A/N: A fix it going forward from the finale, spoilers for the final season if you haven't seen it. The prophecy is based off of what was given in the show and some details I found on a Wiki about the books as well.

Chapter One

In grief the dragon burned the Iron Throne, reducing the emblem of Westeros, of Targaryen conquest to molten metal poured over marble, cooling as quickly as his mother's body. The woman who had cradled him in her arms when he was young and raised him as a mother would a child, Drogon cradled her carefully in his claws; taking her far from this cold and miserable place.

He soared East, warming her in the smoke of their homelands, feeling the magic that remained within her lifeless body; it called to him from beyond the grave. Just as she had called to the stone that had once encased him, finding the magic to give three eggs life; and now he was all that was left of them. But she had returned dragons to this world, the world would know her power and magic; for it was never to be without dragons again.

A dragon could always sense magic, and he followed a sweet song to the Red City, carefully laying the body of his mother on the stone, his roar shaking the foundations of the temple, demanding the magic of this place return her life. For he had returned to the world for a purpose, and dragons were not made to grieve; nor to be alone.

…

There was only blackness, and it pressed tightly and endlessly around her. The world was gone, her senses were gone and so was the pain, it seemed as if time had stopped. Daenerys wanted to cry and scream or see the world again; to see her son once more.

She had no sense of time, or place, what had happened; but one memory was clear, and it was her last. Until she heard the faintest whisper of a voice, it surrounded her like a warm blanket, twining around her as smoke filled the air. The acrid haze burned her nostrils and as Daenerys choked on it and panic flooded her system.

Her eyes flew open, a woman stood above her, hands holding her down as she chanted. Fear raced through her and Daenerys struggled, but the woman was stronger than she looked; she could not break free and moments flashed before her eyes.

Jon's face as he looked at her, the pain in his face did not match what exploded in her chest, Tyrion's betrayal; and Varys. The table she lay on trembled and her head whipped around, a lump forming in her throat as she stared into smoldering dark eyes; Drogon watched menacingly and that made her feel safer. Daenerys struggled again, this time gaining enough purchase sit up.

She didn't know where she was, nor the woman who was chanting; but she recognized the choker around her neck and the red robe. Drogon crouched with his wings tucked in under himself to watch what the woman was doing, her hands still wrapped tightly around Daenerys' shoulders. The smoke swirled higher and shadows danced within it, faces she knew; friends she had lost. In desperation she reached out for them.

"No!" The woman broke the incantation, one arm wrapping around her. "Be still."

"Where am I? Who are you?" Daenerys demanded, the woman's touch was warm, and her skin still felt cold.

"I am Kinvara, high priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. You have questions, I know you must." The woman murmured; a hand still wrapped around her arm. "But you are alive, and your life force calls with the power of your blood; the promise of your birth."

And before she could protest the woman began to chant again, Daenerys looked down, her fingers running over the mark where the knife slid between her ribs; she knew the woman spoke the truth. And she remembered being told of the Red Priestesses supporting her advisors during the unrest in Mereen. But it did not make sense.

Suddenly a familiar voice made ice run through her veins; a voice she was never meant to hear again. "Khaleesi?"

"Ser Jorah?" She spun, trying to jerk free of the woman who held her, still chanting; Jorah strode from the smoke. He was dressed as he had been the day she said goodbye, when she reached out with her free hand he wrapped it in his and it felt as though a spark raced up her arm; his skin was warm.

"Khaleesi?" He murmured again; the question still in his voice; she only nodded feeling tears well in her eyes.

The woman's chant rose, and the smoke swirled higher, but as she looked around the shadows did not dance now; no, the figures within the smoke became clearer and she knew them all. Next came Missandei, the scar on her throat thick and broad but her friend's eyes were full of tears and Daenerys shifted; hugging her tightly as her own tears fell.

As if becoming a quiet observer Jorah stepped to the side, and she felt his hands run over her shoulders, he tucked the thick fur of his cloak around her as warriors began to pour from the smoke. Dothraki and Unsullied, many whose names she did not know, men who had died defending Mereen years ago and others who had lost their lives the North; fighting a war far from their homes.

Another familiar face shouldered his way through the crowds of men, now pressing together in the rear of the chamber; trying to stay clear of her dragon who still crouched before the alter she sat upon. Daenerys smiled as Sir Barristan Selmy approached and when she offered her hand, he dipped his head.

"How is this possible?" The man breathed in awe.

"She is the one that was promised, she will rebuild this world with blood, and dragon fire; generations have waited for her believing they sought a man. Daenerys Stormborn is the promised one; and all who died for her cause rise with her." The priestess spoke, finally releasing her arm; and the smoke faded.

