Game of Thrones(ASOIAF): The Sorcerer Prince

Disclaimer:

Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

”Dialogue”

’Thoughts’

-Author notes-

Chapter 46: The Mother Of Dragons

The air inside the tower was thick with dust and the sweet scent of some exotic incense, a perfume that clung to the back of the throat and made the head spin.

Daenerys Targaryen pressed herself against the cold stone wall, her heart pounding against her ribs, her breath coming in rough gasps.

She had been walking for what felt like hours...or perhaps it had been days. Time moved strangely in this place, twisting and looping back on itself like a serpent consuming its own tail.

She had come here seeking her dragons...her children. The three stones that had hatched in the fire of Khal Drogo’s pyre, that had drunk from her breast and grown strong on her love.

The Undying had promised to show her the way, and the Undying had lied.

They had stolen what was most precious to her, and now she walked through their labyrinth, searching for them.

The corridor that stretched before her was long and dark, its walls covered in tapestries that seemed to shift and move when she looked away. Doors lined both sides, hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. Each one was different, each one seemed to promise something she had lost.

There was a door carved with the faces of the Seven, their stone eyes weeping.

A door of black iron, studded with rubies that glowed like dying embers.

A door made of pale weirwood, its surface carved with a face that cried tears of blood.

A golden door with a crowned stag upon it...the symbol of the house she hated most, the symbol of the Usurper who had stolen her brother’s crown and murdered her family.

She ignored them all.

She had already opened two of them, drawn by a voice that sounded like her brother Rhaegar’s. Within, she had seen him armored in black and silver, his eyes sad as he spoke of the prince that was promised. Another door had shown her the throne room of the Red Keep, the Iron Throne torn and broken, snow falling through a hole in the ceiling, the silence of death hanging over everything.

The visions had called to her, whispered to her, tempted her to stay. They had offered her the past and the future, memories and dreams woven together into something that felt almost like truth.

But her dragons were somewhere in this place. She could feel them...a faint warmth in her chest, a tugging sensation at her heart, like three small flames burning in a vast darkness. They were afraid. They were hungry. They needed her.

She walked on.

The corridor ended in a great hall, its ceiling so tall that it vanished into shadow, its walls lined with pillars of twisted white stone that seemed to squirm in the torchlight. At the far end, a throne sat empty...a throne made of dragon bones, their skulls grinning down at her with hollow eyes, their jaws frozen in eternal screams. And before the throne, in a pool of pale blue light, stood the Undying.

They were not what she had expected. In Pentos, she had heard stories about the warlocks of Qarth, their powers, their mysteries, and the long lives they lived in secret, rarely interacting with anyone outside their order. But the creatures that floated before her were not men.

They were something else. Their skin was the color of old milk, their faces gaunt and elongated, their lips stained purple by the shade of the evening. Their eyes glowed with an inner fire that had nothing to do with life.

”Daenerys Stormborn.” They spoke as one, their voices overlapping, echoing off the stone walls. ”The child of three. The mother of dragons. We have been waiting for you.”

”Where are my children?” Her voice was steady, though her hands trembled. She had no other weapon but her own will. ”Give them back to me!” She demanded.

”They are here.” One of the Undying gestured with pale, long-fingered hands, and the shadows behind them shifted. Three shapes emerged from the darkness...small, hunched, their scales dull in the pale light. Her dragons. Drogon, Rhaegal, Viserion. Chained to the floor, their wings bound, their mouths muzzled with iron.

Daenerys felt something crack inside her chest. She took a step forward. ”Let them go.”

”All things have a price, child of dragons.” The Undying smiled, and their teeth were black, their gums purple. ”We have shown you visions. We have shown you the past and the future. Now you must pay.”

”Pay with what?”

”With your blood.” The Undying drifted closer, their feet not touching the floor. ”With your fire.”

”You are the mother of dragons. But you are also the daughter of Valyria. The pure blood of the ancient empire flows in your veins.”

”We would taste it.”

”We would drink it.”

”We would make it our own.”

Daenerys took a step back, her body pressing against a pillar. ”I am no one’s meat.”

”No.” The Undying laughed, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. ”You are something far more precious.”

They reached for her.

Daenerys’s hand shot out, grasping the only thing within reach...a fire torch with a long metal base. She pulled it in front of her, wielding it like a spear. The heat from the flames was intense enough to burn her skin, but it did not. The fire did not harm her...it never had.

She thrust the torch at the first Undying who came too close.

The flames caught the creature across its pale face. The warlock screamed with a high-pitched sound like breaking glass, and staggered backward, its skin cracking, its purple lips peeling back from blackened teeth. The others hesitated, their glowing eyes fixed on the dancing flames.

”Foolish girl.”

The voice came from behind the others. The Undying parted like smoke, and from their midst emerged a figure taller than the rest, his face hidden behind a mask of carved ivory shaped like a screaming face. He carried a staff of black iron made in the shape of a dragon’s claw, and when he walked, the shadows seemed to bend toward him, drawn to his presence like moths to a flame.

”I am Pyat Pree.” His voice was dry and cold, the voice of something that had not been human for a very long time. ”I am the greatest of the Undying. I have drunk the shade of the evening for a thousand years. Your flames are nothing to me.”

He raised his staff.

The shadows in the hall came alive.

