#daynes

While the Queen accompanied the small gathering back to the castle, the King opted to stay behind for a moment. Standing by himself, Aerys watched the last embers of his son's funeral pyre slowly burn out. Now all that remained were the memories of his sweet, little boy.

"I'm very sorry for Your loss, Your Majesty."

The voice - appearing out of nowhere - startled him. It was a familiar one though. Only one person known to him had a voice with the unique mix of heartfelt warmth and cool confidence of a battle-hardened commander.

"Thank you, Major Stark," he uttered. Taking a deep breathe, the King spoke again. "I tell myself he's finally at peace; something he'd long deserved."

"A comforting thought indeed, Your Majesty. May the Old Gods and the New bless the Prince when they greet him in the Heavens."

Slowly lifting his head, the King took in the view. It was a beautiful day at Dragonstone - the sun shone on a clear blue sky with no hint of a cloud in sight. Even the sea was relatively calm. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, enjoying the feeling of the cool wind on his face. The warmth of the sun was comforting, yet he had always preferred the wind - as had his youngest son. Viserys had loved the wind to such degree that he’d named his dragon after his absolute favourite kind of cloud - Stormcloud.

The little Prince had been so proud when his egg had hatched on his bed one night. As per ancient tradition, every Targaryen was given a dragon egg at birth, and child and egg would spend the nights together from then on. Every other child in the world had a teddy bear to hug at night - a Targaryen child had a dragon egg. Viserys had been five years old at the time and it had been very unexpected for the egg to hatch so early. Rhaegar’s egg didn’t hatch until he was 12, making his dragon, Moondancer, two years younger than Stormcloud. Daenerys’ little drama queen of a dragon, Bloodfyre, had burst through his shell, hissing and growling, on the Princess’ eighth nameday.

Viserys had been so excited to wake and see a tiny dragon sitting on his chest observing him, that he had shrieked with joy - startling the little thing who replied with a hiss.

The little Prince’s squeal had caused his guard, Sir Arthur, to barge into the bedroom causing even more hissing from the dragon. Since then, Stormcloud only hissed at humans he liked - everyone else would be ignored. The two had taken their first tentative flight five years later, no other Targaryen in recent history had had a dragon from such an early age. Sadly, Viserys and Stormcloud would be separated not long after.

"When you arrived this morning, you delivered condolences to the Queen and I on behalf of the Houses Stark and Dayne, so I take it this is of a more personal nature?"

"Affirmative, Sir."

“How many times must I tell you to call me ‘Aerys’?”

“At least once more, Sir.”

The King hummed briefly in response to that, a smile tugging at his lips. “Tell me, Major, do you take personal pleasure in sneaking up on old men such as myself?"

"My apologies, Your Majesty; force of habit.” Without looking, the King could tell the Major smiled. They knew each other well. ”You know us Faceless Men - we blend in with the shadows as with the lights, Sir."

"Oh, don’t remind me!” Huffing out a laugh he continued, “barely a month goes by without a complaint from Lord Baelish about how Jaqen has been ‘sneaking around’.” He shook his head lightly. “I shouldn’t be complaining, however - it used to be a weekly matter until one day during a Council meeting Olenna had enough.”

Aerys began chuckling as he conveyed the story: “She told him that if the Lord of the Vale didn’t like getting caught by a smarter and better predator then either he should learn from it or he could go hunting elsewhere. Either way she didn’t care, but if he whined to her one more time about the Faceless Men’s representative in the Council he could go, and I quote, shit himself.” The King was laughing so hard he’d barely been able to finish his story. “You should’ve seen Petyr’s face. It was priceless!” Bent over, hands clutching his thighs the King was wheezing with laughter.

A warm, firm hand gripped his shoulder. No words were exchanged but Aerys understood the concern implied, nonetheless. So, he straightened himself back up and took in a few deep breaths of fresh air to steady himself, the Major’s hand still resting on his shoulder. Gently, he removed it and gave it a tight squeeze.

“I’m alright, Lyanna. I promise.”

