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Standing next to the window of what passed for his chambers, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, 997th Commander of the Night's Watch, idly fed small kernels of corn to his raven, who kept squawking 'corn corn' between each bite. As he fed his raven, his mind wandered as he watched a grouping of Night's Watch brothers leading a small contingent of wildlin – no, Free Folk – through the tunnel and out into the open yard of Castle Black. Men. Women. Children. All passing through the Wall and into the lands of the North. It was certainly a strange sight, and not one that he had ever, even in his strangest of dreams, thought of happening. Yet, it was.
"—was half mad with the cold. His words are not to be trusted in the slightest! More than likely he and the others in his group were attacked by the wildlings, then to cover their tracks they conveniently 'saved' one of them and brough him back to the Wall."
"After letting him wander the woods for days? No, Thorne. The boy might be scared shitless, but he wasn't mad. He saw what he saw. And we as brothers of the Night's Watch need to take his words seriously."
Turning his attention off the yard below, Jeor looked over the four men that'd gathered in his office. The two men arguing the loudest were his First Ranger, Benjen Stark and his Master at Arms, Ser Alliser Thorne. The other two men were Qhorin Halfhand, the second in command of the Shadow Tower who was here at Jeor's request, and the Maester of Castle Black, Aemon Targaryen. And the topic that had brought his first ranger and master of arms to each other's throats was a recently returned ranger, who'd been brought in half frozen by the Free Folk, spewing talk of seeing a 'man made of ice and corpses rising from the ground'. Everyone knew what he was talking about. The Others and their army of the dead. But knowing and accepting…that was the issue. Even Jeor was having trouble believing it. He was a proud Northman and a descendant of the First Men. He'd grown up on tales of the White Walkers and their Wights. Yet until just a short time ago he believed them to be just that. Tales.
"It was not just our brothers who lost their lives north of the wall." Aemon said slowly, the old man wrapped in several cloaks to keep him warm. "The Free Folk that ranged with our brothers also lost their lives."
Aemon was right, if one believed the Free Folk. Nearly a moon's turn ago, Mance Rayder sent a message to Castle Black requesting aid. At first, Jeor wanted to throw the message into the nearest fire as he still could not come to forgive, or even accept, the words of his former brother. But Aemon managed to talk him out of such a hasty action. The message detailed that he'd not heard word from several smaller tribes and camps that lived near to the Frostfangs and Mance was proposing a joint ranging between the Night's Watch and some of the best the Free Folk had to offer to investigate. He'd barely slept that night as he warred with himself about what to do. But in the end, his personal feelings didn't matter. He'd taken an oath to guard the world of men. And as much as it irked him to admit, the Free Folk under the command of Mance Rayder were still living men in need of protection. So, the next morning he'd gathered his brothers and called on twenty to head out to the location Mance had designated for their starting point. And now a fortnight later, only one of the entire group of Black Brothers and Free Folk managed to return. And now here they were, debating on which steps to take now.
"A likely story," Alliser scoffed. "Either they killed their own, or they are straight up lying about them dying. And given their tales of these 'Others' and their supposed army of dead, it's likely the latter."
Benjen glared at Alliser. "Are you naming my brother, the Lord Stark, Warden of the North, a liar? And the Sorcerer Lord Nox as well? And even if you do, do not forget who else has not only vouched, but seen and fought an Other north of the Wall. Ser Garlan Tyrell and Prince Oberyn Martell. Do you name them both liars as well?"
Alliser's anger did not dissipate. "Of course you Starks would vouch for the wildling heathens. Your own nephew took one to bed quickly enough after soiling the Princess of Dorne. I suppose the tales of you Starks having wildling blood running through your veins isn't too farfetched after all."
"Enough, Alliser," Jeor growled, putting an end to the discussion before Benjen did something foolish. And for that matter Maester Aemon looked rather offended as well, though why he didn't know. "For now, the Free Folk are not our enemies. And that comes from the King himself as well as Lord Stark. And while we do not answer to the Iron Throne or the one who sits upon it, we are sworn to guard the realms of men. And against an enemy like the Others, the realms of men include the Free Folk as well."
