Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

“No.”
 
His response echoes through the chamber, which had fallen silent as both Balerion and Meraxes waited for Jon’s answer. Needless to say, they both react in some manner of surprise at his response. Meraxes immediately begins hissing in laughter, while Balerion’s glowing golden eyes widen in disbelief, the stolen face he’s wearing stretching into a rictus of shock.
 
“Excuse me?”
 
Well aware that this probably wasn’t going to be good for his health, but not willing to accept anything less all the same, Jon lifts his head high, jutting out his chin as he stands tall and stares a Dragon God of ancient yore down.
 
“I cannot offer you my body, honored ancestor. I’m still using it.”
 
Meraxes’ laughter grows even louder, but Balerion is too incensed, too focused on Jon himself, to silence her once more. The nostrils of the ancient Lion King that he’s possessing flare in indignation and anger.
 
“Did you not hear me, boy?! You and I… we are meant to be one! We are meant to join together! You are my destined vessel, the return of Valyria and the return of magic to this world! Without our guidance, Essos and Westeros will crumble before the Oncoming Long Night! You would do well to rethink this foolhardiness! It will not serve you in the long run!”
 
Jon clenches his jaw, wondering briefly if he was making a mistake. The Oncoming Long Night sounded particularly terrifying, especially if Balerion was speaking of a return of the White Walkers that Jon had grow up hearing tales of from Old Nan. One might be liable to claim such tales were nothing more than fanciful stories meant to excite and engage young minds, but Jon had seen dragons born… he’d seen magic aplenty since coming to Valyria as well, so it wasn’t so hard for him to believe.
 
Except… it was the rest of what Balerion was trying to peddle that he simply couldn’t stomach. The Dragon God spoke of joining forces, of them becoming one. He spoke of gifting Jon his power, his might, for this sole purpose. But he also spoke of withering, he spoke as if the original plan had been for him and Meraxes to disappear. Now, obviously they were still lingering, for all that Balerion called Meraxes a fragment.
 
Except… what made Balerion any more than Meraxes at this point? What made him anymore than a fragment as well? And why were Jon’s instincts screaming that letting Balerion have his body would do nothing but spell doom for Jon and all that he loved?
 
Yes! Yes, you see it! My brother is a fool! Neither of us are what we once were, but he is the one who still insists on playing god! Balerion is no more than I am, he is but a shade. We were never supposed to be anything more! All that truly made us divine, we sent forward to reside within you! There will never again be a Balerion or a Meraxes… you must kill him! Free me, you have the power to do so! Free me from his binding and I will help you!
 
It takes Jon half a moment to realize those aren’t his own thoughts, that Meraxes is transmitting her thoughts into his mind somehow. He glances in the hulking dragon’s direction to see her eyes glowing a faint purple, much fainter than Balerion’s gold. Jon frowns though, because even now he can feel a hint of deceit in Meraxes as well. At the same time as she admits she’s nothing more than a fragment, she also asks him to side with her over Balerion.
 
There is a selfish desire in both of these shades of long lost Dragon Gods. Nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing, Jon once again directs his attention to Balerion, just in time for the golden-eyed zombie king to decide he’s had enough.
 
“Filth! If you will not give me your body, I will take it by FORCE!”
 
Like a set of claws, Balerion reaches out with his free hand, the hand he’d offered to Jon mere moments before with the promise of glorious unity. Without a shadow of doubt in his mind, Jon knows he can’t allow that rotting hand to touch him. And so, with a flash, the Valyrian Steel sword he picked up on his way here slices up, interposing itself between him and the ancient, decaying body of King Tommen II… and cuts the offending hand right off at the wrist.
 
Rather than blood, golden ichor spills from the stump as Balerion stumbles back, eyes wide and staring down at his wound in disbelief.
 
“You… you dare?!”
 
Unfortunately, Jon’s opening move doesn’t give him nearly as much time to breathe as he might have expected. Balerion comes to terms with the loss of his hand quite rapidly, probably because it’s not HIS hand to begin with. The next thing Jon knows, he’s having to block as Brightroar comes slashing down upon him in the grip of King Tommen’s remaining hand.
 
