"Treason corrupts the soul, and a corrupted soul has no place in my world." — Daenerys Targaryen, looking at Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island at the Red Temple of Pentos.
-----------------
At the Red Temple in Pentos, Daenerys fed Rhaegal and Meleys with a satisfied smile on her face.
The air was filled with the pungent aroma of raw meat and the faint sulfurous stench of dragons.
By now, news of the dragons' rebirth must have reached the ears of the most powerful in Westeros. She imagined the face of Robert Baratheon, sitting on the Iron Throne, jaw clenched and hands clenched on the armrests, receiving the news with disbelief and fury. That image alone was enough to make Daenerys sleep peacefully at night.
With the same smile still on her lips, she picked up a piece of meat and tossed it into the air.
"Dracarys."
Meleys reacted before Rhaegal. A jet of fire erupted from his snout, burning the meat before both dragons lunged at her. Each grabbed one end of the burning chunk and began a fierce fight, snarling and pulling without giving ground.
Daenerys watched silently, analyzing his behavior. However, when he threw another piece of meat to the ground, it was Rhaegal who let go first and rushed to claim the new morsel.
The young woman bowed her head slightly. Not only had Meleys won the first fight, but Rhaegal had preferred to retreat in search of easier prey. For now, Meleys was still superior. But would that remain the case in the future?
Daenerys turned around and heard a knock at the door.
"My lady, I am Kinvara. May I enter?"
"Come in," Daenerys replied, allowing him passage.
It had been almost three months since they had left Magister Illyrio's mansion to take refuge in the Red Temple of Pentos.
Kinvara entered. She placed both hands on her abdomen and bowed slightly in respect. Her eyes burned with the same devotion as ever, perhaps even more so.
"I was wondering when you would wish to depart for Volantis, my lady."
Daenerys turned unhurriedly and poured herself a glass of water from a nearby jug. The coolness of the liquid contrasted with the stifling heat that permeated the temple.
"Never."
Kinvara blinked, confusion clearly reflected on her face.
"But, my lady... you ordered that everything be prepared for our departure."
Daenerys nodded, bringing the glass to her lips before calmly answering.
"We are leaving, yes. But not to Volantis. Our destination is Astapor, Slaver's Bay."
If Kinvara's face was already confused, it was even more so now.
Before she could ask a question, Daenerys spoke calmly, but with the firmness of someone who has already made a decision.
"In order to move freely through Westeros and begin preparing for the Long Night, I must first reclaim King's Landing and the Iron Throne. And for that, I need an army."
She paused briefly, letting the priestess absorb her words before continuing.
"The Unsullied will be my first acquisition."
Kinvara nodded slowly, understanding, though there was still doubt in her gaze.
"You have dragons... is that not enough to take back what belongs to you?"
Daenerys shook her head in slow denial.
"I do not want to rule over rubble and the dead. Dragons are not necessary, though they will be a great means of persuasion."
Kinvara watched her in silence for a moment before asking her next question, a hint of caution in her voice:
"Does Your Majesty know?"
She was referring to Visenya.
Although she was my sister and everyone respected her for that, no one was willing to let her rule. Not Kinvara, not Benerro, not the Red Priests and Priestesses, not even the Hand of Fire. They all served only the Daughter of Light and Fire, the Promised Princess: Daenerys Targaryen.
And to be honest, I had no intention of allowing Visenya to rule either. But that didn't mean I was willing to fight her for the Iron Throne.
I had to be careful with my decisions... although I suspected that Visenya already sensed my intentions.
Our relationship had improved after a sincere conversation. She was no longer as tense as she had been when she informed me of her engagement to the Khal Dothraki, Drogo.
That was why I had not brought up the subject again. I feared that our relationship would be irreparably broken.
"If you mean whether she knows where we are going and why… yes, I have already informed her," I replied in a more serious tone than Kinvara was used to hearing from me.
The priestess seemed to shrink slightly at my response. Then, with a sudden movement, she prostrated herself on the ground.
"I am sorry to have offended you, my lady."
I let out a deep sigh at her apology.
"Forget it," was my reply.
Kinvara looked up and a bright smile appeared on her face, as if my indulgence was an act of infinite kindness.
Suddenly, as if remembering something of utmost importance, her expression changed.
"As for his other orders… As you said, the man known as Ser Jorah Mormont has presented himself at the temple to swear fealty to you, my lady. He claims to be from the North. Former leader of House Mormont and lord of Bear Island."
I nodded indifferently.
"Good. You know where to take him."
Without further ado, I turned and left the room. Rhaegal and Meleys followed close behind.
Viserion, on the other hand, had remained at Visenya's side since the moment he chose her as his rider.
…
On a blood-red throne at the heart of the Red Temple of Pentos sits the most beautiful woman the world has ever known. Her white hair, styled in delicate braids, frames her face.
Daenerys has heard more than once the murmurs of the Red Priestesses who attend to her daily praising her, assuring her that her face was sculpted by R'hllor's own hands.
A golden diadem set with sapphires rests upon her head, gleaming in the dim light of the flames that illuminate the temple. Her black dress, adorned with gold detailing, falls elegantly over her body, while a dark blue robe covers it, giving her the appearance of a queen.