Waiting until both men were seated once more, Jeor sat down as well. "Until we can prove otherwise, we will act upon the information that we have at hand," Jeor stated with a note of finality. "And what we know is that a group of some of our best rangers, as well as a group of the best the Free Folk had to offer were ambushed and killed by something not aligned with either of the groups or the Seven Kingdoms. As such, we will be going north of the Wall with as many rangers as we can spare to investigate what happened to those that disappeared, not to attack the Free Folk. Considering who, or what, we may find…I will be sending a raven to the King and specifically to the Sorcerer requesting either his aid, or the aid of one of his Apprentices to join us in the ranging."
Alliser scoffed. "The Sorcerer and Lord Stark are both in Harrenhal on behest of the King. Celebrating three-hundred years of a 'unified' Westeros. Despite forgetting just who was responsible for the forging of the land—"
"I have not forgotten, Alliser," Jeor cut in. The last thing he wanted was another tirade from his Master at Arms. Ser Alliser was good with a blade, and while his manner of educating his fellow Brothers in the yard left much to be desired, that did not change the fact that he produced the best results. "Maester Aemon. Send ravens to both Winterfell and Harrenhal. The tournament should still be ongoing for nearly a week still, so the raven should be able to arrive in time to catch them before they depart."
The Maester nodded slowly. "I have already drafted the missive, Lord Commander. I was merely waiting on your command to send the raven on its way."
"Send the message. And send another to Winterfell as well." Jeor commanded. "Last we heard, Lord Stark's bastard boy was left as the Stark in the North while his family went south. While he cannot issue commands to march without his father or brother's permission, he can at least start the preparations to march as soon as either returns to Winterfell."
Nodding, Maester Aemon slowly rose to his feet before turning and shuffling towards the door. As soon as he opened it, the young Brother that'd been assigned to assist the Maester immediately took his place beside the aged man and helped to guide him down the stairs and towards the Maester's quarters. Seeing that he'd been overruled and that the meeting was over, Alliser immediately took his leave with barely a nod of acknowledgement towards Jeor.
"Still don't know what you see in that southern shit," Benjen sighed as soon as Alliser was out of hearing.
"He is a Brother of the Night's Watch, Benjen, the same as you," Jeor answered.
"He's an ass," Qhorin scoffed. "But he's an ass that gets results with the recruits, most of whom don't know a sword from their own cock when they arrive. Still, he is not alone in his thoughts regarding our recent change regarding the…Free Folk. More than a few Brothers are not pleased with your decision to allow our enemies through the Wall and into the lands we are sworn to defend."
"Our oaths are to defend the realms of men," Jeor responded. "And right now, the Free Folk are living men, women, and children. Believe me, Qhorin. I am a man of Bear Island, I know better than most the horrors of the wildlings. Yet against the likes of Others and their Wights, I am willing to put my past, my hatred, aside and work with those I consider my sworn enemies to defeat our common foe."
Qhorin held up his half-hand in surrender. "You don't have to convince me of this, Jeor. I trust you as my Lord Commander and as a man of the North. But it still needs to be said. The Night's Watch and its Brothers have been fighting those north of the Wall for as long as their has been a written history. Such hatred is not something that can be forgotten so easily."
"I know," Jeor sighed, glancing out the window again to watch as the gate leading to the tunnel closed as the last of the newest batch of Free Folk made their way into the North. "I know."
Sitting in the royal booth alongside his wife and the Stark brood, Nox watched through the Force as the final event of this Force-forsaken tournament finally came. Between the melee, the archery contest, the joust, and perhaps more than a dozen other smaller events, this was perhaps one of the most exhausting and mentally draining social obligations he'd been forced to endure. And he had once attended a Hutt's banquet on Nar Shaddaa that lasted for three days. He wasn't the only one who was clearly done with the event. His own wife was clearly nearing her wit's end after having to deal with the southern ladies of court for the week. And Ned looked like he would rather be anywhere else than where he currently was. Even the King was clearly starting to be done with the whole event as he'd declared that very morning that there would be no fanciful introduction of the final two jousters. Instead, the two would present themselves before the King and immediately head to their starting positions without heralds.
