The Disappeared Ones: Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Something was very wrong. Gone was Jon’s cocky half-smile, the happiness sparkling off him. Jon stood muscles locked in a rictus of agony, though his expression was blank. Eyes wide and unseeing, lips parted in shock.
“Is—Is he ok?” Vis asked, poised to stand. Dany jumped up, hands fluttering uselessly near Jon’s chest. Would it hurt him to touch him?
“Jon? Jon are you ok?” Dany asked. No answer. His muscles jumped as if in the midst of a seizure. Panic rose sharp in her throat and she grabbed him, shaking him.
“Jon! Jon! Snap out of it!” she shouted. Jon collapsed like a puppet with his strings cut, flopping boneless onto the carpet.
“Fuck,” Bon muttered, “I’ll get the medical book.”
“Vis, get some water,” Mom said, hurrying to Dany’s side. Vis swung over the back of the couch to fetch a cup.
“Mind his head,” Mom said, as Dany wadded up her coat for a makeshift pillow. Dany felt tears well up and trickle down, pattering on Jon’s bare chest. The Three wiggled under her skin, radiating concern.
“Jon? Jon, are you ok?” The words quavered in the air. What the hell could they do? A hospital, already a dangerous place with so many eyes and cameras, was an impossibility with his gift. A seizure brought on by shapeshifting? How would that work? Jon’s eyelids fluttered.
“D---Daa---Dannniee,” he said, his hand twitching. Dany took his hand, caught between relief and concern. What the fuck had happened? Bon and Vis knelt on either side of Jon.
“He’s talking, that’s good,” Mom said, testing his pulse at his wrist.
“I’m here, Jon. Can you hear me, baby?” she said. The jumping and thrashing subsided with each word and Dany plunged on, encouraged.
“It’s ok baby. It’s ok. Just relax now. You’re safe. Everything’s ok, Jon. You’re safe with me, baby.”
“Dany,” Jon said again, one grey eye cracking open to look at her. Those clear eyes, sharp and watchful. Tension began to uncoil. The scowl line between Jon’s eyebrows creased and his rough thumb swiped the tears from her cheek.
“Don’t . . . don’t cry,” he said. Dany pressed his hand to her cheek, relishing the strength and warmth of him. A hiccupping little laugh slipped out.
“Don’t do that again—whatever it was,” Dany said. Carefully, Mom and Vis helped Jon sit up. Shaking himself in a wolfish way, Jon drained the cup of water Vis offered and stood. Dany threaded his arm over her shoulders, just in case. He felt the same, warm and solid with that spicy masculine smell.
“What happened?” Bon asked. Jon shook his head.
“Not sure. That’s never happened before. It felt like . . . when I shift, there’s a flash of pain as my body rearranges. Usually gone in a second. This time it felt like . . . I got stuck. In between bodies. I panicked.” Jon trained those soulful eyes on Dany and emotion glittered in them, so sweet she felt dizzy.
“Your voice helped me find my way back,” he said. Dany bit her lip to stifle the impulse to kiss him. Mom cleared her throat and Dany hastily eased back from Jon. Touching him was dangerous. Bon grunted under his breath and disappeared around the corner to search for bedding for Jon from the linen cupboard.
“I’m glad you’re ok, Jon. Dany said shifting makes you hungry. Do you need something else to eat?”
Happily agreeing, Jon followed Mom into the tiny kitchen with the promise of peanut butter toast. Vis scrubbed his head, looking down into the empty water glass as if it held the secrets of the universe. The penny dropped. Dany squeezed Vis’s arm.
“Don’t worry, Vis. This wasn’t your fault. If Jon didn’t think he could shift, he should have said no. It was an accident.”
“It still feels shitty. I’ll apologize,” he said, peering down at her. His hug was quick and rough, almost embarrassed. Dany chuckled into the plain cotton of Vis’s black shirt.
“Sorry for almost putting your boyfriend in a coma,” he said, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating in her ear.
“It’s ok, Vis. He’s fine,” she said, not bothering to hide her pleasure at the ‘boyfriend’ comment. Bon returned with armloads of extra blankets and pillows and Dany helped build a pallet on the floor. Mom and Bon slept in the apartment’s only bedroom, and she and Vis took turns sleeping on the couch or the floor. Dany excused herself to take her turn in the bathroom before bed. Passing by the kitchen, she heard the low murmur of Mom’s voice. Judging by the tone, she was gently scolding Jon.
