"Khalees, I'm begging you, don't go" Finn said for the hundredth time as they rode through Qarth toward the House of the Undying.

Blaine's bloodriders were with them, too, carrying the wooden dragon cage between their horses. It was covered with a thick brown cloth, but Kurt was afraid his dragons would start to screech and hiss from under it, drawing attention. He couldn't leave them in Chandler's house without him there, though; he'd rather take the risk. After all, all of Chandler's household had seen them, and the prince's slaves didn't exactly look like people who enjoyed keeping secrets for long. The voices would start to spread, he was sure of it; he could only hope people all across the East wouldn't believe them enough to carry them to Westeros when they went there for their trades.

"You made yourself clear, Finn" Kurt replied from atop his horse.

The Qartheen stared at them curiously as they passed, taking in their appearance; Kurt knew they didn't use horses inside the city, but only to travel outside of it. They were slow, idle people, either walking as if in a trance or having black-skinned servants carry them on silk-covered swaying litters to escape the heat of the sun. They had hair coiffed in queer ways, mostly in the shape of birds with their wings open wide or in a single, pointed cone that made them look like unicorns. Kurt was sure Dothraki had to look savage and poor in their eyes, but he'd rather look poor than ridiculous.

"There's something wrong in this" Finn was continuing, his voice getting stronger as he went on. "At the council, that warlock looked entirely too pleased with himself when the Thirteen refused. And what he said to you after... it sounded suspicious to me."

Kurt remembered it. Pyat Pree had come to him after the council was done, to offer him comfort.

"These men don't understand how precious you are, Father of Dragons" he had whispered, too close to his ear for Kurt's liking. "Fate has brought you to us, yes. That fire, such an unfortunate tragedy... and yet, even the ugliest things have a silver lining."

"I will be careful, don't worry" Kurt reassured his knight, even though there was an unsettling feeling in his chest, he had to admit.

"And he will have me" Blaine spoke up from his horse. "I won't let anything happen to the moon of my life."

"I am sure of it, my Khal, but the warlocks-"

"Finn" Kurt interrupted, scowling slightly. "It's okay."

Finn looked at him sadly, as if the reproach had seeped right into his very core.

"I just want to protect you, khalees. To keep you safe in your father's name."

At the mention of his father, remembering what Finn had lost to keep his loyalty to him, Kurt felt immediately guilty. His expression softened.

"I know, and I thank the Gods everyday for sending me you, Finn. But you can't protect me from everything."

You can't protect me from fate.

The House of the Undying was far from the center of the city, where narrow streets crossed one another in an intricate maze, echoing with the never-ending buzz of people. It was perched on top of a hill, green but silent and empty, which overlooked the entire Qarth that spread itself all around it, like the ocean around a small, sad-looking island forgotten by men. The House itself was a white blank one-storey palace with no windows, whose walls looked like they were about to crumble at any moment. Kurt had imagined some luxurious temple bursting with gold and topped by domes of marble and jade, like those he had glimpsed inside the city, but he found himself disappointed.

Pyat Pree was waiting a few feet from it, his pale hands linked together. Like the palace behind him, he looked ancient and fragile, his skin ready to crack like porcelain. His blue lips stretched into a thin curved line, the shadow of a smile.

Warlocks are treacherous people, Chandler had said. They drink shade-of-the-evening to live forever, but it turns their lips blue and their hearts black and withering.

"Welcome to the House of the Undying, blood of Old Valyria" Pyat Pree greeted when they reached him. They all dismounted from their horses; Kurt gave his reins to Finn, Blaine to Wes. David lowered the cage to the ground and took out his arakh, guarding it as Kurt had commanded him to. Kurt could hear his dragons move restlessly inside it, gnawing at the bars. He could feel their distress, their uneasiness. It was as if they were trying to warn him of something.

He looked at Blaine, who nodded in confirmation of his resolve. They had talked about it, and decided that is was indeed best to go together. They were weaker apart. But as soon as they took the first step toward the House, Pyat Pree narrowed his eyes.

"The Undying agreed to meet you, khalees" he said, turning to look at Blaine pointedly. "They never said anything about your husband."

"I no let him go alone" Blaine answered, taking another threatening step forward. "It's this, or nothing."

The warlock ignored him and looked back at Kurt, waiting for confirmation.

"My husband speaks for the both of us" Kurt said solemnly, lifting his chin.

Pyat Pree seemed to consider for a moment, his unsettling gaze fixed on Kurt, as if waiting for his decision to change. When it didn't, the sickly man sighed in surrender.

"Very well" he conceded, but then he turned to Blaine again, lowering his eyes to his right hip. "But no weapons."