That wasn't to say that the entire event had been a waste of time. Far from it. Multiple alliances through marriage and via trade had been forged between various Houses across Westeros. Even some of the Northern Houses had laid the foundations for future trade routes or alliances through marriage, though they were few and far between. Though the one House that was now almost all but avoided was the newly landed House Norfolk, and it's Lady Val. Despite already having quite the reputation before even stepping foot in the South, there were still apparently a few very foolish Lords and Heirs that thought they could win her hand. Mercifully, almost all were able to take the almost immediate rejection of their offers in stride.
The only one who apparently did not take her rejection well was some Westerland boy that had some familial connection to House Lannister, though what that connection was Nox didn't know nor did he care. The young man, after being firmly rebuked by Val, had rather foolishly challenged her to a duel. Though if it had just been a simple challenge, Val probably wouldn't have accepted it. But no. The young lad had decided to insult her and her Norfolk, calling them little more than savage beasts that should be thrilled he even considered giving her any attention and that, as a woman, Val had better learn her place. On her knees or on her back servicing her betters.
Val had accepted the challenge, and the ensuing spar was…entertaining, to say the least. And most certainly beyond embarrassing for the Lannister lad. While the lad was using live steel, Val had merely picked up a large branch roughly as tall as herself to use as a spear. She then proceeded to disarm the lad within three moves and had sent him to the ground with a solid hit to the side of his head. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, she then kicked the lad's sword back at him, and waited for him to pick it up again before attacking once more. This pattern repeated nearly a dozen times with Val unarming him and striking him down, only to give him his sword back. By the time Val had finally grown tired of embarrassing him, the lad was covered in welts and bruises to the point where he could barely move.
No one sought any form of retribution for the beating Val handed down on the lad, especially not after it was revealed what the lad said that sparked the contest in the first place. And after the spar, no one tried to approach Val, or the Norfolk again unless they were invited to do so.
"About damn time," Robert grumbled as two heavily armored horses trotted out from the edges of the arena and towards the royal booth.
The two men who rode out into the arena were both wearing full plate armor that shined blindingly, like mirrors in the sunlight. On Nox's right was Jamie Lannister, the famed 'Kingslayer'. His helm, which was tucked under his arm, was fashioned to resemble a lion's head in homage to his House. On his left, was perhaps one of the youngest competitors in the field, yet his age certainly had not held him back. No, Loras Tyrell was indeed skilled, and crafty. Something that Nox appreciated. The young man did what it took to win, even if that meant he had to skirt around the rules of the competition. Though after his first trick, that nearly resulted in the man losing his head at the hands of Gregor Clegane, the young Tyrell had pulled back his tricks for the most part and competed fairly. The man was wearing a long cape made of flowers that hung over the back of his horse and nearly touched the ground. Plucking three roses from his cape, Loras quickly rode to the royal booth. To no one's surprise, he quickly handed a rose off to his sister, Margaery, and his future good-sister, Sansa. But the third rose, to almost everyone's surprise, was tossed to a clearly bewildered Arya Stark.
After handing off his roses, Loras made a quick circle around Jamie Lannister before pulling up beside him so that the two men were side by side before the King and Queen. Rising to his feet, Robert approached the front of the stands and raised his hand to quiet the crowd. "Ser Loras, Ser Jamie…You two have competed valiantly and… Oh hells, I'm no good with this fancy shit and these good people here are ready to see the best the land has face off against one another! Now get your asses to your starting points and may the best knight prove triumphant."
The crowd cheered wildly as Jamie and Loras donned their helms and turned their mounts to opposite ends of the arena where their squires and aids stood waiting with shields and lances at the ready. "Well, sorcerer?" Robert asked as he retook his seat. "Who's going to win this bout?"
Despite doing their best not to appear curious, just about everyone who was sitting in the royal box, and even those outside the box, turned their attention towards Nox. Smirking, Nox leaned back and waited as the two men secured their helms and shields. "I believe that I shall leave this one as a surprise, your grace."
"Ah, fine, be that way," Robert grumbled. After that first bet on the first day, the king had made quite a fair amount of coin placing bets based on Nox's predictions. No doubt he'd been hoping to win even more with this final joust.
"My brother will win," the queen said with the utmost confidence. "There is no greater knight in all the realm. And even if he did have an equal, it surely won't be some flowery green boy."
