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

33. A Flicker in the Wind

Elphaba818:

I know it's been six months since Howl of the Dragonwolves was last updated and all you devoted readers have been on the edge of your seats in suspense since the end of Battle of the Bastards… but sadly, life happened to me and Longclaw. We both got caught up in real life obligations which made it very difficult for us to find time to keep working on this story. Primarily due to our busy work schedules and secondary education. We're both so sorry to have left you all hanging like we did at the end of the last chapter, but rest assured that this story has not and will never be abandoned! We just need more time to get our writing done, but sadly time is not on our side, lol!

Longclaw unfortunately doesn't have any author's notes to give today, so I'm writing everything for both of us! We know all of you must be dying to know what's happening back in the North now that BotB is over and the Northern lords are aware of who Lyaella truly is… but sadly, you're all gonna have to wait a little bit longer to find out more on that scoop! We have a few more things to wrap up back with Torrhen and Dany in Essos before we can return to Lyaella and Jon's storyline, so enjoy this update on the Essosi plot line first! And don't forget, the sooner we get these last few Essos details wrapped up, the sooner we get back to the North, and then at long last we can finally see our favorite dragonwolves reuniting at the start of Season 7 on Dragonstone as they meet their other parent for the first time! It's not too much longer until that long awaited reunion and first meeting happens, people! I promise you it's coming up soon!

We hope you enjoy today's chapter! Please, leave a nice long review when you're done reading! Lots of positive reviews are what fuel writing motivation when Longclaw and I are lucky enough to find free time from work and classes, lol!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

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Chapter Thirty-Three: A Flicker in the Wind

Shadow's head perked up before Torrhen could even hear the tent flap rustle — the furry companion's senses far sharper than any man's. Thus when Ser Barristan walked into Torrhen's tent, the young lad had turned to face it. "Ser Barristan?"

The older knight nodded. "He's gone."

Torrhen sighed, biting his lip. "Ser Jorah was the first person who believed in me… seemed like the only one who did for a while." He looked at Shadow, the wolf leaning his snout forward to lick at Torrhen's hand. "I hope he finds a cure at the Citadel."

"Shireen Baratheon did… She was left scarred but she did survive, though her illness was less advanced. I have no doubt he'll try — he's truly gotten a noble purpose and redeemed himself since meeting her Grace, and you. But don't put too much hope on it." Barristan's brow rose. "Unless you know something of what would come to pass…"

The one subject that none of the three had dared to discuss since reuniting. Torrhen already knew the answer, but in the off-shoot chance his involvement in the past had somehow changed the survival of his future mother's most devoted vassal… "Aye, he lived in my world," Torrhen replied. "Dunno the specifics, though… the Grand Maester of my time was rumored to personally cure those afflicted, but few in the North wanted stories of the Dragon Queen to be told. Still, I just hope he'll live again now. I haven't got a clue as to the exact date when was cured, so if my being here now somehow changed things, then…"

"I see." Barristan took a seat on Torrhen's bed — his face remained serious. "Jorah and I spoke before he left. We realized we have some… unanswered questions that we hadn't the time to flesh out before the chaos at the fighting pits." Torrhen stiffened. Truth or half-truth? Lyaella was always better at it than him. "When her Grace reaches Meereen, she's confirmed that the time has come to head to Westeros."

"As she should." Torrhen's heart beat in his chest. "She will need to be careful, to remain herself."

"I know." Barristan motioned for Torrhen to sit, which the lad did. "This… Long Night. You glossed over much of it when you told Jorah and me." Torrhen mentally relaxed. This was a safer topic, one he could be more open about rather than his own background. Lady Kinvara said nothing about shrouding this in mystery from the ones he did choose to trust. "In your time, did anyone heed the warnings?"

Torrhen nodded slowly. "Some. The Northmen, and the Vale and Rivermen since they largely sided with the North."

"Robb Stark's family, I see. Did the Lannisters?"

"Not in the slightest. They actively fought the war even when most gathered against the dead."

Barristan mumbled something under his breath. "What about her Grace?"

That had been something the history books did dwell much into. "She disbelieved it at first, but my father was able to convince her… she lost so much due to it." Barristan's brow rose. "One of her dragons."

Eyes wide, the old knight took a deep breath. "The time will come when wise counsel will be needed to convince her Grace of the correct path. You and I will not be sufficient, and Ser Jorah will be gone for a while even if he does find a cure. Mayhaps, Torrhen, we should include someone else in this information?"

On this Torrhen had already thought it out, and thus his answer was immediate. "Lady Missandei."

A chuckle bubbled up in Ser Barristan. "Of course." He patted Torrhen's shoulder. "Much affection I've noticed between you two — like an aunt with her niece." Torrhen smiled, remembering the time spent he'd with his mother's closest friend. It was what he'd always thought a loving aunt would be, not that he'd ever known what that was like. "What about Grey Worm?"

Torrhen's smile fell. "No."

"Torrhen, I know you have some sort of grudge against him, but he is loyal to the Queen and Lady Missandei."

"I don't care," he growled, looking off stubbornly to the side. "I still don't trust him."

"Was it from your past?" Torrhen didn't say anything. "Did it involve your father?"

He gulped. "Aye," Torrhen acknowledged. "I still don't want to talk about it." Barristan would pry further, he knew, so Torrhen decided to make a concession. "You can use him to try to convince my mother later about the Long Night, but don't tell him the whole truth yet. I only feel comfortable with Missandei knowing." He looked at Barristan, pleading. "Please, Ser Barristan?"

There was a pregnant pause before the knight nodded. "There is much you still don't know in how the world works, Torrhen… but I must be humble enough to admit that on this subject, there is much I do not know of the future you grew up in. Only Missandei."

Torrhen let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Barristan had thankfully been long gone when Torrhen received his second guest of the evening. This time Shadow immediately bounded up and had nearly knocked Daenerys down just as she entered, his tongue out and licking her face with gusto. "Shadow… hello… Torrhen, please…"

Trying not to laugh, Torrhen clicked his tongue. "Shadow, heel." The wolf nuzzled Daenerys once more and then wandered to a blanket in the corner of the tent, curling around it to rest. "Sorry about that, Queen Daenerys."

"Torrhen, you know better than to call me that." His mother's face was radiant, her smile lovely and everything he'd ever wanted from her when looking at him. "Can we talk?"

"Aye." He'd never say no to her, even if he was angry.

Her smile didn't falter as she sat down on the bed, hands resting on her leggings — her Dothraki leathers made her look… rather unassuming, accounting for her otherworldly beauty of course. Growing up with Lyaella made Torrhen used to the Valyrian features. "How're you holding up?"

"Good, I guess," Torrhen replied. "My creche thinks I walk on water, now. Even the ones that used to try and beat me up." He smirked in spite of himself. Karro had been the biggest jerk, but their last encounters were… friendly. Could he have made his first friend?

Shadow whined, making him chuckle. Second friend, of course. The wolf wagged his tail.

"I'm glad, Torrhen. The Dothraki raise their boys in the creche in order to both harden them and build bonds between each other to last lifetimes. You were picked on for being a foreigner and your illness, and while intolerable it is common." She reached forward and squeezed his hand. "But you endured and that above all inspires confidence. Your actions in the stampede have marked you as the creche leader."

Wow. That explained a lot. "I never would've expected it."

"If my life has taught me anything, those of our house must expect the unexpected to happen to them." She sighed. "Like you coming into my life." Her smile faltered and she gazed at him with regret. "I owe you an explanation, Torrhen… of why I kept you at arm's length even considering the evidence you gave as to being my kin."

Torrhen felt his mouth begin to dry. Was this going to be something that would shatter his heart? A lifetime of heartbreak and ostracism should've prepared him for it, but not from his mother. "Why?"

His mother paused, sometimes opening her mouth but no words came out. Torrhen started to worry — what she must've wanted to say was very emotional to her and his mind could only wonder what it was. Finally— "I can never have children of my own, Torrhen."

Well, that's not true. Torrhen couldn't elaborate, so he only listened.

She sucked in a breath. "The reason for that is because of what happened to my only child. My son with my late husband."

It was as if a hammer slammed into Torrhen's stomach. He jerked back, his eyes as wide as saucers. "You… had a son?" His voice was hoarse, hollow. Lya and I had an older brother? A half-brother? "When — When was this?" Certainly never something discussed even in private between his aunts, let alone in the Song of Ice and Fire tome he and Lyaella read.

"My husband, Khal Drogo. After our wedding I became pregnant fairly quickly," she explained, her gaze falling to her lap. "The Dothraki were convinced that I'd have a son, and that he would be the one who would fulfill their ancient prophecy."

Torrhen blinked. "Prophecy? What prophecy?" He asked, momentarily sidetracked. "I never knew the Dothraki had any prophecies. What, do they believe in the Red God worshippers prophecy, too? About the Prince and Princess that were Promised?"

Her brows furrowed, genuinely puzzled. "Prince and Princess? What are you talking about, Torrhen?"