Lyanna answered with her signature warm smile and a curt nod before stepping away.

“‘Lord’ Petyr Baelish.” She spit, every word coated with venom. “Whatever You do, Your Majesty, I urge You to be careful around him in every aspect.”

“I trust him about as far as I can throw him.” The King snorted, “but without proof of any wrongdoings my hands are tied. Even Jaqen hasn’t found anything.”

“As member of the Council, Colonel H’ghar’s task is to collect intelligence reports from the kingdom regions and assess security threats etc., not to investigate individual cases, Sir.”

“Correct, so do you have any suggestions, Major?”

“Perhaps You should have someone else look into it, Sir.”

“Yes…  I should definitely have someone look into it,” the King replied thoughtfully.

“Say the word and someone will.”

“Consider the word said.”

“Consider the deed done, Sir.”

The two of them exchanged a knowing look before the King circled back to the matter of Olenna Tyrell:

“Not once have the Queen and I regretted our decision to make ‘the Queen of Thorns’ our Hand. That particular day though, oh that was one of her finer moments!” Aerys chuckled. “She’s heading a Council meeting as we speak. Thankfully, she’s handled the press as well the past couple of days...” His eyes drifted back to the few remaining embers.

“—with her usual velvety gloved iron-fist, Your Majesty, making it clear that no member of the royal family would be taking part in the media’s 24/7 tributes to Prince Viserys.”

Once again, he could hear the smile in Lyanna’s voice, enjoying whatever the Hand of the Monarchs must’ve said at the press conference. It was no secret that Olenna wasn’t a fan of the media. However, she tolerated the more serious media houses who did their due diligence, researched thoroughly, and brought facts and information to the masses. They were few and far between these days though. The tabloids on the other hand...well, the old Tyrell had famously told them to ‘piss off’, so no doubt she must’ve told them something similar this time around if the Major’s reaction was anything to go by.

“That bad?”

“They’ve been running almost non-stop stories about ‘the Little Hero Prince’, Sir.”

The King snorted and glared at the scorched dirt a short distance from where he and Lyanna stood before turning on his heels, moving swiftly back towards the castle with Lyanna following suit.

“They are not wrong to call him that, but….” Aerys stopped in his tracks and turned to face Lyanna. “Do they not know how many they hurt by repeating it for days on end? Do they not know the pain they inflict again and again AND AGAIN?!”

The characteristic grey eyes of a Stark looked at him, filled with sympathy. If anyone could understand the soul-crushing pain it was to have the tragic fate of a loved one smeared on front-pages, across the news and as a constant subject of discussion by self-declared pundits on whatever tv-show they could get their sleazy asses maneuvered into, it would be one of the Stark children.

Some twenty years ago the plane carrying the Duke of Winterfell and his heir exploded somewhere North of the Wall. The news was everywhere. Constantly. In Winterfell, a horrified widow was left with three devastated children. No one would tell her anything because no one knew anything. North of the Wall was still Freefolk territory and no search & rescue teams dared to enter without Freefolk guides to protect them. Meanwhile in King’s Landing a young King was scrambling to get as much information as he possibly could. He personally flew to Winterfell to deliver the unredacted report a week later.

After the explosion, the security in the North had become unstable, and the Duchess of Winterfell had resorted to send her children to safety in the South. Ned, Lya, and later Ben, were the only non-Targaryens to have lived on Dragonstone in centuries. Aerys had come to think of them as something akin to younger siblings.

The Duke of Winterfell had been of the old school, so poor 16-year-old Eddard Stark had not been taught the ins and outs of being a Lord. To make up for that, the King’s uncle, Prince Aemon, had taken the young Lord under his wings and given him a speed course. On his 18th nameday, Eddard Stark was named Duke of Winterfell - a title he still served with honour.

The explosion had brought two major changes with it: Firstly, a peace agreement with the Freefolk; essentially bringing them into the fold of the kingdom but as a Freefolk Reservation, thereby giving them the protection from outside threats as they needed, but also securing  their sovereignty to live and abide by their own law - within their territory - as they had required. Same format would be used with the Dothraki approximately a decade later.

