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Negary pov:
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I had just concluded our mock battle, a practice I had come to relish. Jaime, Eddard, and Syrio had proved to be capable opponents, wielding their swords with skill, but my powers were growing stronger each day. I fought barehanded, allowing my soul form to practice while maintaining a subtle grip on my physical body, ensuring its dodges and movements were both efficient and precise.
Most of the fight had passed in this manner, my soul form contending with them while honing my control over my own psyche. I could feel the slow but steady progression of my abilities, a challenging yet exhilarating experience. But there came a moment when Syrio's strike became dangerously close, and with a mere thought, I used my magic to shatter the blade. A shimmering maw formed for a split second, biting the steel attempting to strike my form. I could have made a simple barrier but then I thought 'Why not?'.
It was the only intervention I required throughout the fight, and the rest of the time was spent applying pressure on my fleshy body since I seemingly couldn't influence gravity itself. Maybe because I didn't understand the phenomenon? I knew how to ,,push,, something in a certain direction, but gravity was more than that, or so I thought...more experiments were needed.
Now, as the caravan continued its journey on the King's Road, we were merely a day's march from Lord Harrowing's town which was near the Trident. This town marked the next step of our journey, the point where we would cross the River. The members of our party had dwindled considerably, leaving us with a select group.
Cersei had been saddened by leaving the capital and because she had to leave her other children with Tyrion, while accompanying me on the journey(or so I believed)
Jaime, now captain of the Kingsguard, stood by her side almost all the time . Eddard and his two daughters, along with Arya's teacher(who vehemently refused to leave) were also present.
I had ordered the rest of the Kingsguard to return to the capital after the first day of travel.
Preparations for the war were underway, after all.
Stannis had begun rallying his armies, and rumors of my powers had spread fear among certain nobles. They questioned the origin of my strength, some attributing it to the divine, while others surely speculated it was something more sinister. Nonetheless, Tyrion had a substantial force at his disposal,(The Lannisters, the Knights of Vale, with more to come from House Tully and the Tyrells), the but a few extra soldiers wouldn't hurt.
And while we slowly started marching towards the river town (it's real name was annoying), the other half of my soul, which was aboard a ship bound for Essos, stood in silence.
The vessel gently swayed on the tranquil waters of the Narrow Sea as the first rays of dawn painted the horizon with a soft, golden hue. The creaking of the boards harmonized with the soothing rhythm of the waves.
On the ship's deck, though, there were only three people: Magister Illyrio, my second body, and Barristan.
Barristan's gaze shifted between me and the Magister, who locked eyes in a silent exchange before the Fatty couldn't take it anymore.
Illyrio suddenly burst into forced laughter, as if trying to dissipate the tension that hung in the air. His rotund frame jiggled with the effort, the weight of his bulk testing the limits of his silk attire. His cheeks flushed red, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, and his long, dyed mustache twitched as he laughed.
"Ha ha ha, as expected of the man chosen by the Blessed King himself! I had no doubt you could recognize an old man such as me. I am honored to be in front of you," he gushed, his voice dripping with flattery. His eyes shone with a glint of deceit, though his face maintained a practiced smile.
Suddenly, his words were cut short, as I raised a hand, my eyes void of amusement. His mouth snapped shut against his will, his silence a result of my magic, and we locked eyes in a silent confrontation.
I commanded my flesh golem to stand straighter, my back arched, creating an imposing silhouette despite my sickly and frail appearance. My gaze was cold and uncaring as I continued to speak. A slow, controlled thread of mana gripped the obese body of Magister Illyrio, ensuring that he couldn't struggle , while also noting Barristan's icy stare pointed towards the Fatty.
Perhaps he himself was deceived by the Magister's disguise as a simple captain of a merchant crew. I was confident he had been fed a web of deceit over the past week, while I maintained my meditation to increase the distance between my two bodies. (Someone was bound to notice a second demon soul on the loose sooner or later, since I couldn't hide all the time, but appearing on another continent would likely prevent them from discovering it was me all along.)
I had but one question for the Magister, and my voice was stern and unyielding as I asked, "Why in the blazes are you here?"
Illyrio's beady eyes darted around in fear, the realization sinking in that he might have made an unwise decision to meddle with me. I allowed my magical grip on his mouth to loosen, allowing him to try to speak. But just as words were about to escape his lips, my control over his mouth clamped shut once more, a small smile gracing my lips.
"Oh, and besides knowing who you are, I also know of your true allegiance," I continued, my tone unwavering, "and I most likely know why you are here as well. That being said, I want to hear it from you. If you dare lie to me, you'll find out that I am not as merciful as my king."
I slowly released my grip, allowing him to fall to his knees. He coughed a few times before regaining his composure and standing once more, chuckling softly as his gaze remained glued to the wooden deck of the ship. The soft, early morning light surrounded him, lending an almost benign appearance to his rotund frame. But appearances can be deceiving, and I knew that this man was anything but harmless.
