Disclaimer: I don't own any Marvel or Game of Thrones characters seen, mentioned or used.

It had been a long and harrowing journey for the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.

From the war torn providence of Velen in Northern Temeria, to the blood soaked streets of Novigrad and the far isles of Skellige, the Witcher has traveled and fought to find his daughter in all but blood, Ciri. He's fought all manner of monsters, men, dwarves, elves, cursed specters, and the Wild Hunt itself to find her. He's met both great and terrible men and women, reunited with friends of old and had finally reconnected with his true love, Yennefer of Vengerberg.

And now, Geralt was close to the end of this, on the Isle of Mist, about to be reunited with Ciri after so many years. Of course his reunion with his adoptive daughter had been delayed slightly by the presence of shipwrecked dwarves on the isle who had barricaded themselves within the cabin Ciri was possibly in and refused to allow him entry until he found three of their missing members, Ferenc, Gaspard and Ivo. The first two were easy enough to find, the isle wasn't that large and they were roughly in the same area as one another, unfortunately one of them had been killed by a fiend. Gaspard had taken to climbing the isle's sole lighthouse to light it in attempt to signal any passing ships, a rather foolhardy notion given the isle was enchanted and thus hidden from those that wouldn't know the way to the isle, if they even knew of it in the first place. Thankfully, Geralt had no issue escorting him back to the cabin before he set out to find the third and final missing dwarf.

The final dwarf, Ivo, was found atop a rocky arch to the north of the cabin where his companions and possibly Ciri were, with a pair of water hags circling below him like hungry sharks. The hags were dealt with in quick fashion, but sadly, while Ivo was climbing down the rocky arch, he slipped and fell to his death, leaving Geralt frustrated.

'Hopefully they don't hold the deaths of two of their three companions against me.' Geralt thought as he made his way up the partially overgrown path to the isle's lone cabin.

If they did and refused to allow him entry into the cabin... he'd figure out what to do from there. He hoped that they wouldn't be difficult, but Geralt had come too far to be waylaid by a troupe of petty dwarves.

The cabin was just within sight, the glowing firefly Avallac'h provided him was still hovering outside the cabin, acting as a sort of beacon for Geralt in this heavily misted place. Curiously, Geralt saw no signs of Gaspard, the sleepy dwarf had agreed to stand outside and wait for Geralt to return with his final companion, and use the time to convince his hiding mates that he was indeed their freind and not some monster trick and that Geralt meant them no harm. It was possible that he was already inside the cabin, but for some reason, Geralt doubted that.

Quickening his pace, Geralt had just reached the end of the path when suddenly everything went silent and the glowing firefly dimmed and flickered before vanishing completely.

The Witcher's cat like eyes narrowed at the dead silence, his hand drifting towards the handles of his swords. There was something unnatural about this silence, apart from the fact it came about so abruptly. Moments ago he could hear the wind, the rustling of tree branches, even the calls of distant monsters and the crashing of waves from the surrounding sea, but now was as if the very air itself was holding it's breath, afraid to invoke the wrath of whatever set it on edge.

All of his senses on alert for the slightest sound, smell or sight of anything that could be a threat, Geralt approached the cabin where Ciri laid. He couldn't hear the dwarves inside and a dark chill ran through him as he came to a stop at the cabin's door.

It was slightly ajar.

Drawing his silver sword, Geralt pushed open the door and stepped inside and discovered the fate of the dwarves.

They were all standing, held up by some unseen force, their faces contorted into expressions of terror and pain, blood leaking from their mouths, nostrils, eyes and ears. Geralt felt a momentary feeling of pity for the dwarves before he refocused on the rest of the cabin's interior, looking for whatever was the cause of their deaths. The inside was dark, though Geralt's mutations allowed him to see well enough, the walls were lined with shelves filled with tankards, glasses, cups, vials, jaws and vases while a wooden table laid in the center of the room. Behind that, towards the wall opposite Geralt, was a single bed with a mattress so thin that it was more like a slightly thicker then average bedsheet.

Lying on the mattress was a young woman, her back to him, with ashen colored hair, a cream white cotton shirt with a shiny silk stripe, a dark brown leather underbust corset, dark brown leather pants with studs, a pair of light brown leather heeled boots and a Witcher sword strapped to her back thanks to a brown leather belt fastened over her shoulder. There was no doubt in Geralt's mind this woman was Ciri, she matched the descriptions given to him by Dandelion and Dudu's transformation into her at the request of Zoltan back in Novigrad.

And standing right next to her, his back to Geralt and seemingly unaware of the Witcher's appearance... the Merchant of Mirrors.

