Arthur woke expecting the rope around his wrists.
His hands moved before his eyes opened fully, fingers searching for the rough fibers that had been biting into his wrists before he closed his eyes. There was nothing, nothing there. He opened his eyes and came face to face with the same stone ceiling staring back at him.
For several seconds he lay still, listening to everything around him. Wind was blowing somewhere outside, with lots of voices farther away. The scrape of something was being dragged across stone. Multiple horses making low sounds. There was no shouting or footsteps coming toward him.
Arthur lifted one hand and turned his wrist. Free, there was nothing around them. He sat up slowly. The room was small and plain, with the same bed and the same walls. The same doorway. The ropes were gone. He looked down at his ankles.
They were free too.
His wings were no longer pinned behind him. They shifted as he moved, the feathers brushing the rough bedding.
Arthur looked toward the door. He stared at it. He couldn't hear anyone.
That was either a good sign or a very strange one. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and waited for the room to tilt. It didn't turn or shake. Good, there is nothing wrong with his head.
And finally, his feet touched the floor.
The cuts and blisters he remembered from the Waste were still there, but most of the pain had faded. He rubbed one heel with his thumb and frowned.
That should have hurt more.
He stood, and his knees held him. They didn't give out. He really didn't want to fall. Arthur slowly rolled his shoulders. The wings followed. They were easier to move than yesterday. Not easy to do, just easier to move.
(Am I developing muscle memory... that kinda felt normal.)
He flexed the muscles along his back, and one wing lifted slightly before settling again. The movement was strangely natural now, as though his body had already begun teaching itself what his mind could not.
He turned as far as he could.
There were bruises across his ribs, shallow cuts on his arms and shoulders, dried blood near one elbow. Nothing looked infected. Nothing looked serious.
He touched his chest. The phantom pain was there...
Touching it had felt weird since the first time he woke up here. The place where the bullet had entered was smooth.
Arthur pressed harder. It still didn't sink in. He closed his eyes, remembering the impact. It hurt.
So did thinking of the road, and the convoy. Mercer shouting. Ace.
The civilians... looking at the boy.
Then the shot.
His ears rang with a high-pitched whine.
Crack.
He opened his eyes again. Whatever had happened to him, it had not left the chest wound. Arthur looked toward the doorway.
He could leave. That was the strange part. He could simply walk out.
He took two steps towards the door and stopped.
Where exactly was he going? The desert waited beyond those walls. He had already nearly died walking through it once. With no water, no weapon, no food, no idea where the nearest settlement was, and no idea how far the next one might be. He looked down at himself, still naked.
"Right."
That probably explained why they had left him alone. Turning back toward the room, a pile of clothing rested on a low stool beside the wall. Arthur hadn't noticed it before. He approached cautiously and picked up a pair of loose trousers.
They were made of a light, soft material that he did not recognize, pale beneath the dust-covered leather lying beside them. The trousers were wide through the legs and gathered at the waist. Beside them was a dark leather vest, hard in places and supple in others, its surface worn smooth from use, probably belonging to one of the riders.
There was a belt with small bronze ornaments worked into it and boots with a strip of cloth.
Arthur lifted the vest. There were cuts around the back, tears someone had done with a knife.
How considerate. Someone had deliberately opened it.
He looked over his shoulder. The wings shifted. They had tried to make clothes for him.
Arthur almost smiled.
"Good effort."
He put the trousers on first. They were loose but comfortable, and the belt held them well enough. The boots took some work. He had to pull them around his feet carefully because the soles were tender.
The leather vest was another matter. Arthur slipped it over his head and drew it down. The wings caught.
He froze.
"Okay, slowly."
He reached behind himself and worked one wing free, then the other. The leather had been cut open along the back so the wings could emerge without being crushed. It was crude, but whoever had done it had thought about the problem.
Arthur fastened the vest. He looked down at himself.
The clothes were strange, but they fit well enough.
He caught his reflection in a dark patch of polished stone near the wall. For the first time, he saw the whole thing. His whole body, new body. A very tall young man with red-black hair hanging around his face. Almost-gold eyes. A strange, lean face. Leather and cloth hanging from a body that looked nothing like he did before.
And white wings rising from his back.
He still wasn't used to them. The image looked like something designed by a man who had never seen a human being and just attached them to his back. The human body can't function with wings. It's probably some kind of magic.
He decided not to focus on them and instead get what he needed: water! He stepped through the doorway. A Dothraki guard sat nearby with a curved blade resting across his knees.
