54 The Fire Rises

"Sire." The hesitant words prodded him out of his dozing slumber, yet his lids remained stubbornly closed. Willing the intrusion away. "Sire."

All for naught. Blinking still tired eyes, Jon removed the ignoble homespun straw hat from atop his face. Luckily, the tree he rested both against and underneath provided adequate shade from the afternoon sun. Hence why he picked it, once the exhaustion and fatigue of the battle hit him with more force than the Knight King's spear. "Yes, Podrick?" He eyed the young knight, making no move to leave his - relatively - comfortable position at the base of the tree.

"Yezzan zo Qaggaz has arrived at the head of the surviving commanders of the Masters' Army. He wishes to surrender and bend the knee to you personally."

"Is that so?" Before his sleep, the jubilant knights hadn't informed him about the leading masters. Jon assumed they had all died. "Bring him to me, then." Yet, if they had been captured, why was Qaggaz the only one bending the knee? It piqued his curiosity.

Fully-suited Vale knights flanking the captured slaver, Jon didn't bother to stand. A smug reminder of how the tables had turned - plus he was still tired and simply didn't want to. 'Ah, the perks of being the Emperor.' Grim-faced, eyes sunken in submissiveness, Yezzan zo Qaggaz fell to his knees. "My Lord…"

A knight smacked him on the back of the head. "He is the Emperor! You will address him properly."

"My apologies," he babbled out. "Your Majesty… on behalf of the Good Masters of Astapor, Wise Masters of Yunkai, and Good Merchants of Volantis, I surrender our cities to you - and pledge my fealty, if you should have it." Closing his eyes, he accepted whatever fate was to come. "If you seek to have me executed for rebelling against Her Majesty, I do not offer ill sentiments."

Crossing his arms, Jon looked at the beggar before him. It wasn't a complete fall though, for he had started with nothing. Simply back to square one rather than losing it all. "Where are the others of you command tent? Surely they would make it a point of being here."

"The other masters are dead. I killed them." Hearing the Emperor snort, he took a chance and looked up at the Lord of Lords. He was once again struck by how unassuming and simple the conqueror of all was. "My generals and the other nobility wished to come as well, but I insisted to speak for them. It should be my humiliation and shame to bear, not theirs."

'Looks like I was right about him.' The man's lowborn upbringing grounded him from the kind of grandiose monstrosities that Joffrey and the other masters planned, and he didn't have the sadistic cruel streak of people like Ramsay Bolton. Perhaps there was a place for him, now. "You took my advice to heart, Lord Qaggaz?"

Blinking, Qaggaz nodded. "I believe they would have enslaved me too, once you were defeated. As it stands, they were willing to risk all of Yunkai and Astapor to your dragon's flames. I could not allow that to happen."

Jon nodded. He didn't trust Qaggaz at all, but a level of it could be earned. "I shall spare you and your men, but you are still my prisoner." The man's shoulders slumped, both in relief and resignation. "My ships will take you to Astapor. Ensure its surrender and fealty, along with the emancipation of every single slave, and I shall then consider further mercy."

Qaggaz bowed once more, grateful for the magnanimity from someone who could have easily burned him alive. "Thank you, sire."

As the brown-cloaked Qaggaz was led away, Jon shifted till he was sitting upright and let out a fatigued sigh. "Podrick, aren't you tired of this?"

The young knight blinked, unsure of what his sovereign wanted or meant. "Forgive me, sire, but I do not understand the question." While around King's Landing with Tyrion, such a response would receive a tongue lashing at best from most in charge. Jon wasn't that way. For that, Podrick was thankful.

Jon closed his eyes. "Don't you wish for this all to end? For the fighting to cease?"

A slight hesitation, the question simple but at the same time so very deep. "If I ever possessed romantic notions of battle, your Majesty, the killing and death I have seen in the last several years would have killed it." Taking a chance, he lowered himself to the ground next to his Emperor. "I pray for peace."