“--boys love to show off for pretty girls, I know, but you have to think about your health too.” Peering around the corner, she saw Jon looking contrite with the wings of his curly hair obscuring his expression.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, “In my defense, it’s never happened before.” Jon wolfed down another piece of toast. Mom’s voice softened a little.
“My Dany’s got a kind heart. Life’s been so hard for her since the moment she was born. I’m not telling you to stay away from her or anything . . . just . . . just--”
“Mrs. T, I would rather die than hurt Dany. She’s so . . . good, you know? Kind. Beautiful inside and out.”
Cheeks burning, Dany tiptoed back down the hallway. She took pains in the shower, washing out her long hair, shaving her legs and braiding her wet hair.
“Quit your primping, sweet sister! It’s my turn!” Vis shouted from out the door. Guilty, she thought. Sharing one bathroom was a real pain. She gave Bon a hug and then when she hugged Mom, she whispered: “Don’t forget the cough syrup. It’ll help you sleep.”
Mom kissed her cheek and gave her a piercing stare.
“Sleep well, my darling.”
Vis stretched out on the couch. The sleeping bag was several inches too short, so he draped a knitted blanket over his torso.
“No funny business, you two,” Vis grumbled, rolling over to face the cushions. Dany felt her cheeks heat and was grateful Vis had turned out the lamp. An awkward laugh fell out as she scooted into her sleeping back with a squeal of polyester. Vis was even hotter natured than Dany, so the fluffy comforter was up for grabs on the coffee table. Jon had a threadbare King’s Landing Rush blanket and flat pillow.
“Do you want another blanket?” Dany whispered. Jon shook his head.
“I’m good.”
Dany lay in silence, watching his face. He was a darker shape in the murky night. Some light from the street lamp filtered through the blinds, but not enough to reach them.
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” she said. Jon’s smile was a wet white gleam.
“I’m fine, I promise. Vis was nice enough to apologize. It’s my fault, though. I uh . . . your mom was right. I was showing off a bit,” he whispered, scratching his chin.
“For me?” Dany asked, half surprised, half pleased.
“Who else?”
Dany grabbed his hand. She wished she could kiss him, but Vis for all of his grumbling would take his duties as chaperone seriously.
“Saving my life and kissing me senseless wasn’t enough?” she laughed. The low light wasn’t enough to see if he blushed. A pity, she enjoyed seeing that pale skin of his bloom red.
“I was happy to do both,” Jon said, stroking the inner edge of her index finger with his thumb, a gentle, but distracting touch. Dany clenched her thighs together, roused even by something so simple. The moment was broken by Vis.
“Gods,” Vis muttered, miming a retching sound. Dany threw one of the extra pillows at the back of his head.
“Don’t listen then, you prick!” Dany hissed. Vis crammed a pillow over his head in silent protest, curling in a determined ball.
“We should get some sleep,” Jon said.
Dany was too wired to sleep. The long busy day weighed on her, the sharp prickle of worry after Jon’s seizure, and the thrill of having him beside her made her fidget on her pallet. There was no hope of anything physical, not with two zipped sleeping bags between them and Vis on the couch—a fact Dany deeply lamented. Once they arrived in Kingsgrave, it would be safest for them to part ways. The thought of never seeing him again made her heart shrivel.
“Have you ever been to Kingsgrave?” she asked.
“Once, with Davos. It’s nice. The city’s arid, hot, but up in the Red Mountains, there are these beautiful pine trees. Tons of hiking trails. It’s at a high elevation, so it takes some adjustment.” She could imagine it easily, Jon’s strong profile against the beauty of nature, so at home there. Finally able to relax without the bombardment of sensory input within a city.
“That sounds nice. I’m a beach baby, myself,” Dany said. Jon’s lips curved in a smile that could only be described as ‘sinful.’ Dany squirmed a little in her sleeping bag, roused by that heavy-lidded look.
“Sunbathing? In a bikini? Yum,” Jon said. Dany giggled.
“Surfing, actually. I love the water. And I have to keep my tattoos covered, so no bikini.”
“Shatter my illusions, why don’t you,” Jon teased. After a beat, he squeezed her hand.
“That must be hard. Always worrying someone might see your tattoos.”