Gaunter O'Dimm.

Geralt didn't hesitate as he rushed towards the malevolent being, knocking several of the dead standing dwarves over, his silver sword mid-drawn when his entire body suddenly froze only a meter from Gaunter.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk Geralt, attacking a man while his back is turned." Gaunter shook his head as he turned away from Ciri's sleeping form to address the Witcher "It seems Olgierd von Everec has rubbed off on you a bit. Can't say that I'm surprised, that man has a knack for corrupting good honest folk and turning them into deplorable individuals. But really, I expected better from you!"

Geralt made no response, on account of being frozen mid-stride, though the anger in his eyes was unmistakable.

Gaunter chuckled at this and turned back towards Ciri's sleeping form and sighed "Such a pity that such a lovely creature like this Ciri is burdened so. No matter where I go, it's always the same, a young beautiful woman born with a great power that others lust for for their own nefarious purposes. There's a cosmic joke there to be sure."

With a shake of his head, Gaunter turned away from Ciri and stared at Geralt with a expressionless face.

"Witcher, do you know how a merchant such as myself survives? How any merchant survives in such... competitive markets?" Gaunter gestured around them "No? Well I'll tell you... their reputation. You see, a merchant can have the rarest of items, seen nowhere else or owned by none other, the prices can be a bargain like no other. But, all that matters little if the merchant's reputation is how we say... disreputable."

Suddenly Gaunter was beside Geralt, his hands folded in front of him as he and the Witcher both stared at Ciri's comatose body.

"I'm not the only merchant out there Geralt. I'm not the only one that can grant someone their darkest and deepest desires." Gaunter sighed with a shake of his head before he turned to the Witcher and grinned "And each of them has quite a dark and rather grim reputation to themselves. Now I myself prefer to be known as someone that can be reasoned with, someone who won't cheat or lie and will give you exactly what you ask for, should you ask it."

With a clap of his hands, the interior of the cabin suddenly brightened. The master of mirrors took in the illuminated space for a moment before he made his way over to the table lying in the center of the room and sat down on it's edge and folded his arms cross his chest.

"Now I know what your thinking Geralt, if I have such a wonderful reputation, why don't more seek me out? Why would others seek out those whose grim and black tidings will bring not but ruin and dread to any and all who wish to barter with them?" Gaunter asked as he looked at the Witcher with an expectant look. After a few moments, Gaunter nodded and clapped in response "Correct Geralt! The reason more people seek out my competitors is because their reputations are ones built on... RESPECT!"

At this, Gaunter's face turned dark, his eyes cold as the void between worlds.

With a huff, Gaunter pushed himself up from the table and came to a stop within inches of Geralt's face, his eyes narrowed to slits, his teeth sharp and pointed while his voice was dark and filled with anger.

"When you played me for a fool and cost me Olgierd' soul, you tarnished my reputation Geralt. You showed others that I could be duped, that for all my power and knowledge, I could still be bested by a lowly mortal such as yourself. Oh make no mistake Geralt, your quite the remarkable little mortal, but a mortal none the less." Gaunter hissed as he reached out towards Geralt's face as if to grab and crush it before his fingers stopped within centimeters of the frozen Witcher's face.

Stepping back, Gaunter took a deep breath and closed his eyes, the darkness in his face fading and the air warming again as the being's rage subsided.

"You see Geralt, when a merchant of my standing gains the reputation of a fool, someone that can be tricked and bested by a mere mortal, well believe it or not, people tend to find that merchant untrustworthy. After all, how can someone grant you your hearts desire if you're known far and wide as a fool? Would you trust the court jester to repair and improve your armor? To sharpen your sword? To brew your potions?" Gaunter asked.

Geralt's response was silence as he continued to stare ahead.

"Now I know what your thinking Geralt, that doesn't make sense. Folks would prefer to deal with a being such as myself if he can be bested, after all, what fool would make a deal with one that is known far and wide to make you regret your wishes to in turn play YOU for the fool?" Gaunter said with a shrug before he wagged his finger at the Witcher "Funny, isn't it? How humans, elves, dwarves and what have you would willingly barter with one that can play them for the fool rather then the other way around."

Again Geralt made no reply, much to Gaunter's amusement as he walked towards then around the Witcher towards the cabin window and stared out at the mist covered isle.

"Which brings me here, Geralt. If I'm to salvage my reputation and maintain my place on the competitive market of wish granting and dealing, I need to repair it, before my rivals fill the void I left when my standing among them fell. And to do such a thing, I must let any and all know that one does not make a fool of Gaunter O'Dimm, and walk away scott free." Gaunter said as he turned to look at the back of Geralt with a pitying look "And I shall start by denying YOU what you wished all so dearly for. Ciri."