As the herald approached the center of the divider fence with a flag in hand, the entire arena quieted to the point where the only sounds that could be heard were the breathing of the horses and the light clinking of each man's armor. The flag dropped, and the two horses charged at one another as fast as they could. Ser Jamie was a skilled rider, there was no doubt about that. But Ser Loras was indeed his equal. As the two men drew closer and closer, their lances slowly lowered until they were parallel to the ground, both men holding on with iron grips. A thunderous clash shook the stands as the two met in the center as both lances struck true against the opposing shield and splintered. Despite the impact, both men managed to stay on their horses and as such, each rode back to their starting point to grab a new lance.
The two men barely waited long enough to grab hold of their lances before they were charging down the length of the arena towards one another again. This time, Jamie was able to tilt his shield just enough so that Loras's lance scraped harmlessly off to the side, while his own was able to impact the younger man's shield dead center, rocking him back in his saddle and nearly upending him. The whole arena held their breath as Loras rocked back, before throwing himself forward, dropping his lance in favor of holding onto his saddle horn in order to keep him in the saddle. While he managed to avoid being unhorsed, the round undoubtedly went to Jamie.
Nox could feel Loras's anger, his frustration at having missed his target as he jerked his horse back around to his starting point. In contrast, Jamie felt…confident. As if his opponent was no challenge and not a threat. Both men made him want to shake his head. Their confidence, their anger. It could serve both men well. But neither were channeling their emotions correctly. Even without the Force their emotions could be used to their benefit. Yet neither were doing so.
Grabbing his next lance, Loras barely waited for Jamie to get in position before he was urging his horse down the length of the fence. Jamie was left hurrying to get his lance and get in position to meet the younger man's charge, but he was able to do so before Loras had managed to clear perhaps the first fifth of the distance between them. Getting their lances in position, the two men leaned forward and prepared to meet. But just at the last moment, Loras leaned his shield side back by rolling his shoulder. The move caused Jamie's lance to slide harmlessly off his own. And in return, his own blunted lance snuck past Jamie's shield, striking the senior knight on the chest.
Jamie tried desperately to stay seated, but unfortunately for him, the force of the blow and its location was just enough to tilt him far enough in his saddle to the point where he couldn't hold on, and from there gravity took its course and pulled the senior knight straight to the ground.
The entire arena went silent as they watched Ser Jamie Lannister of the Kingsguard, the Kingslayer, widely considered to be one of the best knights of Westeros next to Ser Barristan Selmy, fall to the ground.
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and boos as Ser Loras Tyrell, champion of the three-hundred years of a unified Westeros tournament, raised his broken lance in triumph as he maneuvered his horse towards the royal box as squires and retainers of House Lannister rushed out onto the field to aid Ser Jamie, who was still slowly pushing himself up off the ground into a seated position.
The King rose from his spot next to his queen, who was glaring at Ser Loras with such rage that Nox was mildly impressed the younger man didn't explode just from her glare alone. Reaching the front of the box, the King turned to his side, where Myrcella appeared with a small crown of flowers in her hands composed of red roses. "Ser Loras Tyrell," the king proclaimed loudly and clearly as he took the crown of roses from his daughter and presented them to the tournament champion. "You have fought bravely and with skill few could hope to possess, and have earned the title of tournament champion! As such, take this crown and name your Queen of Love and Beauty!"
Presenting his broken lance towards the King, Robert carefully set the crown on the splintered end before Loras slowly made his way down the stands towards his family. For the briefest of moments, Nox could feel an intense desire rolling off of the knight. A desire to name one he loved. But that desire was pushed down as quickly as it came, as fear came with that love. A fear of what would happen if he did name the one he loved. So instead, the knight made his way down towards his family and lowered the crown of flowers towards his sister. "I, as my right as tournament champion, do hereby name my sister, Margaery Tyrell, as this tournaments Queen of Love and Beauty!" the knight proclaimed.
The youngest flower smiled shyly as she rose to her feet to accept the crown, carefully taking it off her brother's broken lance and setting it atop her head. There was no shortage of applause, and young girls sighing as they no doubt hoped that they would've been the ones to be named the Queen of Love and Beauty.