He stiffened, quickly forcing a fake grin as he waved away her question. "Oh, nothing! Nothing, your grace!" He chuckled. "Just something my sister and I heard about from a Red Priestess we met once, that's all." If his mother hadn't learned yet about her future role in the prophecy with his future father, then he needed to keep his mouth shut about that for now. He didn't know all the details about it and needed to find out more before trying to mold her into the role. "But what's that you said about a Dothraki prophecy?"

She sighed. "From what I understand, Torrhen, the Dothraki believe that one day, the khal of khals shall appear, and will become known as the Stallion who Mounts the World. He'll unite all Dothraki into a single khalasar and will ride to the ends of the earth, making everyone on earth part of his herd. The dosh khaleen widow who declared him as such while I was still pregnant? She claimed she saw enemies trembling in terror, and cities conquered in fire."

Torrhen's mind reeled. Obviously his and Lyaella's half-brother hadn't been the destined figure in the horselords legend, but his knowledge of things that happened in the original timeline made other ideas pass through his head. Maybe that woman had the wrong idea when she prophesied this to mother. If anything, Drogon fits that description… Seven hells, the queen herself fits the bill!

Daenerys was oblivious to his internal musings and continued her tale. "Drogo pledged to conquer Westeros in his name. He vowed that our son would sit on the Iron Throne no matter what." She chuckled mirthlessly. "It ended quickly after the capture of a Lhazarene village… a witch convinced young, naive me to clean a wound Drogo received, but instead she made it fester. He was going to die, but I convinced her to make a blood ritual." She closed her eyes. "Only death can pay for life. My son was the payment for Drogo's life."

He stared at her, numbly shaking his head. He could tell his future mother was still hurting from this loss, but if she was then he was more confused than ever. "I… I don't understand," he murmured. Daenerys turned to him, her face blank aside from a slight furrow in her brows. "You — You had her do blood magic? Willingly like that?"

Daenerys blinked, puzzled. "I don't understand your question, Torrhen…"

He shook his head again, struggling to articulate his thoughts. "Well… you traded him like that? Willingly? You traded your son for your husband's life?"

Her eyes became even more sorrowful and pained. "No. Good heavens, Torrhen. No. No, that's not what happened… She — She lied to me… She said Drogo's horse would be the price that would be paid. I-I-I didn't realize she only wanted me close enough to her when… when performing the spell to… to…"

"No," he murmured, tears in his eyes. My brother, dead before he could wake. "Oh, gods, no." Without thinking, Torrhen ran to his mother and hugged her.

Daenerys hugged him back, burying her face in his hair. "Oh, Torrhen."

"Did… he suffer?"

He felt hot tears against his scalp. "Jorah said he was born dead… deformed by the blood magic." Her fists clenched. "Drogo was left a vegetable, unable to talk or move or think. A husk of a man, a trick by the witch out of revenge… she cursed me, Torrhen. Cursed me to never carry another child in my womb after the monstrosity that she turned my son into."

That's not true! Torrhen wanted to shout it. To scream the truth until his mother smiled and was filled with hope and happiness. But he was barely ready to bring Missandei into his confidence — and that only to the point of his background and parentage, not the circumstances of his father's birth. Telling his mother… the warning Lady Kinvara gave him still haunted Torrhen to this day. "Why are you telling me this?"

Closing her eyes, when she opened them up again Torrhen saw tears pricking at her lids. "I lost my son, Torrhen. At that time the only blood I ever thought I'd ever have of my family. It nearly shattered me, only the promise of my dragons and my dreams guiding me forward… She sniffled. "When you came, I couldn't let you in. If what you were saying was just mummery, had I embraced you I don't think I could've survived it."

And there it was. His breath caught in his throat, words forming in his mind only to be discarded. Torrhen knew he wasn't Lyaella. His sister was sweet and gentle, whereas he was the proud one. The angry one. The one who held a grudge. Grudges that still burned in him — to let go was not something he had ever done, but seeing his mother's tears broke something in him. Wordlessly, Torrhen wrapped his arms around his mother's waist, hearing her little gasp. "I forgive you."

Letting any bitterness at his mother's aloofness waft away with the wind. When she wrapped her arms around him in return, all was right in the world. It was all Torrhen ever needed, or wanted. "You're my kin, Torrhen. Now and always." He said nothing. "I will not let this injustice continue any longer… from now on, you will always be seen as part of House Targaryen. I promise."

His heart clenched, her words stabbing through his walls. "Queen Daenerys…" Torrhen knew he sounded like that innocent little boy seeking the love of his family, a reality he'd been forced to mask all his life. "Thank you…" There was only one thing that could make this moment even better. To be able to call her by her rightful title as his real mother. "Can I—? Well, would it be all right if… if…?"

She pulled away from the hug, smiling kindly yet curiously. "What is it, Torrhen?"

Torrhen bit his tongue, swallowing thickly. What he wanted to ask was if it would be okay with her if he could address her from now on as his mother… but he couldn't do that. Not yet, not now. As much as he wanted to, Lady Kinvara warned him and Lyaella not to tell their parents who they were until the 'right moment' came, whenever that was. If he even asked for her permission to call her as his mother from now on, there was a chance she might figure out on her own his real relation to her as her future son. It wasn't the right time yet for that revelation. Not when she hadn't even met his future father or Lyaella yet.

And more importantly, Lyaella wasn't here to ask her this, too. It didn't matter if he had to wait until tomorrow or even one more lonely year in the past until he found his sister. He was not going to start addressing his future mother as 'mother' without his sister here and being given the same opportunity to do the same. He was brash and short-tempered sometimes, but he was not that selfish.

Forcing yet another fake smile, he managed to pass off his momentary silence as nervous embarrassment. "Can I… Well… Would it be all right if when we get back to Meereen, we finally set sail for Westeros? It's time we find my sister, your grace… and when we do find her, will you promise me you'll treat her as your kin from the moment you first meet? I… I know my sister, your grace. She's been dying to meet you her whole life, and if you treat her the same way you treated me when we first met…"

Hot tears fell on his scalp as she suddenly pulled him into another hug. "You don't even have to ask, Torrhen. Once we return to Meereen, we'll start making plans for our return to Westeros as soon as we stop the Sons of the Harpy. Of course I'll welcome your sister with open arms. Truly, I am so, so sorry for keeping you at a distance before."

His heart clenched from the misdirection of Truth or Half-Truth, and he buried his face in her shoulder. "Lya… She's gonna be so, so happy when we find her, your grace…"

He felt her smile into his hair. "I'll be happy when I meet her, too. I'm sure I'll love her just as much as I love you, Torrhen."

Torrhen's chest seized up again, though this time it was from joy rather than regret.

His mother's had his future mother's love. Finally…

The third rustle of the tent flap that evening broke the moment — the story of Torrhen's life, all joy torn away from him before it even started. Had it been Ser Barristan or one of his future mother's new bloodriders, maybe he would've tolerated it, but looking over her shoulder as she turned, his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" he growled.

Daario smirked. "Did I interrupt anything?" Beside Torrhen, Shadow growled — while Torrhen would've liked to see Daario's throat ripped out, he silently stayed his companion. The wolf's hackles were up as he stared daggers at Daario, but remained silent.

Daenerys sensed the new tension. "What is it, Daario?" Her tone was clipped. "Does it look like I wish to be disturbed?"

Had Torrhen hoped Daario would take the hint and leave, he'd have been disappointed. "Unfortunately the time for… sentimental affection is no longer a luxury that we can afford."

Torrhen rolled his eyes. "If you have something to say, Naharis, just spit it out." It came out more biting than he intended considering how the queen cast him a chiding glance. Torrhen quietly simmered.

"Whatever you need to do with her Grace must wait, boy. I need to show her something."

"Torrhen is my family, Daario, so you will treat him with respect," Daenerys stated firmly, and Torrhen enjoyed the slight flash of surprise in the sellsword's eyes. "Now, this better be important."

"It is, I assure you. Come with me."

Torrhen was up before Daario was done. "I'm coming, too."

Daario snorted. "I'm afraid this is too sensitive for any but the Queen."

"Daario. Torrhen may come if he wants."

It was Daario's turn to glare at Torrhen. "Fine, but you better be up to the saddle. We have a bit of a ride."

A smirk crossed Torrhen's lips. "I'm up for anything, Naharis."

Nearly an hour's riding later, any desire for Torrhen to one up Daario had left his head — staring at the tops of the pyramids of Meereen in the distance as they crested a tall hill. Greasy black smoke poured into the sky like a score of massive funeral pyres, the hint of red-orange shooting stars arcing high and then collapsing among the city. The city was under attack. And judging from the many fires and projectiles, it was a massive attack.

Just my luck. Finally having a mother, and some foe happened to reemerge out of the shadows. His fists clenched at his sides. If it would take another battle to see this through, Torrhen was resolved to fight it.

---

"I'm terribly sorry, Princess, but there's no change in her condition."

"Truly? But it's been days!"

"Yes, I know. But her condition was quite critical when I found her."

"Because of her lungs?"

"Indeed. I — I know there aren't many here in the keep who would care if she survived or not because of… her lineage, but when Lord Snow first brought your friend to me, Princess Shireen, I honestly thought it was a bad jape. Her injuries aside, in all my years at the Citadel, I've never treated a patient suffering from the wheezes who had an attack that was as bad as what the Targaryen girl was enduring…"

"Lyaella's a fighter, Maester Wolkan. She might not be a great warrior like Queen Visenya, but she's strong. Stronger than I could ever dream of being."

