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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,537Kudos:6,020Bookmarks:1,659Hits:467,009
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 31: JUDGEMENT
Chapter Text
Essos was consumed by a storm.
It wasn't a hurricane yet it still battered Jorah, the rain soaking through his ragged leather armour and chilling his skin as the wind shrieked and rippled across the land. Despite the consistant rain the air was still warm, mixing with the cold breeze from the ocean and exacerbating the angry weather. Occasionally lightning lit up the horizon, shortly followed by the grumbling boom of thunder. Occasionally it would ebb, the sky simply dark with roiling angry clouds before a sea squall pushed it back into a thunderstorm.
Thick ponds of water grew along Essos and numerous branches were torn from trees, tents knocked asunder and animals agitated. Jorah was scattered, much like many of the inhabitants of Essos.
He had lost the imp when slavers snatched up their small vessel within the Smoking Sea just before the Gulf of Grief; Jorah had instead jumped overboard, preferring the grasp of the stone men over the slavers. While he'd intended the Lannister as a gift for Daenerys in a foolish hope she would forgive him for his treason, he could not beg for her forgiveness if he was dead. Perhaps she'd simply order his head to be struck from his shoulders or for her dragon to devour him if he'd offered forth the imp, Jorah knew not. But he had to try, all the same.
However with the slavers and his impromptu swim that plan was ashes. But he also managed to avoid the mad men that lurked in the ruins or even the krakens which were said to infest the sea. Instead he'd managed to swim far enough before being dragged out to the Summer Sea. While flailing in the blacken waters and half drowned, Jorah had been in delirium and even when half drowned he'd thought that he had seen a golden star falling across the sky.
Luck would have it a fishing vessel from the Basilisk Iles dragged him aboard when they found him clinging to the remains of a sodden branch. Near dead and frozen and incoherent yet alive all the same. He'd recovered after several days, both from being tossed to and fro like flotsam and the lingering foul breath of the Smoking Sea.
By then news flowed from Slaver's Bay, of the armada heading to Meereen and the siege already taking place. Ignoring his protesting body, Jorah had managed to get aboard one of the ships heading to the blockade by lying about his allegiance. At least most were focused upon the war than himself so none questioned him. All were eager to fight the dragon queen and her campaign which had run their coffers low and they were eager to return their flow of gold. Not wanting to end up as Astapor, a bloodied near ruin, they gladly threw their force behind those of the masters. After all the Basilisk Iles was fond of stealing their neighbours, the Naathi, and selling the Peaceful People to the highest bidder. Daenerys was as much of a threat to them as she were to the Wise Masters at the mainland.
On their way to the bay they passed by the wreckage of an ironborn ship caught in the rocky crags of one of the lesser isles which startled him. Why the krakens were in Essos, Jorah would only guess they were here for Queen Daenerys. Ships and dragons did not mix so it would make sense they would want her, either to kill her to end the threat or to gain her allyship. The ironborn were a capricious lot at the best of times and Daenerys had limited knowledge of the Westeros Houses. He had to reach her, even if it simply ended with him struck upon a wall or thrown to the lions.
As they sailed he managed to decipher what he could from the crew and the mix mash of languages, of the cities joining the Wise Masters. Of the companies, the forces, the numbers. While he did not understand all, Jorah still felt a chill settle in his gut at the number standing against his queen.
She has her dragon, it will protect her, Jorah thought to himself as he spent another sleepless night aboard staring at nothing. When all else failed, her bloodriders, her Unsullied, even Barristan, Jorah knew her dragon would stay with Daenerys. None had managed to slay Balerion and the greatest weapon against a dragon was another. Daenerys was the only one with one. The golden creature would protect its mother. It had to.
But their destination was not to be for as they approached Slaver's Bay they were driven back by a raging squall that sent huge waves and vicious winds ripping through the ship before they even grew within sight of Slaver's Bay. As they were tossed to and fro they encountered other scattered vessels, some only broken remains or others smouldering or drowning. But the sky was black and furious and lightning forked through the sea and sky and through their mast with a burst of light and splinters.
He ended up upon the shores of Ghiscar, the ship thrown against the craggy rocks and spilling the threadbare crew across the raging surf like beans from a jar. Most drowned while others managed to struggle ashore.
Jorah had spent long enough choking on sea water to be a keen practice at spitting it up. He survived and killed the barely alive captain and stole his clothes and weapons and instead made his journey on foot.
