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Kneeling before the raging inferno before her with her head held low in reverence of the flames, Melisandre, Priestess of R'hllor, ignored the cries of sacrifice in the flames as she focused her sight into the deepest recesses of the flames, searching for a sign from the one true god. But even as the sacrifice expired and the flames began to dim, no vision from the great lord came to her. But while many might be disheartened, she was not. No, she was elated.
Nearly a full moon's turn ago during a similar such offering to the one true god, she had been blessed with a vision. A vision of the future and of the dangers that lay ahead not only for her and the followers of R'hllor, but for all men. The Great Enemy had awoken from its long slumber. And without the great hero, R'hllor's chosen champion Azor Ahai to stand against it, the world of men would fall. But as R'hllor preached, the night was dark and full of terrors, but there was still hope to be had. And she had seen that hope. Azor Ahai had been reborn! She could not see his face, but her god had gifted her with the knowledge of his rebirth, and of the trials that both his chosen champion and she would have to endure before the Great Enemy could be defeated.
She had seen that the champion would be reborn amongst salt and smoke, and in a land far from the blessed darkness of Asshai. A land where one can travel from the heat of the summer years to the coldest of the winter and never leave the land. And there was only one such land that she knew that fit such a description. Westeros. A land of recent turmoil, but also a land where many tales of the Great Other were said to originate. It was there that she would find the chosen champion of R'hllor. Unfortunately, it would also be the land where she would find…him. The so-called 'Northern Sorcerer'.
Ever since that man had made his existence known, his mere presence had caused multiple rifts to form amongst the true faith. There were a good many amongst R'hllor's faithful that thought the man to either be a prophet or even a direct agent of R'hllor. After all, how could he use a blade of frozen fire or work his magic if not with R'hllor's blessing to aid him? There were others though that were convinced that he was not an agent of R'hllor, but rather a false prophet, and that his acts of magic were mere sleight of hand or perhaps similar to the warlocks of Qarth. Then there were others like herself, who unfortunately represented the smallest number of the faithful, that recognized the man for what he truly was. An agent of the Great Enemy, a Deceiver. And he was why Azor Ahai Reborn needed herself, or one of the faithful, at his side. For only they, the blessed by R'hllor, hoped to stand a chance against the Deceiver.
Rising from her prostration on the floor before the great pyre, Melisandre cast one final glance towards the dying flames and the still burning corpse within, thanking the man for his sacrifice in service to the great R'hllor, before turning her back and leaving the sacrificial chamber. "Did R'hllor bless you with another vision sister? Or perhaps the sacrifice wasn't to R'hllor's liking?"
Slowing her pace, Melisandre didn't need to turn to see who it was that was waiting for her. She would know her Priestess-sister anywhere. "Kinvara," she replied in greeting. Like all the other Priestess in service to R'hllor, Kinvara wore a dark red dress in honor of the one true god. The only piece that set her apart from the other Priestess was the gold neckless with the large red stone in the center, much the same as the one Melisandre wore around her own neck. "The sacrifice was sufficient. But R'hllor did not bless me with his sight. He had no need to do so as he has already shown me what I need to do."
Her words were the truth. While many would be disappointed to not receive R'hllors blessing after such an offering, Melisandre was not. To her, not receiving any sight from the one true god only meant one thing. That he had already given her what she needed. And that it was time for her to do her part in his great plan. "Your vision," Kinvara replied flatly.
While she loved Kinvara as her fellow Priestess-sister and devotee of R'hllor, Melisandre couldn't help but feel anger at her oldest friend for not seeing the truth as she had. Kinvara truly believed that the Deceiver was in fact an agent of R'hllor, perhaps even Azor Ahai himself. And she would entertain no notion that did not adhere to this belief. "We have talked of your vision sister, many times at length. And just because you have interpreted what you saw a certain way, that does not mean that it is what R'hllor truly meant. You, above all others, should know that R'hllor's visions are never as simple as they seem."