Secondly, a Lord, including the King, would no longer travel with spouse and/or heir together in the same vehicle, train, ship or plane. This rule was the reason why Viserys, and not Rhaegar, had been with the King in Pentos when the assassination attempt on Khal Drogo and his wife had taken place.

“They know, Aerys,” Lyanna spoke quietly, softly. For the first time that day, she let her officer mask fall and showed him the heartbroken woman underneath. “They know, they just don’t care. They’ll claim the public has a right to know and thus they consider it their duty to inform.”

Aerys snorted. “Assholes,” he muttered under his breath.

Lyanna looked at him with a lopsided smile on her face. “Even Kings are allowed to cry, you know.”

“I’ve cried more than enough, Lyanna. I’m all cried out,” he confessed quietly. “But I don’t need to be reminded of that day. I remember all too well. I was there! Eleven years later and I can still see my little boy laying there in a pool of blood.” Despite his previous statement tears began burning in his eyes again, and he choked on the words as he whispered, “how am I ever supposed to forget that?”

“You’re not.” She wrapped her soft, warm palms around his own cold, fidgeting hands. “As a King, as a father, as a human being you’re not expected to forget a traumatic event like that, Aerys. What you experienced was every parent’s nightmare.”

“The Queen and I weren’t the only ones to suffer a terrible loss that day.” His voice was thick with sorrow and unshed tears. “Sir Arthur was shot in the back and is tied to a wheelchair for the rest of his life—

“—but he lives, Aerys,” Lyanna interjected optimistically.

“—Drogo’s Khalasar lost their beloved Khaleesi. The Khal himself lost his wife and mother of his sons - one of whom was only saved by an emergency caesarean section, for fuck’s sake!”

Aerys let go of her hands as he began pacing back and forth along the edge of the cliff, highly agitated and gesturing wildly with his hands and arms as he spoke.

“That is why I can’t forgive them, Lyanna! I just can’t.”

Waving his arm in the direction of the castle he continued, “I have an 11-year-old Dothraki boy in there, who does not need reminding of how the day of his birth also marked the day of other people’s death, including his own mother.”

He was back to pacing - now seasoned with kicking random pebbles off the cliff.

“Of course, I know,” he scuffed, “being a Dothraki born in the midst of blood and mayhem is practically a badge of honour for him. As a second son to the Khal he would not normally be deemed important, but due to circumstance of his birth they all view him almost equal to his older brother, Khalakka Najaho.”

Lyanna watched the King patiently as he continued his ranting.

“His father is the leader of the largest and most powerful Khalasar seen in many, many centuries, and yet that same man instantly decided to name his infant son after Westeros’ little dragon Prince.” Aerys choked on a new wave of tears threatening to break through his carefully constructed dam. Taken several deep breaths to steady himself, he continued in a more subdued tone. “Naming Vizharo bloodrider to the Queen’s unborn child was the ultimate acknowledgement of the sacrifice Viserys made that day.”

Lyanna walked over to stand next to her old friend, looping an arm around his back and waiting to speak until she had his full attention. When he turned his head and looked at her expectantly, sadness painted in every feature on his face, she spoke:

“Aerys, you need to listen to me carefully now; no interruptions. Alright?”

“Yes, Major.” A small jesting smile played on his lips.

Lyanna responded with a slow nod before she proceeded to speak in a warm, calm and clear voice: “A ten-year-old boy throwing himself in front of a gun with no care for himself is, to the Dothraki, not only a great warrior - he’s practically a God. To them Prince Viserys died 11 years ago in Illyrio Mopatis’ villa in Pentos. His body? No, but do they believe his spirit left his body then? Yes. His funeral today was a mere formality for the Dothraki.”

Aerys slumped down in the grass as she continued speaking, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“They’d seen him racing horses against Dothraki boys outside Pentos - and win. Khal Drogo himself witnessed him climb onto Stormcloud’s back like the dragon’s some sort of docile pet. To them, Prince Viserys had already proven his worth as a warrior. Fearlessly throwing himself in front of the Khaleesi, he died the most honourable death a Dothraki warrior can hope for.”