"Yes, I suppose so. The incident with Ramsay and her dragon in the courtyard certainly proved that to everyone, I must say."

Shireen bit the inside of her cheek, then hung her head with a heavy sigh. "All right. I'll be back later, I suppose."

Nodding in farewell, she turned and strolled aimlessly through the castle corridors, her thoughts whirling. It'd been a few days since House Stark reclaimed Winterfell, but while the Battle of the Bastards was over, a whole new war was brewing within the castle walls. From the moment Lyaella fell unconscious after the battle and Jon scooped her up before dashing inside the castle for the maester, every Northerner Shireen had met had been beside themselves. While the hatred towards the House of Dragons was certainly in the icy winds that blew in from over the castle walls, it seemed as though the hatred Lyaella had told her that she and her brother endured while growing up had been… put on pause, so to speak.

The Northmen didn't want her here. Shireen could see that for herself based on how they were grumbling to each other and sneering at Jon, Sansa, and by extension Maester Wolkan whenever he met them to report on Lyaella's condition, but it seemed as though Lyaella's actions at the very end of the battle had made the Northerner's unsure of how to respond to her now. Some of the lords present at the battle were trying desperately to rally the rest of the highborns still in Winterfell to unite with them in carrying out long awaited Northern justice against Lyaella for everything that happened to House Stark and the North because of House Targaryen during Robert's Rebellion, that way they could present a untied front to the Stark's when the rest of lords and ladies arrived to pledge their loyalties to the direwolves again at the first official Northern court session now that their family was back in power. Others though didn't seem quite as eager to agree to that yet. While they were furious with Jon and Sansa for hiding her true identity and didn't bother with whispering whenever they gossiped amongst themselves of their utter disgust that they were openly sheltering a child born from the abomination that came from Prince Rhaegar's kidnap of the late She-Wolf of Winterfell… But between Lyaella standing up to Ramsay the way she had — in a way no one in the North had been brave enough to do against the traitorous Bolton's — and then surviving it afterwards… it made the rest of the Northern highborns conflicted.

They hated Lyaella Snow.

They were scared of her and her dragon.

They wanted her gone. Period.

But…

Truthfully, Shireen didn't know what was going through those wavering lords and ladies heads regarding their sudden hesitations. She was a Stormlander, not a Northerner. Even before her life turned upside down from the War of the Five Kings, her parents always warned her that Northern stubbornness and hatred of anything and anyone that slighted the largest country in Westeros could be all but impossible to change their minds about. After her father had his scribe draft the copies of Ned Stark's letter explaining how he was his brother's rightful heir, Stannis had called her to the Chamber of the Painted Table back in Dragonstone following his meeting to personally explain how she was now the Crown Princess. And she'd never forget how he had gestured her to look at the tokens spread out across the Painted Table itself to represent the various armies spread out across Westeros because of the brewing war. While he made sure she understood the necessity behind his upcoming clash with her Uncle Renly, it was the tokens representing Joffrey Waters and Robb Stark that he wanted her to pay attention to.

"Between your uncle's idiocy and his mother's spoiling, the bastard boy sitting on the Iron Throne now has caused an even greater war to break out the moment he called for Ned Stark's head. The North will never forgive this, Shireen, and when you sit on the Iron Throne after me one day, it'll be your duty to remind them that not all Southern monarches mean their people harm."

"What? I'm confused, Father. I understand why we're angry with Uncle Renly for claiming he should be king and why we must fight him first to unite the Stormlands again before attacking King's Landing, but after you take King's Landing, shouldn't we deal with the King of the North? I don't hate the Stark's or his people, but they're the largest kingdom! It's not right of Robb Stark to declare independence when his father died so we'd know the truth of being Uncle Robert's true heirs!"

"If it were any of the other six kingdoms, Shireen, you'd be correct and I'd immediately march our armies to deal with this, but it's because it's the North that doing so would be a mistake. You love reading about Targaryen history, so you know exactly what caused the North to rebel."

"The Mad King roasted the last Stark lord alive with wildfire, and had his heir strangled to death."

"That's right. And it was because Rhaegar kidnapped and forced himself on Lyanna Stark that the two of them went to King's Landing in the first place. Were it not for the fact Robert was Ned Stark's best friend, I'm sure the North would have named Ned their king and demanded independence the moment they learned of Rickard Stark's fate. But now because of that fool Joffrey, they've named Robb Stark their king. He's king of the largest country in Westeros and based on the reports I've heard, he's quite a clever tactician… but he's still a boy. A boy older than you, Shireen, and that bastard calling himself King of the Seven Kingdoms, but a boy nonetheless. He's in this war to avenge his father and save his sister's in King's Landing, but we personally are not his enemies. He'll be grateful to me for sending out my letter explaining the real reason why his father was executed, so he won't order his armies to attack ours if they happen to cross paths, but he and his countrymen are too angry and stubborn to look beyond their own hatred of past and current events that have happened to the North by Southern rulers to even stop and consider what will happen in the long run if they do stay independent."

"I don't understand, Father…"

"It's impossible, Shireen. The North can't survive on its own like it did before Aegon united the realm, not when they themselves are oblivious to the ways they are already way too integrated in a unified Seven Kingdoms to break away without repercussions beyond the war today. One's which they won't realize will happen until it's already too late. And the only reason I know it will happen is because I'm a military man. The logistics of their success in maintaining the independence they want simply cannot be done, because numbers don't lie. Which is why from now on, in addition to your normal lessons and new lessons in diplomacy, statecraft, and court intrigue, I've instructed your tutor to start teaching you geography and administrative mathematics. The Lord of Light obviously never blessed any Northern highborn with the brains to realize they should study those first before foolishly thinking they can successfully achieve independence without at least preparing for it first."

"What do you mean? What will happen to the North? And Westeros in the long run?"

"A story for another day, Shireen. I'll personally show you in detail after we take King's Landing the outcome I foresee happening in about ten years or so if the North truly breaks away from the realm. For now, just remember this, my daughter. Robb Stark and the North don't see us as their enemies, and unless our situation turns precarious, we'd be fools to deliberately antagonize them. If there's to be any chance whatsoever of you proving yourself one day as a Southern queen who's not only more compassionate and kind than their recent experiences with the past three rulers, but is also wise enough to approach them with kind, yet cautious warnings of the troubles they'll soon be experiencing when it gets closer to that time because of their independence today and would like to offer them a chance to rejoin the rest of Westeros again, then we can't risk doing anything in this war right now to incite their anger. The North remembers, Shireen, so you must remember what I'm telling you, now."

"Yes, Father. I'll remember, I promise."

Easy to make such a promise in the moment, but not so easy to keep it now when with Northerner's and she could see firsthand what her father meant. She wasn't going to become Queen of the Seven Kingdom's one day, not when she'd already agreed to help Lyaella succeed in saving her future parents so they'd sit on the Iron Throne. But even so, she had no idea how her father could have possibly thought she'd be capable one day of somehow convincing this country to listen to her. She wished he would have taken the time to explain whatever logistical prediction he had about this country not succeeding in its plight for independence before he died. If he had, maybe she could have had some sort of edge over appearing wise beyond her years as a child ruler when the Northern Court sessions began. Because right now, she didn't have the slightest idea how to even approach any Northerner about Stannis's prediction.

Lord of Light, she didn't even know how to talk to any of them who wasn't Jon Snow or a Wildling and just convince them of what should have been a simple task if she were in any of the other kingdoms—

"Ah, Sissy Doe! Where've you been hiding?"

She skidded to a halt at the new voice, her hands balling into fists. "Where I've been," she declared, her Baratheon temper rising as she spun around, "is surely not the business of anyone who dares address me by such a demeaning title!"

"And yet you answer to it, Sissy Doe."

"I'm not—!"

"Sissy Doe!"

"Don't call me—!"

"Sissy. Doe."

She threw up her hands. "Argh! Brute! Barbarian! You are so annoying, Rickon Stark!"

The auburn-haired boy chortled and stepped out from around a corner. "I'm supposed to be insulted? Which kingdom did the Andals conquer? Not the North." He smirked. "A whole House of Sissy Doe's in Storm's End did, though!"

The glint in his eyes infuriated her even more. In the few days since the battle ended, the Baratheon girl had come to realize what a mistake it had been to change history by saving Rickon Stark's life. She and the new Lord of Winterfell had spent their entire time hiding in the crypts fighting with each other about sneaking out sooner so they could go back for Lyaella — Shireen wanted to rescue her, but Rickon stole her borrowed knife and refused to return it until the battle was over — and then after the fight, he'd made it his mission to constantly follow her around and antagonize her. And that horrible nickname, Sissy Doe! If he wasn't the new Warden of the North, she'd have smacked him already for calling her that.

Shireen didn't know what his purpose was in constantly pestering her, but she was in no mood right now to deal with him. "Whatever, just go away! I'm busy!"