Kinvara was right. The visions of R'hllor were never simple. But her Priestess-sister was wrong about her vision. The vision that Melisandre had been blessed with was, albeit clouded at times, but it was clear. Azor Ahai would be reborn amongst smoke and salt and he would wield Lightbringer, shining brighter than ever, against the darkness. But there was more to her vision than just R'hllor's Chosen. She saw a figure cloaked in darkness whisper in the ears of a beast, a wolf, earning it's trust and offering gifts, only to betray the wolf as the darkness descended upon the land. She saw two figures wielding blades of fire; one living and one frozen, locked in combat against one another. The living fire was Lightbringer, there was no doubt in her mind on that. And there was only one she knew that wielded frozen fire. And what was more, the darkness whispering to the wolf, offering it gifts only to betray it? She'd had her doubts before that vision, but now she knew for certain. The Sorcerer was no prophet of R'hllor, nor an agent of any other false deity. He was a Deceiver sent by the Great Other to destroy Azor Ahai. And that was something that she—no, that the world of men—could not allow. It was just a shame that so few of her brethren believed her. But they would, in time.
"I know what I have seen, sister. And R'hllor has not corrected my interpretation of the visions he granted me," Melisandre replied evenly as she began walking towards her chambers so that she could begin preparing for the long journey ahead. "And perhaps, sister, you should consider the idea that your interpretation of my vision is merely what you want, and not what the one true god desires."
Kinvara kept her chin held high and her face impassive, but Melisandre had known her long enough to know the unease that rested just beneath the surface of her calm façade. "I cannot talk you out of this path it seems," Kinvara sighed as they approached her chambers. "Then it is here that we part ways, sister. For I cannot walk the path that you have set upon. Not when I know that, while you believe this to be a path set to you by R'hllor, it is not the true path. I wish you good fortune, sister, for this is a path you will be walking alone."
"I am never alone," Melisandre commented, turning towards her Priestess-sister and idly touching the ruby at her neck. "R'hllor stands with me. And in his light, I shall know no darkness."
High in the Tower of the Sun of Sunspear, Jon Stark stood stock still in mild shock as he stared down at the letter in his hands. Being a bastard, even if he was only one for his own protection, Jon had understood at a very young age that many of the options that would be awarded, even handed, to his siblings would be forever denied to him. The one thing that he knew would be forever denied to him would be marriage. As a bastard, his best hope would perhaps be to marry a fellow bastard, or not even marry at all. Even during his time with Arianne, he had been half expecting to one day have his heart broken by hearing that she was betrothed to another. After all, as his father had often told Jon and his siblings, as a noble they had expectations upon them that were not on those beneath their station, such as the available choices of their future husbands or wives. And Arianne as a Princess of Dorne and its future ruler…her hand was one that was highly sought after. And now…
"Jon? Are you going to stand there collecting flies all day? Or are you going to say something?"
Shaking his head, Jon tried to collect himself as he tore his eyes away from the small but life-changing scroll in his hands, and up to the dark-haired beauty standing before him. Arianne, the Princess of Dorne and its future ruler, was staring at him, her hands held in front of herself. She was calm on the surface, but he had known her long enough, and well enough, to tell that she was nervous. The tightness around her eyes. The slight rubbing of her hands together. Gods, why was she so uncertain? If anything, he should be the one nervous and anxious, not her. "Arianne…this is…gods," he breathed, still not entirely sure how to give his thoughts voice. "Is this…Is this what you truly wish for?"
Arianne's face twisted as she gave him a skeptical look, as if trying to figure out if he was saying what he was actually saying. "By the gods, you actually do doubt that this is what I want," she breathed. Stepping up to him, she roughly grabbed his tunic and pulled him down, sealing her mouth to his in a searing kiss. "Does that…answer your question, Jon Stark of Winterfell?"
"I…gods… This is really happening? Isn't it?" he asked, more to himself than her. "We're…Our families…We're betrothed."
Arianne smiled in his arms. "Yes, Jon, this is real. And it's happening."
Smiling with her, Jon lowered his head and fully intended on continuing what she had started, but he was pulled up short as a groan sounded from the bed nearby. "By the gods…If ya two are gonna have a celebratory fuck, do so somewhere else! I'm tryin to sleep here!"
