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Game of Thrones: Azeroth? This Is Westeros!
Game of Thrones: Starborn Conqueror
Game of Thrones: My Pets Evolve Into Dragons
Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Ruthless Emperor
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Three seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds.
Marwyn's hand shot forward, grabbed his wrist, and yanked it out of the fire.
Limpick looked down. His hand was completely unharmed. No burns. No blisters. Even the cut on his palm had sealed shut—not healed, but cauterized. The edges were blackened, fresh pink flesh showing in the middle. No blood. His hand trembled, but not from pain. It was something else he couldn't name.
Marwyn smiled at him. The smile twisted across the burned side of his face, but his right eye shone bright as the flames themselves.
"From this day on," he said, "you are a man of the Lord of Light."
The others in the courtyard clapped. The sound echoed off Harrenhal's empty walls with a low buzz. Limpick stayed on his knees in front of the bonfire, staring at his hand. The cut didn't hurt anymore, but a strange itch crawled from the wound, snaking up his veins, past his wrist and forearm all the way to his elbow. It didn't hurt. It itched like hell.
He didn't scratch it. He just knelt there until the feeling passed.
The bonfire crackled. The flames shifted color—no longer orange-red but a brilliant, shining gold, exactly like Ember's eyes. As he stared, he felt something moving deep inside the fire. Not the flames themselves—something at the brightest point in the center. Something was watching him.
He blinked. The fire turned orange-red again. Nothing there.
Marwyn helped him up. "Come on. Let's get some food in you. You're one of us now."
That night Limpick sat by the fire eating the white bread and salted fish Marwyn gave him. The bread was soft, the fish so salty it burned his throat, but he cleaned every bite. When he finished, he stared into the flames, figuring out how to say what needed saying.
Marwyn sat across from him, the cloth bundle still gripped in his hands.
"Marwyn," Limpick said.
"Hm?"
"I want to go to Dragonstone."
Marwyn's hand paused. He looked up. "Dragonstone? Why?"
"A pilgrimage," Limpick replied. "Back in Riverrun I heard Dragonstone has the greatest temple of the Lord of Light in Westeros, the holiest flames, and—" He hesitated. "And Lady Melisandre. I want to see it."
Marwyn stared at him for a long time. Right eye narrowed, left eye bulging red. Both fixed on him. Firelight danced between them, throwing Marwyn's shadow flickering across the wall.
"Who told you about it?" Marwyn asked.
"People at the docks. And a merchant from King's Landing said Dragonstone is the Lord of Light's holy ground in Westeros. That Lady Melisandre can see the future in the flames. I want to see it for myself."
Marwyn stayed quiet for a while. He rested the bundle on his lap, folded his hands over it, and gazed into the fire.
"Dragonstone is far," he finally said. "How do you plan to get there?"
"Walk to King's Landing, then take a ship."
"You have money?"
"No."
"You know anyone there?"
"No."
"Then how do you expect to get on a ship?"
Limpick was quiet for a second. "I was hoping the church could help me. I've joined the faith now. I'm one of you. Maybe… you could send me."
Marwyn let out a short laugh—not mocking, just thoughtful. "You're very direct. No dancing around it. I like that."
He stood and tossed a few more sticks into the fire. The flames roared higher, crackling loudly.
"Dragonstone belongs to Stannis Baratheon," he said. "He does follow the Lord of Light and keeps Lady Melisandre in his castle. But Stannis is not an easy man. Hard. Cold. Like his lands. And Lady Melisandre isn't someone just anyone can meet."
He turned back to Limpick.
"Still," he continued, "it's a good thing you have this desire so soon after joining. R'hllor favors the fervent. I'll write a letter to the temple in King's Landing. They can arrange your passage. The church sends ships to Dragonstone once a month with supplies. You can sail with them."
Limpick's heart beat faster. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," Marwyn waved it off. "Thank R'hllor. It was He who guided you." He sat down, opened the cloth bundle, and took out another piece of dragonglass—smaller than the last, but just as black and glossy. "Take this. Keep it with you on the road. It's a holy relic. It will protect you."
Limpick took the stone. The second it touched his palm, golden text flashed.
