"So, how about it?" Harry asked lightly, his tone as casual.
Daenerys Targaryen could not tear her eyes away from the table he had conjured. Resting upon the dark, polished wood were three stones that seemed to breathe, pulsing with a faint heat that shimmered in the dry air.
Black. Green. Bronze.
They were perfect. They were impossible.
She had been told all her life that dragons were extinct, and when she got her three children, Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal, that they were the eggs stolen from her ancestors, that they were the last of their kind, and she had come to accept that.
Everyone, from the common people to the nobles, had searched for dragon eggs over the years, and none had found anything. Even the maesters of the Citadel claimed the age of dragons had ended in the blood-soaked pits of King's Landing centuries ago.
The three she had gotten had stayed like stones for centuries.
She was lucky to have found dragons in this age, and she knew it, but she also knew and had accepted that her children would be the last of their kind, like she was the last of hers, with no female to continue with, and she who could no longer convice they were never going to be any dragon or targaryen again after them.
The legacy of Old Valyria would truly end with her, leaving the skies silent once she and her children passed.
She turned slowly toward the man sitting on her throne, her breath hitching in a throat that suddenly felt very tight. "How do you…" She trailed off, unable to find the words to ask how a stranger could possess dragon eggs.
Harry gave her a flat 'are you stupid' look. "Divinity," he said, pointing a thumb lazily at his chest.
The word hung in the air like a heavy curtain.
"So," he continued, leaning back in the throne, "are you willing to play the game? After all, with only your three sons, the Targaryen name is a dead-end street. I don't think new dragons are born from thin air."
The comment stung like a whip. Daenerys wanted to scowl, but she could not deny the devastating truth of his words. Without those eggs, her 'children' would be the last of their kind.
She could not allow this chance to slip through her fingers, the chance that one of those eggs could be female.
"I accept the offer," she answered, making sure to keep the desperation out of her voice, though she didn't think she succeeded if the look he gave her was anything to go by.
"Wonderful!" Harry exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "And if you succeed in winning over three Great Houses without turning them into charcoal first, I'll throw in a bonus for you, little girl."
He smirked at the 'little girl' comment, watching her jaw tighten in a fury she couldn't quite suppress. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he produced a slender glass bottle.
It was filled with a liquid that could only be described as molten sunlight. It seemed to swirl with its own internal current, glowing with a soft, holy radiance that illuminated the dark corners of the hall.
"I am not much for wine," Daenerys said, trying to regain some semblance of mockery to shield her trembling heart.
Harry's smirk widened into a sharp grin. "Well, of course not. You're just a little girl, after all, but this is not wine."
As she growled in frustration at his once again calling her little girl, Harry uncorked the bottle. A scent like mountain air and spring rain instantly washed away the smell of dust and blood in the chamber.
He used his magic to lift just a few drops of the golden liquid into the air, where they hung like suspended stars. With a sharp flick of his fingers, he sent the droplets spraying across the hall, making sure they only touched the fallen men.
They landed on the Unsullied and the guards who were still groaning on the floor from Harry's earlier, violent 'demonstration.'
The effect was instantaneous and terrifying to behold for those watching.
Men who had lost limbs saw the flesh knit together in a blur of golden light, bones realigned with audible, sickening cracks, and shattered skulls smoothed over as if the injuries had been nothing more than a bad dream.
Within heartbeats, every soldier stood up, whole and unscarred. The hall was filled with the sound of collective gasps and the clattering of spears as men tested limbs that had been severed moments ago, their eyes wide with a religious terror.
"If you impress me enough, I'll give you this," Harry said, swirling the bottle. "A single drop from this can heal any wound, any injury, any sickness that plagues the mortal frame…"
He paused, leaning forward until he was mere inches from the dais's edge, his emerald eyes boring into hers that it made her skin prickle. "And it can even mend the most stubborn of curses. Like, say… the inability to bear children."
The world narrowed to a pinprick. The high vaulted ceilings, the armored guards, it all faded into a grey blur. The only thing Daenerys could see was the god on her throne and the shimmering gold in his hand. And a god he really was if what he was saying was true.
