Chapter 148: The Dragon Knight

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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 148: The Dragon Knight

The laboratory was quiet, lit only by flickering candles lining the walls. The air smelled of herbs and chemicals, of dragon's blood and burnt metal. 

Shelves overflowed with jars and vials, some containing strange liquids, others holding specimens Daenerys did not want to examine too closely.

The room was a cluttered mess. A testament to the frantic work that Tyrion had been doing here over the past months they had been here.

And in the center of it all, on a low bed, lay her knight, her first protector, Ser Jorah Mormont.

Daenerys stopped at the threshold, her breath catching in her throat. She had known what to expect. She had visited Jorah many times while he slept.

But seeing him awake felt completely different.

Half of Jorah's face was covered in scales. Dark brown, almost black, they spread across his left cheek and brow like a creeping vine. His left eye was gone, replaced by a golden orb with a vertical slit, unblinking and cold. The scales continued down his neck, across his shoulder, covering his left arm entirely. His left hand was no longer a hand…it was a claw, three thick fingers tipped with black talons.

He was sitting up, his back against the wall, his one human eye fixed on the ceiling. He did not look at her when she entered. He did not seem to notice her at all.

Daenerys forced herself to breathe. This was a man she cared about a great deal, a man who had been with her since the beginning, and who had now transformed into something she barely recognized.

She stepped into the room. 

Jorah flinched at the sound of her footsteps. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head to look at her. The golden eye and the human eye, side by side, both filled with shame.

"Khaleesi," he said, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "You should not see me like this."

Daenerys crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out and took his clawed hand in hers. The scales were rough, warm to the touch. She could feel the strength in his grip, the power that hummed beneath the surface.

"I only see my oldest friend," she said. "I see the man who has protected me, who has served me, who has never once abandoned me. I see Ser Jorah Mormont."

Jorah's human eye glistened. "I am a monster."

"You are changed," Daenerys said. "But you are not a monster."

"A man with scales and claws," Jorah said bitterly. "A man with a dragon's eye. What else would you call me?"

"A knight," Daenerys said firmly. "A knight who has saved my life more times than I can count. A knight who nearly died trying to protect an innocent girl from an assassin's blade. A knight who has served me faithfully, without question, without hesitation, for years."

Jorah did not respond. He stared at his clawed hand, flexing the talons, watching them catch the candlelight. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.

Daenerys studied him. She had known Jorah for years, had trusted him with her life, had relied on his counsel and his sword. But she had never seen him like this…so broken, so uncertain, so unlike the steady, confident knight who had protected her through so many dangers.

"But I failed," Jorah said, his voice flat. "I arrived too late. And then the assassin nearly killed me."

"You fought with bravery and honor. You slowed him down. You gave the others time to—"

"Time for what?" Jorah demanded. "Time for the prince to find her body? Time for me to lie here, half-dead, while the assassin escaped?"

"Time for Joffrey to hunt him down," Daenerys said. "Justice was carried out. It is done."

Jorah was silent. His golden eye flickered toward her, then away.

"I heard what he did in Braavos; Tyrion told me," he said. "The House of Black and White is gone. The Faceless Men are dead."

"Yes."

"Good." The word was cold, hard. "They deserved worse."

Daenerys did not disagree. She had seen what the Faceless Men had done, had seen the grief in Joffrey's eyes, had felt the weight of Saera's death. Justice had been served, in its own way.

"You should not blame yourself," she said. "The assassin was a Faceless Man. A trained killer using a poisoned blade. There was nothing you could have done."

"I could have been faster," Jorah said. "I could have been stronger. I could have-"

"You could have died," Daenerys interrupted. "And you nearly did. But you did not. You survived. And now you are here, alive, and that is what matters."

Jorah looked at her, his human eye filled with gratitude, as well as shame. "I am not the man I was," he said.

"No," Daenerys agreed. "You are something else. Something more."

Jorah did not respond. He simply sat there, looking at his new claw.

Tyrion stepped forward. "The transformation was more extensive than we anticipated. The poison had spread too far. His body was failing. The dragon blood had to assimilate much more of his system to keep him alive."

Daenerys looked at him. "What does that mean?. Is he going to be okay?"

"It means he is more dragon than man now," Tyrion said. "According to Joffrey's notes, the changes are irreversible. But they do come with benefits."

He walked to the foot of the bed, studying Jorah with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Due to the extent of the dragon blood assimilation, Jorah is actually much stronger than any of the other test subjects. He should be more resilient to damage, more resistant to fire, with faster reflexes and better regeneration. We will need to do some testing, of course, but the potential is remarkable."

Daenerys's brow furrowed. "And negative effects? What are the risks?"

Tyrion hesitated. "I do not know. The records are incomplete. There are mentions of individuals who underwent similar transformations, but the details are vague."

Daenerys remembered something. "The journal. The one I translated with Joffrey. There were mentions of people who transformed into something no longer human."

