The fire crackled low as the black sky stretched over the Kingsroad. The men of the Night's Watch sat on rocks or logs, wolfing down stale bread and tough meat. A few muttered curses at the cold wind. Horses were tethered nearby, steam rising from their nostrils.
Tyrion sat near the fire, hunched slightly in a thick cloak, a leather-bound book open in his lap. He turned the pages carefully, fingers smudged with dust. His eyes moved quickly, tracing the words by firelight. A skin of wine rested beside him, half full.
Jon Snow sat a short distance away, arms crossed, his gaze lost in the dark beyond the firelight. He hadn't spoken much since they'd left Winterfell. Ghost lay beside him, ears twitching.
Benjen Stark walked past with his usual brisk pace and gave a simple order. "Sit. You'll be fed. Untie them."
Two chained criminals were brought forward to eat—former rapers, thieves, worse. Their chains rattled as they were loosed just enough to move their arms.
Tyrion watched Jon for a moment, then spoke up, "Rapers, no doubt. They were given a choice… Castration or the Wall. Most choose the knife."
He glanced at the men with faint amusement. "Not impressed by your new brothers?"
Jon didn't answer.
"The lovely thing about the Watch," Tyrion continued, swirling his wine, "is you leave behind your old family and gain a whole new one."
Jon finally turned his head. "Why do you read so much?"
Tyrion closed the book gently. "Look at me and tell me what you see."
Jon narrowed his eyes. "Is this a trick?"
"What you see," Tyrion said dryly, "is a dwarf. If I'd been born a peasant, they might've left me out in the woods to die. But I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock. Things are expected of me. My father served as Hand of the King for twenty years."
Jon replied evenly, "Until your brother killed that King."
Tyrion raised his wine with a sardonic smile. "Yes, until my brother killed him. Life is full of little ironies. My sister married the next King, and my charming nephew will follow him."
He gestured around the camp with a smirk. "I must do my part for the honor of my house. My brother has his sword, I have my mind. And a mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone. That's why I read so much."
He paused, looking at Jon with curiosity. "And you? What's your story, bastard?"
Jon's mouth curled faintly at the corner. "Ask me nicely and maybe I'll tell you, dwarf."
Tyrion grinned wide, pleased.
"A bastard boy with nothing to inherit, off to join the ancient order of the Night's Watch, alongside his valiant brothers-in-arms."
"The Night's Watch protects the realm from—"
Tyrion waved it off. "Yes, yes, against grumpkins and snarks and all the other monsters your wet nurse warned you about. You're a smart boy. You don't believe that nonsense…"
He reached for his wineskin again. "Everything's better with some wine in the belly."
A voice from the darkness replied, smooth and laced with dry amusement.
"You'll see it soon, dwarf," said a man near the edge of the campfire light. "The mighty Wall. Hundreds of feet tall… just to keep out a few half-naked savages with sticks."
Tyrion's head turned. He hadn't expected that. A man had stepped forward—leather patched, hood half-drawn. His face was weathered but forgettable, his posture relaxed, but too still. His eyes glinted from beneath the hood with quiet focus.
Tyrion tilted his head. "Well now. A cynic among criminals and bastards. How refreshing."
He got up, curiosity piqued. "And who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"
The man didn't smile. "Toru.".
Just the name.
Jon glanced back, brow furrowing slightly. Ghost's ears twitched. The direwolf lifted his head and stared at Toru, nose quivering as if he smelled something the others couldn't.
Toru didn't flinch. He cast a glance back at the wolf, and then to the flames.
Some beasts see more than men.
He said nothing, but the thought stayed with him.
---------------------------
The room was quiet. Soft lantern light glowed from the walls. Silk curtains moved gently with the breeze. A large bed stood untouched in the corner.
Daenerys stood on the balcony, looking out at the sleeping city.
Braavos at night looked like a painting—still canals, quiet towers, the moonlight shining on water like glass.
She didn't move. Just stood there, holding her arms around herself.
A knock came at the door.
She turned slightly.
"Yes?" she said quietly.
The door opened.
Kartiga stepped inside. Two men followed him. They carried a large wooden box between them. The box looked old—edges blackened. Heavy.
Daenerys watched from the balcony.
Kartiga looked at her. "I brought something," he said.
The men placed the box gently on the floor and opened it.
Click. Creak.
The lid lifted.
And inside—light.
Three objects sat inside the box, resting on black velvet.
They glowed softly under the lanterns
One was cream-colored with golden veins.
One deep green with a cracked, mossy texture.
And the last was black, laced with streaks of red like dried blood.
Daenerys slowly walked toward them. Her eyes didn't leave the box.
Kartiga spoke again. "Dragon eggs."
She stopped in front of the chest, staring down in silence.
For a long moment, she didn't speak. Then she slowly knelt beside it. Her hand hovered above the black egg, unsure.
She looked up at Kartiga. He nodded gently.
She touched the egg.
It was warm.
Carefully, she lifted it with both hands. It was heavier than it looked. She held it close to her chest, staring at it like it might start breathing.
Kartiga watched her with a quiet smile. "That one's my favorite too."
She glanced at him. "They're real?"
He nodded. "Yes."
Her fingers traced the smooth lines on the shell.
"Will they hatch?" she asked.
Kartiga's voice was low. "Soon."
She looked back at the egg.
"They once belonged to your family," Kartiga said. "Now they're yours."
She looked at him. He spoke softer now.
"They were lost for a long time. But they've come home."
He stood straight, turning to leave.
"You'll have to care for them," he added. "They need more than warmth."
He stepped back. His two men followed.
She looked up. "Wait."
Kartiga paused at the door.
"I want to talk more," she said.
He gave a small smile. "We will. But I have guests to meet tonight."
His voice was kind. But his eyes had already turned serious.
"We'll talk later."
Then he was gone. The door closed behind them.
Daenerys stood alone again.
The dragon egg still warm in her arms.
[
For more chapters access my patreon.
link : patreon.com/AmouxCreationX
]