Daenerys took a deep breath, trembling with rage. Vlad, who had remained silent until that moment, took a sip from his cup before speaking.
—Ser Jorah —he said in a soft, almost contemplative tone, —You are not a man of great ideas, but you are a man of convictions. When you decide to commit to something, you do so completely. You did it with the woman who exiled you. You did it with your betrayal. And you did it with Daenerys.
Jorah looked at him seriously, but Vlad did not smile.
—That kind of loyalty, when it's sincere, is rare. But when it's false… it's poison.
Jorah nodded slightly, understanding the warning.
Daenerys, however, was not softened. She stepped forward again, her face hardened like iron.
—I should execute you for treason —she said, her voice cold.
Jorah kept his gaze low. He did not beg, he did not protest.
There was a long silence. Then, she let out a short, ragged sigh.
—But I won't.
Jorah raised his head, surprised.
—However —Daenerys continued, —from this moment on, I don't want you near me. Don't address me. Don't speak to me alone. And if you make one false move…
She looked him in the eyes, and for the first time, Jorah felt that the girl he had protected was gone forever.
—I won't need Vlad to kill you. I'll do it myself.
Her voice was a shard of obsidian. And Jorah, who had seen bigger men fall to their knees for less, could only bow his head in acceptance.
—Get out of my sight —she said in a cold tone.
When Jorah left the tent, Daenerys turned abruptly, raising her hands in a frustrated gesture, as if looking for something to throw. But before she could do so, Vlad wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
As he comforted her, he placed a soft kiss on her crown and murmured in a slightly teasing tone:
—Heavy is the head that wears the crown, my love.
Daenerys didn't respond with words. She just clung to him tighter.
[Robb Stark's Camp, several weeks later.]
The night in the camp was calm, with the crackling of the bonfires and the sound of the wind through the tents. Robb Stark, King in the North, was in the middle of a meeting with his commanders when the shouts of the sentries interrupted the peace.
—Rider approaching! Wagon in sight!
Robb exited his command tent with his hand on the hilt of his sword, followed by his men. He saw a tall, slender man dismount from his horse with a fluid motion. He was pulling the reins of a rickety wagon, but what truly made Robb's heart skip a beat was what was inside.
Sansa and Arya, their heads sticking out of the rickety wagon, wearing nothing but tattered and dirty clothes and cloaks to protect themselves from the wind.
His mother, Catelyn, choked on a scream and ran to the wagon, helping her daughters down. Robb felt an unbearable weight on his chest as he saw them. Sansa was pale, her gaze lowered, while Arya seemed furious, her fists clenched.
—Who are you? —Robb asked the stranger, his voice tense.
The man, with dark hair and eyes cold as steel, barely glanced at him before answering in a firm tone:
—Edward, of House Drakul. I've brought your sisters safe and sound.
Robb exchanged a glance with his mother before nodding.
—Come to my tent.
Inside the command tent, with the canvas fluttering slightly in the wind, Catelyn offered a cup of wine to the newcomer, but Edward rejected it with a gesture. Robb, not wasting any time, spoke first:
—I don't know how to thank you. If there's anything the North can do for you…
Edward interrupted him with a dry smile.
—I didn't do it for your gratitude, Lord Stark.
Robb frowned, and Catelyn felt a chill as she noticed that Sansa was avoiding Edward's gaze. Arya, on the other hand, was glaring at the man.
—Then why? —Catelyn asked, trying to hide her unease.
Edward crossed his arms and looked at Robb with unwavering seriousness.
—Because my lord, Vlad Drakul Targaryen, needs a strong North.
Catelyn immediately frowned.
—Why would a barbarian from Essos help us?
Edward slowly turned his head toward her, and his gaze became dangerously sharp.
—I suggest you watch your words, my lady. Here, your impertinence may be tolerated, but it's not wise to address the most powerful man in the world like that.
Silence fell like a heavy stone in the tent.
—Most powerful in the world? —Robb repeated in disbelief.
Edward barely smiled.
—My lord is Vlad Drakul Targaryen, husband of Daenerys Targaryen. Unlike all the other kings in this war, he has a legitimate right to claim the Iron Throne through marriage.
Robb clenched his jaw.
—But the Dothraki don't sail.
—Eighty ships from Qarth solve that problem. —Edward smiled smugly at the reaction on the faces of the Northerners.
Robb felt a chill run down his spine.
—And what does your lord want in return?
—Nothing. —Edward paused and then added: —Just that you remember his warning: the Iron Islands are a threat, and never trust the word of Walder Frey.
Robb felt something dark settle in his stomach.
—Anything else?
Edward leaned slightly forward.
—That you end this war as soon as possible. Because beyond the Wall, there are a hundred thousand wildlings preparing to raid the North.
Robb and Catelyn exchanged a silent glance. Of all the warnings Edward had brought, that last one was the most terrifying.
Inside her personal tent, Catelyn Stark watched her daughters with a mix of relief and concern. She had gotten them back, yes, but something in their expressions troubled her. Sansa, pale and tense, kept her gaze low, while Arya had her arms crossed and a frown on her face, with a contained anger that Catelyn knew all too well.