“I’ve had them since I was born. I’m used to it, I guess,” she said. Jon kissed the back of her hand, on the thin patch of skin just before Rhaegal’s snout.
“Still,” he said.
“Still,” Dany repeated.
Conversation flows easily between them. Stories of their travels. Hopes and fears. Family. Dany’s heart ached for Jon hearing about the difficult childhood.
“It wasn’t all bad. Dad got me in a public school in Cerwyn up north. Latchkey kid. I would be alone in our apartment until he would come with dinner. We’d play board games, read books, watch TV. I loved having him all to myself. It was always around three in the morning when he would drive back to Winterfell. I could hear his truck turn over in the parking garage downstairs. My step-mom wanted him there for getting the other kids ready for school. I had a roof over my head, I was fed, cared for, educated. It got harder when I got older and the other brood grew.” Dany swallowed her choler. If she ever met Jon’s stepmother, that woman would be face to face with her dragons in a heartbeat.
“There was no extended family to help?” Dany asked. Jon shook his head.
“My dad had an older brother, but he was one of those explorers on the Wall—one day he disappeared. No one’s seen him since. My dad never had any contact with my mom’s family after she died.”
“Well, you’re an honorary Targaryen, then,” Dany said, then bit her lip. Did it diminish his own family by offering for him to be a part of hers? Was it clingy? Weird? Relief sluiced through her when Jon grinned.
“Happy to hear it. Now go to sleep. We need an early start tomorrow.”
Dany nestled into her pillow obediently. As her thoughts frayed and mellowed, she clung tighter to his hand. She wasn’t letting go. Not just yet.
~
Back to one of his least favorite places: the train station. The intensity and volume of sounds and smells and colors were an assault to his senses. A train horn pierced him like an ice pick stabbing in his ears. It was like he was fucking blind, he couldn’t perceive anything through the noise. It made him feel vulnerable. Maybe he could shift to a dog and be Mrs. T’s service animal. That would mute it some. No, that wouldn’t work. If there was trouble and he had to shift back, he’d be starkers. People tend to remember seeing a naked man.
Dany murmured something in Valyrian and Jon forced his jaw to unclench. Bless her, she was distracting him as best she could. Liquid syllables washed over him. Though he didn’t understand the words, the sound of them was pleasant to anchor his attention to. The gate screeched open, stale air buffeted them, smelling of body odor, burned coffee and motor oil. The five of them shuffled to their seats and waited in tense silence. Jon clenched his fists, almost ready to burst out of his skin. Finally, the doors closed and the train lurched from the station. Around the scarred linoleum table between them, Jon unfolded a tourist map and scrawled down the number of their contact he’d memorized from Davos.
“In case we get separated, when we get to Kingsgrave, our contact’s name is . . . Arianne Martell,” Jon said. Vis swore.
“How the fuck is Arianne Martell helping us keep a low profile? She’s one of the richest women in the world! She could be on the Syndicate’s payroll for all we know!” he hissed.
Dany shushed him sharply. Jon held Vis’s dark glare unflinchingly.
“All of Davos’ contacts have pulled through for countless gifted people for the past decade. There’s a fine line between caution and stupidity, Viserys.”
“We’ve survived on our own for a long time,” Bon grumbled. Jon glanced at Dany and felt his heart lurch sharply.
“Aye. But the difference now is that the Syndicate has seen what Dany can really do.”
Reflexively, Mrs. T’s hand covered Dany’s on the table. Protective-Mom-mode.
“What do you mean, Jon?”
A pair of commuters shouldered past their seats and blinked at the tense, crowded conference of them around the table. They all quickly adjusted, sagging into a more casual attitude. Jon cleared his throat and relaxed back in his seat. Dany did the same, squeezing his knee.
“Her dragons took out a large group of highly trained mercenaries with barely any effort. She’s a danger to them,” Jon said. Silence filled the space between them.
“We need to trust Jon. If he says Arianne Martell can help us, then I believe him,” Dany said. Her faith in him made his chest all gooey. Vis exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose. A couple red sparks danced around his hands as he flexed them.
“Fine. Where do we meet Arianne?”
