A Song of Ash and Smoke | a continuation of A Song of Ice and Fire

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚

Danaera stumbled over the uneven cobblestones that made up the path down to the gate of Mareen. When Daario Naharis told her of a mysterious visitor, she'd become instantly intrigued. It had been so long since her life had any sort of adventure. So, she blindly followed him down the path of worn sandstone steps from the Great House of Mareen. Now here they were, standing in a patch of red dirt, sparsely littered with pebbles and weeds. They were not far from the gate at all, but utterly concealed in an abandoned cattle paddock, behind weather-beaten wood stalls.

"Who are we waiting for?" Danaera asked, as she cautiously looked around the area.

"A friend," Daario had replied, a gleam in his eye.

After what felt like an eternity, a hooded figure quietly approached. He was cloaked in all black, with black leather gloves covering his hands. He appeared to be tall and lean. Daario looked pleased with himself as he raised his hand in greeting towards the man. Finally, the man reached them and pulled down his hood, revealing a patchy bald head, copper skin, and a familiar face.

He was not armored as he once was, dressed simply in a beige robe with matching trousers and leather boots the color of raw amber.

"Torgo Nudho," Dany breathed, reaching out to touch his face gently. His hand climbed to meet hers, and he grasped it firmly and held it against his soft cheek as he did.

"My Queen," he murmured sadly. "What have they done to you?"

Danaera could feel the tears stinging her eyes, threatening to spill down her face. "I have nothing, Torgo Nudho. I can offer you nothing."

"It is me who comes to you with something to offer, your grace," the mercenary said, dropping her hand to reach into the pocket of his linen robe. From it, he produced a small scroll and passed it to Danaera. In slanted writing, it read

I move on Winterfell with a regiment of twelve dozen to capture the princess and bring her to her rightful trueborn mother. Expect news within the fortnight.

-        Y.G.

Danaera felt nothing but confusion. The initials... Y.G.

"Why are you in communication with Yara Greyjoy and what does this mean? The princess? Her trueborn mother... to whom does this refer?" She pelted Grey Worm with the questions as her mind raced. Grey Worm, unfaltering, took both her hands and looked into her eyes with his own dark, ever-stoic ones.

Daario's smile seemed to have grown even wider. It only bewildered Danaera even more. Grey Worm breathed in and released the breath slowly, as if he was trying to slow time.

"I don't know how to tell you this, your grace, but you know I never lie. You have a daughter in Westeros."

"What?"

Danaera began to laugh haughtily. She'd never bore any children – one would think she'd remembered if she had. Yet, Grey Worm's eyes begged her to believe him. He was right, he wasn't one for lying. The Unsullied were simply bred that way. Danaera felt a pit begin to gather in her stomach.

"I don't disbelieve you... but I think I'd know if I have a child, Torgo Nudho. I need you to make me understand." She said the words gingerly, tasting the possibility in them.

Daario stepped closer to them and placed a hand on her shoulder, which she took gratefully. He then explained, "I heard rumors of a foreign princess fathered by a Westerosi bastard and the Mother of Dragons, given breath by red magic."

Danaera's eyes jerked to meet his, wide and frightened. Her hand flew to the spot on her dress that concealed the faint scar beneath. Daario continued.

"In my journeys, I made my way to the temple of R'hllor in Volantis. I had to know myself. The servants of the Red God have never been the type to deny – they revel in their accomplishments. When they brought you back, they brought forth the babe that was quickening in your womb and sent her to Westeros for her own safekeeping."