Once more, Geralt was as silent as the grave, casuing Gaunter to click his tongue in response.

"Oh don't look at me like that Geralt, I'm not going to kill her. I'm a great many things, but I'm not so black of heart that I'd kill your daughter in front of you like some deprived beast." Gaunter said with a shake of his head as he returned his gaze towards the mist covered isle outside "If anything, I'm honoring her... to a extent. I plan to gift her to a great and mighty king. The King in Black, though calling him a king at the moment might be a bit much. Perhaps prince? Hmm, yes, the Black Prince does have a ring to it."

In a blink of an eye, Gaunter was standing next to Geralt, scrutinizing his appearance with a frown. Had the Witcher been able to move, he wouldn't have hesitated to try and take the being's head, but alas all he could do was stare ahead, frozen.

Listening.

Gaunter grinned as he reached out and tucked a few strands of Geralt's hair out of the way "Under normal circumstances I think you would've like this King in Black that Ciri will be meeting soon. True, his very existence is a literal bane to the Gods themselves but aside from that I think he's a rather charming fellow. Bit of a temper perhaps, and so easily lost in his mind, but aren't all the great ones?"

Suddenly a deep chill entered the room, casuing Gaunter to raise a brow and glance towards the window as flakes of snow and ice began to filter in. Curious, the Merchant of Mirrors approached and peered outside to see what it was that caused such a drastic change. For a moment, Gaunter saw nothing, then, slowly emerging from the cloud bank that surrounded the isle, amongst frozen chunks of water and snow, a massive demonic looking warship with three large masts, each flying a large black sail.

Naglfar, the warship of the Wild Hunt, had arrived.

"Ahh... they're finally here." Gaunter said as he took in the appearance of the Wild Hunt's vessel "I was beginning to think they'd show up."

Turning back to Geralt's still frozen form, he gave the Witcher a grin that could freeze fire itself "Forgive me Geralt, but Ciri and I must take our leave, but do not fret, I shall release you once we're gone. Who knows, perhaps you'll achieve the impossible and actually track your Ciri down again."

And with that, Gaunter walked past Geralt and picked Ciri's still form up into his arms and proceeded to pass by Geralt again and walk out of the cabin without giving the Witcher another glance.

Gaunter hadn't made three feet from the cabin when several portals suddenly opened around him and the dark warriors of the Wild Hunt emerged, armed with wicked swords', spears and axes. Behind them trailed their monstrous Hounds, beasts forged with magic from ice and tooth and claw, growling and snarling. The Wild Hunt spoke to one another in the elven language of Ellylon, made to sound all the more brutal then it actually was thanks to the Hunt's enchanted armor, altering their voices to sound deeper and darker then they really were.

"My, my, you Aen Elle sure do know how to put on a rather impressive performance. and they say the arts are dead amongst your kind these days." Gaunter chuckled as he stepped further away from the cabin and towards the Wild Hunt before a ball of magical energy and ice struck the ground in front of him.

The Wild Hunt warriors barked at Gaunter in their language, assuming he couldn't understand their tongue and thus spoke of petty threats and insults to him along with demands to hand over his temporary charge. The Merchant of Mirrors paid them no heed, instead his attention was drawn to a new portal opening up behind the line of elves before him. From the portal emerged three of the Wild Hunt in armor more distinctive then the rest, one of whom towered over all present and wielded an equally large shield and mace. One of the newcomers, in armor more distinguished then all present and had his helm molded into a fashion on to a crown, stepped forward and spoke in a dark, harsh voice that would leave a lesser man quivering in fear.

"Give her to me." the Elf demanded as his riders slowly began to encircle Gaunter, their wicked spears, axes and swords at the ready while the hounds of the Wild Hunt growled and hissed beside them.

"Hmm..." Gaunter sounded as he quirked his head from side to side before shaking it, a small grin on his face "No, I don't believe I will, uh, Eredin was it? You see, I have need of her still and well, giving her to you to use for your own purposes is rather counter productive to my over all end goal. Perhaps when my work is complete and she's still alive. By that point I doubt she'll give you too much trouble. Poor thing may be too broken to offer up much resistance."

Of course, if things pan out as he hopes, it won't be HER that the King of the Wild Hunt and his men will have to contend with when they find Ciri again and attempt to take her.

Eredin growled at Gaunter before he raised his sword and pointed it at the man and Ciri "Kill him, and bring me the girl."