With the tournament now complete, and with Ser Jamie back on his feet and confirmed alright, there was no need for Nox, or anyone else for that matter, to stay in the stands. Taking his wife's hand in his own, he deftly led her through the crowds and back to their tent, hoping for some peace and quiet before what was undoubtedly going to be a rather noisy and annoying final feast to close out the tournament.
Unfortunately, he was more right on the assumption that he could've thought. Even after nearly three hours of feasting, dancing, and drinking the Lords and Ladies of Westeros showed little sign of slowing down. From his place of honor next to the Starks and the royal family, Nox watched with his wife by his side as the nobles of Westeros carried on late into the evening. Lord Stark had already sent his children to bed for the night, except for Robb and Talisa, who were both no longer considered 'children' by Westeros standards considering they were wedded and bedded and had been for some time. As the night wore on, Robb and Talisa were both almost fully surrounded by the Tyrells, who'd descended upon the Heir of Winterfell after the younger Starks had been sent to bed. No doubt they were hoping to deepen the bonds that were forming between the two Houses, and one that would one day be permanent once Sansa married into their family. And truthfully, Nox would prefer to be in the young Heir's place compared to his own. Sitting next to the stoic Ned and the drunken Robert, who'd already easily drank three men's worth of wine.
"I believe we'd already spoken of this, your grace," Nox commented just loud enough for the three of them to hear as the King finished off the bottle he was drinking. "Moderation, while it won't stop it, will help."
Belching, Robert shrugged uncaringly. "Eh, you already said there's nothing for it, Sorcerer. Besides, I can always start once I return to that festering cesspool of a city I rule from. And speaking of, doubt I can convince you to change your course of action? I…I do need you, Sorcerer. You and Ned."
Nodding, Nox didn't bother to say that the King actually needed him years ago, before Nox even arrived on this world. But he didn't say that. "You've managed the throne and the state of the kingdom for seventeen years, your grace. I believe you will be more than capable of doing so for another two months at most before I am able to return to King's Landing. And besides, you'll have my wife and Ned at your side."
"Aye, that I will…and I couldn't ask for two better to be by my side…and that includes my own brothers," Robert grumbled as he reached over for another bottle. "Just wish I knew what in the hells it was that has caught your attention so much that you decided you needed to run back to the North right after I named you to the Small Council."
"So do I," Nox replied, though quietly enough that neither Ned nor Robert could hear him, making Nyra squeeze his hand under the table.
Just as the King was about to take a drink, the Maester of Harrenhal quietly made his way into the hall and quickly approached the King from behind the crowd, stopping for the Kingsguard, who noticed his approach and stopped him before he could get too close. After a quick word with the Kingsguard, he was allowed to approach the King. "Your grace," the aged Maester called out, a raven's scroll in his outstretched hand. "An urgent missive for you, your grace."
Belching, Robert turned around and glanced towards the letter. "Stannis finally get off his ass and decided to send a message, eh?"
"No, your grace," the Maester responded, his attention flickering towards Ned, Nox, and Nyra before focusing in on the King again. "It's…It's from the Night's Watch, your grace."
The King almost immediately sobered up as he took the scroll and dismissed the Maester with a wave of his hand. Breaking the wax seal, the King read over what was written quickly before rolling it back up and glancing out over the assembled nobles, almost all of whom were not paying attention to them as they continued in their revelry.
"Nox, Ned…and Lady Nox, with me. Now." Robert said, rising from his seat and quickly departing the hall, leaving the three of them to hurry after him as the Kingsguard on duty fell into rank behind them, and leaving the few nobles that noticed their quick departure more than a little concerned.
Once they were out of the hall, Robert led them towards a smaller chamber and ordered the door sealed and the Kingsguard to stand watch outside and to let no one in until they were done. "How in the seven hells did you know, Sorcerer?" the King demanded, all but forcing the raven's scroll towards him the moment they were sealed in the room.
Reading over the contents of the missive with the Force, he handed the scroll off to Ned as soon as he was done. "A contingent of Brothers of the Night's Watch and hunters from the Free Folk have disappeared after being sent out to investigate a string of disappearing villages and tribes along the Frostfangs." Nox summarized as Ned finished the letter and handed it off to Nyra to read. "There was only one survivor."