Blaine narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth, his fist working around air. Kurt figured he was taking it as a challenge, because without a single word, he took his curved arakh and gave it to a wordless Wes, keeping his eyes fixed on Pyat Pree. After all, Kurt was pretty sure Blaine was capable of killing someone with his hands only. If it came to it, he knew he would.

Before they could finally walk toward the entrance, Finn approached and touched Kurt's shoulder gently.

"Khalees, I would feel better if you took one of your dragons with you" he whispered.

Kurt bit his lip, torn between the need to protect his creatures and the urge to give Finn at least some sort of reassurance of his safety. If something should happen to him, he knew Finn would blame himself. He nodded. This time Pyat Pree didn't protest, which, if anything, made Kurt even more worried.

When Wes lifted the woolen cloth, the dragons squinted against the sunlight and screamed with relief, clawing at the wood to ask for freedom. Kurt considered taking them all, but if something went wrong, he couldn't afford to lose all three. At least two of them would be safe. So he opened the cage of just a fraction and peered inside.

"Drogon" he summoned, before opening it a bit more, enough for the black dragon to crawl out of it and settle on his shoulder. The others hissed in protest, but when Wes put the cloth back on the cage they got silent.

With one last look behind, they followed the warlock toward the House of the Undying, only to stop at its door. Finn and the bloodriders were out of earshot, so Kurt and Blaine were the only ones to listen to Pyat Pree talking.

"The Undying of Qarth await you" he said, pushing the door open and stepping aside. "The path to reach them is quite easy, but difficult at the same time. You can't get lost, but you can lose yourself."

Kurt narrowed his eyes and huffed; he wasn't in the mood for riddles.

"So you're not coming in with us?" he asked. Pyat Pree shook his head.

"I'll be waiting here, Father of Dragons. Otherwise you wouldn't be able to prove that you can find the way on your own. All you need to know is that you have to take always the first door to the right."

"First door to the right. Got it" Kurt nodded. He turned to Blaine and took his hand. Blaine squeezed it.

Hand in hand, they entered.

At first everything was enveloped in darkness, but as soon as the door closed behind them, they found themselves at the beginning of a long corridor filled with candlelight coming from little niches carved inside the grey stone walls. There were no doors on either side, so they started walking at a steady pace, the stillness around them echoing only with the sound of their footsteps, while the flames of the candles reflected their moving shadows on the walls. Kurt could hear himself breathing, and feel Drogon's claws on his shoulder where he was perched on.

At the end of the corridor there was a small circular room, with three doors standing in front of them. They walked to the first to the right and pushed it open, only to find another long corridor, at the end of which there was an exact replica of the room. After the third time that happened, Kurt started to think that was the same room, so they simply had to prove they were patient enough to walk in a circle until the Undying decided it was enough.

But when they took the first door to the right once again, they entered a different corridor, with open doors all along the left wall, while that on the right was bare except for the little candle-lit niches. They walked silently, both of them set on ignoring what was beyond the open doors, but as soon as they stepped into the light coming from the first one, Kurt felt compelled to turn toward it and look.

Beyond the door there was a throne room, with an impossibly high roof of painted glass and massive dragon skulls all along the walls, their white bones bathed by the sunlight coming from above. As if Kurt was actually walking inside of it, the throne got closer until he was able to look at it properly; and funny enough, it was an ugly thing, just as Chandler had complained. It was huge and slightly frightening, with swordpoints jutting up in all directions. But Kurt's attention soon moved lower, on the steps that led to the Iron Throne, where a man was sitting.

He wore a red velvet doublet with round rubies instead of buttons, and on his bald head there was a beautiful golden crown, whose front was shaped into a group of three dragons with their jaws open wide and eyes made of black amethysts. He was a man grown, on his forties, with kind eyes and a mouth made for smiling. He was smiling, stroking at the huge belly of the woman sitting next to him on the steps, beautiful chestnut locks tumbling down over her shoulders to reach the ground and eyes the color of the narrow sea when the day was bright.

"Your mother was beautiful" Blaine whispered, squeezing tighter on his hand, and only then Kurt realized that what he was looking at wasn't true.

You can't get lost, but you can lose yourself, Pyat Pree had said, and Kurt was starting to understand what he had meant. People could get lost in memories.

His father yelped suddenly and retrieved his hand from his mother's belly. She wore a light blue gown that matched her eyes perfectly, and a smaller crown on her head.

"I could feel him kicking!" the king exclaimed, almost jumping from his sitting position. "He is so strong."

"He is" agreed his mother, embracing her womb with both her arms and smiling. "He can't not be a boy. I just know it. Seb is so excited, he says he wants to be there when I give birth."

King Burt chuckled.

"Let's hope he has a strong stomach, then" he said, toying with one of the queen's locks. "When he was born, I have to admit I almost fainted."