The weight of all his melancholy fell on Jon. "Wherever I came, wherever I saw, I ended up conquering. A boy raised as a bastard, ruler of all he surveyed - and yet, it took me away from the ones I love the most in the world. I hate it." The image of his dear siblings, his beloved children, and his breathtaking wife danced in his mind. So far, so so far. "I long to know some peace with them before I die."

"Aye." Podrick glanced at the few wispy clouds dotting the sky. Mesmerized by their delicate shapes. "Though I see myself more likely to die before experiencing it than you, sire. You have considerably more to live for."

"I should give you a direct command to live, Podrick." The hint of a teasing grin poked on Jon's face. "You still have to confess your feelings to that northern girl of yours."

Podrick snorted. "I doubt Sansa would ever accept me as a consort…" His mouth snapped shut, belatedly recognizing his slip. 'Oh fuck.' Did he dare to glance over at the Emperor's expression? For the longest amount of time, Podrick couldn't summon the courage.

After what seemed like hours but was likely only less than a minute, Podrick slowly turned to look at Jon. The Emperor's face was unreadable. Eyes a dark, dark grey and lips a thin line. The White Wolf of the North had returned. "My sister, Sansa?" It was more of a question than a statement.

Summoning all his willpower not to cower like a little bitch - for some reason the inner voice steeling him sounded more like Bronn than like Brienne - Podrick nodded. "Yes, sire." He swallowed.

"Did you touch her." There was no emotion, but the words nevertheless bore the fire of a thousand dragons.

"No, your Majesty. Nothing like that." While Sansa - and everyone likely to have known the details - were very tight lipped, Ramsay's notoriety and the nature of her condition after escaping didn't leave much to Podrick's imagination as to what had happened. "I would never… and I still doubt she truly thinks I exist." Truth be told, his last letter didn't get a response.

Nodding absentmindedly, Jon bored into Podrick, looking him over. "It doesn't need saying where Longclaw would end up if you hurt her, correct?" A gulp answered in the affirmative. "You're an honorable man, and have proven yourself. If she'd have you, then I shan't stop either of you." A small amount of amusement was had at the young knight's expression, that of a gaping fish out of water, but only a flicker. This was serious. "Sansa has been through things…" he shuddered. "Unimaginable things."

"I won't hurt her, sire. You have my word."

"I'm not worried." Placing his hat back on his face, he laid down to resume his nap. "If you cross the line, she'll kill you herself." A small smirk crossed his face as he drifted off to sleep.

The light was blinding, all encompassing. It was just so white, pure white.

Finding himself in the middle of this whiteness, Brandon Stark rose, completely confused of what was happening. The last memory he had was of Edderon preparing to land near Winterfell, then Meera calling to him as his eyes pulled back. Was this a vision? A Warg? Summer was with him, so with the white surroundings it couldn't be him. There was no way to tell, just the enveloping whiteness, the light shining from everywhere.

Suddenly, the light grew brighter to his front, so bright that Bran needed to shield his eyes. A small back shadow blocked part of the light, blocking more and more as it approached, the contrast preventing him from making out the shape. When it approached him, a flash of recognition crossed his eyes.

It was the old man… the Three-Eyed Raven. A person he hadn't seen since that night in Qarth. "Brandon Stark," the raven said, tone flat yet oddly relieved.

"We meet again." Stepping closer to the raven, Bran peered into his gaze. "What do you want from me, old man?" Behind him, a tree emerged from the whiteness. A tree with blood red leaves - a weirwood, but one glowing brightly. A Weirwood unlike any Bran had ever seen.

The raven looked at the tree, staring at it. "You know where you must go, Brandon Stark. Where you must go to become who you are destined to be." A pair of ice blue eyes glowed in the distance before the white aura faded into blackness.