The contact point was a diner just outside Red Mountain National Park. Jon discussed the where’s and when’s carefully. Now the train was moving full steam, the Red Keep was barely visible through the tangle of rain-darkened concrete. The wind pushed a few stray drops on the windows. The beads of water meandered in an arc across the dirty glass. A food cart shuffled by, Mrs. T—bless her—bought greasy breakfast sandwiches. Egg and sausage and processed cheese between thick slabs of toast—delicious. Jon ate his allotted two and sniffed around for more. He contented himself with Dany’s crusts. How cute, she didn’t eat the crust of her bread. Time passed as they talked quietly amongst themselves.
“I need the loo,” Dany said, patting Jon’s knee. Jon stood and shuffled into the aisle, steadying Dany as she pitched with the lurch of the rail. She flushed and shot him a grateful look through her lashes. Jon moved to follow her.
“Jon, I can go to the toilet by myself,” Dany said. Jon imagined if she were a cat, her fur would be all fluffed up in irritation. His answer was a shrug. Let her be irritated with him. He sure as the seven hells wasn’t going to let her out of reach if he could help it. With a huff, Dany slipped into the foul-smelling toilet (at least to his nose) and flicked the lock from ‘Vacant’ to “In Use.’
Jon folded his arms, under the pretense of waiting for the loo himself. He shut his eyes briefly, tightening the rein on his control. With Dany out of reach, the sensory overload flooded in, battering at him. Being on the train didn’t really help. He could hear the engine, the shriek of the wheels on the rails beneath his feet, the scream of the wind outside the tinny tube. Not to mention the fog of smells and colors of the human passengers. The air tasted stale, claustrophobic. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Hold it together, Jon! He breathed in and out through his mouth to minimize the smell, slowly, carefully. Jon forced white-knuckled fists to uncurl. The old lady closest to Jon was ill—her temperature was three degrees higher than the other passengers. Beneath her revolting freesia perfume sickly-sweet, Jon could smell another sweetness. Elevated blood sugar. I could definitely be a service animal. The thought filled him with grim amusement.
Dany emerged from the toilet with her nose wrinkled.
“Even my nose can tell how awful it is in there,” she joked, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Jon focused on the imprint of her fingers. The warmth, the pressure. Jon turned his head to nuzzle where she touched. A headache pounded against his skull like surf against jagged rock.
“Give me just a second. I want to see if they have any tea for Mom and maybe some ibuprofen for you,” Dany said. She leaned close, close enough for him to drink in the earthy, coconutty smell of her. Petting the frown line etched between his brows, she kissed his cheek.
“Wait here for me?” she asked. Jon gave her a mute nod, sagging back against the wall of the train, the vibrations shuddering through his bones. Jon mentally counted each breath. Each one, and they would be closer to Kingsgrave. That much closer to fucking relief.
~
The tiny galley reeked of burnt coffee. Poor Jon. Those souped-up senses of his made him absolutely miserable. Those beautiful grey eyes were black with pain. He looked at her like she was a lifeline a storm. While she liked feeling needed, she wished the cost wasn’t Jon clinging to his composure by his fingernails. Dany found a packet of chamomile tea for Mom and set it steep in a foam cup of tepid water. A string of paper packets of off-brand ibuprofen rested behind the glass. Dany pointed to the bored clerk. The spectacled octogenarian peeled off three and accepted the heap of change through the slot. She heard a shuffle of movement behind her and ceded space.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, gathering her purchases.
“Lovely day, isn’t it?” a well-dressed man behind her said in a low voice. Dany peered over her shoulder. The man’s cropped black hair was salted with grey, his neat beard framing a long, pointed smile. A black patch covered his left eye. He loomed a hair too close for comfort.
“Yeah, I guess it is. Excuse me,” Dany said, unease curdling the greasy breakfast in her stomach. The Three stirred, her skin prickling in warning. She moved to slide past, the man moved with her, almost like the steps of a dance.
“Ah-ah, lassie. Let’s chat for a minute,” the man said, his grip on her upper arm bruising. The tone of his voice was pitched low. Dany’s eyes darted to and fro. Where was Jon? Questions multiplied in her mind. How--? Where had they . . . ?
“Your pup can’t help you, Dany. Now shut that pretty mouth and listen, hmm?” Gooseflesh pebbled her skin, her stomach plummeted to her toes. The Three coiled; Balerion baited his wings. The man chuckled nastily. Too late, eons too late, Dany noticed the gold pin on his lapel, the horribly familiar logo. Dany quivered, her skin on fire. She licked her lips. The man yanked her nose to nose with him. A hot sting prickled the inside of her wrist. A needle was poised, bouncing against the triphammer of her pulse.