As he cackled softly, I remained unbothered by his theatrics. Illyrio spoke softly but clearly, to both me and Barristan, his words cutting through the tension on the ship.
"I must admit, my lord, you've caught me in my little charade. You see, I was intrigued by your presence here, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to get closer to such a distinguished entourage. But I assure you, my intentions were not malicious..."
He kept talking, seemingly unbothered by Barristan's glare.
"You are indeed right in everything you have said, and the unblemished truth is that I came here to spy on you specifically," he began, gesturing towards Barristan. The old knight's eyes grew even colder as his hand inched closer to his scabbard. He was usually a gentle man, not prone to anger or violence, but he valued honour above everything else. Having a spy so close to himself without noticing it was quite a painful blow from his perceived point of view.
"But the sole reason that I did what I did was for the good of the people of Westeros," Illyrio continued, speaking with fervor and conviction. "I am a sworn follower of the Targaryen family, and I do not believe that a single rotten apple should make us all look away from the good olden times in which the Targaryens ruled over Westeros."
He alluded to the atrocities committed by the Mad King Aerys, and Illyrio pressed on, his speech becoming more persuasive.
"Indeed, I do and will always support the Targaryen family," he declared. "I believe in their rightful claim to the Iron Throne. But I also believe in peace, and that's why I'm here, my lord. The Targaryen princess, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, is in Essos, building an army to reclaim what she believes is her birthright" Illyrio explained. "The reason I am here is to scout out any potential allies for her cause. She does not desire bloodshed, and I am sure that she and the Blessed King Joffrey could work out an agreement satisfying both sides, of course, after the puny civil war going on right now is extinguished."
I listened, acknowledging the persuasive tone of his speech. From my perspective, it was impressive. Illyrio had managed to portray himself as an honorable man with ideas he would maintain even in the face of danger showing a ,,honourable,, side. His words even had the potential to patch up his reputation with Barristan, who was reassessing him. The Fatty also seemed to understand that his life wasn't in immediate danger, or else I would have taken it already. Instead, he presented himself as an emissary rather than a spy that would be using all the information he could gather to curry favour with Daenerys.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
His ability to adapt to this situation was quite high. From what I knew about him and what I could easily deduce looking at his physical appearance, he was a man who relished in luxury and enjoyed the finer things in life. His goal seemed to be the preservation of his current position and perhaps a climb up the ladder of power, while always keeping a keen eye on the side of victory, like a shrewd merchant investing in the right stocks.
It was likely that he had used his extensive network of informants and spies to gather information about Barristan's expulsion from the Kingsguard and his subsequent departure from King's Landing. The way he had managed to appear, seemingly without notice also spoke to his expertise in espionage. His exact objectives remained somewhat enigmatic, but it was clear that he was interested in coercing Barristan into joining the ,,Mad Queen,,.
'Though, with all the ripples that I made, it would be impossible for things to remain the same as in the show...' I thought as I looked towards Illyrio.
Now having said his piece , he stood unmoving , still facing the wooden deck, not daring to look me in the eyes. If he was actually scared or merely respectful, I didn't particularly care. I was currently calculating whether he would be more useful alive then dead, and the scale was tilting dangerously towards ,,dead,, .
The man was sure to know a lot about Essos and I could kill him in such a way that it could never be traced back to me so as not to ruin this body's reputation...well there was no need to rush. There was still almost a month of travel till reaching Essos.
I regarded Magister Illyrio with a cold, unfeeling stare, acknowledging the anger and hate that he tried to conceal. "Well then, thank you for your sincerity, Magister," I said. I then used my magic to lift Illyrio's head, forcing our eyes to meet.
As I examined his reaction, I couldn't help but think, 'Ah, so he is a prideful man.' He was barely containing his rage at being treated so badly, and if he was thinner, I was sure his veins would bulge outwards on his face and neck.
Still, I didn't care about Illyrio's pride; my only interest was extracting information. "Now, would you be so kind as to tell me the current situation in Vaes Dothrak?" I inquired. I could see the surprise in his eyes, who clearly didn't expect me to be aware of the recent events in Essos.
Internally, I smirked. I had kept myself informed through the letters Varys sent to my original body. These reports arrived every few days, carried by messenger birds. Even so, while Varys had a vast network of informants, his primary focus was Westeros. So, I assumed Illyrio might have more detailed and up-to-date information about the situation in the Dothraki city. There was also the fact that Varys was clearly feigning compliance while furthering his own agenda, so he might have ,,forgotten,, some small details...
To his credit, the Fatty recovered his composure almost instantly and I could almost see the gears spinning inside his head, contemplating whether he would benefit more by lying to me.