"You men are so weak, I always say so" queen Elizabeth replied, laughing. "Ready to take arms without a second thought, and yet terrified of a couple of bloodstains on the beddings."

"A couple?" her husband gasped. "It was a bloody mess! And I mean bloody bloody."

"Is that the reason why you want to send me away?" the queen asked, suddenly serious. Her eyes still sparkled with laughter, but her face was set in a frown. The king sighed and took her hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb in a soothing gesture.

"You know it's for your safety, and Seb's too" he replied, his voice lower, almost a whisper. "The lords are unhappier everyday. I don't like the voices I'm hearing."

"Then come to Dragonstone with me" Elizabeth pleaded, covering Burt's hand with her other. "Say I need to rest because of the pregnancy and that you don't want to leave me alone. Your Hand can do your job for you until everything settles down again. It's what he is there for."

King Burt shook his head, a sad but resolute expression on his face.

"You can't ask me to leave Schuester to pay for my decisions. It was my idea to establish a day to give free bread to the poor, and I have to accept the consequences. But I'm not letting you stay here while there are rumors of revolt spreading around at court."

Elizabeth sighed and lifted one of her hands to touch Burt's face, stroking it sweetly.

"And I'm not letting you stay here alone, when it's clear that you need me. You need someone to support you, to be there for you. You told me once that you would never treat me like I was inferior to you."

"I did" Burt agreed in a serious tone.

"Then don't force me to do something I don't want to do" Elizabeth concluded. Burt gave a resigned sigh and leaned in to kiss her, and as they smiled into it, the air shifted around them as if it was a thick yet invisible fog, until the scene changed into another in front of Kurt's suddenly teary eyes.

He had never seen his parents. He would never see them again.

The following scene was set inside a tower room, the exact opposite of the sunlit airy throne room of the Red Keep: a small bedchamber of damp grey stone, lit by dim candlelight and the sudden burst of lightening outside the windows, where a storm was raging. It was so strong that the furniture trembled with every clap of thunder, and so noisy that it drowned the cries of the woman lying on the bed in a pool of her own blood.

Kurt knew that is mother had left King's Landing only after Burt's death, which meant that, eventually, she had convinced him to let her stay. He also knew that she had died giving birth to him on Dragonstone, his family's high seat, during a terrible storm. That was why someone called him Kurt Stormborn, among his other names. It didn't mean he wanted to see it, though. He tried to close his eyes or turn away or keep walking past the door, but he was frozen, unable to do anything but watch what the past had decided to reveal to him.

When a particularly loud scream made him tremble, though, he felt Blaine letting go of his hand, only to envelop him in a hug and nestle Kurt's head under his chin. Drogon flew away and landed at their feet.

"Close your eyes" Blaine whispered, stroking his hair softly. "Close your eyes, moon of my life. There is nothing for you to see here."

Struggling internally against his morbid curiosity, Kurt closed his eyes. From inside the door, he heard a child crying under the booming sound of thunder and rain. The queen had stopped screaming. Then, the sound of a door opening and closing.

"Mom?" a thin voice said. "Mom!"

"She's gone" a woman's voice said, as the babe kept crying. "You have to take care of him now."

There was a pause, and Kurt turned in Blaine's embrace to see what was happening.

"But I don't know what to do" a small, scared Sebastian said, looking down at the bundle the woman had placed in his arms. "They left me alone. Why did they leave me alone?"

Kurt could feel a tear running down his cheek. When he lifted his hand to wipe it away, the scene disappeared in front of his eyes just as quickly.

"Let's go" Blaine said, disentangling himself from Kurt to take his hand again and dragging him away from the door, Drogon flying low to follow them.

Kurt's intention was to ignore the following door and all those after that, since looking inside the first one hadn't done him any good, but it was Blaine who stopped in his tracks this time, in front of the second open door.

"Blaine" Kurt urged, but when he turned around to look as well, his breath left him in a rush.

The scene was set in the open this time, which made it even weirder to look at than the previous ones. Kurt's attention was immediately caught by a tall man walking among scattered brown tents, with the dark hair and squared jaw typical of the Dothraki but skin slightly paler, less dark than Blaine's. His eyes were a deep, painfully beautiful blue, and his hair was long and smooth instead of short and curly, but there was no mistaking he was related to Blaine in some way. Kurt's first thought was that he was Blaine's father, but he was way too young, on his twenties. Walking side by side with him there was a little boy of eight, maybe ten years old. A little Blaine, without tattoos and scars and a beaming smile Kurt wished he could have seen for real.

His doubts on the man faded away as soon as he opened his mouth to speak.

"So, first sacking, little brother" he said, ruffling Blaine's hair and smiling down at him, a sweetness in his eyes that looked uncommon for a Dothraki, but suited him nonetheless. "Are you excited?"