...with Astapor's submission, all resistance by the masters has been crushed. The slaver power in Essos has drawn to a close, and the avenue for Joffrey and Tywin's plot in this area of the world has concluded. Due to his new allegiance and work on establishing new government similar to the Grand Senate of Meereen in both Astapor and Yunkai (Volantis will have to wait given its proximity to the Lannister-aligned free cities), I have added Yezzan zo Qaggaz to the small council of the Kingdom of New Valyria - I hope the name is to your satisfaction, my beloved wife…

Smile stretching ear to ear, Daenerys pressed the small piece of parchment to her breast, right over her heart. 'No longer Queen of Meereen in my list of titles. Thanks to Jon I am now the Queen of New Valyria.' Even thousands of miles away, Jon could still make her fall deeper in love with him. Her worry and fear over his safety had abated tremendously since hearing of the decisive victory achieved by her husband the Emperor over her longtime enemies. Unlike the Targaryen royals of old, she felt no iota of jealousy at his military victories while her solitary helm found Tywin Lannister driving them back on all fronts.

Still elated, she returned to the document.

Ironically, it seems as if my dear sister has a prospective suitor, the recently distinguished Ser Podrick Payne.

Daenerys' mouth formed a small O in astonishment. "Podrick fancies Sansa?" Given her sister's attractiveness, it wasn't shocking upon deeper thought, but still… quite unexpected.

Though I would never tell him this, for in father's stead Robb and I are the defenders of Sansa's honor, especially considering what she has been through I believe Podrick is the best possible match for her.

Clicking her tongue, Dany had the same exact thoughts. Margaery for Robb. Gendry for Arya. Lyanna Mormont for Rickon. Meera Reed for Bran. And now Podrick for Sansa. The Wolf Pack was shaping up quite nicely. She resolved to probe a bit, see if the redhead would be receptive - a grin crossed her face at the almost stereotypically girlish activity in matchmaking.

Once I am done setting the final things to rights here, I shall be returning to Westeros and you. To our children. We will avenge the defeats, rescue my sister, and bring fire and blood to those seeking to plunge our world into death and slavery. Winter is coming, and we will be ready.

And there it was. Jon, her husband the Emperor, was returning home. Sighing, Dany leaned back against the high-backed chair and closed her eyes. A wave of contentment crossed over her. While she could take on the world alone, she didn't want to nor would she have to. 'We are a team, Jon and I. A pack, and the pack survives together.' Her Stark family was right about that.

"Your Highness." Daenerys looked up and saw a flash of red at the entrance to her solar. The Lady Melisandre bore the ghost smile that gave away nothing but a determination as fiery as her complection or the flames she used in her ceremonies. "I am heartened to hear His Majesty is returning."

Dany blinked, but it didn't surprise her after a second thought. The Red Woman always knew too much - things that she shouldn't have known by logical means. "As am I." She sighed. "Jon is a far better strategist than I."

"Do not sell yourself short, my Empress." While her interpretations were oftentimes complex and ambiguous, Melisandre was not one to brownnose. "While you may not know the intricacies of war or how to wage it as your husband or his father did, the Promised relies on you for matters of state."

A smile cracked on her lips. "That he does. Rhaegar had both, while Viserys has neither." A thought came to her, of something Melisandre had told her long before. "Lady Melisandre, what do the flames tell you?" The defeats at Dragonstone and the God's Eye, not to mention Arya's capture, made her apprehensive of the future. Apprehensive as to what was to come. "Do they tell you the future?"

An eerie calm seemed to spread over the Spiritual Advisor, growing deathly quiet in pensive contemplation. "The flames, they offer only glimpses. They may be predictive, or only allegorical…"

"You claim to speak for a god," the Empress replied, her voice that of the Mother of Dragons. "The god that you say my husband is the reincarnation of. I would like to know what the visions you claim he sent you say."

Silent once more, the amulet hanging from around her neck glowed a pale green, Melisandre's eyes closing in thought. They then opened slowly. "I see a man, surrounded by snow and ice, yet at the same time fire. A sword is clutched in his hands, and he is fighting for his life with an unseen enemy."

Daenerys pondered this. "Either he is fighting in the north, or the snow and fire represent his bloodline?"

"Correct." Walking softly, purposefully, Melisandre leaned in behind Daenerys. Her breath hot on Dany's ear, scorching. The dragon in her blood working overtime to protect her skin from the heat. "Look into the fire, what do you see?"

