On the grasslands near Lhazar in Essos, red sand stretched in every direction.
The land was silent, cracked, and barren. Even firewood was scarce.
Before the red comet appeared in the sky, Daenerys Targaryen ordered her bloodriders to place the body of her sun and stars upon a funeral pyre built high with gathered wood.
With sorrow filling her eyes, she gazed upon the carefully prepared face of Khal Drogo. One by one, she laid his treasured possessions beside him.
Last of all, she placed the three dragon eggs near his head, handling them with reverent care.
"Princess," Ser Jorah Mormont said quietly as he stepped forward, "Drogo has no need of dragon eggs in the night lands. Sell them. The coin would sustain you for a lifetime."
Daenerys shook her head. "He did not give them to me to sell."
She looked at Jorah steadily. "And why do you call me princess? My brother Viserys was your king once, was he not?"
"He was," Jorah replied.
A new light flickered in her eyes.
"Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. What was his is now mine."
Jorah fell to one knee.
"Yes… my queen."
"I swear my sword and my life to you. None shall take you back to Vaes Dothrak unless you will it."
He looked up, his voice pleading.
"My queen, let him go. I know what you intend, but you need not do this."
"I must," she said softly, brushing her fingers against his cheek. "You do not understand."
Jorah's expression tightened.
"I do understand. You loved Khal Drogo.
I once loved my wife. When she died, I did not follow her into death. If you climb that pyre, I will not stand aside and watch you burn."
She gave him a faint smile and kissed his brow. "Ser, I am not so foolish."
"You swear?" he asked urgently.
"I swear," she answered in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms.
At that moment, the bloodriders dragged forward the maegi, Mirri Maz Duur.
"Bind her to the pyre," Daenerys commanded coldly.
She poured fragrant oil over the woman's head herself.
"You will not hear my screams," Mirri said calmly.
"I do not seek your screams," Daenerys replied. "I seek your life. You told me that only death can pay for life."
Mirri fell silent.
Jogo stepped forward with a torch. "Khaleesi."
Daenerys took it and turned toward the pyre.
As she did, she saw something in the eastern sky. Low upon the horizon, a red comet streaked across the heavens, its tail like that of a dragon.
"My sun and stars," she whispered, "you shall ride a fiery stallion into the sky."
She thrust the torch into the wood.
The oil caught at once. Flames roared upward, devouring the pyre in an instant.
The heat drove the Dothraki and Ser Jorah back. Only Daenerys remained unmoving before the blaze.
"I am the blood of the dragon," she said. "Fire is mine."
As Mirri's cries were swallowed by the flames, Daenerys walked into the inferno.
The fire surged higher. Within the shifting blaze, she thought she glimpsed a tall figure with burning red eyes. The wind through the flames seemed to whisper a name.
"Ga… lon?"
Before she could see more, the pyre collapsed with a thunderous crash.
The fire burned long into the night.
When at last the flames died and the ground cooled, Jorah rushed forward in desperation.
He stopped short in stunned silence.
Amid ash and charred bone stood Daenerys, naked and unburned.
Three newborn dragons clung to her. Two nestled in her arms. The third, black and red, perched upon her shoulder, its eyes glowing like embers.
"Blood of my blood!" the Dothraki cried.
They fell to their knees in awe.
The dragons spread their translucent wings and gave shrill cries that echoed across the dawn sky.
Daenerys Targaryen had traded death for life and brought dragons back into the world.
Across the narrow sea in Westeros, another death was unfolding.
At dawn, the people of King's Landing gathered before the Great Sept of Baelor. The red comet still blazed overhead, yet no one looked up.
All eyes were fixed upon the man upon the steps.
Ned Stark stood pale and weary from imprisonment. Yet he held himself upright.
Since Varys had assured him that his daughters were safe, his final hesitation had vanished.
He had agreed to confess treason, hoping to restore the rightful line of succession. Even at the cost of his life.
Cersei stood beside Joffrey, composed as they awaited his confession.
When the first light touched the sept, Ned stepped forward.
"I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," he declared. "Before gods and men, I confess my crimes."
Cersei and Joffrey smiled.
But Varys and Petyr Baelish exchanged wary glances.
"I am guilty," Ned continued, "for failing King Robert. For allowing the realm to fall into the hands of unnatural offspring."
The crowd erupted in shock.
Joffrey's smile faltered.
"I am guilty for not placing the king's trueborn, acknowledged heir upon the throne according to the law—"
"Silence!" Cersei screamed.
"Ser Ilyn, kill him!" Joffrey shouted.
Ilyn Payne gave the signal. The gold cloaks forced Lord Stark to his knees.
Still he tried to cry out, "The true king of the Seven Kingdoms is—"
The sword fell.
His head struck the marble steps.
Silence gripped the crowd before chaos exploded like wildfire.
Cersei, pale with fury, led Joffrey away.
Messengers slipped out of the city, carrying the last words of Ned Stark across the realm.
The Seven Kingdoms trembled.
Near Harrenhal, Tyrion Lannister rode hard toward King's Landing with new instructions from his father.
News had come that Jaime had been captured by Robb Stark, and that Robb sought to exchange him for Ned Stark.
Tywin would not gamble his son's life. He had sent Tyrion ahead to press for the exchange.
As he rode, Tyrion glanced at the red comet visible even in daylight.
"An ill omen," he muttered.
He urged his men faster.
They passed a ruined village near the Gods Eye, where a band of black-cloaked men stood with prisoners. One raised the banner of the Night's Watch.
Tyrion spared them only a glance before riding on.
Behind them, Yoren exhaled in relief.
He had delayed his departure deliberately, gathering criminals to avoid suspicion. Among his charges were Arya Stark and Gendry, hidden in plain sight.
The red comet troubled him.
"Even in daylight," he muttered. "The Lannisters search more each day. How am I to get these two north?"
Nearby, Arya, disguised as a boy, nudged Gendry. "They're hunting you again, my bastard prince."
"And you, Stark girl," he shot back.
They did not notice the pale-haired prisoner watching Arya thoughtfully.
.....
On Dragonstone's shore, Melisandre stood gazing at the comet.
Stannis Baratheon approached her. "You have watched all night. What do you see?"
"The dragons will awaken," she said softly. "And your enemies in the North move."
"Dragons?" Stannis frowned. "Has House Stark found Gendry?"
He scowled. "Robert's folly. Bastards have no claim to my throne."
Melisandre smiled faintly.
"Fear not. The Lord of Light has spoken. Soon you shall hear of Eddard Stark's death. And the boy Rickon Stark will become a useful piece."
A servant hurried forward. "Your Grace, Ser Davos has returned."
Stannis strode away. Melisandre's gaze remained fixed upon the comet.
As it passed over Skagos, deep within a cavern of bones, an ancient black dragon stirred and opened its eyes.
It roared in savage joy and took flight. Soon the cries of Skagosi echoed as it fed.
When the dragon returned to its lair, a young Skagosi leader stared at it with hatred.
"I will go to Winterfell," he said to the elder beside him. "We will beg Lord Stark for aid."
The elder hesitated, then nodded. "If Starks can subdue the dragon, twenty thousand Skagosi will serve them."
Boats set out for the North.
Unaware of their coming, Galon Glover sharpened his blade in Winterfell, preparing to sweep the Ironborn from the North.
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