Five Weeks After Naming

Bran of House Stark

King of the Six Kingdoms

The world seemed a quieter place now. The wars of Westeros that were fairly renowned across major cities of Essos had finally entered a state of slumber. The western realm that had been fractured for years was now at its most peaceful moment in recent memory. The goals of the men and women of Westeros was to get back to their lives, to rebuild what they had lost, and forge new futures for one another. There were no more conniving Lannister tyrants, no more torturing Boltons, no more murderous Freys, and no more Dragon Queen.

When the people of Westeros first heard that Daenerys Targaryen was on her way to recapture the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, the reception was not warm. There were some groups that were immediately onboard with her conquest, mainly because of their despisal for Cersei Lannister, who killed and schemed her way to power. There were those who just wanted a life of tranquility and normalcy, just to carry out their day to day jobs, with no care of who lived in the Red Keep.

The Red Keep. Once the ultimate symbol of power and strength in all of Westeros. Now, along with the rest of the capital, had been reduced to rubble and ash from the events of the Queen's Landing. It had become a graveyard and a site of memoriam. Those who survived live with the ongoing stresses and fears that their lives could end in any instant, from a blast of dragonfire from the skies. A fear that their home would come crashing down upon them in the blink of an eye. Any large noise met with fright and anxiety, people too afraid to even traverse the streets. The Unsullied soldiers made it known that they would go even farther if justice was not to be served to Jon Snow, also known as Aegon Targaryen.

Agreements were thankfully made between the great Houses of Westeros at a meeting of counsel and reconciliation at the Dragon Pit in King's Landing. With the naming of Brandon of House Stark the next King of the Six Kingdoms, and Sansa of House Stark the Queen in the North, things were beginning to settle down. Alas, the story was far from over…

Essos

Thick clouds of gray and white masked the blue skies over most of Essos. The clouds were dense and quick-moving, beginning to form into storms as thunder quietly rumbled in the distance. Cities like Volantis near the southern region of Essos were completely in the shadows of these dark, menacing clouds. However, life was being carried out as normal as usual. Vendors and traders in the streets, some carrying carts, some pulling wagons with horses to carry out business. Women with children that clung onto their mother's hands and arms quickly whisked through the busy and bustling streets to get home before the impending downpour of rain. Some men took a few stops at local taverns and brothels, hoping to have a moment to themselves or even in companionship before returning home to continue whatever unhappy lives they lived.

The thunder began to rumble even louder, and a flash of lightning shot down from the clouds and struck a tall bell-tower in the heart of Volantis, west of the large bridge over the wide river that defined the city. Many citizens and folk in the streets shot looks to the bolt of lightning that caught their attention. Such torrents of lightning were not normal in such a warm, arid, location. Another bolt shot down and hit the same bell-tower, with its bronze roof ringing from the zap of electricity. Everything quieted down, including the people in the wide and busy streets, staring at the same bell-tower.

After a few seconds of complete silence, no thunder or flashes of lightning, people slowly got back to what they were doing. It was a strange occurrence, and some were starting to feel anxious as to what it meant.

"Mama! Mama! What is that?" spoke a six year old boy, tugging on the skirt of his mother on the side of the street, where they were standing at a vendor selling fruit on a wooden cart. The little boy kept looking at the sky, seeing movements of black shadows through the clouds.

"Hush now." scolded the mother who wore a tan veil over her head, and proceeded to take out a few golden coins from her purse to pay the man.

"Ma…" whimpered the boy, pulling one last time on her skirt.

"What?!" she turned around, seeing her son look up at the sky, as well as dozens of other people in the street. She looked up to the sky, and her jaw dropped. Sounds of beating wings could be heard as loud as thunder from the sky, as well as a loud screech. Her jaw dropped as emerging from the clouds in a low glide was a massive black dragon, letting out a painful sounding bellow as he flew over the city. People screamed and began running, yet the mother and child remained still, craning their necks as the dragon flew over head.

"He was holding somebody!" pointed the child, yet in just a few seconds the dragon was out of their sight, and disappeared back into the clouds.

"I thought that black demon was gone for good…" muttered the vendor with fright, quickly handing the woman her fruit in a small basket, and started putting away his tools and fruit in containers. He had enough of Volantis. He had enough of that sight, and never wanted to see it again.

King's Landing

The Red Keep

Small Council Chamber

"Do you think there is concern that when the time comes, the next leaders of the great Houses will not abide by these customs we have forged?" asked Samwell Tarly, the Grand Maester of the Six Kingdoms, seated at the long wooden table with the other Small Council members. Hand of the King, Tyrion Lannister, sat at one head of the table, with Samwell Tarly at his right, Warden of the Reach and Master of Coin Bronn Blackwater to his left. Lord Commander Brienne of the King's Guard sat beside Lord Blackwater, and Lord Davos the Master of War seated beside Sam. Lastly, at the other head of the table sat King Bran in his wooden wheelchair with a calm expression on his face.

