Chapter Text
283 AC
Tower of Joy
Arthur Dayne stood outside the doorway as Lyanna Stark’s screams faded. She had been in labor for the better part of the day and had finally stopped screaming. It began early morning and Arthur would guess it was around three hours until the sun fell.
His sworn brothers, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent, stood outside the tower while sharpening and oiling their swords. They were patiently waiting the arrival of Eddard Stark and his company of northerners. It had been three days when they received a raven that Lord Eddard had gotten wind that his sister resided in Dorne. It made Arthur angry, who could possibly have betrayed their location?
It mattered not, what was said had been said. There was no use in trying to follow ghost trails. Arthur walked down towards the entrance where his brothers were.
“Ser Arthur,” Gerold Hightower greeted.
Whent simply nodded his head towards him.
“Brothers,” Arthur replied with a nod towards the two of them.
Arthur stood as he gazed out towards the horizon, the heat of the sun beating down on his face. His brothers’ faces sheened with sweat, but Arthur was originally from this land. The Dornish heat did not affect him so.
“Lord Eddard should arrive soon,” Hightower muttered.
Whent simply spat upon the ground.
“Damn that usurper dog. May they all choke on their stolen throne.”
Arthur slowly turned towards the man.
“Take care how you speak Whent. He is Lady Lyanna’s brother. The same blood that runs in Lord Eddard runs in Lyanna. And her child as well.”
Whent had the decency to look sheepish as he turned away from Arthur’s hardened gaze. Arthur turned back to look at the plains out in front of him.
“We won’t win…” Hightower muttered.
Both Arthur and Oswell turned to their commander.
“What?” Whent questioned, “We most certainly can. We are the best swordsmen in the kingdom, Hightower. You are the white bull. Arthur is the sword of the morning. The northerners do not stand a chance against us.”
Arthur did not move from his spot or indicate anything, but he could not help but agree with Oswell. They were three of the best fighters that the kingdom had to offer. And though Ser Barristan had easily bent his knee, Arthur felt confident that, with his two sworn brothers beside him, they’d be victorious.
Hightower simply shook his head.
“I know we can beat them Whent. But what then?”
Gerold’s voice grew as he walked in front of them.
“We beat the Northerners here. And what then?”
Arthur could not answer him. Oswell, the slower of the three, simply continued his course.
“Then we crown the child as the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms, Hightower. As simple as that.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. No man could be this hotheaded and brash.
“Oh,” Hightower chuckled, “as simple as that? And who would support his claim, you brainless buffoon?”
Oswell looked struck.
“That damned Tywin Lannister has taken King’s Landing and now the usurping bastard sits the throne. Queen Rhaella has fled to Dragonstone and the last remnants of the Targaryen army currently blockade the island in protection. The Iron Islands await to pillage once again. Dorne is in disarray at what has happened to Elia and her children. The ever so loyal Mace Tyrell,” Hightower sneered, “has bent his knee. He could not successfully flush out Stannis Baratheon when the odds were in his favor. Eddard Stark lifted the siege. Eddard Stark rides here right now! So, tell me, Whent, what do we do after we defeat the northerners?”
Both brothers looked at Hightower in silence.
“Then what would you have us do?” Arthur questioned.
“The only thing I can see happening.” Hightower replied.
Both men looked at him in confusion.
“Arthur,” Hightower said softly.
The man in questioned simply straightened his back.
“I want you to take the child and ride away from here.”
“What?!” Oswell started.
“Quiet!” Hightower cut off. “Arthur,” he said sharply, turning around to face the Dornishman, “I want you to take the child and ride away from here. If the child is to ever take the kingdom once again, then we need as much support as possible. Dorne will never support the child’s claim. The child is proof of Rhaegar’s infidelity to Elia. And after what happened to her…”
The White Bull shook his head in disgust.
“No. We need support. We need the North. Eddard Stark must live. Do not start with me Whent. I grow tired of your useless interjections. Eddard Stark loves his sister. He rides here on the basis that he believes she can still be saved. I am no fool. She’s been in labor for too long. She will not survive the day.”
“Then why don’t you come with me?” Arthur asked bluntly.
Gerold simply laughed to himself.
“Come now Arthur, use your head. I want you to ride away from here. Preferably to either Sunspear or Spottswood where you will await Eddard Stark’s arrival.”
“What? Are you insane Hightower? Why in the seven hells would I wait for Eddard Stark to reach me if I am meant to run away.”
“Because he’ll be alone,” Gerold replied. “That is why I am meant to stay here with Whent. The man loves his sister. It is partly as to why he readily went to war. He will ride here with the best swordsmen he can muster. He will ride here, and we will give them the fight of our lives. I am no fool Arthur. I know I will not leave this tower alive. However, I spent my life fighting with a Targaryen on the throne. If giving my life can ensure that another seats it once again, then that is my duty. I swore to give my life for the royal family. Turn around Arthur. The child that was just born in that tower. That is my ruler. Do this for me Arthur.”
“Do you see this, Arthur?”
Gerold pointed to the sigil engraved on his breastplate. To the sigil engraved on Oswell’s breastplate. And to the sigil engraved on Arthur’s breastplate. The three headed dragon of House Targaryen.
“We swore our lives to this. All of us. You are the best among us, Arthur. You must protect Rhaegar’s seed. Our prince, whom was meant to take the throne after this damned war was over. You were there with us. When we swore that we would see him on it.”
“But now our prince is dead, Arthur. And his wife, Lyanna, dies from child fever. His child, only a babe, destined to walk this world without ever laying eyes upon its parents. Who but you can protect Rhaegar’s heir? You were Rhaegar’s confidant. Lyanna’s friend. And you will be their child’s protector. You will be their Kingsguard, Arthur.”
Tears leaked from Arthur’s eyes at this point.
“Gerold,” he choked out.
“Kneel,” the white bull ordered.
Arthur did so.
“Ser Arthur Dayne,” Gerold Hightower said with authority. Arthur looked up. “Do you swear to follow my commands? Do you swear to protect Rhaegar’s child from all harm? To guide them? To advise them? To help lead them back to take their rightful throne?”
Arthur closed his eyes as he nodded fervently. Tears still leaking out of his tightly shut eyes.
“Then rise Ser Arthur, son of House Dayne,” Hightower commanded.
Arthur rose to his feet. His tall frame slightly lower than The White Bull’s.
“From this day forward, I name you Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Now go... and fulfill your duty.”
Arthur simply nodded at the commander whom had served House Targaryen faithfully before looking to his other brother. Oswell walked up to him, grabbed him by both shoulders and touched their foreheads together.
“Go brother,” he said gently.
And he did. Arthur turned around and ran up to the tower where his friend lay. To where the wails of Rhaegar’s child sounded.
He ran into the room and saw as the midwives handed over the wailing child to its mother.
Arthur slowly and shakily made his way over to them.
Lyanna looked up and noticed him through tired eyes.
“Arthur,” she said weakly.
He was closer now, almost to them.
“Look,” she said smiling “isn’t he beautiful.”
Arthur stopped.
He.
Arthur looked down at the whimpering babe within her arms, his wails dying down as he nestled into the warm arms of his mother’s embrace; small wisps of dark hair upon his head.
And as the babe opened his eyes, Arthur sucked in a breath. Eyes so grey they almost looked black. They reminded him of Rhaegar’s eyes. His deceased friend’s eyes had been such a dark shade of indigo that they almost looked a dark grey.
This was Rhaegar’s son. This was Arthur’s King.
Arthur swallowed.
“Does he have a name?”
Lyanna simply smiled as she cooed at her boy.
“Jaehaerys,” she responded.
Arthur nodded. A good name; a name after a wise and old king.
Arthur hesitated as he knew what he had to do. Even if she wailed and fought with him, Arthur would leave with the crown prince.
“Lyanna,” he started. She looked up at him, with her silver-grey eyes. Waves of dark brown hair framed her face.
“I must take him away,” Arthur said.
He felt a stab of pain in his heart when he saw his friend’s eyes widen as she became frantic.
“What?” she said. “No…no. No! You can’t! You can’t take him! He’s my babe.”