Tilting his head so that he and Arianne were touching foreheads, Jon glanced sideways towards Ygritte, who was laying sprawled out naked as the day she was born across Arianne's…well…their bed. "You are more than welcome to join us, Ygritte," Arianne smiled, but Ygritte just waved her off.
"It's too hot to fuck," she murmured, laying her head back down amongst the silken sheets. "An ye two wore me out last night. And I don't get what yer celebratin for anyway. We already stole each other, what do some words muttered by some old fuck mean anyway?"
"It's tradition, Ygritte," Jon answered, still holding Arianne in his arms, partially because he was afraid that should he let her go, then this wonderful dream he was experiencing would fade.
"Traditions that you will need to start learning, Ygritte," Arianne said pointedly, removing herself from Jon's embrace, but keeping a firm hold on his arm. "After all, it wouldn't do for the paramour of the Princess and Prince Consort of Dorne to not follow traditions and local customs."
Ygritte sighed, dropping her head heavily onto the pillow. "Fuck…ya mean I gotta learn all yer noble shite to stay with ya now?"
"Some, yes," Arianne nodded with a smile. "You won't be…held to the same standard as Jon and I. But a certain amount of proper decorum will be expected from you. And while that might not seem appealing to you, it does come with certain benefits."
Ygritte lifted her head off the silk sheets and glared at Arianne from under a curtain of red hair. "Like what?"
"Being able to tell others what to do, for starters," Arianne commented. "And being able to continue sharing my and Jon's bed as well."
Ygritte kept her gaze on the two of them for a long while. "Fine," she sighed defeatedly before rising to her feet. "I suppose I can learn a few things. Gods damn…if it wasn't for his cock and yer tongue, I wouldn't even be entertainin the idea of learnin yer noble shite…So, I hope ya two appreciate what I'm doin for ya."
"We appreciate your horrible sacrifice, Ygritte," Jon remarked with a smirk.
"Get dat smirk off yer pretty face, Jon Stark," Ygritte growled. "Ya pretty. But ya ain't that pretty to get away with talkin ta me like that. Now, if ya two are gonna get to fuckin, then I'm gonna go find a nice cold bath to lay in. I swear, I don't know how I'm gonna live in dis fuckin heat!"
"Ygritte!" Jon yelled just as his wildling lover opened the door and stepped outside. "Your clothes!" But he was too late as he heard the door click shut, followed by a shout of surprise from the guards outside, followed by the rushing of feet as said guards no doubt began rushing to give Ygritte something to cover herself with.
Next to him, Arianne began laughing softly, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "And here I thought that my Uncle made life at Sunspear interesting. I can only imagine just how exacerbated the guards and servants will become trying to keep up with both my Uncle and Ygritte's antics. Or how fast my father will lose what is left of his hair."
"Aye," Jon nodded, though thoughts of her father brought his joyous mood down slightly, "Arianne…Does your father…Does he know about…well, me?"
Arianne's mood sobered almost immediately. "He does," she answered honestly before raising a hand to his face and cupping his cheek. "But he knows where I stand, and where you stand, Jon. I've told you many times, whether you remain Jon or Jaehaerys, my place is by your side. Whether as your Princess or as your Queen."
Leaning into her touch, Jon revealed in the sensation of her cool hand against his face. "I don't want to be King, I never have. Not even after I learned the truth of my mother and my…my father. Gods, even just thinking about sitting on the Iron Throne…It's not what I want."
"Some would say that you not wanting to be King would be exactly the reason why you should be King," Arianne said, making him start. "But those people are idiots. The best kings are not the ones who didn't want the throne in the first place, but rather those who honor and respect the power of the throne and rule wisely."
Nodding, Jon wanted nothing more than to loose himself in her. But his mind was still filled with worry over the future. He knew that Dorne had more reason than any to hate the Baratheons and the Lannisters for what happened at the end of the Rebellion, but they had never been able to act because they did not have the support to do so. And now with him betrothed to Arianne, they could gain that support. Not just from the North, but also from those who would go to war to see a Targaryen, even an unwilling one, put back on the throne. One wrong word spoken in an opportunistic ear…and the gods only knew what would happen.
