starks bonded with direwolves?"

Starks? The usurper's dogs?

"Anyone with the blood of the Warg King or other ancient magic could do so, Lord Tyrion," Jorah explained. "I cannot know what House in the North he must be somehow descended from in regards to these relatives of his…"

"Enough." Daenerys wasn't here to hear Jorah and Tyrion Lannister debate the nature of Northern magic. There would be time to find his relatives and deduce his specific ancestry beyond the speculations of Jorah and Barristan, but not right now. "Answer my question, Ser Jorah."

There was no delaying anymore, and from his expression, Jorah knew it. "He has your eyes, khaleesi."

She frowned, crossing her arms. "That's it? I have seen the Valyrian purple in his eyes, and while it proves Valyrian ancestry it doesn't signal being a Targaryen—"

"No, khaleesi." Jorah cut her off, drawing another glare from her. He lost his right to be blunt to her when— "He has your eyes."

Dany's words died, eyes widening as she caught his meaning. "What?"

"Your eyes, khaleesi, the exact shade." He sighed. "Until I saw them, I thought he was lying, but short of the dragon he spoke of suddenly appearing, there was no denying who Prince Torrhen was."

A snort came from Tyrion. "Not conclusive, but relevant evidence in my opinion."

Shaking her head, a rare form of open frustration and dejection showed on Daenerys' face. How could she make sense of this? Buried underneath the veritable mountain of duties she held as queen, beneath the time she gave for Torrhen most often spent scolding his temper or trying in vain to form some sort of guarded bond… was fear. Fear that he wasn't what he said.

Fear that he was.

Fear that he would work his way into her heart, only to die or leave just as Rhaego had.

I could feel for him the way I felt for Rhaego. If she lost Torrhen after letting her heart open…

If she looked back, she was lost — and there was no hope she wouldn't look back in such an eventuality.

"We are done with this." Dany turned to Jorah, drawing some sense of composure about her. "I won't kill you, Jorah, nor will I banish you again for now." There was an ever so slight brightness in his eyes. She would not enjoy crushing it. "I'm only sparing you because of Torrhen, because you helped him and because he thinks highly of you." Her eyes narrowed darkly. "But you will never have the chance to betray me again. A cell is being prepared for you as we speak, and you'll remain there until I decide a more permanent solution."

Jorah sighed and hung his head, but before anything else could be said, Missandei suddenly entered the council chambers. "Your grace, forgive my interruption, but you told me to immediately inform you when Torrhen regained consciousness."

Dany straightened. "He's awake?"

"Yes, he awoke a few minutes ago while the healer and I were attending to him. It's — It's hard to explain, your grace, but he seems perfectly fine now. A bit confused for a moment when he first woke, but he's already up and walking again. Were it not for the healer insisting he stay put so he could fully assess his condition, I'm sure he would've come down here right now."

Everyone glanced around at one another with wide eyes. Ser Barristan in particular was very surprised. "What do you mean 'confused?'" He asked, stepping forward. "Did… Did it seem like he thought he was still in the audience chamber? Was he even aware of how ill he's been for the past few days?"

Missandei shook her head. "No… if anything, he was confused to even be in Meereen all together."

Tyrion cocked his head. "Come again?"

"I… I'm not sure how to describe it, really. He awoke rather suddenly, as though waking from a nightmare. It must've been a rather vivid one because he was confused why he wasn't back in the North with some boy. Rickard I think, or something similar…"

"Did his eyes roll back in his head just before he woke?" Jorah suddenly asked. "Like how they were in the audience chamber when he collapsed?"

"I'm… I'm not—"

"Don't answer that, Missandei," Dany interjected, turning to glare at her former protector. "I will not have this traitor thinking he is free to speak his mind just because he helped Torrhen and brought me Lord Tyrion as his prisoner." Jorah gazed at her pleadingly, but Dany refused to meet his eyes. She focused back on Missandei, her face impassive. "So Torrhen is all right, then?"

"As far as I can tell, yes, your grace. Though I should tell you that the healer asked for permission to bring Torrhen here so as to ask him some questions about his condition in front of all of us, your grace. I don't understand why, but he said it was regarding our… confirmation on certain behaviors of his we may or may not have noticed about Torrhen."

"Behaviors?"

"That's what he said, your grace."

Dany was puzzled, but nodded. "Very well. So long as he thinks it won't harm Torrhen to come here and if Torrhen himself feels up to it, please fetch them, Missandei. And please summon Daario and Hizdahr as well. If Grey Worm feels strong enough to join us, have him come, too. It's better for all of us to be here for whatever questions the healer might ask."

Nodding politely, Missandei turned and departed back down the hall. Daario and Hizdahr arrived after only a few minutes of waiting, but Missandei didn't return until ten minutes later. She helped Grey Worm through the entryway and Torrhen and the Ghiscari healer right behind them, with Shadow bringing up the rear.

The veins in Grey Worm's neck bulged in suppressed pain as he forced a low bow. "My… My queen… I am sorry I am late... It no happen — argh!"

Missandei quickly led him to his chair at the council table. "Grey Worm! Please, don't push yourself!"

"Indeed, I thought your injuries were nearly healed by now, Grey Worm. If you're still in pain, you may return to your solar. I didn't mean for you to push yourself."

"No, no, my queen. I… I be fine. Just moved wrong."

The healer scoffed. Nodding to Torrhen to slide into one of the remaining chairs, he flitted promptly to the soldier's side, tsking lightly as he examined his loosely wrapped bandages. "Don't downplay your pain. I can see you haven't been following my orders for bed rest, not with how loose these are right now."

"I serve Daenerys Stormborn. She needs me up again."

"Not if that means you don't heal fully, first. Had you followed my advice for bed rest, you probably would've been close to fully healed over a week ago. After this meeting, you stay in that bed for a good few days, at least. It'll never heal if you keep straining yourself."

Dany nodded. "I'm inclined to agree, Grey Worm. I'm glad you're so devoted to serving me, but not if it means you won't recover to your normal self. Please, go relax when this is over. I hate seeing you in pain."

Grey Worm sighed, yet reluctantly nodded. It was hard on him being forced to do nothing so his body could recover, but it was necessary. The sooner he accepted bed rest, the sooner he would get better.

Satisfied, Dany turned to Torrhen. She was relieved he seemed to be back to his usual self. His eyes were their natural shade of violet again and his skin showing the start of a healthy bronze thanks to nearly a full year of the Essos sun. Aside from glancing down to his wolf as he ran his hands through his fur, he smiled wholeheartedly to Ser Barristan and Jorah, the latter making his eyes twinkle in surprise.

"Ser Jorah, you're still here! I feared you'd been exiled again! Did you persuade the queen otherwise, Ser Barristan? If so, I thank you."

The old knight shook his head, circling the table to examine Torrhen for himself. "No, no. I had nothing to do with that decision. You may thank her grace for that, but that's irrelevant right now. How are you feeling, Torrhen?"

Torrhen shrugged. "Fine, I guess. Don't remember going back to my solar, but other than this headache, I'm all right."

Dany jerked, alarmed. "A headache? You have one right now?"

He nodded, unfazed by her concern. "Aye, but it's no big deal. I'm used to getting them."

"Used to them?" Missandei asked, eyes flicking briefly to her before shooting back to Torrhen. "You suffer from headaches frequently?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. From what you've told me about his condition and then examining him while he was sick…" the healer shook his head and sighed. "Here," he continued, reaching into his tunic and handing Torrhen something small and brown. "Chew on this."

Torrhen blinked. "Chew on—? What is this?"

"Willow bark. It'll soothe the pain."

He gawked at the healer. "Willow bark?! You — You want me to eat a tree?!"

"No, just chew it. Spit out the wood after chewing each mouthful, but try to swallow the extract within."

"You've gotta be—!"

"Missandei, is there a clean chamber pot anywhere?"

"Yes, your grace. Some of the attendants cleaned them earlier."

"Have them bring one here, please. Torrhen will need it."

"At once, your grace."

Torrhen's face twisted in disgust as Missandei waved for some handmaidens to carry out the task. "Ugh, Queen Daenerys, this isn't necessary. I'll be fine in a bit, I swear."

"If the healer thinks it'll help, you will do it, Torrhen. As soon as one of the servants brings a chamber pot here, you may start."

He desperately turned to Barristan. "Ser, please don't tell me you agree! You — You can't possibly think this is a good idea, me eating a tree!"

"You won't be eating it Torrhen, just chewing on the bark. And as her grace stated, you will do it."

Torrhen huffed, folding his arms. "Why, because I lost my temper again? I promise I'll try harder to hold my tongue from now on."

Barristan solemnly shook his head. "No, because you gave everyone here a right scare with what happened the other day. None of us want you to collapse like that again after suffering from an extreme headache."

The fire dimmed slightly in Torrhen's eyes and he repeatedly blinked."I collapsed after an extreme headache?"

Daario snorted. "What, you don't remember? I thought you said Northerners are supposed to remember everything?"

Quick as a flash, the anger flared up again. "Shut up, Daario! My memory's a little foggy!"

"Well, what's the last thing you do remember?" Hizdahr politely inquired. "Do you remember anything about the other day before you… collapsed?"

Torrhen frowned. "Why're you saying it like that? Did I faint or something? If I did, I assume it's because of hot I am. I hate this Essos heat! I'm surprised Shadow hasn't passed out yet, too." No one answered. They just kept staring at him with wide eyes. Torrhen scowled with a low groan. "What's the big deal? It's not like I'm the first person to suffer from heat exhaustion!"

