For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The silence that followed my words was thick with ash and disbelief. The remaining Dothraki stared, their faces a mixture of fear and confusion. They had just witnessed their Khaleesi walk into a funeral pyre and emerge untouched, bearing dragons – creatures of myth. Now, a stranger in outlandish, fine black-and-green leather, seemingly appearing from nowhere, stood before her, speaking the Common Tongue with an accent none of them recognized.
David's part of me wanted to shrink back. These were hardened warriors, grieving and likely volatile. Loki's part, however, savored the 'delicious' tension, the 'frantic movement' of startled eyes, the 'pounding' of wary hearts. Control, even in weakness, began with perception.
The knight – Jorah Mormont, Loki's memories supplied the name, a disgraced Westerosi knight sworn to the Targaryens – kept his sword leveled at my chest. His face was grim, weathered, and deeply suspicious. "Who are you? How did you get here?"
My lips curled into Loki's signature half-smile. "As I said, I seem to be lost." My gaze flickered past him, settling again on Daenerys. She hadn't moved. Still naked, still holding her infant dragons close, her lilac eyes were fixed on me with an unnerving intensity. She wasn't afraid. She was assessing. 'Analyzing.' This was no mere girl. This was a queen forged in fire, her mind as 'razor-sharp' as any blade.
"Lost?" Mormont scoffed. "This is the Red Waste. No one simply gets 'lost' here and lives."
"Perhaps my definition of 'lost' differs from yours," I replied coolly. My Seidr was still a low 'ember,' but I gathered what little I could, letting a faint, green shimmer trace the lines of my armor, just enough to catch the dawn light. A subtle display. A 'whisper' of power. Let them wonder.
One of the Dothraki warriors, burly and scarred, muttered something guttural to Mormont. Likely calling me a demon or a sorcerer. He wasn't entirely wrong.
Daenerys finally spoke. Her voice was quiet, almost fragile after the night's ordeal, yet it carried an undeniable authority that made even the Dothraki pause. "Jorah. Let him speak."
Mormont hesitated, glancing between me and his Khaleesi, before reluctantly lowering his sword, though his hand remained firmly on the hilt.
"You appeared from the embers?" Daenerys asked, her gaze unwavering. She took a small step towards me, the tiny dragons stirring against her skin, their jewel-like eyes blinking open.
"Not from them, Your Grace," I corrected smoothly, offering another shallow bow. "Merely near them. My arrival was... abrupt. Accidental." I kept David's origin story tucked away. No need to reveal my otherworldly nature just yet. Let them think me a sorcerer of this world. It served the same purpose.
"And you know my name," she stated, tilting her head. The movement was 'so incredible,' drawing my eye to the curve of her neck, the delicate line of her collarbone dusted with soot. David's thoughts were a 'blur,' easily distracted by her 'heaven on earth' form. Loki pushed them aside. Focus.
"Whispers on the wind, Khaleesi," I replied evasively. "Or perhaps the fires themselves spoke it." I needed to establish myself as something more than human, something powerful she could use.
Another Dothraki warrior, bolder than the first, stepped forward, spitting on the ground near my feet. He was younger, leaner, with cruel eyes and a hand resting on the curved arakh at his hip. Qotho, Loki's borrowed knowledge identified him. One of Drogo's former bloodriders, likely unhappy with the shift in power. He snarled something in his tongue, gesturing aggressively towards me.
"He does not trust you," Mormont translated unnecessarily. "He says you are a demon, drawn by the blood magic."
"Blood magic?" I feigned ignorance, glancing at the pyre's remains where the witch Mirri Maz Duur had burned. "Ah, that. Messy business. Prone to… unforeseen consequences." My eyes met Qotho's, holding a spark of challenge. "But I assure you, I am no mere demon."
Qotho didn't like my tone. He drew his arakh, the curved blade gleaming wickedly in the rising sun. "Rak! (Demon!)" he spat, taking a fighting stance.
Jorah moved to intervene. "Qotho, the Khaleesi-"
"No," Daenerys said, her voice sharp. All eyes turned to her. She looked from Qotho to me, her expression unreadable. "Let him test the stranger."
My smile widened. A test. Perfect. David's heart 'hammered against his ribs,' a 'chemical reaction' of fear. He has a sword! I have… nothing! Loki, however, felt a thrill. A chance to gauge my new, combined power.