Arianne's cool hand on his cheek pulled him from his thoughts as her dark eyes bore into his. "I told you, Jon, I will protect you from those you cannot see who would seek to use you for their own gain. Even my own family if need be. Because, and I don't know how much longer it'll take for this to sink into your thick Northern skull, but you're worth it."
"I think…I think I might just be starting to believe you, Arianne," he replied softly.
"Good," she said, giving him a smile that held a much different type of warmth. One that he'd come to recognize as one that meant he was not about to get any rest. Not that he minded in the slightest. "Now, I do believe we have some celebrating to do, my betrothed. And without our paramour with us this time, I expect your full and undivided attention."
Smirking, Jon moved quickly, sweeping and arm behind the back of her knees while keeping the other behind her shoulders so that he was carrying her across her room and towards her spacious and soft bed. "As my Princess commands."
Doran Martell was not one to give out praise lightly. So, when he did feel the need the praise someone it wasn't because they'd done what was expected of them, but rather that they exceeded his expectations. But his daughter, his heir unless certain things changed, had well earned his praise this day. To expand her education on ruling, he'd given her the task of sitting in judgement of the 'Darkstar', Ser Gerold Dayne, while he sat from a secluded balcony and watched. When his daughter made her entrance into the audience hall of the Tower of the Sun, Doran had needed to rub his eyes to make sure they weren't playing tricks on him. His daughter had seemingly…blossomed in the span of less than a day. It wasn't her dark purple dress, nor the circlet with a sun and spear upon her brow that made her stand apart from the crowd. Nor was it the ornate string of ringlets she wore on her right hand. But rather, it was just…her. Her presence. Her entire being had changed. Gone was his little girl. And reborn in her place was a woman who very much honored their ancestor, Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar.
But if her mere presence and the way she carried herself wasn't enough to cause more than a few tongues to wag in the main hall, then those accompanying her sure did. His brother's daughters, Tyene and Nymeria, were acting as her handmaidens, walking in fine dresses as befitting their status as bastard daughters of a Prince of Dorne. Walking just behind them was a trio that drew perhaps the most attention. Obara was walking tall and proud, her Valyrian steel sword-spear attached to her back. And next to her were the two Northerners, Jon Stark and Ygritte of the Wildlings. All three were wearing a combination of fine leathers and chainmail with their weapons, while not in hand, were still in clear view and easily accessible. And walking at his daughter's side, or rather her hip, was the oversize albino wolf Ghost, who'd seemed to take his job that day as serious as any experienced guardsman he'd ever seen.
When Arianne had taken her seat upon the dais, her little entourage immediately took up positions around her, with the giant wolf sitting down next to her hand so that she could run her fingers through the fur on his head. The herald quickly called the assembly to order as soon as Arianne was seated, and Ser Gerold was dragged before Arianne in chains and forced to his knees before her. Arianne didn't waste time as she called out the man's name and listed the charges levied against him. Brigandry. Murder. Breaking of his oath to his liege lord and even his own House. After laying out the charges against him, Arianne had then demanded an explanation for his actions.
To the surprise of no one, at least not to those who knew him, the disgraced knight spat on the floor and proceeded to spew forth a string of vile accusations at Arianne and House Martell. About how they'd disgraced themselves by not seeking revenge for what happened during the Usurper's War. How they were all weak and pathetic. And how Arianne was little better than a whore for bedding a 'heathen from the North'. His words held such venom and hatred and were so vile that even Doran was having difficulty keeping himself seated as the urge to kill the man himself grew with each word that spilled from his lips. And he was glad that he'd had the foresight to send his brother out into the city for the day. Otherwise, he was sure that Oberyn would've already had the man impaled on his spear. But to his great surprise, Arianne, and those she'd chosen to stand with her, all stood by passively as they let Gerold spew his vile nonsense. And once he finally ceased, Arianne's only response was a simple 'Is that all?'
