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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 52: The First Drop
The workshop had become a second home to Joffrey over the past weeks, but now it felt different...smaller, somehow, with the silver-haired princess seated at his table, her brow furrowed in concentration as she traced the ancient Valyrian symbols with her slender fingers.
Joffrey watched Daenerys from across the table, saying nothing. She had been at it for hours, translating page after page with a fluency that surprised even him. The High Valyrian script that had resisted his best efforts yielded to her like a lover welcoming an old flame. He had been right to bring her into this.
"This one here is the first phase of the ritual." Daenerys finally looked up from the translated pages she had been writing. "It sounds simpler than I expected."
"Simplicity often hides complexity." Joffrey brought his chair to her side and sat down to read the text. He was close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, close enough to catch the faint floral scent that clung to her silver hair. But his mind was focused on the task, unwilling to be distracted by her charms.
He analyzed the text before him, reading it three times to ensure he missed nothing. The translation was very close to what he had originally understood, but there were details he had misinterpreted. That alone would have been enough to make the experiment faulty.
"The subject must be prepared first. A full day of fasting before ingesting a simple mixture of herbs. Then a single drop of dragon's blood is injected into the subject's body..." He noticed something at the end of the page. "Are you sure this part here is correct?"
"Of course, I am sure." Daenerys sounded offended by the question.
"The subject must be exposed to a flame after the procedure. But it does not say what kind of flame, or why." Joffrey pointed out the vagueness.
"For what I understood, the purpose is to awaken something in the dragon's blood," Daenerys spoke softly as she looked at the original page of the book. "The alchemist believed that dragon blood carries some kind of memory that needs to be awakened by fire."
"Fire and blood," Joffrey muttered. "Seems appropriate to start this way, do you not think?"
Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "Are you throwing my house words back at me?"
Joffrey glanced at the text, then at the book. "I believe there is another page speaking about the expected results of the experiment, as well as potential side effects."
"I have not gotten to that part yet."
Joffrey nodded. "That is fine. You can do that tomorrow. You must be tired by now."
The princess could not deny that. She had lost track of time while working.
"We will need a volunteer for this," Joffrey added.
Daenerys's eyes widened. "You want to try this now? We are still weeks from Asshai. I thought we needed proper facilities and materials—"
"We have everything we need on this ship for the first phase. There is no reason to postpone it. We will be able to do more complex things once we are on land, yes. But if we start now, it will save us much time later on."
She glared at him. "You want the subject to be one of my Dothraki." It was not a question.
"Who else? We cannot use the sailors. They have important jobs to do while we are at sea. The Dothraki are not doing anything right now, and they are completely loyal to you. They are the perfect subjects."
Daenerys frowned.
"All I ask is that you request a volunteer. That is all." Joffrey's voice was calm. "I promised you that no one would participate against their will, and I intend to keep that promise."
Her posture relaxed slightly, the angry expression on her face beginning to fade. "I will ask. But I cannot guarantee that someone will offer themselves for this."
Joffrey smiled. "You might be surprised what men will risk for you, Princess."
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
The news spread quickly through the ship. Joffrey had not announced it himself...that would have been unwise. Instead, he had let the whispers begin naturally, let curiosity and rumor do the work for him.
The Dothraki were particularly wary of sorcery, according to what Daenerys had told him. They feared magic, distrusted it, associated it with the blood mages of the east and the warlocks of Qarth. But they also respected power. And they were desperate.
Daenerys called a gathering on the deck that evening. The Dothraki stood in a loose circle, their dark eyes fixed on her, their faces a mixture of hope and fear. Ser Jorah stood at her shoulder, the loyal knight he was.
The Hound lurked in the shadows near the mast, his scarred face unreadable as always.
Lord Varys had retreated to his cabin, as he always did when violence or magic threatened to disrupt his careful composure.
"I have been reading the book that Prince Joffrey brought from the ruins of Old Valyria," Daenerys said, her voice carrying across the deck. "It contains knowledge from our ancestors. Knowledge that could give us real power. It could turn simple men into something more."
The Dothraki murmured among themselves. One of the bloodriders, a grizzled man named Aggo, stepped forward. "Khaleesi, the horselords do not trust such things. Magic is the weapon of the weak. A true warrior needs only his arakh and his horse."
"A true warrior needs to survive, Aggo." Daenerys's voice was firm. "I would have you all return with me to Westeros, to see the green fields and the flowing rivers I promised you. But I cannot promise that if we are too weak to defend ourselves. This is a chance to change that."
Aggo's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"I am not ordering anyone to undergo this ritual," Daenerys continued. "I am asking for volunteers. Those who are willing to risk their lives for the chance to become something more." She paused, her eyes sweeping across the gathered Dothraki. "I am simply asking you to think about it."
The crowd dispersed, the Dothraki returning to their huddled groups near the bow.
Joffrey watched them go, noting the fear and suspicion in their eyes. But there was hunger there too, buried beneath the wariness.
They will come around, Joffrey thought. They always do.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Three days later, the first volunteer came forward, as he predicted.
Joffrey was in his workshop, examining a sample of dragon's blood he had coaxed from Rhaegal earlier that morning. The vial glowed faintly in the lamplight, a deep crimson that seemed to pulse with its own inner fire.
He had been studying it for hours, using the basic diagnostic spells at his disposal, trying to understand its properties.
A knock at the door.
"Enter."
