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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 78: Not Welcomed
The small boat drifted through the black waters of the Ash River, its single sail furled, its oars cutting slowly and silently through the oily surface.
The days...or was it weeks?, had blurred together since they had departed from Asshai's harbor.
Time had lost all meaning in the Shadow Lands. The grey sky was just as grim, the mist just as thick, and the silence just as heavy as before.
But something was different now. Joffrey could feel it in his bones, in the thrum of his magic, in the way the very air seemed to vibrate with tension.
The city that rose ahead was not the same city they had left.
"Something happened while we were away," Joffrey said, more to himself than to the others. He could tell that the other occupants of the boat felt it too. The Hound's hand had tightened on his spear, and the Dothraki exchanged worried glances.
The city felt tense. As if it had been holding its breath since they left, waiting for something to happen.
The whispers of the masked citizens, the furtive glances of the sailors on the docks.
He stood at the prow, his hand resting on the pack that contained the strange black egg, his eyes fixed on the distant towers of Asshai.
The Hound sat at the stern, his massive hands still gripping the tiller, his scarred face set in its usual scowl. His borrowed obsidian spear lay across his knees, and his broken greatsword had been left behind in Stygai, a sacrifice to the silent city.
The Dothraki said nothing, but their eyes were watchful, their hands never far from their arakhs.
They had survived the Corpse City. They had seen the sleeping god. But this new tension in the air made them uneasy in a way that Stygai had not.
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The docks of Asshai were as crowded as ever, but the usual bustle of sailors and merchants was muted. The masked figures who moved among the ships seemed quieter, more furtive.
They glanced at the returning boat, then looked away, as if afraid of being associated with those who had sailed to Stygai and returned.
The Hound stood and stretched, his joints popping audibly. "About time," he grumbled. "I was beginning to think we would die on that boat. I cannot wait to get some meat and wine."
"The city feels different," Joffrey said, stepping onto the black stone quay.
The Hound followed his gaze. In the distance, something was missing...a dark shape that had once dominated the skyline, now reduced to a scar on the horizon.
"Can you see it?" Joffrey asked.
"The Red Temple... it is gone." The Hound's voice was flat, but there was a note of satisfaction beneath it.
"The air smells of ash, mixed with salt." Joffrey breathed deeply, letting the scents fill his lungs. "A large fire must have occurred very recently. Perhaps a week or so ago. I think the temple was burned."
The Hound grunted. "Good riddance." He had never liked the red priests, with their burning eyes and their talk of prophecies.
"We must hurry back. To the Khaleesi," Aggo said, his dark eyes fixed on the distant tower.
Joffrey nodded. "Let us go."
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They began the walk back to the tower, their footsteps echoing on the ancient stone.
The streets of Asshai were as they remembered, but the atmosphere was different. The citizens who passed them did so quickly, their heads down, their masked faces turned away. The merchants who called out their wares did so in hushed voices. And everywhere, crimson-cloaked guards stood watch.
The Hound noticed it too. "They are nervous and scared."
Joffrey glanced around. "Yes, I can see that. But scared of whom?"
The citizens watched from the shadows, their masked faces hard to read, their whispers barely audible. Joffrey caught fragments of conversations as they passed...words that floated through the mist like ghosts.
"...the dragon queen..."
"...the temple is gone..."
"...the sorcerer prince has returned..."
"...she burned them all..."
"...the Lord of Light has chosen..."
He said nothing to those people. He let them whisper. He had his own questions, and they would be answered soon enough.
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The tower looked the same as when they had left it. A simple black spire of fused stone, its surface covered in glowing glyphs. But as they approached, Joffrey noticed the armed men in crimson cloaks standing guard at the entrance. Their armor bore the sigil of the Red Temple, the flaming heart.
The Hound's hand went to his spear, and the Dothraki did the same.
"Wait." Joffrey held them back.
The guards were looking at them, but he could feel no aggression from them, only the normal alertness of those performing their duty.
One of them recognized Joffrey and stepped aside, bowing his head. "Prince Joffrey. The Queen awaits you inside."
"Oh? This is an unexpected development." Joffrey smiled. His mind was already working, piecing together what must have happened in his absence. A quick peek at the minds of the guards confirmed his suspicions.
'Not bad, little girl,' he thought, a hint of pride coloring his internal voice.
He walked inside the tower. The Hound and the Dothraki followed right behind him.
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The first to greet him after he entered the main corridor was Saera. Her golden hair was loose, her blue eyes bright with relief, and she threw herself into his arms without hesitation.
"Prince! I knew I heard you arrive!" She pressed herself against him, and he felt her trembling.
"Well... isn't this nice?" Tyrion's voice came from the stairs. The dwarf descended, a cup of wine in his hand, a snarky smile on his face. "I would hug you, too, nephew, but I can smell your stench from here."
Joffrey looked down at himself. He had not noticed his own body odor, but now that his uncle had mentioned it... It had been an entire month since he had bathed properly.
"Perhaps I should get cleaned up before meeting the princess," Joffrey said. "Can you prepare it for me, Saera?"
She let go of his neck, her cheeks flushing. "Of course. I will warm the water." She hurried off to his chambers.
Joffrey turned to Tyrion. "I could not help but notice the fancy guards outside... and the missing Red Temple. It seems a great deal happened while I was gone."
Tyrion nodded, taking a long drink of his wine. "Indeed. Our dear princess had quite the adventure. She should give you the details herself. I am sure she would prefer it that way."
"That is fine by me. But at least tell me if everyone is alive."
"We are all alive and well."