The inability to bear children.
It was the wound she never spoke of. The price she had paid to the Maegi Mirri Maz Duur in the tent of death. She had accepted her barrenness as the inevitable cost of her crown, and her naivety for trusting the wrong person and not accepting what was.
It became a silent, hollow grief she carried in her womb every day of her life. Now, this stranger claiming to be a god was dangling the one thing she wanted more than the Iron Throne. A child of her own blood.
If she had not seen the effect, she might have commanded her dragons to burn the entire place down, consequences be damned.
"My queen," Tyrion's voice cracked through her trance, pulling her back from her mind.
She realized her usual facade had crumbled. Her eyes were somewhat wet, and her hand had unconsciously drifted to her stomach, clutching at the silk of her dress. She quickly lowered her gaze, hiding her face as she fought to pull the mask of the queen back over her features.
She went to answer him, but she couldn't speak, her throat felt as though it were filled with hot sand, and she couldn't bring herself to answer him with her voice. She simply nodded.
"Well, good," the god said, his voice dropping the teasing edge for something more solemn. Harry wasn't going to play with her on this, he could somewhat understand what it must feel like, even if he wasn't a woman himself, but to have the choice of being able to have a child taken from you must be very painful for a mother. So he'd give her a chance to get what she desired at the very least, but she must work for it.
With a casual wave of his hand, the table, the eggs, and the golden bottle vanished into thin air. Daenerys tensed, her fingers twitching as if to grab the air where the miracles had been, but she knew better than to command her men to seize a man who seemed like he could command the very world.
Harry stood up from the throne and, without a word, in the next blink, he was gone.
He simply ceased to be there, like he was never truly there to begin with.
The room was silent after he left.
"My queen?" Tyrion asked softly, stepping closer, his mismatched eyes staring deep into her.
Daenerys stared at the empty stone seat for a long, quiet minute. She could feel the eyes of the Greyjoys on her, not just them but everyone in the chamber.
"As we were saying," she started, her voice sounding far away even to her own ears, as she turned around to face the greyjoys like nothing just happened.
Tyrion looked at her in absolute disbelief. Was she truly just going to continue? They had just been visited by a being who healed the dead and promised the impossible, and she was going back like it was nothing?
"We were speaking of the Iron Fleet," she continued, her voice gaining strength with every word. "I would like to finish this council before I retire."
The Greyjoys took the hint, forcing themselves to focus on what they had come here for, Yara mostly doing the speaking as Theon just stood there. Everyone in the room seemed to follow their queen as they acted as if nothing happened, yet none of them could stop glancing at the empty throne, half-expecting the emerald-eyed man to reappear and laugh at them.
The moment the alliance was sealed, Daenerys dismissed everyone and retreated to her private chambers. Only there, behind heavy oak doors, did she allow herself to collapse against the wall, her hand pressed hard against her belly.
"Is it really possible?" she whispered to the empty, flickering shadows.
Harry had not truly left the pyramid.
He stood invisible and silent in the corner of the council chamber for several minutes, watching the way Daenerys maintained her regal posture even as she was clearly in turmoil. He watched them all for a bit before he decided to leave.
He was satisfied.
He turned and walked out before creating a rift and stepped through, reappearing miles away on the deck of a lone ship cutting across the dark, churning waters of the Narrow Sea.
The vessel was small but swift. There were no sails, no crew, after all, this was a ship he created and set sail. Harry sat at the bow, the salt spray misting his face as the magic he poured into the hull propelled him toward the setting sun. Where was he heading?
Westeros. King's Landing.
He leaned back against the railing, watching the seas as he thought of what was currently giving him a problem.
The name. His name.
He couldn't be 'Harry.' A god named Harry was not really well godly, he wanted a name to show that.
And it had to be a name that fit him, a name that was not already used by another god, a name that was him.
"A name for a god," he murmured, watching the horizon.
He had time. The Narrow Sea was wide, and he intended to take his time reaching the shores of the Seven Kingdoms. By the time his boots touched the soil of Westeros, he would know exactly what the world was going to call him.
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