"And he returned to the Wall half mad from the cold raving about dead men walking and creatures made of ice commanding them," Robert growled. Though the tone was harsh, Nox could detect no small amount of excitement from the King. Excitement and a feeling of anxiousness for a pending war. "How in the hells did you know this had happened, Sorcerer?"
"I didn't," Nox explained, taking a moment to ponder the situation and gather his thoughts. "I've felt a…stirring of something in the North. But what I sensed does not line up with the timing of the attack or the disappearing villages… But those incidents do explain the growing darkness…well…wrongness, for lack of a better term, that I've felt coming from the Far North. But this also reinforces why I need to return to the North and the Wall especially. We cannot let an opportunity like this pass us by."
"Opportunity, my love?" Nyra asked, fear evident in her voice as if she knew what he was about to say and wasn't happy about it in the least.
"Yes, opportunity," Nox nodded. "If the White Walkers and their Wights are indeed on the move, this is our chance to perhaps capture one alive…or at least still moving. If we can bring back an intact specimen to show the nobles of the South—"
"—then these up jumped ass kissers won't be able to deny the fact that the enemy many thought were just tales are indeed real, and on the move." Robert finished for him.
"Indeed," Nox nodded. "I'll stop first in Winterfell to collect Jon and however many volunteers I can muster before heading north to the Wall. I'll then lead a ranging into the Far North with the intent of capturing one of the Wights or White Walkers in one piece in order to bring it back to the South."
His wife, Ned, and Robert all stared at him.
"Nox," Ned said slowly. "We need you in the south…and Jon… He's my son. I can't risk both of you on a ranging north of the Wall. Especially if the White Walkers are—"
"If the White Walkers are indeed making their move? The same creatures were even one of the lowest amongst them was able to hold its own and even gain the upper hand against the like of Oberyn and Garlan?" Nox questioned his friend. "No. Jon and I are both needed if we are to succeed in taking one of these creatures and bringing them back to the south to convince all of these southern fools of our common enemy."
Neither Ned nor Robert seemed pleased with the idea of him putting himself, and Jon for that matter, in the path of danger. But both men could concede his point on why they were needed to if indeed the White Walkers were starting to make their move. But neither man's thoughts truly concerned him. The only one whose thoughts truly did matter to him was the one who was standing beside him. He could feel her fear for him, for what he was about to set out to do. But while her fear was great, her trust in him, in what he could do, was far greater. In the end, it was that trust in him that won the battle within her. And she took his hand in her own and gave him her own nod of acceptance. 'And here we go.'
Shielding her eyes against the unrelenting sun that hung above the Red Wastes, Daenerys Targaryen, the last of the named Targaryens, sat upon her mare atop a large dune of sand overlooking the valley below. Beside her were her bloodriders and her sworn shield, Ser Jorah Mormont. All of them stood still, staring down in almost disbelief at what was laid out before them. After days and days of a forced march, which had ended up killing two within her already depleted khalasaar, Dany was beginning to believe that she'd well and truly made a mistake when she'd decided to make the trek through the desert. Day after day they saw nothing but sand and sun. No ruins. No grass. No water. Nothing. And now, with their supplies nearly completely depleted, they had finally found their salvation.
"Truly Khaleesi, you are guided by the Great Stallion himself to have led us to such a place in the middle of nothing but sand and heat." Rakharo praised her as they stared down at the clearly abandoned city in front of them.
There were few walls, and even those were toppled over or collapsed in places. There were only a few structures besides the walls that were still intact, but nothing with four complete walls and a roof to shield one's head from the sun. But that didn't matter. Walls could be shored up and shelters built. What mattered was that there was grass, lush green grass that ran between the maze of ruined buildings and gardens. And within the gardens stood trees and vines. Which meant that there was water here.
Turning in her saddle, Dany glanced at her khalasaar. Her three handmaidens stood at the front, as they always did. With the rest scattered behind them. The sand and heat had taken its toll on them all. Leaving burned skin, blistering feet and more. But now, finally, they had reached a haven. "We have found shelter!" Dany's declaration was met with no small amount of relief and even praise for her leading them to shelter. "Stay close to one another as we explore our shelter and be wary of any dangers that may hide in the sands and rubble."