"Did any of you use it?" Joffrey's eyes flicked to the ring on Tyrion's finger.
Tyrion's fingers traced the black stone. "Fortunately not."
Joffrey nodded. The portkeys remained unused. Whatever had happened, Daenerys had handled it without needing to flee.
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After a quick, refreshing warm bath and a change of clothes, Joffrey went to see the princess.
Daenerys was waiting for him in the main chamber. She stood with her back straight, her chin raised, her silver-gold hair loose around her shoulders.
She wore a crimson cloak over a simple white gown, and the pendant he had given her still hung at her throat. Her dragons were perched on shelves above her, their cries echoing through the chamber, their amber eyes locked onto him as he entered.
Joffrey noticed that she looked different. Stronger. More confident. More regal.
"Joffrey." Her voice was calm, but he could hear the relief beneath it. "You returned."
"Did you doubt it?" he asked.
She almost smiled. "No. But many people did. You were gone a long time."
" Well...it was a long journey. And time moves strangely in Stygai." He stepped past her, into the warmth of the tower. "I believe we have much to discuss."
"We do. I have already called them all."
"Them?" Joffrey raised an eyebrow.
"The Small Council, of course."
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They gathered in the main chamber around the great hearth, where a fire burned with orange flames. The warmth was welcome after the chill of the Shadow Lands.
Tyrion was the first to arrive, settling into a chair beside Joffrey. "You look much better, nephew. And the smell is almost tolerable now."
"Well, you cannot expect the Corpse City to smell of flowers, can you?"
"Did you bring back something other than an unpleasant scent? I assume you would not have returned empty-handed. You never do." Tyrion gave him a knowing look.
Lord Varys emerged from the shadows, his pale face as unreadable as ever. "My prince. It is good to see you alive. The city has been unsettled since you left."
"Yes, I noticed. Everyone seems to be on edge." Joffrey took his seat.
Varys sat at Daenerys's left. Ser Jorah walked in and sat at her right. The last to arrive was the red priestess Lyssara, her long red hair catching the firelight, her pale, almost colorless eyes fixed on Joffrey. She did not seem surprised to see him.
"We are all here," Daenerys announced. She gave Varys a gesture with her hand.
The eunuch understood and began to speak. "As I am sure you have noticed by now, Prince, the Red Temple is no more. The High Priest Malachar is dead, as are most of his loyal followers. The remaining members of the temple have sworn allegiance to Her Grace."
Joffrey turned to face the silver-haired queen. "You have been busy."
Daenerys met his gaze without flinching. "I did what I had to do."
She told him of Malachar's betrayal, of his attempt to control her, of the confrontation in the inner sanctum. She told him of the smoke potion and the accelerant, of the fire that had consumed the High Priest and his followers. She told him of Lyssara's surrender, of the knights and priests who had knelt before her and sworn their loyalty.
"The temple burned because of him," she said. "He left me with no other choice."
Lyssara inclined her head. "The High Priest strayed from the path of the Lord of Light. He sought power for himself, not for the faithful. His death was justice. You must not blame yourself, Your Grace."
Joffrey studied the young priestess. Just as during their previous meeting, he could detect no deception from her. Unlike Malachar, Lyssara did not hunger for power. She hungered for purpose.
"And now you serve Daenerys," Joffrey said.
"I serve the Lord of Light," Lyssara replied. "And the Lord of Light has chosen Daenerys Targaryen as the instrument of his will. I would be a fool to oppose this."
Joffrey accepted this. He had his own reasons for distrusting the Red Temple, but Lyssara seemed different. She had seen something in the flames...something that had terrified her, and she believed that Daenerys was the key to whatever was coming.
"I suppose it is my time to speak," Joffrey said. "I also have my own tale to tell."
He told them of Stygai, the dead city, the silent streets, the temple built at its core.
He described the carvings on the walls, the history of the two primordial beings, the war between fire and ice that had shattered continents and reshaped the world.
He told them of his meeting with the sleeping god, coiled in its nest of black stone, its fires dimming, its power fading.
He did not mention the sphere, the fragment of power bestowed upon him.
That secret was his alone.
He also did not speak of the ice creature stirring in the far north. There was nothing they could do about it, and there was no point in frightening them further. They were already shaken enough as it was.
Lyssara listened in silence, her pale eyes fixed on Joffrey, her body trembling. When he finished, she spoke.
"The fire creature you describe... it could be the Lord of Light himself. A physical manifestation of his power, sleeping in the heart of the world."
Joffrey had considered this. The way the creature had communicated with him, sending images directly into his mind, showed that it possessed incredible mental abilities.
It was plausible that those farther away could only receive messages through flames. The priests and priestesses who had the gift to "see the will of R'hllor" in the flames could be distant relatives of those who had built Stygai, relatives who still had some faint connection to the primordial being.
"It is possible," he said.
Lyssara went pale. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. "Then... from what you have said... the Lord of Light is dying."
Joffrey's voice was cold. "I suppose that in the end, nothing is eternal. Not even gods."
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls. No one spoke for a long time. The weight of Joffrey's words hung over them like a mantle.
Finally, Daenerys broke the silence. "What do we do now?"
Joffrey looked out the window at the grey twilight of Asshai. The city was tense. The shadowbinders were watching, and the fall of the Red Temple had created a vacuum that would not remain empty for long.
"We leave," he said. "We have learned what we came to learn. We have acquired what we came to acquire. There is nothing left for us in Asshai."
He turned to face them. "It is time to go."
Behind him, no one disagreed.
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