The King looked up at her with silent tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes pleading her to continue no matter how heart-wrecking it was for him to hear.

“Amid blood, death, bullets, screams and utter mayhem, an infant Dothraki boy was brought into this world - quietly observing his surroundings with big, bright eyes. Only the most courageous souls are born in such a fashion which lead to only one conclusion for the Khal: that his son’s the reincarnation of yours. ‘Vizhadi’ means silver in Dothraki; Viserys was the little silver Prince. Vizharo is twice-named after your son, Aerys. All of Drogo’s Khalasar view him as the spirit of a Targaryen prince living in the body of a Dothraki one.”

There was no stopping the flood of tears continually streaming down the King’s flushed cheeks. The dam had burst. This was the beginning of the closure he so badly needed.

“Khal Drogo didn’t make his youngest son Daenerys’ bloodrider solely because of Viserys’ sacrifice that day; he did it because he couldn’t imagine a better protector for the Princess than her own brave brother’s spirit residing in his son’s body.”

Lyanna crouched down next to Aerys as she handed him some tissues from her jacket pocket to wipe his eyes with.

Tenderly she whispered, “Aerys, Khal Drogo believes he only gave you back what was already yours - your son.”

Muttering under his breath he put words to his realisation, “bloodrider means ‘blood of my blood’.” The King was gasping for air in between sobs, fighting to gain control of his breathing - and himself - again.

“He was so excited to meet Dany; so excited to become a big brother...,” he muttered to himself. “When Rhaella went into early labour from the shock, I…. I was sure I would lose them all. I was so scared, Lyanna!” He choked on another sob, once again taking to stare into the horizon. “But our little Dany pulled through,” he sighed with relief.

“She’s strong, Aerys. A true dragon that one.”

“Strong as valyrian steel as her mother always says; and every day I thank the Gods I don’t believe in for letting us keep her - the same Gods I curse for taking away Viserys.”

Sat on the edge of the cliffs, staring at the sea, watching Moondancer and Stormcloud fishing, and feeling the wind on his face, he felt lighter than he had for a very long time. Maybe the Dothraki were on to something? As a Targaryen, he had been raised not to believe in any gods. What use were they to dragonriders? But just because Targaryens didn’t believe in deities didn’t mean they didn’t exist. How would he know, anyway? After all he was but a mere mortal King.

The tears slowly started to subside.

“Why have you never told me this before?” His voice was hoarse from crying.

“You weren’t ready, my friend.”

“You think I was ready now?”

She smiled, “no, but you needed to hear it.”

“Always trust Lyanna Stark to speak the truth,” he chuckled. “Now help an old man back on his feet.”

“Uncle Aemon isn’t here,” she joked, jumping to her feet and running across the field.

“You cheeky little..!” Aerys stood quickly to catch up with the laughing Major. A lost cause but he would give it a go anyway.

What a sight the two of them made: Lyanna Stark - Major and head of the Faceless Men’s base in Qohor, a liaison between the Dothraki and the Crown – chased by Aerys Targaryen – King of Westeros and the Nine Cities of Essos. Both laughing and giggling like children as they ran, skipped and jumped around the grass.

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Stormcloud soared high above, shadowing the eagle circling the terrain further below. Jon could feel the dragon every time he warged into the majestic bird. Just at the edge of his mind there was a surge of warmth; a gentle sort of heat similar to that radiating off a small campfire at night. But it wasn’t supposed to be there. At all. Humans and dragons were off limits for wargs, his mothers always told him so. And if he could avoid it, he’d rather not invoke the anger of neither Lyanna Stark nor Ashara Dayne. Nothing in the world was worth paying that price.