Jaehaerys began to wail in her arms as he heard his mother’s screams. Tears began to pour out of Lyanna’s eyes as the midwives watched the scene with a hand on their mouths. They couldn’t believe a man to be cruel to rip away a babe from his mother after he had just been born. Arthur steeled himself.
“Lyanna,” he said sharply. He grabbed her shoulders to keep her in place. She looked at him through her tears as Jaehaerys continued to cry in her arms. “Your brother Eddard rides here in haste. He is almost upon us.”
“Ned?” Her sobs died down. “He’s here?”
“No,” Arthur replied “but he’ll be here soon. That’s why I’m taking Jaehaerys with me.”
“No,” she sobbed. “Ned will keep him safe. I know he will.”
They were wasting time. The longer the conversation went, the sooner that Eddard would arrive with his men. Arthur prayed that Rhaegar would forgive him from the grave, and that Lyanna would as well when she joined him. He leaned over her and wrenched the babe from her arms. In turn, Jaehaerys began crying even harder.
“Arthur,” she wailed “don’t do this. Please.”
“Lyanna. Listen to me. If I stay here, then I cannot let the man that sided with Robert Baratheon near Rhaegar’s son. Not with all his men.”
Lyanna’s sobs continued but she looked at him in attention and focus.
“If I stay here, I’ll kill him. You know I will,” Arthur responded in a matter of fact tone. “But if I go, then he has a chance at living. Gerold and Oswell will take out as many as they can. If your brother was good enough to survive this war, to survive the Battle of the Bells and The Trident, then I believe he may come out on top. If I stay here, he’ll be in the ground.”
Lyanna whimpered as tears continued to stream down her face.
“Please, just let me hold him. One last time Arthur. Just one last time.”
Arthur nodded with soft eyes.
He handed Jaehaerys back to Lyanna. He stood back as he watched mother and son interact with each other one last time. After she kissed the babe’s forehead, she handed him back to the Dornish night.
“Protect him for me, Arthur. You’ll tell him about me one day, won’t you Arthur? Won’t you?”
“I will,” he nodded.
She nodded in response as she curled herself into the blood-stained bed and sobbed to herself.
The time was now.
He turned to the two midwives in the room.
“Which one of you is the wet nurse?” he asked.
Both women looked at him in frozen fright. Arthur’s patience was wearing thin.
“Quickly,” he barked.
Both women regained their senses as one of them approached him. She had pale skin with yellow hair like wheat. Soft brown eyes.
“I am, ser. Wylla, ser, is my name.”
Arthur nodded.
“You’ll come with me. You will nurse the boy until we reach our destination. Is that understood?”
Wylla nodded.
“Good. Then let us hurry. The northerners will be on us soon.”
As they made their way out of the room, Arthur turned to the remaining midwife.
“Spottswood,” Arthur said. The woman looked at him in confusion. “Should Eddard Stark survive, like I think he will, tell him that I went to Spottswood. I will take a ship there from the port and sail for Tyrosh. The boat will sail in a fortnight. If he has not met me there by that time, I will have assumed that I thought wrong and he fell here.”
The woman looked at him before nodding.
“Spottswood,” she repeated.
Arthur nodded, a satisfied look on his face.
He turned towards Wylla and signaled for her to follow. Arthur turned on his heel and walked out of the door, away from his King’s mother, and his friend.
One fortnight later
Spottswood
Arthur currently stood on the boat that was making its way to depart to Tyrosh. It had been a fortnight since he left The Tower of Joy. He had made a detour to Starfall to say goodbye to his family before heading off once again to Spottswood. He arrived under darkness and stayed hidden at a tavern where he slept in a room that he shared with Wylla as she took care of Jaehaerys.
Arthur slept on the floor at nights but mainly spent his days in the tavern awaiting word that a certain northern lord had made his way towards them.
For a week he heard no word. Until he did. There was talk that Eddard Stark rode with haste towards Spottswood with another companion, Howland Reed. He had spent a week making plans to send the bodies of his northern companions to their families. Along with the bodies of his sworn brothers…and his sister.
Arthur knew she would not survive her fever, but he still silently wept at the loss of a friend. However, Arthur was sure that Lord Stark would arrive in a few days’ time if the man rode with the haste Arthur had heard of. As the end of the fortnight neared, Arthur began to fear that Eddard Stark had recruited more men to meet him at the docks. Arthur began to wonder if he should skip the agreement and set sail as soon as possible.
Though, he couldn’t. He planned to part from Wylla so she could make way to Starfall where she could serve as a wet nurse or midwife there. She and his sister, Ashara, had taken to one another and had become friends in the brief days that Arthur stayed. However, the new wet nurse that Arthur had hired was scheduled to arrive the day he had initially planned to leave. Arthur cursed himself for jumping the fire and making plans ahead of time. Arthur prayed that Eddard Stark was honorable to arrive alone.
But, the day to sail had finally come. The wet nurse he had hired, a beautiful olive-skinned woman with a largely sized bosom, had arrived. She claimed to be from Volantis, which struck Arthur as odd, as he had never known the Volantene to employ wet nurses. He became paranoid but, after sending Wylla away an hour before the woman arrived, he knew he had no choice but to trust her.
Arthur hated how much faith he was forced to place with the people he surrounded himself with.
The captain of the ship had informed Arthur that they were ready to make way to Tyrosh when the docks suddenly became quiet at the figures that approached.
Arthur whipped his head around as he placed a defensive hand upon Dawn. The men around him began to tense, the Volantene woman clutched Jaehaerys to her chest as the figures approached them. He knew whom it was.
Lord Eddard Stark had arrived.
The black direwolf on a white fielded banner was unmistakable. As was the short man beside him; Howland Reed.
Arthur looked around to see if any more men had accompanied them, but he found none. When he looked behind them, Arthur suddenly realized as to why Eddard had taken a long journey to Spottswood. A wagon that held a coffin was being pulled by two destriers. Eddard Stark was personally escorting his sister’s corpse.
“I looked for you on the Trident,” Eddard said in his gruff, northern accent.
“I was not there,” Arthur replied.
“Rhaegar lies beneath the ground. Why weren’t you there to protect your prince?” Eddard asked.
“My prince wanted me elsewhere.”
“The Mad King is dead. Ser Jaime slew him with a golden sword.”
“Aerys was past his ruling days. I’m sure Ser Jaime had his reasons.”
Eddard had paused at that statement clearly not expecting such a response from one of the most honorable men in the seven kingdoms. Howland recovered for him.
“I arrived with Lord Eddard to relieve the siege on Storm’s End. The armies quickly dipped their banners and pledged their allegiance. We thought you might be among them,” Howland said.
“My knee does not bend easily,” Arthur replied.
Eddard had taken control once again.
“Ser Willem Darry has fled to Dragonstone along with Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him.”
“Ser Willem is noble and true, but he is not of the Kingsguard. I swore a vow. I do not flee.”
The dockworkers looked upon the scene in silence. The captain of the vessel heading towards Tyrosh looked upon the scene in fear. Eddard and Arthur stared at one another for what seemed decades.
“Where is my nephew,” Eddard Stark asked Arthur.
As if the God’s willed it, Jaehaerys began to whimper in the arms of the Volantene woman.
Arthur moved to the side to allow Eddard Stark a glimpse at the babe. Eddard’s gaze softened as he stepped forward to the woman.
Arthur’s right hand quickly found the hilt of Dawn as stepped to the northerner. Howland reached for a dagger, but Eddard raised a hand to stop his friend.
“Come now,” Eddard said “I have no desire to harm my blood. Put away your blade. Even if I had the audacity to be a kinslayer, only a fool would make the attempt when the babe is being guarded by the Sword of the Morning.”
Arthur relaxed his hand, and Howland did the same. Arthur prayed that he wasn’t making a mistake when Eddard neared the child. The Volantene woman instinctively clutched the babe to her breast in a protective manner and Arthur felt grateful; any fears he held of her quickly fading.
“Let me hold him,” Eddard told her softly.
The woman looked to Arthur for confirmation. He simply nodded his response.