"That's… That's not what happened, Torrhen. Please answer Hizdahr's question," Dany said, folding her hands across the table. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"I don't know, it's a blur really… I remember you ordered Ser Jorah and Lord Tyrion to be brought back here in chains, and I remember you talking to them in the audience chamber… after that it's a haze. One minute I'm yelling at everyone… then I see stuff… my head hurts… next thing I know I'm wandering around the North."

"The North? As in the dream Missandei mentioned when you awoke right now?"

He shrugged. "It didn't feel like a dream. It… It was like I was really back there. No one could see me though except one boy. Dunno why…"

Dany shared muddled looks with the rest of her small council as well as Tyrion, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed how the Ghiscari healer sighed and how Jorah promptly straightened and examined Torrhen curiously. The healer's reaction she somewhat understood — as odd as Torrhen's description was about whatever he'd been dreaming about, if he truly believed he'd somehow been roaming the Northern countryside for the past few days rather than lying unconscious in bed as he suffered from other minor shaking episodes, then she owed Daario a massive apology. That'd be the proof she needed that this boy was swiftly descending into madness, even if not Targaryen madness. But Jorah's reaction puzzled her. Rather than being concerned, the Northern knight appeared almost… intrigued by his description. Did he know something about all this? He mentioned something about 'the Sight' when Torrhen collapsed the other day. Was that somehow related to this?

At that moment the servant carrying the requested chamber pot entered. Torrhen grimaced as it was set down near his feet. "This is stupid… You're really serious about this?"

The healer nodded, taking out a second piece of bark and sliding it across the table. "Chew up the first piece and if you're still in pain, chew up this one, too. It'll help, I assure you."

Torrhen cringed. Holding the bark delicately between two fingers, he squeezed his eyes shut and took a bite. For a long moment, all was silent aside from the loud crunching of wood grinding in his teeth. Then suddenly his eyes flew open, his whole body recoiling as he lunged for the chamber pot. Dany's breath hitched as he violently retched, coughing and spitting out all the tree bark. Barristan immediately rushed to his side, patting his back as he began dry heaving.

"That's it, that's it now," he murmured, motioning to the servant to hand him her handkerchief. "Get it all out…"

The boy only groaned in reply. Slowly sitting up, he took the offered cloth and wiped his face. "Ugh, disgusting… Water, please…" The servant rushed over to a side table for a water pitcher and goblet. Bringing them over, Torrhen swished the liquid around his mouth to rinse out the aftertaste. Spitting it out in the chamber pot, he gulped down another goblets-worth to quench his throat. "Thank you." Nodding politely, the handmaid took her leave. Torrhen waited until she was gone and Barristan had finally returned to his guard position beside the queen to shoot both him and Dany a pointed look. "Considering what just happened, may I please be blunt, Ser Barristan, your grace? Even if it is rude, am I allowed to be annoyed?"

Dany furrowed her brows. "I'd ask you to express whatever displeasure you may be feeling in a polite, calm manner. I don't blame you for being upset about what just happened, Torrhen, but I will not allow you to be rude and disrespectful to someone whom I've personally invited here to attend to you while you were sick."

"Her grace speaks truly, Torrhen. You will be calm and respectful while you express your grievances, or else you should simply hold your tongue," Barristan added, equally stern.

His hands balled up into fists, yet he still nodded. Directing his gaze back to the Ghiscari healer, it took everything he had to speak at a level tone. "May I… respectfully ask why you told me to chew that?" he snarled, teeth grinding together. "That stuff's bitter. Too bitter. I threw up the moment I tasted it!"

The healer frowned. "I am sorry, but this is the best remedy Meereenese healers know for curing headaches. Yes, it is bitter, but it's the best we personally know of. There might be better ways to cure headaches that the maesters in Westeros know of, but this is the only way we know of. Truly, I am sorry for the taste, but I don't know what else to do."

Scowling, Torrhen shoved the willow bark he'd bitten into as well as the one he hadn't touched yet back to him. "I'm not chewing this again."

"Torrhen—"

"My headaches aren't all that bad, Ser Barristan! I'm not gonna chew something if it'll make me sick in other ways! I've had plenty of headaches whenever my fire flickers out! I've dealt with it before, I'll deal with it now!"

Grey Worm cocked his head. "Fire flicker?"

Torrhen stiffened, then abruptly turned to focus on Shadow. "Aye," he grumbled, running his hands through the wolf's thick fur. "I'm used to them, so it's fine. I'll live."

"Used to what? Your headaches?" Missandei asked.

"No, my — well, aye, I guess so — but that's not what I meant. I meant my fire flickers in general."

"You hit your head the other day, little prince? What the fuck's that?"

"Don't call me—!"

"Torrhen, ignore his quips. Captain Naharis, don't provoke him. I will not allow this discussion to escalate like that small council meeting did. Understood?" Daario rolled his eyes, but otherwise shut his mouth. Appeased, Dany turned back to Torrhen, harsh expression quickly calming. "I'm afraid none of us understand what you're talking about, Torrhen. Can you please elaborate?"

He tensed, dropping his gaze.

"None of us will judge you for whatever you tell us, Torrhen. We only want to—"

"Actually, you will, your grace. Forgive me for interrupting you, but I know I'm right about this and you're wrong. If I say anything you'll all immediately assume I've got Targaryen madness… I don't even understand it myself so I can't say I don't, though I hope I'm still sane…"

Dany lips parted in surprise. That… That was definitely not what she'd expected him to say, and judging by everyone's faces, they too were surprised. She swallowed and schooled her features back into their usual queenly mask. "Well, how can we know for sure if you don't tell us? Please, we just want to know what you're talking about."

Torrhen stayed quiet for a few more seconds before sighing tiredly. Scraping back his chair, he dragged his feet behind him as he walked off.

Her fury rose. "Torrhen, sit down! We are not done here!"

"Yes, get back here, Torrhen!" Barristan snapped, his own temper flaring. "You do not ignore the queen and—!"

"Relax, I'm not going anywhere," he drawled. "I'm just grabbing this."

Swiping a candle off a candelabra on a side table, he ignored the equally perplexed looks on everyone's faces as he slid back into his chair. "Anyone got a knife and some flint?"

"Flint? What on earth for?" Hizdahr asked.

"To light the candle, obviously. Trust me, it's… it's easier to understand what I'm talking about if I have a candle. It's how me and Lyaella came up with the idea to call my… my…" he paused, scrunching his face as he considered himself.

Dany exchanged confused looks with almost everyone. If she didn't know better, she'd say he looked confused himself on whatever he was trying to say. "Your what?"

He shook his head, kneading his temples. "My… ugh! I don't know! I don't what it is, really! That's why we called it a fire flicker to begin with! You'll understand if you look at the candle, so can I please borrow a knife and some flint?"

Daario fumbled with his belt, taking out his knife with the ornamental gold handle and a small piece of flint. "Here," he chuckled, sliding them across the table, "try not to burn yourself with the tiny flame, fake prince."

Torrhen snarled, but held his tongue and turned to her directly. Ignoring the knife and flint, he instead held up the unlit candle. "All right, to understand, pretend the candle is me."

"You?" Grey Worm repeated, puzzled.

"Aye."

"Why?"

"Well… I'm alive right now. So obviously my flame is lit, not snuffed."

Tyrion blinked. "Lit? Snuffed?"

Torrhen nodded. Setting it down he reached for the knife and flint, only to go bug eyed when he finally got a good look at the blade. "The fuck—?! This handle — it's a naked woman!"

Daario grinned. "Be careful with that. I'm rather attached to that knife."

"Disgusting!"

"Torrhen, that's enough. Continue, please."

He rolled his eyes at the sellsword, but did as he was told and focused back on the candle. Striking the knife against the flint, he kept his eyes locked on the blade as he went on. "The candle's me, but because it's not lit, think of it as being dead."

"Dead? You're… You're still very much alive, Torrhen."

"Aye, Ser Barristan, obviously. But because I'm alive, that means my fire hasn't gone out. So—" a spark erupted, and then an orange flame was appeared on the end of the wick "—my flame's still lit. I'm part of the world, aware of things happening all around me. I'm alive, so my fire's burning brightly."

He held up the candle to emphasize. Dany could only blink before turning to her advisors. They mirrored her perplexity of the bizarre metaphor. Strange logic this boy had, but she supposed it did make sense in a weird way. Probably only in a way a child could understand.

"All right… but how does that relate to you calling your headaches your 'fire flickers?' You're not going to die simply from a headache, Torrhen."

He snorted. "Hardly, your grace, and you misunderstand. I know what a headache is, but that's not what a fire flicker is. The headache is just something that happens every once in awhile whenever I do have one."

Still holding out the candle, he used his free hand to wave a slight breeze over the flame. The tiny light bounced all about, fluttering sporadically as it struggled to stay lit.

"Look at the flame now. See it dancing and flickering? This is why me and Lyaella call my fire flickers what we do. It's… It's hard to explain, but basically I stop moving and just… stand there. Lya's told me my face goes blank when it happens, and even if people talk to me during them, I don't realize it. I just… flicker out for no reason sometimes, but I always bounce back after a while. Like a flame on a candle. I don't stay out of it for long, so my fire's never been snuffed out. I just… flicker. That's the best way I can describe it." He paused to blow out the candle. Sliding the knife and flint back across the table to Daario, he got up again and replaced the candle back in the candelabra. Sliding back in his chair, Torrhen ignored their stupefied stares and leaned back in his seat, completely calm. "I'm used to it, really. It's been happening for nearly… I don't know… three years now? Aye, three… Dunno why it happens and I can't control it, but it just does. I've never had a fire flicker that made me or Lya worry about my flame going out for good, so it's fine. It's a weird thing, but I'm used to it."