Suddenly there was a great screech and a shadow darkened the window, Drogon jerked up so fast he hardly stopped before he brought the building down upon them. Shuffling his great mass backwards awkwardly until he was able to take flight himself with a screech of his own that was answered again; three silhouettes soared over the sea and hope lurched in her heart.

This was real, Missandei's hand remained clasped in hers and Jorah stood less than a pace behind her; he did not disappear when she reached out to touch him. She had seen both of them die, seen their bodies and been able to do nothing; now she could.

"All of you have given your lives for me once already and I have no right to ask any of you to risk them again. I know what you lost." Daenerys rose to stand, the sturdy stone table giving her some vantage as she looked out over the crowded room; there were more beyond the chamber too. She let the cloak slip a little as she ran her fingers over her own scar; thinking of that moment again.

As she stopped speaking, she swallowed hard, her eyes sweeping the room, as she turned to her right, she found that Jorah had already knelt, and each man followed suit until only the Red Priestess stood in the room. Emotion rolled through her, perhaps it would have been simpler had they walked away; each to live their own lives; but certainly this meant there was something more. It meant her dream lived on, despite what had happened; despite what she had done.

"You are free to go, go and live if that is what you want. But if you wish to stay then you will fight with me; you will fight for change. For a world where slavers' ships do not prey upon the Southern Isles, where the Horde fights for a purpose. I fight to right the wrongs of this world and my own, but if my cause was lost, I would not be here; none of us would be."

The Red Priestess continued to murmur about the promised one and R'hllor answering the prayer of generations. She had heard of this prophecy before, another Red Woman had come to Dragonstone speaking of this prophecy; but that woman had no proof; and had declared others to be the promised one before.

That she stood here, aware and whole was proof, that she stood surrounded by those she had lost was proof over again for men and women who stood whole had not been bodies to resurrect. Jorah had been burned on the pyre in the North, Ser Barristan buried hundreds of miles away in Mereen and she did not know what had become of Missandei's body. Yet they stood here with her, flesh made warm and whole again; just as hers had been. And beyond the window three dragons soared together once more.

When Jorah helped her down from the table Daenerys roamed forward, scanning the faces as she passed, she stopped no one from reaching out to touch her and those that cowered she reached out to herself; she could owe no man more than these. These were the men who had honored their oaths unto death, they had served her and died for her; suddenly she stopped in her tracks.

Men had stood again, jostling to touch her, but as she stood still, they sensed to give her peace; Daenerys watched as a young Dothraki man, his braid only past his shoulders embraced a woman. She knew both well, or she had; but years had passed since she'd seen them. Irri and Rakharo held each other tightly until they realized she had approached; Daenerys could only smile a little. She remembered how her friend had feared for the blood rider's final rest, and she would never forget the young man's loyalty or bravery. What magic was this that it could draw back any man from the grave?

Thousands of men stood in the temple, and the yard beyond it; Daenerys roamed as the Red Priestess took to the street; declaring the prophecy to those who watched uneasily from their windows and doorways. Men shifted, looking at each other and their scars as they tried to process what had happened and how they ended up here.

The priestess took charge, the people of the community brought out blankets for men to make into bedrolls; she was shown to a room in the back. Kinvara also produced her clothes, removed for the ceremony and still stained with blood; Irri took it before Missandei could. Daenerys took her friend's hand, and caught Missandei's, stopping them both for a moment; she was thankful that they were here.

In the early hours of the morning she finally settled to sleep, but it was not peaceful. She was back in the battle of Winterfell, on that blood-stained field piled high with the dead who had crumbled again; and Jorah with them. And then Jon….

"Khaleesi!" She was jolted awake, Irri's face above her and for a moment she was confused; but Missandei was right behind her. "Are you alright Khaleesi?"

"I am okay. I will be okay." She took a steadying breath, recognizing her friends; remembering what had happened last night. Trying to push the other memories aside. "Will you find Ser Jorah?"

…

He filed into the bath house with the rest of the men, stripping off his coat and then the clothes beneath to hang them on a hook. The steaming water would feel good, perhaps it had something to do with returning to this world, but he felt oddly stiff; and his mind was racing.

"Seven hells." He heard the muttered curse and realized there was more than a few men sneaking looks at him, Ser Barristan had spoke. "What happened to you?"

That could be taken a few ways, but the man had already seen him, uneasily Jorah looked down at his chest, the scars of grey scale were bad enough but there were others now and he didn't count them. Jorah took a towel and went to find a spot in the bath, and began to scrub his skin, trying to sort out what this was. He was not sure how this was possible, let alone the reason for it.