When Gerold did not respond, Arianne took her time in responding, her fingers idly dancing across the fur of the great direwolf as she spoke. She spoke of how what happened during the Usurper's War was a tragedy, and any who thought that House Martell had forgotten or forgave what happened was a fool. But Dorne could not move forward if it was constantly looking back. Despite the pain of the past, House Martell and Dorne would remain unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. No matter the tragedies that fell upon them. She then said that all his vile words were but a cover for the true reason he went brigand. He didn't do it to strengthen Dorne or out of some sense of vengeance. No, his acts were spurred by a single simplistic emotion. Jealousy. He wanted Arianne, and she'd spurned his advances in favor of another.
When Gerold made no motion to defend himself against the accusation, Arianne turned her attention from the kneeing man and towards the assembled crowd. She loudly and clearly proclaimed her sentence. For his crimes against the people of Dorne and against his liege Lord, Gerold Dayne was hereby stripped of his title of Knight and was sentenced to death by the hangman's noose. The fate drew no shortage of whispers as Gerold Dayne was led away kicking and screaming, demanding an honorable death. The hangman's noose was a fate usually reserved for simple smallfolk who broke the law. Nobles were executed by beheading, a quick death. By sentencing him to die in such a manner, Arianne was clearly stating that Gerold Dayne was no noble, and that he was no better than a simple commoner who broke the law.
After Gerold Dayne had been escorted out of the hall, Doran had expected his daughter to dismiss the court, but she surprised him. In a move that made him realize his daughter was truly learning how to play the game, she loudly and clearly announced to all those present that Jon Stark, son of Lord Eddard Stark and Apprentice to the Northern Sorcerer, Lord Alim Nox, was as of this day her betrothed and the future Prince Consort of Dorne. And that any action taken against the future Prince Consort or their shared paramour, Ygritte of the Free Folk, would be treated as if they were acts taken against House Martell. While many would think that her words were a warning to any of Dorne who might take issue with the betrothal, Doran knew exactly who she was speaking too. Himself. Arianne had just loudly, and publicly, declared Jon and Ygritte to be part of House Martell. They were family. And family did not put family in danger. 'Clever girl'.
"Prince Doran. Lord Ansel Dayne is here to see you."
"Send him in," Doran called out to his faithful guardian, Areo Hotah as he poured two cups of fine Dornish Red for himself and his guest.
As the door opened, allowing the slightly aging Lord of House Dayne entry to Doran's private solar, Doran took stock of the Lord. The Lord of House Dayne was one who carried far more than the weight of lordship, and it showed. It was understandable of course. His younger brother, the famed Ser Arthur Dayne, was considered perhaps the greatest swordsman and warrior Westeros had ever seen. Plus, his young sister, Ashara Dayne, had long been heralded as one of the greatest beauties of the land. Despite being the elder of the two, Ansel had always lived in the shadows of his two younger siblings. And with their deaths, those shadows had only grown larger.
"Prince Doran," the Lord of House Dayne said, immediately dropping to a knee before him.
"Rise, Lord Dayne, there is no need for that here," he said, motioning for the man to rise and also signaling to Areo that they were not to be disturbed.
"My thanks, my Prince," Lord Ansel nodded, slowly rising to his feet. "Forgive me, my Prince. I fear time is starting to take her toll on my person."
"As she does on us all," Doran nodded, motioning towards the two glasses of wine. "Have a seat and quench your thirst, Lord Dayne."
Nodding, Ansel sat down across from him and picked up the offered cup. Picking up his own cup, Doran eyed the man who was of age with Doran. "I want to start by stating that I, and House Martell, find no reason to hold House Dayne accountable for the actions of Gerold. The man's actions were his own and will remain that way. Provided there are no…repeated sentiments from you and your vassals."
"Of course," Ansel nodded, taking a sip of the wine, "Gerold set off on his own some time ago. His disappearance wasn't out of the norm for him, so I thought nothing of it. Had I known what he'd intended, my Prince…"
"As I said, his actions were his own and will not be held against you or your House, Lord Dayne," Doran said. "And I did not call upon you to speak of Gerold. But rather of something else."
Ansel's head tilted. "What do you wish to speak of, my Prince?"
"Truths," Doran stated evenly, staring directly at the Lord of House Dayne. "Tell me, Lord Dayne, which is the greater truth? The 'truth' that everyone knows? Or the truth that only a few know?"
