Forsaken Bloodlines {HP x GOT}

Chapter 5.14: Doubts and Connections

"What now? Do we wander this wasteland until we freeze to death?"

Lyanna turned to face him, her expression hard. "We find shelter. We find food. And then we figure out our next move."

Melisandre stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "There's a village not far from here. I've passed through it before, years ago. They may not be welcoming, but they will have what we need."

Lyanna hesitated, then nodded. "Lead the way."

As they walked through the valley, the tension between them grew. Tom, clearly unused to following orders, kept up a steady stream of sarcastic remarks. Melisandre, ever the enigmatic guide, offered cryptic advice that only seemed to irritate him further.

Lyanna, caught between them, felt the weight of her leadership more acutely than ever.

"You're quieter than usual," Tom said to her at one point, his tone almost teasing. "Second thoughts about trusting your new dragon friend?"

Lyanna shot him a glare. "No. But if you have second thoughts about following me, feel free to leave."

Tom smirked but said nothing, his silence more unsettling than his words.

The trio made their way through the quiet, shadowy village. 

Lyanna straightened her back as they neared the village's leader, a grizzled man whose face bore the wear of countless hardships. His eyes narrowed as he took them in, lingering on Lyanna's Valyrian features and the strange mix of companions at her side.

"What do you want here?" the man demanded, his voice rough.

Lyanna stepped forward, her tone even but firm. "Shelter. Food. We'll pay."

The man's gaze flickered to Drogon in the distance. "And what assurance do we have that your beast won't raze this place to the ground?"

"He won't harm you unless provoked," Lyanna replied, her voice calm but edged with steel. "And neither will we. I swear it."

There was a long pause as the man assessed her, his skepticism evident. Finally, he nodded. "You'll pay in gold—and you'll leave as soon as you've had your fill."

Lyanna inclined her head in agreement, though the man's begrudging acceptance only deepened the tension in her chest.

The hut they were directed to was modest, with creaky wooden walls and a thatched roof that barely kept out the cold. Lyanna's mind lingered on Drogon, the last Dragon in Westeros, left behind in the valley, his imposing form hidden from prying eyes. It pained her, leaving behind the last connection to her mother's legacy here in Westeros. But it was Fyrion who occupied her thoughts most of all.

Fyrion, loyal and strong, was still alone in the Chamber of Secrets, waiting for her return. The ache in her chest grew as she sat by the fire. She felt torn, pulled between two worlds—one she had left and one she barely understood.

Melisandre sat nearby, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames. Tom leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying the whirlwind of thoughts within.

"You seem troubled," Melisandre said, breaking the silence.

Lyanna didn't respond immediately. Finally, she admitted, "I've left behind too much. My dragon... my friends... And now I'm here with the last two people I'm supposed to trust." Her voice trailed off, heavy with unspoken fears.

"You could've been trying to find your way back to your friends, yet you've chosen this path for a reason," Melisandre said, her tone carrying that unwavering conviction Lyanna had grown to resent. "Sacrifice is the price of greatness."