As the lord took the babe into his arms, the whimpering began to cease. For a brief moment, Arthur entertained the idea of allowing the boy to be raised by his uncle, but the thought was quickly expelled from his mind. He had made a vow to Gerold Hightower. Arthur would raise the boy and eventually return to reclaim the iron throne.
“My sister told me his name is Jaehaerys,” he said softly.
“That is correct,” Arthur replied.
Eddard nodded before suddenly looking towards Arthur with fierce determination.
“I’m going to raise him.”
Arthur simply stared at him before a sneer crossed his face.
“Will you now?”
“Yes,” Eddard affirmed.
“And why would I let you do that?”
Eddard simply looked at him in mild shock.
“I thought… You called me here…” he looked down at the babe in his arms.
Arthur let out a humorless laugh.
“What? That the reason I called you here was so that you could take the child? It seems I’ve overestimated you, Lord Stark.”
“Then why? I can keep him safe. I can raise him.”
“And just how would you do that” Arthur questioned.
“I can pass him off as my son.”
“You would pass off your sister’s son as your bastard?” Arthur asked him slowly.
When Eddard nodded, Arthur quickly unsheathed his sword and placed the edge of his blade to the throat of the northern lord in front of him. He heard Howland Reed step towards him from behind, but Arthur had the advantage.
“Stay right where you are Lord Reed” he said in a low voice “one more step and you’ll find yourself looking for another warden of the north. Though, if you take one more step, Greywater Watch will be looking for another Lord as well.”
He heard Howland spit on the ground, but the little lord made no attempt at moving closer. For good measure, Arthur tiptoed to his side, his blade stuck at Eddard’s neck, so he could have both men in his line of vision.
“I don’t know what your endgame is Lord Stark. But I do hope you don’t actually think your whoring friend will sit the throne forever.”
Eddard’s eyes widened.
“You plan to retake the throne?”
“Of course,” Arthur scoffed. “I am sworn to the Targaryen name.”
“The Targaryens are gone,” Eddard protested.
Arthur looked down to Jaehaerys.
“Not all of them.”
Eddard Stark shook his head.
“And who would support him? He has only his name. You would torment the boy to a life of fleeing assassins?”
Arthur looked down before raising an eyebrow.
The man had a point, Arthur thought. If he travelled the world while claiming Rhaegar’s heir as his ward, they would never be safe.
“I must say Lord Stark. You have swayed me.”
Eddard gave a brief smile to the Kingsguard in front of him.
“I will call him Jon Snow.”
Eddard frowned.
“Jon, for the name of Rhaegar’s good friend Jon Connington. It also must mean something for you; Jon Arryn fostered you of course. Snow. For the love of his mother whose heart I broke when I wrenched him from her arms. He has her look.” Arthur nodded at his decision.
“Aye,” Eddard responded. “He’ll grow with my children as if he were their own brother.”
Arthur laughed.
“You misunderstand me, my lord.” Eddard continued to frown at him. “I’m naming him Jon Snow because you made me realize the danger he’d face in Essos. Fleeing every day for his family name. No, I promised that I would raise him to retake the throne and I will. And you know the best part Lord Stark?”
Eddard shrunk under his gaze.
“What,” Eddard said.
“You’re going to help him,” Arthur smiled. “Oh, yes. You will help Jaehaerys take the throne. You will remain close to the Riverlands and The Vale. And when it is time for us to return to these shores, you will pledge the North in his name.”
“And why would I do that?”
Arthur smiled cruelly at the lord of Winterfell.
“Because you owe it to him. Because of you, he will grow up without even a single parent. Because you declared war, Lyanna was forced to give birth in secrecy. Away from any maester in the land. It resulted in the death of his mother. Rhaegar was forced to answer the call of battle and was slain by your usurper friend. It resulted in the death of his father. You owe it to him.”
“No,” Eddard muttered weakly, “they killed my father and brother. It’s not my fault”
“Yes, it is. She told me how it was you that brought the betrothal to your father. You caused all this Lord Stark. This is your fault. Now, hand me the prince.”
Eddard could only comply as tears leaked from his eyes. Arthur cradled the babe in his arms as he slowly walked backwards to the ship.
“I will stay in contact Lord Stark. Fret not. You have not seen the last of your nephew. Or the Sword of the Morning.”
“Captain,” Arthur bellowed.
The man in question yelped as he turned his attention to the tall man.
“I believe we’ve wasted enough time. We must head to Tyrosh with haste.”
The man nodded as he ordered his men to get ready for sail. And as the vessel left the harbor, Arthur grasped one of Jaehaerys’ chubby arms and maneuvered it to wave goodbye at the weeping man on the harbor.
“Say goodbye to your uncle,” Arthur cooed.
Jaehaerys simply babbled as saliva ran down his chin.
Arthur smiled down at the babe until the wet nurse from Volantis snuck behind him.
He gave a slight jump as he twirled around to face her.
“Hello,” she said to him. “I don’t think we are properly introduced. I am Sevanna.”
Arthur finally took the time to take in the woman’s features. She was tall, not as tall as him but taller than the average Westerosi woman. She had brown waves of hair to frame her face, striking green eyes with seductive plump lips painted red. Her nose was thin and her eyebrows long and angled. Her chin came into a softly squared point with a hint of a cleft. Her cheekbones were high. Arthur could almost mistake her for a noblewoman.
“Sevanna…?”
She smiled.
“Only Sevanna.”
“Well, ‘Only Sevanna’, I am Ser Arthur Dayne.”
“Yes,” she smiled “I believe I figured that out when you referred to yourself as ‘The Sword of the Morning’ earlier with your rather heated conversation.”
Arthur’s cheeks burned.
“It is my title,” he responded.
She threw her head back to laugh. It was a sweet melodic laugh that brought a hint of peace and balance within Arthur. He felt he could stare at her forever until the babe in his arms began to squirm and give a weak cry.
Sevanna quickly moved towards him to take young Jaehaerys into her arms.
“I think little Jon is hungry.”
The blush Arthur had before was nothing compared to the redness that overtook his entire face. He could feel the heat of his blood warm his features as he saw Sevanna pull her dress below her breast as she positioned Jaehaerys to suckle. Sevanna cooed as she swayed her body in a slow tempo causing Jaehaerys’ eyes to close slowly.
“Jaehaerys,” Arthur blurted out.
“Hm?”
“His name. It’s Jaehaerys.”
Sevanna rolled her eyes.
“I am quite aware. However, you said to keep him safe his name would be Jon Snow. I believe it would be wise to refer to him as such from now on, don’t you think?”
Arthur simply nodded his head. That made sense, it almost made him want to bash his head into a wall. How could he be so careless as to refer the king by his rightful name around sailors? He hoped to the seven that no one would blurt a word.
“Aye,” Arthur said. “Jon.”
Sevanna nodded.
“Excuse me,” she said. Arthur turned his attention to her. “I find myself rather tired as well, could you lead me to my quarters so I could sleep along with Jon?”
Arthur nodded. He had surveyed the vessel earlier, learning the layout. Sevanna and Jon’s room were located directly next to his. As he led her, she asked him deep lying questions.
“So, you plan to raise an army for him. How do you plan to do that?”
Arthur merely looked back at her.
“I don’t know,” he responded truthfully.
“You don’t know?” she raised an eyebrow. “Then what was all that talk back there?”
“I made an oath to my commander. I swore that I would raise the boy and help him retake the throne. I knew that could not be possible with Lord Stark. The damn man is too honorable, he would most likely treat the boy as a bastard without every telling him who he is out of fear of betraying his friend. This way, I have forced his hand. Friendship or family. However, that still doesn’t guarantee his allegiance. Should Eddard Stark choose his friend, then Jae- Jon will need a separate army ready to go. Though, I don’t know how I plan to do that.”
Sevanna rolled her eyes.
“You men. Always thinking with your steel rather than your brain. Honestly, coming to Essos is possible the worst way to raise an army.”
Arthur stayed quiet.
“Only Braavos has a true military,” she continued. “Though it is only backed by the Iron Bank. All the other cities there rely on sellswords to wage war and defense.”
