Game of Thrones(ASOIAF): The Sorcerer Prince

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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 123: The Wandering Prince

The field was littered with bodies, the grass stained red with the blood of the fallen. 

Joffrey stood among the carnage, his body slick with sweat and gore.

The remaining Dothraki had fled after their courage was shattered by the nightmare they had encountered. 

But he was still naked, still covered in dirt and grime, and still lost in a land he did not recognize.

He needed to find clothes. He needed to find shelter. He needed to figure out where he was and how to get back to the others.

So he scanned the bodies, searching for something he could use. Most of the dead were Dothraki, their leather armor torn and bloodied, their weapons scattered across the grass. He found one who was relatively intact…a large man, perhaps a bloodrider, whose body had not been too badly mutilated in the fighting.

Joffrey grimaced as he approached the body. The thought of wearing a dead man’s clothes was repulsive, but the alternative was walking across the plains naked…which was even worse, in his humble opinion.

He knelt and began to strip the corpse with efficiency.

The leather armor was stiff and smelled of sweat and blood, but it would serve its purpose. He pulled on the trousers, the tunic, the boots. They were too large, but he cinched the belt tight and rolled up the sleeves. 

He also strapped the arakh to his waist. Even if he had no real need for a blade at this point, he had grown accustomed to carrying something with him.

He looked down at himself, a grim smile playing at his lips. He looked like a Dothraki now, a savage warrior from the plains. It was not the image he would have chosen, but it would have to do for the time being.

”Better than nothing,” he muttered, his voice flat.

He stood there for a moment as his mind worked on the next step.

He needed to figure out what to do now. He could not use magic…not yet. The ritual had left his powers unstable and completely unpredictable. The explosion had nearly killed him, and that had been a simple conjuration to make clothes. Who knew what would happen if he tried something more complex, like a curse or a charm.

Teleportation was out of the question. He could not risk ending up as minced meat.

He considered calling for Fawkes. The phoenix would be able to find him to carry him back to the fleet. But he hesitated. His powers and the phoenix shared a similar source, and his unstable magic could potentially interfere with the phoenix’s teleportation. If that were to happen, they could end up anywhere in the universe…a terrifying thought that made him reconsider and search for an alternative.

Even if the chances of that happening were low, the risk seemed too high.

Until he understood better what happened to his magic and learned to keep it under control, it was better to use normal means of transportation.

He was about to set out on foot when a shadow passed over him.

Joffrey looked up, his eyes widening. A massive shape was descending from the sky, its wings spread wide, its scales gleaming in the sun. It was a dragon, a very large one.

And a very familiar one.

”Drogon.”

The dragon landed in the crater that Joffrey had created during his arrival, its massive claws digging into the scorched earth. It was carrying something in its mouth…a charred carcass, perhaps a sheep or a goat. It dropped the carcass and began to tear into it, its jaws crunching through bone and sinew.

Joffrey stared at the dragon who was now using his crater as an improvised nest. 

Drogon was supposed to be with Daenerys, flying above her army as they marched toward Yunkai. What was he doing here, in the middle of nowhere?

”Drogon?” Joffrey called out, his voice cautious. ”What are you doing here?” He asked the creature.

The dragon looked up, its red eyes fixed on Joffrey with a flicker of recognition. It let out a low rumble, a sound that was almost questioning, then returned to its meal.

Joffrey shook his head after realizing that talking to this dragon was pointless. Drogon was intelligent, yes, but he only responded to Daenerys. The bond between dragon and rider was sacred, unbreakable. No one else could command him or truly understand him.

And then, an idea began to take shape.

The ritual he had used on himself had carried Drogon’s blood, as well as Daenerys’s. The dragon’s essence was a part of him now, woven into his very being. That was probably the reason Drogon had come here. The dragon must have felt something familiar, something that drew him across the plains to this spot.

”Well,” Joffrey said, a smile playing at his lips. ”That’s great news. Because I require a trusty mount.”

Drogon looked up from his meal, his red eyes narrowing with suspicion. He let out a low growl, a sound that was clearly a warning.

Joffrey held up his hands, his voice calm. ”Easy, boy. I am not your enemy. I am a friend of your mother. I carry her blood in my veins. Can you sense it?”

Drogon’s nostrils flared, his head tilting as if he were considering Joffrey’s words. He let out another rumble, this one less threatening.

Joffrey stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached out, his hand extended, palm up. ”I need your help, Drogon. I need to get back to your mother. She is worried about you. She misses you.”

Drogon studied him, his red eyes unblinking. Then, slowly, he lowered his head, allowing Joffrey to touch his snout.

Joffrey felt the connection immediately. There was a surge of warmth, of recognition, of something that was almost affection. 

He had somehow tapped into the bond the creature shared with Daenerys.

It was not his, but he could use it.

”Good boy,” Joffrey said, his voice soft. ”Good boy.”