"Busy? With what, Sissy Doe? Maester Wolkan already told you your little Targaryen friend isn't ready for company, yet."

She ground her teeth together. The way he referred to Lyaella was certainly rude. "Lyaella is a good person! She is nothing like the Mad King, so don't you dare insult her! It was her idea to come save you, you ungrateful dog!"

Rickon blinked, his smirk suddenly vanishing. "Oi, I'm not against her! I said it before, I know her brother. And believe it or not, I am grateful to be alive."

"Are you?" Shireen crossed her arms. "You've been acting like a right arse the whole time."

"Not to her. She saved my life."

"I saved your life, too! A little gratitude would be appreciated!"

His lips pursed together. "Alright." Rickon bowed. "Thank you so much for saving my life, Princess with a stick shoved up her cunt." Whoever looked after him since the Greyjoy sack of Winterfell obviously had no filter, because there was no way Catelyn Stark or his elder brothers taught him such language.

Quick as a flash, her face puffed red. "You jerk!" She snapped, stomping her foot.

"Ooooh, quite the mouth on ye.'" He just threw back his head and laughed away. "Good luck in trying to broker trade deals one day, Sissy Doe. You won't do very well if you keep losing your temper like that."

Shireen sneered at him before stubbornly looking away. As infuriating as Rickon was, she had to give the Stark boy credit for at least being willing to look past Lyaella's heritage as a reason to automatically hate her. Convincing other Northerners to do the same seemed like an impossible task, though. For all her hesitant reminders she'd been whispering to Lyaella regarding her hatred of her future aunt, not even Shireen could deny how Sansa's initial gut reaction to her friend during their first interaction was shocked disbelief and demanding that Jon explained why he was sheltering a Targaryen child after what the family did to theirs, and Sansa was at least not as hostile towards Lyaella as Lyaella always claimed she was in the future.

What was she supposed to do to help her friend against these prejudiced Northerner's? And assuming Lyaella woke up soon and she could relay her father's warning, what could either of them do in regard to their failure for independence?

Huffing loudly, she folded her arms and started marching away. If she was to have any chance in figuring out what to do about these dilemmas, she needed peace and quiet to think. Unfortunately, Rickon followed her. "Where you off to, Lady of the Stormlands?"

"Away. From you." She snipped.

"Oh, come on! We should at least try getting to know each other better. After all, you're probably going to be here at Winterfell for a while, based on what I've overheard my siblings and that smuggler knight of yours talking about."

"On the contrary, I think I'd be better off if you stayed as far away from me as—!"

"My lady, I know you wish to do the honorable thing, but surely—"

"Podrick, I never once considered this outcome. And even you agree that us staying here while she is ignorant of what I've done is wrong."

The children paused. A little ways further down the hall, Podrick and Lady Brienne's voices drifted out from the slightly ajar door of the guest chambers.

Shireen blinked, then rolled her eyes. "Your sister's sworn sword and her squire truly don't understand subtly in highborn politics," she murmured.

Rickon furrowed his brows. "Say what?"

"Not closing the door fully? Or whispering?" She shook her head before continuing down the hall. "Ridiculous. Completely ridi—"

"My lady, how will you be able to keep your vow to Catelyn Stark if Shireen Baratheon finds out what you've done? She's the Lady of the Stormlands now. Your liege lady."

Shireen froze at the sound of her own name, then slowly turned back around. Even Rickon was glancing back at the door now, intrigued.

There was a brief pause, then a heavy sigh from within. "I know, Podrick. I know what will happen…"

"She'll call for your head. Demand it, I imagine."

"I know."

"Then why are we even discussing this? You did your duty to your king. Now you're doing your duty to Lady Catelyn by protecting her daughter."

"Because it never occurred to me what avenging Renly would mean in terms of life afterwards. I have nothing against Lady Shireen and think she's a sweet girl… but I can't even look her in the eye. Not after what I did."

"My lady, you had no idea Stannis would bring her and his wife with him to war. It's a miracle that girl survived, but Lady Selyse's death was not your fault. Ramsay flayed her, we had nothing to do with that!"

"No, but it is my fault that she's alone now, Podrick. I executed her father, after all!"

She jerked, her hands flying to her mouth to muffle her gasp. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rickon's head snap back to her in alarm, but Shireen didn't look at him. She just kept staring at the door, her eyes impossibly wide as she trembled from head to toe.

Oblivious to the two small listeners just outside, Podrick and Lady Brienne continued their discussion, but Shireen didn't process their words. Swallowing thickly, she pressed her lips together and slowly turned around, making sure to walk as quietly as possible.

Rickon shuddered before following nervously. "Uh… are you okay?"

She killed my father…

"Sissy Doe?"

Lady Brienne killed my father…

"Can… Can you hear me?"

She killed my father!

"Oi! Look at me, Sissy Doe!

Rickon's sharp words snapped her out of her daze. She blinked repeatedly as she tried to focus on him, but slowly the roar of rage filled her head. All this time, she believed her father had lost his life during his battle against the Bolton's, dying honorably as he fought to liberate the North from the traitorous House of sadists. But in truth, she had spent the past year in the company of the woman who had been his murderer.

She'd greeted Lady Brienne each morning with a smile on her face.

She'd sat next to her when eating meals.

She'd even been considering asking the swordswoman to teach her the basics in how to defend herself for when the Night King and the army of the dead began marching South…

Rickon awkwardly cleared his throat. "Say something, please. You're — You're just staring at me and glaring…"

Shireen clenched her fists, willing her rage to abate. She was furious. Beyond furious. But she needed to be smart about this. Lady Brienne was Sansa Stark's sworn sword, and her savior from the Bolton's. If there was to be any chance at all that she could get the justice her father deserved, she couldn't let her Baratheon temper get the better of her. She had to handle this very, very carefully.

Nodding to herself, she turned her attention back to the annoying boy. "Are you willing to act as my witness?" She demanded.

Rickon stared blankly. "Uh… witness?"

"Witness of what we just overheard. Can I count on you to back me up on having overheard that… that vile woman and her lackey talking about how she murdered my father?!"

"I…"

"Your parents were murdered in cold blood too, Rickon Stark. Would you not try to get justice for them if you could?"

He bit his lip in consideration, then slowly nodded.

"Good. Come on."

Seizing his wrist, Shireen dragged him roughly down the hall.

"Hey! Where're we going?!"

"To my solar. We need to plan."

"Uh…?"

"I will not let your sister protect that woman simply because she saved her life, Rickon Stark. If I'm going to see Lady Brienne answer for what she did to my father, I need to go about this very carefully. And you are going to help me."

---

"Your Grace?"

Lifting her head from where it rested on the wall, Dany opened her eyes. Had she looked in the mirror, the joy and triumph of the last few months of bonding with Torrhen and uniting the khalasar behind her would've been gone and replaced by dark circles under her eyes and stress lines above them. "What is it, Missandei?" she asked, tone more clipped than she intended.

Missandei looked quite irked as well — with not a little fear. "The representative of the Golden Company once again requests your presence."

She rolled her eyes, groaning. "If he wishes to make himself useful, he can pick up a sword or crossbow and fight in the streets. I have no time for such things at the moment!" At least Cotter Pyke of the Night's Watch had only asked once. Both were important guests and Dany filed a mental note to consider their business an urgent matter…

But how could she grant them an audience if she had no throne?

Or no head?

Clearing his throat behind her, Tyrion Lannister approached. "Your Grace, I am told by… young Torrhen Snow that you've acquired some Dothraki horsemen?"

She eyed him with… not quite that he was a moronic insect, but closer to there than what Tyrion likely hoped. "Not some, but an entire khalasar."

"Ah." He wiped sweat from his brow. "The Masters won't expect such reinforcements, then. Changes the calculus."

Her eyes narrowed. "Lord Tyrion. Inform me why you considered making any sort of negotiation about the topic of slavery against my orders and my wishes?"

Tyrion stiffened. "Your Grace… In your absence there needed to be something done to prevent the Sons of the Harpy from taking advantage of the situation. I appealed to their rational interests…"

"They do not have rational instincts, Lord Tyrion!" She advanced on him. "They are desperate and cruel, seeing nothing to lose other than roll the dice and attempt to butcher me. This is not Westeros and I'd have thought you'd have the humility to see that considering where you were when I found you." The dwarf gulped and hung his head.

"I tried to warn him, your Grace," Missandei offered.

She cast a sad smile to her friend. "Your conduct was exemplary in this case, Missy. You would've done well to heed her counsel, Lord Tyrion."

"I am learning new things every day, your Grace."

"Please," a new voice spoke up. "All this arguing is pointless." Torrhen stood up from where he'd been quietly sitting in the corner, much as she herself had been earlier against the wall. "That," he pointed at the window, where the enemy fleet rested at anchor — every half a minute a new roar shook the city as the trebuchets loosed more flaming projectiles. "Is not going to go away if we just shout and point fingers."

Dany swelled with pride for Torrhen's new maturity. She wished to kiss his cheek, but merely reached over to squeeze his shoulder. "Torrhen is right. If we look back we are lost… or in this case defeated and destroyed. The masters broke the treaty you made with them, Lord Tyrion. You might have been foolish thinking they'd honor such an agreement, but regardless, it now allows us one saving grace. Breaking a treaty means all bets are off."

