Chapter 155 Ease the Pain

Disclaimer:

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 155: Ease the Pain

Joffrey appeared in the main pyramid without making a sound.

One moment, he was in the guest chambers. In the next, he was standing in a dark corridor of the great pyramid. The air here was filled with the scent of incense.

He had felt them before he arrived. Two presences, burning bright in the darkness of the pyramid, their souls were like twin flames in the vast web of life that now stretched across his consciousness. 

Melisandre. The Red Priestess of Asshai, the woman who had traveled with Bran from the far north, who had been touched by the Lord of Light in ways that even she did not fully understand.

And Lyssara. The Head Priestess of the Red Temple in Meereen, the woman who had seen something in him that even he had not seen in himself.

Joffrey walked through the corridors, his footsteps silent on the stone, his golden eyes seeing everything.

The door was open.

He stepped inside.

The chamber was small and lit by a hundred candles that flickered and danced in the still air. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the Lord of Light, a great figure of flame, surrounded by worshippers, his hands raised in blessing or judgment. 

Melisandre stood on one side of the room, wearing a clean set of red robes.

Lyssara stood on the other side, her own red robes simpler but no less elegant, her dark hair pulled back from her face.

When they saw him, their faces lit up.

"Prince Joffrey," Lyssara said, stepping forward. "I was hoping you would pay us a visit to-"

She stopped.

Her mouth hung open, the words dying on her lips. Her eyes, fixed on his face, went wide. Her entire body went rigid.

Melisandre had the same reaction. She had been about to speak…Joffrey could see the words forming on her lips, but they never came. She simply stood there, frozen, her eyes locked on him with an expression of shock and awe.

Then, as one, they fell to their knees.

Joffrey watched them kneel and sighed. 

'They are mistaken,' he thought. 'They do not understand what they are seeing.'

He could feel their thoughts, their emotions, the weaves of their minds laid bare before him. They were not thinking of him as Joffrey Baratheon. They were not thinking of him as the Sorcerer Prince. They were thinking of him as something else entirely.

'They are confusing me for their Lord.'

The thought was almost amusing. But there was something else in their minds too…something that made the amusement fade.

'They are not wrong to feel this way. The power I carry... it is the same power that they have been worshipping their entire lives. The Light. The Fire. The essence of creation.'

He understood something now. The Red Priests had been touched by the Fire Being…not directly, as he had been, but indirectly. They had felt its presence in their flames, heard its voice in their visions, sensed its power in the world around them. They had spent decades, or centuries, in Melisandre's case, surrounded by that power, connected to it, shaped by it.

And now they were standing before someone who carried that power within him.

They were not kneeling before Joffrey Baratheon. They were kneeling before the power he now carried within him.

"Stand up. You are making a mistake," Joffrey said, his voice calm and quiet.

Neither of them moved. They did not seem to hear him.

"I am not R'hllor," he said, more firmly this time. "I am not your god. I am just a man…a man who was given a gift, a man who is still learning how to use it."

Lyssara looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Your Grace... your presence... I have never felt anything like it. Not in all my years of service. Not in the temple. Not in my visions. You are... you are..."

"I am still Joffrey Baratheon," he interrupted gently. "The same man I was yesterday. The same man I was when you first met me. That had not changed."

"Everything has changed," Melisandre whispered. She had not risen from her knees, but her eyes were fixed on him with an intensity that was almost unnerving. "I have served the Lord of Light for over a century. I have felt his presence in the flames, heard his voice in the fire, seen his power in the world. You carry his essence within you. You are his vessel."

Joffrey sighed. He should have known this would happen. 

'They cannot help it,' he thought. 'To them, I am the answer to every prayer they have ever spoken. The fulfillment of every prophecy they have ever studied.'

He walked toward them, his footsteps slow and measured.

"Stand up already," he said. "Please. I am not here to receive your worship."

They did not move.

"Stand up," he repeated, more firmly this time.

Slowly, reluctantly, they rose to their feet. Their eyes never left his face, their expressions never lost that mixture of awe and wonder.

Joffrey led them to a small table near the window, where they sat in silence while he gathered his thoughts. The candles flickered around them, and the scent of incense hung heavy in the air.

He first glanced at Melissandre. "I think I owe you an apology. Never expected the portkey to malfunction and send you so far away." 

Melissandre opened her mouth to speak but paused for a moment. Then she shook her head. "I was confused at first, I'll admit. But…I think I went where I was needed. I want to believe it was the will of R'hllor that sent me there, to Bran."

Lyssara nodded. "I agree with you, sister." 

Joffrey didn't know about that. He was just grateful shedidn'tt end up in the middle of the ocean. 

Lyssara turned her attention to him. "My Prince. Your power has always felt strange and foreign to me, but now…" she glanced at his golden eyes. "How did this come to be?"

"It's a long story. Go ask the queen if you want the details." He turned to Melissandre. "And you…should talk to Bran. The boy needs to make a decision, and you may help with that." He stood up. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay after that failed teleportation, but now I see there were no problems I need to solve."

"Where are you going now, My Prince?" Lyssara asked. 

"I need to speak with someone." Joffrey simply responded. "Now, if you excuse me…" He disappeared from the spot.

<><>

Joffrey appeared in Tyrion's laboratory without a sound.

The room was cluttered, more cluttered than he remembered. Books stacked haphazardly on shelves, vials of strange liquids bubbling over small flames, papers covered in frantic handwriting scattered across every surface. The air smelled of chemicals and herbs.

