New students start from 'Game of Thrones'

Chapter 82 The Dragons March North

In the castle of Dragonstone, Daenerys stood alone in her bedchamber at the top of the tower. Through the window, her gaze fixed on Owen, Jon, and Davos—now talking with Tyrion on the beach below. More precisely, her eyes were on Jon Targaryen.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Enter," Daenerys said, not turning around.

The door opened, and Missandei stepped in.

"Your Grace, you seem troubled," Missandei said, moving to stand behind Daenerys. She looked at the queen who had led them across Essos, over the Narrow Sea, and onto Dragonstone—who was whispered to be invincible, almost divine. Yet now, this same queen was undone by the arrival of a single man. Missandei had never seen her like this.

Daenerys sighed softly. "Missandei, should I believe them? Three strangers walk in, telling me there's another Targaryen alive—and that he's one of them. I don't know what to think."

Missandei turned Daenerys gently, then held out a scrap of paper covered in notes. "Varys, our Master of Whispers, sent this just now."

Daenerys did not take it, but gestured for her to continue.

"He confirms the story of Lord Stark's sister and Prince Rhaegar," Missandei said. "And he speaks of Ser Davos—loyal to Stannis Baratheon, a man of honor, one who never lies."

"So our Master of Whispers thinks they're telling the truth?" Daenerys said, her tone sharp with disbelief—but there was a flicker of acceptance in her eyes, as if she was already convincing herself. "That Jon—Eddard Stark's supposed bastard—is a Targaryen?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I believe that is what Varys means." Missandei nodded. "He also made a point of mentioning Ser Owen Reed."

"Oh? Our tall, intriguing knight?" Daenerys said, a hint of interest in her voice. She had never met a man who fascinated her so—even her late husband, the Khal, had not stirred this feeling. "What news has our spymaster brought about him? News worth singling out?"

"Your Grace, I think you must hear this seriously," Missandei said, her expression somber. "I scarcely know how to put it—what's written here... it's shocking."

Daenerys set aside her amusement, fixing her loyal companion with a steady gaze.

"Ser Owen has two titles, both well-earned," Missandei began. "The Sword of the North—a name all Westeros gives him, in recognition of his skill with a blade. And the Half-God—a title the Northern lords use to honor him."

Daenerys's face hardened. A man did not earn names like that by chance. To be called a swordmaster and a half-god—he must be unimaginably powerful.

Under Daenerys's stare, Missandei went on: "His first famous victory was at the Trident, against Lannister forces. He killed over a hundred of their men alone, in the woods. Then, at the Red Keep—he fought his way out of King's Landing with Eddard Stark, against the Gold Cloaks and the Red Priests' guards. Alone, for the most part."

"How does he compare to Ser Barristan?" Daenerys asked, thinking of her own legendary knight—the Sword of the Morning. "Or any of the great warriors I know?"

"They cannot be compared," Missandei said. "Varys wrote that Ser Owen once stood against the entire Kingsguard... and none dared draw their swords." She paused, then added, "Most importantly—word from the North says he wields fire magic. Since the White Walkers appeared, he has killed several of them with his own hands."

Daenerys listened in silence, her face growing grave. When Missandei finished, she was quiet for a long time.

"Missandei," she said finally, "do you think they have another reason for coming here? Any man facing the White Walkers would keep a warrior like Owen on the front lines—not send him as an envoy."

Missandei understood her concern at once. "Shall we refuse their request, Your Grace? Send them away?"

"I cannot," Daenerys said, shaking her head. She turned back to the window, to Jon's figure on the beach. "There is something about him— a pull. And he is Targaryen. It feels like fate is weaving our paths together."

Missandei frowned. "But he could threaten your rule, Your Grace. He has a claim to the Iron Throne, too."

Daenerys turned, her eyes steady. "I know. But my heart tells me he is not an enemy. When I look at him... I feel something strange. A kind of kinship."

Just then, a commotion broke out outside. Drogon had circled overhead and landed on the beach. Jon and the others stared at the dragon, their faces filled with awe—but not Owen's. His expression remained calm.

Daenerys smiled faintly. "My child is always so restless. Missandei, prepare me. I will go down to see him. It is time I spoke to Jon—about the White Walkers in the North... and about the strange bond between us."

She straightened her robes and walked toward the door.

In the Great Hall of Dragonstone, Daenerys received Owen, Jon, and Davos once more. Tyrion stood beside her, as before.

"I have received word," Daenerys said, sitting on her stone throne. Her eyes fixed on Jon Snow—Jon Targaryen, now. "I will not deny the truth of your story."

"Varys's skills haven't faded, I see," Owen said, his tone dry. "Even without his... 'birds,' his little spies are still everywhere. Though I must say, Your Grace—for someone with so many grand titles, you seem rather fixated on such trivialities."

"Owen, ease your tongue," Tyrion said sharply. As Hand of the Queen, he had to defend Daenerys's dignity.

Daenerys ignored the exchange, her gaze never leaving Owen. "Ser Owen, I have confirmed your words. As the rightful ruler of Westeros, I will send my army north—to fight the White Walkers." She paused, then added, "I will bring my three children with me. But there is a condition: once the White Walkers are defeated, I demand fealty. From House Stark, House Baratheon, House Tully—from all of you."

She knew well who held the real power here. Jon was a token of the North's goodwill; Davos was a captain, nothing more. Owen was the one who mattered. So she stared at him, waiting for his answer.

"I cannot agree to that," Owen said plainly. "I do not speak for those houses. But I will carry your demand to them."

He was not afraid of angering her. Jon's very existence meant Daenerys would not lash out—not now.

"I appreciate your honesty, Ser Owen," Daenerys said. "As a show of good faith, I will send my army north at once—to help the living. And when those houses see the power of my dragons, I am certain they will make the wise choice."

She smiled confidently, her faith in her dragons unshakable. No one, she thought, could stand against dragonfire and still dare to resist.