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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 119: Stranded
The first thing he became aware of was the pain.
It was not a sharp wave of pain, not the kind that came from a wound or a broken bone. It was a deep, throbbing ache that seemed to radiate from the very core of his being, a bone-deep exhaustion that made every muscle feel like lead.
His head pounded with a ferocity that made him want to cry out, but his voice would not obey.
The second thing he became aware of was the ground beneath him. It was hard and uneven, rough stones pressing against his bare skin. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, the gentle breeze across his body, the distant sound of birds chirping above him.
He opened his eyes.
The world was a blur of green and blue, the colors bleeding together in a haze of confusion.
He blinked a few times, trying to focus, and slowly the world resolved into sharpness. A vast expanse of grassy plains stretched before him, rolling hills that seemed to extend to the horizon and beyond. The sky was a brilliant blue, the sun high overhead, and the air was warm and dry.
He was lying on a pile of broken rocks, their jagged edges pressing into his back. Around him, the grass was scorched, blackened patches that formed a rough circle around his body. The stones beneath him were cracked and fractured, as if something had struck them with tremendous force.
He sat up slowly, his body protesting every movement. He was completely naked, but his skin was unmarked, not a single scratch or bruise to be seen.
"That's…odd."
He ran his hands over his chest, his arms, his face, searching for any sign of injury. There was nothing. His body was in perfect condition, as if he had just woken from a peaceful sleep.
That fact seemed to contrast with his surroundings.
But he had no time to think about that, because…his mind was in chaos.
He could not remember much about what happened to him.
He knew his name was Joffrey. That much came to him easily, a simple fact that floated to the surface of his fractured consciousness. But beyond that, there was only darkness.
He knew he was someone important, someone powerful. He knew he had done things, great and terrible things. But the details were gone, lost in the fog that clouded his thoughts.
"Come on…this can't be happening." His eyes shifted across the foreign landscape, searching for any familiar marks that could bring something back.
But this place he was in seemed to be devoid of such things. There was nothing but grass and rocks.
"I swear…if this is a hangover, it has to be the worst one anyone has ever felt."
He pressed his palms against his temples, trying to push through the haze that was clouding his mind.
A few fragments of memory started to flicker at the edges of his consciousness; they were tantalizingly close but just out of reach.
He saw flashes of light, of fire and shadows. He heard echoes of voices, familiar and strange at the same time. He felt the phantom sensation of power flowing through his veins, emerging at his fingertips to reshape reality.
But when he tried to grasp these fragments, they slipped away like water through his fingers.
"Now, that is frustrating…" He stood up from the rubble.
"Where the fuck am I?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar. "What happened to me?"
He continued to look around, searching for any clue, any sign of civilization. But the plains seemed to stretch in every direction, empty and endless. There were no roads, no buildings, no people. Just grass and sky and the scorched remnants of whatever had brought him here.
He looked down at the rocks beneath him, at the blackened grass around him.
"I did this." He realized.
He wasn't sure why he was so sure about it. But he somehow knew that whatever force had brought him here, it had come from him.
The scorch marks, the cracked stones, the circle of destruction…it was all his doing.
'But how? And why?'
He closed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to push through the annoying fog that refused to give him access to what was his.
And after some more probing… slowly, and hesitantly, the fragments began to come together.
There was a laboratory… his laboratory.
There was a ship…his ship.
"The Storm Dancer…that's right!. I was in the Storm Dancer, inside my laboratory."
The scent of salt and magic.
"The sea…I was experimenting...I was experimenting on myself, wasn't I?"
There was a vial of liquid fire. One that contained dragon's blood and royal blood and something else, something ancient and primordial.
A glowing orb of pure energy, pulsing with the power of a god.
"Oh…shit…did I drink that?"
He had been about to drink it. He had been about to transform himself, to become something more.
And then... nothing.
Joffrey's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. The memories were coming back, slowly but surely.
He remembered the laboratory, all the preparations he made, the moment he decided to proceed. He remembered the burning sensation as the potion had slid down his throat, the feeling of power exploding through his body.
But what had happened after that? Why was he here, naked and alone in the middle of a grassy plain?
He closed his eyes again, pushing deeper into the haze.