They rose from the floor, taking shape, forming figures of darkness with eyes of fire, reaching for her with their long fingers. They had no faces, no features, only the outlines of men and women and things that had never been human. They pressed against her, cold and suffocating, and Daenerys felt her strength failing.

The torch fell from her hand and clattered to the floor, its flames dying. She stumbled back and hit a pillar, her heart pounding in her chest.

Her dragons screamed.

Drogon thrashed against his chains, his black scales gleaming in the pale light. Rhaegal hissed, smoke curling from his nostrils. Viserion beat his bound wings, desperate to reach her. But they could not break free. They could not help her.

She was alone.

*CRASH. *

The wall of the chamber exploded with tremendous violence.

Stone shattered, and dust filled the air.

The shadows recoiled, hissing, as sunlight poured through the gaping hole in the ancient wall, forcing them to retreat.

Daenerys threw up her arm to shield her eyes.

A figure stepped through the smoke.

He was young...with long golden hair and eyes that glowed like emeralds in the darkness. He wore armor of dark steel, etched with runes that seemed to burn with an inner fire, casting a reddish glow across his chest and shoulders.

In his right hand, he carried a longsword of polished steel, its edge gleaming with an eerie light that had no clear source.

Behind him came another man...much taller, broader, his face hidden behind a helmet shaped like a dog’s snarling head. His armor was pitch black, unadorned, and in his massive hands, he carried a greatsword that looked like it could split a horse in two.

The young man surveyed the hall with cold eyes. His gaze swept over the Undying, over the chained dragons, over Daenerys herself, and his lips curved into a smile that held no warmth.

”See?” he said, gesturing with his sword toward Pyat Pree. ”I told you it was this way. That must be the warlock leader. Leave him to me.” He glanced at the taller man. ”Go play with the others. I bet you are eager to cut something by now.”

The Hound, for that was the only name that fit such a creature, growled and charged at the group of warlocks, moving far faster than any man carrying so much weight should have been able to move.

Joffrey walked toward Pyat Pree. ”I had hoped you would be more impressive,” he said, his voice soft, almost conversational. ”The warlocks of Qarth. The masters of the Undying. I expected... more.”

The Undying hissed. The shadows surged forward, reaching for the intruder.

Joffrey moved his lips, but no sound emerged. He raised his left hand, and white chains burst from his palm, wrapping themselves around the shadows. The dark figures screeched with a sound of pure agony and dissolved into smoke, their forms unraveling like thread pulled from a loom.

Daenerys stared, her breath caught in her throat. ”Magic...” The young man was using magic. Was he a warlock as well? A sorcerer? Something else entirely?

Pyat Pree’s masked face turned toward Joffrey, and even through the ivory, Daenerys could see his shock. ”You—”

”Kill them!” Pyat Pree shrieked, recovering his composure. ”Kill them all!”

The Undying rushed forward. Some went to meet the Hound, who was cutting through them like a scythe through wheat. Others converged on Joffrey.

Joffrey moved.

He was faster than any man had a right to be. His sword sang through the air, catching the first Undying across the throat, and the creature crumbled to dust. He spun, his blade taking another in the chest, and another, and another, until the bodies of the warlocks lay scattered across the floor like broken dolls.

The sword in his hand glowed like a lantern, producing more light than all the torches in the chamber together. An eerie aura pulsed along its edge, and Daenerys could feel the heat from where she stood.

Pyat Pree raised his staff, gathering his power for one final strike aimed at Joffrey’s back.

Daenerys saw her chance.

She lunged forward while grabbing a fallen torch from the floor, and thrust it into the warlock’s back.

Pyat Pree screamed. The flames caught his robes, his mask, his pale, withered flesh beneath. He staggered, his staff falling from his grasp, and Joffrey’s sword took him through the heart.

The blade then moved in a single, smooth motion, severing the warlock’s head from his shoulders.

The body crumpled. The head rolled across the floor, the ivory mask cracking and the face beneath crumbling to ash.

The last of the Undying fell to the Hound’s greatsword. The hall fell silent, save for the crackle of dying flames and the soft whimper of the dragons in their chains.

Daenerys stood in the center of the destruction, her chest heaving, her hands black with soot. She stared at the stranger who had saved her...at his glowing sword, his cold green eyes, his rune-etched armor...and she did not know whether to thank him or flee from him.

But her dragons were still chained. Running was not an option.

”Who are you?” Her voice was hoarse, her throat raw from the smoke.

The stranger smiled. It was not a kind smile. But it was not cruel, either.

”A potential ally,” he said. ”The choice is yours, Princess.” He stepped over Pyat Pree’s body, his boots crunching on the ashes of the Undying. ”I am Joffrey. And I believe we have much to discuss.”

He knelt before her dragons, reaching out to touch Drogon’s snout. The black dragon hissed, smoke curling from his nostrils, but he did not bite. He did not burn. He only stared at the stranger with eyes like molten gold, curiosity mingled with something that might have been recognition.

”I came a long way to meet you, Daenerys Stormborn.” Joffrey looked up at her, his green eyes glowing in the firelight. ”I hope you will forgive the intrusion.”

Daenerys stared at him, her heart pounding, her mind racing. She did not know this man. She did not know if he was friend or enemy, savior or captor.

But her dragons did not fear him. And that, she decided, would have to be enough.

For now.

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