"As the Khaleesi commands," I said, spreading my hands in a gesture of mock surrender, though my eyes never left Qotho's.
Qotho needed no further encouragement. He lunged, the arakh whistling through the air in a deadly arc aimed at my neck. He was fast, brutal. A 'sledgehammer' blow meant to end things quickly.
Time seemed to slow. David screamed internally. Loki assessed. My Seidr was low, a mere trickle compared to its usual torrent. A direct shield would drain me instantly. Illusions? Yes. Misdirection.
As the blade descended, I didn't dodge. Instead, I let a wave of illusion ripple outwards. For a split second, Qotho saw not one, but three of me, shimmering like heat haze. He faltered, his 'frantic movement' momentarily confused.
That fraction of a second was all I needed.
I ducked under the swing, not away from it. Stepping inside his guard, I brought my hand up, palm open. A surge of green energy – small, controlled, but intensely focused – 'exploded' from my fingertips. It wasn't a blast, more like a physical push imbued with concussive magic.
Thump.
The energy struck Qotho squarely in the chest. It wasn't enough to kill, or even seriously injure, but it felt like being kicked by a horse. He flew backwards, landing hard in the ash several yards away, the wind knocked out of him, his arakh clattering uselessly from his grasp. He gasped, clutching his chest, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes.
Silence. Even the baby dragons paused their mewling.
The remaining Dothraki stared, hands hovering over their own weapons, but none moved. They understood brute force, and they had just seen something beyond their comprehension.
I stood straight, brushing a speck of non-existent dust from my leather sleeve. The effort had cost me; my head was 'pounding,' my reserves nearly 'drained.' But I couldn't show it. Loki's arrogance was a necessary armor.
"As I said," I addressed the stunned silence, my voice dripping with condescending amusement, "no mere demon."
I turned my gaze back to Daenerys.
Her lilac eyes were wide, but not with fear. With fascination. A slow, calculating smile touched her lips, mirroring my own. She had seen power beyond swords and horses, beyond even her own Unburnt miracle. She saw a weapon. An asset. A god, perhaps, sent to her in her hour of need.
She took another step closer, seemingly oblivious to her nakedness, the dragons stirring restlessly against her skin. The black one hissed at me again, but she gently stroked its head.
"You have power," she stated simply. It wasn't a question.
"I have… talents," I corrected, inclining my head. "Talents that might prove useful to a queen with ambitions."
Jorah Mormont watched us, his hand still tight on his sword, suspicion warring with awe on his face. The handmaiden I'd spoken to earlier looked faint.
Daenerys considered me, her gaze sweeping over me from head to toe, lingering for a moment where the green energy had flared from my hand. It was an 'intense' scrutiny, stripping away pretense. She was looking for weakness, for deception. Loki approved. David felt exposed, even though fully clothed.
"My Khalasar is broken," she said, her voice gaining strength. "My path is uncertain. I have enemies across the Narrow Sea who want me dead. I have three dragons, but they are infants. I need strength. I need counsel. I need… magic."
Her eyes locked onto mine again. "You say you are lost. Perhaps you were led here. Perhaps you are the answer to a prayer I did not know I made."
She held out a hand, palm up. A gesture of offering. Of command.
"You fought for me, stranger, though you did not have to. You showed power before my people. They fear you now. Good. Fear can be useful." Her gaze hardened. "Serve me. Protect me and my children." Her eyes flickered to the dragons. "Help me reclaim what is mine. Be my sword, my shield... my sorcerer."
The offer hung in the air, thick with unspoken promises and potential betrayals. It was a 'demon's bargain,' offered by an angel born of fire. David hesitated. Serve? He'd just escaped being a pawn in God's clerical error. Loki, however, saw the opportunity. A queen with dragons, ambition, and a vulnerability he could exploit. A world ripe for chaos, ripe for a guiding hand. His hand.
My lips curved into a genuine, predatory smile this time. Power, influence, a beautiful queen dependent on my abilities... yes, this compensation package was far more interesting than orthodontics.
"Khaleesi," I said, the title rolling smoothly off my tongue. I took her offered hand. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft despite the ash, sending a surprising 'tremor' up my arm. "You have yourself a god."
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