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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 57: The God In The Storm
The wave rose above the ship like a mountain made of obsidian, its crest staining out the stars, and its shadow swallowed the last light of the dying moon.
Daenerys had heard stories of such waves...the kind that captains whispered about in dark taverns, the kind that swallowed entire fleets and left no wreckage behind. She had never believed such things existed. Not until now.
She stood at the entrance to the deck, her hands gripping the frame of the hatch, her silver-gold hair whipped across her face by the wind.
Behind her, Ser Jorah shouted something she could not hear. The storm had stolen his voice, as it had stolen everything else. The rain was so thick that she could barely see the bow of the ship. The wind was so loud that she could not hear her own screams.
'We are going to die,' she thought. 'After everything...the Red Waste, Qarth, the House of the Undying, we are going to die here, in the middle of the sea, swallowed by a wave that has no name.'
The Dothraki were on their knees, their prayers to their horse gods lost in the wind. The sailors had abandoned their posts, their faces pale with terror.
Even Captain Xho, who had sailed these waters for thirty years, had given up.
She could see it in his eyes...the same look her brother Viserys had worn when the molten gold poured over his head. The look of a man who finally understood he was about to die.
And then she saw Joffrey.
He stood at the bow, his golden hair dark with rain. His hands were raised, his palms facing the wave, and his eyes...even from this distance, she could see them. They glowed with an eerie green fire. It was unnatural and mysterious.
'What is he doing?' she thought. 'He cannot stop this. No one can stop this.'
But Joffrey did not seem to care about what was possible. He raised his hands higher, and the air around him shimmered. The rain bent away from his body, as if an invisible shield had surrounded him. The wind howled, but he did not stagger. The ship lurched, but he did not fall.
And then the wave struck.
Daenerys braced herself for impact, for the crushing weight of water, for the cold darkness of the sea. But the impact never came. Instead, she saw light.
A dome of pale blue energy erupted from Joffrey's hands, spreading outward, enveloping the ship. The wave crashed against it and broke apart, deflected to either side, leaving the Storm Dancer untouched.
Water cascaded around them like a waterfall around a stone, and the ship rose and fell on the surge, but it did not sink.
The crew stared at him, their mouths open, their eyes wide. The Dothraki stopped praying and looked up. Their faces now showed a different kind of fear...not the fear of death, but the fear of something beyond their understanding.
Ser Jorah's hand fell from his sword by pure instinct.
Daenerys could only watch, her heart pounding, her breath caught in her throat.
'He stopped it,' she thought. 'He stopped a wave that should have killed us all.'
But Joffrey was not done.
Another wave was rising...one even larger than the first, so tall that it seemed to touch the clouds. Its crest was lit by lightning, making it look as if a mountain had appeared in the middle of the sea, poised to fall upon them.
This one, she knew, would not be stopped by any magical shield. It would crash over them and drag them down to the bottom of the sea.
Joffrey's hands moved again. He did not raise a shield this time. Instead, he thrust his palms forward, and a beam of blue fire shot from his fingers, slicing through the wave like a knife through silk.
The water parted.
The wave split in two, each half falling to either side, leaving a channel of calm water in its wake. The ship surged forward, carried by the current, sailing between the walls of water as if guided by an unseen hand.
Daenerys watched, her mind struggling to comprehend what her eyes were seeing. The wave was as big as a mountain, and Joffrey had cut it in half. He had reached into the heart of the storm and torn it apart with nothing but his will.
'He is no man,' she realized. 'He is not a prince. He is something else...something beyond what I can understand.'
The crew fell to their knees. The Dothraki pressed their foreheads to the deck. Even Captain Xho, who had never bowed to anyone, lowered his head.
But Joffrey was not finished.
The storm still raged above them. The clouds still churned, the lightning still flashed, the wind still howled. The waves might have parted, but the sky was still trying to kill them.
Then Joffrey raised his hands to the heavens, and the green fire in his eyes blazed brighter than ever.
The rain stopped.
It did not fade or lessen...it simply ceased. The drops that had been falling hung in the air for a moment, suspended, and then vanished.
The clouds began to part swiftly, as if an invisible hand was tearing them apart. The lightning flickered one last time and died. The thunder rumbled and faded into silence.
And then there was stillness.
The sea was calm. The sky was clear. The stars shone overhead, as if they had never been hidden.
Daenerys stood in the sudden quiet, her ears ringing with the absence of sound. The ship bobbed gently on the soft waves, and around her, men wept and prayed and stared at the being who had saved them.
Joffrey's body swayed. His knees buckled, and he began to fall. But before he could hit the deck, a massive hand grabbed him by the arm.
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, had appeared from somewhere. His scarred face was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on the prince.
"I have you," the Hound said, his voice rough. "I have you."
