Essos: The Great Grass Sea: Camp of Khal Jhaqo:
Daenerys pushed back violently. Her flesh was hot to touch, and there was fire in the depths of her eyes as she struggled away, hitting the dirt. The khaleesi loomed over her at once, brandishing the sword. It dripped down her wrist.
"Blood magic is forbidden," the khaleesi announced to the stars and sky above—to her horselord god and the memories of her ancestors. The witch-princess of the old dragons had to die without ceremony. Let her unholy magic feed back into the earth and be lost to time. "Return now unto the depths of your smoking sea. Lie forever in the ruins of Old Valyria with the stone men and screaming shadows."
The khaleesi stepped forward, standing on Daenerys's ruined dress so that she couldn't escape. Daenerys lifted her hands, protecting her neck as the blade came down. She turned away at the last moment, closing her eyes. She'd survived the fighting pits to be slain on the outskirts of nowhere. It was true then; they were all horses in the end—bled out and turned to bone under the stars. Would she ride with her great kharl and chase the night into dawn?
A clash of steel erupted overhead. Someone threw themselves at the ground beside her, grunting as their shoulder hit the dust and all their weight was used to push back against the khaleesi's sword. Daenerys opened her eyes and saw the edge of a broadsword above her shaking hands. Her bear. Jorah was beside her. He brought his legs up and kicked the khaleesi backwards, startling her. The swords slid against each other with a shriek.
Jorah used the momentum to sit up and take another swing at the woman, but his eyes caught a flash from the right, and he changed angles, embedding his sword into the brass breastplateof the khaleesi's guard. He must have slipped through the pack that Daario was fighting below and raced to make an ill-considered attack. Jorah punished him for such haste, digging the blade in deeper until the blood ran black.
"Jorah!" Daenerys screamed as the curved arakh came back down on her.
Jorah's sword was stuck in the guard, so he turned wildly, extending his left arm in place of a sword to protect his silver queen from the khaleesi's blade.
Her bear's blood was warm as it sprayed over her face and hands. Daenerys gasped as the sword stopped again, this time by flesh. The sound was horrid. The arakh bit at the leather strapping on his arm and found some of his skin beneath. He groaned, spread out with a kill on one arm and the murderous Dothraki on the other.
The dying guard slipped from his blade and died. Jorah sucked in a deep breath and then brought the sword up. He slammed it into the wild woman, tearing through the flesh on her thigh. She buckled silently, twisting in vicious rage at the knight. They brawled, tearing pieces off each other until Jorah rolled them both off a small rocky edge, which dropped onto a litter of stones below. One of them snapped the khaleesi's spine. Her spirit evaporated. All her rage seeped into the milky grass that clung to protected shadows on the mountain range. Ghost grass.
Beside Daenerys, the body of the Dothraki guard twitched. He stared at her with empty eyes—another set to add to her dreams. She sat up slowly and looked over her shoulder to the fighting behind and beyond that—the turbulent camp. The smoke poured from even more tents that had caught alight. Some of the kharls had already stolen people away. She could see horses racing into the night.
*~*~*
Daario hissed when one of the men escaped him. There was nothing he could do about it now; he had to hope that Mormont could handle an extra player because the half dozen biting at Daario's heels weren't going anywhere. He tried to kill them quickly, striking cleanly at each wave of attacks, but the more he killed, the more came out of the camp and tried to wrestle past him. This was a position he couldn't hold forever.
Where were the bloody dragons when you needed them? He thought, dropping to his knee to avoid an enthusiastic swing of swords that clashed together uselessly above him. Whether he was starting to understand that prophecy or not, wars were won by people, not pets.
That was his last thought for a while. Daario never saw Kharl Jhaqo emerge from the tent city and strike him over the back of the head.
Meereen:
Tyrion and Varys sat opposite each other in the empty throne room. Everything was too big. The vast, empty cavern of the pyramid belonged to an era of indulgence that Tyrion doubted they'd see again. It was a constant reminder that this city was constructed by a race vanished to time, like so many cities clinging to the edges of myth. The Targaryens were the last kingdom builders. Even if their silver queen conquered Westeros, she wouldn't have enough time to build monuments to her dragon gods. After her, there would be no more, and the realms of men would be left to themselves. It almost seemed a pointless endeavor if you thought about it like that.
"Your father used to sit and brood thus," Varys said, sipping water rather than wine. The copper echoed against the stone as he placed it on the steps where they sat. "I often wondered what thoughts occupied him in such times."
"Nothing good," Tyrion replied, shaking his head at the gold-plated ceiling. "I think I'd have done better in the fighting pits."
"Well," Varys's voice was slow and calm, like a serpent twisting in the hot sand, "I hear you were quite the celebrity. The imp and the bear. There is profit in violence."
"Were you betting for or against my death?"
"Neither. I was in a filthy caravan headed for Meereen during your famous foray."
"And what do you think?" Tyrion was hinting at the restless city behind the enormous windows. He wasn't sure how many had noticed, but the floor-to-ceiling slits were arranged to allow special amounts of light in, casting patterns over the opposing wall. On his first day he'd wandered over and found grooves in the stone, proving his theory that it was actually an ancient clock. It was night, though, and the city was unnaturally quiet.
"I think Meereen and King's Landing have one thing in common—they're both on the verge of imminent collapse with a Lannister at the helm."