Jon had arrived at Dragonstone the day prior together with uncle Oberyn. They flew in from Starfall after having spent a few weeks with uncle Arthur. This was his second year traveling with Prince Oberyn. He had seen the beauty of the Summer Sea, met the Sealord of Braavos, and stared in awe at giants and mammoths. It was a Dornish tradition that the heirs to the ancient houses would spend a good part of their adolescence traveling the world accompanied by a close relative – or in this case, an old family friend. To the Dornish it was considered an essential part of a proper education. How could you expect someone to serve, lead, or rule if that individual didn’t know the world? The only way to know the world was to see it, hear it, taste it, smell it, feel it and meet it head on.

With a rare few exceptions here and there, all houses of any importance in Westeros and the Nine Cities sent their heirs off to boarding school or military academies.

His cousin Robb had started attendance at the prestigious Westeros International School of Education earlier this year. When you’re twelve years old and by yourself, Winterfell is a long way from King’s Landing. Jon remembered how much he still missed his mothers every now and then - and Arya! He missed his little sister every day; missed watching the little troll eating her breakfast still half asleep. In a couple of years she’d join him and Oberyn on the road. Yet, through all these new places and faces he always had uncle Oberyn to rely on. Robb and all the other kids were on their own.

He felt the pull again; like there was a rope tied around his mind and someone pulled at it from afar. Not sure what would happen if he followed the pull, he thought it best to leave the eagle.

Looking down, he saw the characteristic silver hair of Princess Daenerys, sitting next to his body on the grass, giving Ghost a belly rub.

Drawing a deep breathe he blinked his eyes open, feeling the sturdiness of the ground beneath him and the softness of grass between his fingers. He carefully sat back up, slowly taking in his surroundings.

Daenerys grinned at him. “Welcome back, ‘sleepy head’.”

“Thank you for guarding me, Your Royal Highness. It’s very kind of You.”

“Ugh!” She rolled her eyes, “how many times must I tell you to call me ‘Dany’?”

“At least once more, Princess,” Jon replied softly.

She laughed, “you Starks and your unwavering honour.”

“Stark Dayne.”

“Right, you doubled up on honour,” she chuckled while shaking her head with amusement.

Sending him a bright smile, she asked, “where were you this time?”

Jon answered, pointing an index finger up at the sky without taking his eyes off her, “flying.”

The Princess’ eyebrows shot up in surprise as she bit her lower lip and inquired, “did you like it?”

“It’s alright,” Jon spoke quietly, averting his eyes, fiddling with the grass between them. “I see now why mum’s always warned me of the dangers of warging into birds. The freedom you feel up there is incredible.”

Raising his head slightly, Jon found Dany’s face mere inches away from his own; intelligent amethyst eyes brimmed with curiosity as they stared into his own azure coloured ones.

“Why is it dangerous?” The Princess breathed out her question as if uttering the words themselves was risky.

“Because the freedom flying provides is potentially intoxicating. It can pull anyone deeper and deeper without realising. Wargs can become so caught up in the feeling that they can forget who they are; never returning to their human body again.”

Dany lunged at him, slamming his body onto the ground as she straddled his abdomen, keeping him pinned down by pressing her dainty palms on his shoulders.

“Jon,” —she hissed through clenched teeth— “don’t you ever dare go anywhere I can’t follow!” Her eyes – suddenly darkened in colour – flashed with anger…and fear. “I’ll forbid it by royal decree if I must, Lord Dayne!”

“Never,” he whispered breathlessly. “I’d never leave you behind, Dany.”

She frowned at him. “You promise?”

“You have my word.”

She continued glaring at him, so, with a smirk playing on his face, Jon clarified teasingly, “doubled up on honour, remember?”

Next thing he knew Dany’s mouth was on his. So soft, so sweet, and so surprising he didn’t have time to understand what was happening before it was over. Gone too soon.

Completely dumbfounded, he just laid there on the grass, paralysed, blinking up at the Princess. She, in turn, was staring down at him wide eyed, nervously nipping at her lower lip, a worried crease between her eyebrows. He could feel her small hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as she balled up her fists. That spurred him into action.

He shook his head slightly and took a deep breath – as deep as he could with the Princess sitting across his stomach. He gently unclutched her fists as he flashed her a confident smile and said, “mind if we try that again?”