"I think they will out of fear of another war breaking out. That is behind us." mentioned Brienne, "Our country is stronger now." she glanced over at Bran. The young King sat in his wheelchair wearing a dark blue coat, with his hair just reaching above his eyebrows and over his ears.

"Then there is nothing to fear for the upcoming coronation, right?" asked Sam, with a hint of nervousness. The former head of House Tarly was still a bit apprehensive of the great Houses accepting Bran as their king. However, five weeks had passed since the naming of Bran the ruler of Westeros, with the exception of the North, and there hadn't been any stir or conspiracy. The country had accepted the decision made by the great Houses.

"I do think it should be somewhere else than here." mentioned Bronn, tapping his fingers on the surface of the table, "This city still looks like a heaping pile of horseshit." Tyrion winced, hoping that the now wealthy Lord of Highgarden would watch his tongue more often around the King. Davos cleared his throat,

"It will take months for the Red Keep to be fully restored, and years for the city to be fully rebuilt."

"We aren't waiting years for the coronation." butt-in Tyrion, shaking his head, "It needs to be legitimized now. Does the Archmaester of the Citadel know we would like his presence for the anointing?" asked the Hand looking over at Sam.

"It took some convincing after an exchange of ravens and letters." chuckled the Grand Maester, "But he will be here by the end of next month - he has other business to tend to at the Citadel still."

"What were his reservations?" asked Tyrion.

"That this city looks awful." spoke up Bran, catching everyone's attention. Bran not known to speak very often at the Small Council meetings. He was an observer and learner, and liked to hear the counsel of his advisers to evaluate each of their ideas. "But, it must be here. It will symbolize the birth of a new era."

"Then its official." said Tyrion, "His grace will be coronated in two months' time as previously scheduled. By then the gateway to the Red Keep should be cleaned up and cleared up to hold the ceremony before the people."

"Aye." nodded Davos.

"Aye." agreed Brienne, and then Sam and Bronn agreed as well. Ser Podrick approached Bran from behind, preparing to wheel him out of the chamber, but held up his hand to stop the knight. Each of the council members stood up, expecting the King to dismiss the meeting. Bran looked at Bronn,

"Speak, Lord Bronn."

"Uh, your grace, well," Bronn shifted his weight as he clasped his hands behind his back and looked at Bran with honest eyes, "many of us are still concerned for that big fucker." Tyrion tilted his head, and Davos lowered his.

"Wha-" spoke Brienne.

"The dragon." answered Sam.

"Yes." nodded Bronn, looking from Sam back to the King, "Any news? Anymore specific news?"

"I tried using my abilities to see him." said Bran steadily, furrowing his eyebrows, "But I could only see fragments for some reason. He is still traveling across Essos from what I can make of the visions I've seen. Going farther east with each day."

"I presume that's a relief, then." noted Davos.

"Seven hells it is." blurted Bronn.

"You are dismissed." said Bran, nodding his head. The council members began to disperse, with Davos and Sam walking together and speaking to one another. Brienne walked over to Podrick, ready to stay by the King's side. Bran looked over at Tyrion, staring at him with a focused look.

"What is it, your grace?" asked Tyrion sympathetically, walking around the table over to Bran as Podrick pulled him away from the end of the table.

"I need you to fetch someone for me, Lord Tyrion."

"Who may that be?"

"An old friend of mine. I know where she is, and would like her to come here." explained Bran, "There are things I must say to her, to make up for my own mistakes."

"Of course, your grace. Tell me everything you know, and I'll get right to it."

"Her name is Meera."

Meereen

Essos

"My Lord, there is something you must know." stood a gray robed, wrinkled man, in the opened doorway to a balcony that overlooked the sprawling metropolis of Meereen. The man in front of the robed steward had long brown hair and wore a loose white shirt that billowed in the hot wind. He held his hands behind his back, staring out at the glistening cityscape of silver roofed buildings, and over at the two smaller pyramids of the grand city.

"What is it?" the white shirted man turned his head.

"A dragon has been spotted flying over Volantis, going eastward." said the steward. The man turned around fully to face the steward with a look of shock on his face… and a look of hope.

"Where is it now?"

"Yunkai and Astapor have begun evacuating their populations onto ships to wait out in the Bay of Dragons. I strongly suggest we do the same - after what happened in Westeros…"

"Were any other cities burned down?" asked the Lord, taking a few steps closer to the steward.

"No, my Lord. But, we cannot take that risk."

"Just order all citizens to get to the lowest levels of their homes, we do not need to evacuate the city." the Lord walked into the room which was a formal living room. He walked over to a leather vest that rested on a wooden seat at a circular table, picking it up and slipping it on.

"My Lord, where are you going?"