Ansel blinked, but Doran could see the slightest bit of recognition in the man's eyes. "I…suppose it would depend on the matter of said truth, my Prince."
"Then let us start with the truth of my daughter's betrothed, the future Prince Consort of House Martell, Jon Stark," Doran said, making Ansel start, though the man hid it well. "For example, it is well known by now that his mother is none other than your late sister, Ashara Dayne. The timing does match up well. It is known that she was intimate with the Starks at Harrenhal and that she was heavy with child by the end of the Usurper's War. And that when Lord Stark left Dorne, he made only a single stop at Starfall, and when he was seen next, he had his bastard son, Jon, with him. The tale has spread and has become truth, and you have not refuted that 'truth' yet either. Despite the seeming dishonor it brings upon your late sister. Yet, we both know that this is but a truth that everyone knows. And not the truth that only a few know."
There was no need for Doran to elaborate further as Ansel set his glass down. "In this instance, my Prince…I believe the truth would be the one that does not bring pain and suffering to the people. Which is why I have accepted this…truth."
"And I am of a similar mind," Doran replied, clearly to the surprise of Lord Dayne. 'At least for now. The boy is not yet ready for what is ahead. And I'm sure that that is the true reason as to why Nox has not pressed his game further.' "And it is a truth that we shall hold to."
Lord Dayne was clearly relieved to hear his stance on the matter. "As you say, my Prince. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"
Setting his glass down, Doran turned towards the falling sun. "I see that you have brought your son, Edric, and your youngest sister, Allyria, with you. I've also heard tales that you are in talks with Lord Beric Dondarrion for your sister's hand and as a potential knight for your son to squire under."
Lord Ansel licked his lips. "Yes, Lord Dondarrion has proven himself a fine man. He will be a fine husband. And an even better knight for my son to serve under."
"To be sure," Doran nodded. "Though, this is yet another…truth. Is it not? And I wonder what effect the lesser-known truth would have on such an announcement? Especially given recent developments regarding my daughter's chosen suitor and his family."
Ansel didn't move, save for the slightest tightening along his jaw. "An alternative perhaps, my Prince? Nothing has been written yet, merely talks."
Nodding, Doran poured each of them another glass of wine. "My daughter, despite having my nieces as support, is in need of a capable handmaiden. My brother Oberyn has recently parted ways with Daemon Sand after knighting him at the Wall and the man's subsequent departure to Bear Island. He would be more than willing to take on your son as a new squire."
Lord Dayne leaned back in his seat, picking up his new glass and swirling its contents as he thought over the offer. "House Dondarrion will have to be compensated for House Dayne's breaking of the offer."
Doran leveled a look at the man. "As you said, you were merely only in talks, and nothing had been decided as of yet. If compensation is demanded by House Dondarrion, it will be slight."
Lord Dayne nodded, realizing that he had no other choice. After what Gerold did, House Dayne was fortunate to even be allowed to step foot into Sunspear. And yet here he was, the head of House Martell and ruling Prince of Dorne, offering two members of House Dayne positions many would kill for. "I will inform Edric and Allyria of their positions that you have graciously bestowed upon our House, my Prince."
"Good," Doran nodded. "They can begin immediately as both my brother and daughter are here in Sunspear. And if it calms your mind, my daughter's betrothed, despite staying far longer than what was planned due to these unfortunate events, will be returning to the North soon. Or perhaps we should arrange for your son and sister to meet with Jon Stark, the so called 'White Wolf' of House Stark?"
Lord Dayne pursed his lips. "One day, my Prince, I would dearly enjoy watching you interact with one who is as capable of playing the great game as yourself."
Raising his glass, Doran hid his smirk behind his cup. 'You're too late to see that interaction, Lord Dayne. Though I am looking forward to once again playing with Lord Nox.'