The man immediately looked up. Arthur raised one hand.
"Morning."
The guard stared. Arthur pointed down the corridor.
"Daenerys?"
The guard didn't understand it.
"Khaleesi?"
The man's expression changed slightly, but he did not move. Arthur tried something else.
"Jorah."
Thank God, that got a reaction. He was running out of names to say.
The guard said something Arthur couldn't understand, stood, and gestured for him to follow. So Arthur followed. The guard led him through several narrow passages before they reached a larger courtyard.
Arthur saw people everywhere.
Some stopped working when they noticed him. A woman carrying a basket looked at his wings and dropped it, then scrambled to pick it up and immediately looked away.
Two children stared until an older boy pulled one of them back. Arthur kept walking. He'd learned long ago that people stared at things they didn't understand.
Back in Afghanistan, they were looked at like this by the locals. The trick was not to let them see that you noticed.
The guard stopped before a man standing beside a horse. Arthur knew him immediately.
Ser Jorah Mormont.
Older than Arthur remembered from the screen. Broader through the shoulders. Weathered. The years showed around his eyes and in the gray threaded through his beard.
Jorah turned towards him. His gaze went first to Arthur's face, then to the wings, then to the clothing.
He looked mildly surprised.
"You are awake."
Arthur nodded.
"Yeah."
Jorah's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You came to see me."
Arthur glanced at the guard.
"He couldn't understand me."
Jorah dismissed the man with a gesture. The guard left.
For a moment, neither spoke. Arthur looked around the courtyard. Jorah watched him.
"You slept through most of the morning."
Arthur looked back at him.
"For how long?"
"Until the sun was well above the walls."
Arthur nodded. Jorah's eyes moved over him again.
"Your wounds seem better."
"I'm healing."
"Quicker than a normal man?"
Arthur shrugged.
"Yes, apparently."
Jorah did not smile.
"You were nearly dead yesterday."
"I remember how I was."
"You walked through the Waste alone."
"I remember that too."
"Naked."
Arthur looked down at himself, almost self-conscious about it like before.
"I also remember that."
Something almost like amusement touched Jorah's face and disappeared.
"You make light of much."
"I've had a strange couple of days."
Jorah studied him and then looked at his wings.
"I imagine you have."
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You may ask."
"Where can I wash?"
Jorah blinked.
"Wash?"
"My face. My hands. My mouth." Arthur touched his teeth. "I need to clean my teeth."
Jorah stared at him for a moment.
"There is water."
"I know that... I mean, how do you do it here?"
"With a... basin."
"Great."
Arthur hesitated.
"And... something to brush my teeth with?"
Jorah's expression became genuinely puzzled.
"You brush them?"
"Yes."
"With what?"
Arthur stared at him.
"I don't know what you call it here."
Jorah motioned for him to follow. They crossed the courtyard toward a small sheltered area where a basin had been set against the wall.
There was a clay cup, a cloth, a small amount of water, and several thin twigs. Arthur picked one up.
He looked at Jorah.
"What is this?"
"For the teeth."
Arthur looked at the twig. Then at Jorah. He turned the twig between his fingers. Of course, Game of Thrones is a medieval world.
"Right."
He crouched beside the basin. The water was cool. He washed his face first, rubbing away the last traces of dust. Then his neck and hands. He splashed more water into his mouth and spat it into the basin.
The simple act left him strangely quiet. He hadn't realized how much he was gonna miss ordinary things.
Clean water.
A sofa to sit.
A morning without gunfire.
He looked at the little twig again. Then put it between his teeth. It tasted so freaking terrible.
Jorah watched him. Arthur glanced at him sideways.
"Don't laugh."
"I wasn't."
"You were thinking about it."
"I was thinking that you are a strange man."
Arthur pulled the twig from his mouth.
"That's from your perspective. From mine, you're strange."
He finished cleaning his teeth and rinsed his mouth.
When he stood, Jorah was still watching him.
"You said your name was Arthur."
"Yes."
"Arthur what?"
"Just Arthur."
Jorah waited, and Arthur said nothing. The knight's expression hardened slightly.
"You have no family name? Are you a commoner?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what is it?"
Arthur looked at him.
"I don't know how useful it would be."
"Perhaps I will decide that."
There was no threat in Jorah's voice.
That almost made it worse. Arthur understood men like him. Soldiers who had learned that patience could reveal more than force. Well, let's throw him a bone.
"I come from far away."
"How far?"
"Very far away."
"Which city?"