Eyes flickering to the flames, violet eyes sparkling from the orange-red beauty, Dany saw shapes. Almost infinitesimal, but shapes nonetheless. "Pain, suffering, death." Her heart clenched, for the flames gave no clue as to who would suffer.

"Aye, all will come to fruition for the Promised to achieve total victory. But I promise, they shall be worth it."

Breathing deeply, Daenerys surely hoped so.

Lunging upright, Tywin's eyes flew open to a room pitch black from the dark of night. Covers long having been tossed off his slender frame from the restless movements of a troubled sleep, the sheen of sweat covering his skin and drenching his nightshirt enhanced the bite of the icy draft. Teeth chattering, he rose. Tywin grabbed a log from the driftwood pile and tossed it into the fireplace. Weak from lack of fuel, the flame soon roared to health, adding the desired heat to the chilled bedchamber.

He shivered all the same. It had been the same nightmare… a recurring one that had haunted Tywin for decades. Ever since his beloved wife had died. 'Joanna, my Joanna.' Tywin shut his eyes tightly, shuddering despite the newfound warmth. The biting ice had dwelled inside him no matter what he did, no matter how high he had ascended or how high a point he dragged his family towards. Half the world laid at the fingertips of House Lannister, and yet he still felt the gaping loss and looming guilt from the loss of his wife.

"When Tyrion took her away from me," he muttered bitterly. "I should have killed that treacherous scum when I had the chance." He could have. Declared the dwarf a bastard and killed him at any time in his wretched existence, even if there was no doubt that Tyrion was Tywin's son, the true heir of his cunning.

'Do you really believe that, my love?' the voice stated. The sweet wafts of language that was the voice of the Lady Joanna Lannister. It haunted Tywin, driving a sword into his soul.

Every day gazing upon his twins, who both looked so much like her. The guilt, every time he exerted his primal urges upon some whore, smallfolk maiden of the Westerlands, or slave girl in King's Landing. No one was the wiser, and Tywin kept it discreet unlike his oaf of a son in law, but he knew. He felt the guilt.

And the woman… the red woman…

Just the thought of her caused the fire to roar - or at least Tywin imagined it did. Since that night only years before, the nightmares had intensified. As if both Joanna and the specter of the bane of his existence were screaming at him. Torturing him. It had started before Stannis had died - before Ned Stark was captured. A letter from Dragonstone, signed by a woman claiming to inquire about an ancient prophecy. One that Tywin felt intrigued by, as it had resulted in a series of correspondence between them. Normally level-headed, the prospect of some insane, mystical advantage strangely appealed to him, and he agreed to the woman who proclaimed his family's destiny to rule all of humanity.

Tywin hadn't meant to ravage her body upon the first time they laid eyes on each other. For the life of him, the encounter was so hazy in memory that there had to be some form of witchcraft involved. The death of Renly in what some rumors indicated as Black Magic - though most pointed to one Brienne of Tarth, the pretender's bodyguard, as the perpetrator - only enhanced such fear. Tywin had been about to imprison the witch before she escaped, to the north with the Tyrells.

And now the Red Woman haunted his dreams. His very soul.

It was then the fire roared, as if guided by an unseen hand. Tywin was nearly knocked back from the heat and flames. Mouth agape and eyes wide in fear. It was her. It had to be her!

"Unholy demon!" he screamed into the fire. "You shant take me! I am the Lion! The Lion fears none!" Crackling, soon a burst of heat forced him back, the fire roaring high before it collapsed into mere embers. Before it did, however, Tywin saw a glimpse. An image in the flames, framed by the orange-red hue of burning wood and ash. An image far more pedestrian yet also far more terrifying than any of the mystical demons Tywin could have ever imagined.

A woman, clad in armor, thrusting forward with a sword.

Chuckling to himself, Jon pushed hard but the foot - and the young lad it was connected to - wouldn't budge. "Ollie, for gods' sake." The words still came out humorous despite the chiding connotation. "You survived the last time."

Hands gripping to the short spines on Rhaegal's shoulder, Ollie refused to budge. "And I would rather not do it again. Can't I go by sea?"