Even with a one-handed grip on the Valyrian Steel sword, the force that Brightroar lands upon Jon’s own unnamed blade is… considerable. Enough to make the young man’s eyes widen, as well as leave him glad that he had his sword in a two-handed grip to meet the blow. But that relief doesn’t last long, not when Balerion continues to swing, continues to rampage forward, ravaging Jon’s defenses.
 
Backpedaling swiftly, Jon blocks what he can and dodges what he cannot. The inhuman might behind Balerion’s swings is obvious, and intense to say the least. The fragment of a Dragon God is no great Knight, no amazing swordsman. It’s possible he’s never used a sword in his life, given how he wields Brightroar. He attacks Jon with it like one would attack with a club, not a gorgeous blade made of Valyrian Steel.
 
And yet, it’s a testament to how much power this shade of Balerion still has that Jon can’t seem to get himself off the backfoot. He’s being driven back, being nearly thrown around the chamber in a way, doing everything humanly possible to avoid the blade that’s seeking to harm him. Balerion clearly isn’t trying to end his life, but the Dragon God seems to have no issues with maiming him, and Jon has to fend off many blows aimed at removing hands or feet, at taking off one of his limbs and leaving him disabled and helpless at Balerion’s nonexistent mercy.
 
Or at least, that’s how it starts. The longer they’re fighting, the more desperate Jon becomes, the more open to certain ideas he finds himself. As he is now, he’s going to lose this fight. He’s doing everything HUMANLY possible… but as it’s been explained to him, he’s not entirely human, now is he? He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. But he’s also more than that. He is the vessel of two divinities, the answer to treachery among Gods dating back hundreds of years.
 
He can’t afford to be merely human here, can he? And what Meraxes suggested gives Jon an idea. He reaches within himself even as he dodges Balerion’s crazed swings and looks for his supposed inner power… and to his surprise, he finds it with an almost startling ease. Because truthfully… it’s always been there.
 
When he fought those Braavosi the night he’d met Bellegere, his gods-given gifts had been with him. When he’d fought Khal Drogo for Daenerys’ hand, the blood of dragons and gods had flown through him. When he’d made his way to Vaes Dothrak and taken control of the Dothraki themselves… every challenge, he had been supported by his divine might and thus his divine right to rule, every step of the way.
 
The Dothraki had made him the subject of their prophecy and had ultimately fallen in line behind him as he’d turned their entire society on it’s head, changing traditions and cultural norms that had lasted hundreds if not thousands of years. How was that even possible? How was it that a pale Northman from Westeros had somehow managed to become the Khal of Khals?
 
If he were any normal man, he would not have been able to achieve the things he’d done. No amount of mortal charisma or skill with a blade would have carried him through the day. It was only because he was in no small part divine that he had accomplished the things he had. For that, Jon supposed he should offer thanks to Balerion and Meraxes for their support.
 
But as the shade of Meraxes had already made clear, the God and Goddess were already long gone, in truth. What he was facing now were nothing but mere fragments of their divinity. Rather, the vast majority of their two divinities… now resided within him. All Jon had to do… was stop acting like he was in any way a mortal man.
 
“Enough.”
 
Brightroar comes down and this time Jon catches it easily on his own sword in a one-handed grip. The deep, reverberating voice comes not from Balerion’s lips… but his own as he stops this latest attack dead. Golden eyes go wide as Jon frowns and then reaches out, covering King Tommen’s face with his free hand.
 
“This… is enough. Rest now, Balerion. Rest now and know you succeeded.”
 
“N-No, I-!”
 
But it’s too late for any last defiance, any last refusals. Only one of them is truly a Dragon God here… and that’s Jon. His hand glows and Balerion’s borrowed body convulses and spasms before the golden glow of magic filling it flows back into Jon. In a way, the shade gets what he wanted all along. But you know what they say, be careful what you wish for.
 
The footing between Jon and the fragment of Dragon God simply isn’t equal. There can be no unity. The two cannot become one. If Jon had allowed the shade of Balerion to take over, they would have always been less than they could have been, reduced to a demigod state. As it is now, Jon absorbs the shade, swallowing it whole in a way and taking the fragment to add back to the greater whole that is his person.
 
As the last of Balerion leaves King Tommen II’s body, the golden glow leaves his eyes and an ancient, weary gaze stares at Jon in abject gratitude.
 