Dany could only stare at him, her mind racing. She'd never heard of such a strange thing happening to someone before, and aside from how Torrhen struggled to accurately explain it to them, he did so in such a nonchalant way she knew this had to be a common occurrence for him. So many questions were running through her head, and it was a struggle to keep her wits about her and think logically.

"Why didn't you tell any of us about this?" She finally asked. "This… This isn't normal, Torrhen. You should have told us."

He rolled his eyes. "For exactly that reason. Because it's not normal."

"I… what?"

"If I told you, you'd think I was crazy or mad. That's what the maester who works for mine and Lya's relatives thinks about it. My relatives listen to him, not me or Lya. He convinced them it was just me constantly daydreaming, so it wasn't a problem. Lyaella and I don't think so, but what could we do? Even if we weren't Targaryen bastards, he's the adult. We're just children. What're the odds any of you would've thought differently? I can tell you all think this is weird, and I haven't even begun explaining all the weird stuff I've been seeing during my fire flickers recently…"

"What have you been seeing?" Jorah asked, his face like stone. "Do you mean—?"

"You're highborn, aren't you?" Tyrion cut in, leaning over the table to peer at him closely. "You're a Targaryen bastard from one of the Northern Houses."

Everyone turned to Tyrion in surprise, Torrhen most of all. He gawked at the dwarf, unable to hide his shock. "How… How did you know that?" he murmured. "I never… I never said I—"

"Well for starters, you're not denying it now. If you were trying to keep that a secret, you should have at least tried to do so," Tyrion remarked. "I also saw your training sword the other day at the fighting pens. It's certainly not as well crafted as a real Northern sword would be, but it's still much better quality than the training sword of lowborn boys. Plus, you just said a maester works for your relatives. Maester's are employed by the lords and ladies of noble Houses in Westeros, not individual villages for the smallfolk. Logically, that means you must be highborn."

The boy didn't answer. He just stared at Tyrion for a few seconds longer before turning his head, refusing to make eye contact.

Dany however had no such qualms, and kept her eyes locked on his. "If this is true, why didn't you tell us you're from one of the prominent Northern Houses, Torrhen? Which House are you from?"

He stayed silent, his fists turning white on top of the table.

Barristan fixed him with a pointed look. "The queen asked you questions, Torrhen. Answer her."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No," he repeated, his eyes drifting back to Shadow. "I can't and won't answer those questions."

"Torrhen—"

"Punish me or throw me out if you want, but I'm not saying anything about that. The Wall will fall before I talk about it."

Dany wanted to press harder for details, but between the adamance in Torrhen's face and the current topic at hand, she let it go. For now, there were more important things to talk about. "We'll discuss that more another day. Explain what you mean by 'seeing things' when these… fire flickers of yours happen." The boy tensed, refusing to look at her. "Torrhen."

He sighed. "I don't wanna talk about it, and even if I did, there's no point. I'm fine anyway after just standing around for a few seconds, so it's no big deal."

"Torrhen, every detail you give us is vital for us in understanding your condition. We need to know everything you know about this, even if you believe it to be irrelevant. You gave everyone a proper scare when you started shaking, after all."

"Shaking? I'm not shaking! I'm annoyed you're pushing me to talk about this, but I'm not—"

"I'm not talking about now. I mean the other day in the audience chamber."

"What?"

"You don't remember, Torrhen?" said Barristan, furrowing his brows. "You got angry and tried to storm out, but then you started complaining about a headache."

"Went all quiet for a bit, then next thing we knew you were on the ground, flailing uncontrollably," Daario added. "Looked like you were having a fit or something, to be honest. Hell, you even pissed yourself."

All was silent as Torrhen stared, blinking repeatedly. His face betrayed nothing as to what he was thinking, but Dany wished it would. It'd be easier to continue if she knew what was going through his head.

"Torrhen, please. Say something."

He stared at them a bit longer, his shoulders quivering. Then he threw his head back and laughed.

"Flailing on the ground? Pissing myself?" He choked, slapping his knees. "Wow — just wow! I don't — I don't — ha! Good one!"

"Why you laughing?" Grey Worm demanded as the rest of them exchanged baffled looks. "This no joke!"

"Sure it is! This is fucking Daario's idea of messing with me! I don't know how he got all of you to go along with it, but that's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard!" He brushed away a tear, trying to calm his obnoxious laughter to muffled snickers. "Me on the ground? Shaking? Pissing myself? That's crap!"

Dany was flabbergasted. Was he jesting right now? "Torrhen, stop that this instant! This is serious!" His control broke, and a fresh wave of snorting erupted from the boy. "Torrhen!"

"I'm — I'm sorry, Queen Daenerys!" He chortled, trying to calm down again. "I can't help it! You're all playing along with his lie! That's hilarious!"

Her anger slowly faded. Torrhen wasn't mocking them. He honestly believed they were lying to him. What in the world…? "Torrhen… stop. I know you don't like Captain Naharis and he's been actively teasing you, but I swear on the souls of every Northerner who died at the Red Wedding he's telling the truth. You really did collapse the other day and began convulsing. And — And lost control of your bladder, too."

Torrhen still chuckled for a few moments, but his laughter slowly pandered off as he realized everyone was mirroring her seriousness. He kept smiling though, despite it being obviously fake. "I… what?"

"You indeed had one of your so-called fire flicker moments, but her grace is correct," Missandei said. "You stood there blankly for awhile, but out of nowhere you fell to the ground and started shaking. We were all very scared."

His smiled died and he stared blankly. "You're… You're serious about this?" Everyone nodded. "I don't… no, you're all wrong. Maybe you all thought that happened, but it didn't. It couldn't."

"Torrhen—"

"I'm not trying to be rude this time, Ser Barristan, I'm stating a fact. Whatever you all thought happened couldn't have happened, because that's never happened before."

"It — It hasn't?"

"No, I don't know what you're talking about."

"I do. I can shed some light as to what's happening to you, young man." Everyone turned. The Ghiscari healer had been so quiet until now Dany forgot he was still here. He ignored everyone though and kept his gaze fixed on Torrhen, studying him intensely. "It's obvious what you call a 'fire flicker' is simply a different, lesser known form of the shaking sickness, and judging by how her grace and her councilors claim you experienced the shaking sickness fully the other day, your condition is steadily growing worse."

Torrhen gawked, but Dany and her councilors exchanged looks of surprise. "What do you mean?" Hizdahr asked, leaning in closer. "How can someone standing around staring blankly at nothing be remotely similar to thrashing uncontrollably on the ground?"

The healer tugged on his collar, suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't know much about this myself, and before you send for another healer to explain better, I should tell you that Essos healers in general don't know a lot either. Westerosi maesters would know more about this than we would…"

"State whatever you know, then. In simplest terms, please."

"I'll try, your grace. Well, from what Ghiscari healers such as myself understand, the shaking sickness is caused by… how do I put this…? A disturbance in a person's brain."

Daario snickered. "Disturbance? What, you mean like knocking on someone's door late at night?"

"…I suppose that's one way of putting it. I don't know the specifics myself, but I do known the way a healthy person's brain works is very different from someone who has the shaking sickness. A healthy person's mind has no problem with interpreting things such as personal memories or how a person responds to something. But for someone with the shaking sickness… their brain works differently. I'm not sure how exactly, but there's an abnormality of some kind regarding how their minds process the same information as everyone else. The most common form of this illness is visually apparent to others is when a person starts shaking uncontrollably. However, there are variations of the disease that are not as easily recognizable. One such variation would be the 'vacant' form, where a person to stops moving and stares blankly at nothing, unaware of time passing around them."

Dany's eyes flicked briefly to Torrhen, stunned, but he didn't even register it. He just stared at the healer, lips pressed together in a thin line. "You're… You're certain about this? You think he has this illness?"

"I believe it's likely, your grace. If what this boy says is true about how the maester who works for his family in Westeros didn't provide him any treatment, then that means he's been dealing with this for over three years now without proper care. He's been gradually getting sicker since no one was monitoring his illness, that's probably why he's only now developing the full shaking symptom."

"How can you be sure?!" Torrhen demanded, gripping the edges of the table. Dany blinked. Was he angry? Why? "For all I know, maybe I am just stupid and spacey! How can you be sure my fire flickers aren't just that?!"

"Your daily behavior, that's how." Torrhen jerked, taken aback, but Dany's people blinked again. "I need to know more about what you're like from day-to-day. If what I suspect is true, then I need to hear from the queen and her councilors personally what your overall personality is like." He turned to them. "What is this boy like on a daily basis, personality-wise?"

Tyrion and Jorah turned to them, they too curious aboutt Torrhen's general behavior, but the only one who dared to answer was Daario.

"He's a little shit, that's what," he snorted. Folding his arms behind his head, he kicked his feet on top of the table with a jaunty smirk. "Always acting like he knows everything and criticizing our beautiful queen for everything she does before even asking her to explain herself. Not to mention how stupidly hot-tempered he is."

Barristan fixed him with a pointed look. "That's enough, Captain Naharis. You're not Torrhen's liege, so I'd appreciate it if you stopped antagonizing him." Daario rolled his yes, but still kept smiling. Shaking his head at the sellsword, Barristan turned back to the healer. "He does have a temper, but I believe some of that is due to his lifestyle prior to coming to Meereen and meeting her grace."