Arthur stopped.
“Sellswords,” he whispered.
They had finally reached her door.
“Yes, sellswords, they fight for gold. I thought an anointed knight would know that.”
Arthur waived away the insult.
“I think I’ve found the perfect army.”
“What?”
“Sellswords,” He responded.
“Sellswords?”
“Yes, sellswords, they fight people. I thought someone who grew around them for defense would know that.”
Sevanna’s face burned at the remark.
“And how will you convince a sellsword company to help you. They all fight for gold, and I rather doubt you have more than needed for this journey. Unless you’re hiding a cities worth to hire them somewhere.”
Arthur shook his head.
“There’s a certain sellsword group that was founded by an exiled Westerosi. They have a prophecy. A prophecy that, one day, a dragon will take them home.”
Sevanna looked on in intrigue.
“And who is this sellsword group?”
Arthur simply smiled at her.
“Possibly the most famous sellsword company to every exist.”
299 AC
Pentos
“I urge you to reconsider, your grace. Khal Drogo leads the largest Khalasar to ever exist. With this betrothal, you will have secured forty thousand men to retake the throne!”
Illyrio Mopatis. A fat man that was adorned in exquisite robes and an assortment of jewels. He had plotted for years to raise his place in society and he found no better opportunity than to be Master of Coin of Westeros. Of course, that plan relied heavily on a Targaryen to sit upon the iron throne. He was currently conversing with one of said Targaryens but that Targaryen in question was making his utmost best in ruining all of Illyrio’s plans.
“I will not rest my invasion on the backs of these Dothraki savages!”
Viserys Targaryen. An entitled man who rested his claim solely on his family name. It was quite easy to manipulate him, Illyrio found no hesitance in bending him unknowingly to his will. He had fed him false lies over the year when he had taken in the boy, along with his sister, and was making great progress towards his goal. Illyrio knew that Viserys would never seat the throne, that right belonged to the child that “survived” the sack of King’s landing, Aegon Targaryen.
For a decade, he had monitored the known Targaryen siblings. He would unknowingly send them help to evade assassins by always making sure they were just one step ahead. Initially, his plan- with the help of a certain spider- had been simple; marry Daenerys Targaryen to Aegon to seal the boy’s claim and end disputes. However, plans changed, and the spider had ended up arranging a betrothal with Khal Drogo for the young princess. Their initial plans had gone to waste a few years ago.
Ser Arthur Dayne, the only survivor, other than Ser Barristan, of Aerys’ Kingsguard had taken control of the Golden Company and had pledged them to a bastard boy; foiling the careful threads they’d sowed for an army to be at Aegon’s call.
The Sword of the Morning had killed the former commander of the company and dared anyone else to challenge him for leadership. Of course, no one in their right state of mind had dared to take him on and had all bent their knees in loyalty. A few years later, as soon as the bastard he warded had turned four and ten, Ser Arthur had pledged the entire company in servitude to the boy. It was a breaking point and it was challenged by a captain of the company, Harry Strickland.
Strickland had openly claimed that the Dornish knight had lost his mind and that the sellswords would never do the bidding of a nameless bastard with no notable heritage. While the notion that Arthur Dayne had lost his mind was completely true to Illyrio, his skill with the blade was as fine as ever. Strickland did not last more than ten seconds before he was slain. Ser Arthur had then gathered all the captains in a secret meeting. No one knows what had been said, but the captains had openly bent their knees to the feet of the bastard and the entire company had soon followed.
Now the bastard had control of fifteen thousand men. Half of them mounted on horses, along with fifty or so elephants armored for war. A bastard was now the most powerful man in all of Essos. Only the Dothraki could hope to challenge the bastard, but the boy had shown his prowess before in battle. From what Illyrio had heard, the boy had outsmarted a Khal in battle when they had faced off at the gates of Norvos. Completely overhyped in his opinion, Norvos was the worst possible battleground for the Dothraki to meet him. It was surrounded by rocky landscapes and the streets that led there were uneven. Without an open field, the Dothraki were practically led to slaughter.
Still, he had garnered the respect of every person in power in all of the free cities of Essos. Lady Mellario, the wife of Prince Doran, had even offered herself to the boy. Things did not happen between the two, as many expected it would; and if it was due to the boy’s chivalry or his mother’s protectiveness was unknown.
After hearing that the bastard had denied the woman, every young girl swooned and sighed at the possibility of being the one to capture this bastard commander’s heart. Every girl except one. Young Daenerys.
Illyrio was thankful for Viserys’ idiocy and prejudice. The boy believed every bastard to be lesser and born of sin, and every northerner to be a barbarian on par of those born in the Dothraki Sea. The young girl shook in fear at the mention of his name. It could prove useful to Illyrio, but of course that damned Viserys was set on ruining Illyrio’s plans.
“My King,” Illyrio started sweetly, “this bastard boy is no better. He is of Northern blood; his last name is a testament to that. He is no better than the Khal and with fewer men at that.”
Viserys would not hear it.
“I know what the bastard is Illyrio. However, his men are true warriors that ride upon fearless horses. They lack the proper leadership and I will be the one to lead them to glory. Furthermore, he defeated a Khal at the gates of Norvos, did he not? That should be a testament as to how utterly useless the horsefuckers are. No, I will have the Golden Company at my side. Send word to the bastard. Tell him my offer.”
Viserys turned to leave. Illyrio saw his plans crumbling before him. He used the only trick up his sleeve.
“But Khal Drogo has already been informed,” Illyrio blurted out. “He will be here on the morrow.”
It was the truth. Illyrio had jumped the fire and contacted the Khal about the marriage proposal between him and young Daenerys. He was to come and view her as she was presented to him, and the Khal would decide. The girl was shy and meek, no doubt the battle-hardened Khal would enjoy breaking her beauty in. However, the blasted prince of Pentos had contacted the bastard for a contract and now the bastard commander was camped by the beach outside the city. He brought his entire army of sellswords including his war elephants.
“What? A decision was made without the consent of the rightful King?”
Viserys’ eyes had become slits as he approached Illyrio.
“My King, I only meant to secure a valuable asset for your cause. I knew you planned to marry your sister for an alliance, and I thought what better option than the vast numbers that Khal Drogo could offer?”
Viserys was appeased for only a moment. Illyrio hoped that he would agree with his decision.
“No matter. I know that the bastard is camped outside the city. I heard his elephants a mere hour ago. Send word to him and inform him of the savage that dares steal his future bride.”
Viserys turned on his heel and made no room for further conversation. Illyrio sighed. He could possibly take out the prince, but that would no doubt ensure that the young girl would break any loyalty she had to him. The girl feared her brother but held some sort of idolization for him. How queer it was to Illyrio.
He called to one of his servants.
“I need to draft a letter. However, you will deliver this tomorrow.”
Yes, Illyrio would contact the bastard but not with haste. Illyrio would contact him at the last possible moment, just as the screams of Khal Drogo’s Khalasar were heard. Only then would the letter arrive to the bastard commander’s notice.
“A letter to who, magister?” his servant asked.
“To the commander of the Golden Company, Jon Snow.”
The Next Day
Outside Pentos
Jon Snow sat in his gilded war tent that overlooked the narrow sea. He currently had a table set where he was seated along with his captains; Arthur Dayne at his right hand, Black Balaq, the captain of the archers sat directly next to Arthur.
Balaq was a master archer that hailed from the Summer Isles; he had white hair and skin as black as soot. That’s all Jon knew, Balaq never disclosed his past to anyone.
To Jon’s direct left, was an empty chair reserved for his best friend. Seated next to the empty chair was Ser Marlon Manderly, cousin to Wyman Manderly. Marlon was the captain guard of White Harbor before he grew tired of the dull life and instead sought to join the Golden Company where he heard an exiled Northerner had come to be best friends with the commander of the company, who also had northern blood flowing through him.