Her bloodriders all whooped and trilled, urging their horses down the dune at a fast pace as they made their way towards the ruins. The rest of her khalasaar right behind them, tired and exhausted and on foot. But the promise of shelter, food, and water drove all those thoughts from their minds as they entered the shades of the ruins and began to explore. Only Dany and Ser Jorah took their time reaching the ruins as Dany set her mare to a slow walk with Ser Jorah staying close to her side.
The moment Dany rode into the shade of the ruins, she felt no small amount of relief at finally being out of the unrelenting sun. As she rode down what remained of a stone road, she took careful note of what they could use within the ruins, besides the shelter. From what she could see there were what she assumed where once gardens and, despite being heavily overgrown and unkept, many of the trees within were producing brightly colored fruit. Something that immediately made her stomach twist and her mouth water. Forcing herself onwards, she kept a wary eye out for any other occupants. While she was no expert on the matter, it would not surprise her to find that bandits, or slavers, or even just simple smallfolk looking for shelter had also taken refuge here. But to her surprise, despite riding into the center of the ruins, she found no life outside of her khalaasar and flies. As strange as it seemed, this ruined abandoned city was exactly that. Abandoned. Why would such a haven in the midst of the Red Wastes be abandoned like this?
Making her way to what seemed to have once been a central square in the city, she saw almost all of those who followed her crowded around a specific spot almost in the exact middle of the ruined square. Dismounting so that she could walk, she noticed that her people were gathered around a well. A well with a taught rope leading down into its depths.
"Water!" she heard a voice from within the well cry out, one she recognized as one of the Dothraki, though not one of her bloodriders. "By the Great Stallion! There is water down here!"
"Pull a cup then!" Rakharo shouted before motioning towards those who were holding the rope. "Pull him up!"
Standing beside her bloodrider, Dany watched with the rest of her khalassar as the young man was pulled back up, a glistening water skin clenched tightly in his hand. Upon seeing her, the man immediately offered her the skin, but before she could take it, Ser Jorah reached between them to still her hands. "We should be wary, Kahleesi." her stalwart protector said, eyeing the water skin. "We do not know why this city was abandoned. The wells may have been poisoned. You should not be the first to drink."
Unease took hold as those still with her eyed the water skin with a mixture of longing and unease. Ser Jorah's words made sense. They did not know why this city had been abandoned. And from what little she knew of war, poisoning your enemies' source of water, especially in the desert, was a very logical, brutal, and effective tactic to use.
"I will drink first, Khaleesi," Rakharo volunteered when it because clear that, despite their thirst, none were eager to be the first to drink.
Nodding, and hating herself for doing so, Dany stood by and watched as her first, and perhaps most loyal, bloodrider took the waterskin and, without hesitation, brought it to his lips and drank deeply. For several long heartbeats, it seemed no one breathed as they all waited to see if her faithful bloodrider had any adverse effects from drinking the water from the well. But after a long moment of silence, Rakharo smiled and held the skin out for Dany to take. "Nothing but clean water, Khaleesi."
Taking the skin, Dany didn't hesitate before taking a drink herself. The water was warm. And had a slight taste of the waterskin that was holding it. But, in this moment, it tasted better than the best of honeyed wines.
Lowering the skin, she immediately handed it off to Doreah, who took a quick drink before passing it on to Iria. And like a dam letting loose, her people immediately rushed back to the well, throwing buckets tied to ropes or waterskins attached to whatever they could find trying to pull as much water from the well as fast as they could. Turning her back on the spectacle, Dany made her way back to the sole covered wagon with them that held cargo more precious than gold or any jewel or gem. With Ser Jorah's aid, she made her way into the wagon and towards the small basket that dominated most of the space within. And within the basket lay her pride and joy. Her children. Her son, Rhaego. And her dragon-daughter, Droga. Her son's skin still had a touch of red from birth, but it was slowly changing to the same coppery coloring her late husband had. And curled alongside her son was Droga. The little dragon was…purring contendly, happy to be beside her son. Though how exactly she knew that she had no idea. Perhaps this was that Force-bond thing that Jon had told her about, the same one that he shared with his direwolf?