Tyrion nodded. "I read the translation from the alchemist journal. I also remember hearing many legends about tribes of lizard men living deep in the jungles of Sothoryos. They are likely those same individuals. If the rumors are true, they are still alive and well. There is no reason to believe Jorah's health will be affected."

He paused, studying Jorah with a practiced eye.

"In fact, this could bring him considerable benefits. Jorah was already a man of advanced age. But now..." He shook his head in wonder. "He looks younger and virile. I would not be surprised if he could live for another hundred years."

Jorah let out a bitter laugh. "A hundred years. Looking like this."

"A hundred years as one of the most powerful warriors in the world," Tyrion corrected. "There are worse fates. And believe me…I know how it feels to be perceived as a monster. However, my deformity didn't come with super strength and longevity, unfortunately."

Jorah sighed. "I need some time to think."

Daenerys squeezed his hand. "Take as much time as you need. I will not ask anything of you until you are ready."

Jorah looked at her, his human eye filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Khaleesi."

She rose and gestured to Tyrion. They left him alone, closing the door softly behind them.

<><>

"You are worried about him," Tyrion said as they walked through the corridors. "Can't blame you."

"I am worried about his mind," Daenerys admitted. "His body has changed, but his soul... I fear what this will do to him."

"Jorah is stronger than he looks," Tyrion said. "He has survived living in exile, the loss of his family, the loss of his home. He will survive this."

"I hope you are right."

They walked in silence for a moment. The corridors of the pyramid were quiet. Servants bowed as they passed, their eyes careful, their steps quick.

"He loves you," Tyrion said suddenly.

Daenerys glanced at him. "I know."

"And you do not love him back."

"I love him as a friend. As an older brother. But not as..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "He knows. He has always known."

"And yet he stayed. He served you. He protected you, even knowing that his love would never be returned." Tyrion shook his head slowly. "That is not the love of a man who wants something in return. That is the love of a man who wants only your happiness."

Daenerys was silent for a long moment. "I know."

They reached the main hall, where Grey Worm was waiting to escort Daenerys back to her chambers. She was about to bid Tyrion farewell when a group of soldiers came rushing toward her, their faces pale with urgency.

"Your Grace!" one of them called out. "Forgive the interruption."

Daenerys stopped. "What is it now?" 

"Intruders, Your Grace. They were caught sneaking onto the Storm Dancer."

"Intruders?" Daenerys's eyes widened. The Storm Dancer was Joffrey's ship. It was one of the most heavily guarded places in Meereen. There were Dothraki, Red Temple knights, and Unsullied, all stationed at the port. No one could sneak past them.

"Who are they?" she demanded. "How did they get past the guards?"

"We dont know…they were just…found inside the ship." The soldier hesitated. "They did not put up a fight when we caught them. They simply... surrendered. They are demanding to speak with Prince Joffrey."

Daenerys frowned. "What do the prisoners look like?"

The soldier described them. "A boy, Your Grace. A young boy with a wolf. A red-haired woman in red robes. A young blonde girl. A tall woman with dark hair and a bow. And a young man with silver eyes and a Valyrian steel sword."

Daenerys's heart stopped.

These were not ordinary intruders. These were...

"Take me to them," she said, her voice sharp. "Now."

<><>

The holding area at the port was a small stone building near the docks, used to detain criminals and troublemakers before they could be brought before the queen. It was not a prison…Meereen's prisons were far more secure, but it was guarded, and no one could escape without notice.

Daenerys entered with Grey Worm at her side. The room was dim, lit by a single torch, and the prisoners were seated on a bench along the wall, their hands bound with rope.

She studied them one by one.

The tall woman with dark hair and a bow. She had sharp eyes and a weathered face. She watched Daenerys with the wariness of a predator, her fingers twitching as if she wished she had her bow in hand.

The red-haired woman in red robes looked like a priestess, perhaps, of R'hllor, though her robes were different from Lyssara's. Her eyes were calm, knowing, and she looked at Daenerys not with fear but with recognition.

The blonde girl was young, frightened, but with a determined set to her jaw. She looked like she had been crying recently, but there was steel in her eyes. She sat straight, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze fixed on Daenerys with a mixture of hope and desperation.

The young man with silver eyes…no, grey eyes, though they seemed to catch the light strangely. He was tall, with dark hair. He watched her with a quiet intensity.

And the boy. He was the most peculiar of them all.

He looked younger than the others. A grey wolf lay at his feet, its amber eyes watching Daenerys's every move. 

The boy's face was pale, his features sharp, but his eyes... his eyes were not the eyes of a child. They were ancient, all-knowing, and filled with a wisdom that belied his years.

It almost reminded her of Joffrey.

The boy looked at her. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but clear.

"You must be Daenerys Targaryen," he said. "My name is Bran Stark. I must speak with Joffrey Baratheon. The fate of the world depends on it."

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