The Bear?

  Jorah let out a quiet breath as he turned the mad plan over in his head for perhaps a third time. If they were caught, he would be lucky to only have a collar placed around his neck by that fleshy cheesemonger, Illyrio.

  Some might call that a reckoning for all his transgressions, and yet for the first time in too many years he knew his course was right. He had seen how Khal Drogo had eyed his bride-to-be when she was carted out before him, and it was not with anything noble. It was with naked lust and ambition.

  As kind and sweet and gentle as the princess was, she deserved so much more than a life as a plaything for one of the savage horselords. He had even overheard her whispering to her brother in a voice as quiet as a mouse how scared she was, her brother who had turned a blind eye, for all Viserys Targaryen saw was the army that Illyrio had conjured up in his mind.

  The squawk of a gull soon interrupted his thoughts. "Is it time?" he whispered.

  It nodded its head, a queer thing even though he knew the truth of it.

  Those south of the Neck believed wargs and skinchangers nothing more than a haunt to tell the children, and the Essosi knew even less, but Jorah had been born and raised on Bear Island. He had seen skinchangers among the wildlings, and now he knew they were not the only ones.

  He couldn't help a shiver at the thought of the sorcerer. Solomon knew his thoughts before he spoke them, knew things no stranger could know, and it was not only his skin he could change. The gull itself was a product of sorcery, for though it looked much like any other gull, it did not move the same even when the sorcerer was not puppeting it.

  Still, this day he would not look upon it unkindly, for this would all be folly otherwise.

  Gripping the hilt of his sword for cold comfort, he moved as the gull took flight high above the manse. It would return after he had retrieved the princess.

  He would have been content to leave Viserys to his fate when the khal returned to find his bride in the wind, but the sorcerer had insisted…

  When he reached the princess's door, he did not dally, slitting one guard's throat and taking the head of another. It was to his good fortune that Illyrio's Unsullied had grown plump and indolent, if not so much so as their master.

  The princess was understandably frightened at his presence and bloody sword, but he could never harm her. Not with her eyes like amethysts and hair like molten silver, a delicate beauty not unlike the wife he once held in his hands.

  "Princess, you must listen to me. You and your brother have been betrayed, for Illyrio conspires with the Blackfyres."

  Her fearful eyes had turned to something almost contemplative at his words. "Then it was a s-sign what I had seen. I have dreamed of late, ser, of a dragon with blackest scales under a blood red sky, the same colors as the Blackfyres took for themselves." She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth a moment. "And yet Ser Barristan Selmy had slain the last of them, my brother had once said."

  "They had been extinguished in the male line, yes, but not the other." Jorah pulled at his ruddy beard with some trepidation at the mention of dreams. "You had also said that you do not wish to be Khal Drogo's bride, that you wish for home."

  Her lip trembled. "Viserys…"

  "We will find your brother next and then we will leave for Dorne. He will see this arrangement for the sham it is."

  He made to seem as earnest as he could, and eventually the princess nodded softly. If she had not agreed, he would have been hard-pressed to do battle with her on his shoulder.

  "I trust you, ser. Please, keep us safe." He had let out a breath when he saw her take the hand of the freckled servant girl that had been tending to her. A slave in truth. "Might she come with us? She had said no one had been as kind to her as I, and that seems a sorrow."

  He had hesitantly nodded when the gull flew into the room through the window, perching itself on his shoulder. It tapped its beak upon the metal thrice and once, a good sign.

  The two girls were gawking at it. "Had you trained it, ser?"

  "Another time, princess," he told her. "We must move."

  He heard their steps at his back as he made for the servants' quarters, where her brother was whispering into the ear of the willowy Lyseni girl that had been tending to him recently, a guard at his back. Though as plump as the other Unsullied, a lifetime of instincts had seen the guard react and turn around in time to find a sword in his heart.

  Another flourish separated his head from his shoulders before he could even whisper, and only then did Jorah allow himself to sigh.

  He had then told Viserys that same story, though his reaction upon the mention of Varys was not denial.