"Not a city."
"Which kingdom?"
Arthur hesitated at that. Should he tell him the kingdom of the United States? Jorah noticed that.
Arthur looked down at the basin.
"I don't think you'd believe me."
"Tell me first."
Arthur almost laughed, and instead he said, "Somewhere you don't know."
Jorah was silent.
"You speak the Common Tongue."
"Yes."
"But your accent is strange."
"I've been told that."
"You know the khaleesi's name."
Arthur looked at him. Jorah continued.
"You were found alone in the Waste with wings no maester in Westeros has ever written of."
Arthur's jaw tightened.
Jorah noticed that too.
"Where did you learn to fight?"
Arthur's eyes returned to him.
"I was a soldier."
That answer seemed to interest Jorah more than the others.
"What sort of soldier?"
"The kind sent where things are bad."
Jorah considered that.
"Were you a knight?"
"No."
"A sellsword?"
"No."
"A sworn man?"
Arthur looked away.
"No."
Jorah waited.
Arthur sighed.
"I was in an army."
"Whose?"
Arthur's fingers tightened around the cloth.
"Mine."
Jorah's expression did not change.
Arthur realized the answer sounded strange here, almost as if it were to say he was the head of it.
He corrected himself.
"The people I fought for."
"And where is this army now?"
Arthur looked at the courtyard.
"They're gone."
"Dead? Defeated?"
"Some."
"And the rest?"
"I don't know."
Jorah watched him for a long moment.
Arthur could feel the questions waiting behind his eyes. He was grateful when Jorah finally said, "Come. Let us go."
"Where are we going?"
"The khaleesi is in the gardens."
---
Vaes Tolorro was beginning to wake properly.
People were carrying baskets from the gardens. Women sat beneath the shade of broken walls sorting fruit and roots. Men repaired saddles, sharpened blades, tended horses.
Arthur slowed when he saw the gardens. They were very green, actual green.
He stopped to admire them. Jorah noticed.
"We found water."
Arthur crouched beside one of the garden beds. A small plant pushed through the soil.
He touched one of its leaves.
"You grew this?"
"Some of it."
Arthur looked around. After everything he'd seen since waking, this might have been the strangest thing.
People were trying to live. Even in the barren of places, life moves on.
A child nearby watched him from behind her mother. Arthur smiled while looking at her. The child immediately hid.
"Can't blame her," he murmured.
Jorah heard him.
"You frighten them."
"I noticed. I would be frightened too."
"They have seen little enough of you."
Arthur glanced at his wings.
"Neither have I."
Jorah looked at him.
"You do not know what you are?"
"No."
"Do you know where you came from?"
"No."
"Do you know why you have those?"
Arthur looked over his shoulder.
"No."
Jorah's expression remained thoughtful.
"You answer plainly."
"It's easier than lying to you."
"Sometimes."
Arthur glanced at him. Jorah's face gave nothing away. They continued walking.
Then Arthur heard something. A strange sound.
A sharp, rough cry that seemed to vibrate through the air.
He stopped. Jorah kept walking for another step before turning.
"What is it?"
Arthur didn't answer.
The sound came again.
Arthur followed it. They entered a wider courtyard. Three dragons were there.
Arthur forgot to breathe.
Drogon was larger than the other two, black scales catching the sunlight. Red eyes watched the world around him with an intelligence that made Arthur's skin prickle.
Rhaegal was nearby, green and bronze. Viserion was pale, almost white. Arthur had seen dragons before.
On TV and in illustrations.
On pages.
None of that had prepared him for the reality, to see something so scaly.
Drogon's head turned.
Their eyes met.
Arthur forced himself not to step back. Every instinct in his body told him to respect the creature in front of him. Not because it was beautiful, and it was beautiful. But because it was dangerous.
And because, and right now, it was real. Like really real. In real life.
Arthur looked at the three of them for several seconds. Then he remembered Jorah was watching.
He turned away.
"Your face says otherwise," Jorah said.
Arthur looked at him.
"What?"
"You are trying very hard not to stare."
Arthur glanced back at the dragons.
"I'm doing a poor job."
That almost earned him another smile.
"You can stare. The khaleesi allows it."
They turned and found Daenerys beneath a cloth awning. She sat with several baskets of fruit nearby. Her silver-gold hair was loose around her shoulders, bright even in the shade.
She looked up when Arthur approached.
Her eyes moved over him. She could feel her eyes on the clothes, his wings, his face.
Something softened in her gaze.
"You look better."