When Ser Marlon had joined over a year ago, he had sworn that he had seen the exact visage of Eddard Stark. Jon turned to Arthur who had a thin frown on his face. That was the first time Arthur had told him a bit of his mother and father. Arthur had assured him that Eddard was not his father. Though, Marlon swore it to this day that Jon had Stark blood flowing in him. Marlon’s ambitions had proven to be fruitful as he’d been promoted a moon’s past to be the company’s paymaster after Jon had executed Gorys Edoryen, the former paymaster, for plotting against him.
Seated next to Marlon was Nithral, the captain of the spearmen and a tall, burly warrior from Sothoryos. The interesting part of Nithral was that he wielded a war axe but claimed that he had experience training spearmen. His word had proven true and was rewarded with a seat on Jon’s war council.
Directly in front of Nithral, and next to Balaq, was Lysono Maar. Lysono was responsible for discovering Gorys’ treason and although he had no business on the battlefield, Jon’s war council also served as a council where the captains could come together and bring forth ideas for the future. They all debated what contracts were worth picking and Lysono was vital in helping determine what was a trap and what wasn’t.
Two other men sat on opposite ends, one each. One seated next to Nithral and the other next to Lysono. Rakharo, a young Dothraki screamer that had joined with Jon’s camp after Jon had defeated his Khal, Khal Ramo, at the gates of Norvos. He was a fierce warrior that fought with a whip, as well as an arakh, but what had garnered Jon’s attention was his way with horses. Jon had ordered Rakharo to learn the common tongue and when Rakharo had, Jon had made him the captain of the horses. It seemed a pitiful job to outsiders, but it was a great honor to Rakharo. As it should be. The knights of Jon’s company had initially met him with scorn, but it had slowly turned to respect. Rakharo did not back down from a fight and he was the one in charge (along with a few handlers) of the lone to be ready and broken in for any knight that lost a horse during battle.
The company respected the young Dothraki and Jon couldn’t help but think that this was the way the world should be. Not determined by the stock of their blood, but by the hard work one put into their trade. Rakharo earned his spot next to Lysono.
Seated across from Rakharo and next to Nithral was Lagras, a Ghiscari warrior that had taken to riding elephants for Volantis. He immediately became Jon’s captain of the elephants when he joined shortly after Ser Marlon.
“To think,” Marlon started, “that the damn Pentos Prince would waste our time by inviting us here when the contract is in Myr!”
“I must say, I did not expect the prince to be arrogant enough to waste our time with this journey. Though, one must think he’s setting us into a trap,” Nithral put in with a gruff voice.
Jon turned to his spymaster.
“What do you say Lysono? Does this smell of trickery to you?”
Lysono met his gaze and simply shrugged.
“It is possible commander, as I hear Khal Drogo rides here with his Dothraki horde and is due to arrive today. Perhaps the Prince expects us to defend his city should they resort to violence. You did defeat Khal Ramo, after all.”
“The Dothraki? Here? That smells like trap to me,” Balaq snorted. “Khal Ramo was an idiot to fight us outside the open fields. A Khalasar of twenty-five thousand, but the city was in our favor. He should have run when we began to annihilate his riders with our arrows.”
“Do not underestimate Drogo,” Arthur inputted. “He commands far more than Ramo did. 80,000 if I’m not mistaken. Even with the city it’ll be quite a task to fight him here. Luckily the open fields are scarce here in the free cities. He’s united the Khalasar into one and only needs to defeat two other Khals before he becomes the official king of the Dothraki Sea. He’s not an idiot like Ramo was.”
“What say you Rakharo?” Jon asked, the young Dothraki quiet during the entire conversation.
“Khal Drogo good fighter, commander. He no fear anyone. He defeat every Khal. We all think he defeat Ramo soon if Ramo live. But he no live. You kill Ramo. We should still be careful.”
Jon nodded at Rakharo before turning to Lagras.
“And you Lagras? Do you think our elephants can defeat the Khal’s Khalasar?”
Lagras sat silently for a while before nodding his head. The company learned very quickly that Lagras was a man of few words, but with damned good gift with the elephants. With nonverbal commands, he could make any elephant dance to his tune.
Jon nodded once again before turning to his captains.
“Well, I think we should stay here for the day. We can set off tomorrow-”
The tent flap burst open as a blonde-haired man bounded to Jon’s left with winded breath. He held a scroll in his right hand.
“Nice of you to join us,” Jon drawled.
The man panted as he took a deep breath.
“So sorry. Was taking a stroll through the city when a servant came up to me and asked me if I was part of the company. I assume it was my armband; you know how I like wearing it to attract the women. The women adore-”
“The point,” Jon interrupted, lest they all sit there for a day.
“Oh, sure. She told me that this was meant for you and made to give it to me before it was snatched away by a friend of hers, a boy. He said this was only supposed to be delivered to you after Khal Drogo had arrived at the magister’s palace. I chased the whoreson and asked them to give it to me.”
“Asked them?”
“Yes... Asked them.”
“Did you ask them nicely?” Jon implored.
Silence.
“You should read that Jon.”
Jon sighed.
Asher Forrester. Exiled son of Gregor Forrester, Lord of Ironrath, second born son; along with a forbidden love affair with Gwyn Whitehill, daughter of House Whitehill- an old and bitter enemy of House Forrester. Attractive, scruffy look with blonde hair and meadow green eyes. He had become Jon’s best friend during the exile. Asher had planned to travel to Yunkai, but soon found himself caught up with Golden Company when they were still under the leadership of Arthur Dayne three years ago. He was only two years older than Jon and was a northerner. Jon quickly took to him and the pair had been inseparable ever since.
However, the two friends were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Where Jon was quiet and reserved, Asher was loud and rambunctious. One preferred solitude, the other preferred the social. Northern ties just ran strong it seemed.
Jon broke the seal and read its contents. Arthur and Asher looked at him with worry as confusion set on Jon’s face.
“What?” he said. “This has to be a joke. Asher, you have to be joking.”
“I’m not,” Asher cried. “The servant said this was meant for you. I chased down the thief who’d stolen it and made my way to you with haste. Why would I risk missing this meeting if I wasn’t honest?”
Jon simply shook his head at the letter.
“Let me see it,” Arthur said softly.
Jon handed him the letter.
To Jon Snow,
I am Illyrio Mopatis, a magister of Pentos, and a humble servant of House Targaryen. I bring news from the rightful King, Viserys Targaryen, that he would like to begin planning his invasion in retaking the iron throne that was stolen from him.
He deems an alliance. The loyalty of your army in exchange for a union of marriage with his sister, Daenerys Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone.
He urges you to make haste as Khal Drogo rides to Pentos in search of a Khaleesi. A beautiful woman to bear him a son to fulfill a prophecy. The stallion that mounts the world. The princess awaits today to be presented to you in all her glory to convince you that she is a worthy wife to the great captain-general that defeated a Khal at the gates of Norvos.
,a future friend. Illyrio Mopatis.
Arthur’s eyes widened as finished reading the letter. He passed it to Balaq and as it made its way around the table, the gears began to turn in Arthur’s head.
Firstly, he didn’t like the way Viserys referred to himself as the rightful king but couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. As far as Viserys was aware, he was the last male Targaryen alive.
Arthur also felt a sort of shame at not finding the prince and princess. He was still sworn to protect them as well, but they had always seemed to be one step ahead of him. He soon gave up and turned his attention to keeping Jon safe. However, now that Arthur knew that the remaining Targaryen royals were located inside the city, he saw an opportunity at saving them both. This could also solve the future problem of contention to Jaehaerys’ claim to the throne. If he married Daenerys, none could challenge his legitimacy. Suddenly, being tricked by the prince of Pentos was not such a bad situation. It was a rather fortuitous day.
As the last person read the letter, Lysono cleared his throat.
“What will you do?”
Jon turned to him.
“Deny it of course,” Marlon cut in before Jon could respond.
“I hear she is beauty. If she captivate Khal Drogo, then she be good wife to commander,” Rakharo put his opinion in.
Arthur silently agreed with the young Dothraki. If enough of the commanders could convince Jon to accept the proposal, then they could leave Pentos with all Targaryens.
“I think we should at least see,” Balaq said.
“It could be a trap,” Lysono argued.