Tyrion hung his head theatrically. "Does it make any difference if I point out that I've only been here a couple of days? Why are you smiling? It doesn't suit you at all."
"Well, young lion, whilst you've been licking your wounds and listening to the unwashed masses crow at your feet, I've had my ear to the whispers. There were a great deal of them after that little display in the fighting pits."
"You—you know who the Harpy is..."
"Was..." Varys corrected. "Hizdahr zo Loraq is dead. The question that you should be asking is, 'Who will be the next Harpy?'"
"Has it been decided?"
"Not yet. The Masters of Meereen are in disarray. That lovely dragon burned more than a few of their leading council."
"Forgive me, but—shouldn't we destroy them while they're disoriented? They almost overthrew the entire city a few days ago—I nearly lost my head. It would certainly go a long way toward pleasing my new queen."
"The extraction of the Harpies from Meereen can only be done if you have pre-prepared something more moderate to put in their place. Failing that feat, and believe me, it would be quite an achievement, we are left with the task of modelling them into—shall we say—something useful."
Tyrion lofted his eyebrow and drank heavily of his glass. "Should have left you in charge of the city."
Varys shook his bald head. "I prefer shadows to golden crowns and iron thrones."
"Missandei?" Tyrion stumbled to his feet as the queen's confidante swept into the throne room. It was clear that she was uneasy at the two foreigners holding the seat of Meereen while her mistress was missing. Tyrion didn't blame her.
"Fire," she replied, moving directly to one of the windows. "Out towards the Valley of Souls. Grass does not burn bright enough to light the sky. Grey Worm says it is an army."
"Dragons?" Tyrion asked Varys.
"Perhaps."
Essos: The Great Grass Sea:
Daenerys awoke—which surprised her. She did not remember falling asleep. Then she realized that the stars above were moving and the ground she lay on was actually warm and breathing beneath her chest. Her hands were sticky with dried blood as she reached up, brushing her fingertips over the edge of Ser Jorah Mormont's jaw, checking that he was real.
"Go back to sleep, Khaleesi," he said, in that familiar sullen tone she'd learned to love.
She could feel the pattern of his steps change. They were moving through rough ground, quickly scaling hill and flat alike. "The khalasar—" she started to say, but he cut her off.
"-is not yours, my queen." It burned behind them, hidden by the hills. Horses spilled into the valley around them. Their hooves mixed with the occasional explosion as gunpowder caught the flames and burst into the night with showers of colored embers.
"Where are we going?"
"Home, your grace."
Her bear was taking her home. If this were not real, she did not care. To die in a dream was better than the cold edge of a sword or their relentless flames. For the moment, her anger toward him was forgotten. He betrayed her, yes, but he refused to be sent away. Whenever she slipped too close to the cliffs, he was there—somehow—pulling her back.
*~*~*
Dawn rose. Jorah watched every tendril of fire alter the sky, claiming it as the night raced away, vanishing into the West where all cold things lived. His dragon queen was laid out behind him, tucked into the most protected outcrop of stone he could find, lined with heather and grass with his armor laid over her in place of a rug. He had nothing else to offer except the promise that he'd keep her alive.
The raging battles had dissipated, but there was no sign of Daario. He hadn't seen the sell-sword—dead or alive—which probably meant that he'd been captured for a bounty by one of the horselords.
"Don't you dare..." Jorah whispered, watching Viserion swooping above, keeping a keen eye on the fleeing horses. "I put in a good word for you."
The dragon couldn't hear him dancing in the sky. He was playful and free, rolling his growing, scaled body so that his stomach warmed in the sun for a moment. He was like a shooting star, reflecting every color of the morning.
Jorah returned his attention to the leather straps he was bandaging over his arm. The cut was short but deep, nearly to the bone. He tied the fabric torn from his shirt tight and didn't dare remove it yet. It was the only thing keeping what little blood he had left inside his skin. The leather straps hurt, but he persisted until there was no evidence of the skirmish aside from his blood-soaked shirt. His queen was less than silver.
He took leave of his perch and paced over to where she slept. As far as he could tell, she was largely unharmed. Jorah was no fool. She could easily turn around and send him away—have him thrown off the walls of Meereen or worse—forgive him.
"Why do you watch me sleep, Ser?"
He was startled by her words and rendered dumb by her eyes when they opened and looked softly upon him.
"I—" he had no defense. "I am sorry there is no fire." He sat down, leaning his aching body against the rock. "There were many riders in the valley below, some looking for the dragon queen. I have something to show you." Jorah helped her to sit and then directed her gaze to the triangle of gold catching the light. The Great Pyramid of Meereen was visible in the gap between mountains and just to the side—
"Viserion!" Dany's voice was suddenly rich with love.
"Yes. Your dragons play in the Great Grass Sea as though it were their dominion."
"You freed them?" she asked. Dany wished to call the dragon over, but she doubted that he'd want to see her—after what she'd done. What kind of mother locked away her children, leaving them to rot in the dark?
"No," he replied. "Either it was Tyrion or they found a way to escape."
"Tyrion?" Her eyebrows folded in opposing directions. Even exhausted and filthy, she could still give the best look of disapproval on Essos.
"Indeed. He and Grey Worm rule in your stead."
"A Lannister ruling in the ancient East—has the world gone mad?"
"Probably, your grace. The stars fall, the undead stir, and dragons grace the sky."