Tyrion eyed her warily. "What are you proposing then?"

She crossed her arms. "I will swarm the city with my khalasar. They and my Unsullied will cut down any Sons of the Harpy daring to defy me. I will ascend to the sky in my dragons, lay waste to their fleet, crucify the masters to the last man, and raze their cities to the dirt." Her voice was firm and commanding, Daenerys absolutely ready and willing to show no mercy after giving so many chances at clemency to those that had held up the rotting edifice of the old order.

"Queen Daenerys?" Torrhen's voice pulled her from her queenly stare. She turned to him curiously, as did Missandei and Tyrion. Torrhen avoided their stares though and kept his eyes fixed firmly on his feet. He bit his lip, seemingly at war with whatever it was he wanted to say. "Forgive me, but… for once I'm not trying to be rude here, I just think this needs to be said and I don't really know a better way to say this… Can I have your permission to be blunt? Please?"

Her brow rose, and then she slowly nodded. "So long as you don't start yelling and screaming if I disagree with you, Torrhen, then yes. Go ahead."

His whole body sagged with relief, then he raised his head to look her in the eye. "Do that, and you prove the masters and the Westerosi who hate you right — you are your father's daughter. The Mad Queen. And that's not what you should do right now."

Had Daario been there, he would've dismissed him as a naive boy. It had happened before, as had Dany's own treatment, even if she had been far kinder to the boy who deep down was both hurting and largely innocent in spite of all he went through growing up. Torrhen had disagreed with her conduct many times, vociferously so, and always had his own plans and ideas. Rough and without nuance, hindsight proved them somewhat correct.

But this time he wasn't yelling or losing his temper, he was calm. Pleading but calm. Was all it took to ease his anger the medicine from the Dothraki and a little love? It made her heart hurt, but was joyous to see. "Why shouldn't I, Torrhen?" she asked, affording him the respect to voice his opinion. He was trying to behave better, so she would as well.

She really did need to formalize a legitimization for him later on. She already knew he would be her heir when she finally claimed the Iron Throne. He was a smart boy. Still rather gruff and definitely needed better instruction in diplomacy regarding expressing himself appropriately, but he would be a fine prince one day despite his cruel origins whilst growing up. She knew he would.

"If you spill more blood like that, indiscriminately, you'll be doing what your father did — killing everyone just because you're angry. Do that, and you'll be seen as the bloody monster the masters portray you to be." He then pointed at Tyrion. "I wasn't here to watch him negotiate, but not even trying to compromise and just burning everyone will definitely hurt you later when we're in Westeros. You think the master's are cruel? They're nothing compared to my relatives. Let alone how Northerners spit on me and Lya daily."

"Torrhen…" She'd clashed with him before on the issue, but now it hurt that he still fought her. He still thought her methods too brutal — mayhaps herself a monster. "Lord Tyrion already tried to negotiate with them. He offered things above and beyond what they expected from a conciliatory party."

Missandei nodded in agreement. "All they understand is force, Torrhen. It was how they treated their slaves, the ones who wouldn't sell out their comrades for better treatment, that is."

Torrhen bit his lip. "I've said as much before, your Grace." He sighed. "I didn't know about the children that were crucified when I yelled at you about this stuff before. I'm sorry for that and I'll always regret it… That situation was justice, but this isn't the same."

Perhaps he was being naive, but Dany owed it to him to at least hear him out. I didn't do enough of that in the two years he's been here. "Go ahead, tell me, Torrhen. Why isn't this the same?"

He steeled himself, taking a deep breath. She could tell he was trying very hard to control his emotions, driven by his experiences and his affliction. "Missandei, the masters will never give in, you say?"

"They will not," Missandei answered. "As I said, they have too much to lose."

"There are others, though? Freeborn of the upper classes who didn't have endless armies of slaves?" He wrung his hands together. "I saw them when I was on the streets. Paying wages to their former slaves, working in their businesses. They yelled for the Unsullied to quell the Sons of the Harpy, but also grumbled when you had that Harpy statue at the top of the pyramid melted down, Queen Daenerys."

She blinked. Did she really lump all the masters together like that? "Not all the Sons of the Harpy emerged from the wealthiest families, Torrhen," Missandei countered. "The first group did — including the man Mossador killed — but the ones at the Fighting Pit were a mix of many."

"I know. That was senseless." He looked back at Dany. "Your Grace, you need a lasting peace in Meereen and the other cities. The ones responsible for the atrocities, the war, kill them, but offer the others a way out or they'll act in desperation."

Tyrion nodded, eyeing Torrhen with an impressed look. "I have to concur with the boy. Justice combined with mercy."

Justice and mercy Daenerys closed her eyes. She'd denied it to the freedmen when the first Son of the Harpy was captured, and then failed to give mercy to Mossador. At the time she figured she was showing herself as even-handed, but in reality alienated her greatest supporters on the basis of those who would never love her.

No… it sent a message to those pulling the strings that she was weak. Vacillating. Mercy could be given, but only to those that weren't beyond the point of desperation. "Alright." She looked at Torrhen, smiling. "You are wiser beyond your years, Torrhen."

His lips curved into a genuine smile in return. It was a lovely sight that brought joy to her heart.

Another roar shook the pyramid, projectiles whooshing through the air from the moored fleet. "Touching, but I suggest we find an alternate target for the dragons lest the city collapses," Tyrion bemoaned.

Daenerys closed her eyes. Peace could wait till the war was over.

---

Torrhen huffed and blew a loose curl out of his eyes.

He was annoyed. Beyond annoyed. This plan his future mother devised made sense in the long run. Logically he understood her thought process… but that didn't stop him from feeling annoyed at her role for him in the plan.

He found it stupid.

It was common knowledge to him that he didn't belong in this meeting. Not when he already knew how things were going to play out. He belonged with Shadow in the background near Ser Barristan.

In the distance, he saw the three leading Masters from the other major cities in Slaver's Bay and their Volantene allies disembark their ship and start trudging their way across the shore towards their party. He couldn't resist the urge to step away from the Queen's side to join Ser Barristan and Shadow standing a few feet away, watching alongside Missandei and Grey Worm.

His future mother's hand quickly caught his shoulder, halting him. "Torrhen, where do you think you're going?"

He sighed. "I shouldn't be up here, your Grace. Please, let me stay in the back. And let me stay with Shadow, please!"

Daenerys frowned. "You're my heir, Torrhen. You belong up here with me during this meeting. And you know full well why I don't want you with your wolf right now."

Torrhen grimaced. "I don't want to be your heir, Queen Daenerys…"

"No, Torrhen. We will discuss your concerns later if you wish, but right now, I want you safe if and when this meeting inevitably turns to the worst. I know you love your direwolf and would prefer to stay close to him, but you'll be safer if you follow me. End of discussion."

"Well, why can't Shadow come here with us then, at least? Please, let him at least come up here!"

She sighed. "Because House Targaryen is the House of dragons, Torrhen. Not direwolves. We need to be emphasizing our true House right now rather than your mixed Northern blood ties."

"But—!"

"Torrhen, enough. This decision is final."

He clenched his teeth as the leading master's came closer. "For someone so adamant on supposedly accepting me as I am, it's insulting that you're so dismissive of my Northern roots," he grumbled.

To his future mother's credit, she blinked repeatedly at his comment as though stunned herself by her own actions, but she didn't get the chance to reply to his words due to the arrival of the masters. All at once, she schooled her expression to careful blankness and focused on them. Torrhen only folded his arms and shot them an annoyed scowl. He was certainly better at controlling his temper nowadays, but if the queen thought he was capable of showing no emotion at all in front of these merciless men, she clearly hadn't thought through this idea of hers on keeping him by her side during this meeting. He'd stay calm like she wanted, but he definitely would shoot each of them the dirtiest glares he could muster.

The trio were draped in their richest clothes and grinning from ear to ear as they came to a halt before them. Torrhen vaguely recognized the one on the far right, as he had been the one who owned the lesser fighter pits that he and Queen Daenerys visited that day when they first met Ser Jorah again and were introduced to Tyrion for the first time, but the other two he'd never seen before.

His future mother's attention was riveted on the man in the middle, clearly a slave master she'd encountered before. Torrhen wasn't entirely familiar on how Essosi clothing differed from one region to another, but if lessons with Missandei several months ago served him correctly, he was fairly certain the man was from Yunkai. "So, you've finally come to your senses, have you, Foreign Whore?"

Missandei's eyes flashed. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," she declared, polite but cold. "Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, the Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea—" she paused, a small smirk spreading across her lips "—the Breaker of Chains and Queen of Meereen."

The leader's face became quite fixed, but the Volantene man on the left immediately scoffed. "'Breaker of Chains?' 'Queen of Meereen?' Lies! It ought to be, 'Thief Queen' and 'Lover of the Worthless.'"

"Indeed," said the slave trader from the fighting pits, though his tone was slightly less arrogant. "Even the title 'Mother of Dragons' can be debatable. No one's seen them in over a year since you locked them up."