Tyrion was hunched over a workbench with his back to the door, muttering to himself as he stirred something in a glass beaker. He did not hear Joffrey arrive.

"You should be careful with that," Joffrey said. "If you add the silver grass too quickly, it will explode."

Tyrion spun around, nearly dropping the beaker. His mismatched eyes went wide, then narrowed with annoyance.

"You could knock," he said. "Like a normal person."

"I could," Joffrey agreed. "But where would be the fun in that?"

Tyrion set the beaker down carefully and wiped his hands on a rag. He studied Joffrey for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"You look... different," he said finally. "Those eyes…and there is something else. You almost look to be at peace."

"I feel much better now," Joffrey said. "Thank you for your concern, uncle."

"Have you seen Myrcella?" Tyrion repeated. He asked as he walked to a small cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine, pouring himself a generous cup. He offered one to Joffrey, who declined with a shake of his head.

"Still not drinking?" Tyrion asked.

"I do not need it anymore," Joffrey said. "The Light sustains me. It gives me all the energy I require."

Tyrion took a long drink. "That sounds terribly boring."

Joffrey smiled. "Perhaps…and yes, I have also seen my sister. And the other guests. I had a lengthy conversation with them."

"I surely hope so. They came from very far to see you." Tyrion took a long sip of wine. "Ah…, not bad, but I still miss my golden arbor. Those easterners dont know how to make good wine."

Joffrey looked around the laboratory, his golden eyes scanning the shelves, the workbenches, the scattered papers. And then his gaze fell on the cot in the corner…and the figure lying upon it.

Jorah Mormont.

The knight was barely recognizable.

Half of his face was covered in dark brown scales, rough and glistening in the candlelight. 

His left eye was gone, replaced by a golden orb that stared unblinking at the ceiling. The scales continued down his neck and across his shoulder, covering his entire left arm. His left hand was no longer a hand…it was a claw, three thick fingers tipped with black talons.

He was awake. His human eye, the right one, was open and fixed on Joffrey. His breathing was shallow, labored. Pain was etched into every line of his face.

"The pain," Joffrey said. "It is constant, isn't it?"

Jorah's jaw tightened. "How... how did you know?"

"I can feel it," Joffrey said. "Your mind is clouded by agony. The dragon blood inside you is fighting against your human flesh. It is trying to change you, but your body is resisting. The war inside you is... loud."

Tyrion stepped forward, gazing at the night with pity. "I've done what I can. The potions can ease the pain for a few hours, but it always comes back. He can barely sleep. He can barely eat. He's been like this since he woke up."

Joffrey approached the cot, his golden eyes fixed on Jorah's transformed face.

"I might be able to offer some help," he said.

Jorah's human eye widened. "Help? How?."

"I cannot reverse the transformation," Joffrey knew what Jorah was thinking. "That is impossible. The dragon blood has become part of you. It is in your flesh, your bones, and your blood. To remove it would be to kill you."

Jorah closed his eyes. "Then what?"

"I can help it finish," Joffrey said. "The war inside you…the dragon blood fighting against your human flesh, I can end it. I can help the dragon blood assimilate fully, become one with you, rather than fighting you. That would get rid of all that pain."

Jorah opened his eye again, staring at Joffrey. "And what would that make me?"

"Something more than human," Joffrey said. "Something stronger. Faster. More powerful. You would be fully in control of your new abilities."

Jorah was silent for a long moment. Then he looked at Tyrion, then back at Joffrey. "Fine…" He sounded resigned.

"This is not a curse, Ser Jorah. Perhaps one day you will see it." Joffrey said.

Jorah's jaw tightened. He looked away, his human eye fixed on the wall.

"All I wanted to do was to protect her," he whispered. "Daenerys. I wanted to be her shield. Now I am a burden, a broken thing."

"You are far from broken," Joffrey said. "And you can be more than you ever were before. But the choice is yours. I will not force it upon you."

Jorah was silent for a long moment. Then he turned his head, his human eye meeting Joffrey's golden ones.

"Do it," he said. "Make me useful again."

Joffrey placed his hand on Jorah's chest.

He could feel the dragon blood inside the knight, a burning, restless presence that fought against the human flesh. It was wild, uncontrolled, desperate to complete the transformation but unable to do so.

'I can help you,' Joffrey thought. 'I can give you what you need.'

He closed his eyes and let the Light flow.

A wave of energy surged through his hand and into Jorah's body.

 The knight screamed, his back arching, his clawed hand clenching into a fist. The scales on his face rippled, shifted, and settled into a new pattern. His golden eye blazed with a golden light.

Tyrion watched in awe and horror, his wine cup forgotten on the table.

The process lasted only a few minutes, but to Jorah, it must have felt like an eternity. When it was done, he lay still, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Joffrey removed his hand and stepped back.

Jorah sat up slowly, his body trembling. He looked at his hands…the clawed one flexing, the human one clenching. He touched his face, feeling the scales that now covered half of it.

"It's... it's gone," he whispered. "The pain... I can't feel it anymore."

He stood, testing his body. He felt stronger, faster, more coordinated than ever before. He moved with a grace that had not been there before.

He looked at his reflection in a nearby basin. The dragon knight stared back at him…the scales smoother now, more uniform, almost like armor. The golden eye brighter, sharper, more focused.

He turned to Joffrey and knelt, not out of worship, but out of gratitude.

"I dont know how I will be able to repay you for this."

Joffrey shook his head. "Rise, Ser Jorah. You owe me nothing. You are a knight. A protector. And I have a feeling you will be needed in the days to come."

Jorah rose, and for the first time since his transformation, he smiled.

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