Dany nodded. "Yes, I agree. I'm still not fully sure if he is indeed telling the truth of being of Targaryen descent…" She noticed an ever so slight flinching in Torrhen, hidden quickly behind the ire but there — as if hurt grievously from her words. Daenerys knew that look — it had been hers so often when living with her brother's abuse. "But there's definitely a fire within him that's very dragon-like, though also cold as his wolf, too. Aside from his tongue, there's certainly a sense of duty and protectiveness he shows towards others."

Rather than frowning or appearing concerned about their observations, the healer simply nodded. "I see. I intend no disrespect towards this boy, yourself, or any of your advisors, your grace, but may I assume that at least some of you were worried this boy might have been on the verge of developing the 'madness' as Targaryen's were known for?"

There was a heavy silence. Not one person dared to answer, not even Daario. Torrhen threw them all a dirty look before promptly turning to focus solely on Shadow. Just this once, Dany couldn't blame him for being angry. She knew the answer to that question. Everyone did. Yet none of them were willing to admit it out loud.

"Well," the healer breathed. "I can't say for certain in the future if he will descend into traditional Targaryen madness, but you'll all be pleased to know that his current behavior has nothing to do with that. It's related to his illness."

Torrhen whipped back around. Dany could only blink and exchange looks of surprise with the others.

"The brain of someone with the shaking sickness is different from the brain of a healthy person, your grace. From what I understand, the part of their mind that controls their emotions isn't… isn't as well developed as other areas are. They're known for having very strong emotions, and not being able to fully control them. What say you, Torrhen Snow?" he suddenly asked, turning suddenly to the boy. "I can see you're at least trying to control your temper thanks to the queen's and her knight's scoldings, but have you ever felt that there's been times where despite how hard you try, you feel like you can't control your temper? Not like losing your patience randomly, but rather the longer you tried to suppress your anger, the more enraged you became over what should have been such a minor thing? Has there ever been a time when you felt like you were only giving yourself a headache by trying to keep it in?"

Torrhen glanced to the rest of them before slowly nodding with wide eyes. "A-Aye… All the time. Especially that last time in the throne room."

"I'm not surprised. Among the few children I've personally treated who've had the shaking illness, they all had something in common — they had short tempers and would easily fly into rages. They couldn't control how they responded to certain emotional triggers, and when they tried forcing themselves to stay in control before they were given proper treatment, they often suffered from excruciating headaches after their main symptoms surfaced. Sometimes even before they happened."

"How can we stop this from happening again?" Barristan abruptly asked. "I've taken Torrhen on as my squire, and I've been trying to teach him to behave more honorably by keeping his anger in check. I — I had no idea doing so would make him physically sick, but he still needs to behave better! What must be done?"

The healer frowned, hanging his head. "I fear that's as far as Ghiscari healers such as myself know about all this. Westerosi maesters would probably have remedies for treating the shaking symptoms and vacant stares as well as help this boy stay calm, but they've never shared their secrets with us."

"Ridiculous! Why wouldn't the former master's try approaching Oldtown and offering to pay for this knowledge?! At the right price, I'd think the Citadel would have been willing to teach the healers in Essos about proper remedies for conditions like this!"

"Actually, they tried, your grace. Many times. Not that they cared about their slaves with the illness, but once in a while one of the nobles might have an unusual illness and they'd try paying for help. It's the Citadel that won't cooperate. They don't want to share their secrets with foreigners across the sea." The last was almost spat out. "Not unless it's at price that would make even the wealthiest of the master's gawk in disbelief. They want to keep their secrets exclusive to Westeros."

Her vision went red, pure fury coursing through her veins. "When I take the Seven Kingdoms, there will be massive changes made to the Citadel," she vowed. "That the maester's there care more about protecting their self-interests than the betterment of humanity… I shall have to have a long talk with the archmaester. I will not simply abandon my people here in Meereen to die from unusual illnesses that could otherwise be cured if the healers here had access to the same knowledge the Westerosi maesters know."

"It'd be wonderful if you could convince them to be more open to sharing their knowledge with us, your grace. In the meantime, all I can really offer this boy is to chew lots of willow bark whenever he suffers from one of his headaches. I understand it has a terrible taste, but I honestly don't know what else to do for him… other than…" he trailed off.

What?" Dany asked. "Speak now." Her tone was insistent, which seemed to surprise Torrhen.

The healer sighed. "There is a plant native to the Basilisk Isles that, when used in small doses, can grant pain relief at the expense of temporarily decreased activity. I've heard it used for headaches such as these when they grow too significant."

"Then get it."

"Not as simple, your Grace. The masters prohibited its use on the pain of death. The slaves often abused it to escape reality, and thus it was banned."

She cursed under her breath. "You may see it imported for Torrhen's use, and make sure he's only given enough to fix his pain."

"I shall at once, your grace. I also suggest none of you try deliberately antagonizing him anymore — primarily you, sellsword."

"Oy! You oughta—!"

"Doing so might cause him to relapse into another vacant staring moment or cause him to suffer from the shaking symptoms again. If — If there's a point where disciplining him is necessary… I advise you do it quickly and then try calming him if he's still angry. It's necessary for preventing future attacks of his symptoms."

Aside from Torrhen who was glaring daggers at a single point on the marble tabletop, everyone else exchanged silent looks of disbelief. Dany's head was reeling. What were they supposed to do about all this? How were they supposed to teach a child with anger problems to stay calm if the reason he was angry all the time was due to a birth defect beyond his control and medical treatments for his condition weren't up to par yet in Essos? What a mess… Schooling her face again, she nodded and quickly rose to her feet. "Thank you for your insight. We appreciate you sharing this with us. If you or any of the other healers at the sickhouses here have any problems, I'll see they're dealt with right away."

"Thank you, your grace. I'll be sure to pass that along to the other healers."

Smiling kindly, she waved over a few guards to escort him out. It wasn't until they were gone that she was able to drop her forced smile and glance to Torrhen. Torrhen didn't meet her gaze, though. He didn't meet anyone's gaze. He just kept glaring heatedly at the table.

"Torrhen? Are you all right?"

No answer.

"I understand that must have been shocking for you to hear, but please don't ignore us right now."

Still no answer.

"For fuck's sake, little prince! At least look up already!"

There was no angry retort or denial of being a prince. Just silence.

"Torrhen, please. Look at—"

"We were right. And they never believed us."

Everyone blinked. Torrhen was still glaring heatedly at the table, but his words were so quiet and angry it took them aback.

"I… Come again, Torrhen?" said Dany, her tone carefully neutral. "What did you say?"

His fists clenched. "You heard me," he whispered, slowly glancing up. If looks could kill, everyone there would've been dead three times over. "We were right. Lyaella and I were right. I am sick… and our fucking relatives never believed us."

Her councilors all tensed. Dany's breath hitched. "Torrhen—"

"Three years…" he murmured, not even registering her as he slowly stood. "Three fucking years I've been dealing with this shit! No, almost four now! And they never — fucking — believed us!" There was a long pause, then he darkly chuckled before slamming his fist down on the marble surface. "Is this a joke?!"

Ser Barristan hesitantly approached. "Torrhen… please, calm down. I'm sure—"

"Calm down?! Calm down?!" he snapped. "You want me to calm down?! How can you say that, Ser Barristan?! Don't you remember what I told you before?! How Lyaella's got her own health problems with her lungs?!"

"Yes, but what does—?"

"I told you I think Maester Marlon's poisoning her with that disgusting tonic he makes her drink! Dornish red and owl's blood! It makes her so sick!"

She shot up, her chair clattering. "What did you say? Your… Your sister has lung problems? And the maester you knew made her drink—?"

"I swear by all the fucking gods and graves of dead Targaryen's you want me to swear on I'm not lying! Whenever she has trouble breathing Maester Marlon brews her that disgusting remedy and makes her drink the whole cup! Most days she throws up from it, but if she does, he smacks her and makes her drink it again!" He'd been angry before, furious even, but only now did Daenerys see that same rage infused with sorrow. The same deep pain she remembered Viserys having for weeks after selling their mother's crown. "The one and only time she resisted and refused, he made some men hold her down as he stuck a tube down her throat to force her to drink it!"

"What?"

"It's the truth! She was screaming the whole time! Crying! Begging our aunt to make him stop! And guess what? She — did — nothing! The Bitch of the North just stood there and watched, letting him poison her!" Hot tears sprung to his eyes, and he let out a furious cry before punching the table again. "I tried to help her! I swear by the Old Gods, New Gods, and Lord of Light, I tried! Our other aunt held me back, telling me Lyaella had to drink that shit! And our uncle? He was smiling! Smiling, god dammit! He has no soul, that man! No fucking soul, at all! And you wanna know what happened afterwards?! Lyaella spent the rest of the day in our solar, sick to her stomach! She threw up so much she couldn't keep solid food down for days! I'd never seen her throw up so much before! Never!"

Dany couldn't hide her horror. She stared at him, eyes bulging and face white. What kind of monsters subjected a child to something like that in the first place? Let alone stood there and did nothing to stop it?

Scrubbing away his tears, Torrhen continued, his tone still angry, yet lowering considerably volume-wise. "I never pegged my relatives to deliberately poison us, but now I'm sure they were! There's no way in seven hells Maester Marlon didn't recognize my fire flickers were related to — to whatever the fuck you all said about me shaking and collapsing! What am I supposed to think?! Maybe my relatives told him not to treat me for this illness! They couldn't ignore Lyaella's problems because it was easily recognizable, but me?! If — If what you said is true about me falling over and shaking, that's the first time that ever happened! Maybe they wanted me to die from a real attack like that! You can't deny that's a possibility!"