"Get the red priestess to the western gate, that's where I'm going - and with my soldiers, I know." the Lord walked past the steward, reaching to a rack on the stone wall where a belt with his sword sheath hung. He put it on and made sure his sword was fastly tucked in the sheath.

"I strongly urge you to reconsider!" scolded the steward.

"I strongly urge you to just trust me!" called back the Lord, heading to the entryway to his apartment in the apex of the great pyramid. The steward chased after the Lord, following him down the hall. There were black armored Unsullied soldiers waiting for the Lord, and joined him as he headed down the corridor.

"If we lose you, Astapor and Yunkai will fall. This freehold you've established will fall! We cannot lose Daario Naharis!" shouted the steward, whose advanced age was restricting him from chasing after Lord Naharis any further.

"I didn't establish any of this! My Queen did!" echoed Daario Naharis' voice in the long hallway. He turned down a corner to descend down the massive structure, and could no longer be seen by the steward.

...

Five hundred Unsullied soldiers and Meereenese guards stood in formation before the cavernous gate of Meereen, which was guarded by two winged statues that held up a stone overhang. The Unsullied soldiers stood at the forefront of their blockade-like formation, with spears in their right hands, and matte black shields in their left hands. The Meereenese soldiers were wearing tan and yellow leather armor, with hints of orange and white, typical to the clothing culture of Meereen and many cities of the Bay of Dragons. They also wore helmets with the Targaryen sigil on the small plate that covered their forehead, with swords and shields in their grasps as well.

Daario Naharis stood at the very front of the soldier formation with his sword still in its sheath on his belt. To his right was his right-hand man and knight, Ser Erio. Erio Jantis had tan skin and light brown hair that was pulled back into a braid. He had been inspired by the Dothraki braids when they were present years ago during Daenerys Targaryen's direct rule over Meereen. To Daario's left was a woman with black hair and hazel eyes, wearing a dark red gown, and squinting as the sun shone in her eyes. Clouds were beginning to swirl in from the west, slowly blocking out the sun, and drawing a cool shadow over the entire gateway to the city.

"What are we even going to do?" whispered Ser Erio to Daario. Daario looked over his shoulder, not having an answer at all. But, he gave his friend a sincere nod, hoping that Erio would just trust him. A bellowing screech filled the air from the horizon, and Daario immediately faced front again. He looked to the clouds, but did not see anything.

Bits of the clouds were beginning to break apart, allowing beams of sunlight to pierce through. Daario held out his hand, to shield the light from hurting his eyes. He could hear the faint beating of wings, and instantly recognized that sound. He had heard it long ago, and never forgot the sound of a dragon. Then, through the shining beams of sunlight emerged a silhouette of a black dragon, descending from the sky.

Daario heard the Meereenese soldiers draw their swords - out of complete fear. Many of them were new fighters, and were on the side of Daenerys when they liberated Meereen. Their first thought now was that they would be on the opposite end of the fight now - yet knew very well that Daenerys had perished and would not be riding that dragon.

The black dragon extended its legs, with its left leg slightly higher than the other. Daario could see he was holding something - no, someone. He saw white hair waving in the wind as the dragon beat its wings loudly towards the ground, approaching the dusty roadway gently. Drogon landed on one foot, and placed the corpse before him, so he could rest his other leg. Daario looked back at Erio,

"Stay back." he then looked at the red priestess, "You. Come with me." the woman nodded, and walked with Daario.

Drogon held his head low, standing over the corpse as he watched Daario and the red priestess walk over to him. He landed about a hundred meters away from the soldiers, and was clearly anxious of the army. Drogon began to growl, but Daario kept on going, and so did the red priestess. Daario's heart was racing, pounding against his shirt and his leather armor chest plate.

"Drogon…" whispered Daario to himself, upon looking into the eyes of the dragon, stopping just ten meters away from the beast. Drogon growled more and showed his knife-sized teeth to the man and woman.

"Anogar anograro." said Daario loudly in Valyrian, but in a soft tone. Drogon slowly raised his head, and Daario gulped nervously. He began to fear the worst, but looked to the corpse below the dragon. He saw the dead body of Daenerys… his former lover. Drogon backed away from the corpse of Daenerys, and let out quiet whimpers and whines. Daario and the red priestess slowly approached the corpse, and Daario's heart skipped a beat upon seeing her face much more clearly.

The corpse of the fallen Khaleesi had dried blood running from the corner of her mouth and nostril across her cheek, and still a knife in her heart. Daario looked up at Drogon as he stood over Daenerys' body, and slowly got down on his knees. Drogon backed away some more, lowering his head so he could look at his mother closely. Daario placed his shaky hand on Dany's cheek, feeling the coldness and lifelessness of her skin. He looked up at the red priestess with wide eyes.

"Can it be done?"

"If the Lord of Light wills it. Then yes."