The warriors of the Wild Hunt began to approach Gaunter, casuing the merchant to sigh.

"I so very rarely give into my more base nature, such things are unbecoming of a merchant of my standing and reputation, but I suppose I can be forgiven in this instance." Gaunter shook his head as he kneeled down and placed Ciri gently on the ground, taking a moment to brush some strands of her hair out of her face and to retrieve the sword on her back "Pardon me my dear, I shan't be but a minute."

Standing back up, Gaunter's eyes were now black and filled with an unspeakable evil that caused the Hounds of the Wild Hunt to whimper and cower back. Several of the Riders of the Hunt glanced at the mystical beasts in confusion before they shrugged and continued to approach Gaunter as he slowly looked around at all of them while stabbing Ciri's blade into the ground beside him.

"Many see you as wraiths. Specters even." Gaunter stated, his voice devoid of any and all feeling "Many of you will be just that after today, while the rest... will be wishing they died with you."

With that, Gaunter brought up his hands and clapped.

Once.

...

Geralt didn't know how long he had stood there, frozen, unable to move, unable to speak.

He could do nothing... except listen to the screams, howls and cries of the Wild Hunt outside the cabin as they and their mystical hounds were killed by either Gaunter, or whatever creatures he might've summoned to fight the other worldly elves. Sounds of ice being shattered, armor crushed and flesh being torn echoed through the doorway and window into the cabin, while faint tremors shook some of the shelves filled with bottles, vials and jugs, some of which wobbled towards the edge and fell to the floor, shattering.

Geralt held no love for the Wild Hunt, not after everything that's happened, but even he couldn't help but feel pity for whatever it was that was happening to them outside. As a Witcher, he's come across his fair share of horror, be it caused by monsters or man, but what he was hearing now, something about it all was different. He couldn't quite explain it, not in a way that made sense to any but himself, but whatever was happening to the Wild Hunt, the torment they were experiencing, wasn't meant to be afflicted upon mortals.

Then just as suddenly as the screams started, they stopped, and Geralt found himself stumbling forward as he regained control of his body. Not wasting a second, Geralt turned and rushed towards the door, drawing his steel sword. The Witcher had just fashioned a quick protective should with the sign Quen when he emerged from the cabin to see the result of Gaunter's fight with the Wild Hunt.

"Holy shit..." Geralt muttered with wide eyes as he scanned the area, taking in the broken ground, torn trees, shattered pillars of ice, and over twenty mutilated bodies of the Wild Hunt.

Armor broken and torn, their hounds innards scattered across the ground and seeping into the soil and the black armored mounts of the specter riders reduced to piles of smoldering flesh. But it was the warriors of the Hunt themselves that shook Geralt to his core, or rather, the states he found them all in. Their bodies were all floating in the air, perfectly straight, with their arms clasped tightly to their sides as if at attention. The armor for some of the elves looked to have been tightened to the point it crushed it's wearer within and blood and flesh had begun to seep through the gaps in the metal. Others, their bodies were so broken and torn to pieces, Geralt knew it was either some sort of magic or even Gaunter's dark will that was keeping them roughly whole and not a pile of flesh on the ground.

Scattered around the area were pieces of what the Witcher could only assume were the hounds the Wild Hunt loved to employ.

Tightening his grip on his sword, Geralt stepped away from the cabin and scanned his surroundings for signs of Gaunter or any surviving Wild Huntsmen. The ones he could see and positively identify all seemed to be low ranking warriors, none of Eredin's lieutenants who stood out from the rest of the riders with their uniquely stylized armor, or even the elven king himself. Though it was entirely possible that Geralt wouldn't recognize them if they were one of several bodies so mutilated, that Gaunter didn't bother to use whatever power he utilizes to keep them together as he had some of the others.

Stopping in the middle of the small clearing, surrounded by the floating bodies of Wild Hunt riders, Geralt closed his eyes and reached out with his senses to see if he'd be able to possibly hear or smell Ciri or Gaunter. At this rate, the Witcher would take a still living rider of the Wild Hunt, someone he could gleam any sort of information out of-

"Behind you."

Geralt turned in a span of a heartbeat, his sword at the ready to either attack or defend himself from whatever had managed to sneak up on him, despite his superhuman senses. There, standing several meters away, without even so much as a spec of dirt on him, was Gaunter with Ciri's sword held casually in his hand. Geralt's eyes darted around Gaunter and the immediate area around the powerful being before he spoke in a grim tone as he leveled his sword at the supernatural merchant.

"Where is she?" Geralt demanded.