"Ah…there was too much energy." He muttered as the fragments were pieced together and completed the pictures.
The power was too much. It was burning him from the inside out, consuming him like wildfire.
"Everyone was in danger…" The memories of those important to him returned one by one.
Saera, Daenerys, Tyrion, Sandor…they were all in danger.
If that energy converging in his body were to become unstable, the detonation would be comparable to a small nuclear device.
Not just the ships, but the entire harbor and at least half of the city would have disappeared.
So he made the decision immediately.
He had to get away. He had to protect them.
He had flown…he had actually flown, his body propelled by a force beyond his control.
"The light was blinding, and my body…was on fire….Then, I think I crashed." He opened his eyes and glanced down at the crater beneath him and the destruction that surrounded his body.
"So I crashed here and passed out."
A grim understanding settled over him. He had tried to absorb too much power, too quickly.
The potion had been designed to enhance him, to push him beyond the limits of human potential. But the energy from the orb had been too great, too potent.
Even a single fragment had been enough to overwhelm him, burn through him, and he had been forced to flee before it destroyed everyone around him.
He must have flown for miles, pushing himself beyond his limits, until his body could take no more. He had crashed here, in this empty plain, and had lain unconscious for... how long? Hours? Days?
He looked down at his body again, at the perfect, unmarked skin. The damage must have been severe. He should have been dead, or at the very least broken beyond repair. But he was whole and healed.
And then he remembered the phoenix tear he added to the formula.
The final ingredient. The one he had added as an afterthought, a precaution against the dangers of the ritual.
The tears of a phoenix had healing properties beyond anything mortal magic could achieve. They could regenerate tissue, restore life, even bring back the dead.
The phoenix tear had saved him. It had healed his broken body, mended his shattered bones, restored his damaged brain. It had pulled him back from the brink of death and given him a second chance.
But the memory loss... that was a side effect. A consequence of the trauma his brain had suffered. He would need time for his mind to heal, for the fragments to fully reassemble.
"Whoa…I can't believe I survived that. I'll have to thank that bird when I have the chance."
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He had to figure out where he was, and how to get back to the others.
"Mmm…how far did I fly?. This doesnt look like Slaver's Bay."
The Storm Dancer would be moving, sailing toward Yunkai or Meereen or wherever Daenerys had decided to go next. He could teleport, but without a clear target, without a strong connection to a specific location, he might end up lost at sea or in the middle of a desert.
He first needed to know where he was to know where he was going.
He stepped away from the crater and onto the grassy field; his body felt steady despite the lingering ache in his head.
He looked around, scanning the horizon for any sign of direction.
There was nothing but grass and sky and the endless stretch of rolling hills.
And then he heard it.
"Now what?"
A distant thunder, a rumbling sound that grew louder with each passing moment. It was the sound of hooves, hundreds of them, perhaps thousands.
The ground began to tremble beneath his feet.
Joffrey turned toward the sound, his enhanced eyes focusing on the horizon. A massive cloud of dust was rising in the distance, and beneath it, he could see the shapes of riders. There were thousands, and their horses were thundering across the plains at great speed.
He could see them clearly now… his vision was cutting through the dust like a blade. They were warriors, fierce and savage, with dark hair that flowed in the wind… their raised weapons were gleaming in the sun.
They wore leather armor and carried curved blades, their horses painted with the symbols of their tribes.
"Dothraki," Joffrey muttered, the word coming to him unbidden. "A Dothraki host."
He was familiar with them already, having met all of the ones serving the Dragon Queen.
He knew their ways, their language, and their culture. He knew that a Dothraki horde was like a force of nature, unstoppable and merciless, destroying everything in their path. And he knew that they would not be pleased to find a naked stranger standing in their way.
And yet, he stood his ground.
"Let's see what they have to say."
The horde was closer now, the thunder of hooves filling the air. Joffrey could see the riders clearly, their faces twisted with battle fury, their eyes fixed on him. They had seen him, and they were coming.
Joffrey squared his shoulders, his chin raised, his expression unreadable. He had faced worse than this. A few horselords were not enough to intimidate him.
So he waited.
The Dothraki host thundered toward him, the ground shaking beneath their hooves. And in the distance, Joffrey saw the winds of change beginning to stir.
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