Chapter - 69

"Well, that was smoother than expected," I said, scanning the chamber to confirm nothing was on fire. 

Teleportation magic was still new enough that a bit of paranoia felt justified. "No explosions, no dimensional rifts, and everything seems like where it should be."

"This is who you ran off to get?" A familiar ethereal voice echoed through the chamber.

"Yes, now be nice. Daenerys, this is Vaylara, my magic tutor." I gestured between them. "Vaylara, I'm sure you guessed already but this is Daenerys Targaryen, future mother of dragons."

They both gave me that look - the one that said I was being weird again. I chose to ignore it.

Daenerys studied Vaylara's translucent form with undisguised fascination, her earlier hesitation forgotten in the face of something truly magical. "Are you a ghost?"

"No," Vaylara stated firmly, just as I cheerfully answered, "Yes."

"Oh, what would you call yourself then?" I asked skeptically

"My greatest creation," Vaylara replied with pride.

I couldn't help but snort at that. "Wow, I didn't think you were that narcissistic."

"Also, isn't it kind of sad that your greatest creation is your own prison?"

"Must you always..." Vaylara started, then caught herself with a sigh that somehow managed to convey centuries of accumulated frustration.

"Only because I'm right," I grinned.

Vaylara took a deep, completely unnecessary breath before turning to Daenerys. "Has this idiot explained things to you properly?"

"... Some of it Lady Vaylara. We're in Winterfell, and Lord El has said he can hide me here."

"Right, let's handle that first." I placed my hand gently on her head, channeling power through my fingertips. The transformation was immediate - silver-white hair darkening to a rich brown, those distinctive Targaryen violet eyes shifting to a more mundane forest green. "There. That should keep you safe for now."

Daenerys reached for a strand of her newly darkened hair, wonder danced across her features as she examined her transformation. 

"Now you just need a new name and backstory," I continued, already piecing together a plausible history. "Any preferences?"

"Could you recommend one?" she asked, still captivated by her new appearance.

I thought for a few moments before I couldn't help myself. Since I'd already made her look like Emilia Clarke, I might as well complete the reference with the name. Not that anyone in this world would get the joke, but sometimes you have to take your amusement where you can find it.

"Emilia Snow," I suggested, the name rolling off my tongue. "Being a bastard carries its own stigma, but it would actually work in your favor - explains your sudden appearance without inviting too many questions. We'll say you're from near the dreadfort, fleeing family troubles." 

I gave her the grand tour of the main parts of my base under the …Forbidden Forest?

I'd forgotten what I had previously named it, but this was good enough I guess. 

We spent the next hours going through the details of her cover story, also a brief history lesson to replace whatever propaganda Viserys had filled her head with about the history of house Targariyan. The last thing I needed was her to have a visible reaction to meeting someone she'd been taught to hate. 

"Ready to head up?"

She nodded meekly.

"Are you sure?" I pressed gently. "You've been through a lot today. It would be perfectly fine to take a day or two here, get your bearings before facing the world again."

"No." Something hardened in her expression - that fire I'd been hoping to see. "I don't want to hide away anymore."

A smile tugged at my lips. "Well, you've convinced me. Time to introduce Emilia Snow to Winterfell."

We were walking towards the entrance of my base when I caught Daenerys's questioning look.

"You look like you have a question, ask away," I prompted.

"I thought you said Winterfell was a few leagues away. Could we not use the teleporter to get there?"

"Well, the teleporter is mainly for long distances. Winterfell is only about 20 minutes..." I paused, realizing that she had a point.

"You know what, you're absolutely right. Having a permanent connection to my clinic would be incredibly useful."

The only thing I would need to deal with was the sound it made while arriving. I'd already thought of a few solutions for the noise.

We made our way back to the teleportation room and I got to work immediately. 

The new runes I added would ensure the air displaced by the spell would dissipate gradually during the charging process, rather than all at once. My scanning spell had pinned onto one of my magical trinkets in the clinic, which helped me pinpoint the location of one of the empty underground rooms.

I activated the improved spell again, and we were no longer in my base.

Noting the silence, I mentally patted myself on the back for a job well done and gestured for Daenerys to follow me upstairs.

The first person we ran into was, surprisingly, Tyrion, who had made himself quite comfortable lounging in my lab with a book.

"Aren't you supposed to be working?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

He jumped, nearly dropping his book. "Gods! Where did you come from?"

"That's irrelevant – it's my office, I can drop in anytime. You, on the other hand, seem to be slacking off."

"I'll have you know I've completed all my duties for the day," he replied with wounded dignity. "Quite efficiently, I might add."

"Hmm. Sounds like someone needs more responsibilities."

"Please don't." His attention shifted to my companion, curiosity warring with courtly manners. "Though you're being terribly rude not introducing the lovely lady."

"Emilia, meet Tyrion Lannister. He does... something around here." I waved my hand vaguely. 

"Tyrion, this is Emilia Snow. She's going to be a new student."

Daenerys offered a timid nod, playing the role of shy northerner perfectly.

Tyrion's shrewd eyes flicked between us "Do I want to know?" he asked carefully.

