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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 50: A Journey Into The Unknown
The deck of the Storm Dancer moved gently beneath Daenerys's feet, a rhythm she had not yet grown accustomed to after so many years on solid ground.
The last time she had felt such motion, she had been nothing but a babe, fleeing across the narrow sea with her brother Viserys while the Usurper's knives hunted for their hearts.
She had no memory of that voyage, only the stories Viserys had told her...stories of storms and sickness, of the loyal men who had died so that the last dragons might live.
She had been traveling east ever since. Pentos, the Dothraki sea, Qarth...always east, always searching for something she could not name.
And now she was going further east than ever before, toward Asshai and the shadow lands, in search of something she did not truly understand.
Her violet eyes looked ahead, where the sea stretched to the horizon and beyond. Behind her, the towers of Qarth had shrunk to specks, then vanished altogether, swallowed by the hazy line where water met sky.
She gripped the railing and watched her people.
There were so few of them now. Fifty-two souls remained of the khalasar that had once numbered in the thousands. The Dothraki had crossed the Red Waste with her, had starved and thirsted and died, had watched their bloodriders fall to sickness and sand. They had endured the cruel indifference of the desert, and now they faced a new enemy.
The sea.
They stood huddled on the deck, their dark eyes fixed on the water with an expression she had rarely seen on Dothraki faces before...fear.
These people had been born on the vast grasslands of the Dothraki sea. They had ridden horses before they could walk, had measured distance in days and weeks, and the height of the grass itself.
The ocean was alien to them. An endless expanse of poison water that offered no solid ground, no familiar landmarks, and no promise of home.
Of the fifty-two, only twelve were warriors. The rest were women, children, and the elderly...those who had been too slow to flee or too stubborn to die. They huddled together near the mast, wrapped in faded linens, their eyes darting to the waves as if expecting some sea monster to rise from the depths and swallow them whole.
Daenerys felt a pang in her chest. She had promised to take them home. She had promised to lead them to green fields and flowing water, to a place where they could be free and happy. Instead, she was taking them east...toward Asshai, toward the shadow lands, toward an unknown future.
To go west, I must go east.
She whispered the words to herself, trying to find meaning in them. Quaithe had spoken them with such certainty, as if the path were clear and Daenerys was simply too blind to see it. But the path was not clear to her. It had never been clear.
"Khaleesi."
Ser Jorah Mormont approached from the helm, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden deck. His face was still haggard, shadowed by the revelations of the past days, but there was a steadiness in his eyes that she had come to rely on.
He had betrayed her, yes. He had spied on her, sold her secrets for a pardon and a piece of land. But he had also saved her life, more than once. And he was still here when he could have fled. That was why she had allowed him to remain at her side, to prove the loyalty he professed so earnestly.
"Ser Jorah." She turned to face him. "How do they fare?"
Jorah glanced at the Dothraki. "They are frightened. The sea frightens them. The thought of Asshai frightens them." He paused. "And they are not alone in that."
"You do not approve of this journey."
"I think it is madness." Jorah's voice was low and careful, the voice of a man who had learned to choose his words with consideration. "The prince's stories about Asshai... about the Valyrians learning dragon-taming from shadowbinders... there is no proof of any of this. Not even an old maester would dare make such wild claims. And this is a boy who grew up in King's Landing. What can he possibly know?"
Daenerys studied him. "They are wild claims, yes. But Prince Joffrey is more than just some naive boy who knows nothing of the world. I am sure you have noticed it as well. The way he moves. The way he speaks of things. The things he can do..."
Jorah remained silent. That was enough to confirm her words. Of course, he had noticed.
"But you still distrust him," Daenerys said.
"I trust no one, Khaleesi. Least of all a Baratheon." Jorah's jaw tightened.
"It is his family who have been conspiring against you this whole time. King Robert wanted you dead...more than anything else. And now his son appears out of nowhere and offers you an alliance?" He scoffed. "It is hard to believe."
"And yet, he saved me. He saved my dragons and returned them to me." Daenerys looked toward the bow, where Joffrey had been standing earlier. "If he wanted to kill me, he could have done so in the House of the Undying. If he wanted to steal my dragons, he could have taken them while I was helpless. He did neither."
"Perhaps he wants something else. Something worse."
"What could be worse than death, Ser Jorah?"
Jorah had no answer.
Daenerys turned back to the railing, watching the water slide past the hull. "Is this ship large enough for my people?" She changed the subject. Jorah had made his position clear, and she was not going to change his mind. Only time could do that.
"Barely." Jorah moved to stand beside her. "It is big, but we are crowded. And the ship's crew is not happy about all the new guests. The Dothraki are not used to such close quarters. There have been arguments. There will surely be fights before long. If our numbers grow, we will need another ship."
"We will figure something out once we reach Asshai. We have goods to sell there. Surely, there will be enough coin to buy a few more ships."
Jorah opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Lord Varys emerged from the hatch that led below deck. The eunuch moved with his usual silent grace, his soft robes brushing against the wood, his pale face serene.
"Your Grace." Varys bowed. "Prince Joffrey requests the honor of your presence. He wishes to speak with you in private."
Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "In private?"
"In his workshop, below deck. He says it is a matter of some urgency."
Varys's face was unreadable. "I can escort you, if you wish."
Daenerys glanced at Jorah. The knight's expression was troubled, but he said nothing. She turned back to Varys.
"Ser Jorah, you will look after my people while I am gone. Keep them calm and safe."
Jorah nodded, though his jaw was tight. "As you command, Khaleesi."
Daenerys followed Varys below deck.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
The workshop was smaller than she had expected, a cramped chamber lit by a single oil lamp that cast more shadows than light. The walls were lined with shelves, and the shelves were cluttered with strange instruments and ingredients whose purpose she could not guess...alembics and retorts, crystal lenses and golden calipers, jars of dried herbs and vials of colored liquid.
In the corner, a suit of black armor stood on a wooden frame, its surface etched with glowing runes that pulsed with a faint reddish light. The air around it seemed to shimmer, as if the metal were alive.
And at the center of the room, seated at a heavy wooden table, was Joffrey Baratheon.
He looked different in the lamplight...younger, perhaps, or more vulnerable. The cold arrogance he wore like armor was gone, replaced by an expression of intense concentration.
His long golden hair was disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through it, and there were dark circles under his green eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.
Before him lay an open book...a massive tome bound in what looked like dragonhide, its pages yellowed with age, its edges trimmed with gold that still gleamed despite the centuries.
"Prince Joffrey." Varys announced her presence and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Joffrey looked up, and for a moment, his eyes were distant, as if he had been somewhere far away. Then he focused on her, and a smile touched his lips.
"Princess. Thank you for coming." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Please. Sit."
"I have been told you wanted to discuss something with me." Daenerys sat, her eyes fixed on the book. "What is this?"
"Before that." Joffrey glanced at her. "How good is your High Valyrian?"
Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "It is my mother's tongue."
"Good enough." Joffrey nodded. "This..." He placed his hand on the tome. "Is the reason I called you here. This is the diary of a Valyrian alchemist named Kaerion. He was one of the Flame-Keepers, the sorcerers who tended the Fourteen Flames."
Daenerys felt a chill run down her spine. "Where did you find something like that?"
"In the ruins of Old Valyria." Joffrey's voice was matter-of-fact, as if he had said he found it in a market stall. "I was only there for a few hours. Just enough time to find this book. But I intend to go back in the future. I am sure there are many treasures still hidden in those ruins."
Daenerys did not know what to say about such reckless behavior. Her eyes went back to the book, and she felt a hunger stir within her...a need to know, to understand, to touch the legacy of her ancestors.
"What does it say?" she asked.
Joffrey turned the book so she could see the open page. "It describes his daily routine as an alchemist and a Flame-Keeper. The most interesting parts are his experiments, which he wrote in great detail."
"Experiments? Of what kind?"
"Blood rituals designed to bestow extraordinary abilities on humans through the use of dragon blood. He was trying to create a new race of dragonlords. To make them stronger and faster." Joffrey's eyes gleamed. "More resistant to fire and magic."
Daenerys felt a wave of revulsion. "That is awful."
But Joffrey's smile never left his face. "Is it? Tell me, Princess. Have you ever been burned?"
She flinched when thinking of the word Burned.
Images rose unbidden...images about the massive pyre she had built for Khal Drogo, the flames that had consumed his body while she stood in their midst, untouched.
She had walked into that fire expecting to die. Instead, she had walked out with three newly hatched dragons in her arms.
Heat had never bothered her. Fire had never burned her skin. She knew this better than anyone.
"I thought as much." Joffrey leaned back. "You see, these experiments that Kaerion performed were far from the first. He was merely trying to improve something that was already there. That innate resistance to fire you possess, as well as your family's ability to bond with dragons...those are the results of such experiments. Passed down through generations. Refined by blood and fire."
Daenerys stared at him, her mind reeling. "Are you saying that my family's power came from... experiments?"
"Is it so hard to believe?" Joffrey's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Humans burn when you set them on fire. And dragons would never bond with creatures they deem inferior...not unless something compelled them. There is ancient magic in your blood, Princess. Magic that the Valyrians forged through centuries of trial and sacrifice."
Daenerys said nothing. Her hand rested on the book, her fingers tracing the dragonhide cover.
"The Valyrians were not born dragonlords," Joffrey continued. "They became dragonlords, thanks to rituals like the ones described in this book. They made themselves into something more than human." He tapped the page. "And the secrets of how they did it are written here."
Daenerys reached out, her fingers hovering over the ancient symbols. "So this is why you brought me here. You want me to translate it."
"I want you to help me translate it." Joffrey's voice was earnest. "High Valyrian is a difficult language, and I am still a novice. There is no room for error when it comes to these matters. A single mistake...a word misunderstood, a measurement misread, could lead to disaster. But you..." He smiled. "You are the blood of the dragon. This is the language of your ancestors. It will be easier for you."
Daenerys looked at the book, at the words contained within. She understood them with ease. The script that had baffled Joffrey yielded to her like a familiar friend. Translating this would not be difficult.
And yet, something made her hesitate...
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