Silence filled the room, no one daring to say anything. Despite how the healer just warned them about keeping Torrhen from flying into rages for his own health, there was no way any of them could deny he might be right. Moreover, if he was right, he had every right to be angry. Dany knew she'd be angry if someone had done that to her or Viserys if they'd been sickly children. How could any of them tell him not to be mad about it?

Perhaps the best way to calm him down was by distracting him. She had to get him talking about something else, something that would get his mind off his relatives and that maester so he'd cool off. She blinked as the perfect thought came to mind, and she gracefully sat down and looked him straight in the eye.

"You might be correct, Torrhen, but we'll discuss that further another time. For now, there's one thing I still don't understand and the healer didn't mention."

"What?" He huffed, flopping down in his own chair and folding his arms.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him for the slightest sign of deceit. "You mentioned something about 'seeing things' whenever you have one of those… fire flicker moments. Just what did you mean by that?"

The boy stiffened. "I… I don't wanna talk about that, your grace…"

"Why? I understand why you didn't tell any of us what you did know about your condition, Torrhen, but if you're going to stay here, we need to know everything so we can help you."

His lips pressed together. Letting his eyes dart from her to everyone else, Torrhen shook his head and pointedly turned away.

"Torrhen, please. This is important."

"I don't wanna talk about this, and I don't wanna say why! I can't play Truth of Half-Truth if I say anything else! Just let it go!"

Dany's head jerked back. Truth or Half-Truth? What on earth was—?

"Do you see things happening to people you know? Or even yourself?" Jorah suddenly asked. "Like a memory playing out before you, or people you know doing things you don't understand?"

She shot him a heated look. "Ser Jorah, I warned you not to interrupt this discussion. Speak up again, and I'll—"

"How do you know that?" They all looked back at Torrhen. He was staring incredulously at Jorah, eyes wide. "I — I never even told my sister about that 'cause it only started after we got separated, the same day the shithead sellsword threw me out of the pyramid."

"Watch your—!"

"How do you know that, Ser Jorah? Do you… Do you have any idea what's happening to me?"

"Well, it's more of a theory really, but I'd be amazed if I'm right."

Despite the bitterness that sprouted within her every time Jorah spoke, Dany couldn't help but stare between Torrhen and him in confusion. Everyone shared her puzzlement and murmured quiet speculations to each other. "I speak for everyone when I say we're just as lost as you are, Torrhen, as to what Ser Jorah's talking about." She crossed her arms. "Both Torrhen and yourself suggested you may assist me in deducing the enigma that is the North, so you may start now. Explain, please."

Jorah paused, furrowing his brows.

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't know what game you're playing, Ser Jorah, but if whatever you're talking about is something you've made up just to avoid being thrown in a cell when this is over, I'll have the Unsullied escort you there immediately."

"That's not it, khaleesi. I swear what I'm about to say is true… I'm just unsure how to explain this to those who don't know about this Northern gift…"

"Gift? What gift?" Grey Worm asked. "North give children presents?" His Common Tongue was improving Missandei's help, but it still wasn't the best.

"No, not a literal gift. I mean like… blood instinct. This is exclusive to those with the blood of the First Men in Westeros, which is almost all Northern blood. I realized it when I saw Torrhen collapse the other day, when his eyes rolled back in his head."

"Wait… are you referring to when he fully fainted, or when his eyes turned white?"

"When his eyes turned white, Ser Barristan. They—"

Torrhen shot to his feet so fast, Shadow leapt up right next to him, staring at his boy in alarm. Everyone jumped, but Daario tried to mask his with a forced chuckle.

"What's wrong, little prince? You—"

"What did you say?" Torrhen demanded, completely ignoring the sellsword. He was staring at both knights with wide eyes, thoroughly shocked. "My eyes — My eyes turned white? Like — Like they rolled up in the back of my head?"

"Aye, lad," Jorah nodded. "You understand what I'm talking about, then?" The boy nodded, his shock still evident.

"You — You think I have the Sight, don't you? That I'm a greenseer…"

---

"Indeed, lad. If I'm right, you're a very special boy."

Torrhen was speechless, and flopped lifelessly into his chair. Shadow whined and butted his head under his hand, but Torrhen didn't even register his friends' plea for attention. He just sat there, face white and staring blankly. Jorah couldn't blame him for his shock. If he was right, then luck truly did favor his queen. The odds of there still being Targaryen children alive in the world were slim to none, and the stars were truly aligned with House Targaryen if one of them had the gift of greensight, too.

"The Sight? What's the Sight?"

"The fuck's a greenseer? What, that supposed to be an oracle of jealousy, or something?"

Jorah didn't mind Daenerys' inquiry, but Daario's nearly made him scowl. Was it impossible for the man to be polite every once in a while? Still, he kept his tone level as he turned to them. "It's a little hard to explain, but I'll do my best. In the North, there are a rare few who are lucky enough to be born with the gift of greensight, or the Sight, for short. We call those individuals greenseers."

Hizdahr slowly nodded. "All right… but what is the Sight?"

"It's a magical ability, and while Daario here was clearly trying to be rude… he wasn't entirely wrong. A greenseer is similar to an oracle, I suppose. They're born with the ability to see things that have happened in the past, present, and future in not only their own lives, but even in the lives of others if they're properly taught how to use their gift."

Tyrion snorted, amused. "I always knew Northerners were an unusual lot, but other than their obsession with weirwoods, the Old Gods, and their worries about dead men rising up again beyond the Wall, I never realized they were so simpleminded to believe in such nonsense."

Torrhen shot him a scowl. "Ser Jorah's not lying! There are people in the North with this ability. Many people, both noble and evil like my…" he trailed off, blinking. Shaking his head, he changed topics. "And moreover, the army of the dead is on the march beyond the Wall. I wasn't planning to even bring that up anytime soon since you're still here in Meereen and want to help the freedmen, your grace, but since we're on the subject, I advise you to do whatever you have to do with the nobles here in Essos and hurry to Westeros. The army of the dead will get through the Wall eventually, and when they do, Westeros is gonna need your dragons to save them, the North especially."

Jorah blinked. The army of the dead? The tales of the Long Night returning were popping up again in the North? Tyrion told him his father died in a mutiny while leading an expedition beyond the Wall. While he cursed the men in the Watch who'd butchered him, he hadn't thought much about the mission itself. Had he been investigating possible rumors about the dead and white walkers out in the tundra? He made a mental note to ask Torrhen more about this later. Now wasn't the time, not when Daario looked like he was about to burst out laughing and everyone else seemed puzzled or skeptical.

"Dead men, really?" Hizdahr chuckled.

"Dragons fly and queens walk out from burning pyres. Why not dead men?" Good rebuttal.

"Many cultures and religions have their versions of prophets or sages," Jorah went on, "But for Northmen, greensight is known appear only in individuals with strong blood ties to the North and the First Men, and the odds of one appearing are even rarer than the typical rare gift Northerners sometimes have."

"I'm… I'm sorry?" Missandei asked, furrowing her brows.

"There's another extremely rare gift among Northmen, Missandei, but the likelihood of someone being born with this gift as opposed to greensight is significantly better." He paused, turning to look at Torrhen. "Have you ever had dreams where it feels like you're an animal? Like… Like you had somehow slipped into the skin of your friend Shadow and you were him instead of yourself? Maybe your sister's dragon?"

"Why that matter?" Grey Worm asked. "Dreams only dreams. Not real."

"Finding out if he's had dreams where he feels like he's literally an animal is the first sign that someone has this other gift, Grey Worm. It's the first sign that they are a warg, a person capable of slipping their minds into the bodies of animals and literally becoming them for a short time."

Dany frowned. "I'm not sure what to make of any of this — I've heard of dragon dreams, but… were it not for the fact Torrhen seems to understand your references before you explain them, I'd be inclined to believe you were making this all up."

Jorah vehemently shook his head. "I'm not, khaleesi. I swear I'm not. This is ancient magic that flows through the blood of the First Men, and only a handful of Northerners are lucky enough to use it. I'm quite certain he has the Sight judging how his eyes rolled back in his head when he was ill, but what I don't know is if he's a warg too."

"Why does that matter?" Barristan added. "I'm not saying I do or don't believe what you're saying, Ser Jorah, but if I did, why does it matter if he's a warg on top of being a greenseer? While the Sight sounds like an incredible gift so long as it's used properly, wouldn't being able to get into the minds of other creatures be extremely dangerous? I mean, what if you couldn't figure out how to get out of that creature again? Or what if you couldn't find your own body when trying to return?"

He paused, thinking carefully. "That's a good question, actually. One I don't know the answer to. I don't have these gifts myself, so I couldn't say what would happen in those scenarios. But I ask because usually both gifts go hand-in-hand."

"Hand-in-hand?" Daario chuckled, casually leaning back in his seat. "What, you need the little prince to hold hands with someone who has this other magical ability in order to fully see things entirely?"

"No, it's because as I far as I know of, there has never been a greenseer in recorded history who only had the ability to foresee events yet not be a warg, too."

Dany blinked. "Truly?"

"Aye, as far as I'm aware of, khaleesi. Only one in a thousand Northerners is lucky enough to be born a warg, and among a thousand wargs, only one is known to have the Sight. A greenseer is generally only ever born once every other generation, that's how rare they are."

Daario snickered. "Well, the little prince isn't the only crazy one at this table, then. Insanity seems to run in the blood of the Northerners in Westeros."