"I am!" Blaine answered eagerly, almost jumping on his feet. "I want to be like you, Coop! Or even better. I bet I'll have more tattoos than you do!"

Kurt turned to look at the real Blaine, who had turned as white as a sheet. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes seemed lost far, far away in memories, his grasp on Kurt's hand weak and sweaty.

"You never told me you have a brother" Kurt whispered, but Blaine didn't even turn to look at him.

"Don't be ridiculous now, B" his brother Coop was saying, amusement clear in his expression. "That is never going to happen."

"We'll see" Blaine answered with a challenging grin, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

"We'll see, mh? Well, how about now?" Coop said, crouching down suddenly to tickle Blaine's stomach, making him fall to the ground in a fit of laughter. They rolled together in the sand as the sun went down behind them, Blaine screaming "Cooper, stop!" while his brother kept tickling him mercilessly.

The scene changed then, their laughs echoing feebly and dying down in Kurt's ears, a sound he'd never thought he would hear. It looked like the same desert, but the Blaine Kurt saw being dragged by the back of his neck in the middle of a cleared, round space was older, thirteen maybe. He had tattoos now, even though they didn't cover even half of his body, but he almost looked like his Blaine, only with less broad shoulders and a less muscular chest. As soon as the real Blaine recognized the scene, his hand left Kurt's.

"I always knew you would disappoint me at some point!" the man dragging the younger Blaine shouted, throwing him to the ground in front of a little crowd of astonished Dothraki. "But I never thought it would be this!"

Younger Blaine tried to sit up on the sand, but the man grabbed him by the hair and kept him down, twisting his curls. Kurt felt a surge of rage so hard and sudden that he almost thought of walking inside the door, but the past couldn't be changed, and doing it would probably lead him to a terrible death or something equally horrible, he just knew it.

"Father, I- I can't help it. I tried, I swear I tried" Blaine pleaded from the ground, but the man – his father, Kurt corrected himself in his mind – only twisted harder, making him gasp and shut his eyes in pain.

"It didn't look like you were trying when I caught you fucking another boy!" Blaine's father shouted angrily in his ear. "How dare you dishonor me like that? You should have died in that sacking instead of Cooper!"

Kurt felt like someone had stabbed him in the middle of his chest. He looked at Blaine and tried to grasp his hand back, but it was limp and useless at his side, as if it wasn't even his.

"Blaine, I'm so sorry" he whispered, taking Blaine's hand anyway. He tried to force him to turn around and hug him, to offer him the comfort Blaine had provided him earlier, but Blaine was unmoving, like a statue made out of stone. The only thing Kurt managed to do was kiss his knuckles and clutch his hand to his chest, as Blaine kept watching.

Meanwhile, Blaine's father was throwing an arakh at Blaine's feet, another one ready in his right hand. The man had the hazel eyes his son had inherited, as well as the curly black hair now streaked with grey, but he wasn't as beautiful as Kurt knew Blaine would be at an older age.

"Prove to me you are a man, Blaine" his father said. "It is the only way you're ever going to become a Khal now."

Younger Blaine looked at his father with a broken expression on his face, then down at the weapon lying in the sand. He looked so young, and Kurt knew he had already killed someone, but that didn't make what he was seeing any more acceptable.

"Father, you- you can't ask me that" Blaine pleaded. The people around them were silent and still, and it felt like the entire world was.

"I'm not asking you, I am commanding you" the man objected, whirling his curved arakh in the air. "Pick it up. Or I'll kill you right now and be done with it nice and fast."

A trembling Blaine did as he was told. As his father charged against him for the first time, it dawned on Kurt how that was going to end. Blaine was there next to him. He had won. And all this time, Kurt had thought Blaine had killed his father out of rage, or vengeance, or lust for power. Hells, the whole world believed it and feared Blaine for it. He couldn't believe that scared, shaking boy blocking savage blows and pleading for it to stop was his sun-and-stars. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before; how fragile and vulnerable he truly was.

When the scene shifted one last time, that same shaking boy was covered in blood, his blade buried in his father's chest. He let go of it immediately, stumbling backwards before falling on his knees, his red hands flailing in the air like terrified little birds. From the crowd, an howl went up into the late afternoon sky, and a crying woman emerged from it. Kurt didn't need to look at her twice to know that she was Blaine's mother: beautiful olive skin, dark long hair falling down to reach her waist and almond-shaped pools of blue water instead of eyes.

He thought she was going to run to Blaine, but instead she screamed again, a loud, blood-curdling cry that crawled its way down Kurt's spine; then she snatched a dagger out of her belt, put it at her throat, and sliced through her neck with it in one swift motion, crumbling to the ground a few feet from her husband's dead body. Blaine screamed.

If it was the younger one, or the real one, Kurt couldn't tell.