Dany jerked forward but two hands pressed against her shoulders stopped her. Once again her beautiful amethyst eyes flashed with anger, hurt and confusion.

Moving his hands from her shoulders to carefully cradle her face, Jon looked deep into her eyes as he whispered, “easy Dany, I just told you I’m not going anywhere.”

Responding with a shy smile and a barely noticeable nod, Dany lowered her eyes to look at his lips as she slowly leaned down.

He lifted his head slightly off the ground and met her half way, tenderly pressing his lips against hers. This time Dany’s delectable lips felt even softer, sweeter than they had with that first rushed kiss. He wanted to – needed to – do this right.

Slowly, he opened his mouth slightly and timidly let his tongue run along Dany’s upper lip. He figured he must’ve done something right, because she responded by grasping his shirt collar and pulling him closer.

When Dany finally pulled back, they both gasped, staring at each other in awe. Jon had never seen a sweeter, more beautiful smile than the one she was wearing just then. Her heavenly eyes shone brighter than any star ever could, he was sure of it.

Breathless, Jon said “that was—"

“—wonderful,” Dany finished for him.

Smiling softly he could only respond by nodding. Blinking rapidly a few times, he muttered, “I have this…weak feeling in my knees.”

“Is your heart beating strangely?”

“Mmhmm…faster, like I’ve been running.”

“Mine too,” she whispered brushing a tender hand through his dark curls. “Think we should just stay here for a bit.”

Dany positioned herself a little lower on his stomach as she leaned down to rest her dazed head on Jon’s narrow shoulder, placing a possessive hand over his rapidly beating heart.

Carefully, Jon wrapped his arms around her.

Uncle Oberyn always told him that love was like dancing – relax, go with the flow and you’ll find a rhythm that matches the two of you together. Jon wasn’t sure this could be compared to any kind of dancing he’d done, but if their matching heartbeats were any indication he’d say he and Dany had found their own unique rhythm. Gradually, he felt her breathing slow down as did his own.

“I like it here.” Dany’s quiet voice broke his musings.

He chuckled, “good, it’s your home after all.”

“No, I mean,” she raised her head slightly and padded his shoulder with her hand, “I like it here,” before resting her head back down.

“I like you here as well,” Jon confessed quietly resting a cheek against the top of her head.

Their peaceful little bubble was sadly burst when Ghost came running, joyously yapping at a hissing Bloodfyre who was flying just a few feet above the direwolf pup.

Dany shot up like a rocket. “Bloodfyre stop it! Behave!” The black and red dragon hissed and growled in response, yet still landed next to the silver-haired girl currently glaring at it.

Jon was amazed at how quickly the Princess transformed from the soft and tender girl he’d just had in his arms a few seconds ago, to this assertive dragon commander standing in front of him.

“Ghost, here!” The pup, a little more than a year old, obeyed his command without hesitation. “Maybe if he gets his tail zinged he’ll learn not to disturb a dragon,” Jon laughed, scratching the snow white direwolf behind its ear as he got back up on his feet.

Sitting next to her, Bloodfyre was exactly as tall as Dany. He was almost pitch-black with crimson red horns and spine, and spatters of red on his wings. At three, he was the youngest of the dragons currently residing on Dragonstone. The other dragons lived in and around Valyria where there was food and space available to them without the majestic creatures causing too much disturbance. However, despite being the younger – or perhaps because of it – Bloodfyre was the biggest drama queen; always making a big entrance hissing, screaming and growling, and spitting fire whenever he could get away with it. No hint of stealth – yet. He still curled up in Dany’s bed at night, but it’d be a matter of time before he’d have to stay on the floor, and in a few years he’d have to stay outside permanently.

She sent Jon an amused look before turning to Bloodfyre and speaking with more authority than he’d ever heard from her, “—and this guy needs to stop spitting fire at everyone and everything that he doesn’t like!”

Bloodfyre huffed and looked away – almost as if trying to give the impression that he wasn’t even paying attention. Jon knew from his mum’s stories from her years at Dragonstone, that dragons had very different personalities, just like humans, however, he never thought he’d find it this comical to see up close.

