Daenerys sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. Her chin rested on her knees. Her eyes were red, her face damp from silent tears.
The room was quiet.
Two women stood nearby—shinobi. They didn't speak. Didn't move. Just watched her. Their faces were like stone, showing no pity, no curiosity. Their job was clear: don't let the girl try anything.
Outside the door, two male shinobi stood guard, silent and alert. They weren't going to let another "hero" try something like Jorah had.
At least this time, Daenerys wasn't tied. She could move freely, but it didn't feel like freedom.
There was a knock.
One of the female shinobi opened the door, stepping aside for a male shinobi to enter. He leaned close and whispered something. The women listened, then both turned to look at Daenerys.
She lifted her head slightly, wiping her face with her sleeve.
"Get up," one of them said gently. Not harsh, not cruel. Just calm.
She followed without a word.
-------------------------------------
The hallway smelled of salt and wood. Daenerys was led through it and out onto the hull.
As she stepped outside, the sea wind caught her silver hair, tossing it over her shoulders. She raised a hand to keep it out of her eyes—and then stopped.
There were more ships now. Couple of them, spread across the water like dark birds. Each one had a dragon carved into the front. But not this one. The ship she stood on—larger than all the rest—had no such carving.
It didn't need to.
Her eyes drifted toward the center deck. A figure sat waiting.
A man—resting casually on a wooden box, one leg propped up, hands loosely folded. And everyone around him kept their distance.
On his left stood Kai—the man who ordered her taken. His face was tight, like he was holding his breath.
On his right was Tanaka—the one with the cold stare. He looked at her again, but this time... there was something softer in his eyes. Just a little.
The man on the box stood slowly.
Daenerys froze.
One of the shinobi gave her a light push from behind. She stepped forward.
But the man raised a hand, palm open.
The shinobi backed off without a word.
Now she stood alone.
The man looked at her—calm.
He stepped forward once, slow and easy, like he had no need to prove anything.
"I'm Kartiga," he said simply.
He gestured to the two men standing beside him.
"This is Tanaka," he said, motioning to the man on his right.
"And that's Kai," he added, nodding to the other man, whose face tightened when she met his eyes.
Kai didn't bow. He only gave a short glance, like an apology stuck in his throat.
Kartiga looked back at her. There was something unsure in his eyes, even though his voice stayed calm.
"I didn't plan this," he said. "I didn't want it this way."
He paused for a second, searching for the right words.
"I wanted… a proper alliance. Between me and House Targaryen. Something with respect. With choice."
He took a breath, then added, quieter this time, "But your brother…"
He stopped.
Daenerys blinked, unsure.
Then Kartiga gave a faint shrug. "He isn't the one we're looking for."
She tilted her head, confused. "What do you mean?"
There was a softness in her voice. Not fear, not anger—just innocence. She was trying to understand, still hoping there was sense behind all this.
Kartiga smiled—just a little, just at the corner of his mouth.
"He's… delulu," he said.
Daenerys frowned. "Delulu?"
She'd never heard the word. It sounded foreign. Childish, even.
Kartiga chuckled once under his breath. "It means he believes things that aren't real. Dreams too big. Thinks he's already won the game before it's even started."
Daenerys looked away. She didn't want to defend Viserys. Not right now. Not in front of these men.
Kartiga changed the subject. "I heard you were supposed to marry a Dothraki warlord."
Her jaw tightened.
She didn't answer.
But Kartiga noticed. He gave a small nod.
"I believe you weren't interested in that life."
Still, she said nothing.
He didn't press.
Instead, he said something that made her blink again.
"You could join us."
She looked up at him, confused. "Join you?"
"You can't go back," Kartiga said, voice low but clear. "Not to your brother. I won't let that happen."
She looked down. That part… she believed.
Kartiga stepped closer, his words softer now. "As long as you're my guest, I'll protect you. No one here will lay a hand on you."
There was a silence between them, filled only by the sound of waves and the creaking of the ship.
Then Kartiga turned slightly and raised a hand toward the stairs leading up.
"Come," he said. "Let's get some air."
She hesitated. Then followed him.
The wind met them both at the top, brushing against their faces. Her silver hair lifted and danced in the breeze. The sky above was pale and wide. Below, the sea stretched out in every direction, full of ships with dragon-carved prows.
Daenerys stood beside him, arms folded, not quite ready to trust—but not scared anymore either.
She looked up at him. "Where are we going?"
Kartiga kept his eyes on the horizon.
"Braavos," he said.
---------------------------
EXT. RIVERLANDS ROAD – DUSK
The king's progression rode hard and angry down the road, mud splashing as horses galloped. Banners fluttered, dull with dust.
Robert Baratheon led the column, face like thunder, jaw clenched. His crown tilted slightly, sweat glistening on his brow.
They reached the Inn at the Crossroads.
What was left of it.
A blackened husk stood where the inn once welcomed lords and smallfolk. The air still carried the faint bite of smoke. No laughter, no smells of meat or ale. Just charred timber and silence.
Robert reined in his horse, stared, and boiled over.
"Seven hells!" he roared. "Another one?"
He climbed down with a grunt, boots thudding in the dirt.
"This is the king's road! I should be sleeping on feather beds, not dung piles!"
Ned Stark rode up, frowning as he looked at the ruined building. Jaime followed, expression unreadable.
A soldier approached carefully. "Your Grace… they hit this place hard. Locals say bandits, or worse. No sign of the innkeeper."
Robert didn't even look at him.
"I lose an entire lordship—Mootons cut down like pigs in Maidenpool," he snarled. "And now the only decent place to rest is a pile of burnt piss and timber!"
He turned to Ned. "You know what I wanted today, Ned? A wench. A roast. A godsdamned moment without hearing the name 'Targaryen!'"
He looked back at the wreck.
"First the silver-haired girl disappears. Then the bastards torch my land. And now I don't even get a warm bed?"
He kicked a loose stone. "I should've stayed in bloody Winterfell."
EXT. RUINED INN – LATER
Jaime Lannister walked quietly through the blackened ruins. He moved like he'd done this before.
Ash crunched under his boots. He crouched near a half-burned sign—could just make out the faded crossroads symbol.
He stood, looking around. His hand brushed the pommel of his sword.
"Clean work," he muttered. "Too clean."
EXT. STREAM NEAR CAMP – DUSK
Arya Stark crouched beside the water. Nymeria stood watch nearby.
She held a stick in one hand, dragging it through the mud like a sword.
She'd heard the shouting. The king's fury. The guards talking.
"Burned to the ground," she whispered.
No one noticed her slip away.
She looked at Nymeria.
"Guess you're not going anywhere."
The wolf tilted her head.
Arya smiled.
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