  "I was still a boy but I remember him well, always shadowing my father's steps." A madness quickly took him. "I will split his treacherous body from belly to cheek," he ranted. "And the Blackfyres, I'll not just fling them back across the sea, I will rip out that bastard lineage root and stem!"

  "You can do none of that if Illyrio catches on, Your Grace. I could not defend you from all the Unsullied in the manse."

  He made a petulant face, but by the grace of the gods he seemed to find some sense, returning a jittery nod. The gull had also returned to lead them to a pale door where there was one more man for him to kill.

  This one had seen him coming with only one narrow path to the door, and had almost speared him through the throat before Jorah got in close and hacked him apart.

  He did not waste time after, stepping inside to grasp the chest he knew and nothing else. He soon dropped it in Viserys's hands, who after a peek inside had clutched it to himself as if it was his firstborn son.

  "Dragon's eggs, sister," he whispered when the princess asked. "Dragon's eggs…"

  The gull had in the meantime dropped two cloaks upon the floor with which to hide their Targaryen features and the treasure they were stealing away with.

  With them covered, they quickly made for the garden with its marble statue and cherry trees. The cheesemonger was fond of beautiful things, the better with which to hide his more unflattering sides, perhaps. But that was only an idle thought of his as he led them to the many tangled vines of ivy, where the sorcerer had found another entrance to the manse.

  It led down to the plaza, and the plaza down to the docks. He soon noticed that it was chained, but the gull squawked as if to tell him to get on with it.

  Jorah gave the chains a pull and watched them come undone, some of the links eaten away by a substance he couldn't name.

  Down they went after, a knight and once lord that barely remembered his Andal vows, a beggar king, a princess, and finally a slave. It was a good thing then that they did not catch any more attention in the plaza than any man foreign to Pentos might.

  His breathing had settled as well. Even he was surprised by the ease of their flight.

  The docks awaited them, and it was there he saw the Black Wind. The ship had been aptly named, its sails and deck both black as pitch, the only color being the golden kraken of the Greyjoys.

  They had recognized it as well, and hesitated.

  "The Lady Asha Greyjoy has made common cause with Prince Doran, Your Grace. He could not send Dornish ships for fear of alerting the Usurper to this ruse."

  He could almost hear his aunt spit in disgust at his cavorting with squids, but even then they paled before the words she had actually spoken after his crimes had been revealed.

  Nearing the ship, Jorah saw the sorcerer standing on the deck the same as he had seen him three days past, the setting sun at his back. The yellow of his half cloak could double for a lighthouse if he so wanted.

  "It warms my heart to see you all safe," Solomon said as the gull landed on his shoulder.

  To his left and right were two familiar faces, the Greyjoy all in black and the nobleman from Volantis staring at them all impassionately, a river of silver turned red and orange as it ran down his back and shoulders.

  "Come, Your Grace," the sorcerer continued. "Balerion the Black Dread will be born again with you as his rider, just as you have seen in your dreams."

  Viserys gaped like a fish at the words, but finally he began to awkwardly climb the ropes with one arm, the other still clutching the heavy chest. Jorah helped the princess next, a hint of silver peeking out from under her hood, and the freckled slave girl followed after her.

  After taking one last glance at Pentos he climbed as well, the ship already slowly drifting after having weighed anchor.

  Near the top he took Solomon's hand, only to feel something warm and wet run down his skin. He soon looked down to see a sword stuck in his chest, in so much shock that he could hardly feel it.

  He knew the blade for what it was, for it reminded him of Longclaw. Though instead of leather and a bear's head pommel, its hilt was polished brass and silver…

  "You did a good deed today, ser," he heard as the world started to dim. He turned his eyes upon the sorcerer, his eyes seeming even darker than he remembered. "But you did it for all the wrong reasons."

  Jorah gasped as the sword was removed, leaving a gaping ruin where his heart was. He felt the wind blow in with a fury as his blood escaped him, filling black sails, and he had one last curse for squids and sorcerers as he fell.

  The last he felt and saw was the water smothering him.

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  The Maiden Fair?

  Dany could not help but feel guilty for the fate that had befell Ser Jorah Mormont. If they had just been even a hair quicker, they would have gone before the crossbowmen had found them.