[Detected high-purity dragonglass ×1]
[Absorbable]
[Estimated evolution gain: 0.8%–1.0%]
He gripped it tightly. "Thank you. Thank the Lord of Light."
That night he returned to the lakeside and gave the dragonglass to Ember.
Ember swallowed it in one gulp. Its mouth opened wide enough to fit a man's head now, throat glowing fiery red like a furnace. The stone melted the instant it went down with a sharp hiss.
[Ember: Evolution progress 41.5% → 42.3%]
It gained 0.8%. A little less than Plume's, but still progress. After swallowing, Ember burped out a jet of flame—bigger than before, orange-red, shooting five or six feet and scorching the grass. The dragon startled itself and hopped backward, nearly stepping on Limpick.
"Careful!" Limpick jumped back, slapping sparks off his sleeve.
Ember crouched down and rested its head on the ground, looking up at him with innocent golden eyes. Plume perched on Ember's head and let out a bright call, sounding like it was laughing.
Limpick looked at them and smiled too. After a moment the smile faded. He leaned back against Ember's warm side and stared across the lake. The moon had risen, big and round, turning the Gods Eye into shimmering silver. Harrenhal stood dark in the distance, its five towers stabbing at the sky.
"I'm leaving," he said. "Going to Dragonstone."
Ember rumbled softly. Plume stopped and tilted its head at him.
"It's far away. On the eastern coast. I'll walk to King's Landing first, then take a ship. Could take a month or two."
Ember pushed its heavy head onto his lap. Limpick didn't push it away. He stroked the dragon's scales, from the top of its head down its neck to its jaw.
"You two can't come with me," he said quietly. "You're too big now. If anyone sees you, it's over."
Ember let out a low whimper, almost like a child. Plume flew down and settled in his palm, staring up at him with its gold-and-silver eyes.
"I have to leave you here in Harrenhal," Limpick continued. "This place is empty and safe. Hunt fish and rabbits by the lake. You won't go hungry. Just wait for me."
He lifted Plume to eye level. The bird's mismatched eyes gleamed in the moonlight—the golden one like molten gold, the silver one like winter ice.
"You watch over her," he told Ember. "Don't let her cause trouble. You're the big brother."
Ember blew a puff of smoke in his face.
Plume pecked his finger lightly.
Limpick placed Plume back on Ember's head, stood up, and brushed the dirt off his clothes.
"I leave tomorrow morning," he said. "I'll come back as soon as I can."
He turned and walked toward Harrenhal. After a dozen steps he looked back. Ember crouched by the lake, black scales shining under the moonlight. Plume sat on its head, pure white. One black, one white. Both watching him.
Limpick turned forward and kept walking.
He rose before dawn the next day. He patched his ragged clothes, sharpened his dagger, and packed some roasted rabbit meat into his shirt. Marwyn gave him a waterskin and a small bag of hardtack and dried salted fish—enough for seven or eight days—along with a sealed letter stamped with the burning sun of the Lord of Light.
"When you reach King's Landing," Marwyn said, "go to the red temple by the Old Gate. Show them the letter. They'll arrange your passage to Dragonstone."
Limpick tucked the letter away next to the dragonglass. He also kept the small piece of dragon bone he'd picked up in the cavern under Harrenhal—about the size of his thumb. It felt cool at first, but often grew warm, almost alive.
He walked out of Harrenhal's gates as the sun rose, painting the Gods Eye gold and red. He stopped and looked back at the five black towers one last time.
Then he turned and started walking east.
He had gone quite a distance when he glanced back. Harrenhal had shrunk behind him, its five towers still pointing at the sky like burned fingers. In front of the castle stood two small figures—one black, one white. The black one crouched. The white one perched on top. Both were watching him.
Limpick stopped. He raised his hand and waved.
In the distance the black figure flicked its tail, flashing in the sunlight.
The white figure took flight, circled once, then landed again.
Limpick smiled, turned around, and kept walking. He walked fast, with long strides. The road to King's Landing was long, but he didn't mind.
He touched the small dragon bone in his shirt. It had grown warm again.
"Dragonstone," he muttered. "A whole mountain of dragonglass."
He picked up his pace. The sun rose behind him, casting his long shadow down the road ahead.