Gaunter hummed at Geralt's question before he grinned and waved off the Witcher's displeasure "Oh fret naught Geralt, she's perfectly safe where she is. After seeing to Eredin's riders, I dropped Ciri off with someone that will make a few... adjustments to her, can't have her slip away once she wakes up. Oh no, no, no, I have plans for the 'Lady of Space and Time'."

"If you've hurt her-" Geralt began before his body suddenly froze and he found himself hovering upside down before Gaunter, who still had the faintly amused smirk on his face.

"Geralt, your far too human, mutations aside, to be making any sort of threats to someone of my stature." Gaunter chided the Witcher before he held up Ciri's sword and gave it a once over "A pity I need to leave this, such a remarkable sword. I know quite a few individuals that would love to gain ownership of this, but alas, it's not mine to give up."

And with that, Gaunter threw Ciri's sword over his shoulder, unconcerned with where it landed and refocused his attention on the Witcher.

"I'm taking her, Geralt. Somewhere far from here, from you, and Eredein's men. Make no mistake, this isn't a kindness I'm doing her. Where I plan to take her, she will be hurt, she will be betrayed, she will be hunted. Bust most of all, she will love, be loved and it shall all be taken from her by whom she loves dearest." Gaunter explained as he began to circle Geralt's upside-down, frozen form "Now I have no doubt you'll eventually find her again, your rather remarkable in pulling off what many would consider to be impossible, but know this, when you find her again, she will be lost to you forever. The King in Black isn't one to part with those he perceives to be his."

Gaunter then came to a stop in front of Geralt's face and frowned at the man with a look of pity as he reached out and brushed some frost that had started to accumulate on the underside of the Witcher's chin.

"Until we meet again Geralt of Rivia." Gaunter said as he stepped back and suddenly vanished.

No flash of light, no rippling affect in the air, no portal, just... gone, as if he was never there to begin with.

Geralt grunted as he suddenly fell and hit the partially frozen, blood soaked ground in a undignified fashion. The Witcher quickly scrambled back to his feet and hastily looked around for any signs of Gaunter or Ciri, but all the Witcher saw was a clearing littered with the corpses of the Wild Hunt. With a grunt, Geralt returned his sword to it's scabbard on his back and looked down at Ciri's blade with a mixture of sadness and anger.

Sadness at being so close to finally reuniting with her, and anger for her being snatched away again.

"I'll find you... I promise." Gerat whispered as he kneeled down and grabbed the handle of Ciri's sword.

Steeling himself to the massive undertaking he was about to embark on, Geralt's grip on the sword handle tightened until the skin of his knuckles nearly split and he rose to his feet. He'll find where she was taken to and save her from whatever Gaunter is planning, even if he had to travel to the very ends of creation itself to do it.

And he'll kill Gaunter for what he's done, he doesn't know how, but he'll find a way.

...

Elsewhere...

...

Whatever it was that merchant did to Peter, whatever it was that strange man in that strange place injected into him like a viper when he bit him, it made just about all animals scared of him.

When the Khalasar was first preparing to head out, a horse was brought to him to ride, but the beast quickly backed away and screamed in fear, bucking it's legs at Peter as if he were some kind of monster. Dogs would whimper and growl whenever he walked too close and he swears that even bugs like flies avoided him. Because of this, Peter's had to walk with the various slaves the Dothraki had for the past week, which did little to endure them to him, regardless of his close relationship with their new Khaleesi. One positive thing about it was that the slaves were at least interesting to talk to, at least the ones that could speak the Common Tongue of Westeros.

And would talk to him.

The rest kept to themselves, either because they didn't understand Peter or because they feared him given that dogs, horses, bugs, and even birds wanted nothing to do with him and was likely cursed. It also didn't help he's since covered himself from head to toe in a black hooded cloak he found on one of the wagons being pulled by some mares and his pale skin made him look like some sort of wraith in their eyes. He didn't want to wear the hooded cloak, caused him to sweat with how much the sun was beating down on him covered from head to toe, but ever since he emerged from Illyrio's dungeon, the very light of the sun irritated him to the point he just had to cover up completely. He didn't feel like he was burning whenever his skin was exposed to it, but it still bothered him in a way he couldn't quite explain other then it wasn't great and he wanted out of it.

When the Khalasar stopped for the night, Peter would shed the cloak once the sun was fully set and he'd instantly feel ten times better then he had all day. Then the sun would rise, and horde would resume it's journey and Peter will have to cover himself back up and start walking all over again.

"Ugh, how far is this place we're going to again?" Peter asked no one in particular as the Khalasar continued it's march through the Flatlands.