The high priestess Kinvara stood at her side, dressed in her usual crimson robes, her face illuminated by the light of the torches. Before the throne, a dozen Firehand Warriors stood guard, still as statues, awaiting her word.
At the foot of the throne, Rhaegal and Meleys lay huddled together, their bodies stretched out on the marble floor. Their half-closed eyes and slow breathing suggested calm, but only fools would dare to let their guard down before them.
And kneeling before her, head bowed in respect, was a portly middle-aged man: Ser Jorah Mormont.
The sensible choice would have been to order his immediate execution.
But Daenerys did not.
Before her stood not only a spy, but a man who, if she could break him, if she could mold him properly, could become a loyal servant, even a fervent devotee.
For now, Ser Jorah was nothing more than an informant for Varys, Robert Baratheon's Whisperer. If she allowed him to remain free, he would send her reports on his progress in claiming the Iron Throne, and that was something she would never allow.
She had proven it before: she had no mercy for traitors.
If Ser Jorah disappointed her, she would not hesitate to order his execution.
"Princess," Ser Jorah greeted, bowing his head in respect. His voice was firm, but his eyes were wary.
"Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island," he said calmly. "What brings you so far from home?"
"I have come to swear fealty to you, Your Highness, and to serve you until the last of my days."
Daenerys stared at him in silence for a moment before speaking.
"Did House Mormont not swear fealty to the Starks?"
Ser Jorah frowned, surprised by the unexpected turn of the conversation.
"Indeed," he admitted cautiously. "House Mormont is proud to serve House Stark of Winterfell."
"The Starks betrayed my family," she replied, her tone icy. "As the former lord of Bear Island and a vassal of the Starks, tell me… do you truly come to swear fealty to me?"
A deep growl echoed through the room. Rhaegal raised his head and looked at Ser Jorah.
Daenerys ran a hand over the dragon's scales, calming him with a soft, gentle touch.
"You fought during the Rebellion of the Usurper known as Robert Baratheon. You were part of Eddard Stark's army." she continued. "You were at the Battle of the Trident. You saw with your own eyes how Robert Baratheon killed my brother Rhaegar, how he shattered his chest with his warhammer…"
Her voice, though controlled, betrayed her fury.
The Fire Hand warriors brought their spears forward and aimed at Ser Jorah, who remained motionless, his muscles tense.
"But worst of all" Daenerys continued, her tone now dripping with pure disdain," is that you are a dishonorable traitor."
His words sounded like an irrevocable verdict.
"You participated in one of the greatest taboos of the Seven Kingdoms: slavery. And when Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, discovered your crime, he sentenced you to death."
Ser Jorah lowered his gaze, guilt reflected on his face.
"But instead of facing your fate with dignity," he continued, implacable, "you fled with your tail between your legs…"
A deathly silence took over the room.
"Now tell me, Ser Jorah Mormont… why should I accept your loyalty?"
Ser Jorah held his gaze firmly, although his voice was heavy with regret.
"What we love always ends up destroying us…" he said gravely. "I made unforgivable mistakes in the past, blinded by love… although that does not justify them. Now I only wish to repair my honor, to redeem myself." Return home with your head held high.
He bowed slightly, a silent plea.
"Allow me to serve you, Princess Daenerys. Give me a chance and I swear I will not let you down."
Daenerys narrowed her eyes. The man spoke sincerely, but she could not trust him yet. There was something else, something he was still hiding that she wanted him to reveal.
"I cannot trust you, Ser Jorah Mormont," she stated coldly. "Your sincerity is evident, but not enough."
Ser Jorah pressed his lips together, frustrated. He looked up from the ground, unsure.
"I realize that what I am about to say could cost me my life…" he said slowly, a weight in his voice that did not go unnoticed. "I was sent as a spy for Varys, King Robert Baratheon's whispering advisor, to gain information in exchange for a royal pardon." Princess, I...
He didn't finish.
Daenerys calmly raised her hand, her command echoing firmly in the room.
"Take him to a cell."
The Fire Hand reacted immediately. They surrounded him, held him tightly, and dragged him out of sight.
As he was led away, a smile spread across Daenerys' lips, so wide she had to cover it with a hand to hide it from Kinvara.
"Keep him well fed and cared for at all times," she ordered. "Wait a few weeks before sending the Priestesses."
She certainly couldn't trust Ser Jorah. Not until he found true light in the Lord of Flame and Shadow.
The changes she had implemented in the faith would soon take effect, and with them, her number of loyalists would increase exponentially.
The Faith of R'hllor would spread like fire on dry wood. Like the only truth.
When Ser Jorah reached his lowest point, when his world fell apart, when despair enveloped him like a suffocating shadow... then he would see the light.
Then he would understand.
"And give him a Bible," he said finally, turning to Kinvara. "The man needs something to entertain himself with."
Ser Jorah would have no other choice. He would read the Bible she had written herself during her time at the Red Temple in Pentos.
And, little by little, word by word, he would become what he was meant to be... Her faithful servant.