Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

“Hold down the fort here, Captain. I will continue on alone.”
 
Needless to say, that gets Captain Dyniros’ attention quite fast. More than a few of the men are in ear shot to hear Jon’s words as well, and they all stop to stare as the Braavosi Mercenary sputters.
 
“W-What?! You can’t possibly be serious!”
 
But though Jon offers a half-smile, there’s no denying from the look in his eye and the set of his shoulders that the young, if impossible charismatic man, is deathly serious.
 
“I am, Captain. What lies ahead… requires Valyrian Blood. I can’t promise anyone’s safety… no, more than that, I am almost certain that the path ahead promises death for anyone except for me. Best that I forge ahead alone while everyone else waits for me.”
 
Now, the Captain had been hired by the Iron Bank, but that didn’t mean he was read in on all of their secrets and plans. Furrowing his brow in confusion, Jorio can’t help but respond with something of a disbelieving tone as he gazes upon Jon’s dark black hair and pale Northern features.
 
“You… are Valyrian?”
 
By this point, Jon is well aware that they’ve drawn a crowd with their impromptu conversation. And a few of the Dothraki in particular look ready to start a fight over him going on without them. They’d crossed the Smoking Sea after all, and if they could do that, if they could cross poison water and fight the monsters hidden in its depths, they could damn well handle anything else.
 
But Jon knew better. It was resonating within his very soul, and King Tommen’s letter… it only solidified that feeling he’d been having since they arrived at the water’s edge on the opposite side of the shattered Valyrian Peninsula. With a sigh, he turns away from the Captain and addresses those around him as a whole instead, his voice ringing out and being heard far beyond what should have been possible. The nascent grumbling that had begun rising up amidst the men goes quiet in the face of Jon’s words.
 
“I am Jon Targaryen, Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. To many of you, that will mean nothing, and that’s alright. But what it DOES mean is that this here is my homeland. I would not have come to this place if I were looking for riches. I have riches aplenty thanks to the Dothraki and our Liberation of Slaver’s Bay.”
 
He takes a breath, while everyone watches him, staring at him silently.
 
“I have been drawn here by a feeling I cannot shake. I have come here to find out my history, to discover what became of my ancient people. Valyria stands in ruins around us… and yet, still it stands. The fleet that rests in this harbor belonged to a Westerosi King from over three hundred years ago! And yet, though he brought an army, he could not claim what lay in the ruins of this once great Freehold.”
 
Another pause as Jon collects himself, but still no one speaks. The air itself almost seems to be a scant second away from being on fire. No one even moves a muscle, their attention wholly caught on the young man in their midst. In that moment, Jon shines like… like a living god.
 
“He could not claim what was not his by blood or conquest. Like a scavenging rat attempting to pick at the remains of a devoured corpse, he found it too much for him to handle, and it became his ruin. The Lion King could not claim what could never be his. But now I am here… and I go to claim MY birthright.”
 
As if on cue, one of Jon’s dragons lets out a truly massive roar. The three winged creatures come in for a landing, surrounding him almost. Without hesitation, Jon gets on the largest one’s back, a black monster that will only grow even bigger with time. Once he’s situated between it’s spines, he looks down at Jorio Dyniros and smiles.
 
“As I said, Captain, hold down the fort here. I will return soon.”
 
And then he’s gone, before anyone else can say a word. Not that any of them have anything to say. To stand in the presence of such a man was itself a feat… and for some who collapse to their knees once he’s gone, even that much cannot be said.
 
-x-X-x-
 
The speech was utterly impromptu, Jon would never admit to anyone. Still, he was feeling pretty good about it, as he and his dragons approached Valyria itself. The ruins of a once great city sprawl out before him in the far distance, but the air above it is covered in a thick smog that seems to move amongst the buildings in an almost living way.
 
Not wanting to chance anything, Jon comes down for a landing in front of the first of many gates. Valyria’s first wall has definitely seen better days, and the gate itself has been shattered… but then, Jon had already known that from King Tommen’s letter.
 