For days now all he's had to look at was the vast open fields and plains of the Flatlands, and Peter was quickly growing bored of the seldom differing landscape. He actually got a little excited when he saw some magister's estate on the horizon yesterday, but that excitement quickly died an hour later. If Peter knew what a bore this journey would be, he'd have strongly considered staying in Pentos, he'd at least have his ship construction to keep him busy.

'Really hope Illyrio follows my designs to the letter.' Peter thought with a frown as he looked over his shoulder and back towards the direction he knew Pentos to vaguely be in 'I swear if I eventually make it back, and I find he's cut corners, I'm telling Viserys.'

Beggar King might not be so thrilled to hear the ships that were meant to be his armada for when he sails for Westeros being sabotaged and decide to make his displeasure felt. It might even get Peter back into his good graces after that night, though something told Peter that nothing short of offering him the Usurper's head will.

With a shake of his head, Peter reached up to adjust the hood of his cloak, the light breeze rolling through the grassland had moved it in such a way some of the sun was touching his cheek "Damn sun, why'd you have to start being a bother now of all times?"

Maybe he shouldn't have stolen that Priestess of R'hllor's ring and try to pawn it off to some merchant for some loaves of bread back when he and the Targaryen's lived in Norvos. Could be the priestess prayed to her Lord of Light to get revenge on him and the God's been waiting for the perfect time to get back at him for it. With another grumble, Peter pulled the hood down a bit too hard and felt and heard a ripping sound from somewhere at the base of his neck.

"Oh great, now I need a new one." Peter sighed as he could feel a slight irritation on the back of his neck, it seems the tear was big enough for some sunlight to creep through and touch his exposed skin.

"Here you are."

Peter blinked as a dark sheet was tossed on to him, covering his entire head briefly until he reached up to adjust it so that he could see again. Peter looked around to see who had threw the sheet at him and found himself walking next to a rather large, chestnut colored horse with dozens of small white scars dotting it's body. Swallowing nervously, Peter's eyes slowly drifted towards the horse's back to see a beautiful silver haired woman was riding on a finely made black saddle with a short sword sheathed in a leather scabbard of some sort, attached to the side of the saddle's side.

"Uhh..." Peter sounded as he stared at the woman's face, who in turn was grinning at him "T-Thank you."

"You are most welcome." the woman nodded, casuing Peter to blush as he quickly turned away from the smiling woman and went about adjusting the added fabric to cover the tear he made earlier.

Peter's heard that a silver haired woman leading a mercenary company had joined the Khalasar on it's journey, but he never thought he'd actually meet her. Nor did he think that she'd be as beautiful as the rumors claimed her to be, if not more so. It also didn't help she was dressed in a long black, wool dress with slits on the sides, exposing her legs covered in faded brown boots that reached up to her knees. He's heard that those with the blood of of Valyria stood apart from most, their beauty was often said to be near unnatural. Dany while young was incredibly beautiful, so much so that even a blind man could tell, and would likely grow even more so over the next few years while even Viserys has on occasion been called beautiful.

But this Silver woman, something about her beauty was different, almost surreal in a sense.

'Maybe her family didn't intermarry with non-Valyrians as much as the Targaryens' had to.' Peter thought as the Khalasar continued it's trek through the Flatlands.

At several points Peter had looked up ahead to see if he could spot Dany on her horse, it was one of the nicest ones in the horde and white, so it wouldn't be that hard, but all he saw was some thousands of brown, black and grey mounts. He'd even tried looking back to see if he could spot her but only saw much the same, though with the added carts being pulled by older horses or mules, and thousands of slaves walking on foot, carrying all manner of things from sacks or baskets of food, to poles of wood used to set up tents, make repairs on carts, or for whatever 'primitive' structures the Dothraki need for... whatever their intent is.

"Your the Khaleesi's friend, are you not? Why weren't you not offered a horse like her brother and even her handmaiden were?" Silver suddenly asked, casuing Peter to look back towards her.

"Hmm? Oh, no, I was offered. Just every one brought to me didn't wanna be near me is all." Peter said with a shrug "Won't hold it against them though, was never a big fan of horses to begin with. I am surprised to see your horse isn't acting up around me like all of theirs were though."

The other mounts the Dothraki offered him would all rear up, screech and neigh and kick at him if he got too close, as if he were some sort of predator. But Lady Silver's seemed docile enough, in fact it seemed more interested in whatever it was eating in that sack tied to it's face then him.

"It's most likely the bag." Silver gestured towards the sack covering the nose and mouth of her mount "The bag is soaked in very potent oils and pastes and filled with a mixture of nuts for him to eat. It's a trick an old lieutenant of mine showed me back when my company had armored Camal riders amongst the ranks. Keeps the horses distracted from any scents that might bother them and feeds them at the same time."