"Belicho, Yezzan, don't waste your breath. She already knows just what a hypocrite she is. Why else would she request this meeting?"

"Hypocrite? Is that what you consider me?" She chuckled, tilting her head. "Considering what you are and what you have done to those you consider your property, I consider being insulted by the likes of you to be the highest honor, Razdal mo Eraz."

His eyes narrowed, incensed. Torrhen had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from grinning. Having grown up under the scrutiny of Queen Sansa, he'd heard numerous backhanded comments all his life. Never had he imagined he'd one day support such a polite yet rude remark. Only from his future mother could he now see the appeal of using his tongue calmly, yet also sharply.

I need to learn how to insult people like that. If my mother can use sharp words to shut people up, I need to learn how to do it, too.

He jerked back to attention though as Razdal suddenly continued. "I offered you peace in the past. Had you been smart, you'd have accepted it. You could've returned to Westeros right then, with a fleet of ships. But you chose to be arrogant, and your arrogance will have you flee Slaver's Bay today on foot, with no armies and no dragons. Like the Beggar Queen you are…" he paused, his eyes suddenly flicking to him. "You, boy. Weren't you literally begging on the streets of this city before she met you?"

Belicho snorted. He shot Torrhen a rather obvious once over from head to toe. "Ever since that earthquake last year, the Red God worshippers in Volantis have been in a right tizzy. I didn't pay them any mind at first, but then they started preaching about how the fires showed them that their Lord of Light had brought forth great miracles to fight the so-called coming darkness…" He snickered again, still shaking his head at Torrhen. "They chant those words day in and day out ever since they heard the whispers about that runt — some Westerosi whelp who took the wrong ship."

Even without looking behind him, Torrhen knew his future mother's advisor's and guards had suddenly grown tense. Even Daenerys herself stiffened a bit in her worry. They were all prepared to jump in and cut him off out of the expected outcome of him losing him temper… but he surprised them. He simply crossed his arms and smirked. "First of all, I have a name. It's Torrhen Snow. Secondly, for someone who supposedly fluent in High Valyrian yourself, basic grammar is lost on you."

Yezzan blinked at him owlishly. "Excuse me?"

" 'R'hollor smiles upon us all. The prophecy shall soon come to pass.'" He translated, his grin only growing at the slave masters flabbergasted faces. "'The Prince and Princess that were Promised have come at last. Lightbringer shall be made again, and Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa shall defeat the great darkness.'"

Torrhen was sure his future mother's advisors were surprised that he hadn't lost his temper with the men, but he didn't dare glance back over his shoulder to catch their reactions, let alone Daenerys'. He just kept staring down the flabbergasted slave master's.

Belicho was the first to recover. "You know the legend, boy?"

He shrugged. "Aye, I've heard the basics. Dunno why anyone thinks I'm linked to it, though. It's clearly about Queen Daenerys, not me."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Daenerys' eyes flick back and forth between himself and the Volantene nobleman, puzzled. He quickly blew some of his dark curls out of his eyes to hide a frown.

Fuck…! So much for trying to keep that under wraps until we get to Westeros… He needed more information about the prophecy. But to get it, the queen would have to stop in Volantis so he could speak to the High Priestess at the Red Temple — Lady Kinvara had been kind to him and Lyaella, but she had been a young woman when they met her. How was he supposed to convince the queen that learning more about this story was in her best interest? Shit, what a mess…

He was brought out of his musings by Tyrion suddenly clearing his throat. "Let's not get off topic. Our queen called this parley so we may discuss the terms for surrender, not to hear legends or insults made towards herself or her heir."

Torrhen balled his fists. Now he was peeved. How many times did he have to tell them all he wasn't a prince until they finally started listening?

Luckily, the master's didn't notice his sudden annoyance. "Our demands are simple," said Yezzan. "All foreigners will leave the Great Pyramid and the city of Meereen immediately. The Unsullied that were stolen from Kraznys mo Nakloz shall remain and be sold off at auction. The translator you also stole from him will be sold off at auction. The dragons beneath the Great Pyramid will be slaughtered…" he paused, his gaze suddenly shifting off to Shadow on the sidelines. "…as will that other beast over there."

Shadow's ears flicked back. He crouched down, hackles rising as he growled undertone.

Torrhen glared. No one was killing Shadow. Over his dead body would that happen. And judging by how Grey Worm's grip suddenly tightened on his spear as he moved a half-step closer to Missandei, he guessed the Unsullied captain was mentally vowing the same should anyone try to snatch her.

Daenerys however just raised a brow at him, unfazed. "Clearly, you misunderstood my newest advisor. I didn't summon you here to declare my surrender to you," she declared, a smile tugging at her lips. "I came to hear the terms of your surrender to me."

The trio snickered. "Our surrender?" Razdal scoffed. "You truly are a mad Targaryen, not recognizing your situation." He shook his head, eyes suddenly narrowing in seriousness. "Your reign is over."

At that, his future mother smiled. "No. My reign has only just begun."

The slave master's exchanged more amused looks… until a furious screech cut through the air.

Their heads snapped up as Drogon suddenly swooped in from the shadow of the Great Pyramid, descending upon them in a raging whirlwind from his massive wings. He roared, the earth quaking beneath them as he landed at his mother's side. The masters and even their guards trembled in terror. He had grown so large that he was just as big as the largest galleon ship in the bay, and judging by the size of his sharp fangs, he'd have no trouble devouring them whole if the queen gave the command.

But Daenerys gave no such order. Instead, she simply flashed another smile back to the master's, wrapped an arm around Torrhen's shoulders, and steered him to Drogon's side. Torrhen grimaced as she boosted him onto her dragon's back before climbing on behind him. Ordinarily he would have been elated to ride with his mother atop Drogon again considering he'd been so hurt and out of it on his first ride, but this was the part of his mother's plan that he didn't agree with. He threw an anxious look back towards a suddenly whimpering Shadow on the ground as Drogon spread his great wings, and rose into the air.

He didn't go too high, however. He only flew up high enough to be out of range of any of the spearmen that the master's brought with them before soaring to the other side of Great Pyramid and landing at the entrance to the catacombs.

Hizdahr stood waiting for them, guarded by several members of the Second Son's. "Your grace," he greeted, bowing politely as the sellswords hurried to unlock the doors. "They're unchained, just as you ordered."

Daenerys smiled. "Good. Go ahead, Torrhen," she ordered, nodding encouragingly. "Just as I told you."

Torrhen sighed and slid down. His mother wanted the master's and the Harpies to see that House Targaryen was strong again by having them both ride dragons as she led the comeback assault on her enemies from the air. While he would have preferred to stay and fight if need be on the ground with Shadow and Ser Barristan, he would have been fine with doing this so long as he simply rode with her on Drogon the whole time.

It was that she wanted him to ride one of her other two dragons during this war that made him so wary.

The mercenaries grunted from the hard work, but at last they rolled the stone wheel aside. Triumphant roars echoed noisily from deep within the dark entryway, and Hizdahr and the Second Sons scrambled out of the way as the archway itself exploded as the queen's two other dragons burst forth.

"Rhaegal, Viserion," Daenerys cried. "Oh, I've missed you both! Look how you've grown!" The dragons cooed. "I promise to tell you later why I've been gone so long, but right now we must fight. Would one of you be good enough to allow Torrhen to ride you? You know as well as I do that he knows the ways of dragons. We must all work together to stop this attack."

They snorted at her curiously, then turned their gazes to Torrhen. It took everything Torrhen had to force himself a smile. He could tell by the way the two dragons were lingering back that they too thought this was a bad idea, but not because they disliked him or didn't trust him. It was because they too echoed his thoughts — he wasn't meant to be the rider for either of them.

Ānogar was supposed to have been his dragon, but his dragon never got the chance to hatch from its egg. Rhaegal hadn't yet met his future father, but Jon Snow was supposed to bond to him very soon when they finally returned to Westeros. And Viserion… hopefully Viserion's fate of becoming the undead mount of the Night King could be averted this time around, and if it could, Torrhen assumed he'd one day become the dragon of perhaps a future sibling he and Lyaella might have one day once they changed their parents futures, or perhaps for some other Targaryen descendant one day even further in the future. Dragons could live for centuries provided they weren't struck down in battle first.

Torrhen didn't know much about his own Targaryen history, so he had no idea if any of his ancestors who lived back when dragons were still present ever attempted to ride one who they didn't share the proper dragon bond with. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him that this was wrong…

He bit his lip before glancing back one last time to the queen. "Your Grace—"

"Torrhen, we are wasting time. Climb on one of them and follow me through the air. Now."

His shoulders slumped. There was no point arguing with her anymore. He just prayed that this wouldn't go too badly, whatever happened. Sighing again, he turned to the white dragon. Rhaegal was meant to go to his future father, so there was no point trying to force a bond with him. Viserion was the better choice. "Hey, think you could let me climb up?"

Viserion ruffled his wings, clearly uncomfortable, but after another murmur of encouragement from his mother, the white dragon slowly lowered himself to the ground.

Hizdahr and the Second Sons helped him climb up on the dragon's back, and Torrhen nervously gulped as he clung to his spines and thick neck.