The King of the Rock had given him some clues on what to expect, but even with the letter, Jon still finds himself a little… unprepared for what he finds. It is at once the most heartbreaking and most… wondrous view he’s ever seen. Walking through the first gate, he sees skeletons in scraps of Lannister red and gold here and there. He sees older skeletons as well, scooped to the sides. There’s even carts of Valyrian Steel, clearly collected into a shipment and then never taken back to the harbor.
 
There’s no sign of a King though, no sign of Brightroar. Still, not one to be foolish, Jon discards his own sword and takes up a Valyrian Steel sword from among a literal pile of them. He’s prepared for it to feel wrong, to go looking for one that fits properly, but the very first one is perfect. Curious, Jon tries out another anyways… and finds that it’s just as good.
 
Truly, they didn’t make them like they used to. Snorting at his own joke, even as his dragons follow behind him, sniffing at both skeletons and crates alike, Jon sheathes one of the Valyrian Steel swords and then continues making his way further into the city. Valyria, the city rather than the Freehold as a whole, was like… like an onion. It had layers.
 
Needless to say, beyond the initial carts, there’s not much to see for the first several layers. But then, King Tommen and his men had clearly peeled those layers of the city back, ripping through the gates and then looting and ransacking everything that they could.
 
How many months had the Lion King spent on his greedy venture before realizing he had stayed for too long? If he’d stopped at one or two layers, would he have still been able to return home with more Valyrian Steel then anyone else had in the entire world? Or perhaps all of the Valyrian Steel had been deeper in, only after they’d spent themselves to the point of disaster…
 
Certainly, the further that Jon walks into the city with his dragons, the more ornate and ostentatious things get. The outer layers of Valyria could be compared to what he’d seen in Essos’ Free Cities so far, but the further in that he goes, the more obvious it becomes that this was once the center of the world’s power.
 
More and more skeletons in scraps of Lannister colors line the main street as Jon pushes further in. Until finally, he reaches a gate that isn’t broken down. A gate that’s still closed shut. Laying his eyes upon this, the first intact gate he’s seen since entering Valyria, Jon can admit to being impressed. The thing is not only huge… it looks almost unreal. Not… not QUITE Valyrian Steel, Jon doesn’t think. Not even the ancient Valyrians had seen fit to waste their special metal on such extravagance.
 
But magically enhanced? Magically empowered? Jon could easily imagine that. The runes etched into the shining metal of the gate certainly seemed to speak to the idea. And yet… the feeling in Jon’s heart urged him ever onward. Especially now, that draw was stronger and stronger. With a hitch in his breath, Jon steps forward and places a palm in the center of the game… and without hesitation, it opens for him.
 
He’s not… surprised. In fact, one might say he’s quite pleased. It was almost expected in a way, and he hadn’t known what he would do if it had failed. It hadn’t though, and so he moves forward, his dragons still at his side. Jon is very conscious of his surroundings now, as he moves deeper in, the gates in front of him every few thousand feet opening as he approaches now.
 
These parts of Valyria are still untouched since the disaster. The older skeletons that were pushed aside by Lannister men are now strewn about more haphazardly where they all must have died when the Doom of Valyria came for them. Likewise, their clothing is probably magical, if the fact that many of them are still wearing intact, ornate robes is any indication. Enchanted to be able to last hundreds and hundreds of years… impressive, to say the least.
 
Gold and gems and Valyrian Steel become more and more prominent in these untouched, albeit still-ruined parts of the city. And yet, still Jon continues ever onward. Still, he knows he has not reached his goal. Like he’d told his men out on the harbor. He was never here for simple material wealth. This was never about riches or treasure. Jon… Jon was here for something MORE.

 
At the center of Valyria stands a massive structure. A temple? A monument? Jon couldn’t say for sure, only that it’s bigger than even Meereen’s Great Pyramids. Bigger than the Wall? Not only did Jon never actually get to see the Wall and find out for certain, but the top of this structure also disappears into the black clouds that cover the city skyline, so he has no way of knowing one way or another.
 
Regardless, Jon is drawn towards it. So towards it he goes, followed by his three dragons, feeling like… feeling like he’s coming to the end of a very, very long path.
 