  Now she sat in a cabin full with strangers except her brother and the girl nervously tugging a brush through her hair behind her.

  "You are safe," the smiling man at the front said, his yellow cloak drinking in the light from the candles. "With a good wind as we have now, it shan't be long until we have arrived in Dorne."

  On his right was another man, this one with Valyrian features, a beauty to him she found hard to look away from. He was dressed in reds and purples, and she saw a beautiful sword on his hip that his hand never strayed far from.

  On the bed she believed was Lady Asha Greyjoy, staring at them both almost playfully, like a cat might with a mouse…

  "Though forgive my manners," he continued, his teeth very white. "I should have introduced myself sooner. Solomon the Magnificent at your service."

  It was a mummer's name, she thought, but she also saw the way the other two deferred to him.

  "And you must have already guessed which one of us is—"

  "You knew my dreams," her brother interrupted, his pale lilac eyes narrowed. "How can you know that what I saw will come to pass?"

  Fortunately this Solomon seemed greatly amused instead of insulted.

  "That is an easy one, Your Grace. Because I will make it so."

  Viserys scoffed at him. "You think you will succeed where House Targaryen has not?"

  "Your House is not what it was," the man whispered softly. "You have lived that truth."

  Viserys stared so spitefully that she wondered if she should speak, but Solomon continued before she could find her courage.

  "It need not stay that way. In a year's time a red comet will blaze across the skies, and under that sky I will wake the dragons you hold in your hands from their long slumber. House Targaryen will be dragonlords again in truth."

  Dany stared with quiet wonder, wondering if it could be true. She had seen herself flying in her dreams more times than she could count, only to wake each time a weak and frightened girl again.

  She could also see the naked greed in her brother's eyes as it warred with caution born of broken promises.

  "But you need not take my word for it, Your Grace. Have a look for yourself."

  He retrieved a twin to a Myrish mirror she once had, though if the yellow of his cloak drank in the light, the mirror in his hands did so even more greedily. Viserys took it from him carefully, and soon he was enraptured by it.

  When it finally tumbled from his hands, he looked at the sorcerer with stranger eyes and licked dry lips. "What would you have of me for such service? A lordship? The Usurper's dogs will have land and castles to spare."

  Solomon only seemed further amused. "I need nothing so grand. I only ask you to be a king that is true and kind and just. The Beggar King they call you, but I say it is a strength. You will know the heart of the smallfolk more than anyone, for you have suffered the same indignities they suffer every day."

  Dany could see her brother was caught in his words, and even Laeka behind her had slowed in brushing her hair.

  "I see in you the potential to be a king as mighty as the Conqueror and as wise as Jaehaerys, but for all I can give you dragons, that is a path you must walk yourself."

  "I will do it," her brother finally whispered, his gaunt features set. "They will speak my name in reverence even a thousand years from now."

  Solomon inclined his head. "Then your first test as a king will come soon. You must make the Dornish love you, Your Grace. Be kind to Prince Doran and to his people. Yet you must also be subtle enough that the Usurper is not alerted before you are ready."

  Dany saw Lady Greyjoy picking under her painted black nails with a long and thin knife now.

  Solomon raised a hand when her brother made to return the mirror. "Keep it for a time, for it can show you so much more. You might gaze upon your mother as you knew her and even allow Princess Daenerys to do the same."

  Her heart skipped a beat at the words. Her mother that had died to bring her into the world? Dany had always wondered what she looked like, and she scarcely even remembered all the stories Viserys had once told her.

  "You need only feed it a few drops of your blood."

  She saw the expression of the man to his right change for the first time since she had seen him, something like longing in his eyes as he looked upon the mirror.

  Her brother caught her eyes then, and she saw something of the Viserys she remembered, returning a nervous smile back. Dany only hoped it was not a mirage and that he would soon return to the Viserys that frightened her as he always had.

  "Though beyond the Usurper, there is still the issue of the Blackfyres," Solomon said, catching her brother's attention again. "I don't imagine that Ser Jorah spoke on the matter at length?"