“Thank you…”
 
With those final words, the Lion King rapidly decays, his skin flaking away as so much dust, his bones disintegrating as well, and his clothing falling to bits and pieces. In a handful of seconds, King Tommen II is gone, and all that’s left behind is Brightroar, clattering to the floor of the massive temple with a sense of finality.
 
Reaching down, Jon casually picks up the ancestral Lannister blade. It almost seems a paltry prize in comparison to what he’s discovered and achieved by coming here, but still… he HAD wanted it, and now he had it. House Lannister’s missing Valyrian Steel sword… perhaps it would come in handy one of these days.
 
Carrying both swords, Jon sighs as he turns to face the silent dragon skulking in the shadows of the temple chamber. The shade of Meraxes creeps close, her long sinuous neck arching as she trails her tongue along rows and rows of massive, sharp fangs.
 
“Are you going to fight me too?”
 
He hadn’t gone along with freeing her. He hadn’t sided with her against her brother. Instead, he’d destroyed Balerion on his own without her help while she stood aside and did nothing. Frankly, Jon didn’t know what to expect from the fragment of Meraxes now. He could, with his new found power, simply force the issue and bind her to him just as effectively as Balerion did… more so, in fact, but part of him was loathe to do that.
 
“Perish the thought, young master. You have proven your strength, your worth. You do not rely upon the trickery, the treachery of my fool brother. And I do not rely on his delusions. We both know what we are, do we not? Shade and God… Dragon and Man.”
 
Jon inclines his head, acknowledging the truth in her words. Part of him is a God now. There’s no escaping that, not with two divinities filling him. But he’s also still a man too. He’s still Jon Snow, Jon Targaryen, Khal Jhono. He’s still a great number of things to a great number of people. But he can sense that Meraxes is not done yet, so he holds his tongue and lets her finish.
 
“… That said, I find myself disinclined to follow my brother into the great beyond. Shade that I might be, I would prefer to… stick around, if it pleases your majesty. You do not have to worry about my loyalty. I know the difference between a true God and a pretender.”
 
She spits out the word ‘pretender’, glaring at the throne where Balerion had been sat when Jon first entered. Meanwhile, Jon himself can’t help but be a little surprised, his eyes widening slightly as he inhales sharply.
 
“You truly want to continue to persist in this fragmented existence of yours? After so long, I would think you happy to finally be able to rest.”
 
Scoffing at that, Meraxes’ purple eyes flash.
 
“I did not fight the pull of the dark for this long just to give in to it after finally seeing my brother brought low.”
 
And then she hesitates, and something much… softer enters her voice.
 
“… As well, I am afraid your majesty. I am afraid of what comes next. It is possible that for something like me, there is no next. I fear oblivion…”
 
That’s… fair. Still, Meraxes is an odd case. Jon knows he has to do something about this. More than that, he knows that he’s one of the only beings around who CAN do something about this. His rise to divinity has been meteoric and incredibly swift to be sure, but already he’s getting a sense of things that he once thought were mere gut feelings.
 
Meraxes is a problem that needs to be solved here and now, and there can be no question of that. Looking at it from his new set of circumstances, Jon sees three options before him for what to do with the fragment of a Dragon Goddess.
 
One, bind her to him as she is now. Make her at least somewhat whole again in the process. She would never be the true Meraxes reborn once more, but he could at the very least rub down the fraying edges so she wasn’t so much of a torn and shredded fragment of an entity that she was now. He would have a massive, hulking dragon at his side by the end of it, one with an intelligence and loyalty to him that could not be denied.
 
Two, bind her to him but change her form. It would probably make the process of sanding down the edges of her existence into something more… complete even easier. By reforming Meraxes into the body of a human woman, Jon could effectively condense her down. Rather than being the shade of a Goddess, she might just be a whole mortal being by the time he was done. He’d lose out on the massive hulking dragon, though something told him she would still maintain some of her draconic attributes when he was done.
 
Three, end her existence here and now just as he had with Balerion. It would probably be the most merciful option. For all that the fragment was afraid of oblivion, Jon could see now in a way that he didn’t before just how much Meraxes was suffering, how much Balerion must have been suffering while waiting for him all these years. Jon couldn’t say for certain that the first two options would actually end this suffering in the same way that simply… letting her go would. It was entirely possible she would continue to suffer, even if he bound her to him in either of the two possible forms.
 
But… a decision still had to be made all the same. Jon just needed to figure out what he was going to do.

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