Daenerys smiled approvingly as soon as she saw he was settled. "Very good, Torrhen. Now, follow me!" With another roar, Drogon shot into the sky, great gusts of wind billowing behind him.

Torrhen grimaced, then patted Viserion's neck. "Well, you heard the queen… Uh, up please?"

Viserion rumbled, then spread his wings and flew up to join them, Rhaegal hooting before following after them.

Torrhen yelped as the wind whipped past and clung even tighter to the white dragon's neck. Riding with the queen on top Drogon was one thing, as he'd always sat in front of her and had been able to lean back against her had he felt like he was being blown backwards, but now he was alone. Viserion was smaller than Drogon, but he was faster. Much faster. It took everything he had just to stay upright as they zipped across the sky.

Swallowing thickly, Torrhen forced back his uneasiness and tried to focus. Viserion seemed just as helpless as he was as he soared through the air. He shook his head left and right as he flew after their mother and fellow dragon brother, as though fighting off dizziness. Just like how he could feel that trying to fly alone without a proper dragon bond was wrong, Viserion could feel it too. Thank goodness his future mother's dragons liked him well enough and could sense the overall Targaryen blood in his veins. If it weren't for his Valyrian heritage and the fact he'd met and earned the dragon's trust already, Torrhen was sure Viserion would have bucked him off already just to feel normal again. It seemed as though forcing a bond between a Targaryen and a dragon they were never meant to ride not only effected the person attempting the stunt, but it effected the dragon, too.

"F-Focus, Viserion!" he croaked, his stomach churning. "Just… Just follow the queen! S-Stay up and follow her!"

Viserion warbled, and a moment later he found the strength to rise a bit higher as he continued on.

All this time, Daenerys was oblivious to their situation. Her attention was fixated on the city itself as she led them and Rhaegal towards the main gate of Meereen. Beyond the gate, dozens of Harpies were eagerly slitting the throats of both freedmen and former master's who'd tried to flee the city when the attack started. Murmuring something quietly to Drogon in High Valyrian that Torrhen didn't catch, she signaled for him to have Viserion stay high up in the air as she had Drogon swoop down towards the ground and roar. Torrhen was all too happy to obeythis command, and he just let Viserion circle overhead with Rhaegal as the Harpies on the ground ceased their assault and gazed up in terror at the queen.

But Daenerys didn't order Drogon to let loose any fire. No, instead she had him roar yet again before motioning for Torrhen to follow her again as she flew off towards the bay. Torrhen sighed and urged Viserion to follow her again. He didn't dare look back as the whoops and screams of the all the Dothraki bloodriders in the khalasar suddenly filled the air, riding forth from beyond their hiding spot past the nearby cliffs. Daario was leading them, having been summoned by the queen's signal of having Drogon roar twice after reaching the main gate. It didn't matter how many Harpies the master's had brought with them for this attack. There was no way they could hold their own against all the Dothraki screamers in the Great Grass Sea.

As they circled over all the attacking Master's galleon ships, his future mother signaled him to linger high overhead, out of range of the ship cannons as she instead urged Drogon to drop down closer to their level. Torrhen couldn't help but feel annoyed by his command. For all her insistence that he join her despite his protests, now she was suddenly urging him to stay away?

Her reasoning however clicked when she fixed her gaze on the closest attacking ship. "Drogon, dracarys!" She ordered.

The galleon was engulfed in dragon fire, the men on board screaming in pain and terror as they either burnt to a crisp or jumped overboard to escape the raging inferno. All other nearby vessels in the vicinity immediately stopped their assault upon witnessing the attack, and the men on board rapidly began shouting orders to each other to try steering their vessels away from the hovering dragons. Still, Daenerys wouldn't let all of them escape so easily. Whistling for Drogon to change course, she swooped down and ordered him to let loose another fiery maelstrom towards a few more ships that were too slow to stop fully attacking the residential districts of the city where most of the freedmen lived. It was no coincidence that the ships were firing their projectiles there, after all. To save the common people, she had to burn those ships.

Torrhen couldn't help but snort as he watched the remaining ships scatter in panic. It served them right. Honestly, what did they expect would happen when they tried attacking the city ruled by the Mother of Dragons? If they were too stupid to predict the queen would use her dragons to defend Meereen, then they were a bunch of idiots. Still, he couldn't help but feel a small twinge of sympathy for the dying men on board the burning ships. He and Lyaella had never dared test for themselves if they'd inherited their mother's ability of being unburnt, but in the off-chance they hadn't, he couldn't even begin to imagine what being roasted alive would feel like. Granted, the deaths themselves were justifiable… but it was still very intense for him to witness himself.

Swallowing thickly, he cleared his throat and patted Viserion's neck. "Well — guess we better follow the queen, Viserion. We don't wanna—"

---

With a mighty, shrill screech that could break the bravest man, the ghost-white form of Sōnar shot across the battlefield. Red-orange flames streaked from her open jaws, not enough to reduce all before it to smoke and ash but enough to turn dozens unfortunately in the dragons' path to human torches.

---

"—get separated from — woah!"

Torrhen yelped as the world flashed before his eyes. That vision… what was that? And who had those people been? Curse his stupid fire flicker and greensight ability!

A sudden screech from Viserion forced him back to the present. The ships below him had drastically shifted from where they'd been in his field of vision from where they had been seemingly seconds ago when he'd been looking right at them. Only… had it really only been a few seconds like he thought it had, or had it been longer and his perception of time was all screwed up due to his fire flicking out?

Whichever the case, it didn't matter. Whatever had happened to him, it was clear that Viserion had sensed it and was agitated by it. The white dragon screeched again as he shook his head and neck back and forth, beating his wings frantically in alarm rather than continuing to glide smoothly.

"H-Hey, Viserion! Calm down!" Torrhen begged, desperately patting his scaly neck. "It's okay, really!"

Sadly, it seemed that Viserion's unexpected confusion attracted not only Torrhen's alarm, but everyone involved in the battle suddenly became aware of what was happening. In the city, the various battles between the Harpies and the queen's forces slowly petered off as everyone turned to stare out in confusion across the bay, and even the sailors in the master's armada ceased their panicking as they craned their heads up to the sky as they watched Viserion suddenly thrash and cry out for seemingly no reason.

Torrhen's heart pounded as Viserion suddenly banked sharply left without his order. This was bad. Really bad. Hopefully his future mother's dragon could calm down enough for him to order him to carry him back to the ground before—

---

"How many times must I tell you, 'no?'"

"But I love you, my dear! So much more than—!"

"Don't drag him into this. I know I've welcomed you both into my bed, but it's not a matter of wanting to marry him instead. I'm not marrying either of you."

"What?! But… But…"

"I have fun with him, and I have fun with you. That's all I want from you and Aegor, brother. I've already told him this, and now I'm telling you. I don't plan to marry, period. So stop asking."

Kissing the cheek of the thunderstruck man, the mysterious silver-haired woman smiled coyly before turning on her heel and strutting out of the room, the solar door clicking shut behind her. She was a Targaryen, but who she was specifically was anyone's guess. The man was also of the House of dragons, but he seemed vaguely familiar to Torrhen. Why did he recognize him…?

Torrhen didn't have time to dwell over this though, because out of nowhere the man snapped out of his shock, his face twisting into an ugly scowl. Snarling viciously, the man swiped a decorative figurine from a side table and hurled it at the wall. Torrhen jumped as it whizzed past his invisible self, just barely missing him before shattering into pieces.

"You will be mine, Shiera…" the stranger murmured, his violet eyes glazing over with pure Targaryen madness. "You will be mine… Not Aegor's and not anyone else's! You will be mine!"

---

"Viserion! Viserion, stop! Stop that!"

It was like someone whacked Torrhen over the head repeatedly with a sackful of bricks as he snapped back to reality. He groaned, a migraine exploding throughout his skull as he shielded his eyes from the glared of the sun. Even so, he quickly abandoned this action to instead grasp onto Viserion's neck with both hands as the white dragon unexpectedly thrashed so hard he nearly slid back several inches… and then thrashed again.

It took everything Torrhen had to keep a firm grasp on the dragon and look around. His second fire flicker had caused him to lose even more time, and now the master's ships were trying to take advantage of Viserion's seemingly random freak out to start firing at them again. Daenerys was trying to fly Drogon closer to help him and calm Viserion down, but between Viserion's melt down and being forced to dodge the projectiles being fired from the ships, she struggled to reach them.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him focusing on her. "Torrhen! Torrhen, order Viserion to come here! Quickly!"

He blinked repeatedly, his brain struggling to process her words. Everything she just said he heard, but it was like his sense of hearing was being delayed by how slowly he was absorbing them. Her lips were moving, but it wasn't until after she was done saying all of them that he heard the first syllable.

As soon as they registered for him, he jumped and patted Viserion's neck. "E-Easy, Viserion! Calm down! C'mon, let's get back to—"

He cut himself with a loud scream, startled by the sudden barrel of hot tar that sailed past them both in midair, missing the dragon's left wing by mere inches.