"Shut up, Daario. This isn't crazy-talk. It's just the truth," Torrhen spat. "I know it's the truth because of my puppet-like uncle. He's both a warg and a greenseer."

Jorah's head snapped around. "What? You mean these powers have appeared in your family before?"

"Aye… which is why you're going to tell me how to never use the Sight again."

He blinked. Torrhen's rage was rising again. He glared at the table, face splotching red.

"What's wrong? Why're you upset?" He asked. Jorah didn't know what to make of his sudden fury. Regardless of his anger issues, Torrhen being a Targaryen bastard with the gift of the Sight was a good thing for House Targaryen. "Do you not realize what an extraordinary gift you have, Torrhen? Assuming you are a warg too, you could help tremendously during the eventual invasion of Westeros. As an animal you could spy on the enemy armies, counting out their army numbers, or even listening in on their battle plans so we can always be appropriately prepared."

Barristan nodded. "I still don't trust you, Ser Jorah, but I can't deny you're right about this. If your visions do allow you to see the future, Torrhen, then planning our battle strategy against her graces enemies would be significantly easier from here on out. You could foresee how our queen can take the Iron Throne with only minimal bloodshed. If — If you possess these abilities, you are very lucky!"

Torrhen scoffed, shaking his head. "Lucky? I'm the farthest thing from lucky! Never suggest I'm lucky for having the Sight!"

"Torrhen—"

"I don't wanna be an emotionless doll like my fucking uncle! I don't wanna stop feeling emotions or caring about people!"

"What?"

"Emotionless doll?"

"No feel emotions?"

"I… I beg your pardon?"

He growled, teeth clenching as he scraped back his chair and started pacing furiously. "I'm talking about my uncle! I just said he's a warg with greensight, and you wanna know why he's an empty shell all the time? Because of his powers! People have told me and Lya he used to be a regular person with regular emotions when he was our age, but after he learned how to use the Sight, he lost his humanity! He's — He's a doll! Other than an occasional smile or frown, he just sits next to weirwoods all the time, face blank and voice toneless! He doesn't feel anything! Not anger, not joy, not sadness, or — or even fear! It's… It's not natural and it scares the shit out of me and Lyaella!"

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances before looking back to Jorah. Jorah wanted to say something — anything — to assure Torrhen that wouldn't happen to him if he learned how to use his abilities. But he couldn't. He'd never personally met a warg or greenseer before, he'd only heard of them. The only one he even knew of was a definite recluse, never daring to leave his keep in Greywater Watch. Jorah didn't know if he was as emotionless as Torrhen claimed his uncle was, but he doubted he was Torrhen's kin. The lord in question did indeed have a son and daughter, but his daughter was supposedly many years older than Torrhen and his sister. Almost six and ten, if he remembered correctly. His son was supposed to be older, too. Either ten and two, or ten and three. One or the other.

He swallowed back a sigh. "Torrhen… I don't know what caused your uncle to become that way, but I doubt—"

Bang!

Everyone involuntarily flinched. Torrhen had swung his fist down so hard on the table, the whole thing rattled. A pained look spread briefly across his features as he shook off the hurt in his hand, but he quickly recovered. "I will not be like my uncle, Ser Jorah! I'll never be like him! It's because of his greensight powers that my relatives discovered how to tear apart mine and Lya's parents and get them killed! I want nothing to do with that evil magic!"

Jorah jerked, stunned. "What…?"

"It's the truth! I swear it on anything and anyone you want me to swear on it's true! Our parents are dead because of my relatives, but it's only because my uncle has this gift that they were able to do it! My sister and I vowed we would never be like them, so tell me how to stop using the Sight! I've never had any animal dreams so I doubt I'm a warg, but if I do have the Sight, I'm not using it! Tell me how to stop using it!"

His words echoed throughout the chamber. Everyone slowly turned to him, but Jorah didn't meet their gazes. He had no idea what to say to Torrhen to appease him, let alone answer any more questions from Daenerys and her councilors. "I… I don't know, Torrhen. This is as far as I know about this, and I've never met a greenseer or warg before. The only one I know of is Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch. He's a crannogman, and his people are generally the Northerners who commonly have the Sight. You'd have to seek him or another greenseer out to know more. Even if you only want to know how to stop using it."

Torrhen fumed. Jorah feared he'd slam his fist on the table again, but on the contrary, the boy only turned and forced a stiff boy to everyone. "Excuse me, your grace, Ser Barristan." Before anyone could stop him, he spun on his heel, whistled at Shadow to follow him, and stormed out of the chamber with an enraged yell.

Without a word, everyone quickly rose and followed. That boy was beyond livid, and if what the healer said was true about his anger being directly related to his headaches and shaking sickness symptoms, they needed to calm him down before he had another attack.

He was fast, though. Too fast. They'd all just made it through the archway entrance to see him already scrambling down the nearby staircase to the lower levels. It took them awhile, but finally they managed to track him to the pyramid courtyard, yelling obscenities as he beat out his rage and frustrations on one of the many training dummies.

"Argh! Fuck you, Maester Marlon!" He roared, slashing at the dummies shoulder. "Fuck you! Fuck you, Bitch of the North! Fuck you, Three-Eyed Raven! Fuck you, Rabid Wolf! Fuck you all!"

Swinging his sword with every scream and curse, he suddenly growled and dropped it in the dirt. Ignoring all of them watching dumbstruck, Torrhen stormed past their group as well as a handful of Unsullied who'd abruptly stopped their own training when he'd arrived and marched straight to the weapons rack. Snatching the first spear he saw, he dragged it back to the training dummy and got into proper spear-stance position.

Face reddening with pure rage, he thrust the spear tip at the target, striking it right in the heart. "Fuck the North! Fuck my relatives! Fuck illness! And fuck magic! Seven fucking hells! FUCK—" Thrust! "—IT—" Thrust! "—ALL—" Thrust! "—TO—" Thrust! "—SEVEN—" Thrust! "—FUCKING—" Thrust! "—HELLS!"

Jorah could only stare. Was this normal with Torrhen? Did he generally come out here to train whenever he lost his temper? Moreover, had he ever gotten this angry before? Judging by how quiet and stunned Daenerys and the others were, he could only assume not. Apparently no matter how angry Torrhen had been since having met the queen, he'd apparently never completely lost his cool like this before, screaming curses at the top of his lungs while beating out his rage on the training dummies. While it was good he wasn't directing his rage at any of them and was dealing with his anger in an appropriate way, he needed to calm down before he got sick again.

"How could such a sweet lad be so abused?" Missandei murmured. "By his own family, no less?"

"Bitterness…" Daenerys' voice was haunting. Shrouded with a pain that she knew well, a pain exactly as what Torrhen seemingly suffered. "The worst sort of grief, of loss… it can make one strong, or it can make one weak and cruel. Twisted into a person that needs to make others suffer to mollify his or her own pain." She took in a breath… "If I look back I am lost. Torrhen needs to learn to let go lest it destroy him."

"I'll see what I can do, your Grace," Barristan replied. "Perhaps he also needs a female touch?" She tensed, as if the thought of being closer to Torrhen took her places she didn't wish to go.

Missandei seemed to notice this. "I provided him with a few scrolls on High Valyrian to study in his free time. Perhaps I can take a more direct approach in teaching him, your grace? He needs to learn regardless of his potential Targaryen heritage if he's going to be in Essos for the foreseeable future…" Dany nodded. Gentle and kind, Missandei could help Torrhen to dim that raging fire in his soul. Even if he was somehow related to her, that temper of his needed to be cooled a bit. Dragons were known for being hot-tempered, but this boy couldn't give into the traditional Targaryen rage. If he was a dragon, he had to find a different way to let his enemies know his anger. How he could was still a mystery, but with Missandei's guidance, perhaps a solution could be found.

Daario shrugged, struggling to maintain his nonchalant expression as Torrhen hurled his spear at the training dummy. "He's a spitfire, that brat, so let him keep his anger," he laughed. "I still doubt he's a real Targaryen bastard, but Prince Snow is definitely improving with his fighting skills. Between his swordplay and practicing with that spear all the time, he's certainly grown stronger since coming here and the anger will suit him… but not until he can control it. What're the odds he'll still do this well in a real fight? If he goes charging into battle with his temper up… that's a death sentence, and not just because it's stupid to lose your cool during a fight. If he has one of his so-called 'fire flickers' during a fight…"

An uncomfortable silence spread amongst them. Rude as Daario generally was, he made a good point this time. If Torrhen lost his temper while fighting for his life against an enemy, he might tune out again and wind up dead. What in the world were they supposed to do to help this boy?

"Born of cold and winter air,

And mountain rain combining,

This icy force both foul and fair,

Has a frozen heart worth mining…"

They all blinked, glancing back to Torrhen in surprise. The boy had dropped the spear and was now glaring daggers at the training dummy as he furiously sang to himself. Shadow sat beside him, red eyes narrowed at the target as he growled under his breath. Even when Torrhen huffed and sharply marched away from that dummy to another one a few yards off, the wolf stayed where he was, his hackles slowly rising the longer he stared.

Torrhen paid no mind to his wolf though, let alone anyone else's stares. Ignoring everyone, he wrapped his arms around the second dummy and promptly lugged it over to the first one. Knocking it over once he dragged it close to the first dummy, he grabbed his sword and with a furious yell hacked off the wooden stand that kept the dummy standing upright at the same level as the rest of them. Readjusting the ruined dummy so it could lean back in an upright sitting position against the first one, he sheathed his sword and stormed over to a third dummy some ways off, dragging it over to where he'd left the other two.