He bent down, picked up a stick and threw it as far as he could as Ghost was off in a jiffy to chase the stick - tail wagging and tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, but completely silent. Stealth.

Once again, Jon felt the humming, burning sensation in his mind. Stormcloud had been cruising the skies above them the whole time.

For a bit, he’d thought – and hoped – the buzzing in his head was from being close to Dany, but now he was almost certain it was exclusively due to the big dragon hovering above.

The few times Jon had been to Dragonstone before he’d of course seen Stormcloud around the island, admiring him from afar. He was a mighty and gorgeous beast; even looked like a storm cloud – blue coloured back, gradually turning a dark grey towards the dragon’s underside and wings. Jon had never been close to him though, and he’d never felt this observed and scrutinised either. He didn’t like the feeling.

It started after he had warged into Ghost this morning. Yesterday he’d spent the day making friends with the eagle, Storm – the great bird had told Jon he liked riding them so that’s what Jon had named him. In his sleep, he must’ve slipped into Ghost because in the early morning hours he’d been out by the dragons’ nests. He remembered the smell of burnt flesh and charred bones; definitely not a pleasant one. Moondancer hadn’t paid any attention to Ghost, but Stormcloud…he’d looked right at him. It had spooked both Jon and Ghost and the pup had quickly run back to the castle. When Jon woke the direwolf slept by his feet.

Having sent Bloodfyre off, Dany walked over to Jon again. Taking a step closer, she took one of his hands and sandwiched it between both of her smaller ones.

“Major Stark, Prince Oberyn, Mama and Papa talked to me yesterday, when you were out here by yourself.”

Jon watched her stare at their hands, patiently waiting for her to continue.

“They asked me if I’d like to come travel with you and uncle Obi before I start attending school in King’s Landing next year.” She threw him a nervous glance before quickly adding, “just for a bit.”

He placed his other hand on top of hers and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“But..,” she sighed, “I wouldn’t be joining alone,” she added apologetically.

Jon leaned in and laid a tender kiss on her forehead before pulling her in for a hug. “Will Vizharo and Sir Jaime be joining us then?”

He could feel her nodding.

“Major Stark mentioned something about sending her second in command to join us in Pentos.” Her voice was muffled by his arm.

Trying to contain his excitement, Jon took a steadying breath before asking, “We’re going back to Essos?”

“Oberyn mentioned something about Meereen.”

“Have you ever been before?”

Dany shook her head slowly.

“I’m sure you’ll love it! You’ll love Captain Tarth as well – she’s great.” He laughed, “—and then you won’t have to be all alone with us guys.”

She laughed out loud, “that would’ve been awful!”

Before Jon could respond, there was a thunderous noise just above them as the ground started quaking. Looking behind him, he saw Stormcloud towering over them, eyes fixed squarely on him.

The enormous dragon tipped its head slightly from side to side and Jon knew he was being sized up – he just didn’t know what for or the reason behind it.

The buzzing in his head returned. It was as if he’d stuck his head inside a beehive. The heat was back too, making him feel like his head was burning from the inside out.

Letting go of Dany, he fell to his knees, clutching his head in his hands. “Argh!”

“Jon!” Dany shouted, worried. “HELP! SOMEBODY, HELP!” She yelled desperately, looking around.

Instantly, Vizharo came running full speed from behind a small hill. “Princess! What’s the matter?!”

“Find Major Stark. NOW!! And uncle Aemon!”

Vizharo was off immediately, bolting across the field to where Viserys’ funeral pyre had been.

Jon had now collapsed on the ground, writhing and screaming in pain with Dany helpless by his side.

As Jon opened his eyes, he saw a huge eye, blue as his own, looking directly at him. He thought he saw pain in it but maybe that had to do with the pain he was feeling himself – head to toe, inside out, like chains and ropes burning, tightening and pulling everywhere on his body and mind.

Stormcloud’s massive head was inching closer, examining the little screaming human.