Game of Dragonborn.

[Chapter Size: 2100 Words.]

Third Person POV.

Winterfell.

...

...

The white wings of the dragon stretched over the water as it soared above the sea, heading in the direction Jon had instructed.

They had already left the last traces of land behind, and now all Jon could see below the dragon was the endless expanse of ocean. The creature kept a good altitude, ensuring no ship would be able to claim it had seen a white dragon flying over the sea.

The dragon's movements had returned to their former grace, as they were before its freezing, and it was well-prepared to make the journey the Dragonborn demanded. It glided through the sunny day, though it clearly didn't enjoy the heat.

Jon sat on its back, savoring the sea breeze. Finally, he had left the North behind and entered a climate vastly different from the frozen lands he was used to. Although Winterfell was much warmer than the lands beyond the Wall, Jon still appreciated the change. For someone who had spent much of his life in colder climates, even Skyrim's similar weather, this was a welcome difference.

"I can feel your discomfort, girl... I understand, but you'll get used to it," Jon remarked, patting the ice dragon. It was somewhat uncomfortable to ride on its back without a saddle, but nothing Jon couldn't endure. At least Ghost, nestled against his chest, seemed the most comfortable of the three. The wolf's fur rippled in the wind as it half-closed its eyes, relaxed during their journey.

They traveled for hours until, eight hours later, they finally arrived at their destination. Jon guided the white dragon to land in a desert near a small city.

From the dragon's back, Jon spotted a group of people traveling through the desert. It seemed wise to approach them for information, as he had no idea where he was or the name of the nearby city, which didn't appear to be very large.

The group was a merchant caravan, returning from their journey when an enormous creature descended from the sky. Before they could fully react, the ground shook with the impact of the dragon's landing.

The horses were the first to react, panicking and throwing several men from their saddles. Skilled riders managed to control their mounts, but even they looked on in terror at the massive creature.

"I'd better approach them myself," Jon thought. Making the dragon move closer would likely cause them to flee in terror. So, he dismounted, still carrying Ghost, and walked toward the group.

Everyone stared at him in fear, even those inside the wagons, who peered out cautiously at the dragon behind him.

Jon stopped a safe distance away and raised his voice. "Does anyone here speak the common tongue?"

A young man hesitantly stepped forward. Jon quickly noticed he was a slave.

"I-I... My master wants to know if you intend to kill us..." the young man stammered, his voice trembling with fear. Even though the dragon remained at a distance, its presence was overwhelming.

"No," Jon replied, understanding their fear. Many people in Skyrim had reacted similarly to the return of dragons—though there, the dragons truly did aim to kill without bothering to talk first.

Jon continued, still looking at the frightened boy. "I need information. After that, I'll leave. I want to know where I am, and I need to get to Pentos."

The boy swallowed hard and pointed to a map he carried. His hands trembled as he opened it and showed Jon the region.

"We're here, sir... a few days from Pentos," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jon examined the map and nodded. "A few days for you, maybe—not for me."

With that, Jon turned away, leaving the group behind to gape as he returned to the dragon. The beast launched into the air, stirring up the desert sand as it ascended, heading south and leaving the caravan in stunned silence.

An hour later, Jon began to recognize the shape of the coastline on the map. Finally, Pentos came into view—a sprawling city with numerous ships docked in its port. Beyond the city walls, a large encampment of tents stretched across the land, capable of housing tens of thousands of people.

As the dragon descended toward Pentos, Jon took in the sight of the bustling city and the sea of tents surrounding it, preparing himself for whatever awaited him there.

"There must be more than 100,000 people there… So, these are the Dothraki of this Khal Drogo I heard about in the letter?" Jon asked as he began to leave the area, choosing a better place to land. One thing was for a group of people to see his dragon; another was for an entire city to witness it. That wasn't information he wanted spreading too quickly.

He hid behind a mountain a few kilometers away before descending.

"This is for you. You don't need to leave this place," Jon said, beginning to unload several carcasses of large animals he had acquired, tossing them in front of the dragon. It would allow her to feed without needing to hunt, just in case Jon found himself needing her, especially with an entire Khalasar as potential enemies.

Leaving her behind, he started walking toward the city. The day was ending, and he found himself trekking through the desert for the next two hours, Ghost resting in his arms. The fall of night gave him some measure of discretion.

The city walls were quite tall, about 20 meters, and Jon noticed that the gates were closed, likely due to the Dothraki encampment outside. Fear of the Khalasar stirring trouble within the city had likely led to the merchants staying away as well.

With no other choice, Jon began scaling the wall. It was far easier than scaling the Wall of the North. Slipping past the guards unnoticed, he made his way into the city.

Meanwhile, a sixteen-year-old girl with platinum hair sat alone in her room, wearing a silk dress that revealed intimate parts of her body. Her gaze was fixed on the dark sky, and she felt a pang of hunger. However, due to her brother's orders, she couldn't eat that night.