“I don’t know. Aerys burned Lord Rickard and Lord Brandon. Maybe we shouldn’t have our commander marry his daughter,” Asher stated.
Arthur scoffed at the young northerner in front of him.
“You cannot seriously blame a child for the sins of her father.”
Asher merely put his hands up in defense.
“I think we should go,” they all turned to Nithral. “If only to fuck with this Khal Drogo and his men.”
They all rolled their eyes. His opinion didn’t count they decided.
“The decision falls to you commander,” Marlon said. “Whatever you choose, I will back you.”
Everyone at the table nodded. Jon was young but had proven himself time after time and had rewarded his men’s loyalty with treasures beyond measure.
“I don’t think I’ll go,” Jon said.
Arthur sucked in a breath.
“I don’t like being forced into situations last minute. And this Viserys. He wants my men to fight his war?”
Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but was promptly cut off by the most surprising person possible at the table.
“You must,” a scratchy voice said.
They all turned with wide eyes to the lone man seated next to Nithral. Every man looked at him with their mouths agape.
“Lagras,” Jon whispered, his voice trailing off in surprise.
“Seven hells, the man talks,” Asher hissed.
Jon recovered from his shock.
“Speak Lagras,” he commanded. “Why must I play along with this charade?”
“The prophecy,” Lagras breathed. “The prophecy states that one day a dragon will take the Golden Company to Westeros. She is a dragon. If you marry her, we may go home.”
Arthur had never wanted to kiss a man before in his life, but, if asked, plant one on the seemingly mute Ghiscari.
“Aye,” Marlon agreed before quoting the famed prophecy that was forgotten to many.
One day, a dragon shall beat its wings upon the golden sons of Essos. And then, it shall fly them home to the stolen lands of the west.
Every man nodded their heads at the prophecy. Every single one of them had tired of fighting for gold; no matter how extravagantly dressed each member could be, they all longed for a place that they could call home.
Jon clenched his fist.
“I cannot promise you a marriage, my friends. But for all of you, I will at least ride to this Magister’s house and I will set my gaze upon this dragon princess myself.”
The men nodded their heads. A choice; their commander deserved no less.
“Still,” Jon said, “I find it strange that this letter is supposed to bid me to ride there in haste, yet it was deemed to be withheld until the Khal viewed the princess for himself.”
Arthur nodded.
Everyone looked confused as they tried to decipher the revelation.
“Unless,” they all turned to Lysono, “they purposely meant to withhold the information.”
“What do you mean,” Jon questioned. Though, Arthur felt dread filling his stomach.
“This letter was written by the magister. He himself sent his servant to deliver the letter but told one of them to not deliver it until the Khal had arrived. He did not foresee that a fellow member of the company, much less the general’s friend, would be paroling the streets and run into said servants. No doubt one of them was slow of mind and did not think when they approached the general’s good friend. Viserys Targaryen seems set on wedding his sister to you, captain; and, from what I’ve heard, he’s rather prejudice against foreigners.”
Arthur frowned. He was begin to dislike prince Viserys with each unravel of newfound information.
“My thoughts?” Lysono continued “Mopatis is conspiring to marry the princess to the Khal and does not wish for you to intervene.”
Arthur’s eyes widened.
“Then we must ride in haste,” he blurted out as he stood from his chair.
His fellow captains nodded their heads as Jon simply stared at him with narrow eyes. If Jon had any questions, he did not get to voice them as Asher quickly pulled him from his chair.
“Hey!” Jon exclaimed to his best friend.
“Come on,” Asher said. “Khal Drogo is probably already there; we need to ride with the wind.”
“He’s right. We can’t waste any more time.”
Jon turned to Arthur with piercing grey eyes before turning to Balaq at the last moment.
“Balaq, I want you to stay here and mobilize the army. I don’t know how offended Drogo will be if he wasted the journey only to think I’m stealing his intended bride.”
Balaq nodded and ran outside.
“The rest of you. Ride with me. Bring your fastest horse and your strongest weapon. We ride for wrath and with fury,” Jon commanded.
Nithral roared in happiness as he scurried to his destrier, his large war axe in tow.
Jon made his way outside as he strapped his bastard steel sword to his hip, making his way up towards the grasslands that led to the city; and was met by a squire that had readied his horse.
It was a beautiful animal. Gorgeous, one could say. A black Sand Steed from Dorne; its saddle a patinated leather made from the hide of an ox.
Jon looked behind him, all his captains on their respective horses; Nithral and Lagras holding the banner for the company.
“Rakharo,” Jon called.
The young Dothraki rode from the back and next to him.
“Yes commander?”
“I need you to ride alongside me. I can understand Dothraki but can’t speak it to save my life. I need you to translate for me. Can you do this for me?”
Rakharo puffed out his chest.
“Yes commander,” He replied.
Jon grinned at him.
“Good man.”
One Hour Earlier
Illyrio’s Manse
Daenerys Targaryen.
She was a princess- a shy and meek girl of five and ten- that currently overlooked the city of Pentos from a balcony of Illyrio Mopatis’ manse; waiting for Illyrio’s servants to fill the bath with water.
Daenerys looked on with sad violet eyes as she thought about everything her brother had told her. She was to be presented today for a pending marriage and had never felt so betrayed. Daenerys was afraid of her brother, but he had promised her that she would be his queen. That they’d rule together when they reclaimed their home. Daenerys dreamt of it, hoping that it would bring back her old Viserys. The one that would wipe away her tears and sing her to sleep. However, ever since he’d sold their mother’s crown, he’d become bitter and abusive. All he ever spoke of was the throne.
Maybe, just maybe, he could be the Viserys she loved again; but those thoughts were dead. They’d died when he’d told her, the day past, that Khal Drogo rode with his Khalasar to view her for himself before making the decision to wed her or not. To make matters worse, Viserys had told her that another suitor rode to the manse as well.
For a brief moment, she had prayed that he was secretly referring to himself. However, he quickly crushed her hopes when he told her about the Golden Company that was camped outside the city. Fear overtook her body as she didn’t need to wait for the name to come from Viserys’ lips to know who rode for her. Jon Snow. The northern bastard captain-general that had defeated Khal Ramo at the gates of Norvos.
This was her future. A savage horse lord that enslaved the weak and took their women out in the open, and under the stars, or a northern barbarian that could match a Khal in ferocity. For the first time in many moons, Daenerys cried herself to sleep.
“Daenerys,” a familiar voice called behind her.
Viserys. Her brother. The man that was intending to sell her today like some mare.
Daenerys made her way into the bathhouse when her brother caught sight of her.
“Ah, there you are,” he said in delight. He held a thin silver dress in his hands, the material sheening in the light. “Look what I have.”
She already had, she thought.
“Touch it,” he said with a smile. It reminded her so much of the past.
However, the occasion as to why he had it quickly dampened her reminiscing. She reached a hand towards the material.
“It’s soft isn’t it?”
She could only nod. Viserys handed the dress to one of the servants before circling behind her and grasping at the straps of her dress to remove it from her body. Soon, her entire nude form was posed for him as he circled back in front of her.
He put a thumb to his lips, observing her figure with deep thought. Moving his hand from his mouth and towards her left breast, he gave a light squeeze and nodded his approval.
“I need you to be perfect for me today,” he told her. “Do you think you can do that?”
He simply stared at her with a paler hue of purple, a lilac color, before turning on his heel to walk away.
Daenerys soon found herself walking in front of the steps that led into the bath with boiling water. As she climbed the steps, Daenerys could not find it in herself to cry at the fate that awaited her. A life of rape. A life of servitude to one of two men. Both hardened warriors. One a horse lord twice her age. The other a captain-general with bastard, barbarian northern blood. The same blood that had helped overthrow her family.
“My lady, it’s too hot,” a servant girl exclaimed.
The water seemed too cold for her.
One Hour Later
They stood outside the manse. Illyrio Mopatis with his forked beard stood by the steps that lead into his home while Daenerys waited at the entrance with her brother.
She stood in silence until they heard the screaming coming from down the street to their left. Three men rode to the entrance as Illyrio laughed jovially as he greeted them in Dothraki.