Sitting alone in her spacious tent that she shared with her husband, Daenerys Targaryen stared transfixed on the four eggs laid out before her. The largest of the eggs, the one given to her by Domeric though where he obtained it from, she had no idea, was midnight black in color with tips of the scales colored blood red as if the scales had been carefully dipped in blood to give them their coloring. The other three eggs, given to her by Illyrio, were quite different than the one given to her by Domeric, both in feel and looks. For starters, they were all slightly smaller and lacked the warmth that the one Domeric had given her. They were also all one solid color: one black, one green, and one cream-and-gold colored. Taking her attention away from the three petrified eggs, Dany focused all her attention on the one that felt alive, for lack of better terms.
Picking up the egg carefully, Dany held it as if it were a newborn babe as she walked across the tent and towards the low burning fire that was little more than a pile of embers within the tent. 'Dragons are creatures of fire,' she reasoned as she slowly, carefully, set the egg down upon the pile of embers before taking her hands away from the warmth of the fire. 'It would only make sense that fire is needed for them to be born into this world…and at least Jon agrees with me on that point.'
It took several moons after her wedding to Drogo before she finally worked up the nerve to talk to Jon about the eggs in her possession. To her mild surprise, Jon hadn't known about the egg that Domeric had given her. And to her mild anger, Jon admitted to her that he too had a dragon egg from Valyria, a midnight black egg with grey stripes along the tips of its scales. But unlike her, who'd immediately gone about trying to bring life back to the egg, Jon had instead hidden his egg away in Winterfell and all but put it out of his mind.
She'd been furious with him. He'd had a dragon's egg for years! The very thing her househad built their legacy upon! And he'd simply tucked it away and put it out of his mind! And when she'd told him as such, he'd fired right back at her. He asked her while the dragon was a mighty beast, hatching one in the middle of Westeros would only invite disaster. The people were still recovering from the wounds inflicted upon them by her father and brother. And if a dragon were to suddenly re=emerge, many would immediately think the Targaryen's, or another Dragon Lord had found their way into Westeros and were planning on taking back what they believed was there. There would be war. War that would tear the realm apart again. So no. While he said that he had the egg and might one day try and hatch it, for now it would stay hidden.
But that didn't mean that she wasn't about to let her eggs sit idly by. No, these eggs were her chance to help bring about the return of Valyria! And while Jon had appeared uneasy about the idea, as he has still not forgiven the Targaryen family for what happened before and during the Rebellion, he had not pressed her not to pursue her goals. Instead, he simply gave her a warning not to hatch more than a single egg. When she'd asked him why, Jon went into a lengthy explanation about what they'd found in Valyria in terms of some of the knowledge that'd been lost when Valyria fell. According to Jon, one of the lost pieces of knowledge that they'd partially recovered was how the Dragonlords of Valyria bound their dragons to them. Apparently, the bond was not unlike a Force ability that Lord Nox referred to as 'Beast Control'. With this, the Dragonlord could bend the dragon to their will. But unlike other creatures, dragons were apex predators and very, very strong willed. Because of this, the Dragonlords quickly discovered that one could only bond a single dragon to a rider. Binding more than one dragon could—and would—cause the rider's mind to be overtaken by the primal dragons' minds and eventually they would go mad. Usually by unleashing their dragons and destroying anything and everything in their path.
The warning was one that Dany had taken to heart. And so, while she truly wished to try and birth all the dragons she had with her and bring them back into this world, she resisted the urge and instead focused on the largest, and only egg that held a bit of warmth to it.
As she sat back on her heels, Dany watch silently as the embers and small flames nestled against the egg, providing it with warmth. She felt…something fall over her. Like a warm blanket being draped over her shoulders as she watched the embers and flames dance around the egg. Almost as if she were in a trance, Dany raised her hand, fingers outstretched towards the egg smoldering in the embers. Part of her was screaming at her not to touch the egg, but those words were faded, far away and went ignored as the tips of her fingers got closer and closer to the warmth of the flames and the egg within.
"Khaleesi!"
The fog over her mind disappeared, and Dany was left blinking confusedly as she stared at her outstretched hand. Her fingers, all the way down to her palm, resting against the egg in the flames. Yet, she felt no pain. Only the heat, yet it wasn't overbearing. It was comforting.
"Khaleesi!" the voice, one she now recognized as Irri, shouted again.