"So cut through the heart, cold and clear,

Strike for love and strike for fear,

See the beauty, sharp and sheer,

Split the ice apart!

And break the frozen heart…"

Jorah's stomach dropped. He knew this song. All Northerners did. For Torrhen to sing it now… The queen and the others only blinked in confusion though, puzzled by his actions. But Jorah understood. This song…

He thickly swallowed, his whole body going numb as he watched Torrhen storm over to the weaponry rack, Shadow right behind him. Swiping the smallest, thinnest sword he found, he held it out to his wolf to hold between his teeth before grabbing two unused Unsullied shields. Whistling Shadow to follow, they brought the new items back towards the training dummies.

"Hyup! Ho! Watch your step! Let it go!

Hyup! Ho! Watch your step! Let it go!"

Propping up both shields to be leaning against either side of the dummy he'd wrecked, he seized the thin sword he'd given to shadow and leaned that against a second dummy far to the right. Pausing momentarily as he furiously looked around the courtyard, he suddenly spied a lone red horse blanket draped over some nearby barrels, discarded from lazily unsaddling the horses when visiting the fighting pits before. Snatching it up, he dragged it over to the final dummy and threw it over its head, as though having it be red hair.

"Beautiful!

Powerful!

Dangerous!

Cold!

Ice has a magic, can't be controlled!

Stronger than one! Stronger than ten!

Stronger than a hundred men!

Hyup!"

Without warning, he suddenly picked up the Unsullied spear he'd discarded earlier and deliberately dragged the spear tip against his left palm. Everyone watching — warriors and advisors alike — immediately hurried forward to stop him from deliberately hurting himself again, but there was no need. As soon as enough blood was flowing from his hand, Torrhen dropped the spear and approached the dummies. One by one, he drew faces on all three dummies with his blood.

For the one with the sword, he drew a thin line for a mouth and narrowed eyes.

For the small one with the two Unsullied shields, he drew a subtle smirk with aloof eyes.

And for the one with the red blanket hair, he deliberately drew in a sneer for its mouth and two beady eyes glaring back at everyone.

"Born of cold and winter air,

And mountain rain combining!

This icy force both foul and fair,

Has a frozen heart worth mining!"

Now finished, he glared spitefully at the three trussed up dummies before slowly backing away. Ever so slowly he drew his sword, his eyes never leaving them for even a second.

"Cut through the heart, cold and clear!

Strike for love and strike for fear!

There's beauty and there's danger here!

Split the ice apart!

Beware the frozen heart…"

He raised his sword, rage in his eyes as he reeled back to strike…

…and yet he didn't.

All was quiet in the courtyard as Torrhen stood there, his whole body trembling with suppressed fury as he prepared to hack and slash at the training dummies. And yet he did nothing. He didn't move, speak, or even blink. He just stood there, rigid as a statue as prepared to attack.

Jorah bit his lip. Had he only froze because he wasn't too far gone in his anger to deliberately attack those three dummies he'd dressed up, or was he enduring another vacant moment where he wasn't even aware of his surroundings? A quick glance to the others confirmed they were wondering the same thing. Barristan stepped forward to try speaking to him—

"Argh! Fuck you!" Torrhen suddenly shouted, throwing his sword into the sand and dirt. "Fuck all three of you!"

Everyone stared. All right, he wasn't enduring one of his fire flickers. Even so, that didn't make this scene any less shocking.

If Torrhen was aware of how they were watching him, he didn't care. Red hot tears welled up in his eyes, and without warning he scooped up a mix of sand and dirt in his fist and threw it at the dummies. "You're monsters! Cruel, heartless monsters!" He raged. "Not me! Not Lyaella! And not our parents! You should've died, not them! They should've plotted your deaths!"

There was another long pause, and then with one final wordless shout, Torrhen spat at them, grabbed his training sword, and stormed past their group back to the pyramid entrance, furiously wiping away his tears as he glared at nothing in particular. Shadow was right on his heels, growling lowly under his breath in warning as he passed to not attempt to stop his master.

No one moved, though. No one dared to move or speak until they'd both vanished through the archway. Only then did Hizdahr chance a relieved sigh. "That… That was unexpected. Though it's good he didn't get sick again, I suppose…"

"Good? You consider that stunt good?" said Daario, incredulous. "I'm amazed the little prince didn't order that beast of his to tear them to shreds! What the fuck was all that about?!"

"That was a clear cry of pain, Daario Naharis. One which only a fellow Northerner can understand…"

Jorah was hardly even aware that he'd spoken. His voice was detached, working on its own due to his racing thoughts. Now he understood why Torrhen was so accustomed to starting arguments and letting himself be antagonized when people teased or snapped at him. Mere words could not describe his shock and horror of his profound realization — one that not even their queen, regardless of the abuse of her brother giving her accord with Torrhen's suffering, could understand .

Everyone turned to him, confused and expecting an explanation. Jorah sighed. "The song he was singing… it's called Frozen Heart, a well known Northern tune."

Daario rolled his eyes. "So?"

"It was apparently first written after the Long Night thousands of years ago, as a reminder and warning of how to defeat the white walkers if they ever returned from beyond the Wall. But in recent centuries, it's meaning has changed for why Northerner's sing it."

"What you mean?" Grey Worm asked. "Long Night? White walkers? Song meaning change?"

Tyrion waved him off. "Ignore the bit about the Long Night and white walkers. That part's a myth in Westerosi history for the North. I'd be glad to explain it in detail later. Go on, Mormont."

"These days, Northerners sing that song as a reminder of how we're supposed to deal with Southern threats, and it has a double meaning. On one hand, the North's beautiful with its snowy mountains and green forests, but it's also a harsh land, too. Winter is coming as the Stark's say, so we always need to be prepared for it since we must depend on the other kingdoms for food and resources we can't get ourselves. If we don't plan ahead, we'll undoubtedly be faced with mass death from either starvation, disease, wildling raids, or even freezing to death."

Daenerys blinked, expression unreadable. "I see… but with all due respect Ser Jorah, I don't see how any of that relates to how you describe Torrhen's — outburst right now as a 'clear cry of pain…'"

Jorah sighed. "Because of the last line of song, khaleesi. 'Beware the frozen heart' is supposed to ambiguously mean three things: Those who have frozen hearts — the people of the North. Those to be feared with frozen hearts — the white walkers, or rather the wolves of House Stark. And finally those who are coldhearted and care only for themselves — Southerners. Are you all following me so far?"

Everyone slowly nodded, unsure where he was going with this.

"Well, I might not have spent a lot of time with Torrhen, but considering how he just sang that song while dressing up those sparring dummies to look like three specific people, I think it's safe to say that he was making them look like his relatives… and I can see now that's he's most likely been subjected to the worst qualities in Northerners all his life."

"Worst qualities?" asked Barristan.

He nodded. "Aye, the worst of the worst. Northerners… we don't trust outsiders, and regard those who are different with great suspicion and wariness. Torrhen and his sister… they're both Northerners, but considering they're baseborn Targaryen's… it proves they're only half-Northerners. Now, add in the usual prejudice Westerosi have towards illegitimate children as well as the righteous hatred the North has for House Targaryen. Imagine growing up in that kind of negative environment all your life, and also consider the immaturity of children overall. Looking at it like that… I'm not surprised he's so naturally defensive and short-tempered."

There was a long pause, everyone considering what he'd said as they gazed anxiously between each other and to the discarded training dummies.

"Khaleesi, I understand you're still angry with me and don't trust me, but if nothing else, let me stay at least a little while before exiling me again. If not for yourself, then for that lad. Breaking him of the mindset that everyone in the world will be as naturally cruel and mistrusting as Northerners is essential in helping him… and as a Northerner, I might be the only one who can relate to his life before coming to Meereen."

No one said anything. Daenerys looked especially distraught, and brought her hand to her chest as she thickly swallowed. Jorah understood her feelings. He knew hearing how much Torrhen most likely endured whilst growing up had to be horrible for her to hear… but she was still conflicted on comforting him due to Rhaego. His queen had such a kind heart, but her past made it difficult for her to express that gentleness sometimes. If only he'd been able to talk her out of trusting that witch when Khal Drogo died…

He didn't want to fail Torrhen the same way he'd failed her back then. No, he wouldn't. "I'd like to speak to him, khaleesi. Privately, if I may."

"No."

"Khaleesi—"

"Not privately. You have not earned that right, Ser Jorah. But I'm not opposed to you wishing to speak to him, provided that Ser Barristan has no objections either, as Torrhen is his squire."

"As long as I'm there in the room with them, I have no objections, your grace."

"Very well, then. Please escort Ser Jorah to Torrhen's solar, then."

---

Strange, he was the one screaming and punching his pillow, but it didn't feel like him doing it.

Every swear and curse Torrhen knew of had been flying out of his mouth from the moment he'd stepped inside his solar, but his shouting gave him no reprieve. In a haze of rage he'd broken the leg of his desk chair when yanking it out from its place at desk, then knocked nearly everything on top of it onto the floor. One of his ink pots had shattered in the fall and was oozing black ink all across the floor, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Let the mess stay there for everyone to see. Everyone knew what a mess he was as a human being now anyway, so why worry if they thought he was a slob, too?

Shadow whined from his corner, eyeing him worriedly. "Shut up, bud!" He snapped, punching his pillow a few more times. "Let me be angry for a while! I'm entitled to be mad about all this!"