"Definitely not."

"Fair enough." He shifted topics with practiced ease. "How was your adventure beyond the Wall?"

"Let's just say it involved more near-death experiences than I generally prefer."

"That sounds..." Tyrion's brow furrowed. "Concerning."

"I'll fill everyone in later. Rather not rehash it multiple times." I glanced around the cluttered lab. "Where's Freya?"

"Upstairs"

"Very well."

-------------------

Freya sat at her desk, patiently answering Sansa's questions about the differences between treating burns and frostbite. The young Stark had taken to her studies with surprising enthusiasm, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.

"So the key is to never apply direct heat to-" Freya broke off as familiar footsteps echoed down the hall. Her brow furrowed in confusion - she hadn't heard the usual commotion that preceded El's returns to Winterfell.

The door swung open, revealing El in his white coat with someone she had never seen before hovering uncertainly behind him.

"Hey Freya, oh Sansa's here too!" El's casual greeting carried its usual warmth. "Didn't expect to see you both."

"When did you get back?" Freya asked, rising from her chair. It was strange - normally the people of Winterfell spread word of El's return before he even made it through the gates.

"Lord El," Sansa offered a perfect curtsy.

"None of that lord stuff now," El chided gently. "I told you to call me professor."

"I arrived just now," El replied, gesturing to his companion. "This is Emilia Snow. Your newest student."

The girl - Emilia - offered a hesitant smile. Freya noticed how she held herself; there was something off about her that she couldn't quite place.

Something was definitely going on.

"Where is she from?" Freya asked carefully.

"Met her on my way back from the Wall. She knows her letters and numbers, wants to learn healing." El's expression softened. "She needs a place to stay. I thought she could help you around here, maybe become your apprentice?"

"Is this your way of saying you're going to be disappearing again?" Freya couldn't quite mask the concern in her voice.

"No, no," El waved off her worry. "At most I'll be holed up in the forest this time. Nothing major." He turned to Sansa. "Would you mind showing Emelia around? I need to speak with Freya privately."

Sansa agreed immediately. As they left, Freya didn't miss the questioning glance Emelia gave El before following Sansa out of the room.

Once the girls had left, El's cheerful demeanor vanished.

"The Others are real," he said without preamble. "And I nearly died fighting the Night King."

The words hit Freya like a physical blow. In all their time together, she'd never heard El speak with such gravity - or admit to being hurt, for that matter. The very thought seemed impossible.

"What happened? Are you-"

"I'm fine now," he assured her quickly. "But it was a lot closer than I'd like. I managed to destroy his army, bought us some time, but..." He ran a hand through his hair - a rare display of agitation.

"We need to prepare. I've already spoken with Lord Stark about it. The Wall is in a sorry state - it needs more men to be properly defendable."

"How can I help?"

"You just need to keep doing what you've been doing so well already. Keep teaching. Keep healing. We'll need every trained healer we can get before this is over." His eyes drifted to the door where Emelia had disappeared. "And maybe help a lost soul find her way."

"What's her story?" Freya asked quietly.

El's expression turned guarded. "It's quite tragic, and I don't really feel comfortable sharing it. That's for her to tell when she's ready." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Trust me on this one, please?"

Freya studied his face for a moment before nodding. "Always."

---------------

Illyrio woke up slowly, feeling confused. He tried to make sense of why he was sprawled in an open field. He closed his eyes to block out the harsh sun and got up to look around slowly. He saw the Dothraki soldiers stirring from their own slumber. He could see his own confusion mirrored on their faces. 

A tense silence hung in the air as everyone tried to process their inexplicable situation.

"What happened?" he asked no one in particular. 

'Oh right.. the wedding, had they been poisoned?'

Khal Drogo's voice shattered the eerie silence, each word sharp as a blade: "Where. Is. She?"

His eyes swept across the gathering, taking in details he'd missed in his initial confusion. 

The empty platform where the bride should have been was a clear indicator that something had gone horribly wrong. The tension in the air grew more and more as more warriors realized who was missing.

"What?" he whispered, mind racing through possibilities. "How?"

"Where is my Khaleesi?!"

Drogo's face transformed, all traces of confusion burning away beneath pure, murderous rage. He barked orders in Dothraki, his warriors scrambling to their horses in desperation. The entire khalasar moved like a disturbed ant nest, their collective fear and rage manifesting as frenzied action.

"You." Drogo's attention snapped to Illyrio with predatory focus. "What trickery is this?"

Before Illyrio could form a response, hysteria erupted from the crowd. Viserys, apparently having just processed the situation, was shrieking at a warrior who'd grabbed him.

"Unhand me, you savage! I am your king-" The words cut off in a wet crunch as a backhanded blow sent him sprawling.

Illyrio watched with detached fascination as his carefully laid plans crumbled. His guards, outnumbered and outmatched, fell beneath Dothraki steel. Rough hands seized his arms, and he offered no resistance as chains were locked around his wrists.

A laugh bubbled up from his chest - a sound caught between amusement and despair. Years of subtle manipulation, countless schemes within schemes, all undone in a single afternoon by... what? 

He still had no idea what had actually happened.