“Can’t let loose with all these people around, my dear. Too . . . messy,” the man said. If he knew about her and her powers, then he knew about her family, and Jon. And he was right—she couldn’t summon the Three in a metal tube flying down the rails at seventy kilometers per hour. Too many people could get hurt. Stymied, Dany’s mouth worked like a landed fish.
“Now how about you come with me. Nice and easy,” he drawled, his smile revealing small white teeth. The train was slowing with screech of brakes as it neared a station. A robotic voice announced: Arriving at Fawnton Station. Fawnton Station. Passengers, please prepare to disembark. Dany stumbled in his wake. It was fine. This way, they would be safe. Her family and Jon would get away clean. Dany nodded to herself. The loss of her life was a small price to pay for their freedom. Between here and wherever this man planned to take her, maybe she could summon the Three. Maybe . . .
“I knew you could be a good girl with the right incentive,” the man murmured, towing her toward the choked queue preparing to disembark in Fawnton. Dany worked one of the cheap silver rings off her finger. It plopped in the thin carpet. Jon would notice her absence first, and be able to track her scent.
“They won’t be hurt?” Dany asked. She hated how her voice sounded, a child’s thin treble.
“As long as you’re good. They won’t be hurt, lassie,” he replied with a hard look. Dany clenched her fists, fingernails biting into the fleshy palm. Should she scream? Bite the Syndicate man’s hand and try to run? The needle gave her pause, a sharp prickle in the center of her back. A tranq, most likely. And then what?
The herd of passengers shuffled off the train onto the rain-slick platform. The doors would close any second. Close and send all she loved rocketing far from here.
“Dany!” The harsh bellow of Jon’s voice rang through her. Part terror, part relief, part joy. The man cursed and glared down his nose at Dany.
“Plan B,” he said. A hot sting, then black.
Balerion was there as she drifted back to groggy half-wakefulness. Curled around her consciousness like a living castle, barricading her from attack. Rhaegal and Viserion were there too, as watchful as sentries. She was seated, bound, her neck aching at its awkward, hyperextended angle. Dany feigned sleep, trying to gain her bearings.
“The monitor registered a higher heart rate and breathing rate. I know you’re awake, Dany. Open your eyes,” the same man said. Dany blinked into a white hell. Immaculate walls impossibly high, like an auditorium, polished floors, blisteringly bright floodlights stabbed her eyes. Arms handcuffed behind her back, in nothing but her shabby bra and panties. Shivering in the cold. Panic clawed in her belly. Dany bit the inside of her lip to keep them from quivering. What was to stop her from summoning the Three? Who was this man? Why the fuck did they want gifted people? There was little point in voicing her questions, she sensed the man would enjoy riling her. He watched her with an amused expression.
“I’ve got to say, when I saw the wreckage of the op to capture you, my first thought was: ‘Really? This little girl took out thirty of my best men?’ But hey . . . now I know. You’re smart. Smarter than you father. And brave. Plus you’ve got a pup playing bodyguard sniffing after that sweet little cunt.” Dany reeled. This man had been responsible for her father’s death too? Where was Jon? The disgusting comment she ignored. Men like him loved making women feel uncomfortable with lewd comments.
“Where is he?” she rasped. The man waved a hand negligently. Dany strained as far as her bonds would allow, looking over her shoulder to find Jon behind a half-frosted glass partition, strapped to a table. Naked and unconscious.
“See? He’s fine. And he will remain so as long as you cooperate.” Steel and venom lurked under the banal tone. Dany licked her dry lips.
“What do you want from me?” The man clapped his hands loudly, startling her.
“Simple. Your dragons. Give them to me.”
The ridiculousness of it startled a laugh out of her.
“My dragons are tattooed onto me. I was born with these tattoos. How could I give them to you?”
The man’s grin was needle-sharp and any vestige of mirth bubbled away down the drain. He stood up and shucked off his suit coat, draping it over the back of his chair. Next came the cufflinks, plinking on the tile floor. He rolled up his sleeve in quick turns and Dany looked on in horror. Viserion—a facsimile of him—stared back at her. Lifeless and bloodless, etched in simple ink, but the likeness was decent. Within, Viserion edged closer to her, seeking comfort. Dany embraced him, gathering all three of them as close as she could.