Daenerys stepped inside, and behind her came an old Dothraki man. He was bent with age, his once-black hair now streaked with grey, his face weathered by sun and wind. But his eyes were clear and determined.
"This is Khalak," Daenerys said. "He has been with my khalasar since before I was born. He served my husband's father, and his father before that."
Khalak knelt before Joffrey, his head bowed. "I am old," he said in Dothraki, his voice rough. "My bones ache. My joints are stiff. I can no longer ride as I once did, nor fight as I once did. I am a burden to the Khaleesi, not a help."
Daenerys translated, her voice soft.
"I wish to be useful again," Khalak continued. "If this sorcery of yours can make me strong, I will take the risk. If I die... I die in service to my Khaleesi. There are worse fates."
Joffrey studied the old man. He could feel the years in him, the weariness, the slow decay of flesh that came with age. The ritual would be dangerous for anyone, but for someone like Khalak, the risk was even greater.
"Does he understand what he is volunteering for?" Joffrey asked Daenerys.
"I have explained it to him. The blood, the fire, and the possibility of death." She paused. "He understands."
Joffrey nodded. "Then we will begin. But not yet. We have things to prepare first. And we need to wait until we reach calmer waters."
Khalak rose, bowed again, and left the workshop.
Daenerys lingered, her hand on the doorframe. "He is a good man," she said. "I do not want to lose him."
"Then we will be careful." Joffrey returned his gaze to the vial of dragon's blood. "I have no desire to kill your people, Princess. Dead volunteers cannot help us."
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Later that evening, Joffrey stood at the railing near the bow, watching the sun sink below the horizon.
Voices drifted up from the deck below. Daenerys and Ser Jorah were standing near the hatch that led to the hold. They had not seen him in the shadows, and Joffrey did not announce himself. He listened.
"Khaleesi, this is madness." Jorah's voice was low, urgent. "The boy is using you and your dragons. You cannot trust him any longer."
"I trust no one, Ser Jorah. But I see the value in what he offers."
"He offers empty promises. Magic that may not work. Rituals that could kill you or your people." Jorah stepped closer to her, his voice dropping. "And Asshai is a cursed place. Men who go there do not return unchanged. I have heard the stories. I have seen the shadows that cling to those who visit that city."
"Then you should not come." Daenerys's voice was cold. "When we reach Asshai, I will give you enough coin to book passage back to Westeros. You can go home, Ser Jorah. You can take the pardon that Varys promised you. You can live out your days in peace."
Jorah recoiled as if struck. "Khaleesi—"
"I will not force you to follow me into danger. But I have made my choice. I am going to Asshai. I am going to learn the secrets of my ancestors. And I am going to reclaim the Iron Throne." She paused. "If you do not wish to be part of that, you are free to leave."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and painful.
Then Jorah knelt. "Khaleesi, I swore to serve you and protect you. I have broken my vows before... I will not break them again." He looked up at her, his eyes shining. "I will follow you to Asshai. I will follow you to the ends of the earth and the Seven Hells if necessary. I will never question you again. But please, do not cast me aside."
Daenerys regarded him for a long moment. Then she reached down and helped him to his feet.
"Good," she said. "Because I will need you, Ser Jorah. In the days to come, I will need every loyal man and woman I can find."
Joffrey smiled in the shadows and slipped away.
The knight is loyal, he thought. Loyal and blind. He will do what he is told.
It was something useful to know.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
A week later, they were ready to perform the first experiment.
The workshop had been cleared, the table pushed against the wall, and a small brazier set in the center of the room. Khalak knelt before it, his eyes closed, his lips moving in a silent prayer.
Daenerys stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder, her face pale.
Joffrey sat across from them, the vial containing a single drop of dragon's blood in his hand.
"The ritual requires focus," he said. "Do not speak unless it is necessary."
Khalak opened his eyes. "I am ready."
Joffrey rose and approached the old man. He uncorked the vial, and the scent of dragon's blood filled the room...it was pungent, smelling of copper and fire.
"This will hurt," Joffrey said. "The blood will burn as it enters you. But you must not fight it."
Khalak extended his arm, his sleeve rolled up to reveal weathered skin and prominent veins. Joffrey took a small needle, filled it with the dragon's blood, and pressed it into Khalak's arm.
The old man gasped. His back arched. His eyes went wide, and for a moment, Joffrey thought he might scream. But he did not. He clenched his jaw, his muscles corded with effort, and he endured.
"Now the fire," Joffrey said.
Daenerys stepped forward, her hand trembling. She had not wanted to do this part, but Joffrey had insisted it was necessary. She thrust her hand into the brazier, her fingers closing around a burning coal.
The flame did not burn her.
She pulled the coal from the brazier and pressed it against Khalak's chest.
The old man screamed.
The sound was terrible...raw and primal, the cry of a man being unmade.
Smoke rose from his skin, and the smell of burning flesh filled the room.
Daenerys staggered back, her face white, the coal falling from her hand.
Joffrey watched.
The dragon's blood was working. He could see it in the way Khalak's veins pulsed, the way his skin seemed to glow from within. The old man's screams faded to whimpers, then to silence. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped forward.
"Is he—" Daenerys began.
Khalak's chest rose and fell. His skin, where the coal had touched, was already healing...the burn fading, the flesh knitting itself back together.
"He is not dead." Joffrey grinned. "I believe we may have our first success."
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