He remembered the charge against the dead, and then the fight; the battle that never seemed to end. But after that his memory was blank, it was darkness until he saw her. Thick smoke had rolled in and he saw her lying on that table; the witch standing beside her.

Jorah had reached for his sword only to find he didn't have one, that didn't stop him; he stepped forward and kept going until he saw her sit up. There was shock in her face as she reached to him, and when their hands met a spark raced through him. Suddenly there were others behind him, around them; men who had died years ago.

And then he realized he was one of them, she had been one as well and that burned inside him; they'd lost the war then. The words that witch kept repeating were true, but what stung more was he did not know what they had done to the Khaleesi.

"Ser Jorah?" A soft voice called from the doorway; a woman's voice had the men shifting uneasily.

Jorah rose quickly and wrapped a towel about his waist, the woman didn't enter, and he stopped to pull on his breeches, pulling his shirt closed as he went to the door. Missandei stood quietly in the hall and he couldn't help noticing the rough scar across her throat; they all got to keep the marks of death then.

"She needs you." Missandei told him quietly, and her eyes told him to hurry.

Jorah followed her back through the maze of halls, pausing a moment before he asked the question that was weighing on his mind. "What happened after Winterfell?"

"We went south, I don't know what happened to the Khaleesi." She whispered; he heard the pain in her voice. "I don't know what happened to Grey Worm."

When she stopped before a door he nodded and knocked lightly; waiting for her to answer. The Khaleesi looked tired, though she'd found some proper clothes at some point; she'd been crying. And as he approached, she reached out, Jorah felt the familiar pang of emotion as he offered his hand and she pulled him to sit on the edge of the bed; she wanted comfort.

The Khaleesi rolled towards him and lay her head in his lap, reaching for his hand once more. "What is this Jorah?"

"I don't know." He murmured, hesitantly running his palm over her hair.

"Why?" She whispered, the desperation in her voice. There was nothing to say just now, Jorah only stroked her hair; hoping to soothe her.

She didn't sleep long, waking often with questions he could not answer; but she was talking in her sleep and he had pieced together a little of it by morning. Jorah only dozed lightly, his fingers tangled in her hair from trying to calm her.

She was asleep as Irri and Missandei entered, Jorah winced but hesitated to wake her. Irri shook out her coat and as she lay it across the foot of the bed, he saw patch and the stain the woman hadn't quite been able to get out; anger tightened in his gut. He knew the placement and the thrust, he wanted to know who had slid a knife between her ribs. As she woke Jorah rose to go, trying to subtly crack his back as he headed for the door.

"Wait Ser Jorah." She stopped him, even as Missandei began to comb her hair. "We need to talk."

He nodded turning on his heel, waiting for the women to finish tending her; as Missandei helped her with the coat he turned back. As Missandei began to step back he watched her catch the woman's hands.

"We will find Grey Worm." She promised, that meant as far as she knew Grey Worm had survived; it did not answer how they had all arrived here. "I will speak with Kinvara this morning."

The two women she had relied on did not know each other, but he hoped they realized that both had been very dear to her. He remembered her heartbreak at finding Irri on the floor of her chamber, Missandei had become dear to her but certainly not replaced the young Dothraki in her heart; he could sense the two women trying to feel each other out.

Then he suspected they all were doing a little of that, the Khaleesi had spared him more than a few questions last night; he had no doubt Ser Barristan would have words for him. They had all served, every man here at one time or another; though he noted neither her brother nor her husband had rose. Perhaps because neither man had truly seen her, or because they had died before she bore the dragons back to life; he knew both had a part in sending her on her journey.

"I thought I would never see you again." Her soft whisper pulled him from his thoughts.

"I am here Khaleesi." He reassured her, remembering how fragile she had seemed last night.

"I put your body on a pyre outside Winterfell, and I said goodbye to the only man who truly believed in me." His throat tightened as she rounded on him, those pretty green eyes were sad and focused. "The only man who truly loved me."

"Khaleesi." He whispered, unable to say any more after hearing her say such a thing.

"I've made mistakes, I do not deserve this; I don't even know what this is. I don't know if I can do it again." She murmured, and as she leaned into his chest Jorah glanced down at her. He wanted to ask what had happened, and who had harmed her; but he knew better.

"Khaleesi, you can. I've seen you do the impossible time and time again; but you do not have to do it today." He knew her guard was down; she did not understand this any more than the rest of them; but she was at the center of it.

And this, the two of them and all the people who had returned with them, it had taken magic more powerful than anything he had ever heard of. Yet he had not missed the Red Woman's words. "Death has bent the knee to the promised one, the great war is coming on the winter winds. The war for the world has come."