She looked up to her brother and made out disappointment on his face. As she looked back at the three men, one stood out in particular. A giant man atop a black horse, his long hair a similar hue and braided to his tights. A beard that was also braided into a goatee reached his chest. As she observed him even more, she noticed bells tied into the braid of his hair.
Viserys leaned into her ear but she never tore her eyes away as the man atop the black horse had caught her gaze. He simply scrutinized her with cold lifeless eyes as his ever-present scowl never softened.
“The man on the brown horse is Khal Drogo. He currently leads the largest Khalasar. Do you see that long braid? When a Khal is defeated in combat, he must cut his hair in shame. Khal Drogo has never been defeated,” he whispered. “There may not be a finer killer around on this continent…of course he’s a savage, but he’s good at what he does. And you will be his queen.”
Her heart hammered in her chest as Illyrio Mopatis finished his speech in the common tongue.
“And may I present to you, Princess Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen.”
He gestured his arm towards her, and she made her way slowly down the steps and to the Khal.
However, a large thunder of hooves stopped her in her steps, and everyone turned their attention to the left side once again. This time, a group of eight riders dashed to the entrance where Illyrio Mopatis currently stood.
The magister looked on with an ashen face and she heard a gasp behind her. Daenerys turned to her brother to find a look of glee upon his face. When she turned her attention to the eight riders, she understood why. Two men at the back held a banner; five golden skulls impaled by a spear. The Golden Company, she thought.
Daenerys sucked in a breath as she surveyed the man that might be Jon Snow. She had heard many stories of him, all from the young women around her. Fools, she had thought of them. Did they not know how cruel and vindictive that bastards were? How barbaric the northerners had been born?
She looked to each of the eight riders. The closest to a barbarian she could make out to be were the two men riding at the back. One huge and burly with a large war axe. The other with scars upon scars on his face and arms. However, they both held the banners for the Golden Company. They were captains, but not the captain general.
She turned her attention to the two riders in front of them, one in full armor and the other in a cloak. The armored one looked barbaric with his greatsword, but he rode behind the group. Another captain.
Daenerys looked at the two men ahead of them. Both handsome with a look of deadliness. On the left, away from her, she could make out blonde hair, but she could not see his eyes. They were colored, the way they reflected in the sun told her so. The man to the right, closest to her, was older than the other by at least twenty years. He had short black hair and violet eyes, eyes just like hers, and wielded a sword with a beautiful scabbard. He wore shiny silver armor that had scratches and dents in it. Everything about him screamed warrior. However, like the rest, they did not ride at the front.
She moved her gaze to the last two riders. She could already eliminate one. A tall but young, brown skinned man. He spoke to the Dothraki riders in front of him in fluency that it was only logical to conclude him to be Dothraki as well.
That leaves one.
Even as the young Dothraki conversed with the other two riders that accompanied their Khal, he positioned his steed to be behind the man next to him. He was the general, there was no question about it. He did not meet her gaze, rather staring down the Khal in front of him. His black hair bound tightly behind his head. He wore a sort of leather gambeson and had a blade attached to his hip. His mount was hell itself, she concluded; black as night, its coat shining like silk in the sun. Its neck was slim and long. His horse, unlike his captains, was not armored. He paraded his steed’s beauty.
As she took in his features once again, Daenerys saw light stubble growing on his cheeks from the side view. His nose was nicely pointed, and his lips looked plump from her angle. If only he turned his head, she could make him out fully.
As if her thoughts had been projected aloud, the general turned his gaze to her and she stifled a fearful gasp.
He was beautiful. His skin was naturally pale, she could tell, even with the tan it held. His features were evenly symmetrical, and his left eye was framed by a long scar that went from his mid cheek above his brow. But it was his eyes. They were cold but not lifeless. They observed her.
He turned away from her to focus on the three riders in front of him. One of Drogo’s men had spat upon the ground.
The Khal simply looked at Jon Snow with a scowl as turned his horse around and rode off, his two companions following him.
“Ah, yes,” Illyrio said weakly.
The man with the violet eyes brought his steed a few steps forward as he addressed the magister.
“You stand before the general of the Golden Company. He who defeated Khal Ramo at the gates of Norvos. The Undefeated White Flame of Essos. Jon Snow.”
Illyrio Mopatis coughed as he gestured his hand to her once again.
“Great undefeated White Flame of Essos,” Illyrio squeaked, “I present to you Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”
Daenerys walked down the steps once again, but undisturbed this time.
She stopped a few feet from his horse as she looked into his eyes. She could feel the fear building in her chest once again. His eyes were as black as his steed, cold and calculating. He did not rake his eyes over her body like many men had done, rather only stared into her eyes. He looked forward to the direction where Khal Drogo rode off to and clicked his tongue.
And just like the Khal had done earlier, he rode off with his captains in tow.
“Wait,” Viserys cried out. Daenerys did not look behind her, only to the distance where Jon Snow had ridden off to. “He didn’t say anything. Did he not like her?”
“For some reason, your grace,” Illyrio said with a pale face, “if he didn’t like her…I think we’d know.”
“So, who will wed her?”
“The decorations are already set; the wedding shall take place tomorrow on the stony shore by the palace. Whomever shows up, we can assume to be the groom.”
Later that day
Jon’s tent
“I won’t marry her,” Jon said in frustration.
“You saw her Jon,” Arthur argued. “You saw how frightened she was.”
“Aye,” Jon roared, “I saw how frightened she was. How frightened she felt when she laid eyes upon me.”
“And how do you think she felt when she laid eyes upon Khal Drogo?! Do you think she felt joy when she laid eyes upon him? She was fearful the entire time. I have no idea what she’s gone through but a barbarian like Khal Drogo won’t be best for her. You can save her Jon. You have to.”
“And why do I? Have you ever once wondered if I’m tired of this” Jon yelled. “I’m tired of being the one to save people. Everywhere I go I need to save people. Every battle I fight, people need my help. I’m tired. I just want to have a home Arthur. I can’t do this forever.”
Arthur simply looked at him with sad eyes.
“Do I need to help her because she needs saving or because she’s a Targaryen? I know you’re sworn to her family. I’m not an idiot, I know you want to save her. So, why does it have to be me?”
Silence.
“Why?”
More silence.
“Tell me,” Jon ordered.
A woman rushed into the tent.
“Jon. What’s wrong?”
Sevanna had rushed in with a frantic look upon her face. No doubt worried at the yelling match between both men.
Arthur stepped forward.
“It needs to be you, because it’s the right thing to do.”
Jon looked at him with narrowed eyes.
“Can you live with yourself, walking away and knowing that you could’ve saved her from her fate but decided to leave her to it? Can you? Because if you can, then you’re not the man I raised. You’re not even a man.”
Arthur turned on his heel and walked away.
“Arthur!” Sevanna screeched. But he didn’t stop. He simply kept walking.
Sevanna looked at Jon and made to say something but he shook his head in response. She took the hint and left the tent.
Jon walked to his bed and let himself fall into its cushion.
Could he live with himself if he walked away?
He already knew the answer.
Next Day
The Wedding
Music surrounded the area. Men laughed rambunctiously as women danced to entertain them. The wedding had taken place an hour before the sun was due to set. The Golden Company would party well after darkness came and into the morning when the sun showed once again.
Daenerys sat atop a stone, padded by leather and cloth, next to her newly wedded husband. She surveyed the happenings around her. The knights had brought their entire band of horses and men and elephants. They danced and mock fought one another. They sang and drank and pissed themselves unconscious. Everyone around them seemed to have a good time, but Daenerys could only look on in fear as she saw men slugging one another with closed fists.
Viserys laughed at the scene.
Daenerys slyly turned her head towards her husband and saw a pensive look upon his face. He never once spoke a word to her, instead preferring to look at his men in disappointment. To his right sat his entire guard of captains, though one she had not seen before sat with them as well. A tall and dark man with white hair conversed with the warrior who carried a war axe.
