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Nothing but an inky, black abyss awaited Daenerys after Jon Snow slid his traitor’s blade into her chest. Had it been days, weeks, months, years? There was no way to tell in this eonic void of nothingness.
Jon had described what lies beyond this very same way.
Dany remembered his strong arms, holding her close as they cuddled underneath warm, fur blankets. The two rocked with the waves bobbing against their ship as it carried them north toward White Harbor. From there, they would have to take the cold, tedious trek inland and northward toward Winterfell. But there, in that creaky, wooden cabin, for the first and last time, Dany truly felt safe.
“There’s nothing,” Jon had said suddenly, his chest vibrating as his voice rasped.
“What do you mean?” Dany lifted her head to meet his eyes.
“When you die… there’s nothing, Dany,” Jon stared beyond her, as if he could see that very abyss right then and there. “No family, no friends, no anything. Just darkness.”
“Thankfully, neither of us will be there for a very long time, Lord Snow,” she smiled, planting kisses on his scarred chest.
Everything changed when they left that boat. Everyone she trusted and cherished either perished or turned against her. Her closest advisors shifted their allegiances seemingly on a whim, practically worshiping Jon, or should she call him Aegon now?
Despite losing everything dear to her, despite her closest confidants turning against her in favor of Snow, she had won. She had taken King’s Landing. The bells of the city had rung; Cersei had surrendered.
That was when everything fell into a blurry haze. If she tried really hard, she could recall scattered bits and pieces. Small glimpses came to her and disappeared as she laid alone in the darkness. The only clear memory she retained after the bells was the feeling of Jon’s arms, and his cold blade sliding into her.
Then she found herself here, trapped in this empty eternity, imprisoned there by the very man who warned her about its existence. Why he had done this, she could not remember. It’s as if something else entirely had inhabited her during those gaps, stealing her autonomy and recollection.
Now, as her eternity in darkness continued on, she could do nothing but try to remember.
Suddenly, she felt a force grab onto her and yank her forward. She screamed, the only response she could muster to the first physical sensation she felt in eons.
She hurdled through the darkness, unable to do anything to decrease the speed and intensity of the pull. Suddenly, she came to a screeching halt, but most definitely not by her doing.
In front of her floated a group of shadowy, cloaked figures. They were familiar to her; she had dreamt of them just before Drogo’s funeral, just before she had birthed her dragons.
“Rise,” the shadow with jade eyes rasped.
“Rise,” the shadow with tourmaline eyes repeated.
“Rise,” the shadow with onyx eyes followed.
“Rise,” the shadows with topaz and opal eyes echoed in unison.
From behind them approached a new shadow, one with glowing, amethyst eyes.
“Rise,” she shouted with much more force than her companions.
Suddenly, another figure emerged from the right side of the amethyst-eyed entity. He flew toward Dany, letting out a crackly laugh, his bloodstone eyes shimmering. The amethyst-eyed figure floated forward, grabbing onto Dany and saving her from the bloodstone-eyed menace.
“Rise Daenerys Targaryen, and remember who you are,” her amethyst-eyed savior wrapped herself entirely around her as she spoke.
Dany emerged from the darkness panting and wheezing. She hadn’t felt the desire for oxygen in gods know how long; she had almost forgotten how to breathe.
As she began to catch her breath and come to her senses, she found herself in a dim room made entirely of black stone. The oily walls were illuminated only by shimmering, green candlelight. She sat on a cold, slippery table, made of seemingly the same stone as the walls. In front of her stood a human-shaped figure, shrouded in darkness.
“The Mother of Dragons has risen,” the figure said.
Dany recognized the voice to be sure, but just couldn’t quite place who it belonged to.
“What… who… I was dead,” she shuddered. “I’m supposed to be dead!”
“Indeed you were, but now you are not,” the figure spoke. “The Lord of Light does not make mistakes when he chooses who to bring back from beyond.”
“Who… who are you?” Dany asked, still struggling to catch her breath.
“I see now the reason our lord has allowed me to exist on this plane for so long,” the figure spoke, ignoring Dany’s question.
Dany gasped and instinctually clawed at her chest, feeling the scar where Jon had stabbed her.
“It was to bring you back into this world, Mother of Dragons,” the figure continued, emerging from the shadows that engulfed their corner of the room.
Illuminated by the green light, a woman garbed in blood-red robes approached her. She wore a lacquered mask, encrusted with a myriad of shimmering gemstones.
“I… I know you,” Dany realized aloud.
“Indeed you do,” the woman nodded.
“You spoke to Jorah and I… back in Qarth,” Dany said, the memory of Jorah paining her.
“Indeed I did,” the woman confirmed.
“Who… who are you though?” Dany asked, realizing she never found out even back then.
“I have lived many lifetimes and gone by many names. But now I am Quaithe of the Shadow,” Quaithe answered.