  "He had not," Viserys said curtly, something cool returning to his voice. "Though if that bedamned eunuch and Illyrio were working hand in hand as he said, then will he not whisper into the Usurper's ear as soon as he hears that we have escaped his trap?"

  Solomon smiled darkly. "You have no need to fear of that, Your Grace. By the turn of the moon you will find King's Landing scoured quite clean of spiders."

  The smile her brother returned seemed more bloodthirsty to her, but then he also seemed contemplative. "The Blackfyre they rally behind… who is he?"

  "He is Illyrio's own son with a woman of the Blackfyre line," the sorcerer answered, conjuring up for her a cruel boy grasping for what little they still had. "They knew Westeros has had its fill of Blackfyres, and so they conjured up for him a name that should have ruled the Seven Kingdoms after your brother Rhaegar. His son, Aegon Targaryen."

  "My nephew is dead," Viserys whispered hoarsely.

  "You have the truth of it. But Varys would have whispered to all who cared to hear that it was not Prince Aegon that had died that day, but a tanner's son, sold to him for a jug of Arbor gold."

  Her brother's hand trembled slightly. "They would use my brutalized nephew's name like a puppet to play with?"

  Dany wanted to touch a hand to his arm in comfort, but she was nervous that he would turn his anger on her instead.

  "The boy himself is ignorant," Solomon continued. "He truly believes himself to be Aegon Targaryen. I imagine they would have revealed it to him when he sat upon the Iron Throne, the dream of every Blackfyre since the first had drawn the sword and set the realm aflame."

  "Not as long as I still breathe," her brother hissed. She could see his poor mood already beginning to curdle in on itself.

  "Peace, Your Grace. There is nothing they would want more than for you to throw yourself back into their power." Dany saw a gentle smile grace the man's—or perhaps sorcerer's—lips. "Approach the matter with patience and wisdom, and I think you will find them much more confused on how to proceed."

  Viserys let out a slow breath."You are right," he said to her surprise.

  Lady Greyjoy had stood, her sharp nails caressing Solomon's jaw as she loomed over him, the black color of them contrasting with his paler skin. "It is not only the Dornish you have to win," she said to Viserys. "We Greyjoys had sworn fealty to Aegon the Conqueror once upon a time, it is true, but if you wish the same from me and the thousand ships the Iron Islands count as theirs, you will need more than old names buried and forgotten."

  Her brother hesitated, all this maybe as unfamiliar to him as her, but he soon nodded. "You will always find a willing ear in me, my lady."

  She grinned back, and soon she had pulled Solomon from the cabin. The man with Valyrian features remained a moment.

  "I have the pleasure of being Maegon Laessaryon," he said to them in High Valyrian. "Of the Old Blood of Volantis. You will find me watching closely as well."

  He swept away also after one final glance at the mirror, leaving a thoughtful quiet.

  Laeka had returned to brushing her hair when Dany saw her brother raise the mirror in his hands again. She gasped softly when he put his thumb under the sharper of his teeth and bit down, releasing a few drops of blood upon its surface.

  All three of them watched with some wonder as it drank them all.

  She watched as the lines of her brother's gaunt face seemed to soften, and soon he even had something of a smile on his lips, her curiosity growing in leaps and bounds at what he saw in it.

  "Viserys… Viserys, could I see?" she whispered.

  The smile fell from his lips, but he didn't turn to anger as he faced her, his eyes wet with tears.

  Dany took the mirror gingerly when he offered it, finding it heavier than she expected. "Look, sister. Our mother was as strong as the tide and as radiant as a new moon."

  And look she did, the world falling away as she stared into glass blacker than anything she had ever seen. A woman soon replaced it, with silver hair that fell to her shoulders and soft violet eyes a mirror to her own. She laid two kisses upon her cheeks, whispering to her everything would be fine. That she would be safe.

  She felt salty tears spill down her own cheeks, but soon she saw something else. It was the world from atop a dragon with scales like milk and honey, the wind catching in her hair.

  Dany could not truly say which sight was more beautiful, only that she never wanted it to end…