"Clever." Peter said.

"It is, though he won't be able to smell any predators because if it. But I doubt any will bother a Khalasar this big." Silver said as she settled back into her saddle "I'll look for a horse for you later and give you a bag for it. Won't have to walk with the rest of the rabble."

"I appreciate the offer, my lady, but I'll be fine with walking." Peter said as he glanced down at the now mud and dust caked boots he was offered before they left Pentos "I like walking if I'm being honest. Used to do a lot of that before Lord Illyrio found us, me, Daenerys and Viserys I mean. About, two, three years ago? Anyway, me, Dany and Viserys had to walk from Norvos to Myr."

Silver looked mildly impressed by this "Quite the journey to make on foot for ones so young."

"Oh it was." Peter nodded with a wince at the memory of said journey "We traveled with a merchant caravan for some of it. About week into it though, Viserys found out that they were planning to kill him and me and sell Dany off to some slaver from Meereen they were meeting in Myr. So, that night, we snuck away and spent the better part of a month wandering the wilds. We nearly starved, Dany nearly died from eating some berries we came across by a small pond, and I ended up dislocating my wrist at one point when I tripped and fell."

Peter held up the wrist that was dislocated and gave it a small shake when Silver leaned in to see it.

"It's a lot better now. A month ago it'd sometimes start to hurt when it's about to rain. But now? It's like it never happened in the first place." Peter said as he lowered his arm "Pretty nice I think."

He was certain the reason for that, along with several other physical ailments he was suffering from, had been fixed by... whatever it was he was infected with. He could see better then before, farther too, and he felt stronger. Even now after walking for the better part of a day he still felt like he could keep going, unlike some of the slaves around him. Though to be fair, he wasn't being forced to carry things like so many of the slaves around him were, so perhaps he shouldn't be boasting that he could keep going when all he's had to do is carry himself. He also isn't beaten by the Dothraki for one reason or another like he's seen some slaves that were either walking too slow or because the passing rider was bored and wanted to hit someone.

"Hmm..." Silver sounded as she leaned back up in her saddle "I heard you were thinner up until recently, is this true?"

"It is." Peter nodded.

"How'd you grow so much so quickly?" Silver gestured to Peter's body.

Peter thought about it for a moment before answering "Great question. I... have no idea, but I'm not complaining too much. Daenerys has always said I was too thin to be normal. She thinks I didn't get enough to eat despite eating as much if not more then her."

Silver chuckled at this "Well, it seems all that food has finally caught up with you."

"Maybe." Peter shrugged.

The two continued on, Silver making occasional comments to something they see or hear while Peter would try to spot Dany through the mass of horses and people. Not that he wasn't enjoying his time with Lady Silver, in fact he found her to be a breath of fresh air considering that all he really has to talk to on these long marches is the slaves around him or himself. But ever since the Khalasar began it's journey to the Dothraki holy city, the name currently escaping him, he hasn't seen much of Dany, even when the horde stops for the night. He saw Viserys want, and all the King in exile did was scowl at Peter before he turned and went... somewhere, most likely to his tent, or whatever slave girl caught his interest.

'Hmm, maybe I can try looking for Doreah tomorrow.' Peter thought before Silver glance down at him from her saddle.

"Where do you come from?" she asked with a curious expression "Your from Westeros, but I'm curious as to which kingdom. The Reach?"

"Riverlands." Peter corrected the Valyrian beauty with a sheepish smile "I grew in a small fishing village on the coast of Ironman's Bay. Wasn't very large, probably a hundred people lived in and around it in total, if that."

"Any family?" Silver questioned.

"Only child I'm afraid. Mother died giving birth to me, and my father did his best to try and raise me on his own with the help of my Aunt and Uncle, the latter of whom was my father's older brother." Peter answered.

"Doesn't sound so terrible. Good number of men and women out there often times find themselves raising a child alone with no family to help." Silver stated.

"Or they find themselves wishing they didn't have a family there from the start." Peter said with a grim chuckle "My Aunt, she never liked my father for some reason. Probably because he slept with one of the tavern wrenches she and my uncle employed, the prettiest one I'm told, which in turn cost her life birthing his child... and quite a bit of coin too since so many men in the village liked how my mom looked. Gods be good, they never held that against me, at least far as I could remember."

"Your Aunt and Uncle owned a tavern?" Silver asked with interest.