Having finally gotten a somewhat comprehensible answer, Dany decided to ask another question.
“Where… where am I?” she stuttered.
“A place you should have journeyed to long ago, Mother of Dragons. You currently speak to me from Ashaii by the Shadow,” Quaithe answered.
Confident that Quaithe was finally giving answers instead of cryptic riddles, Dany continued.
“How did I get here?” she asked.
“Your child carried you here in his talons. He first brought you to Volantis, but their great temple could not do for you what I could; you had been dead for too long. You needed older, darker magic.”
“I was dead… but now I’m alive again… just like Jon,” Dany realized aloud. “How?”
“The Lord of Light has willed it. It seems you have not yet fulfilled your purpose in the material plane. The Others still preserve, after all,” Quaithe explained.
Dany recalled Bran, Jon’s little brother, referring to the White Walkers as the Others from time to time during their preparatory meetings in advance of the Battle of Winterfell. Whatever had happened to him beyond the wall, it sure made him wise beyond his years. In a way, he reminded her of Quaithe.
“But we defeated the White Walkers,” Dany explained.
“In the form you knew them, yes,” Quaithe stepped closer. “But their leader lives on, growing stronger by the day.”
Dany was confused. Their leader, the Night King, had shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, along with the rest of his forces. Jon’s little sister Arya saw to that.
“He died, the Night King. I know he did!” Dany yelled.
“He lives on in his former adversary,” Quaithe explained.
“I… I don’t understand,” Dany looked down in defeat.
“Tell me, Mother of Dragons. Do you remember what happened, in the hours before your death?” Quaithe asked.
As hard as Dany tried to recall, she simply could not.
“That is because you were not present,” Quaithe said. “You may have seen this Night King you speak of fall to the blade of the wolf girl, but that was exactly what he wanted you to see.”
Dany started to mentally assemble the puzzle pieces of Quaithe’s cryptic explanations.
“The Great Other has taken control of a new avatar, one far more powerful than the being you call the Night King,” Quaithe shuddered at the recollection, showing genuine fear. “I tried visiting this new avatar, the wolf boy, through the glass candles, but the Great Other’s hold on him was just too powerful.”
Wolf Boy… Dany reflected on Quaithe’s words. Could she mean…
“It’s not Jon! It… it can’t be,” Dany panicked.
“Don’t fret, Mother of Dragons. It is not Snow,” Quaithe assured. “Snow did what he must with the information he had. He played his part in the Lord of Light’s great game.”
“Then… then who?” Dany asked.
“The wolf boy, the Three-Eyed Raven, sits on the throne of your kingdom. But it is not truly he who is present.”
“Bran Stark,” Dany realized. “He took the throne?”
The strange, crippled child who had advised her in advance of the Battle of Winterfell was now King of Westeros.
“This is what the Great Other wants the world to think. That boy is Bran Stark no longer.”
“Oh my god…” realization flooded Dany with crashing ferocity.
“With the power of the Three-Eyed Raven at his disposal, the Great Other was able to use you to his advantage. He took hold of you from the future. He ensured that the Lord of Light’s will would not be reinstated in your land, that the house of the dragon would not rise again.”
Triggered by Quaithe’s explanation, a dormant gate of repression broke open. The vicious hurdle of lost memory illuminated Dany’s mind. She could remember the fear, being forced to hide in the deepest crevice of her own brain while another being took control of her physical form. She could see the destruction, hear her voice shout commands over Drogon, but was powerless to stop it.
Her fear melted into rage as she remembered it all.
“How do I stop him?” she asked.
“I have already told you how, Mother of Dragons. Or was that another you? It is hard to discern any longer,” Quaithe answered.
For the first time, Dany saw the certainty waver in Quaithe’s eyes to make room for confusion. The woman stared down at the floor in contemplation. This aura of uncertainty, however, did not last for long.
She looked up at Dany, their eyes locking.
“To return west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To reach the light, you must pass beneath the shadow.”
The shadow, Dany thought. Asshai by the Shadow.
“But we are already in Asshai, are we not?” Dany asked.
“Asshai is merely by the shadow,” Quaithe said. “The real truth awaits you in the heart of the Shadow Lands, deep within the corpse city.”
Even Quaithe seemed to shudder at its mention. If she was afraid of the prospect of visiting this corpse city, Dany knew she had a perilous journey ahead.
“How do I know I can trust you?” Dany asked.
“Rhaena!” Quaithe shouted with surprising rage. “I’m sorry,” she calmed. “Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, you descend from a great dynasty, the greatest dynasty that ever ruled. They conveyed R’hllor’s will far before the Freehold of Valyria. In the corpse city… Stygai… you will find the truth, their truth. You will learn what really brought an end to the dawn, and how you will bring it back.”
“Well,” Dany hoisted herself up from the cold, slippery table. “When do we depart?”
Daenerys Targaryen’s amethyst eyes glistened with determination.