“Targaryens of Old Valyria would tattoo the image of their mounts on their skin, sealed with magic. That’s what you are Daenerys. Magic. One of a kind.” Dany glanced from the tattoo to his face. There was a savage glitter in his eye. Fine hairs rose on her arms in warning. He bent down to one knee, eye-level with her.
“Your pup, I’ll let him go. Shapeshifters are a dime a dozen anyway. Though I will say he has a particular flair and skill for it. Granted, your mother and brother’s gifts would be useful, but I’ll let them go too. What’s a couple freaks between friends?” the smile wobbled—façade that it was—and Dany glimpsed the depth of evil that lived in him. Cold as the depths of the sea. The numbness of shock had worn off—now she felt panic clawing its way up her throat. Her dragons . . . they were hers. And she was theirs. She hadn’t known a single moment of her life without them. Was it possible? Could he really take her dragons from her?
“What I need you to do, Dany, is to say the words to summon them. This room has seen its share of gifted folk, and endured them all, so don’t get any ideas. Summon them, and I’ll do the rest. You can do that, right?” he asked, faux-friendly.
“I—I can’t. I won’t. You can’t take them from me,” Dany said, flailing in her terror. The man stood, perfectly still for an instant. Pain exploded in her cheek as he backhanded her. Then again on the other cheek as he hit her again, rocking her back in the chair. Blood filled her mouth. Her face burned from the blow. Steadying her breathing, she squinted up at the man. He was looking at her arms. Rhaegal and Viserion coiled under her skin, mouths opening as if to loose their fire and burn him to a crisp.
“Fascinating,” he murmured, then shook himself. He snapped his fingers. Beyond partition, a woman in a white coat walked in, stabbed a needle in Jon’s neck.
“I didn’t want to have to do this, Dany. But you give me no choice.”
“Wait. Wait, what are you doing? You said you’d let him go! Stop!” Dany shouted, thrashing against her bonds. Pain shrieked through her wrists, the metal digging deep. The effect was immediate. Jon thrashed and flailed.
“Say the words, and all this stops.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Just a little cocktail to stop him from shifting. He’s a tricky one. I’m told its excruciatingly painful. Say the words, Dany.”
“Leave him alone! He didn’t do anything, he was just trying to protect me. Please . . .” the man smiled.
“You’d better hurry and decide, Dany. Before his brains start eking out his ears. Say. The. Words.”
“B—B—B—Ba--” she stuttered, tears streaming down her cheeks in a hot, endless flow. She couldn’t do this. But Jon was dying!
“Say the words!”
“Balerion! Rhaegal! Viserion!” The Three burst from her skin, filling the cavernous space with their light and ferocity. Then that sound.
. . An endless shivering scream that shattered her bones. A wretched, unholy sound from the bowels of the lowest hell . . .
Dany wished she could cover her ears to blot out that horrible sound. As she watched, the forms of her dragons shivered, wavered like a flicker of electricity. Then Balerion shook his spiked head. Even as that horrid noise increased in volume, Balerion let loose a roar of his along with black fire. The triumph in the man’s face disappeared as he was engulfed. The shrill scream rose and then cut off with jarring suddenness. Dany felt an instant’s satisfaction before Rhaegal nipped at the handcuffs, breaking them. White smoke filled the room—fire suppressant or knockout gas, she wasn’t sure. Burying her nose in the crook of her elbow, she staggered upright, stamping life into her numbed feet. Alarms blared red. Armed men would be here any second. Jon. Jon, she had to get to him.
“Viserion!” she said, pointing to the glass. With a flick of his tail, the glass shattered. Jon lay so still, drenched with sweat. Dany shook her numbed fingers and searched for his pulse. There! Strong and steady. Not dead. The relief wasn’t a balm—any second the door would burst open. Dany heaved at his shoulders, cursing as she buckled under his dead weight. Viserion steady him with his tail and Balerion flattened himself down. It was a strange sensation, being able to look down through Balerion’s ghostly body to the floor. On the other hand, she’d always dreamed of flying.
“Balerion, sōves!” she commanded. No matter how many layers of stone and rock they had to punch through, they would find open sky.