A small tap on his pericardium using mana put an end to his internal debate instantly...and with what I assumed to be sheer horror in his eyes, he started speaking in earnest...
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Third person pov :
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Nestled amidst the vast expanse of the Dothraki Sea, the unique city of Vaes Dothrak stood as a lone island of civilization in a sea of open grasslands. The sun shone brilliantly above the city, casting a golden radiance over the sprawling settlement. Two colossal bronze stallions reared at the city's entrance, their hooves frozen in a mid-gallop, serving as an iconic symbol of the Dothraki, proudly guarding the sacred city.
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Within Vaes Dothrak, the temple of the Dosh khaleen stood as the centerpiece, a testament to the nomadic culture's deep spiritual roots. The architecture, a blend of wood and bronze, was a tribute to the resilience of the Dothraki people. Ancient carvings adorned the temple's walls, depicting the history of the Great Stallion and the union of the khalasars.
The temple had been a gathering place for the Dothraki for centuries, where the revered Dosh khaleen, the widows of fallen khals, lived. Their word held great power in Dothraki society, and their wisdom was valued by all.
As one ventured inside the temple's hallowed halls, they were met with the fragrance of burning incense. The great hall of the temple was where the Dosh khaleen dispensed their counsel and made important decisions for the Dothraki. The ceiling above bore intricate wooden carvings, which captured the stories of the first khalasars in vivid detail.
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Sitting atop a makeshift throne in the heart of the great hall was a strikingly beautiful woman with ethereal platinum blonde hair, cascading down her back. Her regal bearing and luminous amethyst eyes exuded an air of royalty. High cheekbones, a soft jawline, and a full mouth graced her delicate face. Though her expression was serene, there was a sense of wisdom and hidden strength behind her gaze.
Sitting on Daenerys's lap were three adorable dragon hatchlings, their scales shimmering with iridescent colors. They were sleeping soundly, small puffs of smoke escaping their tiny nostrils as they breathed rhythmically. Each dragon's diminutive form was captivating, and they seemed almost surreal.
Before her, knelt a man with an expression of profound love and mirth in his eyes. Those eyes, once a soldier's, now bore the burden of the time spent at the side of this mesmerizing figure. Dark circles etched beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and constant vigilance. His presence held an aura of unwavering loyalty and the weight of his service.
With a gentle sigh, Daenerys turned her attention away from the slumbering dragon hatchlings in her lap, her amethyst eyes alighting on the kneeling figure of Jorah Mormont. Her lips curled into a playful smile as she addressed him, her tone lighthearted and amused.
"I told you there is no need to kneel in front of me," she chided him, her voice as melodious as a spring breeze. Jorah, not one to miss an opportunity for jesting, stood up with a smirk and rolled his eyes, knowing that he wouldn't be able to win that particular debate.
However, the playful exchange swiftly transitioned into a more serious conversation as Jorah continued to report. "Another three khals have left the city, along with their followers. The army is dwindling every day, especially since you proclaimed that slavery is now abolished."
Daenerys's expression turned graver, and her gaze hardened as the implications of Jorah's words settled in. She was well aware of the challenges she faced in uniting the Dothraki people. Emerging unscathed from the pyre where Drogo's body was consumed had initially filled them with awe, but as time passed, many began to realize the profound changes she was bringing to their way of life.
She had abolished slavery, a concept deeply ingrained in Dothraki society, and had tried to foster a sense of unity among the khals. However, the Dothraki traditions ran deep, and not even the counsel of the revered Dosh khaleen had managed to sway all of the khals or make them submit willingly. The allure of life and freedom was a powerful motivator, and without Drogo's charismatic prowess, some began to question her leadership.
The trio of dragon hatchlings in her lap symbolized her Targaryen lineage and the potential power she could wield. However, they were still small and unimpressive, unable to provide the protection and might she needed to maintain control. Daenerys was well aware that she needed more than the 5,000 riding Dothraki warriors who remained loyal to her. Despite her magical abilities and her grand vision, there was still much to be done to earn the complete loyalty of the Dothraki and make her claim to the Iron Throne a reality.
Daenerys gently picked up her dragon hatchlings, cradling them in her arms with a tenderness that contrasted with the responsibility that weighed upon her shoulders. Her thoughts remained shrouded in mystery, her violet eyes flickering with a mixture of determination and contemplation.
Jorah Mormont silently followed her as they made their way towards the exit of the temple. Descending a grand staircase, they stepped out into the open air, where the sprawling city of Vaes Dothrak stretched before them. The city was primarily composed of tents and the yurts of the nomadic warriors.
Daenerys gazed upon the city, her expression somber. It was far sparser now than it had been during the days of Khal Drogo. Her thoughts drifted back to the tumultuous path that had brought her to this moment.