Peter nodded at this "Yes, well technically it was an inn and it belonged to my Uncle. A gift from my great-grandfather to my grandfather father who in turn passed it down to my Uncle. Apparently my grandfather was a bastard of some Blackwood, and some foreign girl that was a handmaiden to some noblewoman at Ravenhall. Probably the wife of the previously mentioned Blackwood."

"Ah, so your family came from a well off Riverland family, hmm?" Silver teased.

"I guess. It's where my father and uncle got the last name Parker from. Apparently their father was given one by his father because... hmm, can't remember, but it had something to do with a deep park near Ravenhall I think, and I guess Lord whoever-Blackwood wanted his bastards to stand apart from the common folk's bastards." Peter said with a thoughtful look on his face before he shrugged "Anyway, my own father died when I was five, fever took him, and raising me fell to my Aunt and Uncle for a time. My Aunt wanted me to one day take over the inn, while my Uncle wanted me to be sent to the Citadel in Oldtown, allow me to become a Maester. Said I was too smart to waste away running a inn in the middle of nowhere. He didn't want me to end up like him and my father, stuck in some back corner of the world, wasting away."

"Well, seeing as you are here now, and from my conversations with Illyrio in regards to how you came into the company of the Targaryens, I take it things didn't go as planned." Silver pointed out.

At this, Peter shot Silver a confused look "What are you talking about? This is par for the course in becoming a Maester I discovered. Getting captured by Ironborn Reavers, sold off in Essos, it's part of a new course the Maesters want their initiates to undergo. Bit radical, but I'm told it produces fairly worldly intellectuals, if they survive to the end."

Silver giggled at this "Ah, my mistake. So tell me, Lord Parker, how goes your course?"

"Well, failing miserably, but I'm alive still, so something's being done right." Peter responded with a snort "Also, not a lord. I'm from a line of bastards, so any notions of me being anything more than that are about as unlikely as a block of ice surviving being thrown into a vat of boiling water."

"I've heard tales of plenty of bastards in the Seven Kingdoms rising to prominence. Lordships included." Silver said as she looked at Peter with an appraising look "And being as... close, as you are to the Targaryens, one of whom will one day sit upon the Iron Throne, lands and titles might be in your future. Perhaps you'll be granted Ravenhall?"

"Oh that I doubt, immensely." Peter said with a grim chuckle "Especially after... the other night."

There was no way Viserys was ever going to let him gain any sort of Lord status after what nearly happened. Except probably... lord of being dead in the ground.

"Perhaps I can speak to Viserys, get him to change his mind." Silver shrugged as she peered at an unspecific point behind her "He can't be that hard to convince."

"Clearly you've yet to talk to him. He's as stubborn as they come." Peter sighed.

"I can be... persuasive." Silver said with a wink, casuing Peter's face to heat.

Peter didn't doubt that.

...

And done.

Next chapter, Lust...

answers to reviewers' questions or statements:

Zhorvak: Norman has a bit of a reputation, but it's not as bad as others in the world of Westeros.

Jebest4781: It won't be pleasant, but it won't be complete hell all the time.

Spiraling Fan 3128: Ahh, your one of those kinds of reviewers that need to be right, no matter what, because somehow you always are and it's the writers who are always wrong. Gotcha. Well, your wrong of course, you're ironically the one who doesn't know what he's talking about, but I recognize your need to be right so I'll let you be if it helps you cope :)

Anime007: For now this one.

Guest: Dany hasn't seen anything yet in regards to Peter's newfound abilities. Especially once Peter starts to get... creative.

uzu i-sa: Oh, Peter's development with his new powers will eventually become a source of tension for some.

War Sage: Peter will adapt in good and bad ways to his new abilities. Some will be a benefit to him, others, a detriment.

Angeyapy8507: I took a few down yes.

Lion Assaulter: When I feel this story has progressed far enough along to take a short break from it. Don't know when that'll be though.

Frosty Wolf: You're right in that Dany and Drogo will not be close in this, mainly because Dany's feelings are for Peter, and because the night of their wedding was more brutal for Dany, which in turn only deepened her hate for Drogo and to an extent, her brother.

jiubantai taicho: So your saying Dany being sold off to a warlord by her brother to be raped makes her a worthless whore for Peter. You aren't bothered by the fact she's raped, literally said the act itself didn't disgust you, just that her being with anyone else after the fact is what's disgusting. Huh, really showed your true colors there :(

ShatteredPrime1994: Yeah, I felt the original story was too light hearted and thought 'fuck that' and give the new one a much darker tone. Oh, Viserys will get his due. In fact, what I have planned for him shall be very fitting given his character. A fate worse then death you could say. A bit of never ending nightmare as it were.