Game of Thrones Iron Stark

Daenerys finally saw Drogo again.

He returned with fresh scars across his chest and arms, but he still looked unbreakable. Jorah and the three bloodriders came back with him.

"Khaleesi."

"Drogo."

He swept her up in his arms, hands still dirty from battle, and pressed his palm against her swollen belly. Their son. The stallion who would mount the world.

"Qotho, Haggo. Take the men and get them in order. We lost too many. Other khalasars might come sniffing for easy kills."

The two bloodriders left.

"Cohollo, Jorah. You've both earned rest. Go."

Jorah wore a painted vest like the Dothraki, chest bare, back burned red from the sun. Cohollo was older, white hair thin, most of his teeth gone. He had saved Drogo's life as a boy when slavers tried to take him. Drogo trusted him above all others.

"My blood of my blood," Cohollo said quietly.

Drogo dropped to the ground and waved him down. "Speak. Sit."

"Jorah and the Khaleesi are not outsiders. She carries your child. Jorah fought beside us."

Cohollo sat. He looked at both of them.

"My blood of my blood. The Black Panther tribe has a secret weapon we did not know about. A grass that grows in their ancestral tombs. Heart-shaped. It flowers once every thirty years, fruits once every thirty years, and ripens for another ten. Only when the fruit falls on its own can it be eaten."

He paused.

"Eat it and a man becomes something else. Strong enough to lift an elephant. Fast enough to leap and catch birds from the air."

Drogo frowned. "And this fruit… it is almost ready?"

"Ten years ago the rumors said it had already set. No one knows how close it is now."

Jorah and Daenerys exchanged a look.

"If they gain that kind of strength, even you may not be able to stand against them," Jorah said.

Daenerys lifted her chin. "Then I will hatch my dragons. And we will take what they think is theirs."

Jorah hesitated. "Khaleesi… do you truly believe you can wake the eggs? They have been stone for centuries."

Drogo studied her. "The dragon eggs. Are they real? How will you wake them?"

Daenerys rested a hand on her belly. "When I sleep with them, I feel them. Three small hearts beating with mine. They are alive. I know it."

---

At the Wall they burned the dead.

Every ranger who had gone out with Benjen was gone. Only Benjen had come back.

"Light it," Mormont ordered.

The green wildfire roared up and consumed the bodies. Nothing would rise from those ashes.

Mormont turned to the maester. "Benjen awake yet?"

"Awake. But barely holding on."

"Snow!"

Jon stepped forward.

"Come with me."

Benjen lay on a cot, eyes dull, face hollow. The strong ranger Jon remembered looked broken.

"Uncle."

Benjen focused slowly. "Jon."

"You made it back," Mormont said. "Tell me what happened out there."

Benjen's voice was rough. "Tony's gear saved us. The repeating crossbows. The rigs. Without them we would all be dead. And the wildlings… they're running too. The Others are hunting them the same as us."

Mormont's face darkened. "You want to work with wildlings?"

"I'm saying we might have to. If we don't stop the Others north of the Wall, everything south of it burns."

Mormont was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded once.

"Keep the fight on their side of the Wall. That much I can agree with."

He looked at Jon.

"Snow. You're taking a letter to King's Landing. We need more wildfire. More of whatever Tony can give us. You leave at first light."

Jon's eyes widened. "King's Landing?"

"Take two good men. Ride hard. And don't waste time."

---

In King's Landing, Littlefinger and Joffrey sealed their pact with blood and ambition.

Baelish's first move was simple. Drive a wedge between Robert and Ned. If that failed, at least force Ned back to the North.

To do that, he needed chaos in Winterfell.

He spent gold dragons like water and bought the Faceless Men. They were too expensive for all of Ned's sons, so Baelish paid for the smallest target.

Rickon Stark.

---

Winterfell felt almost normal that evening.

Robb had finished the day's business and sat down to eat with Bran, Rickon, Theon, Maester Luwin, and Ser Rodrik. The direwolves lay near the hearth.

Then every wolf in the castle began to howl.

Shaggydog. Grey Wind. Summer. Even the hounds outside joined in, voices rising together in the dark.

Robb stood. "What's happening?"

A guard burst in. "My lord! Fire in the crypts!"

Robb grabbed his sword. "Theon, with me. Ser Rodrik, stay with Bran and Rickon. Protect them."

They ran toward the crypts.

The man who had brought the message did not follow. He was no guard. He was no one.

He turned, drew a thin blade, and threw it in one smooth motion.

The knife took Rickon in the throat.

Blood sprayed across the table. Rickon made a wet, choking sound and fell.

"Rickon!" Bran screamed.

Ser Rodrik drew his sword and lunged, but the Faceless Man was already gone, slipping into the chaos outside like smoke.

The castle was waking up fast. Men shouted. Torches flared. Somewhere a woman screamed as looters took advantage of the confusion.

Robb and Theon reached the crypts and found the guards dead, throats cut. Shaggydog was already snarling and snapping at Grey Wind and Summer, foam at his jaws.

Theon nocked an arrow. "Robb—"

"No! Don't shoot him!"

Robb's voice was tight. A cold dread was rising in his chest.

"Theon, go back. Check on Rickon. Now."

Theon hesitated, then ran.

Shaggydog broke away and vanished into the night.

Robb stood alone with Grey Wind and Summer at the top of the stone steps leading down into the crypts of Winterfell. The air rising from below was cold and smelled of old death.

He tightened his grip on his sword and started down.