"A squire goes with his liege Lord," Jon replied, "Now stop being a coward. Up you go!" With a grunt, he shoved the squire from the perch, Ser Barristan grabbing him from atop the dragon and hauling him into place. From his head, Rhaegal let out a loud snort, yawning - or was he rather bearing his teeth. 'I know boy,' Jon thought, patting his shoulder. "No one can be as fearless as you.' It seemed to mollify him, eager for praise to end up lording over the larger and more fearsome Balerion.

Sunlight spreading out from the red-gold orb barely peeking over the horizon, Jon gazed back at the great city of Meereen, the new center of the Kingdom of New Valyria. The name had come from his thoughts, at the suggestion of Zhoggaz zo Zartal to create a new title for the now united land of Slaver's Bay. A fitting tribute to the return of the Targaryen dynasty - to Daenerys for forging the empire and to him for defending it, though Jon still felt discomfort at the praise. His subjects felt no such inhibition. At his arrival atop Rhaegal in Yunkai and Astapor, and the grand triumphal parade through Meereen, throngs in the tens of thousands had shouted and screamed their love and gratitude for Vhrysa. The majesty threatened to overwhelm him, and Jon had to remember on several occasions of Ned Stark's teachings, and of how he and Dany planned to break the wheel.

A red-black carpet, emblazoned with gold trim, draped over the dusty soil of the cliff-face. It had been where Jon had launched the campaign that ended with the Battle of the Coastroad, and now saw off the Emperor as he journeyed back to the land of his birth. Flanking it were the assorted hierarchy of Meereen, obsequious and generous as Jon walked back up the path. Formalities were formalities, and the receiving line of supplicants was one his father similarly detested but endured all the same. Each man bowed to him, a blessing escaping each of their lips.

At the head were Mossador, Zhoggaz zo Zartal, and Yezzan zo Qaggaz. Alone among all members of the Grand Senate, they held the greatest dignitas. "New Valyria is in your hands, gentlemen. I do not wish to return under negative circumstances, so act wisely."

"We shall defend the Kingdom with our lives, sire," replied Zartal. After the knowledge of Joffrey's plot brought him into full reality, Jon found himself impressed with the man's honor.

"Although, we expect to hear news of your victory over the golden cunt." Jon grinned at Qaggaz's comment. The former prisoner and enemy seemed to be genuine in his conversion to the Targaryen cause and had been vital to the bloodless pacification of Yunkai and Astapor in the last few weeks. Still, Jon had instructed Mossador to keep an eye on him. "All blessings upon you, sire."

Nodding, he turned to Podrick, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and guiding him to the side. "You know what you need to do, Podrick?"

"Aye." The young, modest knight looked into Jon's eyes. "It will be unwise to place too much of our forces at sea for too long. Euron Greyjoy owns the waves."

"Hug the coast, and make sure to move through the inlets of Old Valyria. Volantis is close enough to the Dornish coast, and I need the city to be secured before the Lannister-allied Free Cities make any moves to rally the remaining masters." He waited until Podrick nodded. "I'll send you the orders when you make the dash, understood?"

"Crystal clear, sire." Podrick gulped, stealing himself. An entire army was now placed on his shoulders, an honor only before given in the Imperial army to Yara Greyjoy, Grey Worm, under-Khal Dirgo, Edmure Tully, and the Emperor's own brother Robb. It was an… awe-inspiring and terrifying responsibility to say the least. "I will not fail you."

Settling in his usual spot at the midpoint between Rheagal's powerful shoulder blades minutes later, Jon felt him shake, working out the kinks in his joints. A laugh escaped him. "Easy there boy, relax." The tension in his child's muscles began to ease. "We have a long ride ahead of us."

Rhaegal hooted twice, neck curling back slightly so he could see his father. The golden eyes held a rather anthropomorphic sparkle in them.

"Yep." Jon grinned. "We're going home." He gripped tightly on the large spine. "Sōve..." The massive wings catapulted rider and mount both off the massive cliff before Jon could even finish the command.