In the following days he encountered the broken remnants of the slaver alliance and its armies, Jorah used to tracking animals and living in the wilds and keeping a low profile. The first he encountered were on steeds but as the days passed with the rainstorm persistent more and more appeared on foot. Most were too frightened or shocked to bother him yet Jorah kept his distance. It would do no good to be killed by panicking soldiers as he set course to make his way to Meereen by land.
And then the dragon appeared.
Months spent at his queen's side meant he instantly recognized the warbling shriek that woke him from a shallow sleep in the hollow of a rotten tree on a stretch of plains within Ghiscar. No other living creature sounded like the beast. But he saw the lightning, heard the screams so far in the distance. The storm and rain made it hard to see and harder still to pinpoint exactly where the dragon was. He was desperate to approach, to reach out to his queen. Beg her forgiveness, bring her news of Tyrion Lannister.
Desperate to see her again, even if it meant his death.
Yet by the time he managed to reach the direction of the screams and light the dragon had already leapt back into the sky and continued southwards with great beats of its wings. Chasing the fleeing army, he realized, when he reached the broken remains of a handful of Ghiscari legion and several masters. Most had been partially eaten or crushed but the rest had charred, blackened flesh from lightning strikes. Their armour was still hot to touch.
Jorah looted the remains as well he could before finally deciding to continue north to Meereen. Daenerys would return to her people once she'd cowered the slavers enough, Jorah knew. She would go back to them.
It was a long arduous journey and Jorah passed by others who'd managed to escape Meereen's broken siege. Some fled the coast entirely, instead heading inland. Preferring to brave the Dothraki than the furious dragon attacking the sea line or the raging sea itself.
The storm persisted, as it crossed into a week and then beyond. Soaked, exhausted and hungry Jorah continued his dogged journey. Let Barristan throw him in the cells, even if he could simply apologize to his queen again before she took his head he could accept such a fate. She was his only purpose. His sword, his life, his heart, belonged to his queen. He vowed to serve, obey and die for her if need be.
He had disgraced himself beyond measure and Jorah could still remember the way his stomach twisted when Barristan approached him with that scroll in hand. Somehow he knew the contents before he even read it. Proof of his treason, even if he had no home anymore. Not without Daenerys. Even if she sent him away again he would try. The notion of never seeing his queen again made the rain and mud and wind nothing to him as he continued through the great stretch of land of Ghiscar.
Blisters formed along his feet as his boots grew blood filled and his stomach growled itself into knots but he continued his dogged march north.
His bodily hurts did not matter. Jorah believed in nothing until he witnessed a girl, young and bleeding and with nothing, walk into a raging pyre to be swallowed by the flames. When he approached it the following morn, expecting to see her charred bones alongside the Khals, instead she was there within the ashes unhurt. Unburnt. And holding a tiny three headed dragon to her breast.
Before that moment Jorah was much the same as so many others. Believing in nothing until Daenerys Targaryen emerged from the flames and dragons lived again after centuries of extinction. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen and her three headed dragon which breathed lightning.
He occasionally stumbled over scattered camps, set up by flighty survivors of the siege. Some were unhindered by his approach, especially if he offered some of his paltry hunted meat as payment but all seemed lethargic and skittish. He heard more of the attack Daenerys had committed against the slaver alliance, attacking at night and ripping the army to shreds with a single furious dragon and a storm at her back.
There was even rumours the dragon queen had gone on to attack Qarth, tearing down the three walls and destroying the Hall of a Thousand Thrones while drowning the Pureborn in their own blood. But then, they also said the beast had reached Asshai, that Daenerys was dead or that Meereen itself had been destroyed. Jorah knew not which to trust beyond his own eyes but he refused the believe the rumours that his queen was dead.
But the camps were few and far in-between so for many leagues it was simply Jorah and the occasional animal in the storm riddled land. Lost to his thoughts and memories and then he stumbled over one of the Ghiscari.
He recognized the ruins of Old Ghis due to the huge shadowy form of the ruins of the Great Pyramid looming over the land through the rain and fog far before he actually reached its boundaries. Long since abandoned, the pyramid would be home to naught but bats and bugs. Jorah did not fear bats so he sought refuge among the remains of the city for respite and to see to his bleeding feet.