Then there was a second hand, darker in skin, grabbing the egg from underneath her fingers and pushing it out of the embers onto the ground. Irri hissed and cried out in pain, and Dany was immediately there for her handmaiden, the egg on the ground momentarily forgotten as she stared in horror at the blisters forming on Irri's hand.
"Gods…Irri," Dany murmured, trying to think of what she could do, or what should be done. "Ice…no, water… Something cold an—"
"I – I can handle this, Khaleesi," Irri said, though her words were stuttered due to the pain her handmaiden was feeling. "But, Khaleesi, why were you touching that…? Khaleesi…Your hand. Why…I…?"
Blinking in confusion, Dany looked down at her own hand that was touching the egg in the flames. And was met with her normal pale smooth skin. Not even a touch of redness to mar her skin against the heat. Her mind scrambled, trying desperately to understand what she was seeing. Both Lord Nox and Jon had suggested trying to manipulate small candle flames with the Force as a means of practice, but neither had ever spoken about using the Force to protect oneself from the heat of fire. Yet, there was one thing that her mind immediately latched onto that could explain what'd happened. "Fire…cannot hurt a dragon." Yes. Yes, that was it. Dragons were creatures of fire, and fire could not hurt a dragon.
Irri, her injured hand held closely to her chest, was staring at her in wonder. "It is known that the Dragon Lords of old used fire magic to control their great mounts. You…You truly are a Dragon Lord reborn, Khaleesi. And through you shall come the Khal of Khals, the Stallion Who Mounts the World."
Dany had heard the tale before, the prophesied one for the Dothraki, a Khal who would unite all the Dothraki beneath one Khal. Many believed her husband Drogo to be this prophesied Khal, as he had united more Dothraki beneath himself than any other Khal before him. And while her husband had admitted that he would be honored to be the Khal of Khals, he did not think it was him. But rather his son that would come from her. A Dothraki Khal born from a daughter of Valyria. A Khal who could mount the mightiest of beasts and would unite all Dothraki beneath him. That was her husband's true ambition.
Pushing such thoughts aside, Dany focused on her injured handmaiden. Taking her hand and slowly pulling it towards her, Dany winced as she saw the angry, blistered red skin. Calling back on Lord Nox's lessons on how the Force was only limited by the individual, Dany closed her eyes and pulled deeply on the Force. Immediately, she could feel the torrent of calm and rage wash through her. But she forced back the rage, focusing only on the calm. Her friend needed her help, now was not the time for anger or rage. She needed to be calm. Peaceful. Feeling the torrent calm to a trickle of a stream, Dany guided the Force through her and into the hand she held.
Irri's sudden intake of breath nearly broke Dany's concentration, but she held firm, focusing on the guiding the river of the Force through herself and into her friend. 'Irri needs my help…your help.' She wasn't sure just who she was speaking to or why, but the Force seemed to almost…respond to her request. She didn't know how or even why, but she felt something shift in the flow of the Force coming from her. And when Irri gasped again, Dany opened her eyes and let her concentration break as she felt an almost…satisfaction from the Force.
When her eyes could focus once more, she was met with unbroken, unmarred skin on Irri's hand. Letting go, Dany felt herself sag slightly, just barely able to hold herself upright as Irri tentatively poked at her palm. When she felt no pain, Irri's widened even further, something Dany didn't think was possible. Then her friend did something…utterly embarrassing. Irri went to her knees, put her hands flat on the ground, and pressed her face flat to the ground. "Khaleesi…I – I am unworthy of this gift you have given me!"
Moving over to Irri, and hiding the effort it took to do so, Dany forced her handmaiden to raise her head. "I only did what was right, Irri. What anyone should have done. You were injured through my negligence. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me."
Irri didn't seem to truly take her words to heart as the young girl again pressed her face to the ground and continued to mutter thanks after thanks for her gift of healing. Eventually Dany's gaze slowly shifted off the prostrating young girl and towards the dragon's egg laying on the ground next to the fire. She wasn't sure why, but something was different about the egg. Reaching out to the egg through the Force, Dany had to bite back a gasp. The egg still had the same warmth as before. But now there was something else besides the warmth. She could feel…life.