And so he steps inside of the structure, and so he makes his way along a massive, mostly intact hallway. And so… he comes to what can only be described as a cross between a throne room and a place of worship. With numerous thrones carved out of stone that all feel a bit too large to sit a man comfortably, Jon gets the distinct impression that these thrones are for the gods… the gods of Valyria.
 
He’s not sure how he knows that, but he does… just as he knows that the man sitting upon one of the thrones in spite of them being a bit too large REALLY shouldn’t be alive at this point. Tommen II Lannister, King of the Rock, raises his head as he rests Brightroar between his knees. His eyes blaze with a golden and silver fire, and his lips curl back into a rictus of a smile.
 
“You have arrived, after so many years. Our heir. Our descendant. The vessel of all our power… finally come home, to return what was so graciously given.”
 
Jon straightens up, recognizing that he’s definitely NOT speaking to King Tommen here. And perhaps it’s rude, but he goes with blunt in his answer, frowning slightly as he looks around the large room, at all of the empty thrones within it.
 
“Who are you?”
 
“A reasonable question, but also a disappointing one. Still, it is to be expected. I am Balerion. The Last of Valyria’s Gods.”
 
“Now, now brother. Lying so quickly to our Last Hope? You are not QUITE the last.”
 
Jon starts at the sibilant hissing that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It’s like it’s being pounded directly into his head. Then, just as he’s wondering where and who it’s coming from, a massive shadowy form detaches itself from the ceiling of the huge chamber he finds himself in, uncurling and unfolding truly titanic wings. The dragon that swoops down and lands in the middle of the chamber is bigger than all three of his dragons combined… by at least half a dozen magnitudes.
 
Turning its head on a long and sinuous neck, it looks to him.
 
“Meraxes. Goddess of the Sky.”
 
Needless to say, ‘Balerion’ looks displeased.
 
“Nothing I have said was a lie. After all, while a God might be a Dragon… a Dragon cannot be a Goddess. You are but a faint shimmer of the sister I once had! A broken reflection I keep around out of a sense of misplaced affection, nothing else!”
 
Spittle flies from King Tommen II’s lips as he rages at the hulking dragon. Said dragon snarls at him in turn, clawing at the floor beneath her.
 
“And what does that make you then, brother? If I am no longer a Goddess for inhabiting this flesh and blood form that YOU trapped me within, how can you still lay claim to being a God while wearing the skin of a weak human?!”
 
… Had he seriously stepped into an ongoing dispute between sibling gods? With a flick of his fingers, Balerion scoffs and Meraxes is sent careening into a nearby wall, leaving the space between Jon and him open once more.
 
“Because I can do that, dear sister. Now be quiet while your betters are chatting.”
 
Jon can’t help but think there might be some truth to Balerion’s claim to godhood over Meraxes’, if only because the latter does not try to rise and attack. If the biggest fucking dragon Jon has ever seen is cowed by this glowing eyed possessed Lannister King, then that means ‘Balerion’ has some serious firepower backing him up.
 
Smiling with Tommen II’s face, Balerion steps down from his throne and off of his dais, walking towards Jon with Brightroar held loosely at his side.
 
“We… nay, I have waited for you for so long, my boy. It was not fair or just, what was done to us and the Freehold. But finally, after all this time, here you are… our vengeance made manifest.”
 
Jon furrows his brow at that, frowning. Vengeance? Either reading his mind or face, Balerion chuckles as he comes to stop a half dozen paces away.
 
“Twas the Seven who did this to us. The Doom of Valyria came from those worthless, two-bit, no-name reprobates. Admittedly, we had grown… too big for our britches. The most powerful Pantheon of Gods and Goddesses that this world had ever seen… and we let it go to our heads. A bunch of upstarts brought us so very, very low.”
 
“And then I came up with a way to take our revenge!”
 
Meraxes’ interjection is not appreciated, if the look on Balerion’s face as he shoots the dragon a glare is any indication. But when he looks back to Jon, he’s all smiles.
 