It took him nearly the entire day to reach the crumbled walls, crossing over fields thick with ancient bones, salt and sulfur even centuries past. Only the most stubborn of brush grew within the city itself, gnarled and knotted and looking more dead than alive.
The once great walls were simply lines of partially buried rubble so he made himself climb over the wet stone despite his aching joints. The wind buffeted him, nearly knocking him down as the rain made his fingers slip.
Jorah could see many similarities with the ruin of Old Ghis and those of Harrenhall as he crossed through the empty streets; the Great Pyramid of Old Ghis would have dwarfed the Great Pyramid of Meereen, just as Harrenhall's five towers were beyond any other Westeros castle. With Harrenhall, its gatehouse was larger than Winterfell's Great Keep and the gate itself thick enough a dozen murder holes pocked it like cheese before one would pass through.
Both great monuments in their respective land and both destroyed with dragon breath. Ghis drowned under the flames of three hundred while Harrenhall fell to the Black Dread.
And now even centuries later for both great buildings the stone was still melted and ruins skeletal and none had tried to reclaim them. Only ghosts and strange beasts remained.
After all, walls and towers and moots mean nothing to dragons, for dragons fly.
For all those of Ghis blood bragged about their bloodline, the harpy died each and every time she'd fought against dragons. As they'd been reminded, when his queen broke the siege of Meereen and now she was dragging them from their nests when they tried to flee like snakes.
At the bottom of the red pyramid was the tarnished remains of an immense golden harpy, with the torso and face of a woman, wings of a bat and a scorpion tail. In her eagle legs were a thunderbolt. Despite the centuries since Valyrian and her dragonlords had destroyed the city, the harpy remained untouched despite her golden body. A warning, Jorah thought, a warning to any who would try to resist a dragon. It would have been struck down when the Valyrians took the city just as when Daenerys dragged down the harpy of Meereen when she took the city.
Even after centuries, Jorah could see the craftsmanship for the broken remnants of the giant harpy. The rain made the gold gleam in the feeble sunlight trying to seep through the deep grey clouds that had hung over Essos for days on end.
All the harpies would die, his queen would make certain of it.
Jorah just needed to be there to aid her.
Then a series of rhythmic thuds stirred him from his distant yearning and Jorah looked up to the dark sky and felt his heart jump to his throat at the great form of a golden dragon flying overhead amidst the rain. It seemed almost lethargic, flapping slow and steady but he recognized the shape instantly.
Then one of the dragon's heads noticed him so far down below just as he noticed it, and then the other two twisted to look downwards and even from so far above Jorah could see its glittering crimson eyes like stars. With a great ripping noise echoing through the air the dragon flared out its wings and swept down towards him with frightening speed.
It was even bigger than Jorah remembered, its barbed form casting him in blackness and blotting out the rain as it descended to land with a ground-shaking tremor and massive wings extended as its tails lashed to and fro.
Jorah stumbled back against the harpy at the gust of air from the dragon's landing, bloodied boots slipping on the wet stone as the great golden creature snarled at him with all three heads. His eyes darted to the dragon's spiked back, searching for a beloved figure atop the beast.
Instead its back was bare and its glowing crimson eyes were filled with great malice that narrowed into an unmistakable glare.
He is my son.
Daenerys' voice seemed to reverberate through Jorah's mind as he found himself unable to look away from the dragon's hate-filled stare. His queen had been insistent the dragon was her child throughout their toils along Essos and had loved the beast with all the fierceness of any mother. But until that moment Jorah did not know that the queen's love was reciprocated. That the dragon loved her with the tenacity of a son, returned her affection and devotion with its own. And hated its mother's enemies as any beloved child would.
Jorah knew, from the creature's baleful glare alone, that it had not forgiven him for hurting its mother. That it never would.
And that it lacked the mercy its mother had for his crimes.
Jorah's shoulders slumped as the dragon reared backwards with scrapes of its talons, wings flaring out as its necks arched like a serpent about to strike as its great wings fanned out. Its silhouette fell over him as rain drummed upon the stones. In the distance lightning crackled and thunder rumbled.
The great scaled throats of the dragon began to glow with a shimmering dancing light, sparks flicking over fangs and Jorah closed his eyes with a sigh, remembering the violet of his queen's eyes, the silvery gold of her hair and softness of her smile.
Then Jorah was bathed in brilliant golden light and he remembered no more.
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