Her wedding was the next day, and he insisted that she highlight her beauty without any fullness in her stomach. She was expected to endure this state until the marriage ritual took place. This was one reason she couldn't sleep, though it was the least of her concerns.

She couldn't say she was calm about it. In truth, she was terrified. She wanted none of it—didn't expect her life to be reduced to marrying a Dothraki and spending the rest of her days traveling through the desert. All of it was so her brother could finally acquire the army he believed was their birthright to reclaim what he claimed belonged to their family.

Even though she detested the idea, she had no choice. She wasn't allowed to voice her desires. All she wanted was to go home—a home she had never truly known. Despite that, her brother always said, "They are waiting for our return."

It was confusing. She didn't fully understand. At least she hoped that, in the end, her brother's plans would work, and she could finally regain what was stolen from their family, even if it meant being married to a Dothraki.

Perhaps because she was so lost in thought, she didn't notice the door behind her opening silently. Someone stepped into the room, closing the door without making a sound. It was none other than Jon, who had entered the city about two hours earlier.

He had effortlessly infiltrated Illyrio's mansion after gathering information and discovering that the Targaryens were there.

"At least I didn't arrive too late," Jon's voice echoed, startling Daenerys. Her eyes widened as she quickly turned around.

She saw a stranger standing there, and her heart raced. Frozen in fear, she took a few steps back, pressing herself against the window.

"Who are you?" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with fright. Her mind filled with dread. A stranger in her room? He could be an assassin sent by the king or even a man who had come to harm her before the wedding. She knew people like that existed.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Daenerys Targaryen. I'm here to talk," Jon said calmly, but Daenerys still looked terrified.

"You didn't answer who you are!" she retorted, trying to keep her voice steady, though it was shaking.

Jon exhaled deeply, placing the silent wolf he carried in his arms onto Daenerys' bed. She watched, confused by his actions but far more concerned about the stranger than the animal.

As Ghost sat on the bed with a curious gaze, Jon turned his attention back to her.

"My name is Daemon Targaryen. I am your blood nephew, the son of your brother Rhaegar," Jon revealed.

Daenerys' eyes widened even further. She stared at him, frozen, trying to discern whether his words were truth or deception.

"I know it's hard to understand…" Jon continued, noticing her silence and clear disbelief. "But I came here as soon as I learned about your situation. I saw your brother before coming here, and, to be honest, I didn't like what I saw. I think what you two are doing is madness. And from what I can see, you're not even remotely willing to go through with this marriage," he added, his tone calm as he studied the frightened girl.

"I... I…" Daenerys tried to speak, but her voice faltered. She couldn't finish her sentence.

Hearing that, Jon realized he couldn't simply decide to leave with her. Moving to the center of the room, he did something that made Daenerys' eyes widen yet again.

He began conjuring a small table and two chairs. It was another item he had taken from Winterfell, and with a touch of dimensional magic, he placed preserved fruits—grapes, apples, and others from Winterfell's kitchens—on the table.

Afterward, he turned his gaze back to Daenerys, who was utterly stunned by everything she was witnessing.

"I know I'm asking a lot of you, but sit down and eat something. I know you're hungry. I know you're scared. This is what you might call magic," Jon said.

Daenerys remained frozen, her fear palpable, but she eventually obeyed, more out of fear than desire. She had no idea what this stranger, who claimed to be her relative, might do to her. Nervous, she walked to the chair and sat down, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor.

Jon, on the other hand, had expected to meet someone entirely different, given her status as a Targaryen princess. He had anticipated encountering an arrogant young woman, but instead, she seemed withdrawn—a trait that perhaps shouldn't have surprised him, considering what he had seen of her brother before coming here.

Viserys was a complete fool, drinking with a slave while boasting about his "accomplishments" and describing how he would conquer Westeros and force everyone to kneel at his feet. A total imbecile.

Jon was beginning to understand the root of the problem. He had encountered many people like Viserys, and none had met a favorable end. It was only a matter of time before Viserys faced his demise, given the level of power and loyalty he currently commanded. It was a delusion to think the Dothraki would remain loyal to him simply because of a marriage.

Despite that, Jon wasn't here to deal with the brother—not anymore. He was here for Daenerys. After all, he had plans to restore their family, though he had no intention of claiming the Iron Throne himself. But someone from their lineage should.

"Can you tell me about yourself, Aunt? I'd like to hear your story. I won't do anything to you, and I'm only here to listen. I'd also like you to eat something. You're weak," Jon said, his gaze soft as he addressed her.

"Why?" Daenerys asked suddenly, lifting her gaze to meet his. "Why are you doing this?"

It was hard for her to understand. Even though Jon claimed to be her relative, to someone as confused as she was in her current situation, his sudden actions felt utterly strange. She simply couldn't comprehend his motives.

"I'm here to help you, Daenerys Targaryen. To take you away from here and bring you home. That's why I intend to stop this marriage," Jon replied, leaving his words to linger in the air.

Daenerys stared at him in surprise, unsure of how to respond.

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