“Yes… the fragment of my long lost sister is correct. It was indeed Meraxes who conceived of the manner in which she and I empowered you across time itself, all those hundreds of years ago. Have you noticed how much stronger you are then the average mortal man? How much MORE you are? That would be because I infused you with my might, with my strength, with my divinity. You are a product of our vengeance against the Seven. You are the instrument with which we will take our comeuppance after all this time.”
 
Brow furrowing, Jon takes this all in… and finds himself confused about one thing in particular.
 
“I… haven’t even been on Westeros for years now. I haven’t taken any vengeance on ‘the Seven’.”
 
Here, Balerion smiles while wearing Tommen II’s face.
 
“Well, no… but that too was by design. MY design. I assumed that, much like my siblings, I would wither away after the Doom. Especially since I imparted so much of my power unto you as part of my sister’s plan. But then… then this one came along.”
 
He gestures down at himself with his free hand, making it clear that he’s talking about the King of the Rock.
 
“So brash. So arrogant… so ignorant. He wanted it all. All of Valyria’s riches, he desired them. But of course, he was never going to get them. Cut his losses and run home with his tail between his legs? He wouldn’t dream of it! Especially not with me whispering in his ear. And so, when all was said and done and his men spent on material gain, I brought the little King into this chamber and he gave me what I so desperately needed… time.”
 
With Balerion so close to him now, Jon is beginning to see more than just the glowing gold and silver of his eyes. Tommen II’s body… is falling apart. Oh, not too noticeably, but the cracks of molten fire in his skin are growing almost imperceptibly. Jon thinks he understands what the Valyrian God meant by time… and it honestly sickens him, just a little bit.
 
“You did not take your revenge as my sister and I initially intended. You came to Essos instead. You gathered your blood to your chest, you gathered men to your side… and most of all, you came here to me. All as I directed of you, all as I have foreseen. You have finally arrived, my boy… and we can finally join together.”
 
Spreading his arms wide, Balerion grins a wide grin, showing off golden and silver teeth in a mouth that glows hot with his presence. Until now, his lips had been closed… they aren’t anymore, and he looks all the more inhuman for it.
 
Reeling, Jon blinks rapidly at the God’s suggestion.
 
“Join… together?”
 
Letting out an echoing laugh that almost seems to resonate with something inside of Jon, Balerion grins even wider.
 
“But of course! You are a vessel of power, boy! MY power! Once I have taken back my divine might, once I have regained my former glory through you, I will be unstoppable. The Seven have grown lax in their time on top. I have watched from the shadows as they find themselves beset on all sides by upstarts of their own. In their millennia year war against the Old Gods of your North, they have left themselves open to attack from other sources… such as the Red God, R’hllor.”
 
Balerion laughs again.
 
“But none of that matters. Together, as one, we will destroy ALL of them with ease. Essos will be ours; Westeros will be ours. The Pantheons of this world, Gods and Goddesses alike, will TREMBLE before our might!”
 
“Not just your power, brother. Mine as well! Or did you forget that I gave just as much as you to this enterprise! And now you seek to take it all for yourself you greedy-ack!”
 
Balerion raises a hand in Meraxes’ direction and then closes it into a fist, cutting off her sibilant voice with a sneer.
 
“Silence, fragment of mine sister. I keep you around for nostalgia’s sake, not to hear you whing!”
 
And then he turns back to Jon and holds out his other hand towards him, not in an aggressive motion, but in offering. Palm up, fingers outstretched, he offers his hand for Jon to take, a wide smile that might be charismatic if not for how manic it clearly is, stretched across Tommen II’s face.
 
“Come, my boy. Together, let us remind them of the Valyria they have forgotten.”
 
Jon… wasn’t sure what to do. This was what the feeling in his chest wanted, he knew that much… but then, apparently the feeling in his chest, urging him onwards, pushing him forwards… it had been Balerion all along. The Valyrian God and he were connected through the power that Balerion and Meraxes had apparently sent forward in time… centuries ago.
 
Something told him that for all the power Balerion had over Meraxes, the latter was not as much of a fragment as the former liked to pretend. Something also told him it didn’t matter, in the end. He could take Balerion up on his offer… or he could be the White Knight and side with Meraxes.
 
Or he could do what he always did… and forge his own path.

-x-X-x-

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