POV: Daenerys Targaryen
Location: Qarth, Essos
Timeline: Roughly Season 2 equivalent – Dany has her dragons, but no army yet
---
The dragon purred.
It coiled around her shoulders, warm and alive, its tiny claws pricking her skin through the silk. Rhaegal, the green one — he was always the calmest. Drogon hissed in the corner, still half-wild. Viserion dozed atop a sunlit cushion, wings twitching in his sleep.
Daenerys Targaryen — Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons, Rightful Queen of Westeros — leaned against the balcony railing of her borrowed palace in Qarth and watched the waves.
She was tired of waiting.
The Qartheen lords offered promises but no armies. Her enemies sat safe across the sea, warring amongst themselves. And she? She was forgotten. A girl with no ships, no soldiers, and three half-grown dragons.
The throne felt further away than ever.
Then came the knock.
"Come," she said.
Ser Jorah entered, eyes grim. In his hands: a sealed parchment, weather-worn and stained with salt.
"This arrived by ship from Pentos," he said. "Illyrio's men sent it. News from Westeros."
Her heart skipped. "From my brother's old allies?"
"From the Eastwatch trade route," he corrected. "But the message concerns the North."
She raised an eyebrow. "The Starks?"
"No. Something stranger."
---
📜 The Scroll
Daenerys unrolled the scroll. It was brief. Scrawled hastily. No sigil. No wax.
> To whoever still listens: There is a force rising in the wilds of the North. Not wildlings. Not knights. Something older.
They wear red cloaks and bronze armor. They do not kneel. They do not speak.
Ten of them killed forty men without breaking rank.
They call their leader the "spartan king."
He builds cities where there were only bones. He fights like no man from Westeros.
This is no mere warlord.
This is a king of iron will. Of cold fire. Of ancient war reborn.
Daenerys read it twice. Then again.
Finally, she whispered, "Another king."
Jorah frowned. "There's no House named 'Sparta' in Westeros."
"Because it's not from Westeros," she said quietly.
He studied her. "You believe it?"
"I don't know what I believe," she admitted. "But if this is true… he's building something. Not just conquering — founding. Like Aegon did."
She looked to her dragons. "The last time a new kingdom was born in Westeros, it came with dragons and fire."
She paused. "And now it comes with red cloaks and bronze spears."
---
🌒 That Night
Daenerys stood before a brazier, the scroll burning to ash in her hand.
Across the room, her dragons stirred.
In the flames, she swore she saw a shape — not of a dragon, but a man. Cloaked in crimson. Standing atop a mountain of swords. His eyes were fire. His shadow stretched across snow and ash alike.
> He is not fire. He is not ice.
He is war.
Her breath caught in her throat.
---
🔥 Elsewhere...
Far across the Narrow Sea, in the wild North of Westeros, a crimson banner rose above a new stone fortress carved into the mountainside — a spear crossed with a Λ sigil.
Ten Spartans knelt before their king.
Behind them, more recruits trained in silence. Former bastards, broken men, exiles — reforged into warriors.
The spartan king stepped forward, looking out over his growing army.
> [NEW STRUCTURE COMPLETE: Spartan Forge]
[RED CLOAKS IN TRAINING: ETA 3 Days]
[POPULATION: 37]
[TERRITORY CONTROL: 3.4% of the North]
Westeros doesn't know it yet, he thought, but this land has already been conquered. They just haven't realized it.