Despite not striking the dragon, the projectile had its desired effect. Viserion roared, red hot flames exploding from his mouth as he swooped down rapidly towards the ships, raining dragon fire upon their sails despite not being given the command. Torrhen screamed in terror, his dark curls giving him whiplash across his face as they swerved fast across the waves. It took every bit of strength he had just to stay on.

"V-Viserion! Stop, please stop!" He begged.

In the back of his mind, he faintly heard a second dragon roar from somewhere high above followed by his future mother screaming both their names… but none of that registered for the panicking Viserion. He was beyond reason, spitting fire and flying madly without pause.

"Dammit, Viserion! Calm down!" He screamed again. Fuck it all! What's the Valyrian word for 'slow down?!' "You're — You're going way too—!"

A huge boulder suddenly soared through the air from somewhere off to the right. With a deafening screech, Viserion shot up high out of its path… but he did it so quickly, Torrhen didn't have enough time to tighten his grasp around his neck.

He was airborne now, the wind whipping past him as gravity hurtled him down towards the rapidly approaching sea.

"Torrhen!" The queen called from somewhere far away.

He craned his head around to try following the sound of her voice, but before he could focus on the blurring view of the burning city, he hit the water with a mighty splash.

Torrhen yelped as he plunged beneath the choppy waves, water rushing into his mouth. The waves were rough, sporadic from all the ships sailing around. Then he screamed, his lungs rebelling against him as they expelled seawater while attempting to suck in more in their desperation for air. His chest burned, and all at once his sense of control snapped.

Panic overwhelmed him. He flailed, his arms and legs thrashing everywhere as he tried to find the surface. But he didn't know how to swim. He was a Northerner, and he'd grown up in the North during the worst Winter in all of Westeros. He didn't even know how to float.

He kept trying, though. He did his best to fight through the pain and push through the waves to the surface… but his limbs felt heavy. Heavy and slow. And his vision was slowly blurring to black. He needed to rest. His body demanded it.

Keep trying… Must… keep…

A few more bubbles spewed from his mouth. Then everything went dark. He welcomed the darkness. Darkness was good, and the silence of the sea was even better. They were comforting after his panic and pain—

Suddenly, something solid knocked into his back and wrapped around his middle. Then he was pressed firmly against whatever it was and tugged through the waves. What was happening? He wanted to open his eyes and see, but he had no strength left. He couldn't even find it in him to try breathing anymore.

Still, the thing pulled him. Then the silence of the sea became muffled. Jumbled sounds from faraway echoed through the blackness, but Torrhen had no idea what they could be. One moment it sounded like a muted rumble, then the next it was as quiet as a whisper before rumbling again. Whatever it was, he wished it would stop. Be quiet… Please… Let me sleep…

More strange, solid things grasped onto him, and somehow — he had no idea how — he was lying on something hard and flat. Was he out of the water?

The rumbling whisper started again, only now there was more than one he heard. There were so many and so loud it was harder for him to stay in the darkness. If anything, they were so loud it made his head ache as though his fire flicked out again. Go away… Please, go away…

He was almost ready to ignore the noise and slip away again, but then something pressed down on his chest. Repeatedly.

Pain. Burning pain again. Whatever was happening to him, it made his chest hurt. His lungs wanted air, but he couldn't find it. If anything, whatever was happening only made his lungs rebel against himself again. If he'd had the energy, he would've whacked away whatever was pushing down on him. He needed to find his hand, to shove off whatever was—

Something suddenly squeezed his nose and pressed down against his mouth. Air rushed down his throat twice. Then the chest pressing started again.

He didn't know what was happening, but despite his chest pain he gradually felt himself start to clue in to the rumbling background noises.

"…he gonna make it?!"

"…lucky if he does…"

"…c'mon, lad…"

"…damn it! Breathe, boy!"

Voices. So many voices. But whose were they? They didn't sound like anyone from his future mother's council or armies.

His nose was pinched. The thing on his mouth came back followed by two more rushes of air. Then the pressing of his chest began the cycle all over again. Only this time, Torrhen felt his chest burn harder and hotter than ever as they tried to fight on their own to breathe. Liquid shot up from his throat, and he broke out coughing as his lungs finally started working again.

Something rolled him onto his side, but he couldn't find it in him to open his eyes yet to see what it was. He was gagging too hard, water still pouring from his mouth.

"That's it, lad. Get it all out," said an unknown voice. A hand gently patted his shoulder, then slowly helped him to sit up. "Nice and easy now… Yes, that's it."

Torrhen groaned, pressing a hand against his chest with one hand and rubbing water away from his face with the other. "Ugh… I'm never… never riding dragons again…" His head still felt rather jumbled and foggy, but if there was one clear thought he could focus on, it was that.

Come to think of it, he was beginning to remember now that he'd had a flash of a fire flicker way back during his first training session as Ser Barristan's squire. It'd been so brief he hadn't really been able to focus on it, but he remembered now that he'd been flying high over Meereen while the city was on fire, and his instincts during the vision had warned him that he shouldn't be flying at all. His fire flicker had been trying to warn him about this near death experience today, but he'd forgotten it and let his future mother bully him into trying to bond with one of her unclaimed dragons, even though subconsciously he knew he shouldn't try this. Stupid me. Next time, I follow my gut when it comes to these things. And I'm gonna have to remember every single fire flicker vision I've had up 'til now!

A quiet chuckle next to his ear brought him back to the present. "You don't wanna be a dragon rider? How odd! I thought all Blackfyre boys dreamed of being like the dragon master's of House Targaryen."

"Huh? Blackfyre…?"

Spitting out one last mouthful of water, Torrhen finally cracked open his eyes. Sunlight blinded him momentarily, but then his eyes focused in on the people surrounding him. At least twenty or so men ranging between their late twenties to late forties were clustered around him. They were all tanned and weathered from the Essos sun, but unlike the Master's draped in fine silks, these men were hardened warriors, armored down in gold with swords strapped to each of their hips. One of them however was missing his armor and wearing only a lightweight tunic and britches, and he was soaked to the bone as a few others offered him some fresh clothes to dry off. Whoever these men were, it was clear they'd fished him out from the sea and brought him aboard their ship. But who were they? The sigil on their shields looked like a cluster of skulls. Definitely not the Seconds Sons or Unsullied. But if they worked for the Master's or Harpies, surely they wouldn't have tried to save him, right?

There was a man kneeling down next to him, and he offered him a kind smile as he patted his back again. "Oh, of course… My spymaster told me he heard whispers about your surname being 'Snow,' if I'm remembering right… I suppose it's ultimately up to you then if you plan to change your name to Blackfyre or not, though my men and I sincerely hope you will. We've been dreaming of this day since before you were born. The day we can support a dragon without the proper Targaryen surname."

Torrhen could only stare. "Support…? Uh—?"

"Get away from him! Now!"

His head snapped up. Drogon was descending fast towards their ship, smoke billowing from his nostrils as he snarled.

All at once, the men clustered around him yelped and scrambled back. It was good that they did, because Drogon stopped only just before hitting the water next to their ship, hovering over the waves as he let out a mighty roar. Extending his wing a bit, he allowed for Daenerys to slide off him and step aboard the vessel.

His future mother had long since mastered the art of hiding her emotions when in the company of potential enemies, but for the first time since Torrhen had met her, she wasn't even trying to hide her rage. Pure fury shot from her eyes as she glared at them. "How dare you! You try to harm him even after he nearly drowned?!"

Torrhen groaned, coughing out one last mouthful of water. "Your grace—?"

She ignored his words, opting instead to seize his shoulder and drag him back a few steps to be between herself and Drogon. "Your friends the Master's have been defeated! This war is over! Slavery will never again return to Slaver's Bay! Unless you Harpies all wish to be roasted where you stand, you will surrender now!" Behind her, Drogon let out a thunderous roar.

A few men couldn't help but flinch back in alarm as their eyes shot back and forth between her and the dragon, but their leader — the one who'd been kneeling down beside Torrhen a few moments ago — slowly raised his hands and stepped forward.

"The Dragon Queen, I presume? Please, you have the wrong idea. We—"

"Wrong idea?! You attack my city while I'm away, shoot at Torrhen when you see him struggling on one of my other dragons, and I'm supposed to believe you?!"

"Forgive me, your grace, but we had nothing to do with whatever war is happening right now in Meereen. Our ship and the rest of our fleet sailed into the bay just as you both took to the sky. When the prince fell off the white dragon, I immediately ordered all ships to sail straight to him to rescue him from the waves. I knew the moment I saw him flying on your other dragon the Seven had finally answered our prayers. I would never allow a Blackfyre boy to die before I can help him sit on the Iron Throne."

"Aye, we're here for him!"

"We've been waiting to help a Blackfyre again!"

"Proper Blackfyre too, by the looks of him!"

The red hot rage on the queen's face melted away, confusion replacing it. Torrhen on the other hand couldn't stop himself from jerking in surprise. Pressing a hand back to his chest, he forced himself to stand. "Wait, I'm not… Who are you lot?"

The leader smiled. "I am Captain Harry Strickland, leader of the Golden Company. We've heard tales about you, Torrhen Snow. If you're really a baseborn boy of House Targaryen, then my men and I are prepared to pledge the entirety of our mercenary group to seeing you sit on the Iron Throne."