It took some time, but Joffrey managed to convince Drogon to serve as his mount. The dragon was wary at first, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of carrying anyone on his back. But Joffrey’s persistence, combined with the familiar blood in his veins, eventually won him over.

He climbed onto Drogon’s back, his legs gripping the dragon’s neck. The scales were warm beneath him, the muscles rippling with power.

”Up!” Joffrey tried to recall the few words he had learned in High Valyrian. ”Sōvegon!”

Drogon launched himself into the sky, his powerful wings beating against the air. The ground fell away beneath them, the plains shrinking to a patchwork of green and brown. 

The wind rushed past Joffrey’s face, carrying the scent of grass and earth.

”Okay, this is much better than a horse.”Joffrey laughed, a sound of pure exhilaration. He was flying, soaring above the world on the back of a dragon. It was a feeling like no other, a freedom that he had never experienced.

He guided Drogon higher, scanning the horizon for any sign of civilization. The plains stretched in every direction, empty and endless. 

But then he saw it. Ahead of them was a massive dark shape moving across the land, a sea of riders that stretched to the horizon.

The Dothraki host.

They had regrouped as soon as their courage returned. Now that they were able to put some distance between themselves and the monster they had encountered. 

There were thousands of them, their horses thundering across the plains, their voices raised in war cries.

Joffrey smiled, a cold, predatory expression. ”Take us down, Drogon. Let’s give them something to remember.”

It was time for some hunting.

Drogon dove, his wings folding against his body, his speed increasing with each passing moment. They shot toward the Dothraki like a falling star, the wind screaming in Joffrey’s ears.

The Dothraki looked up, their eyes widening with terror. They had faced many enemies in their lives, but they had never faced a dragon.

”DRACARYS!” Joffrey shouted.

Drogon opened his mouth, and a torrent of flame erupted forth, bathing the ground in fire. The Dothraki scattered, their horses rearing in terror, their war cries turning to screams of panic.

Joffrey landed in the midst of the chaos, his feet touching the ground as Drogon roared behind him. He drew the arakh from his belt and pointed at them.

”Come on!” he shouted, his voice carrying across the field. ”Who wants to be next?”

The Dothraki hesitated, their courage wavering. They had seen this man before, had seen him cut down their Khal and his bloodriders like they were children. They had thought they had escaped him, had thought they were safe. But here he was, riding a dragon, laughing at their fear.

One of the Dothraki charged, his arakh raised high. Joffrey moved faster than they could see, his enhanced body responding with a speed that was almost inhuman. 

He sidestepped the blow, then drove his fist into the rider’s chest. The man flew backward, his ribs shattering, his body crumpling against the ground.

Another rider came from the side, aiming for Joffrey’s neck. Joffrey caught the blade with his bare hand, snapped it in two, then cut the rider’s head with his own blade.

The Dothraki fell back, their eyes filled with terror. They had never seen anything like it. This was not a man. This was a demon…a monster. And he had a dragon.

One of the riders dismounted, his hands raised in surrender. Then another, and another, until thousands of Dothraki were kneeling before Joffrey, their heads bowed, their weapons laid at his feet.

”We surrender,” one of them said, his voice trembling. ”You are strong. You are worthy. We will follow you.”

Joffrey studied them for a bit. He had not expected them to surrender so quickly. He had wanted to get some more practice, but he was not about to refuse them. Thousands of Dothraki warriors, loyal to him, would be a powerful addition to his forces.

”Rise,” he said, his voice carrying across the silent field. ”Rise and serve me. I am Joffrey Baratheon, the Sorcerer Prince. And you are now my khalasar.”

The Dothraki rose, their faces a mixture of fear and awe. They had found a new leader, a new Khal. And he was unlike any they had ever known.

The Dothraki host set up camp around a small river, their tents and fires dotting the landscape. Joffrey sat in the center of the camp, surrounded by his new followers, his mind racing with possibilities.

He had a khalasar now, thousands of warriors who would follow him into battle. But he still needed to find his way back to Daenerys and the fleet. He had left some very important things there.

He summoned one of the Dothraki leaders, a grizzled warrior with scars across his face. ”Tell me…what is the nearest city from here?”

The man bowed his head. ”There is a city to the east, Khal. Six days’ ride. It is called Meereen. Dangerous city, Khal…high stone wall. Hard to attack.”

Joffrey’s eyes lit up. Meereen. The last of the great Slaver’s Bay cities. 

Daenerys was planning to conquer it after Yunkai. If he could get there before her, he could regroup and plan his next move.

”Meereen,” he repeated, a smile spreading across his face. ”That is where we will go.”

He rose to his feet, his voice carrying across the camp. ”We ride for Meereen! We will conquer the city in my name, and we will show the world what it means to cross the Dragon Rider!”

The Dothraki roared their approval, their voices rising in a chorus of war cries. Joffrey stood among them, his heart pounding with exhilaration.

He was lost, alone, and far from his allies. But he was also powerful, stronger than he had ever been, surrounded by warriors who would follow him to the ends of the earth.

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