Joffrey's eyes fluttered. The green fire had faded, replaced by a pale exhaustion that made him look smaller, younger...like the sixteen-year-old boy he was supposed to be.
Daenerys hurried closer and spoke without thought. "Get him below deck. Now."
The Hound nodded and lifted Joffrey into his arms, carrying him toward the hatch. The crew parted to let them pass, their eyes wide, their hands pressed to their mouths.
Daenerys watched them go, her heart still pounding, her mind still reeling from the unbelievable spectacle she had just witnessed.
'He saved us,' she thought. 'He saved all of us.'
But even as she felt gratitude, she also felt something else stir within her...a cold, creeping fear.
What kind of man can command the sea and sky? What kind of man can tear apart a storm with his bare hands?
She had no answer. And that frightened her more than the wave ever had.
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The deck was still. The only sounds were the gentle lap of water against the hull and the soft weeping of men who had stared into the abyss and somehow returned.
Daenerys stood motionless, her hands gripping the frame of the hatch.
The rain had stopped, but she was drenched to the bone, her silver hair plastered to her face, her gown clinging to her skin. She did not feel the cold. She did not feel anything except the pounding of her heart and the echo of what she had just seen.
'He split the sea. He tore apart the sky. He reached into the storm and commanded it to be still.'
She had seen magic before...the warlocks of Qarth, the dark ritual that had resurrected her husband, the fire that had hatched her dragons from stone. But nothing like this. Nothing so vast, so raw, so effortless.
What kind of being can do such a thing?...a god?
Ser Jorah appeared at her side, his face still pale beneath his beard. His hand rested on his sword, though there was no enemy to fight. "Khaleesi," he said. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "I am... I am not sure what I am."
Jorah followed her gaze to the hatch where the Hound had disappeared with Joffrey. "He saved us. There is no denying that."
"He saved us," she agreed. "But what I saw was something else." She turned to face him, her violet eyes searching his. "I saw a man tear apart a mountain of water with his bare hands. I saw him reach into the sky and rip the clouds apart like old cloth. I saw his eyes burn with an eerie green fire."
Jorah was silent for a long moment. "I saw those things too. And even now, I find it hard to believe."
"And what else can he do?" Daenerys's voice rose. "How can we know what he is capable of?"
"We do not." Jorah's voice was low, heavy. "That is what frightens you."
She did not answer. She could not deny it.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
The crew had begun to move again, slowly and hesitantly, like men waking from a nightmare.
Captain Xho shouted orders, his voice returning to normalcy. The sailors hauled on ropes, checked the sails, and made sure the ship was still seaworthy.
The Dothraki remained huddled near the bow, their faces still pale, their prayers still fresh on their lips. Some of them looked at the hatch where Joffrey had been carried. Others looked at Daenerys.
She felt their eyes on her, felt the weight of their fear and hope. They were looking to her for answers...answers she did not have.
'What am I supposed to tell them?' she thought. 'That I have made a pact with someone wielding a power I do not understand? That our fate lies in his hands?'
She walked to the railing and looked out at the sea. The waters were dark and calm, the stars reflected on the surface like scattered gems.
Somewhere to the east, hidden by the curve of the world, lay Asshai...the Shadow Lands, the home of the shadowbinders, the place of magic and mysteries.
'What will he find there?' she wondered. 'What is he even looking for?'
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
She walked back to her own cabin, her mind churning. The storm was gone, the sea was calm, and the ship sailed on toward Asshai.
There was little else for her to do on deck, and she was in dire need of dry clothes.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her and turned. Lord Varys stood a few paces away, his soft robes still dry, as if he had never set foot on the deck. His pale face was unreadable, as usual, but his eyes held something she had never seen in the man before.
Fear.
"Princess." Varys bowed slightly. "I am glad to see you unharmed."
"Lord Varys." She studied him. "You have known him longer than I have. Please, tell me...what is he?"
Varys was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant, almost reluctant. "I do not know, Your Grace. I thought I did, once. I thought he was a boy with unusual talents. But what I have seen him do goes against everything I thought I knew about the world."
"Have you seen him do anything like what he did tonight before?"
Varys did not answer. His silence was answer enough.
"Was that magic?" she pressed. "Sorcery? You were the Master of Whispers. Surely you have heard of such things."
"I have heard of tricks, Your Grace. Illusions. Wisps of fire and light. Shadows that can move on their own. But they always require sacrifice, preparation, time." Varys shook his head slowly. "What the prince is capable of is something else entirely."
"Like what?"
"I do not know, Your Grace." Varys looked toward the hatch where Joffrey had been carried. "But I fear we may find out one day."
Daenerys turned away, her heart heavy. The ship sailed on through the calm sea, carrying them toward Asshai, toward the shadow, toward whatever fate awaited them in the darkness.
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