Jon Arryn's Last Revelation
Moonlight spilled through the window as Jon Arryn finally saw it—
a glint of metal where Leo reached for a cup.
Not steel.
Not iron.
Something smoother.
Harder.
Impossible.
A vibranium hand, attached seamlessly to a soldier's arm.
The old Hand's breath caught.
"What… what are you?"
Leo shrugged.
"I am enough to handle what comes. Even your Mountain wouldn't make me break a sweat."
Jon swallowed, then asked the question gnawing at him:
"Why is Joffrey Baratheon not the one meant to change the world?"
Leo laughed softly.
A cold, sharp laugh.
"You really are getting old, Hand of the King.
The truth is right in front of you."
Jon stiffened.
Leo leaned forward, voice low:
"That little shit isn't a Baratheon.
None of the Queen's children are."
The Hand felt the world lurch under his feet.
Before he could whisper a word—
Leo vanished.
Jon Arryn now understood the secret that would kill him.
And Leo…
Leo had a dragon queen to save.
ESSOS — THE GOLDEN CROWN
Viserys staggered into the Dothraki gathering, drunk on arrogance and rage.
"I WANT MY CROWN!" he screamed, shoving warriors aside.
"You will give it to me, or I'll—"
Leo, hidden on a ridge above the fires, watched the scene begin exactly as he remembered from the show.
But this time, Drogo hesitated.
Because this time, Drogo had not married Daenerys.
He did not need to kill Viserys.
Leo did.
As Viserys drew a blade toward Daenerys, screaming,
"YOU DON'T TOUCH ME! I AM THE—"
A hand of metal wrapped around his mouth.
Viserys didn't even see the figure behind him.
A whisper flowed into his ear:
"The world is better without you."
A twist of the vibranium hand—
a clean, silent snap—
and Viserys went limp.
Leo laid his body on the ground gently, almost respectfully.
Then, with a flick of Dothraki oil and a torch, he burned the corpse.
When Drogo's warriors arrived, they saw only the aftermath:
Viserys dead, burned by his own carelessness.
Drogo snorted.
"Fool finally killed himself."
Daenerys stared at the flames…
but she felt something watching her.
Something protective.
Something… warm.
FIRST CONTACT — "THE SHADOW…"
That night, Daenerys slipped away from the camp, still shaken.
The grass whispered behind her.
Her heart leapt.
"Who's there?"
A silhouette stepped from the darkness—
hooded, half-hidden.
Not threatening.
Almost gentle.
Leo bowed his head slightly.
"You're safe now.
He won't hurt you again."
Daenerys took a shaky breath.
"You… killed him?"
Silence.
Then:
"He would have killed you.
The world needs you."
Her throat tightened.
"Why? Why me?"
Leo stepped back, never too close.
"You will understand one day."
A gust of warm wind blew between them, and when she blinked—
he was gone.
Yet for the first time in years…
Daenerys felt protected.
TRAINING THE DRAGON
The next week, every night, Leo appeared in secret.
Not close enough to scare her.
Just close enough to teach.
Languages
He corrected her Valyrian. Showed her subtle inflections.
She learned faster than she believed possible.
Strategy
He used stones to teach battle formations and ambushes.
"Strength isn't enough," he told her.
"Kings fall every day. Queens rise through wisdom."
Leadership
He taught her how rulers walked, spoke, commanded.
Survival
He showed her which plants were poisonous, which were food.
She learned to ride harder, faster, longer.
Confidence
He told her truths Viserys never would.
"You are not weak."
"You are not alone."
"You have greatness in you."
And every night…
Daenerys found herself waiting for him.
Watching the shadows.
Hoping he'd step out again.
Her heart began to shift.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Toward the man who had saved her.
DEADLY DOTHRAKI POLITICS
Not everyone liked Daenerys becoming strong.
A jealous khal sought to kill her, believing she would influence Drogo's men.
Leo caught him sharpening his blade.
He stepped behind him, voice calm:
"You chose the wrong queen to threaten."
The khal swung.
He never saw the vibranium hand crush his wrist.
Never saw the kick that snapped his spine.
Never felt the blade slide into his throat.
Leo dragged the body far into the plains where wild dogs would finish the rest.
The Dothraki whispered of:
"The ghost who kills those who threaten the silver-haired girl."
A Daemon.
A Shadow.
A Guardian.
Daenerys heard the rumors.
She knew the truth.
And one night she confronted him under the stars.
"Are you my guardian?" she asked softly.
He hesitated.
Then:
"If you'll have me."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I… think I already do."