The young Dothraki balanced a dagger on his fingertips and cursed as it slid off his finger to leave a gash. His curses brought amusement to the scarred man and the man in cloak. The northern looking man in hard plate simply drank his ale as he watched the ongoing fights happening in the crowd of knights and squires.
There were two men that stood out more prominently than the others. The blonde-haired man and the older black-haired man with the same colored eyes as her. They sat closest to their general and laughed with one another as they shared tales of past battles. As his captains, they were reserved the privilege of not having to gift the newlyweds anything. It was a testament to their upstanding loyalty and faith.
Daenerys did notice, however, that she received the majority of the gifts. She had expected everyone to pay homage to the White Flame of Essos, but everyone deemed instead to gift silks and oils and perfumes to her. Her brother had even tried to gift her a pleasure maiden from Lys but was promptly denied by her husband. She’d suspected, and feared, that he’d wanted to break her in himself.
Finally, the festivity seemed to pace ahead when a beautiful woman with a head of luscious brown hair, striking green eyes and plump lips made her way to the newlyweds. For the first time, she saw her husband move from his sitting position. As she turned to face him, Daenerys fought a surprised gasp when she saw a smile upon his face. It made him look youthful and carefree. It perfected his beautiful image. No longer were his eyes cold and calculating. They were full of warmth. She turned to the woman, who was now in front of her, and wondered who she could be to garner such a reaction.
“Hello. My name is Sevanna,” the woman said, introducing herself.
Daenerys said hello in return.
“Has he told you about me?” she pointed her head to Daenerys’ husband.
Daenerys simply shook her head in response. The woman’s face had darkened, and Daenerys was afraid she would be on the receiving end of the woman’s ire but Sevanna had rounded on her husband instead.
“Did I teach you no manners?” she hissed. “Six and ten years I have spent with you and not once have you brought me up to your wife? No! Do not give me any excuse. It simply takes a moment to inform her who I am. You’ve been wedded a good while now.”
Her husband turned his head away from them in embarrassment. The blonde-haired man laughed as the black-haired man looked at her husband in amusement.
Sevanna turned back to Daenerys with a smile.
“I apologize,” she said kindly. “It’s just that I’ve raised him for so long now that he’s practically my own. I see myself as his mother, even if he calls me by my name.”
Sevanna stepped closer to her and took Daenerys’ face with her soft and caring hands.
“You have married my son which means you are my daughter now. Please, do what he cannot and call me mother,” Sevanna said smile.
Daenerys’ vision blurred as she nodded her response. She couldn’t find her voice to respond.
Sevanna let go of her face and she made her way to the two men seated by her husband.
“I guess that’s my time then?” The blonde-haired man laughed.
“I think it is,” the black-haired man responded.
The blonde-haired man simply stood up and made way for Sevanna to sit next to the black-haired man. He walked away from the two with a smile as he sat next to the northerner in plate armor. Both laughing as if they were continuing a long-lost conversation.
She sat in silence as she played with her silver dress in her hands. Suddenly, she was startled by a large chest being laid in front of her.
“My princess,” Illyrio Mopatis said “may I present my gift to you.”
The servants carrying the chest opened it. She felt a pull to the contents that lay within. Three large oval stones in varying colors. Black, Green and Gold.
“Dragon eggs, Princess Daenerys.”
She looked at the magister in shock. One of the servants reached for an egg, the black one, and handed it to her.
“The time has turned them to stone, though they are still beautiful to look at.”
Daenerys could only marvel as she held the egg in her hands. It felt…alive. She must be going mad. She quickly placed the egg back in the chest and thanked the magister for his gift. Illyrio nodded and the servants took the chest away.
“The sun is starting to set,” she heard from her right. It was the blonde-haired man that was seated next them before.
“An apt observation, Asher,” the plated man teased.
So, Asher was his name.
“Shut your damn mouth Marlon,” he hissed.
Marlon was the plated northerner. He simply laughed in response.
“He’s right,” the black-haired man said. “It’s time for you two to ride off.”
“You don’t need to rush them Arthur,” Sevanna scolded.
Arthur was the black-haired man; the one with the same colored eyes as her.
“No,” her husband interrupted, “Arthur’s right.”
He stood up and Daenerys felt her blood run cold. Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest as she felt her entire body go numb. He turned to her and offered a calloused hand. She took it with her small and soft one.
“It’s time for me to give you your gift, my wife.”
She was surprised. She hadn’t taken him to be a gifting man. Especially when he had received so little.
He led her down the stony steps and to the grassy plain that were beside the palace. There, she could see his horse, the same gorgeous black steed she had seen the day past.
However, she gasped when a mare was led to them. Her husband took the reins from the squire and led it the rest of the way to Daenerys. Its coat was as white as snow, its neck the same long and slender as his black stallion, but the hair on the horse glowed silver in the sun. The saddle was a gorgeous brown leather with golden accents.
“She’s a Dornish Sand Steed.” He said. She could see him looking at her from the corner of her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “The saddle was one I received as a prize from a contract in Volantis. If it’s not to your liking, I can make you a new one. I’ve always had an interest in taking care of my horse.”
He said the last line quickly before shutting his mouth.
Arthur Dayne raised an eyebrow as Sevanna looked at him lovingly, but the two newlyweds could not see them.
Her husband held out a hand to her.
“Let me help you up,” he said softly.
She accepted his assistance but still avoided his gaze.
When he mounted his horse, he gave a caress to its mane and Daenerys found herself doing the same for her mare.
“Follow me,” he said over his shoulder. “Just keep yourself calm and guide her slowly. I’ll stay close by so she can follow my steed.”
She wanted to nod but felt it stupid as he would not be able to see. He clicked his tongue and his mount moved forward.
They rode away from the stony shore. She could hear the hoots and whistles from his knights and company men. Even the elephants blew their trunks, as if to congratulate the man on his way to claim his prize.
Her husband had helped her atop her mare and had tried to meet her eyes, but she had avoided him out of fear of what was to come. Now, ironically, it was his eyes she could not see. He rode ahead of her as she followed. They were two people of opposite ends. Her on a mare as white as snow, and he on a steed as black as night. Though the horses were one in the same; the same breed.
They rode until they reached the beachside where his tent was set up. As general, he was reserved the most beautiful view of the sea while his camp surrounded him in protection.
He helped her once again, this time to dismount and she made her way to the shore with light steps as she viewed the sunset while he hitched both horses to a post.
She viewed the beautiful distance, the red sun lighting the sea as it disappeared below the horizon. It wasn’t until she heard the light steps in the sand making its way towards her that tears began to blur her vision.
The hairs on her nape stood up as she tensed herself, deftly waiting for his touch upon her body. When his rough hands touched her shoulders, she let the tears fall freely. She stifled each sob as he circled her, closing her eyes and willing everything to be over.
When his hand reached for hers to grasp it tightly, she kept her eyes shut; even as he led her towards his tent.
Once inside, he led her towards the makeshift bed and laid her down. The tears came in higher force and he used his thumb to gently wipe them away. She held her arms to her breasts, using them as an added protection along with her wedding dress, though she knew it meant nothing as he could easily rip them away.
However, it was his voice that finally opened her eyes.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
She obeyed. Tear stained violet eyes met dark grey.
“You don’t have to lay with me. Not if you don’t want to,” he said softly.
And suddenly, those eyes that she had so feared had become the most wonderous sight to her. They weren’t cold and black but filled with warmth and sadness as he looked at her. They had looked so black the day past, but the warm light showed the true iron color of them.
“The others will ask questions if you sleep anywhere else. So, just for tonight. Sleep with me.”
She slowly took his face in. All those light scars she had missed. The slight stubble growing in and his plump lips. Even his hair. It wasn’t black either. It was dark brown.
She nodded as her sobs died down.
Her husband simply pushed her down onto the bed with such gentleness and wrapped his arms around her small frame. He placed a kiss upon the crown of her head and tucked her beneath his chin.
“I promise I’ll never hurt you.”
And she felt the tears come once again and bit her lip to muffle her sobs as her body wracked beneath him.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he whispered
She did not know when she fell asleep, but Daenerys had never felt such warmth before as she did.