Putting the thought aside for now, Dany carefully picked up her still sleeping son. The move woke Droga, who took a moment to shake herself awake before quickly scampering up Dany's arm and coming to a rest on Dany's shoulders and across the back of her neck. Rhaego squirmed in her arms, his violet eyes opening briefly staring around before closing again against the bright sun above them before he began to cry and fuss in her arms. Knowing what her son wanted, Dany found a structure that was still mostly intact and made her way into the shade. Finding a comfortable place in the shade, Dany sat down and lowered the straps of her dress, exposing herself and bringing her son up to her breast to nurse. Ser Jorah, ever the gentleman in her presence, immediately turned his back on her so as to not see her in a state of undress.
"Do you know where we are, Ser Jorah?" Dany asked as her son hungrily fed upon her breast.
"No, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah answered honestly as Doreah came towards them, a full waterskin in hand. "But given the number of days we have been traversing the Red Wastes and, gods willing we managed to stay on a single path, we be close to Qarth, or perhaps Qarkesh if we traveled further south than intended. Either way, these ruins are not on any map that I have laid eyes upon. Perhaps this was once an outpost of the Old Valyrian Empire. A staging point for expansion eastwards?"
Nodding, Dany accepted the waterskin from Doreah, but only after her handmaiden had taken a healthy drink for herself first. It'd taken her longer than she cared to admit, but after noticing Doreah stumbling in the Red Waste, she questioned why her first handmaiden was weakening. The answer she got was not one that pleased her. Doreah, as well as Irri and Jhiqui, were all giving her their water rations. Their reasoning being that Dany needed the water more than them in order to properly feed her son. And while the gesture touched Dany, she had made it clear that she would only drink equal to what everyone else drank. And while she was sure that some were still cutting back on their water so that she could have more, no one else tried to give her all their rations again.
"Call for my bloodriders," Dany instructed as she shifted her son to her other breast while keeping eye contact with Doreah. "I have need of them."
Nodding, Doreah proceeded to place a small bowl on the ground and fill it with water for Droga. The small dragon, who'd been watching Rhaego carefully, immediately noticed the small bowl and jumped down from her shoulders to the ground so that it could bury its small snout into the water where it proceeded to drink. Her task completed, Doreah got back to her feet and moved off to summon Dany's bloodriders.
As one, her bloodriders arrive before her and stand next to Ser Jorah. Unlike the Northman, her bloodriders do not turn their back on her. But nor do they stare at her exposed state. That wasn't to say they didn't look. They were men, after all, and she was an exposed woman. But they kept their sight on her face rather than her breasts. "Each of you will rest today and through the night," Dany began as her son stopped his feeding, prompting her to raise him to her shoulder and pat him on the back. "Each of you will ride in a different direction for a full day. Should you find nothing within a day, you will return here and we will discuss further where we will go."
"As you command, Khaleesi," each of her bloodriders nodded, bringing closed fists to the chest in signs of respect before moving away to find a place to rest until it was time for them to leave once more.
Irri and Jhiqui took the bloodriders place as soon as they left. The former carrying the small basket from the wagon that was being used as Rhaego's bed and the latter holding a small assortment of fruit. "Many of the trees still bear fruit, Khaleesi," Jhiqui explained as she pulled out a knife to cut the fruit while Irri aided Dany in fixing her dress and laying her son down to rest in the shade. "You must eat more than us, to sustain both yourself and the khalakka."
Nodding, Dany took a piece of cut fruit, some sort of orange though with a strange red coloring to it, and began devouring it, making sure that not even a drop of juice fell from her lips. "You may turn around Ser Jorah." Dany said as she began eating the second orange, this one at a much more sedated pace.
"Khaleesi," Jorah responded respectfully, as he turned around. "If I may ask, what is your plan? I know you said that you intend to rebuild the Valyrian Empire. And while I will support you to my last breath…such a feat seems…"
"Impossible? Of course, such a thing is impossible, Ser Jorah. I am not a fool," Dany responded simply. "It took centuries for the Valyrian Empire to become what it was before its fall. I am under no delusion that I will be able to bring it back in my lifetime. But what I can, and will, do is set the foundation that my son and his children may further build upon until one day the Valyrian Empire is back, whether back to what it once was or in a new and better form."
"And how will you form such a foundation Khaleesi?" Jorah pressed, not unkindly, but with clear curiosity.
"The same way any foundation is laid, Ser Jorah," Dany responded. "One brick at a time."