Arthur bowed his head.
"Your Grace."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward Jorah.
Arthur noticed. He had remembered the rule already.
Daenerys smiled faintly.
"Sit."
Arthur sat across from her. A basket of fruit was pushed toward him.
He picked up a piece.
"What is it?"
Daenerys looked amused.
"You do not know?"
"No."
"It is a peach."
Arthur bit into it. It really did taste like a normal peach. Turns out it tasted like the ones he knew.
Juice ran down his fingers as he chewed it.
Then nodded.
"That's good."
Daenerys smiled.
"You have never eaten a peach?"
"Not this kind."
Jorah sat nearby. Daenerys took another piece of fruit.
"Tell me about your home."
Arthur wiped his fingers.
"There isn't much to tell."
"I would still like to hear it."
Arthur looked across at her.
"You really want to know?"
"Yes."
He considered how to explain a world that should not exist.
"I came from a place with cities much larger than this."
"How large?"
"Millions of people in one city."
Daenerys stared at him, shocked.
"Millions?"
"Yeah."
She looked toward the ruins around them. Arthur could almost see her trying to imagine it.
"There were roads everywhere. Buildings taller than castles. Machines that could carry hundreds of people through the air."
Daenerys's expression changed.
"Flying ships?"
"Sort of."
She leaned forward. Arthur realized he had her attention.
"We had machines for almost everything. Communication could cross the world in seconds. People could speak to someone thousands of miles away."
Daenerys was quiet.
"Your world sounds strange."
"It is."
"Was it peaceful?"
Arthur laughed once.
"No."
That answer changed something. Daenerys's eyes lowered. Arthur continued.
"We had armies. Wars. People with too much power. People with too little. Some places were wealthy. Others weren't."
"And you fought?"
"Yes."
"For your king?"
Arthur shook his head.
"No king."
"Then for whom?"
"My country."
Daenerys watched him as she asked, "And now?"
Arthur looked down at the fruit in his hand.
"Now I have no country."
Daenerys's expression softened.
"You said yesterday that you were betrayed?"
Arthur nodded.
"I was sent somewhere. There were civilians caught in the fighting. We weren't supposed to stop."
"Why?"
"Because the mission came first."
"And you stopped."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Arthur looked at her.
"Because they were people."
Daenerys held his gaze.
Arthur swallowed.
"I chose them."
"And your own people punished you for it?"
"They killed me."
Silence settled over the table.
Jorah looked at him, his eyes clouded over in contemplation.
Daenerys lowered her gaze and looked at her hands. After a moment, she said, "My family was betrayed too."
Arthur waited. He knew somewhat of what she was going to say.
She told him about her father, the Mad King. Her brother Rhaegar, and their dynasty. About Robert Baratheon, King's Landing. Viserys. Drogo. Rhaego and Mirri Maz Duur.
Arthur listened as she talked... knowing what she said before she said it didn't make it any less grim and jarring.
When she finished, all he could say quietly was, "You've lost a lot."
Daenerys looked at him.
"The same to you."
Arthur nodded. She picked up a piece of fruit.
"I am Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen."
Arthur knew, but he let her say it. It was very new each time he heard it. It felt like déjà vu.
"I am the blood of the dragon. I am the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms."
Arthur leaned back, deciding to play dumb.
"What are the Seven Kingdoms?"
Jorah looked at him as Daenerys answered.
"The kingdoms of Westeros."
"And you want to rule them?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Her answer came without hesitation.
"Because they are mine."
Arthur studied her.
"Because your family ruled them?"
Daenerys's eyes narrowed slightly.
"My family was driven from the throne."
"That doesn't answer the question."
She was quiet. Arthur continued.
"If you take them back, what will you do with them?"
Daenerys looked toward the gardens.
"I will make them better as their rightful queen."
"How?"
She didn't answer immediately. Arthur waited.
"I have seen people treated as though their lives mean nothing," she said at last. "I have seen slaves beaten. I have seen men take what they want because they believe no one can stop them. I will not rule that way."
Arthur watched her.
"You mean that?"
"Yes."
Daenerys looked at him.
"That is something."
Then back at her.
"I don't know."
"You have nowhere else to go."
"I know, but that doesn't mean I have to fight for you."
"My people are frightened of you."
"I know that too."
"They may never stop being frightened."
Arthur glanced at his wings.
"Yes, maybe."
"But they can learn."
Arthur was quiet. Daenerys leaned closer.
"You can join us. My cause."
He looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because you are alone."
Arthur's expression changed. Only slightly.
Daenerys noticed it and pressed on.
"You need somewhere to stand," she said.
Arthur looked away.
For a moment he thought about his mother. About the men who had followed him and the people he had failed to bring home. Then he looked back at her.
"I don't know if I can join your cause."
"You do not have to decide today."
That surprised him.
"Stay with us first."
Daenerys smiled faintly.
"Then we'll see."
Arthur nodded.
---
That evening, Arthur sat alone.
The room was very quiet.
He had been given water and food. Someone had left more clothing for him. Nobody had tried to bind him again or touch him.
Outside, the ruined city settled into darkness.
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed. He had spent the entire day trying not to think about one fact.
It was impossible not to now.
This was not his world.
He had known it from the moment he saw Daenerys.
But seeing dragons had removed the last part of him that could pretend otherwise.
This is Westeros.
Game of Thrones.
The books.
The show.
He knew what happened. Or at least he did... not with him in here.
That distinction.
Him...
He had memories of a story. But these people weren't characters. Daenerys wasn't a character. Jorah wasn't a character. The dragons weren't special effects, CGI.
They were alive.
And Arthur had no idea whether the future he remembered would happen exactly as he remembered it. That frightened him a lot more than anything else.
Because if he stayed neutral, what happened?
He had no money, no home or identity. No understanding of the laws, zero ways to return. His wings alone would make him a spectacle. A curiosity.
A monster.
Something people might try to capture, or kill.
He looked down at his hands. Daenerys was different.
She had power.
Not enough yet, but she had people who followed her.
She had dragons and a family name so labeled in magic and mystery that...
That getting behind her goal would shield him from most of it.
And she had offered him a place. Arthur didn't know whether she would become the woman he remembered.
The problem is he couldn't follow a story. He could only follow a person. And right now, Daenerys had given him no reason not to believe her.
Either way... just to be safe, following her was the safest path.
Arthur stood and left the room. He found Jorah near one of the fires. The knight looked up.
"You need something?"
"I want to see the Khaleesi."
Jorah studied him.
"She is resting."
"Then I'll wait, here with you."
Jorah was silent. Arthur looked at him.
"I've made my decision."
The knight's expression hardened slightly.
"About what?"
Arthur looked toward the darkness beyond the ruined walls.
"I'll join her."
Jorah watched him carefully.
"Why?"
"Because I have nowhere else to go."
"That is not enough."
Arthur nodded.
"No."
He looked back at him.
"She gave me a choice."
Jorah said nothing. Arthur continued.
"I have always been one to dedicate myself to a cause. Life cannot just be about living. Everyone has to come to terms with it. Choose to live for yourself, or rise with others and be greater."
"I'll help her. I'll fight if she needs me. I'll do what I can."
"And in return?"
"I stay, with her people."
Jorah's eyes narrowed.
"You seem to have conditions."
Arthur gave a quiet laugh.
"Of course I do."
"What are they?"
"If she becomes cruel, if she starts hurting people because she can, I won't follow her."
"That is past my bottom line."
Jorah stared at him.
Arthur held his gaze.
"I don't care about a throne. I don't care about glory. Those things are for lesser men. I don't even know if I believe she should rule yet."
Jorah's face remained cold. The knight looked away. Arthur waited. Finally, Jorah nodded toward the darkened building.
"Come, Aegon."
Arthur looked at him.
The name still felt strange.
---
Daenerys was awake.
A small fire burned behind her. Arthur walked in with Jorah. Her expression changed when she saw him.
"You have decided."
Arthur stopped a few paces away.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Jorah remained behind him. Arthur looked at Daenerys.
"I'll join you."
She said nothing as she looked at him.
"I won't be there for glory."
Daenerys watched him walk closer, somewhere next to her.
"I'll help you build the kingdom you hope to. I'll help you survive. I'll fight beside you if that's what you need."
The fire shifted between them.
"Not if you become cruel," Arthur said.
The words seemed to resonate with her. She studied him for a moment.
"You would fight for me."
Arthur looked at Jorah.
Daenerys's eyes did not leave his face. Arthur took a breath.
"I don't know what kind of queen you'll become."
He glanced toward the fire.
"But I know what kind of person I want to be."
Daenerys looked at him for a long moment.
Then Arthur said quietly, "If we're both doing this to survive, I think it'll be easier if we survive together."
The fire cracked. Daenerys stared at him as he looked in her eyes. Jorah sighed, watching them both.