That wasn't good enough for Shadow, though. Letting out a low growl, the direwolf trotted forward and with a good shove of his head, knocked Torrhen onto the bed.

"Oof! Shadow!"

Shadow hopped on top of the bed with him, climbing over his body until he could start smothering his face with licks.

"Bleh! Shadow, stop! Okay, okay! I'll calm down!" He groaned, shoving him aside before Shadows tongue could swipe across his lips. Luckily, his wolf calmed down, but the suddenness of having to stop and breathe instead of continuing to allow his rage to overpower him suddenly made him aware of the pressure building inside his head. Fuck, another headache. God damn it all…

Massaging his temples, Torrhen groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed as he sat up. He didn't care what his future mother or that Ghiscari healer said. He was never chewing that willow bark shit again, not when it made him sick like that. His head throbbed, but as long as it didn't explode into a migraine as painful as the one in the throne room the other day, he could endure this. He'd have to. For now, the best thing to do was to find something else to distract himself with.

Spying his lute leaning against the bedside table, he grabbed it and strummed a few random strings. Ugh, playing with this headache was going to be torture, but this was it since Shadow wasn't going to let him deal with his anger by screaming and breaking stuff like he wanted to. After all, Lyaella wasn't there to calm him down.

For a little while, all was quiet except for the light tune coming from the lute. Focusing on the music helped him relax. He was still angry, but at least he wasn't on the verge of completely destroying his chambers anymore.

"You're very good with that lute, lad… though I must say I'm surprised by the state of your solar."

Torrhen jumped in his seat. He'd been so engrossed with his music he hadn't heard anyone enter, and standing in the doorway was Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan. They were both stunned by the mess he'd made while wrecking his room.

His face grew hot as he hurried to stand, and he kept his eyes trained on his feet as he stiffly bowed. "Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah," he murmured.

"There's no need for that, Torrhen. You may be at ease… provided it happens after you clean all this up."

Torrhen scowled. "Fine. Shadow? Look for a rag or something I can use, 'kay?"

Shadow swiped his tongue over his nose and promptly trotted over to the wash basin in the corner, where an assortment of clean rags and towels were lying folded beside a basin and a pitcher of water. Torrhen meanwhile began collecting all the shattered remnants of the ink pot he'd smashed, being careful not to cut himself. Luckily there weren't too many shards, only a few big pieces as well as a dozen or so tinier bits, and once he'd gathered them all he left them on top of his desk to dispose of later. Whoever his future mother's handmaidens were that tended to his room would find it whenever they came by again. In the meantime, he took the cloth Shadow brought to him and mopped up the puddle of ink.

"Sorry, sers. I didn't mean for you to see that…"

Ser Barristan held up a hand, shushing him. "Considering the emotional torment you have suffered today you won't hear scolding or face punishment from me, but just this once." That being said, the old knight's lips curled in a sympathetic smile. "How are you, Torrhen? I mean, how are you really?"

He shrugged. "Fine, I guess. I mean, I only found out that my relatives let me to be tortured for… indifference… revenge… sick amusement, I don't know…"

"Yes… that display in the courtyard was as understandable as it was shocking. After King Joffrey acted the way he did and dismissed me, I was so inclined to behead him where he sat." He sighed. "To my shame, I didn't."

"You didn't, aye," Ser Jorah remarked. "Had you killed that oaf Robert Baratheon on the Trident, then our khaleesi wouldn't be in this mess." Before Ser Barristan could reply, Ser Jorah took a seat, looking warmly at Torrhen. "I know your family hurt you and your sister, lad, but it's done. You're with those completely loyal to you now."

Torrhen scoffed. "Aye, sure I am. Her grace barely acknowledges my existence." His mind had been so preoccupied, but he didn't fail to notice how deliberately… distant Daenerys was from him. Sure, Torrhen didn't expect her to pull him in her arms and murmur all the sweet, loving remarks a mother told her child, but there wasn't even a smile at another member of House Targaryen alive. "It's fine, I've been unloved and unwanted all my life. I'm used to it."

Still with so much anger and hurt, the two knights shared a look, stumped on what to say. "My Prince, the Khaleesi…"

"Don't call me that, Ser Jorah. I'm not a prince." Torrhen stood, pacing back and forth. "I don't care if no one but my sister ever looks at me with any sort of fondness. I just don't care! All I want is for Queen Daenerys to achieve her dream and sit on the Iron Throne hrone, that's it. That's my only purpose here!"

"That is all of our purposes, Torrhen…"

But Ser Barristan was cut off by Torrhen's continued ranting. "No, none of you know. You don't know about the hate for House Targaryen, you don't know about the Kraken in the west, you don't know about the wildfire Cersei Lannister is stockpiling." Had he been paying attention, Torrhen would have realized what his anger was causing him to reveal… the wide eyes that Ser Barristan held at the mention of wildfire… but he wasn't, so he didn't. "If she continues the way she does then there will be no hope for her. Horrible advice destroying her armies, allies stabbing her in the back, manipulated by the most vile sorts of people like my Aunt Sansa…"

Suddenly, his mouth snapped shut. His eyes bugged out of his head, Torrhen's heart stopping for a split-second. Shit… Shit, shit, shit! He could only hope they didn't hear it.

He wasn't so lucky. "Sansa?" Ser Jorah was of the North. He could put it together, and when he did he looked floored. "Red hair! Sansa Stark?!"

Ser Barristan was equally floored. "Your northern roots are of House Stark?"

Shaking his head furiously, Torrhen attempted to shoo them both away. "No, just forget it! I'm light-headed… my headaches are coming back… I think I'm beginning to shake…" They all tumbled desperately from his lips.

"No, Torrhen." Ser Barristan grabbed his shoulders, making him stay put. "Why would you keep your relations with the Starks a secret? What connection do you have with Lord Eddard's brood, since there's no way Lady Sansa could have raised you from birth since she's but a girl herself." He squeezed his bicep. "You can't keep these things bottled up, lad. You have to unburden yourself."

Hot tears coursed down Torrhen's cheeks. "You won't believe me even if I told you, so why bother?" Could he trust Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah? They were loyal to his mother and fond of him, but if he lost them he'd be at the mercy of Daario's dismissive attitude.

"Try me."

Hearing a whine, Torrhen looked down to see Shadow staring at him, big eyes almost pleading. As if his loyal companion was making his opinion heard.

He bit his lower lip, the pros and cons weighing through his head. Finally he looked up at them again. "I — I have three stipulations first if you want me to talk about this. Unless you can promise me all three of these, I'm not saying anything more."

"We're listening."

"Go ahead."

Torrhen held out his hand expectantly at his liege knight. "First off, I'm getting my sheet music back. Right now. No music sheets? No telling you anything."

Ser Barristan frowned. "That's blackmail, Torrhen."

"No, it's not. If you really don't want to hear this, you can keep my music sheets for however long you want, but if hearing what I have to say is more important, then giving them back shouldn't be a big deal. Your choice, ser."

Ser Jorah gazed curiously between them, but after a lengthy pause Ser Barristan sighed and reached into his leather armor. Pulling out the score sheets for both songs, he returned them to the young composer. "Fair warning, I will take them away again if I catch you shirking your duties."

"Don't worry, I don't plan to do that again, ser," Torrhen promised, depositing them on top of his desk before returning again. "As for condition number two… I want your word Ser Barristan that you will do everything in your power to ensure Queen Daenerys forgives Ser Jorah and accepts him back in her court."

Ser Barristan's eyes narrowed, but Ser Jorah's brows shot up. "Torrhen… I'm honored you think so highly of me, but that's not necessary. I would never ask you to—"

"I know you wouldn't ask that of me, Ser Jorah. I know how profoundly loyal you are to the queen, and despite her anger she needs your counsel when she makes it to Westeros. So give me your word as a knight that you'll help me convince the queen to forgive him, Ser Barristan, or you can forget this whole thing."

"…I can't promise that exactly, but what I can promise is to not actively dissuade her into executing him or banishing him again. Fair enough?"

Torrhen considered this, then nodded. "Aye, fair enough."

"And your third condition?"

"…Both of you will draw your swords and bend the knee as you give the greatest promise you can in your words as knights that you will never repeat what I'm about to tell you to anyone else. Including Queen Daenerys."

"It was like their eyes popped out of their heads.

"What?!"

"Why, lad?!"

Torrhen shook his head. "This is my most important condition, and it's better to walk away now if you can't handle keeping a secret this important a secret between us, and us alone." He stared at the both of them. "I promise you'll understand after I tell you."

Silence reigned for several seconds as the two men stared at him. Then, after a short glance at each other, they both drew their swords and knelt down before him.

"I swear to keep this a secret, Torrhen."

"You have my word, Torrhen. I shall never breathe a word about this to anyone else."

Torrhen smiled. "Shadow, go sit out in the hall. Start barking if you see anyone coming down either way. Can't risk anyone overhearing this."

Shadow yipped. Sparing him a fast lick, he trotted past both confused knights and went to lay down at the entrance to the hallway.

Ser Jorah watched him with obvious puzzlement. "What's this about, Torrhen? Why are you so worried about anyone overhearing us?

A loud sigh left his lips, and he self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a long story, Ser Jorah… I don't even know where to start…"

---

Longclaw 1-6:

So the people in the know-how besides the twins and their animal companions are now:

- Maester Aemon

- Jorah Mormont

- Barristan Selmy

All those 100% committed to our favorite Ice and Fire couple. They'll all be on higher alert, no doubt about that, but things are about to come to a head in Meereen and the True North!