She remembered her brother Viserys, whose obsession with reclaiming the Iron Throne had led to his tragic end, killed by Drogo with a molten crown. Viserys's foolishness and impatience had cost him his life.
She recalled the poison that had nearly claimed her own life, an attempt orchestrated by those who sought to extinguish the last remnants of House Targaryen. Robert Baratheon, the man responsible for her family's downfall, had forced her into exile.
And then there was Drogo's fateful decision to conquer Westeros, driven by a promise to make those who had threatened her life pay for their treachery. She vividly remembered Jorah's opposition to such a rushed and impulsive move, his counsel for a more strategic approach, to build their forces and resources before engaging the formidable foes of the western continent. He had particularly voiced concerns about Joffrey Baratheon, the son of the usurper, a name that had worried him greatly.
Why Jorah had been so distressed by that name at the time remained a mystery to her. But she knew that Drogo had listened to his advice, and they had embarked on a campaign of conquest, pillaging cities one by one, yet refraining from a hasty march to Westeros.
Then it all unraveled when Daenerys, moved by empathy, had claimed the women from the pillaged villages as their own, declaring them under her protection to shield them from the Dothraki warriors. Her choice had led to discord and dissent, sowing the seeds of division.
The guilt weighed heavily in her chest as she recollected how Drogo had been injured in an altercation with one of his own subordinates. She had naively trusted that woman she'd claimed as a healer to tend to his wounds. Yet, the results had been far from what she had hoped for, leaving her husband paralyzed and vacant, his once fearsome presence reduced to a vacant stare.
Luckily for her, Jorah, displaying his resourcefulness, had intervened, persuading the warring factions within Drogo's army to return to Vaes Dothrak, where a decision could be made regarding their next leader.
Amidst the tension, as a sacrificial pyre was raised, Daenerys had made a bold decision. She'd staked everything on one final attempt to hatch her dragon eggs.
And as she gazed toward the heavens, trying to cast aside the painful memories, she witnessed a spectacular sight—a brilliant red comet streaking across the sky, casting its luminous trail.
The red comet captivated her, though its significance remained an enigma. She felt a profound connection to the celestial phenomenon, one that went beyond the realm of understanding.
Her contemplation was interrupted by a soft cough from behind. Daenerys turned to find Jorah standing there, his expression somewhat sheepish. In his hands, he held two letters. Wordlessly, he offered them to her, his eyes revealing an underlying seriousness.
The exiled knight cleared his throat, casting a concerned glance at Daenerys as she picked up the first letter. The parchment was heavy and ornate, a testament to the wealth of the merchant who had sent it. He began to speak slowly, "My Khaleesi, this first letter is from the wealthiest merchant in the bustling city of Qarth. He offers a substantial fortune, more than we could hope to amass quickly, to acquire the ships needed for our journey to Westeros. His condition, however, is that he requests ownership of one of your dragons."
Daenerys's violet eyes widened in disbelief, her brows furrowing in a mixture of astonishment and frustration. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. In a bold move, she held the letter in front of one of her small dragons. With a playful snort and a puff of fire, the parchment burst into flames, turning to ashes.
She turned her gaze towards Jorah, her eyes filled with both disbelief and irritation. Her voice quivered as she retorted, "You must jest, Jorah."
Clearing his throat once more, Jorah extended the second letter to her. His voice was filled with caution as he continued, "I wish I were jesting, my Khaleesi. This second letter is even more disconcerting unfortunately...
It bears no sender's name, and the information it conveys is equally mysterious. It speaks of unexpected changes occurring in Westeros. The letter suggests that Robert Baratheon has met an enigmatic end, and his eldest son, the boy king Joffrey Baratheon, has risen to the throne. The tales go as far as to claim that young Joffrey has been blessed by the gods, transforming the Iron Throne itself into a statue resembling his father."
Daenerys blinked, her eyes rereading the incredulous words before her. She looked up at Jorah, her violet irises glistening with both anger and disbelief. "This is beyond reason," she muttered, more to herself than to her advisor.
She held the second letter before her dragons. As the parchment ignited and began to crumble into smoldering embers, her eyes remained locked on the slowly disintegrating cinders. Then, a strange transformation overcame her. Her shoulders began to shake, and the laughter, initially restrained, erupted from deep within her.
Laughter filled the open space, echoing through the temple walls and resonating with the spirits of the past. Jorah watched her, first with concern, and then with a tinge of relief. He stepped closer, a gentle hand resting on her shoulder, ready to support her in her moment of mirth.
Daenerys's laughter continued, growing louder and more unrestrained, while her dragons, awakened by the unusual noise, began to flutter and circle around her, chittering and adding their own chirps of amusement to the chorus.
Jorah, however, knew that beneath the laughter, Daenerys was contemplating the madness of it all.
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A.N :
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"If training does not accomplish anything, even more training is necessary"
-Akisame Sensei (idk who he is)